Scenes that sing.

So, I was reading The Elements of Style, prepared to shake my head at the all-or-nothing rules and feel smug and skeptical, and this scene jumped out (by a man who is honestly a favorite of mine, for he wrote the one book I read over & over & over when I was a child: Charlotte's Web).

(from the introduction -- White has been talking about how he came to edit his former professor's book of grammar rules. We enter as he is describing what can be found in the book):

"Each rule or principle is followed by a short hortatory essay, and usually the exhortation is followed by, or interlarded with, examples in parallel columns--the true vs. the false, the right vs. the wrong, the timid vs. the bold, the ragged vs. the trim. From every line there peers out at me the puckish face of my professor, his short hair parted neatly in the middle and combed down over his forehead, his eyes blinking incessantly behind steel-rimmed spectacles as though he had just emerged into strong light, his lips nibbling each other like nervous horses, his smile shuttling to and fro under a carefully edged mustache."

This image came out of nowhere and came to life for me! I think the movement did it for me: the eyes blinking behind the steel-rimmed glasses, the nibbling lips. This passage has specific detail: not "glasses, but steel-rimmed glasses." Not "a nervous, jittery smile" but "his smile shuttling to and fro under a carefully edged mustache." Not darting eyes, but the very active and continuous "his eyes blinking incessantly." This scene reads, not as an author standing back describing features for the reader in a list-like fashion after the fact, but as an actor stepping out fully-formed from within a rather monotonous moment to interrupt the read with the very enormity of his sudden existence.

Act, implores the Ghost of Future Regret. I shan’t give you another chance.

Jacob hurries past the tomatoes and catches her up near the gate.

‘Miss Abigawa? Miss Aibagawa. I must ask you to forgive me.’

She has turned around and has one hand on the gate. ‘Why forgive?’

‘For what I now say.’ The marigolds are molten. ‘You are beautiful.’

She understands. Her mouth opens and closes. She takes a step back…

… into the wicket gate. Still shut, it rattles. The guard swings it open.

Damn fool, groans the Demon of Present Regret. What have you done?

Crumpling, burning and freezing, Jacob retreats, but the garden has quadrupled in length, and it may take a Wandering Jew’s eternity before he reaches the cucumbers, where he kneels behind a screen of dock leaves; where the snail on the pail flexes its stumpy horns; where ants carry patches of rhubarb leaf along the shaft of the how; and he wishes the Earth might spin backwards to a time she appeared, asking for rosemary, and he would do it all again, and he would do it all differently.

From 'The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet' by David Mitchell

Some find David Mitchell a bit quirky but I like his unconventional style; he writes by his own rules.

I loved this scene when I read it, and I always like to understand just why something appeals to me because the attraction is not always obvious.

I like this scene because within the opening section, the layout of single lines, matches Jacob’s nervous, pensive advance up the garden as he takes the risk of confronting Miss Aibagawa with his feelings for her.

I like the jumbled nature of the block paragraph because it matches his hurried, self-conscious retreat as he returns embarrassed, confused and regretful to his work. I feel his embarrassment and confusion.
 
The format or layout, the pattern of words upon the page, help tell the story.

I like how the garden is fittingly measured out in vegetables; ‘past the tomatoes;’  ‘he reaches the cucumbers.’

Within the block paragraph I like the use of three words ‘crumpling, burning and freezing’ to summarize Jacob’s state.  I like; ‘where the snail on the pail flexes its stumpy horns;’ and his lyrical style with the walk back from the gate seeming longer and the desire to turn back time.

I like the inner voices or consciences that guide Jacob.

Mostly I like this because it is enjoyable to read.

I read the following passage last night. The last thing that I read and when I awoke it was still upon my mind.

When a woman withdraws to give birth the sun may be shining but the shutters of her room are closed so she can make her own weather. She is kept in the dark so she can dream. Her dreams drift her far away, from terra firma to a marshy tract of land, to a landing stage, to a river where a mist closes over the further bank, and earth and sky are inseparate; there she must embark towards life and death, a muffled figure in the stern directing the oars. In this vessel prayers are said that men never hear. Bargains are struck between a woman and her God. The river is tidal, and between one feather-stroke and the next, the tide may turn.

Wolf Hall
Hilary Mantel

Not a scene per say, but I find the passage evocative. Childbirth in Tudor England was a fraught and risky affair. (Wolf Hall is set between 1500 and 1535 during the reign of King Henry VIII). Rather than simply state the facts with a list of dangers and pointing out the absence of modern medical care and medical knowledge for the reader to appreciate the gravity of the event, Mantel gave us this wonderful passage.

This is what Mantel does, the way she writes. Everything the external narrator says is from the POV of the time. She never adopts the stance of a modern narrator relaying an ancient scene. Hers is never the POV of the author or the reader, her narrator POV is always in historical character and she never provokes our thoughts via juxtaposition between then and now.

Here she gives us a lyrical narration, a metaphorical boat journey in the misty half-life. Somehow it conveys all we need to know (for indeed we knew it already) about the risks and trauma of childbirth in the 1500’s. The passage opens up a whole world of understanding that is never spelled out directly.

I think it is absolutely wonderful.

Within my own personal interpretation, this is the difference between writing ‘literary fiction’ and ‘fiction’.

Like poetry, it is a fine line and difficult to pen. It can go wrong, be tedious, long-winded and over-egged. But when done well, it is literary magic and the sole reason I read rather than watch TV and movies.

Yes! I hadn't noticed that, but you're right: the entire image is delivered in a single line, which contributes to the feeling that it's emerging from the pages fully sketched! If the image had been split into a few lines, it wouldn't have the same effect:

"From every line there peers out at me the puckish face of my professor. His short hair is parted neatly in the middle and combed down over his forehead. His eyes blink incessantly behind steel-rimmed spectacles as though he has just emerged into strong light. His lips nibble each other like nervous horses. His smile shuttles to and fro under a carefully edged mustache."

The scene now reads as a series of actions happening in that moment rather than continuously. The transformation of the "ing" verbs into straight present tense takes away some of the feeling that this scene emerges onto the page already happening.

I don't know if I state that well, but what a change, just slightly changing the verb tense and the punctuation!

Thank you for sharing this one! I've never read David Mitchell, but my sister insists I would love Cloud Atlas. I love that the narrator's inner thoughts read almost like -- stage directions? "Act, I shan't give you another chance." My feeling while reading this is that I am above a dramatic scene, rather than immersed in an interior moment. The author has made this scene into a spectacle for public consumption rather than a confessional, internal moment. There's a sense that the author, and we, and the voices of regret, are sitting in judgment upon the narrator's very private moment.
That sort of clash between public and private, internal and dramatic, is textually interesting! Subtle words within the prose contribute to this feeling that we are watching: the "screen" of dock leaves puts (in my mind) a curtain. He has left the stage, he's ducking behind the curtain, the fatal moment is over, the performance is finished. He would do it all again -- he would do it all differently. He wants that first performance to have been a stage rehearsal.

The imagery of the insects underlines this sense that something is looking down on him: that he is utterly insignificant, like a snail or an ant.

Oh, my! This one is just lovely. I appreciate the long, flowing sentences, and I really, really like that opening line. The form suggests to me peaceful waiting which contrasts with the reality of the pain. If Mantel had chosen choppy sentences, she might have illustrated erratic pain with her form. Instead, she uses her form to create a gentle space. With her imagery of earth and sky horizons, Mantel creates distance from pain and describes the internal process of removing oneself from the moment as a means to endure it. In such serene terms, she creates danger in her final sentence: "The tide may turn." Here she seems to use a cliché to create a sensation of foreboding, but the cliché actually parallels the imagery of peace in the lines preceding. So the danger is present, and all too common (cliché), and yet somehow beside the point, because it is intricately tied to the peaceful space which she has established is woman's alone, in this scene. Lovely!

He ran as he’d never run before, with neither hope nor despair. He ran because the world was divided into opposites and his side had already been chosen for him, his only choice being whether or not to play his part with heart and courage. He ran because fate had placed him in a position of responsibility and he had accepted the burden. He ran because his self-respect required it. He ran because he loved his friends and this was the only thing he could do to end the madness that was killing and maiming them. He ran directly at the bunker where the grenades from Jake’s M-79 were exploding. The bullets from the M-60 machine gun slammed through the air on his right, slashing past him, whining like tortured cats, cracking like the bullwhip of death. He ran, having never felt so alone and frightened in his life.

'Matterhorn' by Karl Marlantes

I really like this scene from my current read 'Matterhorn'. I like the inclusion of the soldiers motivation. The novel is fiction, however Marlantes, is a decorated Marine officer who commanded a Rifle Company during the Vietnam war. I feel that his experience lends a degree of authenticity to the novel. He was there and it shows through.

I'm also sure that if he'd workshopped his 'Matterhorn' manuscript here on tNBW he'd be advised to reduce the above passage to.....

Feeling alone and scared, he ran directly at the bunker where the grenades from Jake’s M-79 were exploding. The bullets from the M-60 machine gun slammed through the air on his right.

Scene that sings - literally:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4g84dejrJXI

Why does it work? It is the heart of the story in one concise scene and/or song. Yeah, okay, I know it's not exactly what you're looking for, but that's how I think; blame it on the bossa nova, lol. Take care. Vern

Blimey, the bloke with the guitar in that clip is either wearing an industrial truss or he has unfeasibly large testicles. That's some frontage in those alpine trews!

The power of the movies, How would you explain that voluminous trouser tent in your narrative? Along with the fact that he walks as far away from the microphone as he can get, in order to sing in an amplified voice?