How to make a sad story funny Jodie HoulstonLau
A World War II veteran processes
the devastation he’s witnessed
from the confines of an intergalactic zoo.
As an estranged parent and child meet
at a fraught family reunion,
a little girl mumbles, “How do you do?”
from behind a dirty curtain.
After the death of his best friend,
a lonely king travels to the end
of the world in search for answers and…
walks into a bar.
It may seem counterintuitive, but comedy
is often key to a serious story.
As a writer, you need your audience
to experience a range of emotions,
no matter what your genre.
Whether you want to evoke
fear, grief, or excitement,
when people are exposed to one emotion
for too long,
they become desensitized to it.
Comic relief is a tried-and-true way
of creating the varied emotional texture
a compelling story needs.
So how can you create this effect
in your own stories?
Whether you use characters, situations,
language, or any combination of the three,
timing and contrast are crucial.
Take the “Epic of Gilgamesh.”
This ancient Mesopotamian tale is possibly
the oldest known work of literature,
and yet the story remains
compelling today.
As King Gilgamesh approaches the end
of the world,
he walks into a bar.
We think we’re reaching
the climax of his story—
only to have our expectations subverted.
That brief respite allows the tension
to build even higher
to a later, true climax.
It both relieves and creates tension.
This lesson also applies
to modern stories:
by briefly lightening the mood,
you can build tension in your stories
exactly when it’s needed.
The moment at the bar doesn’t just amplify
the audience’s emotional response—
it also complicates it.
The wise bartender questions
the purpose of Gilgamesh’s quest—
setting the stage for the final,
more nuanced resolution.
You can use comic relief not only
to create contrast with graver moments,
but to comment on them.
Sidekicks are one of the most common
and direct ways to do this:
they can supply sneakily perceptive
commentary on the main action,
often while simultaneously serving
as blundering, hapless punchlines.
Kurt Vonnegut’s “Slaughterhouse-Five”
takes a different approach:
the story continuously alternates
between horrific war scenes
and wacky science fiction moments.
These scenes provide comic relief,
but also open a dialogue about
what’s usually unspeakable,
highlighting the arbitrary nature
of human suffering
in a way that makes it more impactful.
Arundhati Roy’s “The God of Small Things”
takes yet another approach
to comic relief.
The narrative style draws
upon the perspective of children
to infuse a tragic story
with poignant humor.
When the adults funnel decades of tensions
over race, class, and family dynamics
into their expectations
for their children’s behavior,
you can’t help but chuckle
with recognition when,
at the moment she’s expected to put
on a perfect performance of politeness,
7-year-old Rahel “[ravels] herself like
a sausage into the dirty airport curtain
and [won’t] unravel.”
At the same time, you know her failure
to behave will only add to the tension.
Afterward, she thinks,
“the play had gone bad.
Like Pickle in a monsoon.”
This punchline underscores
the reality of the situation:
the reunion is so forced and formal,
Rahel feels like her family
are actors in a play,
and she feels powerless in the storm
of what’s happening.
To make the most of comic relief, think
not only about what moment in your story
would most benefit from a splash
of contrasting emotion,
but also: what message you’d like
to convey that you can’t say directly?
Which of your readers’ assumptions would
you like to call into question?