The Art Of Writing & Speaking The English Language : Chapter XII - Harmony Of Style

The Art Of Writing & Speaking The English Language Word-Study, by Sherwin Cody is part of HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here.

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.

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