6 Famous Novels That Don’t Have an Ending

The Crying of Lot 49, by Thomas Pynchon
Pynchon unfolds The Crying of Lot 49 like a detective novel. Along the way, Oedipa Maas goes from determined to worrying about her sanity, from intensely interested in the mystery to being almost exhausted by it. Just as she seems about to give up, a final clue draws her to the titular auction, and readers might be forgiven for assuming at least some resolution to the mystery would be on offer, but instead, the book ends just as the auction begins. To paraphrase Willy Wonka, we get nothing. Now, Pynchon’s probably the genius here, but wouldn’t it be fun to imagine that he also tried to write a novel in one month, and just typed out “The End” when the deadline hit?

Finnegans Wake, by James Joyce
Finnegans Wake, Joyce’s final work, is possibly the most famous novel that basically no one has actually read. Incorporating poetic language, coined words, and seemingly nonsense phrases, the book is either the work of a genius beyond most people’s ability to appreciate, or the ultimate joke from a literary prankster. Either way, one thing is certain: in as much as Finnegans Wake has a plot at all (and critical opinions differ on this point) it certainly has no ending; the final line is actually the beginning of the first line, making the whole thing an endless loop that you can simply continue reading, onward, forever.

Infinite Jest, by David Foster Wallace
Wallace was a writer who eschewed and disdained neat plots and simple resolutions. While Infinite Jest has the superficial look of a normal novel with a beginning, middle, and end, once you think about the final pages, you realize that a great many very important aspects of the plot are simply not resolved at all. You have to consider the prologue, in fact, to even have the slightest glimpse of how everything turns out, and even that keeps thing pretty ambiguous. Wallace’s skill is such that the lack of an ending isn’t apparent at first, but creeps up on you as the story lingers in your head, like a sore tooth you can’t help but poke at.

The Magus, by John Fowles
Fowles is a writer you expect tricks from, and The Magus , his first novel (though third published) is more or less all about tricks—and a trick itself. Nicholas, a recent Oxford graduate who takes a teaching position on a remote Greek island and meets the manipulative, psychologically tricky Maurice Conchis. Conchis plays what he calls the Godgame, composed of psychological games. At first Nicholas believes this to be all illusion, but slowly realizes he is being subsumed into the Godgame as a puppet and performer. As his grip on reality crumbles, the reader can be forgiven for being unsure of events—and then the book just ends with a quote in Latin, outcome vague. Fowles continued the trick by giving different answers to questions about the ending every time he was asked.

The Picnic at Hanging Rock, by Joan Lindsay
If you’ve never heard of The Picnic at Hanging Rock, you’ve missed a novel that created a sensation upon publication, both in Australia and internationally; the film adaptation was Peter Weir’s fourth directorial effort. The story about students from an elite women’s college who disappear mysteriously during a day trip to Hanging Rock near Victoria was elevated to pop culture immortality when the publisher suggested Lindsay remove the final chapter, which explained away the mystery. As a result, the novel has no actual ending, and no way for readers to guess what happened. This is partially because Lindsay’s intended ending is quite, quite bonkers. You can read it in the posthumously published The Secret of Hanging Rock if you want, but this is one book that’s improved by a lack of ending.

The Crimson Petal and the White, by Michel Faber
Faber’s tale of a self-interested Victorian man, his mad, beautiful wife, and the prostitute he incorporates into his household is mesmerizing in its complexity, exploring these lives in fascinating detail. As William’s utter lack of interest in the women who are tied so closely to him leads to tragedy, there is wide latitude on how to interpret the events that occur—especially because the fate of the characters is not clearly stated, leading to endless discussion about the path of each character’s fate. Any novel that ends with the feeling that there’s a chapter or two missing should be a failure, but Faber’s genius is that he makes it work.