Every year, as the leaves begin to change, I dust off my copy of Washington Irving’s The Legend of Sleepy Hollow and read it again.
Irving had a wonderful way of describing things in luxurious detail. His description of the meals at Katrina’s house is rich enough to make you want to raid the fridge. And his description of Ichabod is priceless:
“The cognomen of Crane was not inapplicable to his person. He was tall, but exceedingly lank, with narrow shoulders, long arms and legs, hands that dangled a mile out of his sleeves, feet that might have served for shovels, and his whole frame most loosely hung together. His head was small, and flat at top, with huge ears, large green glassy eyes, and a long snipe nose, so that it looked like a weathercock perched upon his spindle neck, to tell which way the wind blew. To see him striding along the profile of a hill, one might have mistaken him for the genius of famine descending upon the earth, or some scarecrow eloped from a cornfield.”
There is a tendency for writers today to avoid being too descriptive. This is especially true for picture book authors, who have to leave a great deal of room for an illustrator to work. We’re told to keep the language of our stories crisp and to the point. We’re encouraged to show, not tell.
What if Irving had followed that advice to the letter? How might Ichabod’s tale have been different if Irving had not painted such a clear picture of him for his readers? What if we knew none of the details of the table set at Katrina’s home?
Writers of Irving’s time (Sleepy Hollow was written in about 1820) took their time with a story. A story was meant to be enjoyed at leisure. People sat in front of the fire after dinner (before television and other gadgets intruded on the peaceful arrival of evening), slowly chewing on each sentence, savoring it before moving on to the next. Washington Irving, Jane Austen, and a little later, Mark Twain, knew how to draw us into the world they had created, to see the characters take shape and begin to breathe. One shudders to think what today’s editors would have done to their stories and what adventures we might have missed.
The writing advice we get from books, magazines, and blogs can be very useful; but I don’t want to pick up a book and have to create my own version of the setting or characters. That’s the writer’s job, not the reader’s. Description, when used judiciously, should slow the reader (not the story) down just a bit. Just long enough to smell the pie, hear the wind howl, or see the main character walk into the room.
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