"A ship in harbor is safe, but that is not what a ship is for."
Once upon a time there was a pretty little girl with stars in her eyes and a smile that came straight from the heart. She couldn't wait to grow up because in all the books she'd read, being 'grown-up' meant that the 'happily-ever-after' thing would begin and life would always treat her with gentle loving hands and she would be absolutely exactly that: happy, ever after.
Then one day she found out that not all books end on a positive note. One day she found out that some stories end horribly. Logically, but horribly. Sometimes, the pretty little girl with the heartfelt smile felt trapped, like a rat in a cage. Sometimes, the pretty little girl felt cornered, like a bewildered wild thing feeling the walls on three sides and seeing choices she'd made of her own free will standing in front of the only exit and knowing that to get out she'd have to destroy them. She could see beyond, to the world outside where there were at least different walls and different cages and different choices in the doorways, but all she could do was look because to do anything else would be to hit something else a blow that would be unfair and uncalled for and devastating, inevitable as it certainly was, and the little girl, trapped in the cage and with the walls at her back and sides, wanting out, wanting OUT, knew she'd have to gnaw off her own leg to do so and while most days it seemed as though it would be worth it anyway, on the days when her mind was functioning properly she knew that even if she did it, the leg she left behind would never heal and would hurt forever and that others besides her would feel the pain. . . . .
And some days, most days, she realized that the stories with horrible endings were better than stories with no ending at all. She realized, too, that the reason those stories wherein the reader could choose her own ending always seemed horrible to her was because it's the responsibility of the author to choose the ending; the author owes it to the reader to end the story; what if the ending the little girl chose wasn't the ending she would have chosen several years down the road; once the story has an ending, aren't all options then forever closed? Is it possible to go back and choose another ending for the same story? And if she did that, what would happen to all the characters who were comfortable with the first ending?
One day the little girl realized that a comfortable ending can be the worst kind of pap-ish cop-out writing. Sometimes, a frenetic orgy of twists and turns and ironies and schema and decisions and introduction of new characters when the reader least suspects it could happen, is the best kind of ending.
Then again, maybe the best kind of ending is the kind wherein all those things happen, and we are left at the end satisfied, yet we were involved enough to wonder what happened after the words "The end" have been stamped onto that last page. . . . .
The little girl has never been able to discount the periphery characters. Yes, we are all ecstatic that the lovers finally came together, but what about the heartbreak of those who were abandoned by these same lovers in order that they might come together at the end? What do the abandoned ones think about when they go home, take off their bridal clothes and climb into bed alone, after all?
We focus on the main characters and we don't really pay much attention to the subplot characters who often sacrifice all that the main characters might find happiness.
If the little girl could stop thinking about them, she might break free and do it. If she could stop thinking about those periphery characters, she would be free.
If she could stop thinking about them.
Perhaps every story, then, is really a continued story. But those always seemed a kind of cop-out, too.
The little girl is confused. Really, really confused.
Then one day she found out that not all books end on a positive note. One day she found out that some stories end horribly. Logically, but horribly. Sometimes, the pretty little girl with the heartfelt smile felt trapped, like a rat in a cage. Sometimes, the pretty little girl felt cornered, like a bewildered wild thing feeling the walls on three sides and seeing choices she'd made of her own free will standing in front of the only exit and knowing that to get out she'd have to destroy them. She could see beyond, to the world outside where there were at least different walls and different cages and different choices in the doorways, but all she could do was look because to do anything else would be to hit something else a blow that would be unfair and uncalled for and devastating, inevitable as it certainly was, and the little girl, trapped in the cage and with the walls at her back and sides, wanting out, wanting OUT, knew she'd have to gnaw off her own leg to do so and while most days it seemed as though it would be worth it anyway, on the days when her mind was functioning properly she knew that even if she did it, the leg she left behind would never heal and would hurt forever and that others besides her would feel the pain. . . . .
And some days, most days, she realized that the stories with horrible endings were better than stories with no ending at all. She realized, too, that the reason those stories wherein the reader could choose her own ending always seemed horrible to her was because it's the responsibility of the author to choose the ending; the author owes it to the reader to end the story; what if the ending the little girl chose wasn't the ending she would have chosen several years down the road; once the story has an ending, aren't all options then forever closed? Is it possible to go back and choose another ending for the same story? And if she did that, what would happen to all the characters who were comfortable with the first ending?
One day the little girl realized that a comfortable ending can be the worst kind of pap-ish cop-out writing. Sometimes, a frenetic orgy of twists and turns and ironies and schema and decisions and introduction of new characters when the reader least suspects it could happen, is the best kind of ending.
Then again, maybe the best kind of ending is the kind wherein all those things happen, and we are left at the end satisfied, yet we were involved enough to wonder what happened after the words "The end" have been stamped onto that last page. . . . .
The little girl has never been able to discount the periphery characters. Yes, we are all ecstatic that the lovers finally came together, but what about the heartbreak of those who were abandoned by these same lovers in order that they might come together at the end? What do the abandoned ones think about when they go home, take off their bridal clothes and climb into bed alone, after all?
We focus on the main characters and we don't really pay much attention to the subplot characters who often sacrifice all that the main characters might find happiness.
If the little girl could stop thinking about them, she might break free and do it. If she could stop thinking about those periphery characters, she would be free.
If she could stop thinking about them.
Perhaps every story, then, is really a continued story. But those always seemed a kind of cop-out, too.
The little girl is confused. Really, really confused.
posted by Eyre at 7:37 AM
1 Comments:
Safe harbors are boring, if comfortable. This piece makes me twitchy and itchy in a wonderful way.
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