Stories have the power to move, inform, and transform us. But when the final page is turned or the last credits roll, not all endings leave us with a sense of peace. Some conclusions feel complete and satisfying, tying up narrative threads in neat bows. Others linger in our minds, unsettled and echoing with questions.
This psychological phenomenon—our response to the closure or lack thereof in stories—is more than just a matter of taste. It taps into how our brains seek resolution, how we process uncertainty, and why ambiguity can either comfort or disturb us.
Our Brain Craves Patterns and Resolution
Human cognition is naturally inclined toward order. Psychologists refer to the Gestalt principle of closure, which explains our tendency to perceive incomplete images or stories as whole. This need to “fill in the gaps” extends to narratives. When a plot leaves something unresolved, our minds instinctively try to complete the story, sometimes long after it’s ended.
This drive for closure isn’t just aesthetic—it’s neurological. Research in cognitive psychology shows that unresolved narratives activate brain regions associated with problem-solving and memory, keeping us engaged as we subconsciously try to make sense of what we’ve seen or read. That’s why ambiguous or open-ended stories can be both stimulating and frustrating.
The Comfort of Complete Arcs
Narratives with clear endings offer emotional and psychological payoff. These are the stories that let us say goodbye, process the arc of a character, and file the experience away with a sense of resolution. Consider stories like The Lord of the Rings, where multiple threads are resolved and the emotional journey of the characters finds closure. We may still miss the world afterward, but we’re not haunted by questions.
Such endings create a sense of narrative equilibrium—a return to stability after the disruption caused by conflict. In storytelling theory, this structure is often described using the Freytag Pyramid: exposition, rising action, climax, falling action, and resolution. When all stages are completed, the audience experiences catharsis.
Catharsis, a concept rooted in Aristotle’s theory of tragedy, refers to the emotional release that comes from the resolution of intense experiences. Satisfying endings allow us to reflect, let go, and move on.
Why Ambiguity Lingers
On the other hand, ambiguous or unresolved endings often leave a deeper psychological imprint. Think of the final scene in Inception, with the spinning top—a symbol of unresolved reality. Or the series finale of The Sopranos, which cuts to black mid-scene, leaving the audience in a state of permanent speculation.
These types of endings resist narrative closure, keeping the story alive in the audience’s mind. They stimulate post-narrative processing, a term some scholars use to describe the continued reflection on a story after it ends. This mental revisiting can be enriching, but also disorienting, especially when key emotional or narrative arcs are left incomplete.
Such endings often mirror the uncertainty of real life. Not every conflict is resolved, not every question has an answer. When fiction reflects this truth, it can be powerful, but also uncomfortable. We’re used to stories being cleaner than reality; when they aren’t, the illusion of control is disrupted.
Character Attachment and Emotional Investment
Another factor that influences our reaction to plot closure is our emotional attachment to characters. When we become deeply invested in a character’s journey, an abrupt or unresolved conclusion can feel like emotional whiplash. If we don’t see how their story ends, or we’re denied closure, we’re more likely to ruminate on it.
This is particularly true in long-form narratives like TV series or multi-volume book sagas, where the time investment is substantial. When endings feel rushed or underdeveloped, audiences often express disappointment or even grief—common reactions when something we’ve emotionally committed to ends in a way that feels unearned or incomplete.
The Role of Ambiguity in Artistic Expression
Despite the discomfort it may bring, ambiguity is a powerful tool in storytelling. It invites interpretation, discussion, and subjective meaning-making. In literature, modernist and postmodernist authors have embraced this by presenting stories that defy traditional narrative arcs. Films by directors like David Lynch or Andrei Tarkovsky similarly challenge the idea that a story must resolve to be meaningful.
In these cases, the lack of closure is not a flaw, but a creative choice. It reflects the thematic intention of the work—whether it’s to critique the idea of finality, explore existential uncertainty, or highlight the fragmentation of experience.
Such stories require more from their audiences. They aren’t consumed passively; they demand introspection and personal interpretation. And for many viewers or readers, that demand creates a lasting emotional connection—one rooted in the very lack of clarity.
Cultural Expectations and the Desire for Closure
Our reaction to endings is also influenced by cultural norms and storytelling traditions. In Western media, particularly American entertainment, there’s often an expectation of clear moral arcs and satisfying conclusions. The good guys win, the bad guys lose, and justice is served.
By contrast, many Eastern narratives embrace open-endedness and moral ambiguity. Japanese literature and cinema, for example, often allow stories to end quietly or uncertainly, focusing on internal growth or fleeting moments rather than dramatic resolution.
Understanding these cultural differences helps explain why certain audiences are more accepting of ambiguous endings, while others crave resolution. It also highlights how storytelling conventions are not fixed but culturally shaped.
When Closure Feels Unnatural
Interestingly, not all closure is satisfying. Sometimes, forced or overly neat endings can feel artificial. When plot twists are contrived or characters behave inconsistently just to reach a conclusion, audiences may feel cheated rather than comforted. This phenomenon, sometimes called “narrative dissonance,” disrupts immersion and can retroactively diminish the emotional impact of the story.
In contrast, an open or unresolved ending that aligns with the story’s tone and themes—no matter how haunting—can feel authentic. Authenticity, rather than tidiness, is often what determines whether an ending is effective.
The End Is Only the Beginning
So, why do some endings haunt us while others let us move on? The answer lies in a combination of psychology, emotional investment, narrative design, and cultural expectation. Stories that provide closure give us peace. Stories that deny it challenge us to think, feel, and engage on a deeper level.
Whether we prefer the clean finality of a wrapped-up arc or the lingering questions of an ambiguous finale, both forms serve a purpose. Closure brings comfort. Lack of it brings reflection. And sometimes, the stories that leave us unsettled are the ones that never truly end.