More Rhythm in Writing

By: Sean Savoie 

In many forms of art, such as kung fu, dance, and music, the critical and central role of movement is obvious. It is in more static artistic expression that rhythm becomes subtle, thus affecting the audience in ways that are often unconscious and powerful. For this reason, becoming aware of the movement of the artist requires a higher form of appreciation on the part of the person who is watching, looking at, or listening to the art.  

A person need not be an artist to fully appreciate the subtle rhythm of various styles of art. Take the paintings of Vincent Van Gogh as a clear example; the thick brush strokes pulled across the canvas have attracted many millions of people. Yet, when I was much younger, I would have looked at his often simple style of painting and said, “I can do that!” How wrong I was! Van Gogh captured the eyes of millions with his extreme passion expressed in bold, defiant motion. Even now his paintings dance in museums with people standing in line for hours just to watch (not see) them. There is no art without movement. Again, there is no art without movement! And the highly developed control of movement should be the goal of an artist. 

Movement in writing is felt in both the smaller and larger units, the smaller units being sentences and the larger ones being paragraphs (or chapters in longer works). Masterful authors have a keen sense and control of long and short cadence when composing literary works. This, once again, is exactly the same sensitivity that a master musician has when composing music. Very long sentences, if not broken up into smaller segments, can be boring if used too often. Similarly, short sentences can make the reading “choppy” so that it does not move well. Paying attention to the length of an expressed idea is the first step to attaining better control over the influence your writing has on the reader. An interesting combination of long and short sentences usually produces a more engaging rhythm.  

One way to test the cadence of a written work is to read it out loud. When reading aloud, a person must synchronize reading with breathing. Many great writers have taken advantage of this naturalistic style of phrasing ideas, and, as we have seen in the last three lessons, many ideas can be crafted into a single sentence by using various types of phrases and clauses. 

Salman Rushdie, who has just recently been knighted by the Queen of England for his contribution to English literature, will most probably be seen as one of the top three greatest writers of the 20th century. His ability to craft sentences is so amazing that it is nearly magical. Notice his use of phrasing and listing to describe a character in the following excerpt from page 336 of his most recent novel Shalimar the Clown, which I highly recommend reading: 

"He had been a puissant spectator in that mightiest and least controllable of all currencies, had been both a manipulator and a benefactor, both a philanthropist and a dictator, both creator and destroyer, dealing or stealing the future from those who no longer deserved to possess it, selling the future to those who would be most useful in it, smiling the false lethal smile of power at all the planet’s future-greedy hordes, its murderous doctors, its paranoid holy warriors, its embattled high priests, its billionaire financiers, its insane dictators, its generals, its venal politicians, its thugs. He had been a dealer in the dangerous, hallucinogenic narcotic of the future, offering it at a price to his chosen addicts, the reptilian cohorts of the future which his country had chosen for itself and for others; Max, her unknown father, the invisible robot servant of his adopted country's overweening amoral might." 

Some readers may notice that the above quote is only two sentences long. By using various phrases, such as participial phrases and absolute phrases, Salman Rushdie is able to breathe life into a character with an almost hypnotic quality. It is clear that Salman Rushdie must have an extremely fine sense of rhythm, and he is surely conscious of the effect that such rhythm has on his reader. Amazingly powerful sentences are not created by accident. Aspiring writers should go back and read that last paragraph to feel what is possible when using well-crafted language. I can only dream of writing at the level of an author such as Salman Rushdie. 

John Irving, another truly excellent author, is perhaps more stylistically accessible to young writers, who should take the time to imitate talented authors whenever possible. Notice the techniques that John Irving uses as he first describes the character Owen Meany in his novel A Prayer for Owen Meany: 

"Owen was so tiny, we love to pick him up; in truth, we couldn't resist picking him up. We thought it was a miracle: how little he weighed. This was also incongruous because Owen came from a family in the granite business. The Meany Granite Quarry was a big place, the equipment for blasting and cutting the granite slabs was heavy and dangerous-looking; granite itself is such a rough, substantial rock. But the only aura of the granite quarry that clung to Owen was the granular dust, the gray powder that sprang off his clothes whenever we lifted him up. He was the color of a gravestone; light was both absorbed and reflected by his skin, as with a pearl, so that he appeared translucent at times -- especially at his temples, where his blue veins showed through his skin (as though, in addition to his extraordinary size, there were other evidence that he was born too soon).