The Death of Good Prose, and the Need for Resurrection

By Sarah Elizabeth Sax

I’ll admit it. I can be a literary snob. My siblings especially hate this—I’ll look over the books they’re reading and criticize the prose. Ah, well, it’s the consequence of having a writer for a sister.

       Anyway, I love words. They form half of my fascination with reading, writing, poetry, and wordsmithing in general. Words are powerful things that can be used quite gloriously. And they are magic: when one sees a picture of a ballerina, one sees the exact color of her tutu, the style of her hair, the position of her dance. With words, however, one can imagine the picture however they like. Take the sentence the ballerina danced gracefully. One person might read this and picture a dancer in a pink tutu; another might see her in blue. No one will ever picture her quite the same way.

      Thus, writers have a great responsibility. Like a visual artist, they craft pictures, but with words instead of paint. The scenes we write must be clear and vivid, so as one reads them one pictures the action as clearly as a movie.

       But here’s the catch. One can write a simple sentence (the ballerina danced gracefully) and achieve these results, yet what do we have? A plain set of words, still conveying pictures, but in a generic way.

 Fellow wordsmiths, surely, we can do better than that!

      Unfortunately, good prose seems to be dying. The self-publishing industry has become infamous for poorly written stories (a shame, as self-publishing can be a great opportunity, especially for young or new writers). The YA genre in particular seems saturated with poor-to-mediocre prose (examples include Shadow and Bone, Keeper of the Lost Cities, and Throne of Glass).

       People argue ‘good’ or ‘bad’ writing is subjective, and that prose quality does not matter as much as the story. And that would seem to be true, as Leigh Bardugo, Shannon Messenger, and Sarah J. Maas are New York Times Bestselling authors. But should it be true?

      I do not think so.

      Perhaps prose quality is subjective. I would agree with that, but only to an extent. For example, I do not care for Gary Paulsen or Roald Dahl, but the prose of these authors is undeniably beautiful. And I know friends who love Keeper of the Lost Cities while admitting to its so-so writing.

      One may, of course, have great prose but poor storytelling. And it’s safe to say most readers do not care about prose as much as the story. Perhaps they cannot even tell if writing is ‘good’ or ‘bad’. Should this discount the importance of good prose? Absolutely not.

      Imagine a good story that is poorly written. It is like a cheap cupcake—easy to get, even tasty, but what does one get in the end? Nothing but the satisfaction of a craving. (Whereas a poor story with good prose is like nutritious food that tastes awful. How many children like broccoli or asparagus, despite being told it’s good for them?)

       But a good story with genuine, beautiful prose is like a gourmet cupcake. The story is the cake, the writing is the frosting, and altogether it’s a glorious experience. One does not have to understand baking to enjoy the product. Or it is like food that is good and good for you. One does not have to know the nutritional facts to appreciate it.

      Why, then, do we settle for mediocre writing with the argument that ‘most people won’t know or care’?

Perhaps that is true. Perhaps it is not. But consider this paragraph from The Tattooist of Auschwitz (a bestseller):

Now, consider this extract from The Sins of Prince Saradine (a Father Brown story):

      Notice the difference?

      The first paragraph is choppy, with bulky sentences—the second sentence goes on and on. The word choice is confusing (Lale rattles across the countryside, keeping his head up and himself to himself). The paragraph also breaks the ‘show, don’t tell’ rule, by explaining how old the character is and what he is wearing. Worse, there is nothing inviting about the prose. I cannot picture the scene very well at all, or place myself in the situation. (Disclaimer: I have not read the entire book, so I am not critiquing the story itself.)

      The second paragraph is noticeably different. The sentences flow well and are not overdone. We are introduced to the setting with small details, such as the boat size and the items aboard, but the descriptions are simple—tins of salmon, a bottle of brandy. This invites me to picture the scene, rather than telling me how it should be pictured.

      What I find most enjoyable, however, is the writing’s personality. All we are reading is a character’s vacation plan and packing list, but it flows with dry wit and makes one curious about the rest of the story.

      Good writing is hard to achieve. It takes a lifetime of training and research, daily practice, and a will to never stop learning. It’s hard work, even for those who enjoy it. There are days I absolutely hate writing—but I can’t imagine doing anything else. Giving it up is just not an option. Writers, we are given a talent, a gift from God. We should use it wisely, invest in it, nurture it. We must work hard at it. We must be forever willing to grow.

      Some great steps are to improve one’s grammar, spelling, and punctuation. Proper capitalization is also very important. Polishing these skills goes a long way—it shows you are serious about your writing, and it will stand out to the cursory reader.

       Next, work on dressing up your writing. Study stylistic devices (metaphor, alliteration, simile, etc.) and practice implementing them. Pull out a thesaurus and jazz up your word choice. But also learn when to use a fancy word and when to stay simple. In his hilarious story How to Write a Blackwood Article, Edgar Allan Poe says one must never directly say what they mean. If one means to write about bread and butter, one must never actually say ‘bread and butter’. Amateur writing is infamous for using ‘orbs’ for ‘eyes’. Do not do this.

      Do read, read, read. One can be told how to swim, but that is no replacement for actually getting in the pool. Good prose is a gift to our readers, whether they know it or not. It is a special treat for wordsmiths. When I read Avi, I don’t just read, I devour. His plots are intense and gorgeously crafted, and his writing wraps it all together with a shiny bow.

      When I read C. S. Lewis, I am flabbergasted by how simple his prose is, and yet how impactful and beautiful.

      When I read G. K. Chesterton, I am blown away by his wit and dry humor. His writing is what makes Father Brown such an endearing character. Mediocre prose would never suffice.

      When I read Charles Dickens, I am drawn into his unique characterization and settings, no matter how drab or how colorful. His depiction, and sometimes exaggeration, of the world and the human race is his trademark.

      When I read Lewis Carroll, I fall in love with his endearing prose, a genius mix of innocence and gravity.

      When I read Beverly Cleary, I am pulled into the everyday while seeing it through new eyes.

      When I read J. R. R. Tolkien, I am taken to an entirely new reality, a land of nobility and profundity and grief and light.

      When I read Mark Twain, I meet a master of satire, a man who understands the tall tale, and an author who can make me laugh and shake my head over mankind.

All these authors achieve this through good storytelling and good prose. Reading their books is a truly delicious experience. I come away not just with a satiated hunger—I come away fully satisfied. These authors utterly shock me by how beautiful their writing is, and how endearing their stories are. They are skilled in their craft, and it shows.

These authors, and more—Eleanor Estes, Elizabeth Enright, Edgar Allan Poe, Eva Ibbotson, Jane Austen, Frederick Douglas, Louisa May Alcott, J. M. Barrie, Kenneth Grahame, Michael Bond, A. A. Milne, Robert Louis Stevenson, Beatrix Potter, E. B. White, Oscar Wilde, E. L. Konigsburg. . . . I could go on and on and on and on. . . . These authors, and more, fill me with admiration because they did not settle for subpar writing. They did not settle for generic cupcakes. They went into the kitchen, mixed the batter, added the frosting, and created masterpieces for the world to enjoy.

      And the world still does, for that is the wonder of good prose.

      The New York Times Bestseller List is always changing. But good writing sticks. Classic writers remain classic, a gift to the world, to lovers of words, to aspiring authors, and especially to self-proclaimed literary snobs.