The Power of Description
I just finished reading Manhattan Beach by Jennifer Egan and was blown away by her masterful description. Here are some examples:
“Anna sensed his sympathy, but the tight aperture of their discourse afforded no channel through which sentiment might flow.”
“Nell’s face was all sunny curves; she looked perpetually on the verge of laughter. Yet her blue gaze was rife with calculation.”
“Beth Berringer had the classic old stove’s face: a drought-stricken delta of cracks and tributaries affixed to the reactive jaws of a Doberman.”
“Tabby didn’t suggest that Mackey remove his shoes; it was hard to believe, from his weary clown’s face, that Mackey had feet.”
“The train rounded a corner, and everyone’s arms dropped as though a string holding them aloft had been cut.”
It seems to me that being able to write this kind of vivid description requires two things. One is an intimate understanding of your character like you’ve lived with them and know their personalities and habits through years of interacting with them. The other is being a keen observer, not just in the sense of paying attention to details but also thinking about those details, the context and the meaning the details are meant to convey.
We’ve all been in uncomfortable conversations when a piece of information is revealed that shifts our perspective yet the purpose of the conversation makes it seem inappropriate to do more than dispassionately acknowledge the information. When we read a sentence about the “tight aperture of their discourse afforded no channel through which sentiment might flow” we get it. That description gives us words to explain why those kinds of conversations feel the way they do – maybe even clarify what we feel without our realizing exactly what we felt in that situation.
“. . . . the reactive jaws of a Doberman.” We’ve seen this woman. Maybe you’re related to her. If you’ve been around Dobermans you know they can go from alert but neutral-looking to snarling, snapping go-for-the-jugular mode in nanoseconds. Just like a Doberman, these kinds of elderly, weathered matriarchal women (I always associate them with old money families) are watching and quick to target the vulnerable spots if they perceive danger.
Jennifer Egan is a multi-award winning author. I have to suspect that she’s also the kind of writer that does a lot of research and observation, storing up details, and gets completely lost in the story when she’s writing. One of my writing mentors recommends acting the character’s movement, paying attention to what your senses are telling you as well as your visceral reactions to what you’re experiencing. It seems silly at first when you do this but it works. It’s a way to make sure the way your characters move makes sense as well as to imbue the story with sensory detail that sings. Be one with the character.