As I wandered, weak and weary, through the better-trodden paths of social media (not real social media like eX-twitter, Boom-tok, Blooskie, and Farcebook, but more restrained social media like LinkedIn and Substack), the algorithms pointed me to a Substack essay by Bethany Alcott, apparently an author, but not one I’ve heard of. She stated that there were two kinds of prose that she called transparent and stained-glass prose. That dichotomy, like all dichotomies, didn’t impress me much. Dichotomy is a Greek word that Plato characterized thusly, “There are two types of people in the world, those who eat beans and those who don’t eat beans,” and I find most dichotomies exactly that useful. In fact “false dichotomy” is one of the 7 deadly fallacies for logic philosophers.
That doesn’t mean that there aren’t at least two types of prose that a writer should deploy for the required effect. Transparent prose is Joe Friday insisting on, “Just the facts Ma’am.” Metaphorical prose (that Alcott labels “stained glass prose” is more poetic, filled with metaphors, looking at the world through the POV character’s perspective. The so-called “literary genre” is full of such florid prose for no good purpose except to impress the reader, a fellow academic. (Who else would read this stuff?) Those people should only be writing poetry, even if they can’t hold a cigarette lighter to Bob Dylan. But most good writers deploy metaphorical prose for effect, as a spice to liven up a straightforward narrative. The pulp novels of the forties and fifties were famous for this.
If you’re not sure what I mean, here’s an example from my satirical mystery story Writer’s Cramp.
Flannel was first on the list, but I got there too late. When no one answered, I pushed the unlocked door open and got a scenic view of Flannel spread across the carpet. His lumpy body reminded me of the Rockies at sunset as it lay splattered with red from the hole in his chest. A piece of paper was at his stiff fingertips. I picked it up, hoping to find the name of the killer, but all that was written on it was the single word, “Chiquita.”
I heard a muffled sound and jumped for the protection of the desk like an exclamation point towards the roll bar of an Olivetti. Soon I realized it was coming from the bedroom, so I kicked open the door, my Remington ready, only to find a doll with more curves than Paradise Lost typed in italics, lying on the bed trussed up better than a Hitchcock plot.
Or, if you prefer something less satirical from a more famous writer like Raymond Chandler writing about a potential client for his detective,
She was beautiful. Untouched.”
His hands spread apart, untouching her.
Yes, that’s Raymond Chandler, famous for his straightforward prose, but he could sling metaphors with the best of them when the story called for it. Sam Spade might talk in 3 word sentences when bantering with clients or suspects, but Chandler could also wax lyrical about the hot, dry Santa Ana winds and their effects on Los Angles when he was setting the scene.
So, what’s the point of this essay? If you’re a writer, you probably already know this, and if you’re not, you probably don’t care. But it’s my blog, and I think about writing because it’s what I do. I suppose I’m thinking about it more because I’m off to two SF conventions in November to, I hope, sell more books. They put you in front of an audience at these things and expect you to say something relevant and profound, so I’m getting in the mood. Also it lets me think I’m doing something productive when I should be writing more of Hermit & Vulture.
Oh, and BTW, if you’re in the mood for more of my amusing prose, I’m part of the Based Book Sale where you can get my work biography ebook, A Geek’s Progress for only $.99 this week only. Don’t forget to like and subscribe as they say in the social media biz. LOL.
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