HARMONY OF STYLE:
Irving and Hawthorne.
A work of literary art is like a piece of music: one false note makes a
discord that spoils the effect of the whole. But it is useless to give
rules for writing an harmonious style. When one sits down to write he
should give his whole thought and energy to expressing himself forcibly
and with the vital glow of an overpowering interest. An interesting
thought expressed with force and suggestiveness is worth volumes of
commonplaces couched in the most faultless language. The writer should
never hesitate in choosing between perfectness of language and vigor.
On the first writing verbal perfection should be sacrificed without a
moment's hesitation. But when a story or essay has once been written,
the writer will turn his attention to those small details of style.
He must harmonize his language. He must polish. It is one of the most
tedious processes in literature, and to the novice the most difficult on
which to make a beginning. Yet there is nothing more surely a matter of
labor _and_ not of genius. It is for this that one masters grammar and
rhetoric, and studies the individual uses of words. Carried to an extreme
it is fatal to vitality of style. But human nature is more often prone to
shirk, and this is the thing that is passed over from laziness. If you
find one who declaims against the utmost care in verbal polish, you will
find a lazy man.
The beginner, however, rarely knows how to set to work, and this chapter
is intended to give some practical hints. We assume that the student
knows perfectly well what good grammar is, as well as the leading
principles of rhetoric, and could easily correct his faults in these
if he should see them. There are several distinct classes of errors to
look for: faults of grammar, such as the mixing of modes and tenses, and
the agreement of verbs and particles in number when collective nouns are
referred to; faults of rhetoric, such as the mixing of figures of speech;
faults of taste, such as the use of words with a disagreeable or misleading
atmosphere about them, though their strict meaning makes their use correct
enough; faults of repetition of the same word in differing senses in
the same sentence or paragraph; faults of tediousness of phrasing or
explanation; faults of lack of clearness in expressing the exact meaning;
faults of sentimental use of language, that is, falling into fine phrases
which have no distinct meaning―the most discordant fault of all; faults of
digression in the structure of the composition.
This list is comprehensive of the chief points to look for in verbal
revision. Faults of grammar need no explanation here. But we would say,
Beware. The most skilled writers are almost constantly falling into errors
of this kind, for they are the most subtle and elusive of all, verbal
failings. There is, indeed, but one certain way to be sure that they are
all removed, and that is by parsing every word by grammatical formula it
is a somewhat tedious method, but by practice one may weigh each word with
rapidity, and it is only by considering each word alone that one may be
sure that nothing is passed over. In the same way each phrase or sentence,
or figure of speech, should be weighed separately, for its rhetorical
accuracy.
Faults of taste are detected by a much more delicate process than the
application of formulæ, but they almost invariably arise (if ones native
sense is keen) from the use of a word in a perfectly legitimate and pure
sense, when the public attaches to it an atmosphere (let us call it) which
is vulgar or disagreeable. In such cases the word should be sacrificed,
for the atmosphere of a word carries a hundred times more weight with the
common reader than the strict and logical meaning. For instance, the word
_mellow_ is applied to over-ripe fruit, and to light of a peculiarly soft
quality, if one is writing for a class of people who are familiar with
the poets, it is proper enough to use the word in its poetic sense; but
if the majority of the readers of one's work always associate _mellow_
with over-ripe fruit, to use it in its poetic sense would be disastrous.
The repetition of the same word many times in succeeding phrases is a
figure of speech much used by certain recognized writers, and is a most
valuable one. Nor should one be afraid of repetition whenever clearness
makes it necessary. But the repetition of the same word in differing
senses in adjoining phrases is a fault to be strictly guarded against.
The writer was himself once guilty of perpetrating the following
abomination: “The _form_ which represented her, though idealized
somewhat, is an actual likeness elevated by the force of the sculptor's
love into a _form_ of surpassing beauty. It is her _form_ reclining on
a couch, only a soft, thin drapery covering her transparent _form,_ her
head slightly raised and turned to one side, and having concentrated in
its form and posture the height of the whole figure's beauty.” Careful
examination will show that form, used five times in this paragraph,
has at least three very slightly differing meanings, a fact which
greatly adds to the objectionableness of the recurrence of the sound.
A writer who has a high regard for accuracy and completeness of
expression is very liable to fall into tediousness in his explanations,
he realizes that he is tedious, but he asks, “How can I say what I have
to say without being tedious?” Tediousness means that what is said is
not worth saying at all, or that it can be said in fewer words. The best
method of condensation is the use of some pregnant phrase or comparison
which rapidly suggests the meaning without actually stating it. The art
of using suggestive phrases is the secret of condensation.
But in the rapid telling of a story or description of a scene, perhaps
no fault is so surely fatal as a momentary lapse into meaningless fine
phrases, or sentimentality. In writing a vivid description the author
finds his pen moving even after he has finished putting down every
significant detail. He is not for the moment sure that he has finished,
and thinks that to complete the picture, to “round it up,” a few general
phrases are necessary. But when he re-reads what he has written, he sees
that it fails, for some unknown reason, of the power of effect on which
he had counted. His glowing description seems tawdry, or overwrought.
He knows that it is not possible that the whole is bad:
But where is the difficulty?
Almost invariably the trouble will be found to be in some false phrase,
for one alone is enough to spoil a whole production. It is as if a
single flat or sharp note is introduced into a symphony, producing a
discord which rings through the mind during the whole performance.
To detect the fault, go over the work with the utmost care, weighing
each item of the description, and asking the question, Is that an
absolutely necessary and true element of the picture I had in mind?
Nine times out of ten the writer will discover some sentence or phrase
which may be called a “glittering generality,” or that is a weak
repetition of what has already been well said, or that is simply “fine”
language―sentimentality of some sort. Let him ruthlessly cut away
that paragraph, sentence, or phrase, and then re-read. It is almost
startling to observe how the removal or addition of a single phrase
will change the effect of a description covering many pages.
But often a long composition will lack harmony of structure, a fault
very different from any we have mentioned, Hitherto we have spoken of
definite faults that must be cut out. It is as often necessary to make
additions.
In the first place, each paragraph must be balanced within itself. The
language must be fluent and varied, and each thought or suggestion must
flow easily and smoothly into the next, unless abruptness is used for a
definite purpose. Likewise each successive stage of a description or
dialogue must have its relative as well as its intrinsic value. The
writer must study carefully the proportions of the parts, and nicely
adjust and harmonize each to the other. Every paragraph, every sentence,
every phrase and word, should have its own distinct and clear meaning,
and the writer should never allow himself to be in doubt as to the need
or value of this or that.
To secure harmony of style and structure is a matter of personal
judgment and study. Though rules for it cannot be given, it will be
found to be a natural result of following all the principles of grammar,
rhetoric, and composition. But the hard work involved in securing this
proportion and harmony of structure can never be avoided or evaded without
disastrous consequences. Toil, toil, toil! That should be every writer's
motto if he aspires to success, even in the simplest forms of writing.
The ambitious writer will not learn harmony of style from any single
short selection, however perfect such a composition may be in itself.
It requires persistent reading, as well as very thoughtful reading,
of the masters of perfect style. Two such masters are especially to be
recommended,―Irving and Hawthorne. And among their works, the best
for such study are “The Sketchbook,” especially Rip Van Winkle and
Legend of Sleepy Hollow, by Irving, and “The Scarlet Letter” and such
short stories as “The Great Stone Face,” by Hawthorne. To these may be
added Thackeray's “Vanity Fair,” Scott's “Ivanhoe,” and Lamb's “Essays
of Elia.” These books should be read and re-read many times; and
whenever any composition is to be tested, it may conveniently be
compared as to style to some part of one or other of these books.
In conclusion we would say that the study of too many masterpieces is
an error. It means that none of them are fully absorbed or mastered.
The selections here given,* together with the volumes recommended above,
may of course be judiciously supplemented if occasion requires; but as a
rule, these will be found ample. Each type should be studied and mastered,
one type after another. It would be a mistake to omit any one, even if it
is a type that does not particularly interest the student, and is one he
thinks he will never wish to use in its purity: mastery of it will enrich
any other style that may be chosen: If it is found useful for shaping no
more than a single sentence, it is to be remembered that that sentence may
shape the destinies of a life.
*A fuller collection of the masterpieces of style than the present
volume contains may be found in “The Best English Essays,” edited by
Sherwin Cody.