Killing Off Main Characters

Michelle Gagnon

I recently fell in love with someone else’s series. That’s happened to me a lot over the years. I stumble across an author whose work I absolutely love and proceed to gobble up their books, one after another, becoming horribly depressed when I reach the last one and am forced to wait months or even a year for the next installment.

I remember when I first discovered John Sandford’s Prey series, and couldn’t get enough of Lucas Davenport. Ditto with Janet Evanovich’s Plum series. So to find a new one was a treat. I tore through the books, one after the other, slowing down my reading pace as I approached the final pages of the last book to relish it.

And then, it happened. After the climax, when things finally appeared to be working out for two of the characters after they had suffered horrible tragedies throughout the novels, one of them was killed off. Mind you, this wasn’t one of the second tier characters populating this world, but someone who every storyline had pivoted around. And truth be told, it was my favorite character.

Another of my favorite writers had recently done this with his series, but at the end he coyly hinted that the character might indeed have survived. Despite the fact that when we last saw him he was being dragged to the bottom of a bay under the weight of an enormous steel net, surrounded by ravening monsters, hey, I bought it. Anything to believe he’d be there for me in the next book.

But not here. I finished the last few pages in shock. Even though it was the middle of the night I got on my computer and went to the author’s site. There was a letter which explained the motivation behind eliminating the character. It confirmed that he was indeed really, truly dead.

I actually had trouble sleeping that night, turning it over in my mind. I came under considerable heat for killing off a major character in my first book, a decision that hadn’t been made lightly, either.

But hey, mine was only in the one book, I hadn’t devoted thousands of pages to him. I pondered whether or not I could continue reading the series, especially since I wasn’t nearly as attached to some of the other main characters. And clearly, when a writer does this, the gloves have come off. Anyone could be next. As fellow fans of the series “LOST” know, the last season was a humdinger, major characters dropped like flies as they wound down to the finale. It was shocking for someone who had followed the show from the outset, because there’s a certain tacit agreement made. They’ll be placed in perilous situations, but rest assured that somehow the main characters will survive. Don’t waste your emotional energy on Ensign #4, he’ll be blasted off the Enterprise bridge before the credits, but Kirk isn’t going anywhere.

I’ve thought about this a lot since I finished the final book, debating. Did the author do the right thing, the brave thing? In some ways, I think not. The problem with a series is that frequently you’re forced to subject your main characters to all sorts of unpleasantness, much of which no one would ever encounter in the course of everyday life no matter what their job is. The trials can quickly become Job-like. Remember the season of “Six Feet Under” when the Fisher family just could not get a break? After David was carjacked, I almost quit watching. I felt they’d veered off the skids into the realm of soap opera. Killing off the character in this book felt much the same way to me, unnecessarily melodramatic, when what I’d appreciated about the writing was how that wasn’t usually the case.

So will I continue reading the series? It’ll be difficult for me not to, if for no other reason than I’m curious to see how the author handles it. I’m guessing a large leap forward in the timeline, otherwise it will simply be too depressing watching the other characters deal with their grief. But part of me clings to an alternate ending of the story, one that I’ve created in my own mind, where the character survives and goes on to live happily ever after. Delusional, I know, but then again it is fiction. And what’s wrong with a fairy tale now and again?

So how do you feel about losing a character that you love? Has that ever stopped you from reading a series? Include your email and I’ll draw a name out of the hat for a signed first edition of Boneyard. Or better yet, sign up for my newsletter at www.michellegagnon.com and be entered to win fabulous prizes such as an Amazon Kindle, iPod shuffle, and Starbucks & Amazon gift cards.

Michelle Gagnon is a former modern dancer, bartender, dog walker, model, personal trainer, and Russian supper club performer. Her debut thriller THE TUNNELS was an IMBA bestseller. Her next book, BONEYARD, depicts a cat and mouse game between dueling serial killers. In her spare time she’s still trying to recover from the loss of Jin.

Whose Book Is It, Anyway?

Sandra Parshall

Writers hear a lot about their “contract with the reader” -- the obligation to deliver a good story and to follow through on the expectations they’ve created.

For mystery writers, that unwritten contract requires that we obey the conventions of the various subgenres. Readers of humorous cozies would feel betrayed and angry if their favorite writers shoved their noses into the realistic gore of murder, or stuck in a sizzling, graphic sex scene, or (heaven forbid) killed a cat. Thriller writers, on the other hand, have to keep up a brisk pace, slosh the blood around liberally, and ratchet up the suspense to nail-biting levels. Writers of noir can even get away with killing the cat.

There’s one thing, though, that readers in all subgenres are guaranteed to howl about: the murder of a beloved series character. When Dana Stabenow let the bad guys kill off a popular character, a lot of fans swore they would never buy her books again. When Elizabeth George did it, the shock rippled through online mystery discussion groups. Now another of my favorite writers has killed a major character in her latest book -- don’t worry; I won’t name the writer, the book, or the character and spoil it for you -- and I’m curious about the way her fans will react.

As a reader, I was upset with Stabenow for doing in a character I liked. George’s deceased character was one I’d detested from the start, and I was happy to see her go, but reading about it was still a jolt because of the anguish it caused other characters to whom I’m more attached. The latest character death feels like a personal loss. The murder is particularly brutal and horrifying, and I’m stunned that the author made this choice. As a writer, I’m eager to see what direction the series will take now that its fictional world has been so drastically altered, but I expect the next book to be painful to read.

The relationships that readers form with fictional characters, especially series characters, are fascinating and more than a little weird. Look at the mania over Harry Potter and the general horror among readers when they feared that Harry would be killed in the final book. This kid isn’t a real person. He doesn’t exist. Yet millions of readers worldwide would have been more distressed by his fictional death than by the deaths of most flesh-and-blood people they know. Plenty of crime fiction readers feel equally protective of their favorite characters.

In one way, it’s great news for the author when this intense bond between reader and character develops. It means the character is so real and enduring that readers can’t wait to find out what he or she will do next. The flip side of that devotion is the readers’ desire to decide the character’s fate. We think only editors and agents have the right to interfere with the direction of our stories, but some readers feel they gain that right by buying and loving a series. And many readers won’t hesitate to deliver their instructions directly to the author.

With only two books of my own in print so far, I haven’t had time to disappoint anyone in a major way, but I’ve already had a little taste of what it’s like when readers want to dictate what happens to characters they like. It’s strangely enjoyable, but also unnerving. For writers like Stabenow and George, who receive an avalanche of complaints when they upset readers, it’s probably maddening.

Some authors say they’ll write what they damned well please, and readers can take it or leave it. However, if too many readers decide to leave it, the life of the series itself could be endangered. Stabenow and George, whose books are on the dark side, don’t seem to have suffered in the long term for killing their characters, but for writers less comfortably established, it might not be a wise career choice. And many cozy writers say they would never, ever dare to harm an animal -- especially not a cat -- in a story.

So whose book is it, anyway? Should the author write every novel, every scene, with the readers’ preferences in mind? Does a long-running series gradually become a collaboration between writer and readers?

I’m relatively new at this, and I don’t know what the answer is. I hope I’ll be in print long enough to find out!