Other Voices, Other Rooms, by Truman Capote* is one of those extremely elusive things: a beautiful book. You know I'd never throw around such florid praise without due justification. It's the kind of book that makes you think that if you could invite one person, living or dead, to dinner, it'd be Capote.
Briefly, it's about a boy of thirteen who's sent to live with the father who abandoned him, in the rural Louisiana of the 1940s. It's a story of loneliness and dissolution, and the search for happiness—the search for belonging.
I have two mind-blowing excerpts for you.
It was a terrible, strange-looking hotel. But Little Sunshine stayed on: it was his rightful home, he said, for if he went away, as he had once upon a time, other voices, other rooms, voices lost and clouded, strummed his dreams.
The whole novel seems to be written like this, but it's a delusion. There's a clean simplicity interwoven with this richness that catches readers off guard, plunging cool, hard knives into our hearts when we least expect it.
Overblown? Consider for yourself this example, presented as Joel steps outside on his first breathtakingly hot, deserted, abominably silent southern afternoon, having asked to see his father and received no response, and having seen no other living person in the dilapidated mansion for hours. He goes into the garden and finds himself immediately lathered in sweat. Says Capote:
It stood to reason such weather would have to break.
A curious line. Does it speak of the solace we take in logic? Or is it a plea for fairness in an unfair world—a gambler's prayer for clement odds regardless of the irrationality of nature, and of fate?
*Yes, mentioned before, and mind-blowing lines from his other books related earlier, and earlier still.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Messages from the internet
Oh, if only shrimp jambalaya would do the job!Actually, existential questions aside, whatthefuckshouldimakefordinner.com does make for a rather compelling case study in stem sentence formulation:
- Lessen your mother's shame with some fucking...
- Classily partake in some fucking...
- Don't fuck up some fucking...
- Induce food coma with some fucking...
Hardly.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Confusing Google Ads
Yes! "Beautiful Women"! Perfect! Forget business planning and jet engines, that's just what I was after!****Yes, every sentence in this post has an exclamation mark. Yes, that's excessive. But I think in this case it also makes a neat point, don't you? That neat point being: advertising!? WTF?
**I am always, always ecstatic when something I write confounds Google Ads like this. Keep trying, Google. My type is gloriously, and thankfully, unintelligible!
Monday, February 7, 2011
Word of the Day #6: apochronicity
apochronicity, n. also apochronistic adj. The non-existence of time.
First discovered in 1907 by the Viennese physicist-philosopher Avgard von Bremner, the concept of apochronicity initially befuddled those in international physics circles, who questioned the possibility of a world, place, thing, or being without time.
"I spent some months pondering the dilemma," wrote eminent physicist and contemporary of von Bremner, Stanislav Schmidt, in his 1948 memoir. "What was a world without time? The apparent ubiquity of temporality seemed to preclude even the possibility of apochronicity. But, ironically, the more time I spent on the problem, the more it seemed to make sense. Days merged into weeks, weeks into months. Time exists, yes. But does it exist for everyone? For everything? von Bremner opened doors that were previously inconceivable."
Throughout the second decade of the twentieth century, as the notion of apochronicity gained traction, waggish physics students at the university at which von Bremner was professor would cite it as a reason for non-attendance or failure to deliver assessments.
Around this time, however, we see attempts to carry the concept across to broader language, viz.:
"The sphinx loomed apochronistically in the half-light. Beside it, Terence spied Lettice's skirts shifting petulantly in the warm night air." Babette Ford, Love in the Shadows of Pharaohs, Faber, 1913.
"The village shaman has feathers in his hair, a bone in his nose, and an altogether apochronistic gleam in his eye." John Lynch, On the Serengeti, Cassell and Co., 1915.
"It is by the grace, goodness and apochronicity of God's benevolence -- and by no other means -- that we are granted access to eternal paradise." Sheldon Snaith, "Paradise Found", The Watchtower, Issue 9, 1916.
The usage of this term has contracted in recent decades, however the apochronicity of its meaning hints that it will remain in usage for no little time to come.
First discovered in 1907 by the Viennese physicist-philosopher Avgard von Bremner, the concept of apochronicity initially befuddled those in international physics circles, who questioned the possibility of a world, place, thing, or being without time.
"I spent some months pondering the dilemma," wrote eminent physicist and contemporary of von Bremner, Stanislav Schmidt, in his 1948 memoir. "What was a world without time? The apparent ubiquity of temporality seemed to preclude even the possibility of apochronicity. But, ironically, the more time I spent on the problem, the more it seemed to make sense. Days merged into weeks, weeks into months. Time exists, yes. But does it exist for everyone? For everything? von Bremner opened doors that were previously inconceivable."
Throughout the second decade of the twentieth century, as the notion of apochronicity gained traction, waggish physics students at the university at which von Bremner was professor would cite it as a reason for non-attendance or failure to deliver assessments.
Around this time, however, we see attempts to carry the concept across to broader language, viz.:
"The sphinx loomed apochronistically in the half-light. Beside it, Terence spied Lettice's skirts shifting petulantly in the warm night air." Babette Ford, Love in the Shadows of Pharaohs, Faber, 1913.
"The village shaman has feathers in his hair, a bone in his nose, and an altogether apochronistic gleam in his eye." John Lynch, On the Serengeti, Cassell and Co., 1915.
"It is by the grace, goodness and apochronicity of God's benevolence -- and by no other means -- that we are granted access to eternal paradise." Sheldon Snaith, "Paradise Found", The Watchtower, Issue 9, 1916.
The usage of this term has contracted in recent decades, however the apochronicity of its meaning hints that it will remain in usage for no little time to come.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Text decoration is for sissies
Yes, you may bold a heading. You may italicise a word or phrase for emphasis. But text decoration beyond that? Dude, that shit's for sissies.
"Why do people use text decoration online?" you may, rightly, cry in indignation. The answers seem to be:
Know your freaking audience
Know your audience members, and you'll know what content appeals to them. You'll also know how to present that information (using, you know, language, images, video, etc.) to greatest effect.
Write for the damned medium
Certain techniques apply to writing for the Web, and to making content capture the mico-second attention spans of scanning readers. A good writer should know and employ these.
Write with empathy, for the love of God
Decorate the bits of text that you feel are most important, and you pay little respect to your thinking reader. Frequently I find the bits that aren't bold (or otherwise decorated) the most interesting. Don't you?
Leave formatting to the style sheet, and give us all some peace
Formatting of text is intended to communicate structure. Using text decoration to make things look pretty is for sissies. Your text should do the job without additional visual fancification.
As someone said to me recently, nut up or shut up. If your text isn't strong enough to stand naked before the reader, don't publish it.
"Why do people use text decoration online?" you may, rightly, cry in indignation. The answers seem to be:
- to highlight important bits
- to catch the reader's eye and tease them into reading the whole piece
- to confuse readers about what's functional (link) or just for effect (underlined text)
- to make things look pretty.
Know your freaking audience
Know your audience members, and you'll know what content appeals to them. You'll also know how to present that information (using, you know, language, images, video, etc.) to greatest effect.
Write for the damned medium
Certain techniques apply to writing for the Web, and to making content capture the mico-second attention spans of scanning readers. A good writer should know and employ these.
Write with empathy, for the love of God
Decorate the bits of text that you feel are most important, and you pay little respect to your thinking reader. Frequently I find the bits that aren't bold (or otherwise decorated) the most interesting. Don't you?
Leave formatting to the style sheet, and give us all some peace
Formatting of text is intended to communicate structure. Using text decoration to make things look pretty is for sissies. Your text should do the job without additional visual fancification.
As someone said to me recently, nut up or shut up. If your text isn't strong enough to stand naked before the reader, don't publish it.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Semi-colons, bitches
Not so long ago, we talked about colons. The whole wide world seems to confuse colons and semi-colons, but as we are about to see, the semi-colon is nothing like the colon. They are, in effect, unconfusable. Isn't that a relief?
Semi-colons are very simple. Think of a semi-colon as being a half full-stop.
The alligator ate the dog. He was soon sated.
The alligator ate the dog; he was soon sated.
Both are correct. Here's the thing: semi-colon usage is most frequently a stylistic choice. The only rule is that the two phrases joined by the semi-colon must also be able to be separated by a stop; the two phrases (like these ones) must be able to stand alone as independent sentences.
So why would you use a semi-colon?
The first option above is very definite. Some might say that rhythmically it's a bit boring, being, as it is, the presentation of two separate facts in two separate, similarly constructed sentences. Yawn.
The second option has more flow. The sating is more closely tied to the eating. The semi-colon joins these two facts more tightly than does the stop. The semi-colon joins what the full-stop puts asunder.
That may sound high-falutin' (or biblical) but it actually makes a considerable difference in real-life prose:
There is a paved area beside the door, and here his breath forms small clouds in the chill air. All is silent; even the hens have housed themselves. The dying light seeps, luminous, over the dark green hillside to his right.
You, of course, know why a colon would be incorrect in all these cases. Try dropping "ta-daaa!" in where those semi-colons appear and all you have is a mess. The housed hens, for example, are not precipitated by the silence. A colon does not work where a semi-colon is needed. A dash could work there (All is silent—even the hens have housed themselves) but a colon would be an alarming choice.
As an aside, you can also use a semi-colon to separate items in a list where those items themselves contain comma-separated lists:
Having consumed the dog, the alligator proceeded to ingest a rosemary bush; three kittens named Lisle, Betty, and Alan; six hard-boiled eggs; and a plate of roast beef.
See? I told you semi-colons were simple.
Semi-colons are very simple. Think of a semi-colon as being a half full-stop.
The alligator ate the dog. He was soon sated.
The alligator ate the dog; he was soon sated.
Both are correct. Here's the thing: semi-colon usage is most frequently a stylistic choice. The only rule is that the two phrases joined by the semi-colon must also be able to be separated by a stop; the two phrases (like these ones) must be able to stand alone as independent sentences.
So why would you use a semi-colon?
The first option above is very definite. Some might say that rhythmically it's a bit boring, being, as it is, the presentation of two separate facts in two separate, similarly constructed sentences. Yawn.
The second option has more flow. The sating is more closely tied to the eating. The semi-colon joins these two facts more tightly than does the stop. The semi-colon joins what the full-stop puts asunder.
That may sound high-falutin' (or biblical) but it actually makes a considerable difference in real-life prose:
There is a paved area beside the door, and here his breath forms small clouds in the chill air. All is silent; even the hens have housed themselves. The dying light seeps, luminous, over the dark green hillside to his right.
You, of course, know why a colon would be incorrect in all these cases. Try dropping "ta-daaa!" in where those semi-colons appear and all you have is a mess. The housed hens, for example, are not precipitated by the silence. A colon does not work where a semi-colon is needed. A dash could work there (All is silent—even the hens have housed themselves) but a colon would be an alarming choice.
As an aside, you can also use a semi-colon to separate items in a list where those items themselves contain comma-separated lists:
Having consumed the dog, the alligator proceeded to ingest a rosemary bush; three kittens named Lisle, Betty, and Alan; six hard-boiled eggs; and a plate of roast beef.
See? I told you semi-colons were simple.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Insomnia rules for writers
- If it's keeping you awake, write it down.
- But don't publish it.
- You'll need a scotch.
- A teacup is the preferred vessel at this time of night.
- Yes, go on, fill it.
- Forget about what time you're supposed to be up.
- All that matters is the idea.
- The flashing cursor.
- The blank page.
- The deep silence of night.
- No one can hear you write. Or type.
- (Or pour more scotch.)
- Why not lose yourself revising what you just wrote?
- It's not like anyone's telling you to stop.
- Say it exactly how you mean it.
- Don't err or waver.
- Cut, cut, cut.
- Take it back to its bleeding bones.
- Spellcheck.
- Save.
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