Great Title, Greater Article

I read Karen Thompson Walker's article Sentences Sentenced to Hard Labor in the WSJ with great verve and excitement. Usually I eschew articles on sentence crafting and word smithing. I have a series of posts on word smithing inspired by my two children, but that's about as far as I'll deign to go. Miss Walker's article changed that, at least on Saturday.

I liked Miss Walker's article for one very prescient reason, she used relevant and meaningful examples to express her point. I started my series on First Lines because every writing class always emphasizes the importance of first lines but beyond that you just don't hear much. Miss Walker goes beyond the importance of first lines and tackles how sentences can provide several degrees of depth to the story.

Most importantly, like a waiter who doesn't drop a single plate but also engages in charming conversation, the best sentences do more than one job at the same time. And I've found that the frequent use of these multitasking sentences is often what separates great books from all the others. These sentences give literature its layers, mystery and depth.

The example follow on the heels of this statement. The one I liked the most was this one.


One of my favorite hardworking sentences is the first line of "The Virgin Suicides" by Jeffrey Eugenides: "On the morning the last Lisbon daughter took her turn at suicide—it was Mary this time, and sleeping pills, like Therese—the two paramedics arrived at the house knowing exactly where the knife drawer was, and the gas oven, and the beam in the basement from which it is was possible to tie a rope."

This sentence 1) delivers crucial information via back story—all the girls in this family have committed suicide; 2) creates mystery and suspense by withholding the reasons for the suicides, the events that preceded this final day and the identity of the person telling this story; 3) shows us carefully chosen details, as vivid as they are meaningful, and 4) sounds good to our ears—the element that drew me in right away. To say that Mary "took her turn at suicide" instead of the more familiar "committed" is just one example of the line's fresh and subtle poetry.

Miss Walker's article did it's job. I'm travelling this week, invariably this is when I get the bulk of my writing in. Guess who will stop taking sentences for granted?