Heart-breaking Moments in Fiction

Hello, people.  I'm here today with another 'moments in fiction' post.  (My first post like this was written back in November.  You can read it here if you're interested.)  In my last post I highlighted four story snippets which I found to be particularly relatable and true to life.  In this post I want to highlight a few of those emotional scenes which have the ability to grip your heart with an almost literal pain.  (Speaking for myself, at least.)

I've been reading David Copperfield lately--if ever there was a book full of emotion it is that book--and I came across a passage the other day which literally made me groan.  It was that sad.  Afterward I started thinking.  Are there are other scenes in books that have broken my heart in this way?  And the answer was, yes.  So I decided to put together a deliciously sad post for you all to enjoy.  ;)

Seriously, if you're anything like me you enjoy these sorts of scenes.  Because tragedy and heartache make you feel deeply for the characters you're reading about.   And one likes to feel for their characters.  A story would be boring otherwise.

David Copperfield by Charles Dickens
[Note:  I had to edit a bit of this because it was so long.  Where you see "..." is where I removed a bit of the original text.  Just so you know.]  

As the door closed, little Em'ly looked at us three in a hurried manner, and then hid her face in her hands, and fell to sobbing.

     'Doen't, Em'ly!' said Ham, tapping her gently on the shoulder.  'Doen't, my dear!  You doen't ought to cry so, pretty!'

     'Oh, Ham!' she exclaimed, still weeping pitifully, 'I am not so good a girl as I ought to be!  I know I have not the thankful heart, sometimes, I ought to have!'

     'Yes, yes, you have, I'm sure,' said Ham.

     "No! no! no!' cried little Em'ly, sobbing, and shaking her head.  'I am not as good as girl as I ought to be.  Not near! not near!'

     And still she cried, as if her heart would break.

     'I try your love too much.  I know I do!' she sobbed.  "I'm often cross to you, and changeable with you, when I ought to be far different.  You are never so to me.  Why am I ever so to you, when I should think of nothing but how to be grateful and to make you happy!'

     'You always make me so,' said Ham, 'my dear!  I am happy in the sight of you.  I am happy, all day long, in the thoughts of you.'

     'Ah! that's not enough!' she cried.  'That is because you are good; not because I am!  Oh, my dear, it might have been a better fortune for you, if you had been fond of some one else--of some one steadier and much worthier than me, who was all bound up in you, and never vain and changeable like me!'

...

'Oh, pray, aunt, try to help me!  Ham, dear, try to help me!  Mr. David, for the sake of old times, do please, try to help me!  I want to be a better girl than I am.  I want to feel a hundred times more thankful than I do.  I want to feel more, what a blessed thing it is to be the wife of a good man, and to lead a peaceful life.  Oh me, oh me!  Oh my heart, my heart!'

...

I saw her do, that night, what I had never seen her do before.  I saw her innocently kiss her chosen husband on the cheek and creep close to his bluff form as if it were her best support.  When they went away together, in the waning moonlight, and I looked after them, comparing their departure in my mind with Martha's, I saw that she held his arm with both her hands, and still kept close to him.

Oh, this part.  Knowing what comes afterward makes it so terribly sad.  The description of Emily holding on to Ham and keeping close to him as if, yes!  as if he were indeed her "best support".  Oh!  It's painful!  Because it's so true, he was her best support; he was a place of safety and protection and goodness.  And she knew it.  She knew the protection and love Ham had to offer her; and it's so sad to see how she instinctively clings to it, even while preparing to throw it from her.  Ahhh!  Why Emily?  Why?  You and Ham could have been happy together.  I know you could have, if you'd chosen to.  But human nature is a complicated thing, and too often we fail to comprehend what it is we're throwing away until it's too late to get it back.


Mansfield Park by Jane Austen

By eight in the morning Edmund was in the house.  The girls heard his entrance from above, and Fanny went down.  The idea of immediately seeing him with the knowledge of what he must be suffering, brought back all her own first feelings.  He so near her, and in misery.  She was ready to sink as she entered the parlour.  He was alone, and met her instantly, and she found herself pressed to his heart with only these words, just articulate, "My Fanny-my only sister-my only comfort now."

Ahhhh. Talk about clinging to another human being for strength and support.  I love how Edmund in his sorrow, and without a second thought, turns instinctively to Fanny for comfort.  His heart-break is so real, and it is evident from the few simple words he speaks that he has full confidence in Fanny's sympathy and understanding.  I love the feelings in this passage!  The desperation and the sorrow, and yet the joy of having one faithful human being to rely on and trust.  Also the fact that Edmund is seeking Fanny for comfort.  It's just...oh!...it's just too much!  *sob*


The Return of the King by J.R.R. Tolkien

Sam knelt by him.  Faint, almost inaudibly, he heard Frodo whispering, "Help me, Sam!  help me, Sam!  I can't stop it.'  Sam took his master's hands and laid them together, palm to palm, and kissed them; and then he held them gently between his own.

Okay.  Seriously.  This part gets me every time.  The utter hopelessness in Frodo's  voice; his simple, yet urgent cry for help; and Sam's calm and quick response.  Ahh!  Way to wrip my heart out.  Also, I just want to say, that though this is a very short snippet, it's a very powerful one.  Frodo's plea is utterly helpless, and yet looking at it closer there is extraordinary strength hidden beneath it.  The sort of strength which comes from being able to recognize one's own weakness and limitations and to plead for help before it's too late.  (Whoever said Frodo was a weak character?)

 

Are there any books that are particularly emotional for you?

Do you enjoy tragic, heart-rending scenes, or do you prefer cheerful and happy ones?

Real-Life Moments in Fiction

Every now and then, while reading a work of fiction, I'll come across a part which stands out to me particularly as being very true to life.   Either I've felt exactly as the author is describing a certain character to be feeling; or the words spoken by one of the characters is just what I would expect a real person to say in such a situation; or I've seen a friend, a family member--or myself--behave just as the character I'm reading about is behaving.  Whatever it is, there's something that resonates with me and I find myself musing over the fact that this author "really understands people." 

So, today I thought I'd share with you a few of the snippets which have stuck out to me in this way.   Most likely they won't strike you the same as they did me (for after all, everybody's different...and you have the disadvantage just now of jumping into the story mid-way, instead of reading it from the beginning), but I really like these parts and would like to share them with someone.  So, that's what I'm going to do.

Kidnapped by Robert Louis Stevenson  (Chapter XXIV)

And yes Alan had behaved like a child and (what is worse) a treacherous child.  Wheedling my money from me while I lay half-conscious, was scarce better than theft; and yet here he was trudging by my side, without a penny to his name, and by what I could see, quite blithe to sponge upon the money he had driven me to beg.  True, I was ready to share it with him; but it made me rage to see him count upon my readiness.

     These were the two things uppermost in my mind; and I could open my mouth upon neither without black ungenerosity.  So I did the next worst, and said nothing, nor so much as looked once at my companion, save with the tail of my eye.

..."Ye had better let me take your pack," said he, for perhaps the ninth time since we had parted from the scout beside Loch Rannoch.

     "I do very well, I thank you," said I, as cold as ice.

     Alan flushed darkly.  "I'll not offer it again," he said.  "I'm not a patient man, David."

     "I never said you were," said I, which was exactly the rude, silly speech of a boy of ten.

"The rude silly speech of a boy of ten."  Isn't that so true?  We can be such unreasonable creatures when we're upset.  For me, personally, this is a very accurate description of how I often feel (and behave) when a friend or family member does something to offend me.  I give the offending party the silent treatment, and insist on being huffy and unhappy until I'm satisfied that they're sufficiently disgusted with themselves.  And of course, the whole time I'm quite certain that they're acting very childish...while all the while I'm acting more so. 


Jo's Boys by Lousia May Alcott

Emil cheered up at once, and sitting with his arm about his "dear lass," in true sailor fashion told the happy ending of the tale.

     "Such a jolly old time as we had at Hamburg.  Uncle Hermann couldn't do enough for the captain, and while mamma took care of him, Mary looked after me.  I had to go into dock for repairs; fire hurt my eyes, and watching for a sail and want of sleep made 'em as hazy as a London fog.  She was pilot and brought me in all right, you see, only I couldn't part company, so she came aboard as first mate, and I'm bound for glory now."

     "Hush! that's silly, dear," whispered Mary, trying in her turn to stop him, with English shyness about tender topics.

That last line of Mary's.  I don't know why, but to me it's such an adorable little line, and I can totally see a young wife saying that to her husband.  Sometimes it's the smallest things--just a few simple words, put together correctly--that paint the largest pictures in one's mind. 


Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen 

     'If I were as rich as Mr. Darcy,' cried a young Lucas who came with his sisters, 'I should not care how proud I was.  I would keep a pack of foxhounds, and drink a bottle of wine every day.'

     'Then you would drink a great deal more than you ought,' said Mrs. Bennet; 'and if I were to see you at it I should take away your bottle directly.'
     The boy protested that she should not; she continued to declare that she would, and the argument ended only with the visit.

This part has always struck me as singularly interesting...not because of it's significance to the story, but because of it's being so ridiculously normal.  I mean, isn't it crazy how often we engage in silly arguments over what we would and wouldn't do in a certain situation--when all the time the chances of us ever being in such a situation are pretty much nil?  It's hilarious, really.  (And exactly the sort of conversation one would expect from Mrs. Bennet.  Heehee.)


David Copperfield by Charles Dickens

[For context: While attending school, David was elected by his fellow classmates to regale them with stories every night before going to sleep.]

Poor Traddles--I never think of that boy but with a strange disposition to laugh, and with tears in my eyes--was a sort of chorus, in general, and affected to be convulsed with mirth at the comic parts, and to be overcome with fear when there was any passage of an alarming character in the narrative.  This rather put me out, very often.  It was a great jest of his, I recollect, to pretend that he couldn't keep his teeth from chattering, whenever mention was made of an Alquazil in connection with the adventures of Gil Blas; and I remember that when Gil Blas met the captain of the robbers in Madrid, this unlucky joker counterfeited such an ague of terror, that he was overheard by Mr. Creakle, who was prowling about the passage, and handsomely flogged for disorderly conduct in the bedroom.

Okay.  I love this description of Traddles.  It's perfect.  Pretending to be "convulsed with mirth" and "overcome with fear."  Haha!  That is just how fun-loving, goofy little boys act!  I can totally see it.  And that's what's so cool about this paragraph.  It doesn't really forward the plot of the story, but it truly adds to the realism of it.  Reading this, and combining it in my mind with my own personal knowledge of children (and I'm not excluding myself here, either, because I was  a pretty goofy kid when I was little.  Just ask my mom), I'm left with an extraordinarily vivid picture of childhood.  It's amazing.

So tell me what you think. 

Do these passages strike you as being particularly true to life?

Do small, insignificant parts like these ever stick out to you when you're reading?