Thursday, October 1, 2009

A Model from the Master: Charles Dickens

A Model of Descriptive Prose
from A Christmas Carol
by Charles Dickens

ALL WRITING COMES from what we've read. So let's study style in a text by the great British novelist, Charles Dickens.
    Dickens begins on dialogue—a strong choice. Fezziwig's quote captures the spirit of Christmas: "No more work to-night."
    Then we get concrete action: "Let's have the shutters up." Not a general phrase, "We prepared the room."
    There are proper names—a strong point in writing (Dick, Ebenezer). Instead of writing, "My sister," it's more forceful to write, "Sally," etc.
    Dancing begins. But the dance is not described generally: "We decided to dance"!
    Instead Fezziwig speaks: "Clear away, my lads, and let's have lots of room here!" Dickens repeats that phrase "clear away" several more times for emphasis and a kind of "rhyme."
    Dickens then reverses normal sentence order ("In came" instead of "came in"). The reversed phrase ("In came") adds force to the action of arriving (coming in); repetitions add energy and coherence.
    Note more reverse word order ("In they all came"; "away they all went"), the rhymed endings of the adverbs ("-ly"); repetition by exact word (some, round, couple) or by opposite word (push/pull, anyhow/everyhow, old/new, up/down).
    This action also creates a climax in the scene: that is, the reader feels the writer has ordered his material from least to most important: from regular guests to the host couple; the description is not just random or casual, but necessary, with a point of view. Such climactic order controls the entire piece, since the vignette begins with a command to celebrate the holiday and ends with the end of the dance, depature of all the guests, and, finally, sleep.
    Dickens doesn't mention any dance number but a specific dance number: "Sir Roger de Coverley" (the name of a tune, not a person).
    Bad writing is a lie. When we lie, we are vague. Good writing is the Truth. When we tell the truth we are specific—giving necessary details.
    A large vocabulary is not necessary for vivid prose. But one has to work: unpack a general idea into specifics, based on focus.
    Let's rewrite the text below the way a poor writer would write it, using mainly generalities:
    "My boss said that since it was Christmas Eve we would not work. We were so happy and everybody danced.  In addition we had delicious food."
    Now compare with the text below. At the same time I don't want to give the impression that every word has got to be unpacked from "general" to "specific"! It's always a matter of judgment, based on purpose and focus. Note, for one example, that Dickens uses the general word "movable" in the 4th paragraph: "Every movable was packed off." He doesn't mention what those movables were (desks, books, lamps, etc.) because he wants to focus on other details (the action of trimming the lamps, sweeping the floor, etc.). Even then he doesn't get too specific (how the floor was swept, etc.) because one always has to use judgment whether one can help one's writing by being general or specific. This skill comes with time and practice and knowing focus. In describing a beautiful woman one selects details such as a narrow wasit, shapely legs, red lips, etc. In describing a miser, like Scrooge, it would be pointless to focus on his waist, legs, or lips! One would focus on his clasping fist that holds gold coins in them! Details are selected for a purpose!

    "Yo ho, my boys!" said Fezziwig. "No more work to-night. Christmas Eve, Dick. Christmas, Ebenezer! Let's have the shutters up," cried old Fezziwig, with a sharp clap of his hands, "before a man can say Jack Robinson!"
    You wouldn't believe how those two fellows went at it! They charged into the street with the shutters—one, two, three—had 'em up in their places—four, five, six—barred 'em and pinned 'em—seven, eight, nine—and came back before you could have got to twelve, panting like race-horses.
    "Hilli-ho!" cried old Fezziwig, skipping down from the high desk, with wonderful agility. "Clear away, my lads, and let's have lots of room here! Hilli-ho, Dick! Chirrup, Ebenezer!"
    It was done in a minute. Every movable was packed off, as if it were dismissed from public life for evermore; the floor was swept and watered, the lamps were trimmed, fuel was heaped upon the fire; and the warehouse was as snug, and warm, and dry, and
bright a ball-room, as you would desire to see upon a winter's night.
    In came a fiddler with a music-book, and went up to the lofty desk, and made an orchestra of it, and tuned like fifty stomach-aches. In came Mrs. Fezziwig, one vast substantial smile. In came the three Miss Fezziwigs, beaming and lovable. In came the six young followers whose hearts they broke. In came all the young men and women employed in the business. In came the housemaid, with her cousin, the baker. In came the cook, with her brother's particular friend, the milkman. In came the boy from over the way, who was suspected of not having board enough from his master; trying to hide himself behind the girl from next door but one, who was proved to have had her ears pulled by her
mistress. . . .
    There were more dances, and there were forfeits, and more dances, and there was cake, and there was negus, and there was a great piece of Cold Roast, and there was a great piece of Cold Boiled, and there were mince-pies, and plenty of beer.
    But the great effect of the evening came after the Roast and Boiled, when the fiddler . . . struck up "Sir Roger de Coverley."  Then old Fezziwig stood out to dance with Mrs. Fezziwig. . . .
    And when old Fezziwig and Mrs. Fezziwig had gone all through the dance; advance and retire, both hands to your partner, bow and curtsey, corkscrew, thread-the-needle, and back again to your place; Fezziwig "cut"—cut so deftly, that he appeared to wink with his legs, and came upon his feet again without a stagger.

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