Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Good luck, Lawrence!

In his short story, The Rocking-Horse Winner, D. H. Lawrence explores the universal theme of luck as well as the more culturally specific theme of class. Lawrence portrays an upper-class family living in financial anxiety, to the extent that their house seems to whisper to everyone, including the covertly observant children, "There must be more money!" The family obsessively maintains the appearance of their wealth and class, even as it plunges further into debt and despair. Lawrence conveys this pressing anxiety through a highly physical prose, employing onomatopoeia extensively, as well as images that relate to physical sensations.

It came whispering from the springs of the still-swaying rocking-horse, and even the horse, bending his wooden, champing head, heard it. (Lawrence, 276).

The alliteration of this sentence gives it an onomatopoeic quality. The preponderance of s-sounds emphasize the secretive, hushed communication of this anxiety, while the focus in the sentence on the "springs of the still-swaying rocking-horse" grounds the reader in the physical momentum of the toy. One can hear and feel the springing under the horse through the diction in this sentence. The use of the word champing is clever, also. Its most obvious meaning is that the horse is 'champing at the bit'; however, as this rocking-horse will be revealed to be the luck winning horse, it also seems to pun on champion, especially when used in reference to the head and not the mouth.

That the toys whisper the anxious refrain in such a personified manner adds an element of magical realism to the story that is consistent with the imaginative point of view of a child. While the story is not narrated by Paul, he is the main character, and the narrator seems to speak from his point of view or in his voice often. The dialogue in the story is quite striking, as it seems very sincere interactions between children and adults. The dialogue is also very revealing of the characters, in place of more descriptive characterization by the narrator.

'Hallo, you young jockey! Riding a winner?' said his uncle.
'Aren't you growing too big for a rocking-horse? You're not a very little boy any longer, you know,' said his mother. (278)
While Paul's uncle plays along with his nephew's game, his mother seeks to put an end to his imaginative play.
'Well, I got there!' he announced fiercely, his blue eyes still flaring, and his sturdy long legs straddling apart.
'Where did you get to?' asked his mother.
'Where I wanted to go,' he flared back at her.
'That's right, son!' said Uncle Oscar. 'Don't you stop till you get there. What's the horse's name?'
(278)

By contrast to the mother's indecisiveness, Uncle Oscar praises the boy for his certainty and command of the horse, encouraging him to keep on his journey until he 'gets there.' Throughout the story, Uncle Oscar is explicitly connected with luck, while the mother is not. This is one of the first instances, in which the dialogue between the three makes a stark comparison between the two adult influences in Paul's life. "And he would slash the horse on the neck with the little whip he had asked Uncle Oscar for. He knew the horse could take him to where there was luck, if only he forced it" (278). Unlike Paul's mother, Uncle Oscar forces his luck rather than waiting for it to fall into his hands.

If this story is so admired, I imagine there have been some interesting feminist critiques of it. Running parallel to the theme of luck is the theme of patriarchal control that is integral to the British system of class. The mother is immediately identified as being without love for her children; two motifs of the story are the mother's stony heart, contrasted with the vivid, firey blue eyes of her son. This becomes one motif when the boy becomes ill: "He neither slept nor regained consciousness, and his eyes were like blue stones. His mother sat, feeling her heart had gone, turned actually into a stone."(not sure of page) The mother's luck begins to go downhill after she marries; she loses love for her husband, and her husband fails to live up to both of their expectations as a provider, despite having "good prospects." Both parents fail to provide an income adequate to the lifestyle their appearance of superiority requires; but the mother fails especially, since she can never earn as much as her husband, nor can she love her children properly, although she maintains the appearance of motherly adoration. When asked if she is lucky, the mother replies, 'I can't be, if I married an ulucky husband.' 'But by yourself, aren't you?' 'I used to think I was, before I married. Now I think I am very unlucky indeed.' (277). The mother is unable to define herself outside of her husband, like her son who simply declares that he has been endowed with luck by God. While the mother doesn't know that her young son is providing for the family so that she can continue spending at excess, she must be humiliated by the fact that Uncle Oscar, one of the well-off family members, must meet with the family lawyer and sign off in order to allow her to withdraw the 5,000 pounds supplied by her son at once.

Ultimately the boy's luck is shallow and attached only to earning money through gambling on horse racing. The end to the story has an element of morality tale: luck is a gamble. Would the boy's luck have continued as he grew older? Eventually he would have completely outgrown the rocking-horse and would have been unable to use it to predict winning horses. It seems the boy's luck would not have outlasted his childhood, his ability to imagine and create his reality through belief. Perhaps that is what is meant by Uncle Oscar's puzzling pronouncement on the boy's luck at the end.

Monday, September 28, 2009

The phenomenon of orwellian discursive processes...

"Look back through this essay, and for certain you will find that I have again and again committed the very faults I am protesting against," writes Orwell in his Politics and the English Language; however, the essay is persuasive and successful for the very reason that he uses his writing as a broad example of the type of writing he praises (Orwell, 711). Orwell asserts that in order to write clearly and well, one must "let the meaning choose the word, and not the other way about" (712). Throughout the essay, the form of Orwell's sentences serves their argumentative function; they clarify the meaning for the reader, either through their diction or through use of an illustrative simile or metaphor that is alive and not hackneyed. The first sentence I have quoted from page 711 appears to break Orwell's rules by employing commonly used phrases that could be stated in single words, such as "for certain" and "again and again." Orwell could have substituted "and you will certainly find that I have frequently committed..." in place of "and for certain you will find that I have again and again committed," but his version of the clause illustrates the type of language he is referring to and how easily we fall back into using it.
The essay is full of vivid metaphors and similes that reinforce Orwell's meaning by creating images for the reader, unlike the type of dysfunctional metaphors he rails against like, "the Fascist octopus has sung its swan song." Orwell opens the essay with the fantastic simile, "Prose consists less and less of words chosen for the sake of their meaning, and more and more of phrases tacked together like the sections of a prefabricated hen-house" (704). The simile is very visual, and emphasizes the quality that is missing from the "prefabricated" prose that Orwell rails against. As Orwell gets into the pith of his argument on how political euphemism has corrupted the clarity of expression in the English language, he opens into an extended simile, comparing mainstream politics to an orthodoxy. "Orthodoxy, of whatever color, seems to demand a lifeless, imitative style" he writes, then later, "If the speech he is making is one that he is accustomed to make over and over again, he may be almost unconscious of what he is saying, as one is when one utters the responses in church" (709-10). In the second sentence, Orwell reverses the position of the speaker from orator to audience member, disembodying him and reinforcing the mechanical quality that he describes in the middle of the paragraph. Juxtaposed with the religious allusion, Orwell offers a comparison to the industrial age in the center of the paragraph. "When one watches some tired hack on the platform mechanically repeating the familiar phrases...one often has a curious feeling that one is not watching a live human being but some kind of dummy: a feeling which suddenly becomes stronger at moments when the light catches the speaker's spectacles and turns them into blank discs which seem to have no eyes behind them" (709). This striking and relatable image embosses itself on the reader's mind, and as Orwell builds more and more images throughout the essay, they form a visual map of the main points that makes the writing more persuasive.
In the climactic paragraph of the essay, Orwell layers images to impress his point upon the reader. Exposing the euphemisms of politics with images such as, "People are imprisoned for years without trial, or shot in the back of the neck or sent to die of scurvy in Arctic lumber camps: This is called elimination of unreliable elements" Orwell literally horrifies the reader into agreeing with him (710). The vague language of politics is not just bad English; as Orwell writes, "the decline of a language must ultimately have political and economic causes" and consequences (702).
Orwell's evident passion and sincerity are part of his success. As he reminds us, "The enemy of clear language is insincerity" (710). Augmenting this statement with an illustrative simile, "When there is a gap between one's real and one's declared airms, one turns as it were instinctively to long words and exhausted idioms, like a cuttlefish squirting out ink" (710). Orwell's figurative language always serves to clarify his meaning and make a lasting impression, not to win the reader over with the beauty of his flowery language. In this case, the simile supplies the sense of the end of the sentence, which is not directly stated: vague language is a defense mechanism to cover up our lies.

Saturday, September 19, 2009

The Grace of Joyce

Grace is the story of a man's fall and redemption. It is an exploration of faith. Taking place in Ireland, the dialogue between Mr. Kernan and his friends allows for much more sincere religious debate than is usually sanctioned among pious Catholics. Faith is represented with complexity and irony. Mrs. Kernan's "faith was bounded by her kitchen, but, if she was put to it, she could believe also in the banshee and in the Holy Ghost" (Joyce, 261). In this paratactic sentence, the banshee of Irish folklore and the Holy Ghost are equated in the dubious corner of Mrs. Kernan's religious beliefs, emphasizing the pragmatism of her faith. Mr. Kernan, who comes from a Protestant family, exemplifies the surface conformity to the Catholic religion that the other characters show to varying degrees. "Though he had been converted to the Catholic faith at the time of his marriage, he had not been in the pale of the Church for twenty years. He was fond, moreover, of giving side-thrusts at Catholicism" (Joyce, 260). As Mr. Kernan and his friends discuss Catholicism, their favorite Popes, the great ministers they have known, a drinking ritual with religious overtones occurs simultaneously. "Mr. Power officiated. Glasses were rinsed and five small measure of whiskey were poured out" (Joyce, 268). Later Mr. Cummingham responds to Mr. Kernan's Protestant doubt with, "'Not one of them, not the biggest drunkard, not the most...out-and-out ruffian, not one of them ever preached ex cathedra a word of false doctrine'" (Joyce, 269). Sins are forgiveable; what is important is to live an honest life and know the truth. In this context, "The light music of whiskey falling into glasses" assumes the significance of a mass (Joyce, 270). During the climactic moment of religious catharsis, when the men go on retreat to "wash the pot," we realize that this ritual is "religion of habit" as much as a serious spiritual exercise. Mr. Cunningham, the moral arbiter of the group of friends covertly points out the various attendees, from Mr. Harford, the moneylender widely accused of being a Jew, to the town officials, to businessmen, prosperous or fallen on hard times, speculating on their sins and offenses.
The story is also an exploration of human relationships and loyalty. Mr. Kernan is a relatable character; for all of his faults, he is not so very bad compared to you or I, or anyone. As Joyce demonstrates, there are worse people in the town than Mr. Kernan, which is why he has loyal friends who are willing to help him back to a more dignified existence. A large portion of the story is devoted to the conversation of Mr. Kernan and his friends around his bedside. Joyce presents their relationship almost exclusively through dialogue, with little narrative intervention, leaving judgment up to the reader. Joyce presents the loyalty of Mrs. Kernan to her husband, also with little judgment, although through her vivid memories, the reader can glimpse her acceptance of her lot.

Sentence patterns:
She was an active, practical woman of middle age. Not long before she had celebrated her silver wedding and renewed her intimacy with her husband by waltzing with him to Mr Power's accompaniment. In her days of courtship, Mr Kernan had seemed to her a not ungallant figure: and she still hurried to the chapel door whenever a wedding was reported and, seeing the bridal pair, recalled with vivid pleasure how she had passed out of the Star of the Sea Church in Sandymount, leaning on the arm of a jovial well-fed man, who was dressed smartly in a frock-coat and lavender trousers and carried a silk hat gracefully balanced upon his other arm. After three weeks she had found a wife's life irksome and, later on, when she was beginning to find it unbearable, she had become a mother.
(Joyce, 259)

The first sentence is an example of pattern 4, a series without a conjunction. Joyce uses this sentence type frequently, modifying the subject with multiple adjectives but omitting a conjunction. The second sentence is written in pattern 8, dependent clauses in a pair. It opens with an independent clause, "Not long before she had celebrated her silver wedding anniversary" but then follows it with two dependent clauses, "and renewed her intimacy with her husband" "by waltzing with him to Mr Power's accompaniment." It is a cumulative sentence. The third sentence is quite complex, cumulative and polysyndetic, and combines several patterns. Beginning with the prepositional phrase, "In her days of courtship," the core of the sentence follows pattern 3, compound sentence with explanatory statement, "Mr Kernan had seemed to her a not ungallant figure: and she still hurried to the chapel door whenever a wedding was reported." The sentence then continues polysyndetically in pattern 12, with a series of participial phrases, "seeing the bridal pair, recalled with vivid pleasure how she had passed out of the Star of the Sea Church in Sandymount, leaning on the arm of a jovial well-fed man, who was dressed smartly in a frock-coat and lavender trousers and carried a silk hat gracefully balanced upon his other arm." This long and layered sentence conveys a feeling of girlish breathlessness. The reader is able to experience Mrs Kernan's delight. The last sentence is a variation on pattern 14, prepositional phrase before subject and verb. It presents a series of two prepositional phrases, "after three weeks," and " when she was beginning to find it unbearable."

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Lo. Lee. Ta.

Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta.

She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lolita.

Lolita, Vladimir Nabokov

Cumulative Rendering

Lolita is the light of my life and fire of my loins when I say her name, "Lo-lee-ta," my tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth, or in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock, when she is Lo, plain Lo, and even as Lola in slacks or Dolly at school, or Dolores on the dotted line, she is always, in my arms, Lolita, my sin, my soul.

In order to write a cumulative version of the opening of Lolita, which seems almost sacrilegious to me since I love these opening paragraphs so much, I had to group the short, often fragmented sentences together into an overarching idea. I choose to go with Humbert's names for Lolita, which is the surface topic of the paragraph. Unfortunately, in trying to create one sentence out of about nine, I had to simplify it a great deal, which is something Nabokov avoids with his extreme parataxis. In the opening, there are absolutely no connectors, even when the ideas being stated appear to be related. Though all of the names given to Lolita appear to be related to her, as Nabokov demonstrates in his etymological analysis of the name Lolita, they are each distinct identities that have little to do with Lolita herself, but instead, have to do with Humbert's fantasy of Lolita. In order to make this a cumulative sentence, I had to add conjunctions, which relate identities that are not actually related. I also had to group parallel constructions, in order to omit verbs and cram more information into one sentence. The sentence I wrote ends up being much simpler in sense than Nabokov's paragraphs, which force the reader to do much more of the work and, in their brevity, are more ambiguous than clear.

What Nabokov does do is use his language and form to bring out the meaning for the reader, rather than making explicit connections. The opening paragraph, with its pattern 4 sentences that list subjects in a series, A, B, C, creates a sense of reverence for this character. The delicious alliteration of L-sounds rolls itself through the mouth like the name "Lo-lee-ta" does in Humbert's schematic of speech. The religious language, "light of my life," "fire," "sin," "soul," reinforce the devotional overtones. Adoration is being performed. A prayer is being said. Still, this worship has hellish undertones. "Sin" following immediately after "fire" evokes fire and brimstone, retribution, but paired with soul, offers hope for redemption. The paragraph is filled with antithesis, "My sin, my soul," that underscore the indecision and moral struggle of Humbert.
The second paragraph relies almost completely on isocolon, but begins by interrupting the isocolon that is being set up with parenthetical explanation.
She was Lo in the morning
She was Lola in slacks
She was Dolly at school
She was Dolores on the dotted line
The sentences follow a pattern of subject + verb + name +prepositional phrase, emphasizing that Lolita's names and identities change according to where she is in space, as well as what she is wearing. Breaking the isocolon of the first sentence with a running style creates a breathless beginning that is then contrasted with the methodical, reasoned isocolonic sentences that try to encapsulate Lolita and keep her in her place. These extremes of feeling are what Humbert undergoes when he thinks about Lolita. She breaks the rules. She escapes from the boxes in which he tries to organize her in his mind. The simple sentences have a childlike quality, reflective both of Lolita, who is a child, and Humbert, who thinks often in immature and childish ways.

Sunday, September 13, 2009

Clinton's Inaugural Address

Questions

I am a little confused by Lanham's use of the term zeugma, as he defines it differently than I have learned it in the past. Lanham defines it as, "one verb serves for a series of objects." He then seems to apply it also to cases in which the same subject is assumed for a series of verbs. In John Drury's The Poetry Dictionary, what Lanham is referring to is more generally described by the term, "Syllepsis: word with different meanings in relation to two other words, for example a verb with two objects (as in 'I'll strike the first blow and a match'); called zeugma when one of those two 'yoked' elements is gramatically incompatible with the word that governs them, as in 'I struck the first blow, and may you too') (250). Perhaps this is a different usage of the term specifically for poetry, but I am still a little confused by exactly what type of sentences Lanham is naming by it. In my reading of Clinton's speech, I have employed the term zeugma as I believe it is used by Lanham.
In general, I feel pretty clear on the Lanham. I just feel like I need more practice using the terms.

Now, to the First Inaugural Address of Bill Clinton...

In his first inaugural speech, Bill Clinton pulls his audience in with an unexpected topic: spring. As he makes clear, spring is not on anyone's mind in "the depth of winter," but Clinton argues that it should be, in the figurative sense, as he calls every citizen to work to renew America.
The speech has a driving rhythm leading to its inspiring and climactic call to action. Contributing to this rhythm are many parallel constructions that allow the listener's thought processes to progress according to the logical pattern of the President's words. One of these is the refrain on the theme of renewal that runs throughout the speech, polysyndetically connecting its disparate topics, from domestic issues to foreign crises.
The refrain begins,
"Today we celebrate the mystery of American renewal."
It then continues in the infinitive form throughout the speech,
"To renew America, we must be bold.
To renew America, we must revitalize our democracy.
To renew America, we must meet challenges abroad as well as at home."
In contrast to the running sentences that make up the bulk of Clinton's expositions on these topics, the refrain sentences are short and clipped. They allow the listener to pause and reflect on what was just said, as well as to prepare himself for the topic introduced by the refrain. The refrain provides a simple skeleton for the listener to connect to, within the jungle of words that augment the inspirational anecdotes.
Clinton also begins several sentences "with what in the Renaissance was called a doublet" and pairs these doublets by alliteration, elevating his language to elegant musicality that, again, makes it easier for the listener to absorb (Lanham, 70).
"Communications and commerce are global
Profound and powerful forces are shaking and remaking our world
we pledge an end to the era of deadlock and drift"
In the second sentence, he even employs internal rhyme. These devices heighten the individual words and make the meaning stand out more.
As this address was in honor of Clinton's assuming the presidency, the name 'America' is especially pronounced. One way in which Clinton keeps the nation's name in the minds of his listeners is by beginning and ending sentences with it.
"Each generation of Americans must define what it means to be an American.
There is nothing wrong with America that cannot be cured by what is right with America.
Today, we do more than celebrate America; we rededicate ourselves to the very idea of America.
These reflexive sentences emphasize Clinton's theme that, as American's, we have the resources of our renewal within ourselves.
Clinton's running style has an intricate chiasmus that pulls the listener forward to the speech's inspiring conclusion by creating a polysyndetic relationship between sentences.
"And so today, we pledge an end to the era of deadlock and drift--a new season of American renewal has begun.
To renew America, we must be bold"
Clinton picks up the subject of the former sentence, "American renewal" and begins the next sentence with the refrain, "to renew America," in verb form.
He does it again later.
"Now, we must do the work the season demands."
And a few lines later,
"I challenge a new generation of Americans to a season of service".
In this second example, Clinton transforms the sense of 'season.' In the first case, he refers to the figurative season of spring, but in the second, he invokes a period of work, of giving back.
Finally, one of the most effective rhetorical devices employed in this speech to facilitate the driving rhythm is zeugma.
"Our hopes, our hearts, our hands, are with those on every continent who are building democracy and freedom."
In this sentence, the verb 'are' is assumed for the three alliterated subjects, 'hopes,' 'hearts,' 'hands.' Again, the alliteration highlights the rhetorical device and emphasizes the extent of our involvement in these other continents.
The zeugma intensifies toward the end as the speech builds on the listener's emotions to the climactic call to action.
"we rededicate ourselves to the very idea of America
An idea born in revolution and renewed
An idea tempered by the knowledge
An idea ennobled by the faith"
An idea infused with the conviction"
America is the idea assumed by the following sentences. Layering these sentences with the same subject, the theme of America, Clinton has already built the "joyful mountaintop of celebration" from which he hears and makes the "call to service in the valley."

Works Cited
Drury, John. The Poetry Dictionary. Cincinatti: Writer's Digest Books, 2006.

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

A Silver Dish Analysis

Then for the rest of the week Woody was busy, had jobs to run, office responsibilities, family responsibilities. He lived alone; as did his wife; as did his mistress: everybody in a separate establishment. Since his wife, after fifteen years of separation, had not learned to take care of herself, Woody did her shopping on Fridays, filled her freezer. He had to take her this week to buy shoes. Also, Friday night he always spent with Helen—Helen was his wife de facto. Saturday he did his big weekly shopping. Saturday night he devoted to Mom and his sisters. So he was too busy to attend to his own feelings except, intermittently, to note to himself, “First Thursday in the grave.” “First Friday, and fine weather.” “First Saturday; he’s got to be getting used to it.” Under his breath he occasionally said, “Oh, Pop.”

From Saul Bellow, "A Silver Dish"

In this paragraph from A Silver Dish, Bellow uses both parataxis and hypotaxis to effect. While parataxis is the dominant syntactical structure, there is an inherent ranking of the elements of his sentences, that sometimes breaks out into overt hypotaxis. The paragraph is a listing of Woody's responsibilities that he busies himself with after his father's death. The paratactical listing is detached and unemotional, reflecting Woody's reaction to his father's death, or way of mourning. "Then for the rest of the week Woody was busy, had jobs to run, office responsibilities, family responsibilities," writes Bellow. While this sentence does not explicitly rank Woody's responsibilities in order of importance, the ordering of each task between commas instructs the reader as to Woody's priorities. We learn that in the ranking of Woody's life, his family responsibilities come last, after all of his busy work is finished, exactly what the rest of the paragraph demonstrates in its structure and syntax. The first sentence is also asyndetic, emphasizing the lack of connection Woody feels to these responsibilities, most significantly, those to his family.

The next sentence makes use of anaphora. "He lived alone; as did his wife; as did his mistress: everybody in a separate establishment." Again this paratactic sentence has an inherent hierarchy in its structure. Woody comes first, then his wife, then his mistress. The structure also underscores the separation of each of Woody's family members from him, with the short clauses separated by semicolons. Despite their separation, the anaphora connects them across the semicolon breaks in a polysyndetic manner.

Alliteration in the subsequent sentences highlights the repetitive schedule of Woody's life and its obsessive organization. "...fifteen years of separation... shopping on Fridays, filled her freezer." In the next sentence, alliteration brings out the chiasmus, again emphasizing the routine that even enters into Woody's relationship with his mistress, which arguably should be more exciting, a high point in his week. "Also, Friday night he always spent with Helen—Helen was his wife de facto." Bellow could have written the sentence "Also, Friday night he always spent with Helen, his de facto wife," or he could have used a word other than de facto, but de facto mirrors Friday, and the parallelism seems to reflect a mutual affection in Woody's relationship with Helen. Alliteration continues in the next sentences, "Saturday...shopping. Saturday...sisters. So..." This alliteration connects these asyndetic sentences, which could have been connected more explicitly, since they clearly proceed in a chronological order. When at the end of the paragraph, and the end of Woody's week, Bellow is able to put aside the business of Woody and attend to his mourning for his father, the structure of the sentences proceeds in the same way, beginning with the day of the week and focusing on the passage of time. "'First Thursday in the grave.” “First Friday, and fine weather.” “First Saturday; he’s got to be getting used to it.'” Since none of these days included scheduled time with his father, Woody is able to put aside his feelings of grief, since nothing is really missing. Bellow's structuring of this paragraph heightens the emotional impact when he ends the paragraph with, "Under his breath he occasionally said, 'Oh, Pop.'” Leading into the next paragraph, in which Woody really delves into his mourning of his father, Bellow's narrative structure allows the reader to experience Woody's sense of loss when he gets to the end of his carefully ordered week and is unable to live out his Sunday as usual.

Bellow, Saul. "A Silver Dish." The New Yorker 25 September 1978, Fiction. New Yorker.com. 8 September 2009

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

Noun Style and Verb Style in the Newspaper

Verb Style
On the White House
A Real Fairytale Wedding
By Peter Baker
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/09/03/us/politics/03memo.html

In this article on the widespread speculation among leading newspapers about Chelsea Clinton's impending wedding to her boyfriend, Marc Mezvinsky, Baker uses a verb style which increases the pace of the sentences, reflecting the building fever of gossip he describes. The article opens with, "Here’s a newsflash: Chelsea Clinton did not get married last month in a swank, celebrity-laden wedding on Martha’s Vineyard attended by the president of the United States." The sentence is driven by the verbs, emphasizing the actions and the fact that neither of them occurred. However, Baker interrupts the verbs "get married" and "attended" with a detail enclosed in a prepositional phrase, "in a swank, celebrity-laden wedding on Martha's Vineyard". By doing this, Baker highlights the actual fodder for gossip, which is not what actions occurred, but what wealthy and influential people in a posh location may have been there. Baker's choice to write the sentence with the verbs in the passive emphasizes the lack of control that anyone implicated in the event in discussion seemed to have over its escalation.
Baker's next lengthy sentence issues a torrent of verb clauses, beginning with, "For four months, the Clintons have told anyone who would listen that there was no August wedding in the works," the past perfect verb form again emphasizing the Clinton's lack of control over the spreading misinformation. The rumors take on a life of their own, departing from the opening clause as the sentence continues, "but the rumors raced from Massachusetts to Manhattan to Washington and back again, producing one unsubstantiated headline after another around the world about the nuptials that never were." Baker increases the pace of this line with alliteration, "rumors raced," as well as our sense of space, as the news travels, "from Massachusetts to Manhattan to Washington". These rapidfire clauses of verbs come to a crashing halt with "the nuptials that never were," as Baker formally puts an end to the gossip.

Baker, Peter. "A Real Fairytale Wedding." The New York Times 2 September 2009, On the White House. NYTimes.com. 2 September 2009

Noun Style
Israel and Sweden row: Blog Wars
The Economist

Despite the very action oriented topic of this article, a dispute between Sweden and Israel over political correctness, it is written in a noun style that hesitates to make accusations against either party. After the delightful alliterated and tongue twisting sub-heading of "A Nordic Newspaper's Newsmaking," the article opens with an adverbial phrase, "Barely two months into its six-month presidency of the European Union, Sweden’s government is entangled in a scrap with Israel." While qualifying the relatively short time period in which the dispute occurred, the author delicately phrases the description of the argument and puts the blame on the Swedish government, rather than the Swedes who bought the widely read Aftonbladet. The author continues in the next sentence without defining the "scrap," referring to it only as "it." "Because it pitches Swedes’ cherished free-speech principles against Middle Eastern sensibilities, it is loaded with a wearying sense of déjà vu—and a potential to escalate." Again, the author locates the issue between the two nations in time, this time in their historical relationship, without saying anything specific about the problem. Many of the sentences in the article are front-loaded with explanatory clauses that have a simple conclusion. The writing overuses passive verb forms or weak verbs, causing its tone to be hesitant and speculative.

"Israel and Sweden row: Blog wars." The Economist 27 August 2009. Economist.com. 2 September 2009
Israel and Sweden row: Blog wars | The Economist

I was quite surprised by how difficult it was for me to find an example of noun style in journalistic work. Even in the example I found, there are only a few sentences to which noun style really applies. I think that the goal of objectivity in journalism has something to do with this. If the writer is trying to report exclusively on the facts, on what happened, the clearest and most direct way to do so is with a verb style. I think verb style writing is also much easier for readers to understand, and so appeals to a wider audience. In many cases, consumers of news don't have time to go back and decode convoluted sentences with many prepositional phrases.

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

Stylish Introduction

Good morning fellow close readers!

I was so impressed with the writers named yesterday when we introduced ourselves. How exciting that we are such a well read bunch, and what an ambitious list for future reading!

I hadn't wanted to be repetitive, so I didn't name drop Nabokov yesterday, although he is one of my favorite writers of all time. I love how he uses sound in his writing to heighten each syllable of every word, almost calling into question the accepted meanings of the words. This contributes to the physicality of his prose. When I read Nabokov, I feel the language moving in my mouth, inhabiting my body, and grasping at my heart. Also, his vocabulary is astounding, and allows him to make surprising juxtapositions of words.

I also have read a bunch of Milan Kundera, and I find his style reminiscent of Nabokov. I love the philosophical, metaphysical comparisons Kundera is able to make through the mundane lives of his characters, and the politics of his writing.

This summer I read Independent People by Haldor Laxness, and I thought it was really beautiful. In the same way that I thought Ian McEwan was able to capture the youth and innocence of Briony in the passage we read yesterday in his language and syntax, Laxness' prose style changes throughout the course of this epic in order to capture the points of view of different characters, and the experience of different generations. I find it really incredible when an author is able to capture the point of view of a child in his writing. Even though I am not far from my own childhood, I was astonished by the truth in Laxness' characterization of the little boy in the story. It brought me back to how I had experienced the world as a child.

I realize that I read a lot of writers in translation. This is partly because I have come across and gravitated toward writers from other linguistic and cultural traditions, and partly because I am interested in pursuing literary translation myself. I wonder what the translation process does to the style of the writer being translated when I am unable to appreciate what the translator has done due to my own language barrier. I am often impressed by the universality of translated writer, which I think lies in their specificity about their own cultures and points of view, rather than an effort to appeal to some larger idea of the human condition.

Finally, I wanted to mention Zora Neale Hurston, who I admire greatly as a stylist. For the same reasons that I admire Hurston, I admire Lovelace, who I mentioned yesterday. Both writers are able to manage the tension between spoken and written language, between creole language and the more "legitimate" or established literary language. They affect an interaction between the mother tongue and its evolutionary children through time.