How Does Mad Mabel End And What Themes Resolve?

I looked up “night clerk of a minor department store” and it looks like there are fan translations available as well as some aggregator sites that try to collect all the chapters. However, these sources can be hit-or-miss and I prefer to support official platforms and get my reads from Webnovel or Inkitt, which often offer free-to-read content with daily passes. Right now I’m reading Alpha Maddox’s Mortal Temptation, which is a completely free read on several apps. The book follows a fiercely independent heroine who is pursued by an alpha who believes that she is his destined mate, and the two of them engage in a high-stakes game of cat and mouse that is highly tense and never-ending.

It’s all sort of irrelevant, because the ‘story’ of Mad Mabel is very true, regardless of how one chooses to render historical fact. The basic premise of the novel (i.e. a woman being gradually destroyed by her family and the era she lives in) is incredibly true. In fact, it’s a story that has been played out by millions of women throughout history who were deemed ‘hysterical’ or ‘difficult’ because they wanted to be autonomous in some way. You can always find references to such women in history – e.g. Artemisia Gentileschi who had to fight her rapist in court; Mary Wollstonecraft who grappled throughout her life with the limits placed on her by patriarchal society. The ‘story’ of Mad Mabel is a distillation of this shared, bitter history. And it’s not the specifics of the story that are relevant (i.e. does it matter that she was poisoned rather than died of an inherited illness?) – just the fact that it is very true, and that this is a very genuine attempt to capture the collective trauma of women’s experiences of patriarchal oppression throughout history.

The subtlety of hope in this movie is often overlooked because it is so quiet. The resolution to Olivia’s story is not finding love or achieving success at work. Rather, it is slowly finding ways to overcome her trauma one step at a time. She sleeps for the first time in years. She is able to calm down and care for her bees. She is able to look forward to the future without immediate stress or anxiety. And that, for someone who has been through what she has, is huge. The end of the film zooms out from those small moments to reveal that healing is not a place, but rather a collection of mundane moments that become peaceful with time. And that is very powerful and hopeful.

‘Helpless Ending’ stories resolve in a more realistic and non-deterministic way. Instead of plotting out a scenario to a victorious ending for the characters, the external circumstances are acknowledged by the characters for what they are, and the characters find a way to come to terms with them, however helpless they are. They may cease resisting the forces that control them and find a way to exist within their limitations. These are bittersweet stories of resignation, but of a peaceful kind, the kind of peace reached after a long and exhausting struggle. Rather than being tied up with a bow, the central tension is dissolved in order to be concluded. The frenzy of struggling to resist gives way to a quiet moment of understanding, as the reader looks at the situation with the protagonist for the first time and understands. The struggle is over. The conflict has ceased. And that can be a very hollow and very unpleasant feeling, yet at the same time a very relieving one. The similarity to many real life situations, where some tangles cannot be undone but must be carried in a different way, is part of what makes this kind of ending successful. The narrative ultimately achieves satisfaction because we get to witness the moment of transcendence, and that moment is sufficiently concrete to carry its own weight. We see the protagonist walking away from a long debated battlefield, or sitting quietly in the smoldering remains of it, his face serene. It’s a conclusion that has the weight of reality to it, and not the weight of fiction.

This is an interesting decision for the judge to have reached. On the surface of it, it is not a progressive or ‘queer friendly’ decision. Instead it has been reached in the ‘best interests of the child’ and in this case it is in the clear interests of Charlie to have his mother and to return to his stable home with her. This is a very sensible narrative choice as it grounds the reaching of this positive conclusion for the characters within a universe in which child welfare is recognized to be in the best interests of children to be looked after by their parents. Of course, there are many ways in which this could not have played out but as it is, this is a sensible and historically plausible way for it to have reached a positive conclusion. The love of Lydia and Jean for each other is the foundation of their stable home but the law is blind to the nature of their relationship and recognizes only the stability that it brings.

One of the most beautiful things about the ending of this book is that it gives the reader no catharsis. Most thrillers provide some sort of revenge, justice, redemption to the reader in the ending. Not this book. Instead, we are left with the heavy, confusing relief that Yvonne is not found guilty. The not-guilty verdict feels empty of celebration and even of reunion with her loved ones. There is no resolution to her situation. We are left to wonder how she will cope after this. Her fate is to continue on without closure. We are left with a shadow of her feelings for long after we finish reading the book.

When I read Marnie the first time, Marnie’s fate was very impactful on me. But upon re-reading the novel as an adult, I see how Robinson used Marnie’s departure to delve further into the novel of Anna’s development. When Anna finds Marnie’s diary and can make connections, for me, that wasn’t just a nice ending to the novel. That was the moment when Anna confronted some of her repressed emotions. The ending of the novel is very ambiguous, and it lingers with the reader, just as it lingers with Anna. But, even though there are more questions than answers for the reader, that is enough.

‘M Is for Mama’ is unusual in that it tries to make parenting look good, whilst at the same time trying to find the wonder in it. The themes of ‘competing priorities’ and ‘the art of surrender’ particularly hit home. Who hasn’t folded washing only to have their toddler ask to go and look at the stars minutes later? There are also plenty of ‘me too!’ moments, such as the one where the mother loses her temper and then feels terrible, and the odd sense of pride when your toddler finally stops biting. But what the book does best is to make you feel less alone in the beautiful struggle that is parenting.

I am so behind this book, 'Gone Girl' by Gillian Flynn. Our library copy is worn to shreds from being passed from hand to hand. The twist and turn of the plot is so sharp it cuts like a knife. And, although the story is told by two very unreliable narrators, it makes for a wonderful and uncomfortable read into the marriage of a middle aged couple and the media frenzy that ensues after their disappearance. Not a light or fluffy mystery by any stretch but with great tension and humor, it’s a favorite modern thriller of mine. And the library is just so cool in including modern and edgy titles like this one in their mystery collection. That favorite novel of mine is The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson, a paperback copy worn from being read by so many. The main character, Lisbeth Salander, is an amazing protagonist of the mystery genre. The author developed a great plot, combining the corruption of large corporations with the investigation of an old murder and the noir atmosphere of Sweden. And, on top of all that, there are many puzzles to unravel throughout the book, with lots of social commentary. Mabel Fry Library has a great selection of international mysteries, like this one, to introduce local readers to a wide variety of writers and stories. Historical mysteries are a favorite of mine, and 'The Alienist' by Caleb Carr is an excellent choice. Set in 1896 New York, a team of early criminal psychologists work to find a serial killer. The hardcover edition of this book feels heavy and is an excellent representation of the dense prose that Carr has created in this atmospheric and engaging book. Carr has done excellent research in order to create a Gilded Age New York that is full of crime and inquest. In addition to the gripping storyline, Carr has created a cast of memorable characters in the group of men, led by newspaper illustrator John Moore, who are determined to solve the puzzle of the murder of young boys.

I snifalyzed at the end of the book, and not because I was sad for him or anything. It was more of a recognition of a state he was in for so long. The moment of frantic and noisy wanting just came to an end, and it wasn’t replaced by something amazing and full of joy either. Instead it was just really quiet and heavy. The ‘why’ in this story resonated with me because I have also experienced being unable to get someone over, not because of some profound revelation, but simply because one day you’re just tired. The last few pages of the book felt so accurate to this kind of exhaustion. They weren’t dramatic at all. In a way they were the literary equivalent of a sigh, and then closing down all your browser tabs. It was an end to his story, and sometimes the most hopeful word in the world is ‘over’. The way the book portrayed his healing was also beautiful in that it was so anti-climactic. We want these moments of growth to be so cinematic, but in reality they’re just a choice to make a sandwich and go to bed.