How Does The Handmaid'S Tale Book End?

Wow. So many answers. All of them presumably correct, as far as the person who posted them was concerned. So, answering this question is like asking how long a piece of string is. It all depends on the string you are holding. This novel has been re-packaged, re-formatted, re-released in dozens of editions. Find out what edition you're using (look at the cover, or the intro in the PDF) and Google the page count for that edition. So, something like "Publisher Name edition of The Handmaid's Tale page count" (put in the name of the Publisher of your edition) will yield far more accurate results than a general question or a forum post. Crowdsourcing is so much fun for getting opinions on things but for simple facts such as these it’s just easier to search for the answer in a targeted manner. The information is out there – you just have to find the correct file!

I read this book in high school a long time ago. I remember it having a really strange vibe to it, but the details of the ending are kind of fuzzy to me. I think it took place at a supermarket or something. I should re-read it.

What is ultimately revealed about the ‘monster’ at the end of this short story is the village’s ideology. Through Slewfoot and Abitha the reader realizes that it is the force opposing ecological diversity and life in order to expand upon itself that is truly ‘monstrous’. However, Slewfoot and Abitha when merged become protectors of a complex and dynamic system. In order to recognize them as such, however, one must be able to distinguish between life and that which threatens it. This short story, much like Hammer and Roots, is a politically charged commentary on a number of issues, including the conflict between ecological diversity and expansion as well as between wildness and conformity.

Young Griff invades Westeros with the Golden Company and becomes King’s Landing’s beloved king Aegon Targaryen. After, Daenerys arrives at King’s Landing with her armies to find a fake Targaryen on the Iron Throne of which Tyrion is leading her to woe. For those reasons she becomes the Mad Queen. After this conflict Jon Snow is brought back to life but greatly changed and he must face the Others in the North. His conflict will be trying to save his adopted homeland from the big war that’s going on in the South between the three Targaryen claimants. It’ll be a very Shakespearean ending to the book in terms of tragedy but way more complex than the tv show had to offer with only a few characters.

A masterclass in subverting expectations, the climax of ‘Ender’s Game’ cleverly sets up Ender’s final test as another grueling simulation. It isn’t until the very last sentence that we realize the horrific truth: he has just carried out an act of xenocide while blinded by his childish perception of games. This is particularly upsetting because everything about Ender up until this point has led us to believe that he is one of the most kind and compassionate characters in the book. The realization of his unintended actions is pure horror, all contained in a single paragraph. We are also given a snippet of communication with the Queen, passive-aggressively obtuse as always, which highlights Ender’s subsequent guilt all the more. The ending is not simply a twist; it is a look at the unintended consequences of our actions. Ender hopes to make amends for what he has done by returning to the ship and searching for the pupa. The ending is so impactful that it demands to be sat with long after the book has been closed.

I love how those final words—'and they lived happily ever after'—work like a signal that the tale has folded its arms and taken a deep, satisfied breath. That phrase became a hallmark of European fairy-tale collections, especially in the editions people grew up with, and you can spot it tacked on to the endings of so many familiar stories. Classic Perrault tales such as 'Cinderella' and 'Puss in Boots' wrap up with that comforting line, and Charles Perrault’s storytelling style helped spread the practice. The Brothers Grimm also tend toward tidy endings in many of their retellings: think 'Snow White', 'Rapunzel', 'Rumpelstiltskin', 'Hansel and Gretel' and 'The Frog Prince'—most English translations or popular versions let the curtain close with a version of happiness for the protagonists. Not every well-known tale keeps that sunny final note, though, and that’s part of what keeps reading originals so rewarding. Hans Christian Andersen’s 'The Little Mermaid' famously refuses the neat happy ending in its original form, opting instead for bittersweet resolution and, depending on translation, a spiritual twist. Grimms’ collections can be surprisingly dark in their earliest variants; stories like 'Bluebeard' or 'Little Red Riding Hood' have versions that end with grim justice rather than a glossy happily-ever-after. Still, many later adaptations and popular retellings smooth those rough edges: modern picture books, Disney-fied versions like 'Sleeping Beauty' or 'Beauty and the Beast', and countless adaptations across media restore or emphasize the happily-ever-after line because it gives a clear emotional payoff. You’ll also see it in tales like 'Jack and the Beanstalk' and 'The Twelve Dancing Princesses' in many children’s anthologies—those editions like their moral and emotional closure tidy and satisfying. What fascinates me is what the phrase does beyond signaling a plot end: it packages cultural hope. Those words are less about literal perpetual joy and more about telling listeners that danger has passed and order is restored. Oral storytellers needed a shorthand to signal safety and reward after chaos, and 'they lived happily ever after' does that beautifully. In modern retellings, writers sometimes subvert it—ending with irony, ambiguity, or a lesson that happiness requires work—but I still have a soft spot for the classics that leave you smiling as you close the book. If you’re into comparing versions, it’s a delight to read Perrault and Andersen alongside the Grimms and then watch how adaptations across film, comics, and novels choose to keep, tweak, or ditch that signature line. For me, the happiest endings are the ones that feel earned, whether tidy or complicated—there’s something cozy about that closure after a wild story, and it’s why I keep going back to these old tales for comfort and inspiration.

I kept coming back to the idea of memory throughout the ending, though. While the survivors brought back physical bodies from the raid, each of them also brought back traumatic memories of the raid that were in competition with each other. The trial was a way to try to create a single, official memory of the event, but it inevitably failed, since memory is inherently subjective and self-serving. Thus, the ending of the book with Bulkeley’s memoir, Cheap’s letters, and all the conflicting testimonies to the raid to continue to battle it out in the public sphere even after the trial had ended was, to me, absolutely fascinating. I saw in that ending a history not defined by a particular point in time (i.e., 1746) but rather a history that is ongoing and that continues to this very day with each account of the raid in turn defining the event for the reader of that account. In other words, by ending the book with all of these unresolved contradictions, Grann has planted us smack in the middle of this ongoing process of history and is forcing us to join in the never-ending attempt to sort out truth from narrative. This is a wild ambition for the ending of a history book, and Grann pulls it off handsomely.

The ending to Jennifer's story is striking to readers in both positive and negative ways. For some, it's too dark, almost as if it's gloating over the downfall of certain characters. For me, however, it's the only fitting way to end a novel that so vigilantly exposed the underbelly of the American Dream. There are three ways that Jennifer looked at fame in her life: the victim, the perpetrator/victim, and the escapee. Each of these characters' experiences mirrored one another and their fates were all logical conclusions to their lives. What is most satisfying about the way that the author portrayed Anne's escape from fame, however, is that it's not glorious. It's not even that exciting. In fact, it kind of sucks. But that's life for you. This novel values life and and peaceful existence over all of the things that society tells us that we're supposed to want. Perhaps the things that society tells us we're supposed to want will kill us. The end of the book suggests this to be true, and that the best thing that we can do is to walk away from it all.

Leo’s transformation as a character is at the end of the book. You don’t know when Stargirl is leaving but Leo grows so much throughout the book. When he finally does see her leave he is forever changed by her. His life for the next 50 years will be influenced by her. His porcupine tie sits on a shelf and every now and then he is reminded of his life with Stargirl. He even sometimes still listens for her ukulele and sometimes he even hopes to see her purple bicycle riding down the street. But most of the time he is left to wonder what life would have been like had he joined her in being different instead of trying to get her to be normal. His regret is the true ending of the book.

Oh man! What a long and haunting end to this 'novel'. Instead of some intense fight between good and evil it is all about assimilation. Crozier, who saw and survived the worst man can imagine, has finally found a home with the Netsilik, the people he was so curious to study as an English Captain only a few years ago. And 'the Terror' gets its come-upping when Goodsir’s body is thrown overboard with the deadly poisen he had secreted away, slowly killing the monster. But the real monster is still out there…щего Arctic. The last shot of the film is of Captain Crozier, now referred to by a new name, watching as the HMS Terror, the symbol of his lost life and command, sinks into the ice. All uniform, language and civilization have been shed by the Captain in his attempt to survive against the inhospitable conditions of the Arctic. It is a bleak and desolate ending that powers home the futility of the British to conquer nature and the terrible cost of their success. Simmons conveys the pain of every loss to the audience.