The world has sent off Brian Wilson with a musical farewell, and I won’t beach about that. His genius earned every bit of that fame and his Beach Boys tunes have become part of life’s soundtrack for many, myself included.

But as the good vibrations echo in the distance, I have to spend just a moment in the writer’s corner. You see, it’s also time to give a last salute to Frederick Forsyth, assuming there’s not one last twist lying ahead, of course.

Forsyth had a long and lively career in writing thrillers, but if you know him at all, it’s almost certainly for one book: “Day of the Jackal.” Written in 35 days and set in 1963, it sets up a neck-and-neck chase between a top assassin and the detective pursuing him. Nothing is known about the killer except his code name — Jackal — and his target: French President Charles de Gaulle. The latter of which was an interesting choice, to say the least.

Why? Because when “Day of the Jackal” was published in 1971, de Gaulle had died just the year before — of natural causes. Everyone in the world knew he hadn’t been murdered. Not then. Not in the 1960s. Not ever. That would seem to stop a thriller before it ever got started. After all, how do you keep any tension in the story when you already know the target survives? For quite a long time after? But it grabbed readers. It grabbed Hollywood. And it can still grab an unwary newcomer, given half a chance.

That’s because the tension’s not in the destination, but in the journey. The false passports and disguises. The psychological cat-and-mouse. The careful preparations made by a careful killer — and the need to see how anyone could possibly disrupt it, let alone a detective with almost nothing to work from.

We want to understand.

Taking a step back, that’s not so uncommon. Many of our favorite fictional stories and genres could be considered foregone conclusions: the fantasy hero who will pull down the Dark Lord, the investigator who will crack the case, the romantic couple that will end up together despite all their trials and travails. We’re used to it, to the point where it becomes seriously shocking if the ending takes a left turn. Darth Vader defeats Luke Skywalker in “The Empire Strikes Back” and we gasp (even before a certain revelation). Rhett Butler leaves Scarlett O’Hara in “Gone With the Wind” without looking back and a whole theater reaches for tissues.

But most of the time, we know what we’re getting. We’re less worried about the ultimate result and more interested in the experience. We want to experience the history and geography of Middle-earth, or try to uncover the puzzle pieces before Hercules Poirot does, or to learn just how one uses a set of birth and death certificates to get a seemingly legitimate passport. (The authorities of Forsyth’s day were just as interested to learn that last one, it turns out.)

It’s an attitude that makes fiction come alive. And it can do the same for the real world if we let it. It’s easy to get tied up in goals and milestones: Do this, accomplish that, prepare for the other thing 10 years down the road. All of that can be important, to be sure — but it can also create a tunnel vision that shunts the rest of the world into invisibility.

We have to let ourselves see. And learn. And experience. To take the journey and not just run the race. Not only does that make a more interesting life, it also makes a more connected one. One where you have the background and empathy to understand where someone else is coming from and why.

That’s a twist worth taking. And an aim that even the Jackal could envy. And if that journey takes you near a rockin’ beach party … well, go have some fun, fun, fun, OK?