Examiner column for May 13.
In a piece of writing, how you say something is often more important than what you say. Students often throw up their hands when asked to write an autobiographical college essay, or a personal narrative. “I have nothing to say!”
They forget that “Seinfeld,” one of their favorite classic TV shows, was “about nothing,” and that Shakespeare is not called “The Bard” for his plot lines, but for his poetic style.
Students are largely motivated by the desire to get a good grade, so they attempt to figure out what topic would achieve that goal. Only the best writers understand that the topic is almost irrelevant.
William Zinsser, who wrote the popular college text “On Writing Well,” quotes prose stylist E.B. White frequently. White wrote beautifully about a range of topics, but animals (notably in “Charlotte’s Web”) were frequent subjects.
After a long passage about chickens, Zinsser comments, “There’s a man writing about a subject I have absolutely no interest in. Yet I enjoy this piece thoroughly.” He honors “the simple beauty” of White’s style, the “rhythms, the unexpected but refreshing words…the specific details.” Although my students read “On Writing Well” and know the value of concrete details and memorable phrases, they persist in agonizing over “what” to write instead of mastering a distinctive rhythm and style.
I share their difficulty in articulating the importance of style. Each time I try to explain why I like Alexander McCall Smith’s bestselling “No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency” novels, I fail to convey why they’re special. I stumble over words like “charming” and “human,” but it’s really the tone and style that appeals to me rather than the plot—which is often forgettable.
Smith, like White, writes with humor about our frailties and short-sightedness, yet eventually everything turns out fine. But short of quoting one of Smith’s novels at length, it’s hard to capture what makes those books so good.
We all fall into the misconception that what is said is all-important. When a friend recommends a film or book, our first question is “What is it about?” When students complete an essay test or final exam, they talk afterwards about “what” they said. For the Advanced Placement English Literature exam, which I grade every year, students are very concerned with what novel to choose for the important “open question,” and less concerned with how to make that essay concrete and original.
Of course style isn’t always more important than substance. Often we need to see beyond a clichéd expression to the heartfelt message beneath a few mundane words. And clever wording is sometimes designed to fool or beguile, and not only to charm. It’s when a writer strikes the right balance between “what” and “how” that prose magic happens.
The last line of E.B. White’s “Charlotte’s Web” illustrates the lesson I fear I fail to teach: “It is not often someone comes along that's a true friend and good writer. Charlotte was both.” Wisdom, humor, and rhythm make this a great ending—one that transcends its barnyard subject. Good writing always transcends “what” you say. But is that a lesson anyone can teach?
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