The art of beautiful compression - when less is very much more
June 8th 2008 20:30
A well-written review induces a sudden state of emergency in me. This week, the urgency was created by Mark Tredinnick who reviewed George Saunders book of essays called The Brain Dead Megaphone in Saturday’s Sydney Morning Herald by (Saturday 7 June 2008). It excited me so much, I promptly went out and bought the book.
My daughter picks out all the feta cheese in a Greek salad leaving the leaves and the tomatoes for the latecomers. Similarly, I think Tredinnick’s review picks out all the very best bits of the book, focusing on a particular essay entitled, 'Thank You Esther Forbes' which is a tribute to an author Saunders was introduced to by Sister Lynette, a nun who taught him as a child. Saunders learned to love language by reading Forbes’ book Johnny Tremain.
Forbes taught him that a sentence:
• has to say something uniquely
• does more than convey information, it ought to be an auditory experience
• if loved by its creator, says more than its length should rightly permit it to say
• can credit the intelligence of the reader by saying what it has to say with ‘beautiful compression.’
Some of the best passages in this essay are:
‘The world I started to see, was a different world depending on what you said about it and how you said it. By honing the sentences you used to describe the world, you changed the inflection of your mind, which changed your perceptions.’
‘Working with language is a means by which we can identify the bullshit within ourselves and others. If we learnt what a truthful sentence looks like, a little flag goes up at a false one.’
A dear friend of mine who is a gifted group facilitator in diversity literacy says ‘a facilitator can only take the group as deep as she or he has gone themselves.’ She vigilantly continues to devote her life to deepening her consciousness, always questioning, reflecting and reframing. Her understanding of the simplest things is multi-dimensional compared to the lazy glances we ordinarily fling upon our experiences. It is weighty with the sturdy grasp of authentic appraisal.
Similarly as writers, we have tacitly undertaken to our readers that we have gone within. Good writing is honest. Honest writing is more than just telling the truth. We have to know what the truth is in an experience before we can write it.
When we write about love, we’ve not only ‘been there, done that,’ but been burned, hurt, thrilled, shocked, broken, transformed by love. And we’ve distilled the best of that inside knowledge into our sentences with a slow and loving hand.
My love of language was evoked by the poet, Dylan Thomas. From him I learned that the words we choose create a landscape of experience, rather than just describe the world. I was swept off my feet by the flourish in Thomas’s prose. I found that words could be like chocolates in my mouth. I learned to taste the joy of something beautifully said.
Later in life, in reading JM Coetzee, I felt the power that comes from an economy of language. By choosing my words as if each were a name I was bequeathing to a child, I assembled my identity, not haphazardly but with an architectural vigilance. As I found the right word, one after the other, the experiences the language was sculpting sharpened. Each sentence became a faceted crystal through which I could see my life more clearly.
When we compress our language, we are forced to make bold choices: what will suffice? What is enough? Beautiful compression is the art of holding back, saying less, scaling down.
As poetry shows, we don't lose meaning by using fewer words. Light shines more intensely through a keyhole than through an open door.
www.joannefedler.com
The Braindead Megaphone by George Saunders
My daughter picks out all the feta cheese in a Greek salad leaving the leaves and the tomatoes for the latecomers. Similarly, I think Tredinnick’s review picks out all the very best bits of the book, focusing on a particular essay entitled, 'Thank You Esther Forbes' which is a tribute to an author Saunders was introduced to by Sister Lynette, a nun who taught him as a child. Saunders learned to love language by reading Forbes’ book Johnny Tremain.
Forbes taught him that a sentence:
• has to say something uniquely
• does more than convey information, it ought to be an auditory experience
• if loved by its creator, says more than its length should rightly permit it to say
• can credit the intelligence of the reader by saying what it has to say with ‘beautiful compression.’
Some of the best passages in this essay are:
‘The world I started to see, was a different world depending on what you said about it and how you said it. By honing the sentences you used to describe the world, you changed the inflection of your mind, which changed your perceptions.’
‘Working with language is a means by which we can identify the bullshit within ourselves and others. If we learnt what a truthful sentence looks like, a little flag goes up at a false one.’
A dear friend of mine who is a gifted group facilitator in diversity literacy says ‘a facilitator can only take the group as deep as she or he has gone themselves.’ She vigilantly continues to devote her life to deepening her consciousness, always questioning, reflecting and reframing. Her understanding of the simplest things is multi-dimensional compared to the lazy glances we ordinarily fling upon our experiences. It is weighty with the sturdy grasp of authentic appraisal.
Similarly as writers, we have tacitly undertaken to our readers that we have gone within. Good writing is honest. Honest writing is more than just telling the truth. We have to know what the truth is in an experience before we can write it.
When we write about love, we’ve not only ‘been there, done that,’ but been burned, hurt, thrilled, shocked, broken, transformed by love. And we’ve distilled the best of that inside knowledge into our sentences with a slow and loving hand.
My love of language was evoked by the poet, Dylan Thomas. From him I learned that the words we choose create a landscape of experience, rather than just describe the world. I was swept off my feet by the flourish in Thomas’s prose. I found that words could be like chocolates in my mouth. I learned to taste the joy of something beautifully said.
Later in life, in reading JM Coetzee, I felt the power that comes from an economy of language. By choosing my words as if each were a name I was bequeathing to a child, I assembled my identity, not haphazardly but with an architectural vigilance. As I found the right word, one after the other, the experiences the language was sculpting sharpened. Each sentence became a faceted crystal through which I could see my life more clearly.
J M Coetzee
When we compress our language, we are forced to make bold choices: what will suffice? What is enough? Beautiful compression is the art of holding back, saying less, scaling down.
As poetry shows, we don't lose meaning by using fewer words. Light shines more intensely through a keyhole than through an open door.
www.joannefedler.com
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Comment by tlcorbin
Coffee Quip
A Global Citizen
Paranormal Paranormal
Is Why
Alaska Chronicle
Raven
Comment by Joanne Fedler
Secret Writers Business
I've said the same thing three times, when just once would suffice. But which to choose??? Words are like a deli counter for me, and I can't pick between the marinated artichokes, the salami or the pickles.
It's a process, and I'm learning all the time. I long for the clarity of brevity.
Jo
Comment by tlcorbin
Coffee Quip
A Global Citizen
Paranormal Paranormal
Is Why
Alaska Chronicle
Brevity when dealing with a sandwich is an oxymoron without the ox, the mayo or something.
I actually found the triple play of words appealing Jo.
We'll both be dealing with this problem for a while.
Uh, trying to sneak away from the never ending battles, I wrote an escape piece: Link to naughty escape piece.
maybe I can quarrel with folks over this for a while.
Raven
Comment by Always Eighteen
Always Eighteen
"Good writing is honest." I firmly agree with that.
I love writing about... love. I think that a lot of people, when in conversation, secretly just want to talk about their love life and nothing else.
Anyway I'm glad I found your blog! I'm still trying to get my first manuscript published.
Always
Comment by Jayne Kearney
Writers In Writing (and other writing)
I love when people write about authors who have inspired them. J M Coetzee looks familiar but I have not read any of his stuff. Of course now I shall have to.
As you so insightfully say, "When we compress our language, we are forced to make bold choices: what will suffice? What is enough?" I, personally, don't do fashion but I know there's a saying about taking one thing off before you walk out the door. I have tried to apply this to my writing before I send it out into the world. But believe me, I have had many tragically unfashionable writing moments.
"Beautiful compression" is definitely an art. Cormac McCarthy's The Road is my favourite example of brilliant brevity. I wrote a short non-fiction story which tried to emulate his understatement and I won a runner-up prize in a competition. Really Long Link
Of course, it's not quite in Cormac's league, but at least I didn't send it out wearing a pink fascinator!
Love your post
Jayne
Comment by Joanne Fedler
Secret Writers Business
Always Eighteen: what is there more worthy to write about than love? Don't stop writing honestly about the heart. It is a magnificent distillery of emotional beauty.
Jayne, I don't like ALL of JM Coetzee. He is hard to read, very bleak. But Disgrace taught me so much about the art of less. Some of his stuff is almost impenetrable, which I think is sometimes the danger of 'too little.' In saying less, we credit our reader's intelligence by not spelling everything out for them, but in doing so we can be eliptical and create gaps through which a shared meaning slips. I guess it's a tricky balance. I also try to cut out my first and last sentence of each paragraph, as they are often the extras we can afford to lose. It's a real art, self-editing. But lean is always better, don't you think?
Thanks for the link to your FABULOUS short story. It is exquisite.
Jo