Orwell, Gormenghast and Writing

Writing is difficult. I fancy myself an above-average writer but I expend a lot of energy for a quality that rarely if ever reaches a level that could be called great. For what it’s worth, I re-read and proofread my posts several times – not only to correct spelling mistakes but to change word choices and adjust flow. And still I fail to achieve the desired level but I suppose it’s good enough for a blog. If it were fiction, I would have failed miserably. Much of long fiction is built on sentences with little advancement of plot. These sentences are often pure aesthetic that must contribute to character, tone and pacing. It’s difficult and there are few authors who are truly technically gifted as writers.

I recently read a novel called Titus Groan, written in 1946 by Mervyn Peake. Within a few pages, I was reminded of a George Orwell essay I read some time ago. I revisited it to make sure I remembered correctly and to mine the text for some quotes. In “Politics and the English Language,” Orwell discusses the predictability of writing and the tendency of authors to resort to readymade phrases:

[Modern writing] consists in gumming together long strips of words which have already been set in order by someone else, and making the results presentable by sheer humbug. The attraction of this way of writing is that it is easy… If you use readymade phrases, you not only don’t have to hunt about for words; you also don’t have to bother with the rhythms of your sentences, since these phrases are generally so arranged to be more or less euphonious.

Orwell wrote the essay in respect to the laziness of political writing but I think much of the argument can apply to fiction. Be it writing that is contemporary to Orwell or writing in the new millenium, authors rely on the same tired metaphors and staid turns of phrases. It’s difficult to do otherwise. Some authors though are virtuosos at producing fresh and exciting text. I’ve always been a fan of Vladimir Nabokov’s brilliant range of vocabulary, using unexpected words in all the right places. But Nabokov’s usage often struck me as humorous, or absurd, rather than serious. Which brings us back to Mervyn Peake.

Titus Groan is the first in the Gormenghast trilogy. The book is commonly described as a Victorian fantasy and I suppose that’s a valid enough description. The story takes place almost entirely within the environs of a huge castle – Gormenghast – ruled by the Earls of Groan for well over seventy generations. The story moves steadily but slowly, relying on the characters and the language to sustain momentum.

The strength of the book lies in the richness of the language and the tone that it imparts. Everything, from the fascinating characters to the dark tone and plot, is propelled by the language. The novel opens with a scene where the Earl’s personal attendant visits a strange castle recluse to bring news of the birth of an heir. From the opening pages, Peake sets the tone for the rest of the novel and begins a practice of crafting interesting sentences. Here’s the first one:

Gormenghast, that is, the main massing of the original stone, taken by itself would have displayed a certain ponderous architectural quality were it possible to have ignored the circumfusion of those mean dwellings that swarmed like an epidemic around its outer wall.

Regular consumers of airport fiction fare, with which I have no problem (in fact, I rather enjoy airport fiction), might find that sentence a little, well, ponderous. But I think it is in its construction a terrific sentence. Some of the words are jarring but appropriate and the simile is unique even fifty years later. It is an example of a style of writing that forced me to read every word and in many cases savor the language. The novel led me to violate many of my personal rules about literature and art. I’m the guy who often values plot over style or substance and fiery explosions over fine acting. But if the style or the substance, or the acting, or any of those elements that go beyond pretty colors and low-cut bodices, are sublime, as they are in Titus Groan, then I am just as likely to be entertained. I’ll end with some further selections from the novel.

“His face was very lined, as though it had been made of brown paper that had been crunched by some savage hand before being hastily smoothed out and spread out over the tissues.”

“And now, my poor old woman, why are you crying so bitterly? It is autumn. The leaves are falling from the trees like burning tears – the wind howls. Why must you mimic them?”

“… he whose quill would pulse as he wrote and fill with a blush of blue, like a bruised nail.”