Note: Since we’re talking about endings, this post may contain spoilers.
There are so many feelings you have when you close a book for the last time. And a big part of that feeling for romance novels is about the ending. We in romance know that the end is going to be happy (or vengeance will be in our very angry reviews), so oftentimes the community expresses to outsiders or newbies who ask how we can read something so predictable: “It’s about the journey, not the destination.” That’s very true. BUT, dear readers, BUT it’s about the ending, too. It’s about the author’s choice to use a HEA (Happily Ever After) rather than a HFN (Happily For Now) resolution to the story. Or vice versa. Did it match the rest of the story? Is it a satisfying ending for the struggles our protagonists overcame? What about a realistic ending? Do we like certain endings because they’re OUR preference or because they match the narrative we’ve just concluded?
Well. We’re going to talk about all of that.
WHAT ABOUT…HAPPY?
What are you reading for?
It might seem like the answer we’re looking for is something like “epilogues with babies” or “no epilogues with babies EVER,” but it’s not. Before we talk about the happiness of the characters, let’s talk about the reader’s expectations for what constitutes a happy ending, because a reader’s expectations can have a big influence on whether or not they believe that the characters truly have a happy ending.
The way an author crafts the arc of the narrative—the technical construction of the story—makes certain endings possible or impossible. We can call it realism, but it’s probably more like verisimilitude. If the characters have spent the entire story learning to overcome their own personal struggles, leading to the infamous Third Act breakup, then an HFN makes more sense than an HEA. Declarations of undying love for eternity ring hollow when the characters have just returned to each other after whatever caused them to fall apart. Conversely, an HFN after our protagonists have just walked through fire together, have spent 200+ pages falling deeply in love, will feel like an inadequate commitment after the amount of effort they have made for each other in all the preceding pages.
So when you pick up a romance, are you looking for the protagonists to overcome obstacles more independently so they’re ready to come together at the end? Or are you looking for them to have built something together so they can ride off into the sunset with their rosy future before them?
What about when the author spends the whole book putting you through the emotional wringer and then doesn’t give you an adequate come-down at the end? The characters might be happy now, but are you?
BUT WHAT ABOUT…FOR NOW?
An HFN might seem like less of a commitment on the part of the lovers, but it gives us the reassurance that these characters have overcome whatever was holding them back and that they’re ready for the romance of their dreams to unfold before them. That’s pretty optimistic.
HFN endings can take different forms, from an abrupt ending to a drawn out, everything-but-the-long-term-commitment denouement. We’ve already talked about two Alexis Hall books in our prior posts in this series, both of which have different HFN endings with different impacts, so let’s examine them further.
In Glitterland, Ash publicly insults Darian in an incredibly disrespectful way, and Darian leaves him. It takes some time for Ash to sort himself out, but eventually he goes to Darian and apologizes. Pretty much the moment they choose each other, the book is over. In contrast, by the end of Rosaline Palmer Takes the Cake, Rosaline and Harry haven’t formally committed to each other, but the final scene shows them together in a domestic setting—with a bunch of friends crowded into Rosaline’s living room, all watching TV together. Beyond the egregious bad behavior that Darian and Ash overcome, Ash is forced to give himself permission to seek his own happiness, which is wrapped up in his relationship with Darian. Once that moment occurs, the release is activated, and more isn’t really necessary. Rosaline’s journey is very similar to Ash’s, but it’s also much more focused on her own shifting attitudes and realizations as the man she thinks is right turns out to be a villain, and the man she looks down on turns out to be a hero. Harry is less central to Rosaline’s awakening, their decision to be together less of a focal point of the climax of the narrative, so carrying their relationship forward into a happy and domestic future delivers more of the catharsis we’d expect of a romance. Either way, we’re not 100% assured of these couple’s forever.
In some cases, the For Now is a more appropriate end to the story. Of course, this occurs plenty with stories featuring the aforementioned Third Act breakup, such as the protagonists of Get a Life, Chloe Brown, who have developed a beautiful romance before a dark moment illustrates they still have some personal growth to do before they can be together. (And when they finally come together, you might even be convinced that it can last forever.) But even more relevant than adults getting themselves figured out, we’re thinking of Young Adult romances, where the protagonists are in high school and experiencing their first love. Do we have the satisfaction of seeing these kids work out their relationship so that it’s joyful and satisfying for all parties? Absolutely. Do we actually think they’re going to stay together forever, with marriage and babies far into the future? Well, probably not, and that’s ok! (Even if Erin did marry her high school sweetheart.)
Every once in a while, the For Now has a timestamp on it. Nicola Yoon’s Instructions for Dancing ends with the knowledge of X’s death, eight months in the future. He and Evie have the promise of joy and happiness and love, but only for right now, this very moment. Lest you argue that, holy cow, there’s no way that’s a romance, let us assure that it was a finalist for best YA romance in the 2021 Swoonies, so we know there are plenty of readers out there who found the love story satisfying.
If you’re reading for the dopamine hit that occurs when a protagonist faces down their fears and chooses to take a risk on love, chooses to risk their heart when the future is not assured, then an HFN hits just right.
BUT WHAT ABOUT…EVER?
The promise of the HEA is that the love story is long-lasting, that these characters will be together til death do them part (or sometimes even beyond). There’s permanence in that promise.
In contrast to HFN stories, HEA stories frequently feature marriage and children. A marriage license may be “just a piece of paper,” but it’s a piece of paper that carries legal weight. Now the Ever is more than words the protagonists have exchanged or promises they’ve made—the state is involved, and with that comes extra stability. And not only stability but legal protection. What would have happened in, say, The Long Game if Ilya had died in a plane crash? His only family is his estranged brother in Russia. Would Shane have been able to do anything with Ilya’s remains? An Ever with a legally binding marriage is an assurance to the reader that these protagonists are not only committed but legally safe.
Certain Evers, most especially those involving historical lords whose letters patent require inheritance based on primogeniture (which, let’s be honest, is presumed to be all lords, because generic verisimilitude), can also give us the assurance of stability for future generations. This is a part of the conflict between Viola and Gracewood in Alexis Hall’s A Lady for a Duke because they cannot make babies together, and Gracewood doesn’t really want to be the last of his line. In Catch a Falling Duke by Eve Pendle, the conflict between Hugo and Bea lies in Bea’s disbelief that Hugo would choose to disavow his inherited Dukedom and be fine with it if the title passed on to his (perfectly nice) cousin. By contrast, the protagonists of The Least Likely Bride by Jane Feather have sworn never to marry, and they never do, which is presumably more palatable not only because it’s what they actually want, but because they don’t have any legal responsibilities—no lands, titles, or wealth to pass on to any children they might have—that would make such a choice a problem for them; the protagonists in Scarlett Peckham’s The Rakess similarly eschew marriage (but, it must be noted, not children). When we become embroiled in the idea of the Ever, the story becomes bigger than the protagonists, and loose ends of what the safety net of Ever looks like become important to the ending.
Of course, all of this relies on the reader’s belief that the characters should be together. (Jenica over at Firewhiskey Reader recently blogged about this, and the importance of the feeling of safety for a satisfying romance.) When Ingrid read Priest by Sierra Simone, she rolled her eyes when she came to the wedding scene—because the couple had failed to address their underlying issues, Ingrid could see nothing but trouble in their future. (Knowing that there was a sequel about the same couple didn’t help.) Furthermore, the safety and assurance of legal permanence can feel like a trap when we see red flags or don’t feel that the characters should be together. A great example of how we let our moods guide us while reading can be experienced with a book like Long Shot by Kennedy Ryan, in which all the tropes that might be joyful in an accidental pregnancy book are shown to be absolutely harrowing in Iris’s first relationship. After the trap that was Iris’s first engagement, her choice to bind herself to August at the end of Long Shot cements their permanent Ever.
This is not to say that Ever can’t happen without the paperwork. There are plenty of ways to signal permanence without marriage and babies entering into the story at all. In Bet Me by Jennifer Crusie, Cal and Min are bound by chicken marsala and fate and a bungalow with only six stairs to the front door. In fact, the ending of Bet Me gives an HEA to every character, with an Ever that matches their desires, rather than what’s expected of them.
Sometimes the paperwork-free Ever is the characters’ choice, and sometimes they’re working within the framework of the historical period of the setting. By the time Arthur and Rory survive all their adventures at the end of Wonderstruck (the final book in the Magic in Manhattan trilogy), they’ve got a hard-earned HEA, but they’ve never discussed marriage and children. Possibly this is simply because they’re living in an alternate, magical 1920s world and having the conversation isn’t necessary to them, or possibly marriage and children simply aren’t important to them—they’re perfectly happy being uncles. Either way, the reader is certain that they’re going to be together forever. How can they not, after they’ve saved the world three times?
No matter what the Ever looks like, when it hits just right the reader is sure that the characters will have a long life (Like, they’ll never die. We don’t imagine that. Loooooooong life.) filled with all their fulfilled hopes and dreams and a love for the ages. We can see it stretching far into the future because the characters have earned that Ever and they deserve to enjoy it.
Which brings us to After.
BUT WHAT ABOUT…AFTER?
The epilogue is a useful tool in the romance arsenal to signal that the happy continues After the story ends. The epilogue allows us to see the HEA in action and is frequently the space for showing the reader all those marriages and babies that signal permanence. Epilogues that happen later can give a larger sense of satisfaction because they reassure the reader that the love really is forever, not just until the wedding, or next week, or next month.
Take, for example, the epilogue in Julia Quinn’s It’s In His Kiss. To give some backstory, the couple in this book come together over the joint mystery of finding some missing diamonds; they never find the treasure. The epilogue features their eight-year-old daughter finding a bag of diamonds hidden in the wall of the nursery’s washroom—and putting them back. This epilogue is particularly satisfying not only because we see the main couple’s marriage and children, some ten years in the future, but we also see the continuance of the mystery that brought them together in the first place.
The epilogue for Catch a Falling Duke takes the long view to the extreme. Instead of checking in with the couple, the reader gets an update on their farm—a hundred and fifty years in the future. Bea and Hugo’s HEA was not only tied up in their relationship, but in their political commitments, so this epilogue reassures the reader that Bea and Hugo’s actions had long-term repercussions. Or, if after the characters have passed on to their eternal reward is too much for you, consider the epilogue of Beauty Tempts the Beast by Lorraine Heath, in which we are carried to the main couple’s twilight years where they are surrounded by their family, including their numerous children and grandchildren. It can be extremely satisfying to see these characters achieve what they feared they never would as we were all struggling through their stories.
The popularity of long-running series or large, interconnected worlds points to the importance of the After in guaranteeing reader satisfaction. Think of the excitement of Bridgerton fans upon receiving confirmation that Simone Ashley would be reprising her role of happily married Kate Bridgerton née Sharma, thereby ensuring that viewers would be able to check in on Kate and Anthony’s HEA. Or consider a series like Nalini Singh’s Psy-Changeling universe, where characters are threaded throughout many (if not most) of the fifteen book series, culminating with what was essentially a novel-length bonus epilogue for all thirty-ish protagonists in Allegiance of Honor before the series spun off into the Psy-Changeling Trinity series. Part of the fun of that long-running series is seeing the characters and their families grow and be happy, even as the political intrigue continues to swirl around them. Holly’s sense of betrayal at discovering that Agent Down by Janet Walden-West was an exercise in putting the couple from the previous book in the series back through the wringer cannot be understated; Bruce and Vee had already found their happy ending, and she wanted their After as a tidbit in a new story about a new couple, not a new set of problems for Bruce and Vee to face.
The After, whether it’s an epilogue or not, can also help bring the reader down from the intense emotions of the story’s climax, offering a sense of contentment and completion. In Only When It’s Us by Chloe Liese, Willa gets put through the emotional wringer. She’s already struggling to manage her emotions in a healthy way when she gets a one-two punch of discovering that Ryder has been keeping a secret from her while also sitting vigil at her mother’s deathbed. Her grief spiral afterward keeps us in that emotional turmoil, so the lengthy come-down of Ryder and Willa coming back together and then planning a future helps the reader recenter after being emotionally manipulated. Without that guided come-down, the reader might be left reeling. For example, after being emotionally wrecked by Zach’s journey in K.D. Casey’s Unwritten Rules, the relatively calm and quick way that Zach and Eugenio came back together for their second chance in the end might have hit all the beats of their commitment, but when that last page arrived and Zach was walking through the tunnel, Erin wasn’t quite ready for the story to simply be…over.
Final Thoughts
The Great Smut Debate is really discussion what makes a romance, and if we’ve done anything here, it’s probably arguing that any kind of ending can make a satisfying romance, but it’s dependent on what the reader’s expectations are for a book—or more essentially, what they personally like in a book—and also on the technical structure of the book. So what did we learn here?
Well, we’d argue that it’s important to understand your own preferences and biases. If you’re a reader who really loves an HEA with marriage and babies, then books that involve more individualistic character growth arcs might miss for you because they’re more likely to end with a relatively abrupt HFN. But those books might be perfect for a reader who would like to yeet books that end with babies into the sun.
But how do you know?
Well, that’s what we and other reviewers are here for. And if we haven’t been explicit in our reviews, feel free to ask us. But also, certain imprints trend in certain ways. For example, a lot of William Morrow books are categorized and marketed as romance, but they often fall in a Women’s Fiction adjacent space. Many reviewers in Romancelandia think Berkley trade paperback romance is also more likely to fall into a WF adjacent space. Avon and Carina Press tend to have more traditionally structured romances. Maybe if Erin ever gets the publisher data added to our database, we can do an in-depth analysis. But not today.
Why are we now focusing on WF adjacent books when we were talking about HEAs vs. HFNs? Well, we all evaluated all our (blog reviewed) books beginning from 2020 and identified which we’d slate as trending toward WF and what kind of endings those books had. Overwhelmingly, these books tended to have HFN endings, which makes sense because a lot of the structure of WF stories is centered on the emotional journey of the protagonist. And we’re using the terminology Women’s Fiction here because that’s a Thing that exists, but we included stories about queer protagonists written by queer authors who don’t identify as women that have the same story structure. (Take, for example, Book Boyfriend by Kris Ripper.) Anyway, here’s the data if you’d like to see it with your own eyes:
The distribution is not the same when we look at romance more broadly. We would show you a matching graph of that, too, but we’ve read a lot of books since January 2020, and Erin had the idea to make charts rather last minute, and we are tired. Now that we’ve started, though, there will probably be more charts in future posts in this series. Anyway, for a relative sample, here’s the distribution of the books Erin reviewed in the past twelve months (that she didn’t DNF):
(Big shout out to Erin because apparently her super power is compiling and analyzing data when tired!)
Erin’s chart doesn’t necessarily tell us that much about romance as a whole, and it’s skewed to Erin’s personal preferences (what ARCs she chooses and what other books she chooses to review), but if it shows nothing else, it shows that there’s room for any kind of happy ending in the greater genre.
Books we discussed in this post:
The Smut Report 
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