Rubin's Vase

At one point during the twelve or thirteen times I rewrote my novel, it ended with a grand philosophical revelation that explained the nature, purpose, and origin of the universe. When I shared it with my editor, desperately anxious to hear him sing my praises, he sent me a long, carefully written email, where he explained in painstaking detail what he thought about the ending. I can sum it up in two words:

“Nobody cares.”

He was referring to the fact that, in order to receive the revelation about the truth of the universe, my protagonist suffers a terrible fate, and after I used him as a vehicle to express my cosmic vision, I left him to rot, seemingly insane, his ultimate destiny remaining a mystery.

“People care more about the characters, more about the human core of the story,” he said. “Not your philosophy.”

“What should I do, then?” I asked.

“Well, for one thing, we need to know if he’s going to be okay.”

I wrestled with this problem for a long time. Part of me loved the idea of ending the book with my character driven to madness by a divine illumination, but another part of me saw his point. We need to know, on a human level, what happens to him. After what he went through, what will become of his life?

Still, I wished I could have it both ways. If only I could write two simultaneous, even incompatible, endings to my book - that would be awesome. If only I could turn the ending of my book into a kind of optical illusion, like Rubin’s Vase, where the reader can switch back and forth between two different but equally valid interpretations of the book - that would be the sweet spot. This would be my subtle way of letting people know that my protagonist turns out okay after all, while still keeping the scene where he descends into insanity fully intact.

Was Rubin’s Vase the key to the ending? If so, how could I pull it off?

In the midst of the this creative struggle, I was the reading The Brothers Karamazov, and I got to the part where Father Zosima describes reading the story of Joseph in the Bible as a child and how it had a tremendous impact on him. Later that day, at the library, I came across a book called Joseph: A Man of Integrity and Forgiveness. As I flipped through it, I read for the first time about one of Joseph’s brother - Reuben.

Immediately, Rubin’s Vase came to mind.

Reuben was the oldest son of Jacob and Leah, and when the brothers plotted to murder Joseph, Reuben convinced them to sell him into slavery instead of killing him.

Once again, Rubin’s Vase came to mind.

Reuben wanted it both ways. He didn’t want to murder Joseph, but he also wanted to appease his other brothers. The book said that, as a result, Reuben’s descendants were characterized by indecision.

What did this mean? Could I have it both ways? Was it possible to stick these two endings together? Or did I have to make decision?

Were all these signs trying to tell me something?

The next day at work, I get a message from Diane: “Can you please bring a roll of tape with you on your way to the information desk?”

“No problem.”

I dug through the back cupboard, looking for a roll of tape, and I found a large yellow box of Scotch Double-Sided Tape. And then, in the first time in all the years I’ve been working at the library, the French side of the label caught my eye.

Ruban adhésif double-face.

Ruban.

Double-sided – like Rubin’s vase.