The Art of Writing & Speaking the English Language, Sherwin Cody [hardest books to read .TXT] 📗

rational use of models is the happy mean between the two. But the good artist always draws with his eye on the object, and the good writer should write with his eye on a definite conception or some real thing or person, from which he varies consciously and for artistic purpose.

The ordinary observer sees first the peculiarities of a thing. If he is looking at an old gentleman he sees a fly sitting upon the bald spot on his head, a wart on his nose, his collar pulled up behind. But the trained and artistic observer sees the peculiarly perfect outline of the old man's features and form, and in the tottering, gait bent shoulders, and soiled senility a straight, handsome youth, fastidious in his dress and perfect in his form. Such the old man was once, and all the elements of his broken youth are clearly visible under the hapless veneer of time for the one who has an eye to see. This is but one illustration of many that might be offered. A poor shop girl may have the bearing of a princess. Among New York illustrators the typical model for a society girl is a young woman of the most ordinary birth and breeding, misfortunes which are clearly visible in her personal appearance. But she has the bearing, the air of the social queen, and to the artist she is that alone. He does not see the veneer of circumstances, though the real society girl would see nothing else in her humble artistic rival.

In drawing characters the writer has a much larger range of models from which to choose, in one sense. His models are the people he knows by personal association day by day during various periods of his life, from childhood up. Each person he has known has left an impression on his mind, and that impression is the thing he considers. The art of painting requires the actual presence in physical person of the model, a limitation the writer fortunately does not have. At the same time, the artist of the brush can seek new models and bring them into his studio without taking too much time or greatly inconveniencing himself. The writer can get new models only by changing his whole mode of life. Travel is an excellent thing, yet practically it proves inadequate. The fleeting impressions do not remain, and only what remains steadily and permanently in the mind can be used as a model by the novelist.

But during a lifetime one accumulates a large number of models simply by habitually observing everything that comes in one's way. When the writer takes up {the} pen to produce a story, he searches through his mental collection for a suitable model. Sometimes it is necessary to use several models in drawing the same character, one for this characteristic, and another for that. But in writing the novelist should have his eye on his model just as steadily and persistently as the painter, for so alone can he catch the spirit and inner truth of nature; and art. If it is anything, is the interpretation of nature. The ideal character must be made the interpretation of the real one, not a photographic copy, not idealization or glorification or caricature, unless the idealization or glorification or caricature has a definite value in the interpretation.

CHAPTER XV. CONTRAST.

In all effective writing contrast is far more than a figure of speech: it is an essential element in making strength. A work of literary art without contrast may have all the elements of construction, style, and originality of idea, but it will be weak, narrow, limp. The truth is, contrast is the measure of the breadth of one's observation. We often think of it as a figure of speech, a method of language which we use for effect. A better view of it is as a measure of breadth. You have a dark, wicked man on one side, and a fair, sunny, sweet woman on the other. These are two extremes, a contrast, and they include all between. If a writer understands these extremes he understands all between, and if in a story he sets up one type against another he in a way marks out those extremes as the boundaries of his intellectual field, and he claims all within them. If the contrast is great, he claims a great field; if feeble, then he has only a narrow field.

Contrast and one's power of mastering it indicate one's breadth of thought and especially the breadth of one's thinking in a particular creative attempt. Every writer should strive for the greatest possible breadth, for the greater his breadth the more people there are who will be interested in his work. Narrow minds interest a few people, and broad minds interest correspondingly many. The best way to cultivate breadth is to cultivate the use of contrast in your writing.

But to assume a breadth which one does not have, to pass from one extreme to another without perfect mastery of all that lies between, results in being ridiculous. It is like trying to extend the range of the voice too far. One desires a voice with the greatest possible range; but if in forcing the voice up one breaks into a falsetto, the effect is disastrous. So in seeking range of character expression one must be very careful not to break into a falsetto, while straining the true voice to its utmost in order to extend its range.

Let us now pass from the contrast of characters and situations of the most general kind to contrasts of a more particular sort. Let us consider the use of language first. Light conversation must not last too long or it becomes monotonous, as we all know. But if the writer can pass sometimes rapidly from tight conversation to serious narrative, both the light dialogue and the serious seem the more expressive for the contrast. The only thing to be considered is, can you do it with perfect ease and grace? If you cannot, better let it alone. Likewise, the long sentence may be used in one paragraph, and a fine contrast shown by using very short sentences in the next.

But let us distinguish between variety and contrast. The writer may pass from long sentences to short ones when the reader has tired of long ones, and vice versa, he may pass from a tragic character to a comic one in order to rest the mind of the reader. In this there will be no very decided contrast. But when the two extremes are brought close together, are forced together perhaps, then we have an electric effect. To use contrast well requires great skill in the handling of language, for contrast means passing from one extreme to another in a very short space, and if this, passing is not done gracefully, the whole effect is spoiled.

What has been said of contrast in language, character, etc., may also be applied to contrasts in any small detail, incident, or even simile. Let us examine a few of the contrasts in Maupassant, for he is a great adept in their use.

Let us take the opening paragraph of “The Necklace” and see what a marvel of contrast it is: “She was one of those pretty and charming girls who are sometimes, as if by a mistake of destiny, born in a family of clerks. She had no dowry, no expectations, no means of being known, understood, loved, wedded, by any rich and distinguished man; and she had let herself be married to a little clerk in the Ministry of Public Instruction.” Notice “pretty and charming”— “family of clerks.” These two contrasted ideas (implied ideas, of course) are gracefully linked by “as if by a mistake of destiny.” Then the author goes on to mention what the girl did not have in a way that implies that she ought to have had all these things. She could not be wedded to “any rich and distinguished man”; “she let herself be married to a little clerk.”

The whole of the following description of Madam Loisel is one mass of clever contrasts of the things she might have been, wanted to be, with what she was and had. A little farther on, however, we get a different sort of contrast. Though poor, she has a rich friend. Then her husband brings home an invitation at which he is perfectly delighted. Immediately she is shown wretched, a striking contrast. He is shown patient; she is irritated. She is selfish in wishing a dress and finery; he is unselfish in giving up his gun and the shooting.

With the ball the author gives us a description of Madam Loisel having all she had dreamed of having. Her hopes are satisfied completely, it appears, until suddenly, when she is about to go away, the fact of her lack of wraps contrasts tellingly with her previous attractiveness. These two little descriptions—one of the success of the ball, one of hurrying away in shame, the wretched cab and all—are a most forcible contrast, and most skilfully and naturally represented. The previous happiness is further set into relief by the utter wretchedness she experiences upon discovering the loss of the necklace.

Then we have her new life of hard work, which we contrast in mind not only with what she had really been having, but with that which she had dreamed of having, had seemed about to realize, and had suddenly lost for ever.

Then at last we have the contrast, elaborate, strongly drawn and telling, between Madam Loisel after ten years and her friend, who represents in flesh and blood what she might have been. Then at the end comes the short, sharp contrast of paste and diamonds.

In using contrast one does not have to search for something to set up against something else. Every situation has a certain breadth, it has two sides, whether they are far apart or near together. To give the real effect of a conception it is necessary to pass from one side to the other very rapidly and frequently, for only in so doing can one keep the whole situation in mind. One must see the whole story, both sides and all in between, at the same time. The more one sees at the same time, the more of life one grasps and the more invigorating is the composition. The use of contrast is eminently a matter of acquired skill, and when one has become skilful he uses contrast unconsciously and with the same effort that he makes his choice of words.

APPENDIX

Errors in the Use of Words.

All of. Omit the of.

Aggravate. Does not mean provoke or irritate.

Among one another. This phrase is illogical.

And who. Omit the and unless there is a preceding who to which this is an addition.

Another from. Should be another then.

Anyhow, meaning at any rate, is not to be used in literary composition.

Any place. Incorrect for anywhere.

At. We live at a small place, in a large one, and usually arrive at, not in.

Avocation. Not to be confused with vocation, a main calling, since avocation is a side calling.

Awful does not mean very.

Back out. An Americanism for withdraw.

Balance. Not proper for remainder, but only for that which makes equal.

Beginner. Never say new beginner.

Beside; besides. The first means by the side of, the second in addition to.

Be that as it will. Say, be that as it may.

Blame on. We may lay the blame on, but we cannot blame it on any one.

But what. Should be but that.

Calculate. Do not use for intend.

Can. Do not use for may. “May I go with you?” not “Can I go with you?”

Clever. Does not mean good-natured, but talented.

Demean. Means to behave, not to debase or degrade.

Disremember. Now obsolete.

Don't. Not to be used for doesn't, after a singular subject such as he.

Else. Not follow by but; say, “nothing else than pride.”

Expect. Do not use for think, as in “I expect it is so.”

Fetch. Means to go and bring, hence go and fetch is wrong.

Fix.