The best examples of using confusion as a plot device: 3 examples writers can steal from

Let’s skip the textbook definitions and start where it matters: on the page.

Think of confusion as controlled fog. Too much, and your reader drives off the cliff. Just enough, and they slow down, pay attention, and savor every signpost you leave. The best examples of using confusion as a plot device: 3 examples all share one thing: the writer is always in control, even when the reader feels lost.

We’ll walk through three core patterns:

• Confusion as identity crisis (who am I, really?)
• Confusion as reality glitch (what’s real, what’s not?)
• Confusion as emotional misdirection (why do I feel this way?)

Along the way, we’ll pull in real examples from books, film, and TV, from The Sixth Sense to Everything Everywhere All at Once, and show you how to adapt those techniques into prompts.

Identity meltdown: confusion as a plot device in character-driven stories

The first powerful example of using confusion as a plot device shows up in identity-driven narratives. Here, the character doesn’t fully understand who they are, what they’ve done, or how others see them—and the reader is trapped inside that fog with them.

Think about:

• "Memento” (2000) – Leonard’s short-term memory loss means every scene starts in confusion. We only know what he knows, and because his memories reset, the plot feels like a puzzle told backward. The confusion isn’t a gimmick; it is the story.
• "Fight Club” (1999 film, based on Chuck Palahniuk’s novel) – The narrator’s fractured identity creates a long, slow confusion. The audience senses something is off but can’t quite name it until the reveal.

In both of these, confusion is not random. It’s structured. The writer knows the truth from page one and uses confusion as a mask, slipping it on and off at key moments.

How to turn identity confusion into a writing prompt

Imagine your protagonist wakes up in a hospital with three people insisting they are three different versions of the same person: a beloved teacher, a wanted criminal, and a missing tech CEO. Each person has documents, photos, and memories to back up their claim.

Your job as the writer is not to decide instantly who’s “right,” but to:

• Let your main character feel the emotional weight of not knowing who to trust.
• Let readers sit in that same confusion, noticing tiny contradictions.
• Drop specific, concrete details—tattoos, handwriting, old emails—that slowly push the reader toward the truth.

This is one of the best examples of using confusion as a plot device: 3 examples because it taps directly into a primal fear: If I don’t know who I am, how can I make any choice that matters?

To keep it effective:

• Keep the timeline clear, even if identity is not.
• Let readers track what your character learns, scene by scene.
• Use a notebook, voice memos, or some in-story record so readers can orient themselves.

For inspiration on how memory and identity can realistically fracture, you can skim accessible resources on memory and trauma from organizations like the National Institute of Mental Health or the National Institutes of Health. You’re writing fiction, not a clinical report, but grounding your confusion in real psychological patterns makes it feel eerily believable.

Reality in question: the classic “is this even real?” confusion

The second big category in our examples of using confusion as a plot device: 3 examples is reality confusion. Here, the character (and the reader) can’t fully trust their senses, their environment, or the rules of the world.

Famous examples include:

• "Inception” (2010) – Dreams inside dreams, spinning tops, and shifting rules. Nolan uses confusion to keep us asking whether the characters are awake, dreaming, or somewhere in between. Yet, each layer has its own internal logic.
• "Black Mirror” (TV series) – Episodes like “Playtest” or “White Christmas” use technology to blur the line between simulation and reality, pulling viewers into the character’s disorientation.
• "Everything Everywhere All at Once” (2022) – A multiverse story that initially feels like chaos: hot dog fingers, googly eyes, bagels of doom. The confusion becomes coherent when we realize it’s all about a mother and daughter trying to understand each other.

In these stories, confusion is a doorway, not a dead end. The writer invites you to be lost, then gives you just enough pattern to keep moving.

Prompt: design your own reality glitch

Try this: Your main character works the night shift at a 24-hour diner. One night, three regulars come in—only they swear it’s the first time they’ve ever been there. They order the same meals they always do, sit in their usual booths, and tell stories your protagonist has heard before, but they react as if everything is new.

Over the next week:

• The news reports events that your character remembers happening years ago.
• Old text messages vanish and reappear with different wording.
• A scar they’ve had since childhood slowly fades, as if it never existed.

You’re building a reality confusion story. To keep it readable:

• Anchor every scene in sensory details: what the diner smells like, the hum of the fridge, the flicker of the neon sign. Sensory anchors give readers something solid to hold while the plot twists their perception.
• Keep a consistent emotional throughline. Maybe your character’s main fear is losing their sister, or their main desire is to quit the town. No matter how wild the reality gets, that emotional thread stays visible.

If you want to ground the experience of altered perception, you can read about how the brain interprets reality and illusions through educational resources like Harvard’s online materials on perception and cognition or general neuroscience explainers from the National Library of Medicine. Again, you’re not writing a textbook—but a little scientific flavor can make your fictional confusion feel unnervingly possible.

Emotional misdirection: when the heart is confused before the plot is

The third pillar in our examples of using confusion as a plot device: 3 examples isn’t about reality or identity. It’s about feelings. Emotional confusion is quieter but just as powerful. The character thinks they know what they want, who they love, or what they believe in—until the story rearranges their emotional map.

Look at:

• "Normal People” by Sally Rooney – The confusion isn’t about timelines or facts; it’s about why two people who clearly care about each other can’t seem to align. Readers are pulled into the discomfort of mixed signals and unspoken feelings.
• "La La Land” (2016) – The emotional confusion centers on love versus ambition. The characters are torn between their relationship and their dreams, and the film lets that tension stay unresolved until the very end.

These stories don’t rely on big twists. Instead, they use small, emotionally confusing moments—misread texts, awkward silences, contradictory choices—to keep the reader slightly off balance.

Prompt: build a story around emotional confusion

Picture this: Your protagonist is engaged to someone safe, steady, and kind. A week before the wedding, an old friend shows up—not a classic “old flame,” but someone they’ve never been romantic with. Yet their body reacts like it’s a reunion with a great love: heart racing, hands shaking, sudden jealousy when the friend mentions someone they’re dating.

There’s no obvious external mystery. The confusion is internal:

• Why am I reacting like this?
• Do I actually want this wedding?
• Have I misunderstood my own desires for years?

This is where your writing can slow down. Let your character:

• Analyze old memories and realize they misread them.
• Notice how their body reacts in different rooms, with different people.
• Argue with themselves on the page, contradicting what they said two chapters ago.

If you want to write emotional confusion with sensitivity, it can help to skim accessible materials on emotional regulation and decision-making. Organizations like the American Psychological Association or MedlinePlus offer plain-language articles that can inspire realistic inner conflict.

Bonus real examples: confusion that works (and why)

To deepen your sense of how this looks in practice, here are more real examples of using confusion as a plot device. These aren’t just famous titles; they’re case studies you can learn from.

In "The Sixth Sense” (1999), confusion is subtle. The film doesn’t shout, “Something is wrong!” It whispers it. Scenes are framed so that you don’t notice what’s missing until the twist reframes everything. The confusion is retrospective: you realize you were confused only after the reveal.

In "Shutter Island” (2010), the confusion is more aggressive. The entire environment is untrustworthy—patients, staff, records, even the weather. The island itself becomes a gaslighter, feeding the protagonist just enough truth to keep him searching.

In "Everything Everywhere All at Once", the early multiverse jumps feel chaotic on purpose. The film bombards you with bizarre images, but underneath, there’s a simple emotional question: Can a mother and daughter forgive each other? Once you see that thread, the confusion becomes meaningful instead of random.

In "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” (2004), confusion comes from memory erasure. Scenes blur, collapse, and repeat as Joel’s memories are dismantled. The viewer is confused in the same way he is—watching his life lose context.

These are some of the best examples of using confusion as a plot device because they all obey one quiet rule: the confusion serves a purpose. It reveals character, theme, or truth.

How to keep confusion from turning into reader frustration

Using confusion well is like seasoning: too little, and the story feels flat; too much, and readers push the plate away.

When you study examples of using confusion as a plot device: 3 examples or more, you’ll notice successful stories share a few habits:

They give readers islands of clarity. Even in the wildest multiverse story, there are moments where things make sense: a kitchen table scene, a clear flashback, a direct confession. Those islands keep readers from drowning.

They keep character desire visible. Your reader might not know what’s real, but they should always know what your character wants in the moment—safety, love, revenge, answers. That desire is the compass.

They pay off the confusion. If you set up a confusing element, it eventually needs to either:

• Be explained (the twist)
• Be re-framed (it meant something different than we thought)
• Be accepted as part of the theme (e.g., “We can’t know everything, and that’s the point")

Here’s a simple test: If you removed the confusing element, would the story lose emotional power? If the answer is no, you might be confusing your reader just for decoration.

Quick writing prompts inspired by the best examples

To help you immediately apply these ideas, here are a few short prompts modeled on the best examples of using confusion as a plot device: 3 examples and beyond:

• A character receives daily voice messages from their own number, giving them instructions. The voice sounds like them, but the personality doesn’t.
• A town votes on an issue that no one remembers proposing, yet everyone has strong opinions about it.
• A parent keeps seeing two versions of their child: one slightly older, one slightly younger, never in the same room, and no one else notices.
• A musician writes songs in a language they don’t speak, but fans from another country insist the lyrics describe real events from their town.

In each prompt, confusion is the doorway to theme: identity, community memory, grief, or fate.

FAQ: using confusion as a plot device

Q: Can you give more examples of using confusion as a plot device in modern storytelling?
Yes. Recent examples include Everything Everywhere All at Once (multiverse chaos with an emotional core), Black Mirror episodes like “Bandersnatch” (interactive narrative that confuses cause and effect), and limited series like The OA, which play with unreliable narrators and ambiguous realities. These real examples show that audiences in 2024–2025 are very open to layered, confusing stories—as long as there’s emotional payoff.

Q: What is one common example of confusion that turns readers off?
A frequent problem is timeline confusion with no reward. If you constantly jump back and forth in time without clear markers—no dates, no consistent tense, no visual or verbal cues—readers feel lost, not intrigued. Confusion should raise questions, not erase context.

Q: How do I know if I’ve used confusion effectively?
Ask beta readers where they felt curious-confused versus annoyed-confused. Curious-confused sounds like, “I didn’t get it yet, but I wanted to keep reading.” Annoyed-confused sounds like, “I had no idea what was happening and stopped caring.” Studying the best examples of using confusion as a plot device: 3 examples from film and fiction can help you sense that line.

Q: Do I need a big twist to justify confusing my reader?
Not necessarily. Some of the best examples include small, quiet revelations. The payoff can be as simple as a character realizing they’ve misunderstood themselves for years. The key is that the confusion leads somewhere—toward insight, change, or a sharper understanding of the theme.

Q: Are there any guidelines for using confusion in stories about mental health?
Yes: approach with care and respect. If your confusion stems from psychosis, memory loss, or trauma, it helps to read basic, reputable information first, such as resources from the National Institute of Mental Health or MedlinePlus. You’re writing fiction, but thoughtful research can help you avoid stereotypes and create characters who feel real, not just “crazy” for plot convenience.

If you study these real examples of using confusion as a plot device and then experiment with your own twists, you’ll start to see a pattern: the most gripping stories don’t confuse readers by accident. They invite readers into the maze, then make the journey through it unforgettable.