“The undiscovered country from whose bourn
No traveler returns…”
-Hamlet, Act III, Scene i
Ah, Will, scallywag literary torturer of countless generations of high school scholars (full disclosure here: I was an unrepentant latter-day co-conspirator in his malign schemes, as a career English teacher for lo, 35 years). In the quote above --- which is from one of the most famous soliloquies in Western Literature, Hamlet’s famous ‘to be or not to be’ musings --- Hamlet is talking about death and what comes after it. Nobody, says, Hamlet, comes back from its boundary to let us know what it’s like.
Will, like so many of us, talked about death in his work. A lot. Characters died here, there, and everywhere, especially in his tragedies, and frequently in all sorts of grisly ways. So it is to that undiscovered country I turn my blogging eye to this day, constant reader. Specifically, when does a character need to die? Or in other words, when should a character die in our stories? I sat down and generated several circumstances when characters can/should ‘shuffle off this mortal coil.’ So for your entertainment and edification, in no particular order, here they are.
1) Prior to the tale’s beginning: there are times a character’s death has already occurred before the story gets underway; their death serves as a catalyst or inciting event, a reason for the events which will now take place. In Hamlet, Hamlet’s dad the king died under murky circumstances before the play begins, and his uncle has now married his mom and usurped Hamlet’s throne (hey, uncle dad!). Hamlet’s father’s ghost has been seen wisping around the castle of Elsinore, and Hamlet, curious lad that he is, wants to know why. Of course, with Will’s plays, there’s usually a large dollop of ‘be careful what you wish for’ involved, and this is no exception.
2) When their death motivates the protagonist to action: this is similar to the previous one, but the death occurs after the story has begun, and our stunned protagonist is moved to action
3) When a character needs redemption: Boromir, the warrior from Gondor in The Lord of the Rings (LOTR), does An Awful Thing --- he tries to steal the Ring of Power from Frodo the ringbearer, which is a big no-no. In fact, dramatically speaking, it means the character has to pay big-time for such a transgression. After all, it makes him no better than any orc wandering by who might try the same thing. So Boromir has to die. However, because he’s also a Tragic Hero, as I used to tell my high school English classes, he’s allowed, under the Rules O’ Writing, to redeem himself with a particularly heroic act which will result in his death. (It’s a thing, I swear.) Which Boromir does. Yay, son of Gondor!
4) When it’s a climactic event: staying with LOTR, the big climax of the trilogy ends with the destruction of the ring and the death of Sauron, the Dark Lord. (Whoa, wait a moment, you say. You’re clearly just a Bill Ferny wannabe. Sauron doesn’t die. He’s an immortal being. Yeah, yeah, I know. Tolkien is careful to say he’s destroyed. But for all practical intents and purposes, ding, dong, the witch is dead. So… shut up, he explained.)
5) When it brings closure: And still remaining with LOTR, in the books, Saruman… doesn’t die at Isengard. That’s just Jackson’s schtick, and frankly, it’s supremely unsatisfying. In the books, Saruman makes his way to the Shire and causes all sorts of mayhem there before Frodo and Co. find him and deal with him. Saruman is still killed (yeah, another immortal being) by Wormtongue, but the entire scene is waaaay better, dramatically speaking, and brings a real sense of closure, now that the hobbits can start rehabilitating the Shire.
A few other miscellaneous notes
Killing off a character shouldn’t be done lightly --- which I know, in this violent time of casual death and mass destruction, isn’t always easily accomplished --- although it also depends whether the character is a minor or major one. (I know, I know, all life should be sacred, but unfortunately, I’ve yet to see a world, real or imagined, where that lovely tenet is universally respected. In fact, at least in literature, that tenet upheld would result in a lot of really dull stories, because it’s conflict --- which, also unfortunately, tends to involve killing --- which drives our tales.) Minor characters, like Star Trek’s famed redshirts, are --- sorry, redshirts --- more expendable than protagonists or major characters. I mean, it got to be a humorous cliché on the show. (I don’t make the rules, I just report them.)
Also, do we know the character in question well, or only slightly? Because that makes a difference. A good example is Cedric Diggory in J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter books. Based on interviews I’ve read, she intended Diggory’s death in… let me see, book 4… to be a real shocker. Hmm. Don’t think it was, Jo. Rowling relates that even her own daughter was curiously unfazed by Diggory’s death. Why? Well, I think it’s because Rowling hadn’t really taken the time or made the effort to truly let us get to know and care about Cedric. He was just this mild-mannered competitor who had a passing familiarity with Harry… and in the films, was played by Edward Cullen (wink emoji). So… yeah, there’s that.
Ultimately, a character’s death shouldn’t be gratuitous. It needs purpose and impact. It can be shocking --- sudden deaths usually are, if that’s the way the writer wants to do the deed, though slow deaths can also be traumatizing --- but the character’s demise shouldn’t just be written for shock value. It should serve a purpose in the narrative… otherwise, what’s the point? Death is capricious enough in real life as it is, and anyone wanting to experience a cornucopia of death and suffering (strange concept, that) only has to tune in to the nightly newscast.
So… whether it’s by disease, sharp pointy objects that cut and slash, weapons which unleash a hail of airborne lead… think before you tell a character you’re cashing them out.
No traveler returns…”
-Hamlet, Act III, Scene i
Ah, Will, scallywag literary torturer of countless generations of high school scholars (full disclosure here: I was an unrepentant latter-day co-conspirator in his malign schemes, as a career English teacher for lo, 35 years). In the quote above --- which is from one of the most famous soliloquies in Western Literature, Hamlet’s famous ‘to be or not to be’ musings --- Hamlet is talking about death and what comes after it. Nobody, says, Hamlet, comes back from its boundary to let us know what it’s like.
Will, like so many of us, talked about death in his work. A lot. Characters died here, there, and everywhere, especially in his tragedies, and frequently in all sorts of grisly ways. So it is to that undiscovered country I turn my blogging eye to this day, constant reader. Specifically, when does a character need to die? Or in other words, when should a character die in our stories? I sat down and generated several circumstances when characters can/should ‘shuffle off this mortal coil.’ So for your entertainment and edification, in no particular order, here they are.
1) Prior to the tale’s beginning: there are times a character’s death has already occurred before the story gets underway; their death serves as a catalyst or inciting event, a reason for the events which will now take place. In Hamlet, Hamlet’s dad the king died under murky circumstances before the play begins, and his uncle has now married his mom and usurped Hamlet’s throne (hey, uncle dad!). Hamlet’s father’s ghost has been seen wisping around the castle of Elsinore, and Hamlet, curious lad that he is, wants to know why. Of course, with Will’s plays, there’s usually a large dollop of ‘be careful what you wish for’ involved, and this is no exception.
2) When their death motivates the protagonist to action: this is similar to the previous one, but the death occurs after the story has begun, and our stunned protagonist is moved to action
3) When a character needs redemption: Boromir, the warrior from Gondor in The Lord of the Rings (LOTR), does An Awful Thing --- he tries to steal the Ring of Power from Frodo the ringbearer, which is a big no-no. In fact, dramatically speaking, it means the character has to pay big-time for such a transgression. After all, it makes him no better than any orc wandering by who might try the same thing. So Boromir has to die. However, because he’s also a Tragic Hero, as I used to tell my high school English classes, he’s allowed, under the Rules O’ Writing, to redeem himself with a particularly heroic act which will result in his death. (It’s a thing, I swear.) Which Boromir does. Yay, son of Gondor!
4) When it’s a climactic event: staying with LOTR, the big climax of the trilogy ends with the destruction of the ring and the death of Sauron, the Dark Lord. (Whoa, wait a moment, you say. You’re clearly just a Bill Ferny wannabe. Sauron doesn’t die. He’s an immortal being. Yeah, yeah, I know. Tolkien is careful to say he’s destroyed. But for all practical intents and purposes, ding, dong, the witch is dead. So… shut up, he explained.)
5) When it brings closure: And still remaining with LOTR, in the books, Saruman… doesn’t die at Isengard. That’s just Jackson’s schtick, and frankly, it’s supremely unsatisfying. In the books, Saruman makes his way to the Shire and causes all sorts of mayhem there before Frodo and Co. find him and deal with him. Saruman is still killed (yeah, another immortal being) by Wormtongue, but the entire scene is waaaay better, dramatically speaking, and brings a real sense of closure, now that the hobbits can start rehabilitating the Shire.
A few other miscellaneous notes
Killing off a character shouldn’t be done lightly --- which I know, in this violent time of casual death and mass destruction, isn’t always easily accomplished --- although it also depends whether the character is a minor or major one. (I know, I know, all life should be sacred, but unfortunately, I’ve yet to see a world, real or imagined, where that lovely tenet is universally respected. In fact, at least in literature, that tenet upheld would result in a lot of really dull stories, because it’s conflict --- which, also unfortunately, tends to involve killing --- which drives our tales.) Minor characters, like Star Trek’s famed redshirts, are --- sorry, redshirts --- more expendable than protagonists or major characters. I mean, it got to be a humorous cliché on the show. (I don’t make the rules, I just report them.)
Also, do we know the character in question well, or only slightly? Because that makes a difference. A good example is Cedric Diggory in J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter books. Based on interviews I’ve read, she intended Diggory’s death in… let me see, book 4… to be a real shocker. Hmm. Don’t think it was, Jo. Rowling relates that even her own daughter was curiously unfazed by Diggory’s death. Why? Well, I think it’s because Rowling hadn’t really taken the time or made the effort to truly let us get to know and care about Cedric. He was just this mild-mannered competitor who had a passing familiarity with Harry… and in the films, was played by Edward Cullen (wink emoji). So… yeah, there’s that.
Ultimately, a character’s death shouldn’t be gratuitous. It needs purpose and impact. It can be shocking --- sudden deaths usually are, if that’s the way the writer wants to do the deed, though slow deaths can also be traumatizing --- but the character’s demise shouldn’t just be written for shock value. It should serve a purpose in the narrative… otherwise, what’s the point? Death is capricious enough in real life as it is, and anyone wanting to experience a cornucopia of death and suffering (strange concept, that) only has to tune in to the nightly newscast.
So… whether it’s by disease, sharp pointy objects that cut and slash, weapons which unleash a hail of airborne lead… think before you tell a character you’re cashing them out.
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