Dodging the "Giggles of Death"
Ah, The Old Curiosity Shop. Charles Dickens' magnum opus in misery, most famous for bringing us Little Nell—arguably literature’s first contestant on Britain’s Got (Morbid) Sentimentality. Even Oscar Wilde couldn't hold back, quipping that “one must have a heart of stone to read the death of little Nell without laughing.” A brutal takedown from the king of wit himself. So, how do you, as a modern writer, dodge the Wilde-an dagger and avoid having your big, tragic moment turned into comedic fodder? Let's get into it.
Avoid the Melodrama Sinkhole
If your character’s death scene reads like a soap opera episode set during a hurricane, you might be in trouble. Excessive sobbing, lingering speeches, and poetic sunsets might feel compelling as you write them, but they tend to veer into eye-roll territory. Dickens went all-in with Nell’s demise—so many tears were shed in print, it's a miracle the pages didn’t dissolve. Wilde wasn’t amused, and neither will be your readers.
Pro tip: Real emotion often comes from restraint. Don’t beat readers over the head with melodrama. A single, raw line or unexpected reaction can hit much harder than two pages of tear-streaked soliloquies.
Surprise Us (But Make It Plausible)
Little Nell’s tragic arc wasn’t exactly shocking. From page one, she seemed predestined to wilt like an Edwardian daisy. Readers could practically set their watches by the moment of her expiration. This predictability is lethal (pun fully intended). Wilde’s laughter might have been triggered by how inevitable and telegraphed the entire affair was.
Pro tip: Keep readers on their toes. Foreshadowing is useful, but don’t smack your audience over the head with it. Introduce red herrings, twists, or subvert expectations to maintain tension. And if your character must die, make it feel like a gut punch, not a clock-tick.
Keep the “Suffering Olympics” to a Minimum
Everyone suffers when Little Nell dies—probably even the livestock. Grief ripples outward for pages. Dickens indulged his Victorian flair for maximum pathos, but today’s readers might find such overkill exhausting, or worse, unintentionally comic. Wilde’s reaction makes a point: relentless tragedy can slip into parody, and nobody wants their character’s death to be the butt of a joke.
Pro tip: Balance is key. Pain and loss are powerful, but moments of lightness, resilience, or even dark humor can create a more profound contrast. Grief needs peaks and valleys. If you make everything The Worst Thing Ever™, nothing resonates.
Authenticity, Not Hallmark Sentimentality
Perhaps the sharpest sting of Wilde’s quip is this: Little Nell’s demise feels performative. Dickens likely meant to pull at heartstrings, but he strummed so hard they snapped. Wilde, the connoisseur of biting sincerity, wasn’t buying it—and neither will today’s skeptical audiences.
Pro tip: Authenticity shines when readers recognize real, human stakes. Avoid overwrought metaphors or overwrought scenes (looking at you, “gleaming tear-stained cheek”). Instead, hone in on small, honest moments that reflect how people actually grieve or confront loss. Real tragedy often lies in the words left unsaid, not a monologue about “death’s cruel embrace.”
Takeaway: Be Real, Be Subtle, and Sometimes Be Unexpected
You don’t want your dramatic climax to end with readers chuckling into their coffee or spitting out a sarcastic Wilde-esque retort. So, kill your darlings—but kill them artfully. Keep your writing grounded, subtle, and aware of the fine line between pathos and parody. Unlike Dickens, you want your readers to feel—not reach for the nearest Wilde quote to skewer you.
The Snark
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