atch a detective story, and you'll notice that the detective is masculine while the object of mystery is feminine. This is almost a law of storytelling.

The female carries the mystery, but it doesn’t need to be a woman. It can be a place or a thing. In Lawrence of Arabia, the desert is the female, Lawrence falls in love with her, and the movie is shot to make the desert look gorgeous. In Moby Dick, the ocean is the female; it carries the mystery. In The Maltese Falcon, the falcon is female. It’s the object of desire and its true nature is hidden until the very end. In Beauty in the Beast, the man is the mystery. He represents nature, chaos, the untamed, and the undomesticated. Belle, the woman, rescues the mysterious man by turning him into a human prince.

In all these examples, there’s more to the feminine than meets the eye. The feminine represents the unknown—Lawrence portrays her, the desert, as an enigmatic expanse. The men move “as by magic” because part of dealing with the unknown is that it leads you into uncharted psychological territories. The desert here is feminine because it’s a place that defies logic and control.

The desire for control is impotent in the face of a vast and overwhelming desert, which moves by its own volition. “Men move as magic” pulls you in by latching onto your curiosity and reinforces the mystery. And finally, “in a land of dreams” is where logic ends and fantasy begins.

These traits — mystery, beauty, vastness, and unpredictability — are core to the feminine spirit. The masculine reveals; the feminine conceals. Next time you write a story, make sure the female carries the mystery.