Knowing the ending before the beginning

Source A: an original imagined contribution by a reader who enjoys stories told out of chronological order.

Knowing an outcome does not always remove my reason to read. If a novel begins with somebody leaving a house for the last time, I may become more interested in the small decisions which made that departure possible. The question changes from what will happen to how an ordinary room acquired the meaning it has at the end.

A return to an earlier scene can also make me revise a judgement. A gesture which seemed cold may acquire another explanation. I enjoy having to hold a first impression lightly while the account gives me something I did not know.

I do not want confusion for its own sake. A rearranged sequence still needs to give me reasons to follow it. But chronological order is a choice too, not a neutral arrangement from which every other structure is an unnecessary departure.

Source B: an original imagined contribution by a reader who generally prefers chronological storytelling.

I like discovering a decision alongside the person making it. When I know too much about the ending, I can begin treating an earlier scene as a collection of clues rather than an event whose possibilities are still open. I want time to be uncertain with a character before being asked to explain the result.

That is a preference, not a rule that stories must imitate a calendar. A later opening can create a powerful question, and an earlier scene may deserve a second reading. My objection comes when the rearrangement seems to supply a puzzle without making the people more interesting.

A straightforward sequence can contain ambiguity and surprise too. It can let a small act gather consequences the reader did not foresee. I would ask what a structure allows us to experience, rather than assume that a broken timeline is automatically more demanding or a continuous one automatically simpler.

Compare the views in Sources A and B about the order in which a story is told.