I’m delighted to announce that I’ve just received 2 boxes full of copies of a new Christmas Anthology, for which I am one of the contributing authors. This is “a festive feast of stories, poems and reflections” and entitled Merry Christmas Everyone.
The anthology is published by the Association of Christian Writers. It covers the entire spectrum of emotions that this season can arouse, and I have contributed a piece called The Christmas List.
The book’s available on all online retail sites and I have two dozen copies myself which you may order from me if you live in the UK, at the retail price of £8.99 plus p & p £1.50. If you do wish to order please contact me via this website and I will mail you a copy enclosing the invoice.
The book is a wonderful resource for Christmas readings – whether that be for parties, gatherings of friends and family round the fireside or dinner table, or church services.
If you read the book I do hope you find something in there which speaks to your heart, however you feel about this season – across the entire emotional range.
How important is it for the ending of a novel to satisfy?
To what extent can an author be held responsible for this, or is it down to the heart and mind of the reader?
In 2012 I published an online article about novel endings in which I quoted Robert McKee in his excellent book Story. He describes many different types of endings, in popular films and novels. He says the main protagonist may not achieve their desire, but ‘the flood of insight that pours from the gap delivers the hoped-for emotion… in a way we could never have foreseen.’
I believe the end to a novel must satisfy, wheher it be ironic, bittersweet, tragic, creepy, heartbreaking, chilling, shocking, tantalising or fairy-tale happy.
A good end to a story may deal out poetic justice, wisdom, truth, comedy, surprise, a frisson of terror… but it should never be disappointing, pointless, depressing, or (worst of all, I think) unnecessary.
I believe this last charge could be levelled at Louis de Bernieres for his ending of Captain Corelli’s Mandolin – a book which otherwise made a strong impact on me and which I found compelling.
Recently I’ve spoken to a few people about unsatisfying novel endings. I heard this comment from my 17 year old son about the end to GP Taylor’s young adult novel Shadowmancer: “I was left wondering what on earth had happened. I felt disappointed.”
I know I am not alone in my reaction to the end of Louis de Bernieres’s novel. To me, the end of the story was unnecessary and pointless; it made me feel angry. I don’t even believe that a poor ending to a novel can be justified by the notion that “well, life is like that”. Even if cruel irony plays its part in the outcome, nevertheless, we should feel that the end plays an essential part in the organic whole of the world which the novel presents.
I’ve also heard some negative reactions to the final outcome of CS Lewis’s Narnia stories. I myself felt slightly unsatisfied and disappointed. I felt that in some curious undefined way it was “a cop-out”. Others have reacted more strongly to this disappointment. CS Lewis’s finale made them furious, having loved the books so much!
I hope that the end of my novel A Passionate Spirit will satisfy. Whether it will chill, or shock, or surprise… I’ll leave that up to you, my future reader!
Rob Parsons has beguiled,moved,and doubled me up in laughter several times on this subject, both in person as an inspirational speaker, and in writing. Now he has again written on a topic that should be closely studied by policy-makers. If you’re a parent, and you’d sooner your child achieved their critical acclaim and professional success in a couple of decades time by some other means than publishing their misery memoir, Rob Parsons sets it out in very simple,clear terms in “The Sixty Minute Family” (pub.Lion).
One of his answers is as simple as a father spending ordinary time with his child – just “being there”. And beyond that is a truth: “relationships matter more than money”. I expect many more books will be written in more complex terms, saying the same thing.
Within classic story structure, what is the one most familiar trope a writer can always rely on? It’s the Dysfunctional Parent/Child relationship. The Disney story writers trade on it, the psychiatrists and counsellors make their living from it; the radio interviewers and TV chat show hosts recognise it as their most fruitful area of analysis.
Reading what Parsons has to say now (the book was published in 2010)I feel his stance has toughened since I first heard him on this subject. This book gives strong clues to the powerful influence of physically and emotionally absent parents upon the society we live in. But to end on an uplifting note, it may be, as Parsons says, that “most of us are doing a much better job of parenting than we think – and it normally turns out better than we dared hope”.
Several years ago, I nearly signed on for Robert McKee’s “Story Structure” workshop in London – tempted by the testimonial from John Cleese, who attributed his success in creating the Fawlty Towers scripts to what he learned from this workshop. But I saw it was essentially for screenwriters, and chose to pass on it. I have since recognised that story structure is universal, and applies not only to screenwriters, but also novelists. When I recently found this book in Waterstones Piccadilly, the inner voice said “Buy it!” And I obeyed. Now I’ve absorbed all that McKee has to say about story, it will transform the way I work on the second draft of my new novel.
Story saturates our lives, through books, plays, the theatre, TV and radio drama, and movies; and we all respond to story instinctively. And yet if we were asked to explain why we respond as we do, and why something works or not, many of us would fall silent. But Robert McKee does explain. One thing that has long mystified me is: “How is it that we are satisfied by a story where the protagonist does not achieve his desire?” McKee replies that “the flood of insight that pours from the gap delivers the hoped-for emotion, but in a way we could never have foreseen.” He illustrates his points with many references to famous movies. “Story” is a huge challenge; dense and even overwhelming, its author acknowledges this at the end: “You have pursued “Story” to its final chapter and, with this step, taken your career in a direction many writers fear… I know that when confronted with a rush of insights even the most experienced writer can be knocked off stride.” I hope that, having studied thoughtfully, as I “follow the quest for stories told with meaning and beauty,” I too may “write boldly” and produce stories that “will dazzle the world.”