Sunday, November 16, 2008

Enough with the sad, sad, sad endings, already

I hereby admit that I am not good at the bleak, desolate endings. Even in books. Even in fiction.

I can appreciate complexity, a mix of trauma or tragedy in layers and textures. But throw me a little hope. Give me a sliver I can hang onto.

To the Novelist, I give you my time and, if you write well, my full attention for hundreds of pages. I enter your world, trusting you to take me through it and leave me with something, besides despair.

This morning, I finished a beautifully written book that was, in the end, so completely depressing and sad that I wondered if I should really be reading novels. Maybe I can't handle it. I have a hard time pulling a way from that world, removing myself from the reality I've agreed to follow. I feel robbed. Yes, I'm whining (sorry) and probably pathetic.)

I feel like a wimp. I feel naive. I feel like I may not have the heart or the stomach, the intestinal fortitude, to appreciate literature or the Apocalypse. Living can be scary enough.

Should everything be sugar-coated, all the loose ends tied up? Certainly not. But must it all end badly? Does art require that much suffering? (Or, could I possibly not obsess this much?)

2 comments:

~ said...

Should everything be sugar-coated, all the loose ends tied up? Certainly not. But must it all end badly? Does art require that much suffering? (Or, could I possibly not obsess this much?)


***My thoughts--

First, it's hard enough when a good novel comes to an end, but if it's sad/depressing and not an ending your wanting, that's just a bummer.

Honestly, the real world isn't that great right now so I'm looking for the fairytale, the quickfix, the happy ending.

I think in a time like today, I'd be like you, wanting something uplifting.

I remember the day I stopped watching horror films (which I loved). It was a day I realized the world was scary enough and they were no longer needed.

Oh and sometimes when novelists don't tie everything up, I think they are being forgetful. There, I said it.

Anyway, I'm with you on this.

Joannie said...

Thanks. On the one hand, it seems pretty silly to get so worked up over a novel. On the other hand, it took me about 24 hours to crawl out of it. I'm feeling better now, and ready to turn my attention to the real world that really matters.