SELF-IMPROVEMENT
How to Hoodwink a Sentence into Being Good?
It’s easier than you think
“When Gregor Samsa woke up one morning from unsettling dreams, he found himself changed in his bed into a monstrous vermin.”
I like to think of sentences as makeshift bits of roulette. You have to pick the right words to send the right sentiment across. You tweak the order a little and something different comes out. It’s a game where you don’t win but you try not to lose all the same.
Classics in literature are often remembered for their brilliant openings. Franz Kafka’s Metamorphosis is one such work. What difference will it make if Gregor Samsa wakes up one morning writhing in pits of hellfire? What if he isn’t in his bed at all? What if you take all the words that make up the story, pluck them all out by their dainty ankles and place them in a different pattern? Will he still wake up with the same sense of befuddlement?
Is there anything as absolute out there as a perfect sentence?
English is not my native language. It comes as no surprise then when I fumble in it more often than I’d like to. What does astound me is when a few in the arsenal of sentences that I whip up turn out to be made from a loopy cursive in the vicinity of something sublime. ‘Sublime’ is the wrong word to use here but my linguistic handicap prevents me from exploring it any further. To say I write in English is to preach through a broken conch but it’s the only tool I have, which is just as well.
At the time of writing this, I’m also thinking of William Strunk Jr. and E.B. White’s Elements of Style. I’m not a grammar snob by any measure but I have my own pet peeves, as we all do, and in such an atmosphere, this little book is a gentle arm over my shoulders. I’m often afraid to go wrong but this is subverted by the fear of missing out on newer patterns, stranger cobwebs, and wilder permutations. I read Shakespeare and every word belongs. I cherish it as much as I envy it.
By this point in the write-up, you are bound to realize that the title is more of a clickbait than a careful study in nuance. I cannot tell you how to write a good sentence any more than I can back-flip on the belly of a panda. I don’t think anyone else can either. Which brings up the question: why write about this at all?
“The first principle of composition… is to foresee or determine the shape of what is to come and pursue that shape.”
This particular bit of advice from The Elements of Style clashes incredibly with my hypocrisy of having outlined this piece out of thin air. A major chunk of being a reader or a writer is to understand why you like to read or write. What is it about language that excites you so? Is it all in the story it purports or does the basic structure of the scaffolding play a significant part too? What is this structure and why does this work?
The more I think about it, the more I picture a sharp sentence dressed adequately, free of any unnecessary convolutions — one which says clearly what it sets out to say. The voice and its cadence interact in close harmony. No word is wasted. Is that it?
During the process of coming up with this, I wrote, edited, hatched out and spilled stale coffee over enough words enough times and here I am — still unsatisfied with the product. Is this where I make peace with the inevitability of being mediocre? Is this what one calls trying your best with the hand you’re dealt?
Is there anything as absolute out there as a perfect sentence?
