Arc of Triumph

The original form of Greek Drama called “Comedy” was not intended to be funny. It was about triumph adverse circumstances, resulting in a happy ending. “Tragedy” retains its original meaning, dragging along a sad ending.

That said, I suppose I’m being too harsh toward Leonie!, although I’m not sure whether the story is a tragedy or a comedy. Certainly the principal character faced adverse circumstances. She was sickly. She was ill-behaved. Today she’d be classified with Attention Deficit Disorder. She wasn’t very bright, either, but that might’ve been dyslexia. Who knows?

On the other end of the arc, I’m not sure whether she overcame her circumstances or not. After much difficulty and many abortive starts, she was accepted into the Sisters of the Visitation. I suppose that was a triumph. She didn’t seem to accomplish much as a nun, especially compared to her sister Therese, who published several books before dying at twenty-four.

In Catholic eyes, she led an exemplary life, apparently inspiring other struggling postulates. She continues to have a strong following sixty years after her death. That must count for something. From my point of view, following a cloistered life is a failure. Life ought to be lived, to be filled with accomplishment, or at least facing its challenges head on. Retreating into a convent is like committing yourself to an asylum even though you aren’t sick.

But then my experience with prayer doesn’t credit it with as much value as Catholic Religious do.

Leonie! wasn’t fiction, but a dramatic biography. She was a real person with real tragedies and psychic deficiencies to cope with. She chose the same life her sisters followed, which isn’t all that surprising.

When writing fiction, we are not constrained by minor inconveniences like facts and truth. If our character needs to triumph over adversities, we can pile them on to our heart’s content. If we want a happy ending, we can easily construct one. Tragedy is there just beyond the clack of the keyboard.

My only compulsion is that a story needs one or the other. If we leave our readers dangling with an ambiguous ending, they’ll feel cheated. SOMETHING has to happen, and our readers need reassurance that a clear resolution has been achieved.

This is especially important to me as I compose a story around my autistic character. Autism is already a tragedy in the first chapter of a child’s life and often it is only through extraordinary effort that a modicum of normalcy can be achieved. When authentic genius emerges, that is a comedic triumph of the highest order — in the best sense of that word.

That’s what I want to get into print.