Clarity

An Element of Fiction

When you have a story to tell, an opinion to share, or a suggestion to make, it would appear an unnecessary reminder to tell it or state it or suggest it as clearly as you can, but if you don’t, how can your story be understood, or your opinion shared, or your suggestion heeded? An imprecise description does not convey the full scene; fuzzy words do not nail down your opinion for what it really is; be nebulous about your suggestion and it’s just so much wind (or wasted ink).

So it follows that clarity is a foundational fictional element that many a writer has weighed in on and I’ll share of few of their views here. I’ll start with Matthew Arnold who I think might actually have said it the best, “Have something to say, and say it as clearly as you can. That is the only secret of style.”

“No blur of inexactness,” says Eudora Welty. “No cloud of vagueness is allowable in good writing; from the first seeing to the last putting down, there must be steady lucidity and uncompromised purpose.”

The philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein is another writer who, in my view, nails it when it comes to the role of clarity, “Everything that can be thought of can be thought of clearly. Everything that can be said can be said clearly.”

“You have to speak clearly and simply and purely,” says Katherine Ann Porter, “in a language that a six-year-old child can understand; and yet have the meanings and the overtones of language, and the implications, that appeal to the highest intelligence.”

Another philosopher, Aristotle, intones, “The most important quality in diction is clarity.”

While Philip Gerard suggests, brilliantly, “A complex idea requires a simple eloquence in the telling.”

William Zinsser elaborates, “The secret of good writing is to strip every sentence to its cleanest components. Every word that serves no function, every long word that could be a short word, every adverb that carries the same meaning that’s already in the verb, every passive construction that leaves the reader unsure of who is doing what — these are the thousand and one adulterants that weaken the strength of a sentence.

“Writing improves in direct ratio to the number of things we can keep out of it that shouldn’t be there. ‘Up’ in ‘free up’ shouldn’t be there. Examine every word you put on paper. You’ll find a surprising number that doesn’t serve any purpose.

“The laborious phrase that has pushed out the short word that means the same thing is but clutter.”

“There is enormous power in stating something simply and well,” adds Pat Conroy.

Jacques Barzun, too, makes a brilliant point, “It is proper for the ordinary reader to absorb the meaning of a story or description as if the words were a transparent sheet of glass. But he can do so only because the writer has taken pains to choose and adjust them with care.”

And how about this from Henry David Thoreau, “Simplify. Simplify.” Doesn’t get much simpler than that (could not resist that).

And as for Ayn Rand, “An old literary bromide says that when you write about boring people, you, the writer, do not have to be boring. The same applies here: you cannot convey an incoherent emotion by means of incoherent writing.”

Another spot on point is made by Constance Hale, “Euphemisms are for wimps. Invented in an attempt to avoid offending others or to pussyfoot around socially prickly subjects, they are the last words you should resort to if you’re trying to be clear, concrete, concise, and compassionate.

“Euphemisms conceal reality rather than reveal it — which is, after all, what a writer should be doing.”

Milan Kundera, might (in my opinion) go a little far, but he does have a point, even if a little extreme, “I reject the very notion of synonyms: each word has its own meaning and is semantically irreplaceable.” Still, if you can live by that, you will be a master, methinks.

“The more fantastic the action the more precise the writing and this is the way it ought to be,” says Flannery O’Connor

Marie Arana’s suggestion should be carved in stone and taken to heart by all writers, “Allow your most rigorous teacher to be a clear, well-written page.”

Gotthold Ephraim Lessing says it beautifully, “For me, the greatest beauty always lies in the greatest clarity.”

Surely, Hippocrates would have agreed, “The chief virtue that language can have is clarity.”

And I’ll let E.B. White have the last word, expanding on Hippocrates, “Since writing is communication, clarity can only be a virtue.”

Clear enough?

© Wolfstuff

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