Tangled In Style

The last 10 poems (11-20), containing detailed descriptions in their entirety, shifted my attention from meaning towards the recently discussed style. In them, lists of words flowed into the text in an attempt to describe a something with strict perfection. Suddenly the message lost some strength around poem 14, when the meaning was no longer as attractive as the method. Then, when encountering the fifteenth poem, we find the longest and most complete description so far, of which the following is just a glimpse:

“The carpenter dresses his plank—the tongue of his foreplane whistles its wild ascending lisp;
The married and unmarried children ride home to their Thanksgiving dinner;
The pilot seizes the king-pin—he heaves down with a strong arm;
The mate stands braced in the whale-boat—lance and harpoon are ready;
The duck-shooter walks by silent and cautious stretches;
The deacons are ordain’d with cross’d hands at the altar;
The spinning-girl retreats and advances to the hum of the big wheel (poem 15).”

The change here is very clear, for we start reading about the inclusion of women into the poem, coming from stanzas full of meaning and clear messages, and end up in this. In it, I found it hard to extract a meaning as I read, and as I had done in previous poems, for in its description the intentions were not clear. Soon, he hints at what might complement his descriptions by showing his unbiased position towards matters of politics. He tries to appeal to all by mentioning the following: “A southerner soon as a northerner—a planter nonchalant and hospitable, down by the Oconee I live; A Yankee, bound by my own way, ready for trade, my joints the limberest joints on earth, and the sternest joints on earth (poem 16).” By describing what is and not what can be, and by posing himself as one of us, and not a single and different individual, he makes his message much clearer, almost pure.

When I finally made a hypothesis out of the read, I started to notice a trend. It made sense to connect intentions as I did, but I found my intentions tangled up with my pose on style. Maybe, of course, his style made part of this, and in it he added another support or boost to his message, but maybe I was taking his style too far into my interpretation. There must, then, be a thin line between style as a mechanism to support a literal intention, and style as a pointless ambiguity in its artistic form.

George Orwell’s Politics And The English Language

His argument: The English language has become ugly and inactive due to the foolishness of our thoughts and our way of expressing them. This decay has further led to the decay in society.

Cases of Irony:

1. “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.”The essay itself can be considered satirical: satirizing the English language and its foolishness. Therefore, by employing the faults he is simultaneously criticizing, Orwell clearly is making an ironic sense out of it. To commit the same faults he is protesting against is quite ironic, but at the same time, boosts the argument of this essay by serving as a clear example of the writing he is criticizing.

2. “A scrupulous writer, in every sentence that he writes, will ask himself at least four questions, thus: What am I trying to say? What words will express it? What image or idiom will make it clearer? Is this image fresh enough to have an effect? And he will probably ask himself two more: Could I put it more shortly? Have I said anything that is avoidably ugly? But you are not obliged to go to all this trouble.”It’s quite ironic that Orwell is criticizing and, at the same time, recommending the reader tips to avoid bad writing, while his own essay is an example of a bad piece of writing. He is saying that careful writing is both good and bad. If you pay attention to every detail of your writing you might ruin the essence of the writing, but a careless writer might also result in a banal text.

Dying Metaphors (clichés): Worn out comparisons which have lost all evocative power, and are used for simplicity.

Meaningless Words: Words in a passage which almost completely lacking in meaning and do not point toward any object in the context of the sentence.

Pretentious Diction: Words and expressions (mostly foreign) that are used to dress up a simple statement and make it sound more scientific, and the general result is an increase in vagueness.

Ten Steps To Good Writing:

1. Avoid using complicated expressions.
2. Never use a figure of speech you are used seeing in writing.
3. Use a short word rather than a long one, if possible.
4. Avoid loquaciousness as much as possible (cut out as many words you can).
5. Never use passive when you can use active.
6. Avoid using foreign expressions, scientific terms, or other jargons. Instead, use its English equivalent.
7. Revise your writing before publishing in order to ensure best quality.
8. Avoid writing while thinking: think what you are going to write before actually writing it.
9. Evade dressing up simple statements with intricate expressions.
10. Maintain a constant style throughout your writing

LivingThe Moment

In Leaves Of Grass, the reader encounters a message of advice towards life. In the beginning, at the least, the poems talks about a wise being which lends his advice to us. We first encounter the intentions of the narrator as such: “You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look through the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in books (poem 2).” Not only is it giving us an aim, but it is forced upon us when we read “You shall.” It is trying to inspire change because we no longer will do as we used, and it is clearly foreshadowed that this change will come through strong suggestion, even imposition. From the first few words, the text is igniting a reformation on the reader.

Subtly and slowly, the poems begin to focus their attention on the now, the present. They make us part of what is, not what will be. In doing so, we enter a state of analysis and meditation of our current place in the universe as the logical response of a mortal being. But then the narrator suggest blending with what is around, because “clear and sweet is my Soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my Soul (poem 3).” By definition, the above is referring to everything as clear and sweet, but those are not his ultimate intentions. In describing the surrounding in relation to ourselves, is made part of us. Suddenly, we are part of a greater something, a something that is just like us, or even better, we are just like the something we make part of. So far, we have been given the right and liberty of an individual, but the possibility of isolation from the whole has been swept away.

It is not a surprise if we wonder who the narrator is at this point, for it is a natural reaction to know about someone/something before we let it intrude in our reasoning. Not only did I wonder who he was, but I questioned his authority on the topic, I questioned his ability to hold all which he says as true. Soon it comes to me, for the narrator takes his description to a level beyond human boundaries in saying: “Has any one supposed it lucky to be born? I hasten to inform him or her, it is just as lucky to die, and I know it (poem 7).” The narrator has already died, which means that not only he knows more about living, but that he is in some way supernatural, for he is igniting direct and personal change in others even after his death. In doing so, he accomplished two things: he demonstrated his authority in the subject, and second, he made mortality a theme to reflect upon. Making the reader mortal can only make the message stronger, for it forces the finding of a purpose.

Mortality stretches beyond the mentioned, for soon it is questioned as to hook us into topic: “What do you think has become of the young and old men? And what do you think has become of the women and children (poem 60)?” Now the text becomes personal, because by questioning their state, we are obliged to question ours: What will become of us? And because through his rhetoric the narrator has made us dependant on him for answers, we seek on the text an answer to what will become of us. Then, as the poem describes what is, it introduces an interesting description on his use of grass: “Tenderly will I use you, curling grass; It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men; It may be if I had known them I would have loved them; It may be you are from old people, and from women, and from offspring taken soon out of their mothers’ laps; And here you are the mothers’ laps (poem 6).”We will become grass, our memories transpiring through it what continues without us. For obvious reasons, we expect to be much more, we expect a better use than fertilizing grass, but sadly, it is what it is. But the message is not in its essence pessimistic, but more of a realization. The message now focuses on what we will do before we head onto that unstoppable future, on what we will be before we can no longer choose.

When a sense of fear and hurry turns upon ourselves, we begin to think quickly, as if we had no time left. That may be the effect intended, but not for long. We are allowed to reflect on the possibility of dyeing, preparing our minds to receive a message with an elevated impact as a follow up to our current state. Soon, another revelation comes from that wise character: “All goes onward and outward—nothing collapses; And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier (poem 6).” But why is it trying to bless death? How can it be that we are asked to embrace life, to which death is the end and only enemy, and then asked to embrace death as bliss? If so is true, then why live life at all? If death is such a wonderful thing, why not rush towards it? That, I suppose, is a possibility, but not what is intended. Life is a stage in the process, and if you miss a step, the end result might not be the same. We are being asked to live accordingly. It all comes down to understanding and accepting death, because once we do that, we can embrace life to its furthest extent.

What's The Role?

In Gustave Flaubert’s A Simple Heart the style involved is everything but simple. His excessive description is neatly calibrated through meticulous meanings as to render a special purpose for every word. It is not remarkably small in its length, but in it we find only that which is invaluable for the meaning of the text: nothing exceeds the purpose. The description is taken far beyond the normal, to the point it describes every aspect possible of things that otherwise would go unnoticed, giving them some importance in describing a story not their own. Whenever Flaubert describes something, which is often, he does it with precise wording and intentions: he does it to describe the situation and the characters beyond the object itself.

His sentences are elegantly structured, almost to the title of perfection. Take one of his descriptions, for example: “Behind her, in a cloud of dust and impelled by the steep incline, a mail-coach drawn by galloping horses advanced like a whirlwind (Chapter IV).” As you read through the previous, you can’t help but notice every single word, for none of them share meaning with another, each giving a specific addition to the description. It is so concise and to the point, but yet so vivid. The sentence describes the incline, the horses, her position and the coach, everything in such perfection, making out of the simple sentence a true experience.

If we divert a little from only style, and consider a small sample of context, we are able to understand the effect of the first on the previous. Flaubert’s text narrates a very simple story where not much happens. Felicite has had a life of hardships only to encounter many more, making out of her name an irony. As you can see, the text is simply a narration of the life story of a simple individual, which lends itself for a very boring story. That’s when Falubert’s style kicks in to make it bearable, adding visualization and much imagery into the narration, giving such a shallow story purpose. The story, then, becomes but the means to exhibit style, Flaubert’s style, a masterpiece style.

Mixing It Up

A Simple Soul shows a distinctive style, Flaubert’s style, a style of its own. It includes extensive description, but not in a normal context. Flaubert strives to describe everything he can think of, making the actual events a minority in his texts. As a fundament for his description we encounter punctuation. Showing a masterful use of commas, he is able to make out of a simple idea a rush of picturing hints. His description of the routine is astonishing and precise, as shown by the second chapter:

“Every Monday morning, the dealer in second-hand goods, who lived under
the alley-way, spread out his wares on the sidewalk. Then the city
would be filled with a buzzing of voices in which the neighing of
horses, the bleating of lambs, the grunting of pigs, could be
distinguished, mingled with the sharp sound of wheels on the cobble-
stones. About twelve o'clock, when the market was in full swing, there
appeared at the front door a tall, middle-aged peasant, with a hooked
nose and a cap on the back of his head; it was Robelin, the farmer of
Geffosses. Shortly afterwards came Liebard, the farmer of Toucques,
short, rotund and ruddy, wearing a grey jacket and spurred boots (Chapter 2).”

He succeeds in introducing timing, names, description, and much explanation of what is in every sentence. His paragraph structure and overall structure remind me of a geometrical term, taking special notice of variation of paragraph size and location: similar figures. It is as if his sentences and his use of pauses and timing inside paragraphs have the same intentions of the spacing and timing of paragraphs.

Each paragraph describes, in detail, a specific something. What at first is confusing then becomes clear: the author will talk about something different each new paragraph, setting a context. Again, this extreme variation of length is noticed in the chapters. Chapter two is about twelve times chapter one, which makes the intentions rather confusing, for nothing noticeably thrilling happened as to justify it.

Through his writing, Gustave Flaubert plays with variations in lengths of his elements. He plays with length and composition of sentences inside paragraphs. He masterfully divides chapters into paragraphs of different lengths and impacts. As if not enough, he goes into dividing the work into chapters of different structures which keep similar description and meaning. In his use of variation, Flaubert is able to make his writing, which would otherwise be boring and monotonous, spontaneous and unexpected.

If So, Then Who?

My reactions to chapter six, the concluding chapter in The Crying Of Lot 49, are difficult to describe. The problem is that I don’t really know what to think of the ending. It was definitely unlike anything I had thought of whilst reading. The whole time it kept me following a mystery, such as when I saw the DaVinci Code (which I really didn’t get), to end up nowhere. No mystery is solved, and the whole experience was a joke. Then I wonder what on earth was Thomas Pynchon thinking when he wrote a book so useless and meaningless for a while, only to conclude in desperation.

After taking a break from my anger, I come back to realize that this book was satire, which I had of course realized but failed to remember when reading the final chapter. This satire, though, is kind of unusual. It targets something which most of my previous experience in satire didn’t: itself. What am I supposed to do now? Am I supposed to take the text seriously when it is mocked by its author? Am I supposed to understand this as a higher level message or some proof about social interactions? Maybe it’s an approach to explaining life, or maybe it’s just a big group of words. Anyhow, I don’t quite come across its real intentions, if it happens to have any. Of course, I have come to many conclusions of my own, but I am skeptic whether they are what Pynchon intended.

I have come to think that I must learn to laugh at myself, or maybe I must learn to read for the mere purpose of entertainment. No doubt that the author is great at producing some laughs, and as a good comedian might judge, that’s more than enough. Maybe we can extract a psychological lesson from it, in which we learn to doubt sanity and social interactions as established. I am not quite sure at this point if suddenly I am the one being mocked. Is it explained by my recent lack of sleep, or am I simply the expected? Suddenly I identify myself with Oedipa and her madness, but mine must not be so.

Certainly you must, by now, have quit reading the words of this madman. If the previous is true, then what, why should I keep on writing?

Insanity

I expected a little bit of a different outcome in chapter five: a bit more Trystero, a little less madness. Everything turns around on its head, and what used to be no longer is. As the mystery unravels, we no longer know who is sane and who sets the pace for the craziest, or if they are simply all out of their minds. The whole plot up to this point has revolved around a mystery so tangled up in itself that seems unreal and plain inexistent. As I read, the mystery was no longer Trystero or W.A.S.T.E, but figuring out who the sane characters are this far into the satire, but as absurd as it sounds, none convinced me.

We have doctor Hilarious shooting people out of a whim. He believed he was being persecuted by Israelis for some absurd deed, explaining his fear as such: “Your Israeli has access to every uniform known… I can’t guarantee the safety of the ‘police’. You couldn’t guarantee where they’d take me if I surrendered, could you (110).” Not only has he gone mad, but he is Oedipa’s shrink, whom she comes to in hope of help to get some obsession out of her mind. Soon enough, she ends up talking him out of madness, exchanging roles making out of him a patient, out of a shrink a madman.

We have Mucho Maas in a inexplicable change of personality occurring in Oedipa’s absence. As she encounters him after meeting the mad shrink, she get approached by the program director, who mentions her husband’s weir behavior to Oedipa. As he puts it: “Day by day, Wendell is more himself and less generic. He enters a staff meeting and the room is suddenly full of people, you know? He’s a walking assembly of man (115).” This is where we wonder if it is the program director or her husband who has lost his mind, for clearly they both give us reasons to doubt their sanity, supported by the books satire. But then soon Mucho shows a simple trait of sanity: “You’ll think I’m crazy, Oed (116).” It is relieving to read the words, because a insane individual would never admit the possibility, making Mucho sane. But the joy is not very lasting, for soon he revels a musical superpower that bursts through the past words, plunging us into confusion.

This whole plot is completely mad by itself, making out of the story a target for its satire. Not only does Thomas Pynchon instill satire targeting all sort of different historical and social facts, but ultimately, his book becomes the target of itself. It is so absurd and crazy that he mocks it. Suddenly nothing makes sense, and words become victims of their cruelty. It is amazing how the whole objective shifts even as we read through the mystery, making the literal basically unimportant. Otherwise, why have all of them gone mad out of nowhere: who knows, maybe it’s me?