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Unit 9 · Topic 9.4

9.4 Endings: release, unseen pressures and loose ends

When the suspense or central conflict finally resolves, readers may feel catharsis, an emotional release. Some pressures on a character come from things the story never shows, like a character who never appears or an action that happened before the story began. And some endings leave conflicts unresolved on purpose, which shapes how you read the whole work.

Key terms

  • catharsis
  • resolution
  • unseen character
  • prior action
  • unresolved ending

Catharsis: release when the conflict resolves

Catharsis is an idea from the Greek philosopher Aristotle, who wrote that tragedy rouses pity and fear in the audience and brings about a catharsis of those feelings, usually understood as a purging or release. More broadly, it's the emotional release you feel when built-up suspense finally breaks.

Hamlet ends with almost every major character dead. As Hamlet dies, he says, "The rest is silence," and his friend Horatio answers, "Now cracks a noble heart. Good night, sweet prince." After five acts of delay and dread, the ending is terrible, but it is also a release: the tension is over, and the play gives us a moment of grief and calm.

Pressures you never see

Not every force in a story appears on stage. A dead parent, a past crime or a person who is only mentioned can shape the characters' choices from offstage. Ask what happened before the story began and who the characters keep referring to.

In A Doll's House, the crisis comes from an action taken years before the play opens: Nora forged her dying father's signature to borrow money for a trip that saved Torvald's life. Her father never appears, but his name drives the plot. In Hamlet, the murder of the old king happens before the play starts and pushes every event that follows.

Unresolved endings

Some works end without settling the central conflict. That isn't a flaw; it's a choice that hands the question to you. An open ending often makes the work's central question stick with you longer than a neat answer would.

A Doll's House has one of the most famous open endings in drama. Nora tells Torvald that for their marriage to work, they would both have to change so much "That our life together would be a real wedlock." She leaves. Torvald, alone, wonders whether there's still hope: "The most wonderful thing of all—?" Then the stage direction: "The sound of a door shutting is heard from below." Will Nora come back? Will Torvald change? The play won't say. The ending was so controversial that for an early German production, whose leading actress refused to play it, Ibsen reluctantly wrote a different ending in which Nora stays for her children. He disliked it, and the original ending is the one we read today.

Worked examples

Try each one yourself first, then open the solution.

  1. Example 1

    Interpreting an unresolved ending

    A Doll's House ends with Torvald asking, "The most wonderful thing of all—?" followed by the stage direction "The sound of a door shutting is heard from below." Earlier, Nora says, "I don't believe any longer in wonderful things happening." Explain how the unresolved ending shapes the play's meaning.

    Show the solution
    1. Step 1: Identify what's unresolved: whether Nora will return and whether Torvald can change.
    2. Step 2: Connect the repeated word: "wonderful" echoes Nora's earlier hope that Torvald would sacrifice himself for her, a hope he disappointed.
    3. Step 3: Contrast the two characters at the end: Nora no longer believes in miracles; Torvald now does. Their positions have reversed.
    4. Step 4: Explain the effect of the door: a sound, not an answer. It ends the scene but not the question, which passes to the audience.

    Answer: Sample answer: Ibsen ends with a question and a sound instead of a resolution, and that choice makes the audience finish the play. Torvald's hopeful "The most wonderful thing of all—?" picks up the word Nora has just given up on, so the two have traded places: she now sees clearly, and he is left hoping for a miracle. The door shutting "from below" answers him without words. By refusing to say whether Nora returns, Ibsen shifts the question from what happens to this couple to what would have to change in marriage itself, which is exactly what made the ending so disturbing to its first audiences.

Common mistakes

  • Calling an open ending "confusing" or "unfinished." Explain what the lack of resolution makes you think about.
  • Ignoring events before the story begins. Prior actions often cause the main conflict.
  • Using catharsis to mean any sad ending. It's the release of tension that has built up.

On the exam

  • Multiple-choice questions may ask about the effect of an ending or what an earlier event (before the passage) suggests about a character's situation. Look for references to the past and to offstage characters.
  • In the literary argument essay, the ending is almost always worth discussing, since it's where a work's ideas about its conflict become clearest, or most clearly unsettled.

Connected topics

Videos

  • Tragedy Lessons from Aristotle: Crash Course Theater #3

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  • "What is a Tragedy?": A Literary Guide for English Students and Teachers

    OSU School of Writing, Literature and FilmWatch on YouTube (opens in a new tab)

  • Why tragedies are alluring - David E. Rivas

    TED-EdWatch on YouTube (opens in a new tab)

  • The Raft, the River, and The Weird Ending of Huckleberry Finn: Crash Course Literature 303

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Check yourself

5 questions on 9.4 Endings: release, unseen pressures and loose ends. Pick an answer to see if you got it, and why.

Paragraph 1
ALGERNON. Well, that is exactly what dentists always do. Now, go on! Tell me the whole thing. I may mention that I have always suspected you of being a confirmed and secret Bunburyist; and I am quite sure of it now.
Paragraph 2
JACK. Bunburyist? What on earth do you mean by a Bunburyist?
Paragraph 3
ALGERNON. I’ll reveal to you the meaning of that incomparable expression as soon as you are kind enough to inform me why you are Ernest in town and Jack in the country.
Paragraph 4
JACK. Well, produce my cigarette case first.
Paragraph 5
ALGERNON. Here it is. [Hands cigarette case.] Now produce your explanation, and pray make it improbable. [Sits on sofa.]
Paragraph 6
JACK. My dear fellow, there is nothing improbable about my explanation at all. In fact it’s perfectly ordinary. Old Mr. Thomas Cardew, who adopted me when I was a little boy, made me in his will guardian to his grand-daughter, Miss Cecily Cardew. Cecily, who addresses me as her uncle from motives of respect that you could not possibly appreciate, lives at my place in the country under the charge of her admirable governess, Miss Prism.
Paragraph 7
ALGERNON. Where is that place in the country, by the way?
Paragraph 8
JACK. That is nothing to you, dear boy. You are not going to be invited . . . I may tell you candidly that the place is not in Shropshire.
Paragraph 9
ALGERNON. I suspected that, my dear fellow! I have Bunburyed all over Shropshire on two separate occasions. Now, go on. Why are you Ernest in town and Jack in the country?
Paragraph 10
JACK. My dear Algy, I don’t know whether you will be able to understand my real motives. You are hardly serious enough. When one is placed in the position of guardian, one has to adopt a very high moral tone on all subjects. It’s one’s duty to do so. And as a high moral tone can hardly be said to conduce very much to either one’s health or one’s happiness, in order to get up to town I have always pretended to have a younger brother of the name of Ernest, who lives in the Albany, and gets into the most dreadful scrapes. That, my dear Algy, is the whole truth pure and simple.
Paragraph 11
ALGERNON. The truth is rarely pure and never simple. Modern life would be very tedious if it were either, and modern literature a complete impossibility!
Paragraph 12
JACK. That wouldn’t be at all a bad thing.
Paragraph 13
ALGERNON. Literary criticism is not your forte, my dear fellow. Don’t try it. You should leave that to people who haven’t been at a University. They do it so well in the daily papers. What you really are is a Bunburyist. I was quite right in saying you were a Bunburyist. You are one of the most advanced Bunburyists I know.
Paragraph 14
JACK. What on earth do you mean?
Paragraph 15
ALGERNON. You have invented a very useful younger brother called Ernest, in order that you may be able to come up to town as often as you like. I have invented an invaluable permanent invalid called Bunbury, in order that I may be able to go down into the country whenever I choose. Bunbury is perfectly invaluable. If it wasn’t for Bunbury’s extraordinary bad health, for instance, I wouldn’t be able to dine with you at Willis’s to-night, for I have been really engaged to Aunt Augusta for more than a week.
Paragraph 16
JACK. I haven’t asked you to dine with me anywhere to-night.
Paragraph 17
ALGERNON. I know. You are absurdly careless about sending out invitations. It is very foolish of you. Nothing annoys people so much as not receiving invitations.
Paragraph 18
JACK. You had much better dine with your Aunt Augusta.
Paragraph 19
ALGERNON. I haven’t the smallest intention of doing anything of the kind. To begin with, I dined there on Monday, and once a week is quite enough to dine with one’s own relations. In the second place, whenever I do dine there I am always treated as a member of the family, and sent down with either no woman at all, or two. In the third place, I know perfectly well whom she will place me next to, to-night. She will place me next Mary Farquhar, who always flirts with her own husband across the dinner-table. That is not very pleasant. Indeed, it is not even decent . . . and that sort of thing is enormously on the increase. The amount of women in London who flirt with their own husbands is perfectly scandalous. It looks so bad. It is simply washing one’s clean linen in public. Besides, now that I know you to be a confirmed Bunburyist I naturally want to talk to you about Bunburying. I want to tell you the rules.
Paragraph 20
JACK. I’m not a Bunburyist at all. If Gwendolen accepts me, I am going to kill my brother, indeed I think I’ll kill him in any case. Cecily is a little too much interested in him. It is rather a bore. So I am going to get rid of Ernest. And I strongly advise you to do the same with Mr. . . . with your invalid friend who has the absurd name.
Paragraph 21
ALGERNON. Nothing will induce me to part with Bunbury, and if you ever get married, which seems to me extremely problematic, you will be very glad to know Bunbury. A man who marries without knowing Bunbury has a very tedious time of it.
Paragraph 22
JACK. That is nonsense. If I marry a charming girl like Gwendolen, and she is the only girl I ever saw in my life that I would marry, I certainly won’t want to know Bunbury.
Paragraph 23
ALGERNON. Then your wife will. You don’t seem to realise, that in married life three is company and two is none.
Paragraph 24
JACK. [Sententiously.] That, my dear young friend, is the theory that the corrupt French Drama has been propounding for the last fifty years.
Paragraph 25
ALGERNON. Yes; and that the happy English home has proved in half the time.
Paragraph 26
JACK. For heaven’s sake, don’t try to be cynical. It’s perfectly easy to be cynical.
Paragraph 27
ALGERNON. My dear fellow, it isn’t easy to be anything nowadays. There’s such a lot of beastly competition about. [The sound of an electric bell is heard.] Ah! that must be Aunt Augusta. Only relatives, or creditors, ever ring in that Wagnerian manner. Now, if I get her out of the way for ten minutes, so that you can have an opportunity for proposing to Gwendolen, may I dine with you to-night at Willis’s?
Paragraph 28
JACK. I suppose so, if you want to.
Paragraph 29
ALGERNON. Yes, but you must be serious about it. I hate people who are not serious about meals. It is so shallow of them.

Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest, Act I (first performed 1895; published 1899)

Question 1 of 5

Bunbury, the “permanent invalid” Algernon describes in paragraph 15, never appears on stage. He matters to the plot chiefly because

Question 2 of 5

Jack’s invented brother Ernest and Algernon’s invented Bunbury serve parallel purposes in that both

Paragraph 1
LUBOV. We go away, and not a soul remains behind.
Paragraph 2
LOPAKHIN. Till the spring.
Paragraph 3
VARYA. [Drags an umbrella out of a bundle, and seems to be waving it about. LOPAKHIN appears to be frightened] What are you doing?... I never thought...
Paragraph 4
TROFIMOV. Come along, let’s take our seats... it’s time! The train will be in directly.
Paragraph 5
VARYA. Peter, here they are, your goloshes, by that trunk. [In tears] And how old and dirty they are....
Paragraph 6
TROFIMOV. [Putting them on] Come on!
Paragraph 7
GAEV. [Deeply moved, nearly crying] The train... the station.... Cross in the middle, a white double in the corner....
Paragraph 8
LUBOV. Let’s go!
Paragraph 9
LOPAKHIN. Are you all here? There’s nobody else? [Locks the side-door on the left] There’s a lot of things in there. I must lock them up. Come!
Paragraph 10
ANYA. Good-bye, home! Good-bye, old life!
Paragraph 11
TROFIMOV. Welcome, new life! [Exit with ANYA.]
Paragraph 12
[VARYA looks round the room and goes out slowly. YASHA and CHARLOTTA, with her little dog, go out.]
Paragraph 13
LOPAKHIN. Till the spring, then! Come on... till we meet again! [Exit.]
Paragraph 14
[LUBOV ANDREYEVNA and GAEV are left alone. They might almost have been waiting for that. They fall into each other’s arms and sob restrainedly and quietly, fearing that somebody might hear them.]
Paragraph 15
GAEV. [In despair] My sister, my sister....
Paragraph 16
LUBOV. My dear, my gentle, beautiful orchard! My life, my youth, my happiness, good-bye! Good-bye!
Paragraph 17
ANYA’S VOICE. [Gaily] Mother!
Paragraph 18
TROFIMOV’S VOICE. [Gaily, excited] Coo-ee!
Paragraph 19
LUBOV. To look at the walls and the windows for the last time.... My dead mother used to like to walk about this room....
Paragraph 20
GAEV. My sister, my sister!
Paragraph 21
ANYA’S VOICE. Mother!
Paragraph 22
TROFIMOV’S VOICE. Coo-ee!
Paragraph 23
LUBOV. We’re coming! [They go out.]
Paragraph 24
[The stage is empty. The sound of keys being turned in the locks is heard, and then the noise of the carriages going away. It is quiet. Then the sound of an axe against the trees is heard in the silence sadly and by itself. Steps are heard. FIERS comes in from the door on the right. He is dressed as usual, in a short jacket and white waistcoat; slippers on his feet. He is ill. He goes to the door and tries the handle.]
Paragraph 25
FIERS. It’s locked. They’ve gone away. [Sits on a sofa] They’ve forgotten about me.... Never mind, I’ll sit here.... And Leonid Andreyevitch will have gone in a light overcoat instead of putting on his fur coat.... [Sighs anxiously] I didn’t see.... Oh, these young people! [Mumbles something that cannot be understood] Life’s gone on as if I’d never lived. [Lying down] I’ll lie down.... You’ve no strength left in you, nothing left at all.... Oh, you... bungler!
Paragraph 26
[He lies without moving. The distant sound is heard, as if from the sky, of a breaking string, dying away sadly. Silence follows it, and only the sound is heard, some way away in the orchard, of the axe falling on the trees.]
Paragraph 27
Curtain.

Anton Chekhov, The Cherry Orchard (1904), the end of Act IV, translated by Julius West (1916)

Question 3 of 5

The stage direction in paragraph 14, in which Lubov and Gaev “sob restrainedly and quietly, fearing that somebody might hear them,” suggests that they

Question 4 of 5

The offstage voices calling “Mother!” and “Coo-ee!” (paragraphs 17–22) affect the scene chiefly by

Question 5 of 5

The play’s ending, with Fiers lying “without moving,” the sound of “a breaking string,” and “the axe falling on the trees” (paragraphs 25–26), is best described as

0 of 5 answered