There was once a time that I read books and I strained against the descriptive words authors would use to try and paint a picture in my mind. I saw the descriptive phrases and slowly unfolding plot lines as a harness that held me back. My imagination wanted to paint its own pictures, with its focus being the actions of the characters traversing the story held within the pages.
I admit that I still do this sometimes when I am completely captivated by the story and I feel the real-life constraints of the time I can spend reading. My anxiety to see the conclusion revealed escorts me quickly past the opportunities provided by beautiful, but unnecessary, words.
Unfortunately, one of the very things I am using (Substack and online blogs) to exercise my own writing in the present day is partially responsible for increased reader impatience. For my own part, it has a lot to do with the plethora of reading material that overfills my limited time to read it all. It also comes with the job. If I want to stay informed on certain issues so I can speak and write with some authority, I must absorb information quickly and accurately. Beautiful words need not apply for consideration.
The sad thing about all of this is that many authors portray a rich tapestry with amazing detail and beautiful words, and the reading is somewhat paler when the reader doesn't take a moment to observe the power they wield within the story.
The redeeming feature of a book is that you can read it again, revisiting the past by reliving it. The second time through gives us the opportunity to pause and appreciate the textures and the depth. The story line is still there for us, but we are aware of the path the main theme will take. We can now spend some time exploring the side-trails and backwaters, finding a heron wading in the shallows or the sound of the wind through the branches of barren trees.
Because I spend more time with words now, I find myself taking note when words are put together in a way that calls to me.
"The unicorn lived in a lilac wood, and she lived all alone. She was very old, though she did not know it, and she was no longer the careless color of sea foam, but rather the color of snow falling on a moonlit night. But her eyes were still clear and unwearied, and she still moved like a shadow on the sea." from The Last Unicorn by Peter S. Beagle
And now we all know better what a unicorn is, or was, thanks to some well chosen words.
I wish I could say the entirety of The Last Unicorn maintains this quality. In reality, the turn of beautiful phrases flit in and out of the book amidst uneven and inconsistent character development and a story line that can be difficult to follow. Yet, I find myself continuing to read because the ideas in the story are brilliant and these word gems appear just often enough to keep me digging for more of them.
"She did not look anything like a horned horse, as unicorns are often pictured, being smaller and cloven-hoofed, and possessing that oldest, wildest grace that horses have never had, that deer have only in a shy, thin imitation and goats in dancing mockery."
As near as I can tell, this is also an accurate description of the best writing. We know it when we see it, but so much is just a thin imitation or a dancing mockery of a unicorn.
The Lady Moon is a common theme that brings out some of the best words in books and other writing. Or maybe the words aren't so wonderful and it's just a spell that she places on each of us that have observed her on a calm, peaceful night that sticks with us, ready to change our viewpoint as soon as her name is mentioned.
"The moon was out again, but she was lower now, and bashful. Auri smiled at her, glad for the company now that she was no longer On Top of Things and Haven was far gone behind. Here on the edge of the clearing the moon showed acorns scattered on the ground. Auri spent a few minutes picking up the ones with perfect hats and tucking them into her gathersack." from The Slow Regard of Silent Things by Patrick Rothfuss
If you have had the opportunity to spend a little time under oak trees, you can picture the fruits of these trees lying on the ground. Some of them brazenly sitting atop whatever grasses and leaf litter that might be scattered under the canopy of the trees themselves. Others cleverly hide themselves while peaking out from underneath a violet's leaves.
And yes, some have perfect hats, while others showed the loss due to their fall from a great height or the tread of heavily booted feet.
Often, I find these gems near the beginning of the books I am reading. Perhaps more time goes into buffing and shining every single word and phrase until they really shine in the early pages. Or, maybe it is my own limited patience, preventing me from digging deeper still to find things that speak, and speak beautifully.
Regardless of the reason, this early section of a book is an example of something I might have discarded at one time. The words are dense with meaning, but you have to slow down to accept them. You almost have to take each one and roll it around on your tongue so you can decide how they taste.
"[A] tall old castle stands gazing out over a wide bay, a fortress isolated and protected by water, dignified and secretive as a queen who has outlived her royal husband. She is crowned with magnificent towers, and the patchwork roofs of the lower buildings are her skirt. A slender causeway that joins the castle to the mainland, stretches out like a bridal train spreading out to make the rest of her city, which lies in the folds of the hills and along the mainland edge of the bay." from Shadowmarch by Tad Williams
Perhaps you are also finding yourself fighting your internal clock right now. Maybe you are reading this early in the morning, before you start your day. Perhaps you are sandwiching in a quick read in between sessions of being pulled through a maze of memes, reels and short posts that encourage your ventral striatum to release dopamine. That pull is a bit like the way I used to read these stories - anxious to get to the good stuff.
We just need to remember that something better might be found when we linger and add a skirt of patchwork roofs to the castle that already resides in our own minds.
I love your writing - no matter what you are writing about. When I can sense the writer in the words, and feel I am invited to be there too, it is always good stuff. I have carried secret guilt about skipping over the rich, descriptive text to stay in the plot - and feeling a bit of a charlatan about that. This piece invites me to spend a bit more time sniffing around and listening to the environment where the plot takes place. (Being retired helps)
Another good thing about retirement is that one does get to linger over others' words and appreciate the labor that must've gone into their crafting. Thanks, Rob.