Pet Peeve of the Week: Repetition. Also, Repetition.
Posted by: Lisa in Writing/Editing Tips: The Big PictureThis is my pet peeve today because I’m currently working on a nonfiction book in which an author repeats the same sentence (a sentence that expresses a theme of the book) at least once in every single chapter. Each time this was pointed out, the author responded in the margin, in a rather angry pencil stroke, “I’m repeating it because it’s important!”
Repetition of words, phrases, and sentences can be beautiful. (”Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow . . .”) But most often, it’s either unintentional or misused.
The best way to avoid either of the above follies is to read your writing out loud. (Always a good idea anyway. You’ll be amazed at what you hear.) Almost all new writers, simply because they haven’t been playing around with the English language long enough, have favorite words or phrases they aren’t even aware of. When you read out loud, you’ll begin to hear words that are repeated a few times too many, and out will come your thesaurus.
You’ll also realize, if you’re intentionally repeating something for emphasis, or humor, or any other reason, just how difficult it is to pull off. Perhaps you can pull it off, but you’re walking a fine line, and reading passages out loud might help you recognize that one instance of a word or phrase that you should get rid of in order to avoid crossing the line into overuse.
In last week’s Pet Peeve post, I mentioned the importance of varying sentence and paragraph length. The same goes for word choice. But since it’s also important to try to do things that are difficult, here’s an example, from James Joyce’s “The Dead,” of repetition done right:
Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.
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April 18th, 2007 at 10:29 am
I remember laboring through Joyce in college. Not one of my favorite memories. However, I do remember this quote from him which described a piano concerto: “A difficult piece to play holding no melody for anyone.”
That’s the way I always felt he wrote - great words falling on numbed ears. Evidently his wife felt the same. Reportedly, she once asked, “Why don’t you write books people want to read?”
Great prose does not an interesting story make.
While I agree with your sentiment, I question your choice of authors.
April 18th, 2007 at 12:00 pm
Question away. Joyce certainly isn’t for everyone, and some of Joyce isn’t for me. But I love his short stories (including “The Dead”), which are much more accessible than, say, Ulysses.
Then again, Ulysses has its passionate fans, as does Joyce in general. His wife’s words notwithstanding, he wouldn’t still have such stature (and still be in print) if no one wanted to read him. But that certainly doesn’t mean you have to want to read him.
I could quote any passage from any author and find some people who dislike it . . . but that’s part of what makes writing interesting.
April 18th, 2007 at 1:27 pm
Joyce lets the words breathe on the page, and that last paragraph from “The Dead” is one of his most famous, well-regarded, well-rhythmed breathers. This is what good writing does, and what we writers should aspire to—to write with heart, but also to understand how to mindfully shape the prose into what can be distilled into a charge moment or emotion, as in the ending to “The Dead.” We’re not all Joyces, nor are we all fans of his, but we can certainly appreciate how the syntax and rhythm of his writing (again, especially in that paragraph above) can really sing—and in this way we can learn how to translate the machinery of his prose into the machinery of our own. That is a challenge that “The Dead” offers, and it’s what I think Lisa is encouraging.