Sense of a (Happy) Ending
by Elizabeth Solar
“You know how you're always tryin' t' get things to come out perfect in art because, uh, it's real difficult in life.”
With those words, Woody Allen captures why we long for stories with happy endings, His neurotic protagonist Alvy Singer, heartbroken when Annie Hall rejects him, writes a play based on their relationship in which Alvy wins her affection, and lives happily ever after. Or at least as happy as one can in Alvy’s death-obsessed world.
We love a happy ending. And why not? Just consider our current reality. As David Byrne sang, This ain’t no party. This ain’t no disco. This ain’t no foolin’ around. We could all use some uplift. An assurance that despite hardship, struggle and strife, we’ll eventually be rewarded for our perseverance, hard work and kind acts. In short, we hope for the best. It doesn’t always happen in life, so we often depend on art to provide it.
Who didn’t root for Harry and Sally to realize maybe a man and woman could be friends – perhaps for a long time – before they finally become lovers? How could you not feel the heart-pounding anxiety, relief, then exuberance of Stephen King’s Andy DuFresne as he escapes Shawshank State Penitentiary. Powered by his innate decency and sense of hope, he transcends his cruel and unfair imprisonment to become a free man. What about that last-minute intervention by the goddess Athena, who helps Odysseus and his son vanquish their enemies, and bring peace to Ithaca?
However, for every Odyssey, there’s an Oedipus Rex. The meet-cute, love-hate banter of When Harry Met Sally stands in contrast Fatal Attraction, a cautionary tale about adultery, being ignored, and rabbit stew, with a little Madame Butterfly thrown in to amp up the melodrama. A more subtle, and kinder take on modern love is the effervescent La La Land, where a romance fizzles as it’s displaced by career ambitions. At least we get a montage imagining an alternate ending of what might have been — if only — in which La La Land’s protagonists live together happily ever after.
As much as we crave the feel-good ending, it’s not always possible, or advisable. Ambiguous, or open-ended conclusions can satisfy, and often act as a litmus test of our own moral, or emotional standing. What we most wish for the protagonist is not always what they want for themselves. We project our values onto the protagonist, and often create them in our image because we empathize with them, and want what’s best for them. As readers, we’re not the boss of them. Sometimes we get what we want – a happy ending – and sometimes we don’t.
In my own novel, I’ve hammered out various endings. What I decided upon is the most appropriate ending given who my protagonist is, her background, emotional state and where her journey has taken her thus far. But in general, how do we know how to end a story? What is the most logical, and emotionally satisfying trajectory to pursue?
It is said an ending should be both surprising and inevitable. It would be consistent to the experience and character of the protagonist, lessons learned, tragic flaws, and their goals/desires. When it’s time to wrap up your story, ask, Is this path realistic for the protagonist? Is it a satisfying, somewhat surprising, but inevitable conclusion? Does the ending strain credulity, and betray your protagonist by being inconsistent with their personality and history? Are try to please, be coy or clever in an effort to ‘please’ the reader? That’s pandering. It’s cheap. So stop it.
Writing an ending for your story is hard. So is writing the beginning. And middle. Just as first impressions can be lasting, so can final impressions. How do you want your reader to feel after they have committed precious time, attention and emotion to the little world you have manufactured? If you ‘make nice,’ you risk cheating your reader, as well as your narrative.
Whether your ending is happy, tragic, or somewhere in between, leave behind something beautiful, memorable and truthful.
That may be the best kind of happy ending for reader and writer alike.
