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The ending is perhaps the most crucial part of a novel. The reason is of course its role in tying narratively loose threads and overall rendering the narrative sense-making. Moreover, the narrative ending is what the author leaves the reader with as a last impression. And one of the attributes of this last impression is whether it offers catharsis or not. Inevitably, cathartic endings are an important topic in fiction.

Very generally, catharsis in psychology refers to an experience that allows us to express, face, and understand strong emotions – particularly emotions that are repressed.

With this in mind, then, cathartic endings are endings that release the pent-up pressure the narrative has generated – for affective reasons, of course. For example, imagine a narrative where two people have feelings for each other which they keep a secret, because of social or other reasons, but which they reveal to each other in the finale.

So, ultimately, understanding cathartic endings – their dynamics, how you can structure them, how you can use them – allows you to have maximum control of your narrative endings and thus narrative at large.

How Catharsis “Works”

In other words, what is the effect or offering (or withholding) a cathartic ending? It becomes obvious that, before we discuss how we can get a cathartic ending, we should know what happens with a cathartic ending and why we might want to do that.

Fictional catharsis works similarly as in real life: When you let go of repressed, pent-up emotional energy – for instance, because you acknowledge, express, or reveal it – interesting things happen. Almost always there are more emotions coming to the surface, and almost always they are uncontrollable – that is, even more than emotions in general.

Remember a time when you were very anxious about something, and you couldn’t do anything about it – perhaps not even share it with others.

Imagine, say, going to the doctor’s to hear the results from tests that could indicate a serious illness. You hear the results are clear, there’s nothing to worry about. You thank the doctor, barely keeping it together, then the moment you exit their office, you are overwhelmed by emotions – you cry, you laugh, you want to scream; your whole life is passing before your eyes; you reconsider everything; you want to climb Mount Everest, visit a tropical island, have a party – you’re almost manic.

Cathartic Endings are Vicarious

In fiction, the only difference is that the reader’s experience is vicarious. Inevitably, that lessens its impact a bit – though how many times have you cried at the end of a movie when something suspended is finally resolved?

Nonetheless, vicarious or not, catharsis in fiction operates the same way as in life. Cathartic endings still offer the reader the experiences of emotional resolution, an inspiration to reflect and reconsider, and an enhanced ability for imaginative processes.

Reading this, you might think it sounds great, also wondering why on earth should we not offer a cathartic ending always.

The tricky detail lies here: Emotional resolution, reflection and reconsideration, as well as imagination, are all processes that are beyond active control.

As an author, you can put your reader in such a state with a cathartic ending, but you can’t steer them in a direction. They do virtually all of the interpretative work, which means you, as an author, have no control of how the audience will feel, what they will think, or how they will react about your narrative after it has finished.

This also means, genre is the limiting factor here.

The Role of Genre

Cathartic endings are somewhat paradoxical: At the same time they offer readers what they want (e.g. in the form of two characters becoming romantically involved), yet also set the foundations for divergence. That is to say, cathartic endings both fulfill expectations and yet plant the seed of doubt.

Let me put this another way: Cathartic endings are both about similarity, convergence, the fulfillment of the intended audience’s expectations, and about difference, divergence, dejection. Cathartic endings are potentially both about marketing and about art – if all this sounds familiar, you’ve read about it in my post on introducing characters.

All this would seem to make cathartic endings a bit peculiar in terms of genre.

Cathartic Endings as Tropes

In reality, certain genres have resolved such predicaments by incorporating cathartic endings in their trope collection. For example, if you write romance fiction, you are certainly expected to offer your readers a narrative where catharsis is achieved – in the form of “happily ever after”. Conversely, if you write literary fiction, you have much greater flexibility in deciding what to do.

Of course, these are the two extremes. There are many in-between states where you have at least some wiggle room. That also makes matters more complicated. Would readers of, say, fantasy fiction expect a cathartic ending or not, and in which form? There are cases where catharsis-as-trope is even alluded to, assigning strong metatextual elements to the whole picture – and creatively destabilizing it in the process.

Remember, a cathartic ending – at least in certain forms – is about losing control of your narrative (beyond what you already have, that is). Sometimes and in some ways this is worth it (because it enhances the interpretative depth of your narrative), sometimes and in some ways this isn’t (because you need, for whatever reason, to deter readers from interpreting an ending too loosely).

So, how can you control a cathartic ending? Let’s see right away.

Cathartic Endings: Associations and Conflicts

Let me explain the subheading right away: By “associations and conflicts”, I refer to the ways certain narrative strategies and elements work either with or against cathartic endings. That is to say, there are ways to enhance catharsis, as there are ways to dilute it.

It goes without saying that understanding what these strategies and elements are and how they operate is crucial in learning how to control cathartic endings – to the extent it’s possible.

With this in mind, here’s the quick list. Consider it a cheat sheet for paving your narrative way for cathartic endings.

Ambiguity and Multiple Endings

Many narrative endings are open-ended and ambiguous. That is, a narrative can leave interpretative room for multiple endings. Depending on the specifics, this can either enhance or dilute catharsis. How, you might ask.

In an ambiguous context, if the apparent outcome is negative, ambiguity will enhance catharsis – because it allows readers to imagine a positive outcome. Conversely, if the outcome seems to be positive, ambiguity dilutes catharsis because it introduces doubt.

For example, in Bram Stoker’s Dracula the apparent outcome seems to be a positive one; the vampire is dead, hurray! But as Maurice Hindle aptly argues, the chilling ambiguity surrounding the ending and the child of Mina and Jonathan Harker far dilutes this kind of domestic Victorian catharsis. Again, it’s interesting to note how certain modes of writing have incorporated ambiguity and catharsis into their core.

Inevitability

Narrative inevitability is something genre fiction is really uncomfortable with. First of all, much of genre fiction seems to conflate inevitability with surprise – see my post on narrative endings for all the details. But beyond that, inevitability (perhaps counterintuitively!) is more cathartic than avoidability.

In other words, a narrative that is inevitable will lead to more purely cathartic endings than a narrative with Deus-ex-machina devices, alien space bats, and all kinds of ad hoc explanations.

The problem is, it will also be an ending outside genre tropes – hence genre fiction would rather avoid it.

If, for example, we assumed a romance fiction novel involving a rich male tycoon and his female secretary (yawn…), it would be much more inevitable to have an ending involving the two going their separate ways. But because genre constraints can’t allow that, all sorts of bizarre “solutions” are invoked to avoid it – say, it turns out the secretary is the long-lost daughter of another rich tycoonNotice how we could have a feminist discourse on male possession here. I wonder, are there women who actually read such drivel? But I digress… and thus “it makes sense” (yawn…) for the two – finally same-class – lovebirds (yuck…) to remain together.

Both endings are cathartic, but whereas one is a true catharsis (leading to reconsideration and reflection), the other is a trope-based catharsis (leading to the perpetuation of the same genre patterns).

Concepts, Metatextuality, Symbolism

All these elements – to various extents – eventually fall under the umbrella term of “ambiguity”. In a nutshell, the more you have elements allowing for multiple interpretations, the more likely to alter the existing balance of catharsis, as we saw above, in the section on ambiguity.

However, these elements also supply an additional dimension: the notion of bigger picture and continuity.

In other words, working with concepts, having a narrative that is metatextually aware (of itself and other texts), and deploying symbolism that alludes to culture and the world at large, are all elements that create the sense that this given narrative is but a part of a much bigger whole.

So, how does that work with cathartic endings?

In that the quantity and quality of these references influence the impact of catharsis. This sounds a bit like a tautology, so allow me to explain.

A work of fiction, no matter its genre, cannot exist in a vacuum. Every author and every reader, as a product of their respective culture and humanity in general, enter the narrative with a certain set of presuppositions. Consider them “default knowledge”. Genre fiction – much more than literary fiction – is about escaping this knowledge; genre fiction is escapist in nature.

Of course the degree varies. Pulp romance fiction would be an extreme, great example of mindless escapism. On the other hand, existentialist science fiction is a far different case, indeed basically a counter example – that is, genre fiction which precisely attempts to reinforce, rather than sever, its connection to the bigger picture.

With this in mind, reinforcing or weakening these conceptual/metatextual/symbolic ties, the author can somewhat control both the degree and the kind of catharsis achieved in the end – with the repercussions described above, in terms of genre and inevitability.

Cathartic Endings Are a Paradox

Ultimately, the nature of catharsis is paradoxical. Perhaps because it’s so dependent on emotions and personal, individual thoughts and ideological stances, it’s very difficult for an author to fully control it.

A cathartic ending is both art and marketing – depending on factors such as the ones I showed you in this post. It’s also both a conclusion and a new beginning, in the sense it “neatly wraps up” (with or without quotation marks) the narrative while potentially introducing serious doubts; questions that follow the reader after it should have all been said and done.

This is a powerful feeling to leave the reader with, but it’s also dangerous – at least if the author precisely wants to control their audience’s reactions. Having readers coming up with multiple interpretations or debating whether this or that truly happened or not are powerful facilitators of literary discussion, yet problematic for a context that relies on similarity, convergence, and relatability – sales, in other words.

Once again, perhaps, we come back to the unsolvable predicament: Are you a writer or an artist?