There is a thriller movie starring a famous actor based on a
novella by a famous writer. The main
character is also a writer, and a major plot point in the movie is the importance
of having the right ending. It is not enough to slap an ending on; if it’s
not the right ending, it’s not good enough.
It must be fixed.
Ironically, the movie has a different ending from the
novella—and, in my opinion, a much better ending. You see, the novella ends with a slapped-on
happy ending: a minor cop character from a hundred pages earlier reappears at
exactly the right moment, having figured everything out, and saves the day. (See my last month’s post, Stop Cheating Your
Reader.) By contrast, the film ends with . . . no
one coming to save the day. The person
in danger has to fight for life herself and win or—as in this case—lose on her own
merits.
I like happy endings, personally. I like my media to have the possibility of
hope throughout the narrative, and to end happily. But more important to me than something
ending happily is it ending appropriately: no deus ex machina.
I once saw something write that a deus ex machina never
works except in Diana Wynne Jones’s Dark
Lord of Derkholm, but I would argue that that book doesn't have an ex machina: it clearly establishes at multiple points in the narrative that the gods in the
world could take action under certain circumstances. (On a side note, Dark Lord of Derkholm is one of my very favorite books by my
absolute favorite author; 100% recommended.)
My point here is: having powerful characters come in at the last moment
to lend aid isn’t cheating your
ending or a deus ex machina if those
powerful characters aren’t coming in out of nowhere—if they’re established
throughout the book and then called upon.
The only time I think a deus ex machina isn’t horrifying is when done in
a comedy or parody . . . but even then, presumably the rules of the universe
have been established to show the audience that sharp turns and randomness can come
out of nowhere, so it’s sticking with its premise.
And, for the record, I’ve always hated the ending to Monty Python and the Holy Grail.
But I’m digressing.
Let’s go back to right endings.
In this case, to one of my own books: The Fifth Tunnel. Many
authors have a book they wanted to write before they died. For me, it was The Fifth Tunnel (which I always called Waste Pit). I was originally
inspired by a dream when I was 12. Knowing I needed to write it, I figured I’d
better get it over with soon in case I died early, so I wrote the first draft at
17.
The Fifth Tunnel
does not have a traditionally happy ending.
In fact, it has by far the most tragic ending of all of my books. It is full of melancholy and loneliness. Although I did not understand this while
writing it, in many ways, the book is about depression: about the downward,
reinforcing spiral of depression and its inevitable end, if it is not stopped.
When I told my mother, while I was writing it, the ending,
she said she couldn’t believe any story could realistically
end like that and she was sure it wouldn’t be right. When she finally read the book, she was
forced to concede that it was the perfect ending for the book—although she hated the ending and wished it were happy. But I got her to agree that a "happy" ending wouldn't have been appropriate.
I wish the ending were happy, too.
I wish it could have been both right and happy, but it couldn’t—and,
when given the opportunity, I will always choose right over happy. In life and in books.
. . . and now I am feeling rather melancholy, although I
didn’t mean to go down this path. So I’ll
just leave you, fair reader—and you, who may be a writer:
Let your ending be
the right one. Let it be the inevitable,
truthful one. Let it be the deserved
one, the one that does not cheat or ex
machina. Let it fit your tone and
your message and your characters. Let it
fit. Please. I would rather shed tears over honest sorrow
than be left cold by false joy.
Although, mind, if the truthful ending is a happy one—I’d
like that even better.
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