VanderMeer's Wonderbook, Chapter 2: The Ecosystem Of Story (continued)
The final element of story to be discussed is style, a nebulous concept that references the way a writer uses language. It is not quite the same as voice, but it is connected, of course, though I tend to believe voice is more susceptible to the individual story, "the voice of the narrator"; while style is more consistent across a body of work, "the style of the author". Wonderbook points out that a writer's style can be measured both in terms of the content and in terms of it's constancy across work, and I do not disagree. While the style a writer employs is a part of their toolkit, and not unique to a story, that does not mean it has no range. I would tend to see it more that an author is exploring how they can expand, not that they have abandoned a style, and I would look at those things that are essential to that writer, things that exist in even their most disparate works, as the core assets.
Of course, one must also acknowledge that style touches everything in a story. The description comes out in that style. While the voice is primary, it is a servant to the writer's style, and is built from how that style will be expressed. This interplay, for me, at least, requires cooperation of the two, for the voice of a character can be quite strong, but the style is the glue that permeates all things. The world beyond the words is imbued with that style, and so the voice is a reflection of that, built from it and responding within it.
Again, we are offered a series of rules, that are almost all meant to be broken, at least if you have a good reason. The first, though, seems a cardinal for any writer, and something that does not apply to style but to the entire enterprise: "Each and every story must be told in the style best suited for it." Now, while this is being applied specifically to style, a general version seems both too obvious to be noticed and so important it might be seen as trivial. A story has to be told in the way that is best for it. This is true of who tells the story. hink of The Great Gatsby told by Daisy: perhaps an interesting story, maybe even one equal to the original in its way, but, in order to achieve what Fitzgerald sought to create, it had to be told from the correct POV. This sounds quite apparent, and I suppose it is, but many writers will fall into the habit of telling all stories the same. I know this has occurred to me at times, so I am not casting stones here. There have been points, even recently, when I was writing things and wondering if I had fallen into a place where I was just telling stories one way, because that was the easiest and most familiar. The comfort of a familiar voice can be alluring, as can a character with those same qualities. It can be simple to keep focusing on the same types of detail, or of using the same exact linguistic and imagistic trickery. For example, in writing a scene where a character is feeling strong emotion, one can easily show this without over-writing the emotions by having the character look closely at an object to the exclusion of all else. Done well, this is incredibly affecting, but if all my stories have that same element, it becomes a cliche in my work. The repetition of device can hinder a story, as a writer needs to choose to use the right tools for the job. It is not that once I have written a scene using this device, never again, it is that, if I am writing this story, the choices I make need to be the choices that are right for this story. The choice is ruled by the need of what is being communicated, not out of habit.
Style, though, is a quality of the writer, as was said above, and in that way is the most communicative element of the work, the underlying strata upon which the rest is built. I think this is somewhat acknowledged, as the chapter continues with a discussion of style as an element that brings an essential depth to a piece of writing. The style's energy, it's "passion" carries with it a layer of meaning and intent, and as such enhances other elements of the work. This complexity, Wonderbook continues, grows out of the layers of meaning that style brings to the story. A sentence can do many things, not only describing the character being looked at, but also the looker, and pointing out some details that will later be important to the plot, all while providing a bit of a mysterious tone and a desire to know more, for instance. A single word can have multiple intents in a story, if it is used well. A verb, well chosen, can not merely perfectly described an action, but tell us about the narration. I think of how Melville used the word ejaculate to describe Billy Budd's speech. How many things are being accomplished by that one word choice? The style, then, must itself be able to range within a story, to be emotionally and tonally flexible, with vibrancy that can be felt not only in what is said but in how it is said. Humor is often a result of the style, not the details being imparted. An image that is funny in one story could be horrific in another. I think that Douglas Adams's descriptions are a perfect example of this. Consider the opening lines to The Hitchhikers Guide To The Galaxy: "Far out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the Western Spiral arm of the Galaxy lies a small unregarded yellow sun. Orbiting this at a distance of roughly ninety-eight million miles is an utterly insignificant little blue-green planet whose ape-descended life forms are so amazingly primitive that they still think digital watches are a pretty neat idea." That sentence is a masterpiece of style, not only in how it creates humor from it's perspective, but also in how it can do so many other things at the same time.
Just from this one sentence, Adams has established that the narrator is part of a much larger universe than the one that we, as humans, know. The tone implies a dispassion, as well, and sets up the story as taking place in a vast and careless galactic theater. We have space, and we have the revelation that the planet Earth itself is trivial/ That the description of mankind is left to the very end, and that the description never once references the species by name, but merely as "ape-descended" gives a clinical distancing that let's the reader know so much. It suggests, at once, that the world of the book is a clinical one, with no care for something as trivial as humanity, and suggests that even the greatest of accomplishments of Earth civilization are not worth mentioning except as examples of unsophistication. The reader is put into a new perspective, one that is utterly alien, yet it is done in a way that let's them know, sure we are going to be a long way from home, but don't worry, it'll be a good time. It does all of that, and a lot more, to be honest, without a reader even having to notice.
To move on, though, Wonderbook makes the point that different styles can make it easier or harder to accomplish certain things in a story. Some styles are able to move from one POV to another, or change tone easily, while others do not have that capacity, for example. The point that is made, though, and it is worth emphasizing, is not only that these differences exist, but that the individual qualities of a writer's unique style are a strength. It is not useful to fret over what is lacking, but instead to recognize those aspects of one's own style and to develop their use. In some ways, this is what I was referencing when I spoke of creative confidence. While, of course, I believe in stretching past the limits of current possibilities, pushing is only useful if you are standing on solid ground. If you are standing on a raft, it doesn't matter that you are pushing hard, the land won't move. In order to learn to do more as a writer, the first step has to be understanding one's own capability at the start, and a massive part of that is understanding the nature of one's own style.
Of course, "understanding" is probably not the right word. It implies a conscious mastery of the concept, but that is really not the case. It is rather a recognition and a trust. First, it is the recognition of style as a universal within a writer's work, and within one's own work. It is becoming aware that their are always going to be aspects of self that come through in the way one writers, and in embracing the fact that these things are a part of oneself. This self-recognition, then, must turn to a trust that one can go anywhere and that style will always come. It is recognizing that "anything I write, I have written", which only makes sense to those who actually understand what is meant. By understanding that style is the thing that comes from deep within, the expression of that aspect of a writer's nature that is indelibly present within every word and sentence, and by trusting that one can never lose that, a freedom to explore is born.
It is natural for a writer, or any artist, to be afraid of losing that magic and unique quality of creativity that is so personal. Such a fear can become a stagnation: it is easier to stay put and to keep doing the same thing, knowing that works, instead of journeying further, where it might be possible to get lost. Knowing that their is something essentially your own, though, which can never be lost, as it is truly a part of the self, that allows for this type of deeper exploration in a different context. No longer, is it running away from something, but instead expanding into a wider range. It is not a severing from self, but a connecting to it.
Their is also a joy in realizing what a style can do. At some point, I think every writer has a moment where they realize that they can do something because of how they see language that few others can. It may be simple, and it is often something that readers will not entirely notice, and may not care about. But the discovery itself opens up a connection to the joy of creativity as a personal celebration. Aligning with style, instead of fighting to get it to do things it can't or won't, is a mistake. Even the things a style won't do are advantages, in the end, if used wisely. And, in most cases, it is only a matter of learning a new way to accomplish what other's might do. Being able to jump into a character is only one way to provide those insights and viewpoints, and it is one that has been done many times by down. It once seemed shocking to even be inside the experience of a character so directly, now even jumping between them is fairly commonplace. So, if my style did not allow that, I would think about what I could do to accomplish that result in my own style, and I would think about it as an opportunity to do something new. The challenges that come from learning to use your own style, your own way of being a writer, are the one's that yield the most significant insights, and which allow the greatest degree of personal, artistic growth.
The chapter ends by pointing out that style is a thing that cannot be discretely pulled out and looked at, the way dialogue or description can. Style exists underneath in the substrata of the story, and in every choice made to embody that story within language. Style, I think, might best be summed as the way one chooses to write, but that simple statement belies it as the element that carries, to every bit of the story, the writer's self. As VanderMeer points out, a group of writer who are each told to write the same story, with the same events and characters, will each write their own story. If the writers are talented, they will each produce a piece that reflects their own individuality, a story in their own style. It is this self-recognition that makes style an essential element that could not be properly discussed if it were relegated to a lower tier of the hierarchy.
Of course, one must also acknowledge that style touches everything in a story. The description comes out in that style. While the voice is primary, it is a servant to the writer's style, and is built from how that style will be expressed. This interplay, for me, at least, requires cooperation of the two, for the voice of a character can be quite strong, but the style is the glue that permeates all things. The world beyond the words is imbued with that style, and so the voice is a reflection of that, built from it and responding within it.
Again, we are offered a series of rules, that are almost all meant to be broken, at least if you have a good reason. The first, though, seems a cardinal for any writer, and something that does not apply to style but to the entire enterprise: "Each and every story must be told in the style best suited for it." Now, while this is being applied specifically to style, a general version seems both too obvious to be noticed and so important it might be seen as trivial. A story has to be told in the way that is best for it. This is true of who tells the story. hink of The Great Gatsby told by Daisy: perhaps an interesting story, maybe even one equal to the original in its way, but, in order to achieve what Fitzgerald sought to create, it had to be told from the correct POV. This sounds quite apparent, and I suppose it is, but many writers will fall into the habit of telling all stories the same. I know this has occurred to me at times, so I am not casting stones here. There have been points, even recently, when I was writing things and wondering if I had fallen into a place where I was just telling stories one way, because that was the easiest and most familiar. The comfort of a familiar voice can be alluring, as can a character with those same qualities. It can be simple to keep focusing on the same types of detail, or of using the same exact linguistic and imagistic trickery. For example, in writing a scene where a character is feeling strong emotion, one can easily show this without over-writing the emotions by having the character look closely at an object to the exclusion of all else. Done well, this is incredibly affecting, but if all my stories have that same element, it becomes a cliche in my work. The repetition of device can hinder a story, as a writer needs to choose to use the right tools for the job. It is not that once I have written a scene using this device, never again, it is that, if I am writing this story, the choices I make need to be the choices that are right for this story. The choice is ruled by the need of what is being communicated, not out of habit.
Style, though, is a quality of the writer, as was said above, and in that way is the most communicative element of the work, the underlying strata upon which the rest is built. I think this is somewhat acknowledged, as the chapter continues with a discussion of style as an element that brings an essential depth to a piece of writing. The style's energy, it's "passion" carries with it a layer of meaning and intent, and as such enhances other elements of the work. This complexity, Wonderbook continues, grows out of the layers of meaning that style brings to the story. A sentence can do many things, not only describing the character being looked at, but also the looker, and pointing out some details that will later be important to the plot, all while providing a bit of a mysterious tone and a desire to know more, for instance. A single word can have multiple intents in a story, if it is used well. A verb, well chosen, can not merely perfectly described an action, but tell us about the narration. I think of how Melville used the word ejaculate to describe Billy Budd's speech. How many things are being accomplished by that one word choice? The style, then, must itself be able to range within a story, to be emotionally and tonally flexible, with vibrancy that can be felt not only in what is said but in how it is said. Humor is often a result of the style, not the details being imparted. An image that is funny in one story could be horrific in another. I think that Douglas Adams's descriptions are a perfect example of this. Consider the opening lines to The Hitchhikers Guide To The Galaxy: "Far out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the Western Spiral arm of the Galaxy lies a small unregarded yellow sun. Orbiting this at a distance of roughly ninety-eight million miles is an utterly insignificant little blue-green planet whose ape-descended life forms are so amazingly primitive that they still think digital watches are a pretty neat idea." That sentence is a masterpiece of style, not only in how it creates humor from it's perspective, but also in how it can do so many other things at the same time.
Just from this one sentence, Adams has established that the narrator is part of a much larger universe than the one that we, as humans, know. The tone implies a dispassion, as well, and sets up the story as taking place in a vast and careless galactic theater. We have space, and we have the revelation that the planet Earth itself is trivial/ That the description of mankind is left to the very end, and that the description never once references the species by name, but merely as "ape-descended" gives a clinical distancing that let's the reader know so much. It suggests, at once, that the world of the book is a clinical one, with no care for something as trivial as humanity, and suggests that even the greatest of accomplishments of Earth civilization are not worth mentioning except as examples of unsophistication. The reader is put into a new perspective, one that is utterly alien, yet it is done in a way that let's them know, sure we are going to be a long way from home, but don't worry, it'll be a good time. It does all of that, and a lot more, to be honest, without a reader even having to notice.
To move on, though, Wonderbook makes the point that different styles can make it easier or harder to accomplish certain things in a story. Some styles are able to move from one POV to another, or change tone easily, while others do not have that capacity, for example. The point that is made, though, and it is worth emphasizing, is not only that these differences exist, but that the individual qualities of a writer's unique style are a strength. It is not useful to fret over what is lacking, but instead to recognize those aspects of one's own style and to develop their use. In some ways, this is what I was referencing when I spoke of creative confidence. While, of course, I believe in stretching past the limits of current possibilities, pushing is only useful if you are standing on solid ground. If you are standing on a raft, it doesn't matter that you are pushing hard, the land won't move. In order to learn to do more as a writer, the first step has to be understanding one's own capability at the start, and a massive part of that is understanding the nature of one's own style.
Of course, "understanding" is probably not the right word. It implies a conscious mastery of the concept, but that is really not the case. It is rather a recognition and a trust. First, it is the recognition of style as a universal within a writer's work, and within one's own work. It is becoming aware that their are always going to be aspects of self that come through in the way one writers, and in embracing the fact that these things are a part of oneself. This self-recognition, then, must turn to a trust that one can go anywhere and that style will always come. It is recognizing that "anything I write, I have written", which only makes sense to those who actually understand what is meant. By understanding that style is the thing that comes from deep within, the expression of that aspect of a writer's nature that is indelibly present within every word and sentence, and by trusting that one can never lose that, a freedom to explore is born.
It is natural for a writer, or any artist, to be afraid of losing that magic and unique quality of creativity that is so personal. Such a fear can become a stagnation: it is easier to stay put and to keep doing the same thing, knowing that works, instead of journeying further, where it might be possible to get lost. Knowing that their is something essentially your own, though, which can never be lost, as it is truly a part of the self, that allows for this type of deeper exploration in a different context. No longer, is it running away from something, but instead expanding into a wider range. It is not a severing from self, but a connecting to it.
Their is also a joy in realizing what a style can do. At some point, I think every writer has a moment where they realize that they can do something because of how they see language that few others can. It may be simple, and it is often something that readers will not entirely notice, and may not care about. But the discovery itself opens up a connection to the joy of creativity as a personal celebration. Aligning with style, instead of fighting to get it to do things it can't or won't, is a mistake. Even the things a style won't do are advantages, in the end, if used wisely. And, in most cases, it is only a matter of learning a new way to accomplish what other's might do. Being able to jump into a character is only one way to provide those insights and viewpoints, and it is one that has been done many times by down. It once seemed shocking to even be inside the experience of a character so directly, now even jumping between them is fairly commonplace. So, if my style did not allow that, I would think about what I could do to accomplish that result in my own style, and I would think about it as an opportunity to do something new. The challenges that come from learning to use your own style, your own way of being a writer, are the one's that yield the most significant insights, and which allow the greatest degree of personal, artistic growth.
The chapter ends by pointing out that style is a thing that cannot be discretely pulled out and looked at, the way dialogue or description can. Style exists underneath in the substrata of the story, and in every choice made to embody that story within language. Style, I think, might best be summed as the way one chooses to write, but that simple statement belies it as the element that carries, to every bit of the story, the writer's self. As VanderMeer points out, a group of writer who are each told to write the same story, with the same events and characters, will each write their own story. If the writers are talented, they will each produce a piece that reflects their own individuality, a story in their own style. It is this self-recognition that makes style an essential element that could not be properly discussed if it were relegated to a lower tier of the hierarchy.
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