Excerpt Critique

Hey ya gents and gentresses (ha! I created a word. *Deep satisfaction*),

I’d like a critique. I’ll have it will done thank you.

So what’s going on is I’m writing a novel. (Surprise?) I’m only in the early parts though and I figured it would be a good idea to get some input on my writing now so I can try to avoid any major flaws in the rest of my writing. So, if you would be so kind as to oblige, well that would be just jolly.

I’ve got one excerpt here and I’m going to post another one soon. I have purposely not edited them before putting them up on here. Fire away!

Through the streets of London meandered a lone man. He was of a commanding appearance, tall, young, with an look of keen discernment blatant upon his physiognomy. His thick winter coat was drenched with the freezing rain but he seemed not to care. He plodded carelessly through the torrents which sent all his countrymen in doors, heedless of the chill. His mind was evidently far from the world around him. It was wrestling with great forces within. He seemed not to mind the way he went, but ever, as by some attractant force, he drew nearer and nearer to his destination.

At last he came upon it, though evidently with no great contentment at the arrival. He looked coldly at the stone architecture of high but spiritless appearance. Around the perimeter of the premise stretched a blank green hedge, a beacon of formality. This was not as much a sign as if the establishment had written their name and purpose in letters as large as a man’s hand, indeed more clear for the illiterate. It was a custom along that street, and yet not a recognized custom, to mark each building with its own biological sign. At one shop, rose bushes bordered the entrance, now bare, but in the summer fair and inviting asking the busy traveler to stop and peek at the wares. One pear tree could be found along that road, and it belonged to none other than a retired country gentleman fond of eating the fruits of his labor. Still at the local tavern there was no greater flora than a patch of weeds as if to say, ”Come on in friend, we have no need of introduction.”

The hedge before which the man stood spoke much. It spoke that the establishment was of a high standing and yet its grandeur was not of wealth or pomp, but of daunting power. It spoke moreover that the establishment was an island, a base from which many tasks were commanded, many things looked into, but which itself was nobody’s business but its own.

In the deep recesses of his mind, the man turned from considering these things to the greater issue at hand. It laid heavily upon him. He remained there for some time pondering and pondering. At last with less of resolution than determination, he trod up the stone pathway that led to the door. Meeting that barrier, he mustered all his strength and opened it. For sometime he remained inside.