I’ve been fascinated with language for a long time. Currently I only speak one: plain old English. One day, when I find the time necessary to dedicate that kind of study to, I want to learn many languages. The first on my list would be french, as I find it beautiful. And also I failed it in school so I’d like to speak it fluently just as some kind of revenge, I suppose. Next in line would most likely be German; and after that, Spanish. One day.
But it isn’t just the spoken word that excites me. In fact, it is the written word that inspires me the most. I’m obviously not familiar with all the ways one can manipulate other languages in written form, but English is a giant stewing pot of potential. Prose is a funny thing; so many authors go about it in different ways. Some keep things simple but effective, and others perhaps go a little too on the flowery side. Studying the intricacies of an author’s unique voice when compared to another’s has been a joy of mine for years. What makes a sentence by Shakespeare stand apart from a sentence by Tolkien? Both gifted writers. Both gifted storytellers. And yet, when you read their work one after the other, you’d think they were from separate planets. There is simply so much that can be done with the English language. A new writer still finding their voice can almost be compared to an alchemist, mixing their materials together to see what they can create.
A good example of this ‘alchemy’ analogy would be the opening page to The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss. Patrick uses a breed of English in his opening prose that simply does not exist. I am referring to ‘It was the patient, cut-flower sound of a man who is waiting to die’. You see what I mean? ‘Cut-flower’ is not an established term in our language, and yet Patrick has conjured it and used it wonderfully. That term cannot be found in any thesaurus in the world (To my knowledge). Think about that for a moment. Name of the Wind was published in 2007. The English language has been used for nearly 1500 years. In 2007, Patrick performed literary alchemy to create a term that had never been used in the language’s history. And you know what? It worked. It got across precisely what it was meant to get across to the reader. It is layered with its own meaning, and performs in the sentence the way that only it can.
This is why I love English. Other languages, as far as my research has taken me, cannot perform that same level of creativity. They are far more structured than English. If a language is typically stone, then English is the only one that can call itself water. Shakespeare did what Patrick did all the time. He was a master of it; so much so that his own terms gradually became accepted dialogue. I find that a beautiful thing.
What makes an author’s voice? What makes Stephen King ‘read’ like Stephen King? What makes Guy Gavriel Kay stand on his own from everybody else? At the moment, I don’t really know. I wish I could end this post with some wise words, revealing to you the nature of literary presence as if I knew it all along. But I have no idea. If you were to really press me on it, I’d say everyone was born with a certain writer’s voice within them. I think that voice comes out on its own. You can’t give a pen to J.K Rowling and tell her to write like Robin Hobb; or vice versa.
Make no mistake, I will continue to study various writers and see what hypothesis I can come up with. But for now, I think there is something special about ‘The Written Word’ that cannot be dissected or defined. Writing has been around, in many forms, since the dawn of civilization. It will be around long after we are dust. As long as there are intelligent enough creatures, complex thoughts or stories will be written. That’s pretty cool.