INSIDE THE CLASSROOM

I taught my last writing class at UCLA Extension on Tuesday night, at least for a little while. I'm taking a semester or two off to focus on personal business and getting back to my novel.  I taught Novel III this year and it was my favorite class to date.  I had a great mix of committed students, half of them loyalists who have been with me through Novel I, whose work I have watched progress in that time; and half of them genuinely talented noobs who have brought a welcome new energy to the class.  

What I enjoyed most about Novel III was the opportunity to go into greater detail than in previous classes. Where Novel I did one class apiece on character and point of view, Novel III included three classes on character - one class on main characters, one on secondary characters and one on minor characters - and two classes on point of view, one of which looked at the same scene as told by three different characters.  The text this semester has been The End of the Affair which has lent itself very nicely to that kind of study.

Now that the class is over, I thought I might share some highlights of some my lessons here, since I know many writers read this site; as well as many close readers.  And my lessons more often than not have been much more about reading than writing.  My recent discussion on voice and language was a case in point.

Here is a paragraph I distributed from The End of the Affair.  It's from a scene in Book One, where the narrator Bendrix is waiting for the first appearance of Sarah, his former lover whom he hasn't seen in years.

I laid the newspaper on the table and read the same page again because I wouldn’t look at the doorway. People were coming in, and I wouldn’t move my head up and down and betray an unmet expectation. What have we all got to expect that we allow ourselves such disappointment? There was a murder in the evening paper and a Parliamentary debate about sweet-rationing, and she was late. She caught me looking at my watch. I heard her voice say, “I’m sorry. I came by bus and the traffic was bad.”

Only it's not the actual paragraph from the book.  It's an altered version, in which I changed some of Greene's word choices and sentence rhythms, resulting in a paragraph that essentially does the same narrative lifting but is workmanlike.  The original paragraph, which I put on the back of the distributed page, is as follows.

I laid the newspaper flat on the table and read the same page over and over again because I wouldn’t look at the doorway. People were continually coming in, and I wouldn’t be one of those who by moving their heads up and down betray a foolish expectation. What have we all got to expect that we allow ourselves to be so lined with disappointment? There was the usual murder in the evening paper and a Parliamentary squabble about sweet-rationing, and she was now minutes late. It was my bad-luck that she caught me looking at my watch. I heard her voice say, “I’m sorry. I came by bus and the traffic was bad.”

I wanted my class to think closely about word choices.  Why the first paragraph, while doing the same work, is inferior.  How the efficient use of the word "continually" paints, with one word, a busy cafe that a less experienced writer might have spend a sentence or two on.  Why "squabble" is more interesting, more telling and more musical than "debate."  I urged them to listen for the melody of sentences - the "over and over again."  I used the analogy of the knife drawer - we all know which is the sharpest knife in our kitchen and invariably reach for it, bypassing the duller blades.  Writers should reach for the sharpest words possible - precision, focus, tone are the writer's sharp blades.

In future posts, I'll share highlights of our point of view class, as well as my famous "The Many Dratfts of the First Draft" lesson.  And thank you again to my wonderful students, whom I hope to see again in the fall for Novel IV.

Comments

[Rosie]

You chose a great example; it's a real pleasure to look closely at a paragraph of Greene's writing, and you've done a really good job of highlighting how his word choices are doing the work. Thanks for this.

PS. Now I might have to go and read The End of the Affair. Again.

[M. Cunningham]

What an effective and unconventional lesson idea. Thanks so much for sharing this, Mark.

[Susan D. Anderson]

As I work on perhaps the tenth revision of my novel, having (perhaps) resolved most structural, story and character issues, choosing the right words to build a line, a sentence, is my lovely, grueling need and obsession. I feel sometimes that the words are breathing me, or that I am singing them. They have so much to convey! They are all we have.

Susan D. Anderson
http://theobsessivereadersculturedghetto.blogspot.com/

[James D. Sanderson]

Great idea for teaching literature. Thanks for the post. Jim

[James]

Your "inferior" rewrite doesn't just choose weaker words; it also eliminates words. And yet you value concision when you praise Greene for using "continually" instead of a description.

"People were continually coming in" is no more vivid than "people kept coming in". (And no one needs to be told that papers lie "flat" on a table, etc.) Also, who's to say Greene couldn't have written a short description interesting enough to replace the whole "newspaper" bit?

Anyway, aren't both versions equally "workmanlike" compared to many a shorter passage from Dante, even in a poorly-worded, workmanlike translation?

Writers don't rise from amateur workmanship to artful mastery by skipping things like descriptions in favor of pseudo-literary long-windedness.

Writers rise by learning to transcend mere word-choice and discern whether they've said anything interesting. Or so it seems to this amateur workman.

[TEV]

James,

One of the things I tell my students is that there is no "correct" way to do anything - reading and writing are personal and open to interpretation, and so one must allow for differences of opinion. As I certainly allow for yours.

That said, I find much in your comment to be wrongheaded, and it suggests to me that you are, at least, an amateur workman as a reader. I can't speak to you as a writer.

To begin, I don't prize concision in and of itself, nor do I suggest that I do. I do say that the the right single word is better than many weaker words. If you can't see the difference with and without "continually," if you can't discern its active impact on a sentence, I'm not sure I can do much to help you. And as for "flat," I think there are plenty of ways a paper can lie on a table - in a pile or heap; pages askew; folded in half. Flat is a precise descriptor that tells us more about the man doing the laying than the paper itself, a man who is precise, fussy and more than a little obsessive.

Finally, it's simply silliness to invoke Dante. I suppose we can compare everyone to Dante and Shakespeare, find them wanting and go home.

The rest of your post, when it isn't trading in obvious banality (be interesting!), is sophistry, positing things I've never suggested. In the end, writers rise from thinking about every single word, whether their own or another author's. The lessons we draw are obviously up to us, but I assure there's more to learn from Greene than "Read Dante."

[melbournegirl]

This approach really interests me - and it answers some of the (to my mind) ridiculous conjectures about whether or not writing can be 'taught' that always swirls around creative writing courses. You are so right to suggest that attentive writing is entwined with attentive reading.

[melbournegirl]

Actually, the conjectures swirl, not 'swirls'. I need a writing course!

[James]

Mark,

You reduce "saying something's more crucial than word-choice" to "be interesting" & name-call it "banal".

I cited Dante, & the issue of wording/translation (which you ignore) not to say "Greene means read Dante" but to show the above point with one you might rank over Greene. (If I cite Carter Dickson, I just give you more ammo for insulting my reading skills.)

I agree: a good word beats many bad ones.

But don't you also claim many "right" words beat fewer "workmanlike" equivalents, even if bloating a book mortals must read?

Concision (like "saying something" & word-choice) isn't all, but isn't it part of a good writer or reader's calculations?

[John Pappas]

I present passages like this and their rewritten counterparts to my high school students, although I've never given them this particular passage. This exercise really does get them to think critically about diction, idiom, character, pacing, tone, etc. There's a great book by W. D. Snodgrass that does this with poetry called "De/Compositions." He presents a poem by Shakespeare, Stevens, Williams, etc. and then next to it a poem he "decomposes" based on the original. It really highlights the artistry and style of the poet, and the reasoning behind the choices they make.

[R B Ries]

Mark,

I'm new to the site and I have to say I'm appalled at the unprofessional way in which you responded to a dissenting commenter. Whatever happened to civil discourse? When presented with a case of mild disagreement, you tell your opponent he's boring, unintelligent, an unskilled reader, and not nearly as smart as he thinks he is.

I came here looking for some reasonable discussions about my favorite passion (literature). I leave wondering if such a place exists on the Internet.

[TEV]

R.B., I'm sorry to have disappointed you. I was responding in kind to what I felt was an unnecessarily belligerent comment from James. If you take the time to peruse the archives, you'll find that TEV is, in fact, quite a civil place. Of course, teh internets is a big place, so if you find TEV wanting, you are encouraged to continue your search.

[TEV]

James, I can't really make out what you're saying in your follow up post; but I would suffice to say that according to your formulation of "concision," we'd have no Proust, no Joyce, no Tolstoy. But given your giveaway adjective "bloated," I'm not sure you'd consider that a bad thing. Length and bloat are not synonymous. You remind me of a former blogger friend of mine who would chastise short books for not being long books; he couldn't fathom that short books have their own brief (no pun intended) and they function differently than long books. In the obverse, you seem to fault longer books for not being shorter books. It's not a position one can gain any purchase with.

And your Dante/translation point remains too opaque to comment on. Though I did, in fact, address your invocation of Dante.

I hope this is sufficiently civil to heal R.B's wounded sensibilities.

[Niall]

This reminds me of an English class I took in Alaska when I was in high school. The class was devoted entirely to the subject of style in writing. We were given passages from essays and stories, and told to rewrite them in different ways (e.g., change all active to passive; eliminate all adverbs; change the POV, etc.). I found it very illuminating and helpful. What it taught me is that each style has its own value and role to play, if you're clever enough to see it. "Flat" writing, for example, can be exactly what you need for certain purposes. It's a style that's often been used in noir literature, for example, to bring out the banality of violence. So I have to agree with TEV on the broader issue. I'll never write like Dante, so I just don't worry about that.

Cheers.

[Shelley]

Glad you're getting back to your writing.

It's a great life, even when nobody beats a path to our door.

[R B Ries]

Mark,

At your suggestion I did peruse your archive and found this post of yours:

"I am all for thoughtful disagreement and debate.

What I will not abide, and will continue to delete, are comments that are little more than name-calling. Comments that are needlessly rude or pointlessly flip. Comments that are nothing more disembodied snark, that take cheap shots at me or my other readers."

Interesting that you hold your commenters to much higher standards than yourself.

Anyway, thanks for the response.

[Will Amato]

Nice, Mark!

[erik]

I will read as many of these posts as you will write.

[ward]

I read the debate between James and Mark, agreed more with Mark, though James did, I thought, make some valid points about wordiness. As pointed out by Mark, a lot has to do with rhythm, words like "continually" are conducive to that. It's the right mix of gloss and particulars that make painting a scene so tricky. Why we keep touching up our stories, our manuscripts.

[Michael Larson]

I'm a huge fan of Graham Greene myself but it seems that, at least in the literary circles I travel, Greene is looked down on. It's true that he did write some fairly commercial books, but his 'serious' works are amazing - especially in terms of how their narratives. Does anyone know why Greene is always considered somewhat second rate?

Also, among Greene's works that I've read, one mu favorites was "The Quiet American." However, I recognize that this novel contains an element which is seen something of faux pas in contemporary literature. Namely, the first person relates a murder mystery to the reader from a point of telling situated after the murder. The narrator knows who committed the crime, but this is not revealed until the end of the book, when comes in as the climax. Serious writers I know of generally see this kind of withholding of obviously vital information by a first person narrator as a cheap trick that has no place in literature. Yet, in spite of this, I can't help but enjoy that book. It successfully mixes war, journalism, a kind of travel writing, a captivating and fast moving narrative, and some serious social and political thought. Hell, I even kind of like the ending. But I can't put my finger on why. Does anyone out there have an opinion on this? Does anyone hate the book or love it? How do you find the trick I referred to? Why? Why? Why?

[Drew]

Michael,
I too am an admirer of Graham Greene, and came to him via Paul Theroux. He seems to be highly thought of by other writers, and his influence can be read across continents and languages.

I haven't come across him being looked down upon. Perhaps particular books here and there, but, in general, it seems to me his reputation is intact.

[Jenifer]

Reading this, reminded me about those sweet years when I was a student. Your article made me so damn melancholic.. :( I wish I could turn back time, at least for one day..

[A. Jay Adler]

I believe unsettled opinion about Greene may stem from his early choice to categorize some of his works as "entertainments" and the controversial nature of his evolving politics, to which many attribute his never having won the Nobel, an award he deserved.

If Mark was a tad prickly in response to James, it was probably because James was haughtily dismissive without the insights to support it. Be haughty or be off the mark, but both together invite trouble. For instance, "kept coming in" is euphonically clipped and clumsy in contrast to "were continually coming in," which streams. "Kept" also has a connotation of persistent application inappropriate to the description. Mark defended the newspaper's lying "flat" very well. It also conveys a sense of the paper's being spread upon the table.

"Concision" is a value to be balanced with others - vividness, for instance - in conveying the requirements of the thought, the sense, the image, the moment. And "pseudo" placed before "literary" or "intellectual" when offering a dissent is a sure sign of a troubled argument.

Finally, it seems clear to me that none of what R.B. quotes from Mark as disfavored commenting - "pointlessly flip....nothing more [than] disembodied snark... cheap shots" - applies to the pointed replies Mark made to James. "Rude" R.B. is entitled to feel, for himself, applies.