Where have all happy endings gone?

“And so they lived happily ever after.”

While that’s a common enough ending for the younger readers, I can’t think of a single modern novel off the top of my head that ends completely happily for all/most of the characters (with the notable exception of genres like chick lit/romance where the inevitable Shakespeare comedy plot plays out or those stories that turn abruptly at the end to give an almost false sense of hope). Why is that? After all, if some critics believe that novels are meant to mirror real life, where are the stories documenting loving marriages, healthy children being born, or even just successful careers coming to a happy end? Granted, there is quite a bit of tragedy in the world – both large and small – but some of the greatest stories ever told are all about good triumphing over evil. So where is that other “happy” percentage of the population being represented with quality lit. and the small joys of their lives? Is happy lit. too boring or too close to life?

To that end, I was chatting with some Russian friends a few weeks ago and they said one of their major issues with Russian literature is that it is ALL political and depressing. Their lives were bad enough at times in Russia, “why read more about tragedy, poverty, and suffering when we already know all about it from history?” they asked.

I really didn’t have a good answer for them as I’ve been wondering the same thing myself. While I am all for realistic fiction and love dark, tragically beautiful novels as much as any bibliophile, I’m surprised by how imbalanced the current publication market seems to be – with the most graphic, devastating books reaping in all the praise while anything that seems to be positive about life gets relegated to that “inspirational” / “book club” / “beach read” pile that doom it to huge success with the general public but largely ignored by the literary elite.

On the other hand, many of the nonfiction memoirs that are popular now are all about the “happy path” – most notably, the recent film adaptation of Eat Pray Love. It certainly does not surprise me to find out that many women have tried to follow Gilbert’s same itinerary to a more peaceful, blissful existence. These followers rationalize that it worked for one, it can work for them. And, after all, books like Gilbert’s are almost an extension of that bookstore staple – the advice/lifestyle section. When I worked at a major retail bookstore the latest celebrity fad diet/exercise/lifestyle book would fly off the shelf (on the other hand, those clever, dreary fiction books may only be sold one every few hours).

So what happened to those classics of literature that managed to combine both in a brilliant and beautiful way? Why don’t we want advice or keys to a happy life in our fiction anymore? Why can’t we model our lives on fictional characters who have the space, opportunities, and ability to find a better life?

I wonder if partially we have so many other avenues for these “happy” stories (from “feel-good” TV comedies to fuzzy newscasts that “salute” the good people in our communities every week to the heartfelt and real outpourings of love and support after the many major tragedies that have rocked our nation along with the world in these last few decades) that fiction is perhaps one of the last places where people can freely explore these corners of darkness and call it art. “Let’s be realistic in our fiction!” was the clarion call for the 20th Century American writer (and many of the world writers) and certainly their outpouring about their lives has lived up to that cry – focusing on war, atrocities, and the seedy underbelly of our urban centers.

So, in a way, my questions boil down to these incredibly open-ended questions: are today’s fiction writers just so unhappy that no realistic fiction can end well or only with a small sliver of hope? Or, are these would-be happy writers moving their stories to another genre where it can be taken more seriously as advice is coming from honest-to-God experience and not a fantasy world of what could potentially work out for someone?

Or perhaps I’m missing the point entirely. Perhaps I should be focusing on the changing readership that reflects the common morality and perspective of their times which helps define what constitutes a “good story.”

However, it’s certainly something to think about before I get to answer that question from yet another student asking me why most of their reading lists are full of “super depressing people who just super depress me.” I wish I had a better answer. Or, at least, a happy one…