We've all been there. We read a good book, a great book, even, by an author whose style absolutely fascinates us. And then we head back to our own writing, and there it is, sometimes long before we notice it: the sentences we craft are wrought after the fashion of what we have been reading, or at least attempting to be so.
It happened to me more than once, most notably and noticeably while reading Annie Proulx's Shipping News, a book I adore and one that is written in a truly unique and characteristic style. So taken was I with Ms Proulx's prose that when I next handed a passage of the manuscript I was working on at the time to my wife, she immediately commented: "You're trying to write like Annie Proulx now?" Ooops.
Now, of course there's no shame in being influenced by the best, or one's betters. But first of all it should happen in a more subtle way than trying to imitate their syntactic devices, and secondly, it should not happen unconsciously. That's just scary. And for one such as I, who is still working to find and establish my own voice, the thought of speaking in someone else's before I've discovered my own is flat-out terrifying.
It is even possible for one's very own style to get in the way of clear expression. Samuel Beckett originally wrote many of his books in French, a language he knew well but not as well as his native English (or so he claimed: Beckett's French was decent enough for most of these 'first attempts' to still make it into print—before they were published in English). Ever keen on eliminating "style" from his works, Beckett felt that writing in a foreign language and then translating back word for word into English helped purge his prose of stylistic contrivances. In other words, this ingenious approach was meant to prevent Beckett from writing too much like Beckett.
I've occasionally applied this method to tricky passages where I felt I couldn't get to the heart of what I wanted to say without burying it under pretty sentences, and with good success. While writing entire books in a language in which I don't feel extremely proficient is another matter, it occurred to me that the linguistic sidestep might be helpful in my reading practices. I consider myself fortunate (and have studied really, really hard) to be able to read just about anything I like in French. So I devour loads of books written in French, getting the literary nourishment I crave, still learning a lot about plot and characterization—not to mention improving my French—while remaining reasonably sure that what I read will not resurface in what I write, at least not stylistically.
If you are learning another language, reading is obviously a great way to get to know some foreign literature while improving your language skills. If you happen to also be a writer and find that the style of authors you admire has a tendency to wind up in your own work, reading in a language other than the one you write in can also help you deal with the threat of what we shall call, for want of a better term, involuntary imitation. Perhaps you'll even want to try the "Beckett Method" now and then and write a page or two in another language, and translate it back. The results will surprise you.
Far be it from me to advocate no longer reading in the primary language we write in, of course. We need to keep up with the tools of our trade and besides, some books are simply too good to pass up. But when I start writing "under the influence" of some other author's potent English style, I know just what to do... I head back to Proust to clear my mind. Or clutter it, perhaps. Either can be inspirational.
No comments:
Post a Comment