There is a strange feeling in finishing something you were so invested in. I’ve recently finished two long brilliant novels and it has got me thinking about endings.
I have always flicked to the end of a book to see what number the book ends on, so I can count down to the final page. If I’m reading on my Kindle I am constantly keeping one eye on the percentage as it ticks up to 100. I am not wishing it away but rather wanting to know how long it is before the inevitable end arises.
I do the same with TV shows or films, I check my watch and think well there is only ten minutes left they need to start wrapping things up.
I imagine I am not the only one who does this, that there are many others of you reading this who do the same. Do we live too much in the future, in the hope of something?
I knew someone who used to read the final chapter of a book after he had read the first chapter. A morbid, self involved Italian he did it just so that if he died (the hilarity is that he was 22 at the time) before finishing the book at least he would know how it ended. He’d die with no fiction related regrets. I think my need to know is brought about purely by my own curiosity, nothing quite as deep and meaningful. I only constantly check where I am in a show or novel because I am so curious as to how it ends, if the spy gets the terrorist or the guy gets the girl. If a happily ever after will exist at the final pages or will it all unravel horribly.You cling to those final pages or minutes and hope that what you want to happen, happens.
To me a sense of an ending makes everything, every word on the page, seem more important.