More often than not the ending of a story is some kind of conclusion. It is a closing remark that ties together all of the loose ends and provides a sense of security for the reader. When a story ends mysteriously, abruptly, or with a paradoxical question the reader is left asking questions. The endings of both Through the Looking Glass, and Haroun and the Sea of Stories are suggestive in their own rights, but what message is being communicated?
In Through the Looking Glass Lewis Carroll leaves the reader with the impossible question, “Which dreamt it?”—referring to Tweedledee’s claim that Alice and everything else was a dream of the Red King, and if he woke then they would all disappear. This leaves Alice in murky metaphysical mucky-muck, and she is clearly distraught by the implications. If she’s dreaming the Red King, how could he be dreaming her? Is it possible that she doesn’t exist? Obviously no simple answer to this mind-twisting paradox is readily available, but some light can be shed on the conundrum by examining Carroll’s relationship with his creative inspiration—Alice Liddell.
Carroll’s estrangement from the Liddell family took a great toll on his relationship with Alice. In his introductory poem he writes,
I have not seen thy sunny face,
Nor heard thy silver laughter:
No thought of me shall find a place
In thy young life’s hereafter.
Carroll fears that he will no longer have a place in Alice’s life when she grows up and on a more personal note he fears that the stories he has created will be cast aside as Alice matures. One theme of Through the Looking Glass is Alice’s gradual maturation and control over her life concluding with her becoming a Queen and defeating the Red Queen. Like Haroun’s terrible question to his father, “whats the point of stories that aren’t even true?” (H 137), Carroll worries that his passion for storytelling along with his love for Alice will all be in vain.
Now consider Carroll the Red King, and Alice—Alice Liddell. Creation is a very personal act and much writing is subliminal. Deeper roots of the fears hinted at in the prefatory poem are exposed in this ultimate question. Did he truly know Alice or did he just create his conception of her? Did he, like the Red King, dream of her overactive imagination. She no longer seemed to be the girl he used to care for so deeply. What had either of them gained from their relationship? Was she the influence of his writing—or was he writing to influence her? Rushdie similarly questions the purpose of telling stories and his ending betrays a personal depth to the story.
In Haroun he leaves us in typical fairytale fashion with his closing words, “The End.” Coming after a suspiciously happy ending it makes the reader question Rushdie’s motives—life is definitely not always happy. As the Walrus says,
“Happy endings are much rarer in stories, and also in life, than most people think. You can almost say that they are the exceptions, not the rule”(201)
In the beginning it seemed like things were over for Haroun and Rashid. Rashid could no longer tell stories. Their clocks were all broken when his mother left—time was standing still. What Haroun and Rashid learned was that, though things seemed bleak, it never truly was the end. Everyone was sad, but Haroun never considered the fact that the world moves on—things change.
Is Rushdie just creating a puzzling contradiction, or is there something more to his use of a storybook ending? Haroun says when he sees the people of his town dancing and laughing in the rain,
“Don’t you get it? It isn’t real. It’s just something the Eggheads got out of a bottle. It’s all fake. People should be happy when there’s something to be happy about, not just when they get bottled happiness poured all over them from the sky.”
His use of fake happiness to resolve the story seems contrived. Rushdie creates a fairytale world in which things do not always turn out right, but somehow it all ends on a happy note. Is he betraying the message of his book?
It was obviously not the end, but a new beginning. Like the Walrus said
“Happy endings must come at the end of something…if they happen in the middle of a story, or an adventure, or the like, all they do is cheer things up for a bit.” (202)
Then it is completely sensible that the ultimate line of the story just before “The End“ was “outside in the living room his mother had begun to sing”(211). The message Rushdie is conveying is that of hope and new beginnings. Life goes on. No matter how “Khattam-shud” everything appears to be, it never truly is.
Carroll recognizes this hope in Alice, and Rushdie sees it in Haroun. Both young, malleable characters undergo transformation and gain maturity through adversity. They go over a few bumps in the road and emerge more knowledgeable of the workings of the world.
Rushdie’s ending supported the triumph of imagination while Carroll’s was a bit darker. He feared the loss of imagination and creativity associated with getting older and gaining control over one’s life. As Khattam-shud’s quest for ultimate control could only be accomplished through the destruction of all stories, Alice’s maturity, and resulting control over her life could only be accomplished through a loss of innocence. In the end however they both emphasize the triumph of hope and imagination, while expressing some unsurety as to where exactly life will lead.
Ever drifting down the stream—
lingering in the golden dream—
Life, what is it but a dream
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