The Climax

The importance of a study of the climax can not be overestimated. For however interesting the introduction, close the sequence, or rapid the action, it is always the climax toward which the mind is ever reaching. If not in the right place, if not well prepared for, or if not of sufficient importance, or bare possibility, if it be not in evidence at all, then is there disappointment in the whole theme. The main thing in either fiction or essay, in scientific or non-scientific, in anecdote or obituary, is to have a central point of interest, in fact a climax. What subject, then, is more worthy of dissection, analysis and study?

There are two places in a story in which the climax may be introduced—the position being determined by the character of the writing and the object to be accomplished thereby.

If for example it is wished, as in the play of Macbeth, to let the effect of a certain event be worked out both in culmination of event and reaction upon the transgressor, then the climax comes near the center of the story or play. This is frequently the case in tragedy. In Macbeth the climax is given by good authorities as located in the scene of the banquet, when Banquo's ghost enters twice and brings home the curse of Mac-beth's actions to his own tottering reason and weak, base heart. This is really the climax of true feeling; the balance is but a bloody downgrade from that apex of horror.

In the story called "Fagan," there is an example of intermediate or nearly intermediate climax. The main point of feeling is not at the end of the story, for that is rather indefinite ; but it is more than likely to be found where Fagan talks to the captured officer, and then releases him. After that there is a descending scale, for the end has already been realized and Fagan's doom is sealed. What follows that point is the working out of events that are plainly postulated. Before, there was a chance of escape, a hope of freedom, and a life filled with an absorbing satisfying love; but afterward, nothing—nothing but to drink the cup to its bitter dregs. This is shown in the demoralized fear of the supernatural, where once had been brutal courage and bravery.

The reasons for the position of the climax at or near the middle of the story may be summed up as follows:

1.  To give balance to events both in their effects upon the mind of the central figure and in that of the force of the descending scale of incidents following.

2.   To let the effect of the strong point be worked out on the characters before the end.

3.  For proper maintenance of the rising stress and descending ratio in tragedy.

When the climax is at or near the end it may be for the following reasons :

1.  To allow of working out sufficient details to bring the climax up to an importance worth considering—as in detective stories.

2.   To give sufficient momentum to feeling; as in love or adventure stories.

There are dangers in the production of a climax, just the ordinary climax of a simple story of adventure or love. These dangers are often intensified to the nervous writer of fiction, in the advice given by older and better trained writers. These will proclaim:

"Have a point in view and steer right for that point. Throw out all details, have the way clear to the climax," etc., etc.

The result of this is a narrow commonplace rehearsal of an event; and an event which has been painfully, uninterestingly, dully plain from the start. There does not want to be too certain, too hopeless, too abject a climax. Even in Macbeth after the central point of feeling had passed there was a hope held out that the armed forces of the murderer might prevail.

These dangers with some others that are kindred may be outlined briefly:

1.  Holding the climax too close to the thread of the story, creating a dead level of interest, and not allowing sufficient elasticity to be lively.

2.   Insufficient care in introducing elements of surprise, incidents not expected.

3.   Not introducing possibilities of a different ending, and making these reasonably strong.

4.  Not fortifying the whole by frequent recurrence to ideas already in the mind of the reader; indirect reference.

5.  Giving away the point by making the sequence too strong in its lead toward that point of final interest.

6. Making mountains of incidents to pile up before the last event. A rest or contrasted effect should precede it.

The best story is the one where we can not beforehand guess its ending.

The strongest point of the climax, however, is that it should be worthy, that it should have distinction, that it should, in fact, be of sufficient importance to warrant all the preparation that has been made for it. Who has not felt the sense of outrage and scorn at being compelled to listen to a long-winded story without a gleam of importance revealed at the end—a story that goes on and on, and finally runs into a squirrel path that goes finally up an old rotten stump? Editors have a refuge from this kind of stuff.

How this distinction can best be gained, whether by subject-matter, or manner of telling, is a point most necessary for consideration. Shall we "make a mountain out of a molehill"? Surely, if the molehill be of sufficient scientific, economic or dramatic interest.

This then is the secret of secrets: to make the point of the story of vital interest to somebody. It may not be so to the average man or woman, but to the characters of the story it must be either the unfolding of their character, or the all-consuming passion of life.

To make the feelings evident, to let acts and incidents talk, to increase stress of both sentiment and event up to the final point, is to make the climax worthy and the distinction complete.