Stories within Stories: The Episodic Form and Novel Cycles in “The Cain Series.”

January 10, 2025

By Seth W. James

Introduction:

With the new year upon us, and with the publication of book 3 of The Cain Series coming at the end of spring, I wanted to take some time to discuss the series’ structure and format and how they might impact readers’ speculations about the series’ direction.  Some readers have already reached out with their theories about what will happen next (with most people keying off of the first and last lines of A Desperate Measure), and I wanted to pour a little fuel on that fire.

The Episodic Form: a primer

All books in The Cain Series are and will be episodic, near-future, cyberpunk science-fiction novels.  But what does “episodic” really mean and how do episodic novels differ from more traditional books?

At its most basic, an episodic novel is one where the story is told through a series of separate, though related, parts that add up to something more than a collection of shorter stories, when viewed as a whole.  There are several different modes common to episodic fiction (as well as novels that don’t fit nicely into any), with most employing either linear—where each part follows the previous one and leads toward the book’s conclusion—and non-linear—which either tells a story out of sequence or explores a particular theme rather than combining to an overall story; either mode might also employ the same characters throughout or not.

A few familiar examples of episodic fiction may be found in the works of Charles Dickens and Alexandre Dumas.  Many of the first episodic novels were the result of serialization, where Dicken’s and Dumas’s novels’ parts were first printed in periodicals, coming out over a series of months.  In more recent times, Steven King used the same serializing format for his novel, The Green Mile.  With serializing, each episode needs to stand more or less on its own, as readers will not have the luxury of moving immediately on to the next part of the story; so, each part needs to engender enough satisfaction for readers to anticipate—and return for—the next part.  Serialized novels are typically linear.

Another classic example, which was not serialized (well, part of it was), is James Joyce’s Ulysses.  Ulysses is told chronologically, though not strictly speaking in a linear mode.  Though we ostensibly follow Poldy and Stephen around Dublin as they meet people and get into trouble, the book’s episodes do not tell an action-plot story (more on that to come), but rather discuss and exemplify the themes of alienation and yearning.

The episodic form is certainly not restricted to novels, of course: television shows are inherently episodic, as are some movie series.  The original Star Wars trilogy is an example of an episodic series (and not simply because each movie is given an episode number in its prologue), telling the story of Anakin Skywalker’s redemption.  Readers will also find the episodic form used in plays, musicals, operas, comics, graphic novels, and other media.

In The Cain Series, I employ the linear episodic form, where each part of each book follows its predecessor, but I have also further refined the form by applying classic dramatic structure to the parts, both internally and at the novel and series levels.  Now what the hell does that mean?

Classic Dramatic Structure

Dramatic structure is a way of arranging the parts of a story—whether episodic or not—to make it more effective, engaging, and sensible.  And whether you have received specific training in dramatic structure (e.g. a degree in literature, drama, or film) or not, you are, in fact, an expert in it—because it is used absolutely everywhere.  Classic dramatic structure has its roots in ancient Greece, where plays were offerings to the gods, but is more commonly known by Gustav Freytag’s definition of the five-act structure.  Freytag called the five acts introduction, rising action, climax, falling action, and resolution.  I don’t know that these definitions speak as effectively to contemporary readers today as they may have in 1863, so I tend to translate them thus: in act 1, we meet the characters and maybe learn a little about the world of the story; in act 2, we learn more about the world and, importantly, the situation or problem that the story will confront; in act 3, the protagonist sets out to do something and usually hits a snag of some sort toward the act’s end (the complication); in act 4, the protagonist overcomes the complication (or not, if the story is tragic) and then, in act 5, we reach the denouement, or the wrap-up of the story.

In addition to the five-act structure, there is its refinement, the three-act structure, which we have all seen in countless movies and TV shows.  The three-act is quite similar in structure to the five-act: in act 1, we meet the characters and learn what it is that they want to do; in act 2, they try to do it and hit a complication; in act 3, they overcome the complication (or not) and then wrap things up with the denouement.

Now, this may all seem pretty darn formulaic—and it is—but that does not have to mean boring.  Oh, it absolutely can result in a boring story, regardless of medium: I’m sure we’ve all experienced numerous stories where we have anticipated the entire thing in the first few pages or minutes and find ourselves bored nearly to death by the tedious predictability of it all.  That anticipation, which undermines us in bad storytelling, however, is the product of our expertise with dramatic structure: if we did not know how it all works, we would not anticipate it so accurately.  That same expertise of ours, though, can be called upon by good writers to create tension, suspense, to inspire our imaginations as we wonder what the complication will be or how the heroes will overcome it—or not—or even if the story will have a happy or tragic ending.  As with so many things in life, it all comes down to the execution.

In The Cain Series, I employ dramatic structure on three levels, with the first, obviously, appearing at the part level (levels two and three to come, a little further down).  Each individual part of each book is discrete, that is standalone; they usually follow a three-act structure, though sometimes a five, and tell a self-contained story.  For example, part 1 of Ethos of Cain sees Cain breaking into von Hauer’s villa on Paradise Orbital, to extort him out of stock that Lester needs to take over Arcadia Planitia, on Mars: in part 1 of A Desperate Measure, Cain tracks a stalker through a maze of streets and AI limitations.

Now, as Ethos is told in five parts and Desperate is told in three, both of these parts do not have the luxury of space that a traditionally structured novel would.  Though it complicates the writing process (episodic ain’t for the timid), structuring the novels this way also produces a number of advantages, too.

Advantages of the Episodic Form

There are several distinct advantages to employing the episodic form, the first of which is speed.  As every critic and reader’s review has stated, The Cain Series novels are fast-paced.  This is a result of each part’s size and discrete nature, that is, its requirement to reach a satisfying conclusion within a limited space.  In a five-act structured novel like Ethos of Cain, each part is roughly the size of a novelette; for a three-act structured novel like A Desperate Measure, each part is roughly the length of a novella.  In both cases, each individual part needs to tell its story quickly—or I’ll run out of space.  So, out of necessity, Cain Series novels enjoy a lightning-fast pacing (I say enjoy, but obviously that depends on the reader; if you enjoy fast pacing, you may enjoy The Cain Series; if you do not, you almost certainly won’t).

The next advantage is that each part of each novel is action-packed.  Since each part is discrete, it comes with its own complication and resolution, and in a kick’em-in-the-teeth, cyberpunk, action-adventure story, that usually entails someone getting fucked up.  And so, in each part, readers will find a corresponding action sequence.  Now, writing a series of action-packed episodes does require some finesse and consideration.  If every action sequence has the same level of danger, the same scale, and the same stakes, the book will quickly become tedious and predictable.  Raymond Chandlier said it best, as is so often the case: “it’s like you’re playing cards with a deck full of aces: you’ve got everything and you’ve got nothing.”  If, however, we go back to our classic dramatic structure for a cue, we can employ rising action, that is, increase the stakes, the scale, and the danger as the novel progresses, helping to keep the action fresh and exciting.

The third major advantage to the episodic form is the simplification of complex plots.  When you have a complicated plot, such as what appears in A Desperate Measure, with a trillion-euro government project (the seawall), the avarice of a sovereign corporation (BHI), and the corruption of an official (spoilers!) raging out of control, it can often lead to the plot bogging down in the details or the readers becoming impatient with elements that do not seem terribly exciting.  By taking such a plot and breaking it down into its component pieces, however, readers are only ever asked to acquire a little bit of knowledge at a time, with the rest of the prose dedicated to plot and characters.  Again, for example, part 1 of A Desperate Measure introduces us to the surveillance AI and the seawall project, while focusing on Cain’s cat-and-mouse conflict with the stalker; these elements, though—the project and the surveillance AI—are fundamentally important to understanding parts 2 and 3.  And so, even though each part’s plot is discrete, subsequent parts of the book benefit from the knowledge acquired in the previous parts.  By the time readers come to the act 3 climax, they already possess the presuppositions necessary to enjoy it—Serval blind spots, exoskeletons, sovereign-orbital money laundering—but without ever having to slog through pages and pages of slowly-paced exposition.

There is also an additional benefit to the episodic form employed in this manner, which is seen at the book-level (the second level), rather than at the part level, and that is the melding or mingling of action- and character-driven plots.

Plots, Plots, Plots:

Though plots come in many forms and styles, they can usually be characterized as either an action-driven plot or a character-driven plot.  The basics: an action-driven plot revolves around what the characters do (e.g. Cain fighting his way into a hidden research facility to steal a quantum field generator), while a character-driven plot concerns what the characters think, feel, and who they are, their identities.  Most novels, regardless of format or structure, are either one or the other, though—like yin and yang—also usually contain a bit of the other.  The bit of the other, though, is usually a subplot, that is, something minor that takes place alongside the main plot.  In your typical romance novel, for instance, the character-driven plot is often a “will they or won’t they” plot, resolved by the protagonists getting together in some way (or not), while there is also an action-driven subplot (e.g. a terminally ill spouse, a big project at work, etc) that may act as an instigating moment for the lovers.  Subplots, however, never get as much space and are never as important as the main plot; if they were, they’d constitute the main plot.  Except, of course, in episodic fiction.

In Cain Series novels, with three to five discrete plots per book, a mix of character-driven and action-driven plots can be found, along with subplots involving either.  Take part 3 of Ethos of Cain for an example: the action-driven plot involves Cain performing two rescue missions—Odhiambo’s and Walker’s—with their juxtaposition illuminating Cain’s character (i.e. what he will do versus what he will not); there is also a romantic, character-driven subplot involving Cain’s relationship with Francesca, about how his constantly risking his life is stressing her out, making life intolerable.  But, though each of the five parts of the novel employ action-driven main plots, the book’s main plot is character-driven, a “will they or won’t they” plot resolved by Cain and Francesca discovering a way to live their two very different lives together.

And this facet of The Cain Series novels brings us, finally, to stories within stories, because the book’s plot amounts to an additional story, beyond the five stories told by the five parts.

Stories within Stories:

Though each part of a Cain Series novel tells a discrete story, it also performs a double-duty, in that each part also constitutes an act in the novel’s structure.  In Ethos of Cain, part 1 tells its own story, yes, but it also fulfills the overall book’s need for an act 1, introducing the main character, Cain, and a few important facets of the world.  Part 3 is also a self-contained story, while simultaneously providing the novel with its act-3 complication, which is (spoilers!) Francesca breaking things off with Cain.  In part 3’s plot, Francesca’s choice to end things creates a tragic end, but in the novel, her choice creates the complication that the two of them must overcome.  By structuring the parts and novel in this way, by writing Cain Series novels with multiple, discrete stories and having them combine to tell an additional fourth or sixth story (the book’s), the same exact words on the page tell multiple stories at the same time.

So, in Ethos of Cain, the parts each tell an action-driven story about Cain’s life as a soldier of fortune in the near future, while—combined—they tell a character-driven story about his identity, his sense of self, and whether he can maintain his idea of who he is, his character and dignity, while somehow changing enough to continue his life with Francesca.

The stories-within-stories told by each novel, however, go further still, in that the individual novels also play an additional role, similar to how their component parts do, by contributing to yet another, even larger story (the third level).  I call these multi-novel stories “novel cycles.”

Just as each part of each Cain Series novel contributes an act to the novel’s structure and story, each Cain Series novel does the same, contributing an act to the novel cycle’s structure and story.  A novel cycle, therefore, works much the same way as the novels that compose it: three or five novels taken together will tell an additional, larger story.

Now, with book 3 not due out until late spring, 2025, we have yet to see a complete cycle—but it’s on its way.

I’m sure many readers will be able to deduce the first cycle’s story once book 3 comes out (actually, a few have already done so, just on the basis of books 1 and 2), but as a little nudge to the imagination, I will say that the first cycle of The Cain Series novels is composted of the first five books; thus, each of the first five novels tells both its own story and contributes an act to the first novel cycle (i.e. book 1 is act 1 for the cycle, book 2 is act 2 for the cycle, etc).  Knowing what we now know (or already knew) about classic dramatic structure, readers may very well anticipate the stories that books 4 and 5 will tell, once they have finished reading book 3 and recognize the novel cycle’s complication.  We shall see.

Beyond the first novel cycle, the plan at the moment is for books 6, 7, and 8 to comprise cycle 2, followed by books 9 through 13 comprising cycle 3.  That isn’t set in stone, not just yet, but as I have already outlined those cycles, it will likely play out that way.  More to come on those cycles once we’ve completed the first.

Conclusion

“But, Seth, my dude, do I really have to know all this stuff about structure and episodes and all that jazz, just to enjoy these books?”

You don’t, no.  This is just a little insight into how the series functions.  Like any other literary technique—foreshadowing, literary allusion, extended metaphor, personification—the point isn’t to wow audiences with the author’s staggering genius (well, that’s not my goal, anyway), but to tell a great story.  Just as a driver doesn’t need to know how the car’s engine is made or works, how many times the ABS pumps the breaks when decelerating, nor the revolution ratios for the differential—not just to drive the car and enjoy its acceleration, safety, and handling—the same is true for a good book: you don’t have to know that a conflict is coming up soon because of the structure; if done well, you’ll feel it anyway, in the characters’ voices, in the too-quiet of an alleyway, because nothing is that easy.  If you are into literary technique, though, just like a car guy is into cars, then, by all means, have a poke around under the hood of The Cain Series.  These novels are built to last.

In a future update, I will discuss the role of technology and technological revolution in the series theme—and then, a little later on, a new theme that will begin, probably with book 9.  Until then, I hope you will find new and deepened enjoyment in The Cain Series and will check out book 3, this spring.

Happy reading!