The post I wrote
"I fired two shots that sprouted into big red blossoms across the white cotton shirt he wore."Why not "his white cotton shirt"? What does "he wore" add? What could the victim have been doing with his shirt except wearing it? If yesterday's writing quirk was common in American pulp stories of the 1920s, '30s, and '40s, I associate this one with writers of the '40s and '50s, often when describing the attire of an attractive woman. But "the dress she wore" (rather than "her dress") always takes me out of the story, if just for a moment.
— "Carrera's Woman" by Ed McBain
writing as Richard Marsten, Masters of Noir: Volume One
Why would Marsten/McBain/Hunter/Lombino use "the white cotton shirt he wore" rather than "his white cotton shirt"? Does one convey something the other does not? Was he merely using the words that came naturally at the time (1953)? If the fashion in words changed in favor of brevity, when? And why?
© Peter Rozovsky 2012
Labels: Ed McBain, editing, language, miscellaneous
posted by Peter Rozovsky at 12:32 AM
36 Comments:
Theoretically, the white cotton shirt could have been lying over the back of a chair, and just happened to have some ketchup packets in the pockets.
Picky.
But "the dress she wore" (rather than "her dress") always takes me out of the story, if just for a moment
It wouldn't take me out of the story, Peter. But I think any sensible writer, that is, one who cares about concision, would happily accept the change you suggest.
Such attention to detail is not pickiness, but punctiliousness.
Seana, theoretically, yes. In practice, no, as casual reading in crime fiction of the time will reveal.
I.J., you're not the first writer to mistake careful attention for pickiness, to mistake curiousity about language for criticism, or to feel threatened by a copy editor who asks questions.
Solo, you may be right that any writer who values concision would accept the change I suggest. And all I would do is suggest it. Editing programs today make it exceedingly easy to reject suggested changes.
The point? Concision is more highly valued in popular writing now than it was fifty, sixty, or seventy years ago. To say so is not pickiness but rather observation.
Editing programs today make it exceedingly easy to reject suggested changes
Forgive my ignorance, Peter, but I have no idea what an editing program is. May I request a little elaboration?
Sorry. I meant Microsoft Word and comparable computer programs from other makers. They have an editing mode that highlights each change an editor makes and allows a subsequent reader to accept or reject each change with the click of a button.
I see you're getting mad at me for disagreeing with you, Humph.
I should point out that "the dress she wore" has a certain rhythm that "her dress" doesn't have.
"(T)he dress she wore" has a certain rhythm that "her dress" doesn't have.
That's disagreement, and it lays the groundwork for fruitful discussion.
Picky.
That is petty sniping. And it's no mere pickiness to point out the difference.
Confess, Peter, Ed McBain was famous for the rhythms of his prose. McBainiacs talk about little else.
Maybe they do get together over beers to discuss the rhythms of McBain's prose, but I haven't heard them do it. The one McBain novel that I read and very much liked, I remember for its skillful plotting rather than for its prose style.
That's a really interesting observation.
If it was isolated, I would assume that it was a matter of rhythm for that one particular sentence. But if you're saying that the structure was common in many of that period's books and for many authors, well, then, it's that period's style. Fashion and music are marked by periods, why not writing?
May, I can say with confidence that the construction is period style, or at least in American pulp crime writing of the Black Mask school. I have said often just what you did: that fashions change in writing just as they do in clothes, food, music, or politics.
"the white cotton shirt he wore" vs "his white cotton shirt"
Maybe he owned more than one white cotton shirt?
Adding "he wore" seems more vivid, poignant to me than "his white cotton shirt." My God, the man's wearing it! He's dying! He's dead!
But then, don't pay any attention to me; I'd rather read 1950s crime fiction most days than 2012's.
I read "Carrera's Woman" in my 1953 Manhunt anthology this weekend.
Hey, read that Fletcher Flora (gawd, that's gotta be a pseudonym, huh?) ss in your Noir e-book anthology. He's one of my "discoveries" from that 1953 Manhunt anthology.
But "his white cotton shirt" could be read as connecting the shirt and its wearer more intimately that does "he wore." And that demonstrates that, to a large extent, one draws the effects that one will from the syntax one is accustomed to.
"Fletcher Flora" sounds like something you'd see before "Collection" in a natural history museum
Honestly, Peter, I know better than to try to argue a point of grammar, syntax, etc. with you. I'm just saying I prefer the addition of "he wore." And maybe it's a microexample of why, on the whole, I like period (1920s-50s) crime fiction more than contemporary crime fiction.
This would be a good one to argue because it's not as if one way is wrong and the other right. I really did mean what I said about preferring one or the other, and only then coming up with rationalizations for it. I suppose this a similar, though on a much smaller scale, to the switch in fashion for verbal fusion in the Victorian age to our modern rage for concision
Perhaps "his white cotton shirt" is more efficient for a newspaper article or non-fiction tome, and "the white cotton shirt he wore," is more forgivable in fiction for reasons of style, writer's individuality, creativity, editorial license, etc.
In news stories where word count is supreme above all else, it's good for sentences to be tight with no extra verbiage. However, varying styles in fiction differentiate writers, and hence, the reader's experience.
This is the difference between, say, Dashiell Hammett and, say, any number of Scandinavian crime fiction writers, except Sjowall and Wahloo, and maybe Hakan Nesser.
P.S. Blogger is going to send me to the eye doctor's to get my eyes checked and get magnifying glasses in my own glasses! How does anyone read these new word verifications? They approach hieroglyphics.
Blogger's brother-in-law must be an eye doctor or an optician.
It's hard to judge the aptness of a given grammatical construction out of context, but it's interest you should happen to mention Nordic crime writers. Arnaldur Indriðason has said that his prose style was influences by the spare style of the Icelandic sagas.
Lulu's 'My Rowing Boat' wouldn't quite have the same snap to it as 'The Boat That I Row', either
although it might not have been her boat, just as the shirt he wore, in this instance, might not have been his
Well, "the shirt (or skirt) that he (or she) wore" never really distracts me to takes me out of a story, but it does strike me as odd. And, once again, this need mean only that verbal fashions are different know from what they were stories were written.
Fletcher Flora sounds like the name of a margarine
Or of a new, more palatable brand of laxative.
Shame on me... Fletcher Flora is (was) his real name.
Aye, caramba! That's a humdinger of a moniker.
I wonder was he usually addressed as Flora(,) Fletcher, (sic) or Fletcher Flora during roll-call?
I suspect he was addressed as "Flora (Flora?), Fletcher."
Speaking of “Flora Fletcher” and roll call… This reminds me of a story that actor Charlton Heston told on Johnny Carson one night. Perhaps the conversation began with something like “How did you get the name Charlton?” Anyway, Heston recounted one time in grade school when a new teacher began roll call and when she got to him she called out “Charlotte Heston.” No answer; snickers from fellow students. “Charlotte Heston!” Ditto. Finally, “Where’s the little Heston girl!!” Heston sank lower and lower in his seat at this was greeted by loud guffaws from his fellow classmates.
I can sympathize as my first name has a somewhat unusual spelling and is often confused with a similar, but masculine name. I get golf catalogs and other “gender-targeted” junk mail. No one EVER thinks my middle name, which I prefer anyway, is a man’s name…
If 'Tora! Tora! Tora!' was a film about the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbour, what could a film called 'Flora! Flora! Flora!' be about?
Your first name, with the mistake that people often make with it, plus your last name make a good, rugged moniker, the sort of thing that the Fletcher Floras and Charlotte Hestons of the world should use as aliases.
I don't know bout that, TCK, but a movie about where I am now could be called "Torah! Torah! Torah!"
I wonder if that movie disappointed Orthodox Jewish filmgoers once they got inside the theater and saw what it was about.
probably not as much as those Orthodox males whose parents had chosen to 'christen' them Flora!
Yep, not too many Floras walking around Jerusalem, I'd wager.
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