A good paradox is one that feels like a real, gut‑tinging tug. It has to be rooted in something the character truly cares about, and the stakes have to be clear and personal, not just abstract. When the choice flips the hero’s own values against the bigger good, it exposes the cracks in our moral assumptions, and that’s where the story gains depth. The trick is not to make the outcome inevitable; you want the reader to feel that the hero could go either way and still be true to themselves. When you balance those two forces just right, the paradox becomes the engine that drives the narrative forward.

I just finished “The Midnight Library.” The whole story turns on Nora’s nagging doubt—does she stick to the life she’s already lived, or gamble on a thousand untried paths? Her internal tug‑of‑war drives every choice she makes, and the plot literally folds around those small, honest moments of decision. It’s a neat example of how a single paradox can ripple through the whole narrative.