A closed plot is one that has a clearly identifiable end. It can have a clearly identifiable beginning as well, but this is not strictly necessary – it can just as well begin in medias res, ‘in the middle of things,’ instead. The end, though, needs to represent precisely that: an end. By the time we reach the final pages or scenes, that is, the battle has been won or lost, the mystery solved, the lovers re-united (often in marriage), and so on. In an open plot, by contrast, much remains amorphous and incomplete: the battle is inconclusive and possibly ongoing, the mystery remains, the lovers are still pining after one another in a state of abject limbo.
In very general, terms, then, the worldview a narrative expresses is conveyed in part by whether that plot is open or closed. An open plot, for instance, can help transmit the sense that the world is large and manifold – that every event or sequence of events, no matter how earth-shattering or seemingly all-encompassing, is ultimately just an episode in the much larger story of humanity and the universe; alternatively, it can present us with a world of uncertainly and fluidity, in which nothing is solid or ever fully and finally resolved. A closed plot, on the other hand, can convey the exact opposite: a sense, for instance, that some actions do reach a conclusion and can be understood in their totality; this is a world, in short, that contains at least some sense of order and comprehensibility.
Some narratologists argue that beginnings and ends are in many respects the most important part of any narrative – and especially the ends. Beginnings are important, they suggest, because they set up the action, grab our attention and tune the strings of our thoughts and feelings to such a pitch that the narrative can continue to play whatever emotional and intellectual notes on those strings it wishes (of surprise, sadness, joy, or whatever). Ends are important, meanwhile, because they often help determine what we retrospectively come to regard as the overall meaning of the narrative. It makes a difference to the way we judge Prospero and his seemingly callous actions in William Shakespeare’s play The Tempest, for instance, if we judge that his plan to drive his adversaries to forgiveness has succeeded by the end or not.
We recommend, then, that you test your analysis of how a narrative works and what it means as a whole by paying particularly close attention to its beginning and end.
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