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At last, we've come to it. The final pages. The point when we say: This is it. There's no more. Add a few blank pages, some acknowledgments, and there's the back cover. Staring you in the face. You're done.
Welcome, to the end of the book.
How was it? Do you wish you could go back for more? Hoping there's a sequel that's already published and that has two-day shipping from Amazon.com?
Or are you disappointed? Disgusted? Feeling cheated by that author's dirty tricks? How dare they pull the rug out from under you right at the bitter end!
Well, I cannot assuage your angst or joy or magnanimity or whatever emotion it is you're feeling, here, at the end of your book. I'm not even going to fall into the trap of repeating that old cliché: the end is only a beginning. I'm not going to promise to hound the author for a sequel nor am I going to tune into their podcast to hear juicy details and ask those questions of 'why did this character do this?' or 'why did you put that slice of pumpernickel bread in their hand right at that moment?'
No.
Because, you know what, the end is the end.
It's over! Kaput. Final. Goodbye! Sold, for half a million dollars to the man in the black coat.
Whether it's a relief or a tragedy or a celebration that your book has now finally ended, it's over. In some ways, we develop a relationship with a book and in every relationship there is an ending. Even if we choose to be buried with our favoritest tales tucked in our coffin beside us—still—it's over.
Magic does occur with some books, where (like the Harry Potter universe) there's just an endless range of branching media (films, more books, plays, action figures, costume parties, even HP-themed alcoholic beverages for crying out loud!) to indulge in. But it never will be the same as that first read through the original 7 books. Not for me. Even in rereading, there is something missing.
But rereading a favorite book has its own joys. The end brings us back to who we were or where we were so many, many, many years ago (didn't I say I wasn't going to use that cliché? Damn...). Rereading allows us to digest, once again, the memories of the book. The imagining. The hopefulness. We can relive it once again. We can even learn more than we did the first time around. We can realize how the words on the page haven't changed, but we have.
So, we come to it, the end. Don't feel too bad. There is *ahem* the beginning still there. Flip on back to it. There you go. And now, where were we?