Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Word Portraits
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
The Sweetest Sounds I Ever Read

The Sweetest Sounds I Ever Read
By MEGHAN O'ROURKE
Printed in The Wall Street Journal, page C12
When a friend of mine recently called a novel "poetic," she didn't intend it as a compliment. She meant that it lacked plot and its sentences were overly ornate. But these qualities aren't what poetry truly has to offer the writer of prose. Novels that are merely lush aren't "poetic" in any meaningful sense.
At the heart of all great poetry is cadence—the way sounds chime off one another—and it is one of the most seductive aspects of any sort of writing. Writing prose without thinking about cadence is like trying to seduce a man by handing him your résumé. The facts are there, but the electric charge isn't.
The American literary tradition is filled with writers who have understood that the power of writing springs not only from the precision of sentences but from the feeling evoked by their rhythm.
Here's F. Scott Fitzgerald in the brilliant last sentence of "The Great Gatsby": "So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past." Note those effortful "b" sounds—the way they intensify the meaning.
Rhythm isn't just decorative. It serves a purpose even in a book like "Moby-Dick," which aspires to social realism. Melville could well have made his opening line "Call me Richard"—it was a popular American name then as now—but it lacks the tragic Old Testament resonance of Ishmael. It also doesn't sound as good as Ishmael, whose two gentler stresses balance out the sentence's strikingly stressed first word. What's more, "Call" and "el" chime off each other, resulting in a sentence that's as sonorous and inviting as "Call me Richard" plainly isn't.
Ernest Hemingway (a master seducer) understood that sentences instill feelings in us. That's why he developed his innovative style, which used few commas and lots of "ands" and one-syllable words. Consider this sentence—one of my favorites—which is the opening line of his short story "In Another Country": "In the fall the war was always there, but we did not go to it any more."
Notice that all the words are one syllable except the key adverb "always"; the contrast conjures up the sense of a war that is dragging on. Notice, too, that there's little punctuation. Commas and semicolons break a sentence up into units of breath, offering the reader small chances to pause. In Hemingway's sentence, there's only one comma, and it creates an effective, slight break between the two clauses. It neatly separates the unchanging season of combat from the "we" who, newly distant from it, are plainly still mindful of it.
Deployed wisely, cadence also can make a reader slow down to understand a knotty idea. Marilynne Robinson, a contemporary writer who likes to explore abstractions, also pays more attention to rhythm than nearly any other living novelist I know.
Listen for the regular duh-duh-dum rhythm that settles in after the first two words of this sentence (from her novel "Housekeeping"): "To crave and to have are as like as a thing and its shadow." The sentence is a bit abstract, in truth, but the gorgeous, nearly regular rhythm of it makes you want to repeat the words, turn them over, and understand them.
Of course, it's easy to make a fetish of the musicality of prose. But a writer with an ear for cadence can turn a mediocre piece of writing into a sharper one just by asking if the sound of her sentence connects back to its meaning. All you have to do is close your eyes and listen.
—Ms. O'Rourke is a poet and essayist. Her memoir about grief, "The Long Goodbye," will be published in April.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Bourdieu, the "hipster", and the authenticity of taste
BOURDIEU, THE “HIPSTER,” AND THE AUTHENTICITY OF TASTE
Mark Grief wrote a fantastic analysis of the “hipster” in the New York Times. Drawing on a book he edited,”What Was the Hipster?“, with Kathleen Ross and Dayna Tortorici, Grief offers an analysis based on the work of Pierre Bourdieu.
Bourdieu observed that the rich justified and naturalized their economic advantage over others not only by pointing to their bank accounts, but by being the arbiters of taste. Bourdieu shows us that taste…
…is not stable and peaceful, but a means of strategy and competition. Those superior in wealth use it to pretend they are superior in spirit.
Style, in other words, is not just arbitrary; it is about establishing that you are better than other people.
Those below us economically, the reasoning goes, don’t appreciate what we do; similarly, they couldn’t fill our jobs, handle our wealth or survive our difficulties.
But the rich aren’t the only ones who attempt to use taste and style to gain and preserve status. Indeed, hipsters may be the purest example of this phenomenon.
“Once you take the Bourdieuian view,” Grief explains, “you can see how hipster neighborhoods are crossroads where young people from different origins, all crammed together, jockey for social gain” by liking cool things first.
(source)
I will quote Grief liberally because he does such a fantastic job of describing the field:
One hipster subgroup’s strategy is to disparage others as “liberal arts college grads with too much time on their hands”; the attack is leveled at the children of the upper middle class who move to cities after college with hopes of working in the “creative professions.” These hipsters are instantly declassed, reservoired in abject internships and ignored in the urban hierarchy — but able to use college-taught skills of classification, collection and appreciation to generate a superior body of cultural “cool.”
They, in turn, may malign the “trust fund hipsters.” This challenges the philistine wealthy who, possessed of money but not the nose for culture, convert real capital into “cultural capital” (Bourdieu’s most famous coinage), acquiring subculture as if it were ready-to-wear. (Think of Paris Hilton in her trucker hat.)
(source)
Both groups, meanwhile, look down on the couch- surfing, old-clothes-wearing hipsters who seem most authentic but are also often the most socially precarious — the lower-middle-class young, moving up through style, but with no backstop of parental culture or family capital. They are the bartenders and boutique clerks who wait on their well-to-do peers and wealthy tourists. Only on the basis of their cool clothes can they be “superior”: hipster knowledge compensates for economic immobility.
All hipsters play at being the inventors or first adopters of novelties: pride comes from knowing, and deciding, what’s cool in advance of the rest of the world.
This, Grief concludes, is why everyone, especially hipsters, hates to be called a hipster. The whole idea is to have authentically superior tastes. Once you are revealed as someone whocares about having the right tastes, you are disqualified as a person who has good tasteeffortlessly. Likewise, if you are suddenly one who has the same tastes as everyone else, you are just one of the masses. Being a hipster, it turns out, is a perilous identity that must be constantly re-worked and re-authenticated.
(source)




