I find your method of considering suspension of disbelief fascinating.

Your take on suspension of disbelief seems to lean heavily on new criticism, which I'm sure you're familiar with. New criticism insists on the self-contained nature of the work, analyzing its form, internal logic, internal consistencies, internal aesthetics, etc. We owe the practice of close reading to the new critics, even as they attempted to gloss over the external ramifications or applications of literature (e.g., the cultural significance of the work of the Harlem Renaissance writers).

I find your take interesting because I have never personally critically examined the suspension of disbelief. In fact, I've only ever used it in a colloquial, non-academic sense. Usually, when I've used the phrase, I've used it to compare a work of fiction against my perceived reality. Basically, as a barometer for how believable a work is and how much of my world and worldview I need to leave behind to even understand how this fictional universe works or how the characters behave in it. I'll give you two examples.

First, The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand. Her characters are all so steeped in her objectivist worldview that it is, at times, impossible to understand or anticipate their actions. There is a logic and a pattern to their behavior, and I remember actually quite liking the development of the characters, dialogue, and plot, but their objectivist worldview is sociopathic. And there are problems galore with the messaging, but I'll leave that critique aside; I'm sure it's been written about plenty.

In the realm of video games, I've often had trouble with suspension of disbelief in Hideo Kojima's works. There's some real nonsense in there. I pick on his games because he presents a narrative that endeavors so assiduously to maintain its grounding in our reality--or at least something very closely adjacent to our reality. Then, Vamp runs vertically up a silo, The Sorrow takes me on a spirit vision quest down that godforsaken river, and deep hypnosis is supposed to explain what's going on with Liquid Ocelot. The series is so replete with fantastical elements, reversals, scientific jargony explanations, and then retconned explanations that it leaves the player's head spinning. Ultimately, when I play those games, I have to choose to suspend my disbelief about the way this universe operates because otherwise I'm going to be constantly questioning how various actions and plot points are even possible.

But I do it willingly. I suspend my disbelief because Kojima is a damn good storyteller. I have my gripes with each of his games, but they've all made me more critically engage with the world around me. Furthermore, with Kojima in particular, all those competing explanations and contradictions that he himself has worked into the story end up actually working cohesively. With his constant struggle between genetics and socialization as the determinants of human destiny, the contradictory answers add something to the narrative. They keep the debate alive and force me to consider the limitations of ideological adherence to one view or the other. From Kojima's games, I've learned to never underestimate the power of either force.

Like I said, I've never critically engaged with the concept of suspension of disbelief (although I've critically engaged with MGS plenty). You've drawn my attention to another way of analyzing and enjoying literature, so thanks for that!