“In his writings we have so competent a grasp of what was to be said, that we have the effect of italics without the use of them.”
High praise. The misuse or
overuse of italics is a vulgar affectation, like writing solely in capital
letters or using multiple exclamation points (or any, for that matter). The
structure and rhythm of a sentence, bolstered by word choice, make italics irrelevant
except in book and film titles, and when quoting words in a foreign language
that haven’t been assimilated into English. Of all prose virtues, clarity is
supreme. If I can’t understand you, your thoughts have little value and I will
probably stop reading. Sometimes, on the other hand, if I understand you too
readily, I’ll probably stop reading.
The writer quoted at the top is Marianne Moore in the April 1926
issue of The Dial. Nominally, she is reviewing two new editions of
Boswell’s Life of Johnson, but in fact is celebrating Johnson as man and
writer. When Donald Hall interviewed Moore for the Paris Review, he asked
about the influence of prose stylists on her poetry. The first work she cites
is Johnson’s “Life of Savage.” She repeatedly identifies Johnson as a favorite
model for her poetry and prose. Moore follows her sentence above with this:
“There is also an abundant
naturalness, and a simplicity which like that of Abraham Lincoln, was not
ashamed to be vulnerable to distress.”
A writing lesson and
enormous insight into both men are packed into that sentence. The Complete
Prose of Marianne Moore (ed. Patricia C. Willis, 1986) can be consulted as
a writing manual. She writes (and quotes):
“Consciousness of lack or
of disappointment is an odd part of self-sufficiency and an unselfconscious
attributing of value to the minute is seen in the statement: ‘Nothing is little
to him that feels it with great simplicity; a mind able to see common incidents
in their real state is disposed by very common incidents to very serious
contemplations.’”
[The sentence quoted by Moore is from a letter Johnson wrote to Joseph Baretti on July 20, 1762, and is transcribed by Boswell in his Life of Johnson.]
1 comment:
"Of all prose virtues, clarity is supreme. If I can’t understand you, your thoughts have little value and I will probably stop reading. Sometimes, on the other hand, if I understand you too readily, I’ll probably stop reading."
Take the case of Soren Kierkegaard. He is not easily understood, nor did he want to be. Yet his clarity is that of a diamond to the reader who is willing (and able) to patiently mine for it. I do not not claim to understand Kierkegaard, but am willing to continue mining his depths because I have found diamonds there. And sometimes all I can say is that while I may often misunderstand him, I misunderstand him in the right sort of way.
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