That’s the question we’ll be answering today.

I think an epilogue works against us most of the time. It’s not because I don’t want to know what happens later, it’s because I think the author is so in love with these characters that they’re having a hell of a time letting them go. And you might be in that same boat.

It makes sense. A book takes YEARS to make it to the shelf. That’s a lot of time to spend with a group of besties, and if you’re like me, it’s also been at least a million drafts. Those characters have been through things that no one but your writing group will read. It can be hard to let go of them, but at some point you’ve got to.

What’s the point of the epilogue anyway?

The point is to let the reader know what happened to the characters after the main conflict/connection resolves. In Romance writing, there’s usually a time jump to a year or two down the road, and now maybe the intrepid lovebirds are starting a family, or a long held dream of theirs that was outlined in the novel is coming true. We get a glimpse into that. In Historical fiction is can be a follow up on how the character who went missing ended up dying in a Siberian gulag and it’s not discovered for ten years but it gives the reader closure, or that the main character was finally recognized for their role in history and awarded a medal.

An epilogue answers a different set of questions from the actual ending of the book. It works when we get to see the world after the dust has settled. It doesn’t work if it’s giving us a bunch of information that no one really cares about, or it’s solving a central conflict to the story. That’s the job of the actual ending.

That’s why when the epilogue includes a time jump, it feels so satisfying. We can see into the future and how the characters have created a lovely new paradigm for themselves. It makes the ending feel even more earned.

How does genre play a role?

It matters in a big way because readers of certain genres, like romance, often expect one. Just a little glimpse into that life we spent a 300 page rollercoaster ride to get to. Another little hit of the delicious connection between these characters and some kind of reassurance that the HEA stuck. That it was real.

But in some genres, like literary fiction, it can feel like the author didn’t quite trust the ending of the book or wasn’t sure how to handle it. Almost like a choose your own ending, and it can often be more frustrating than interesting. Historical fiction can fall into this same trap sometimes.

So when an epilogue is tacked onto a book that has a rushed or touchy ending, it feels like it’s trying to plaster over it rather than enhance the characters’ journeys. A shit ending is still going to be a shit ending, only now it’s wrapped in holiday paper and spritzed with lily of the valley granny perfume.

But I’m not ready to let go of my characters

I know! They’re awesome, and it’s important to get real with yourself about your role, as the author and mother to this cast of miscreants/lovers/hooligans/thieves, if you’re putting off the inevitable. There’s a reason why some authors create an entire fictional world and just keep writing tale after tale in it with the same characters. When the characters are amazing, stay with them.

However, the decision to add an epilogue has to actually serve the book and not just your separation anxiety. If you’re not ready to say goodbye, that’s OK. Totally normal, even. Just plan book 2 in your head, but end this book where it needs to end.

The Tale of Two Epilogues

First, we’ll get into two very different books, their epilogues, and why it worked or didn’t.

Atonement by Ian McEwan*

The epilogue in Atonement is a masterclass in using a time jump, and the perspective that only time can bring.

In Atonement, the POV character and narrator, Briony, starts as a precocious six year old who writes a play to be performed at a family reunion. Over the course of the day, she witnesses a crime (grape), and accuses her sister Celia’s lover, Robbie, of committing it. Only she got it wrong, and the book explores the aftermath of that accusation for Robbie, Celia, and Briony. The ensuing prison sentence, World War II, the evacuation at Dunkirk, Briony and Celia become nurses to help the war effort, and finally at the end, her confession to both her sister and Robbie that she got it wrong. The book ends with Briony leaving Robbie and Celia’s flat, determined to write a letter to her parents explaining what happened in order to restore the family. And then she plans to write the retraction of her testimony to the court so that Robbie’s name can be cleared. Atonement would be achieved.

Over the course of the book, we come to understand exactly who the perpetrator was, how he got away with it for decades and how he would go to the grave never having paid the consequences. But in the epilogue, Briony looks back on the incident, 50+ years later. Back in her childhood home, now converted to a hotel, where it all happened. And she describes the changes to the grounds, and we see the scenes that were so vividly rendered in the book almost like apparitions, and also with new eyes this time. We’re shown her regrets, and she explains how she changed a few details in the novel so her sister and Robbie could be lovers forever, when in truth they both died in the war. How she did everything she possibly could to make it right. Her second Atonement.

Does the book need the epilogue? Not at all. The ending of book felt complete because Briony’s character had set off to make things right and fulfill the promise of the book and its apt title. This epilogue lands like a gift. A few more explanations, more empathy toward Briony and her regrets and remorse, and an even deeper understanding of what happened that’s seals itself into our bones.

The Chaperone by Laura Moriarty*

This book follows a housewife as she chaperones future silent film star Louise Brooks, then 15, across country from Wichita to NYC in 1922. Cora, our chaperone wants to return to NYC to visit the orphanage where she was raised to learn about her family, but that means wrangling Louise the whole way. And she’s a handful. Flirting with men twice her age and already drinking like a fish.

We learn that Cora’s husband is a closeted gay man, and about her sexless marriage, and as the train chugs across the midwest her sexual frustration mounts. Once in NYC with Louise finally ensconced in the dance school, she goes to the orphanage and meets Joseph, the handyman, who she has an affair with. And everything about her life starts to make far more sense.

Then she brings Joseph back to Wichita, along with his young daughter. The book could’ve ended there, and we could’ve said Ah, OK. This is where it’s going to be an HEA for not only Cora, but her husband as well. Wonderful.

Enter the epilogue that reads almost like a bullet-pointed list and stretches ahead into the 1950s, littered with stuff that doesn’t matter as far as the story’s concerned. I couldn’t figure out why I had to be with these characters until their final breath when I already understood the story. The most interesting shit happened on the train to NYC with Louise and then with Joseph once she got to the city.

Leaving it partially unresolved, but with a clear direction for where it was headed at the end, would’ve helped the book land in the sweetest spot. So if you’re tempted to add an epilogue, ask yourself who it’s really for. You or the story?