Last night I was having a very important IM conversation with my friend Caryn, and she sent me a link:
Nine Depressing True Life Adult Counterparts of Beloved Children’s Books (my favorite is Ramona Quimby, Failed Graphic Designer)
It’s a pretty funny list, and it made me think about how often times, the ending is not enough. A lot of the time when I get to the end of a book, reading the last page is just a jumping-off point for my imagination to wander through all the possibilities of what might happen next. (And just as many times, I am relieved to get to the end of the book because reading it was such a horrible chore, or I am angered by the ending of a book because I can’t believe I read everything and that was the way it ended — I’m looking at YOU, Tess of the D’Urbervilles, or I would be if I had not thrown you across the room and left you in the corner six years ago in a different house. But these are different subjects for different days.)
Anyway, what is it with us? That the end isn’t good enough? That we have to pick up where the story left off? As much as I understand it, there’s an equal part of me that doesn’t get it at all. While I will watch movie sequels (for example, I have every Die Hard movie ever made on DVD, and shut up, they’re awesome), I’m not a big fan of book sequels. Perhaps this is because when I was 13, I read Scarlett, Alexandra Ripley’s sequel to Margaret Mitchell’s classic, Gone With the Wind, and hated every second of it. (My habit of talking back to books was born then; I kept saying “Oh come on” to the text as I read.) Since then, I have never read a sequel to a book that wasn’t written by the book’s original author, and most of the time, I skip the same-author-penned sequels too.
I don’t know if I’m necessarily a rare case, but when I was looking around for information on stories that follow-up books that have already been written, I came across a hell of a lot of fan fiction (and accidentally stumbled across some of the gay Harry Potter variety, hoo boy). I knew there was all kinds of this stuff out there, from Anne of Green Gables fanfic to the most famous example (that I can think of, but then I am a Jane Austen nerd), Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife, a sequel to Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. I haven’t read it, but apparently after Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy get married, they have lots and lots of super hot sex. A boinkfest, if you will. And if you’ve ever read Pride and Prejudice you totally know that’s going to happen anyway, even without a written sequel.
Now, I’m not against fan fiction or sequels at all, but I don’t think they’re my kind of thing. I guess for me, while I might like to think from time to time about what happens to characters after I’ve read the last sentence of a book, I don’t want anybody to tell me what they think happens, nor do I want to tell anybody else what I think happens. It’s sort of a personal thing, or at least it’s individual, kind of like the way I imagine what characters look like as I read (and then film adaptations, no matter how good they are, always get it wrong).
It’s an interesting thing to do as a writer, I think, taking on a world of characters that has already been created and making something new from it. It’s not something I would do, because I have enough trouble with the stuff I make up on my own, but I’m sort of fascinated by it. Is it devotion, disappointment with the ending, a need for the characters to keep going, that drives people to write sequels to books? Why not just write something completely new? (And what exactly is the dividing line between a sequel and fan fiction?) I’m curious.
And while I’m in question mode, and because I think it might be interesting, what books can you think of that need sequels?