30 Novels, day 28: Just write one perfect sentence...
No Great Mischief, by Alastair
MacLeod
(Warning: I will be revealing a key detail of the plot in what
follows. If you haven’t read this novel, go read it, then come back.)
I’ve had the chance to see Alastair MacLeod read from No Great Mischief several times. Each
time he chose to read the same passage, but I didn’t mind hearing it again. As
well as being one of Canada’s finest writers, MacLeod is a wonderful reader of
his own fiction. He doesn’t have a booming, commanding voice. He’d probably
never be asked to do a TED talk. But when he reads you listen. His voice flows
out, sentence after sentence, in mesmerizing cadences, as if he is
half-crooning or chanting the words.
The scene MacLeod read each time I was in the audience involves
the parents and older brother of the narrator crossing the ice from the
mainland to the small island where the father works as the lighthouse keeper.
They don’t make it across. It’s a powerfully moving scene, but what brought the
audience to tears every time was the following scene of the family’s dog, still
guarding the island when the new lighthouse keeper arrives:
She
was still there, waiting for her vanished people to rise out of the sea, when
the new lightkeeper, “a man from the way of Pictou,” nudged the prow of his
boat against the wharf on the island’s rocky shore. She came scrambling down
the rocks to meet him, with her hackles raised and her teeth bared, protecting
what she thought was hers and snarling in her certainty. And he reached into
the prow of his boat for his twenty-two rifle and pumped four bullets into her
loyal waiting heart. And later he caught her by the hind legs and threw her
body into the sea.
I suppose that’s what happens when the sentences you’re reading
are small masterpieces in themselves. At
a writing festival on the east coast some years ago I had the pleasure of
meeting and talking with Alastair MacLeod. I told him that I’d been teaching
several of his stories in my writing classes, and that my students were very
curious about his creative process. How did he put together these great stories?
His answer stunned me. He said that he writes one sentence, and when he’s
worked it over and polished it until it’s as perfect as he can make it, he goes
on to the next sentence. And the next. Until he’s done.
I’d never heard of a working method like this. Sounds simple and
yet impossible. How do you write a short story, or a novel? Just write one
perfect sentence after another until you’re finished. It’s no wonder why
decades have gone by between each of MacLeod’s books. Whenever I re-read No Great Mischief I’m reminded to pay
careful attention to my own sentences as I write, to read them aloud and listen
to them. Is there any music in them?
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