Minimalism In Word and Deed

Advice is not a four letter word. We all like to give it, and we are often keen to search it out and follow the advice of others when we lack confidence ourselves. But as an author I have become more and more dubious regarding advice so frequently given on the practice of writing itself.


There is plenty of such advice to writers out there, and a good deal of it refers to strict minimalism, cutting out all detail, and never using 10 words when you could use two.

So which is preferable? "He went," or "He ambled, enjoying the warm sunshine on his back."

There have always been brilliant authors who followed the belief in brevity and kept to the Hemmingway style. Indeed, many years previously John Ruskin told us - "It is excellent discipline for an author to feel that he must say all that he has to say in the fewest possible words, or his reader is sure to skip them." But then Ruskin got a lot of things famously wrong and I feel it is somewhat patronising to assume your reader is an impatient and somewhat shallow soul of limited focus and lacking in concentration.

“Murder your darlings,” advised Kipling.  But there are a good many differing ideas about what constitutes a ‘darling’ – and Kipling does not seem to be talking about cutting out everything, although this is what some people assume he meant.

The darlings we write and sadly want to hang on to are often those over-precious phrases of cleverly worded irrelevance. We, as authors, may feel very proud of a precocious little joke, or a suddenly poetic description. Purple prose, for instance. These are what is meant by our ‘darlings’. So yes, cut them out, even though we are lovingly proud of them. They look out of place and we need to crop ruthlessly with such over-indulgent violate passages.
But this does not mean cut – cut – cut. Some critics seem to think we should end up with a book 6 pages long. Or perhaps we should cut them too?
Some types of books call for brevity. The Regency romance can be a delicious frolic of no more than 100,000 words. Such a book speeds along without need of heavy plotting, considerable action or even depth of characterisation. A modern crime drama can also sizzle in 120,000 words or less. A fashionable contemporary novel of mental anguish about a woman who lives an even more boring life than we do ourselves, can be self-consciously arty in less than 80,000 words. Indeed – the shorter the better!
But what about Dickens? What about Hardy? Tolstoy (although no, I haven’t read War and Peace lately either – once was enough) In fact, Shakespeare’s plays were considerably longer than the average theatrical performance today. And coming up to date, there’s Tolkien. Dorothy Dunnett. Even Harry Potter. So many of the greats and so many of the best sellers are massive meaty stories, and their authors are not minimalistic at all. Alright, none of us pretend to be at the standard of these masters. But they had to start somewhere too.
Some of the classics are very thin books, but not so many. The great novels of the past were rarely scant or flimsy. And they are still adored and admired. If you are setting out to write a complicated story with a large cast of characters and a many layered plot, then I believe that characterisation and detailed episodes which promote storyline – suspense – anticipation and atmospheric description, should be used to the utmost effect.  No we don’t need to know what every character is wearing at every moment or have to wade through pointless dialogue discussing the weather – but that is more to do with the quality of writing rather than simply being told to cut and cut again.
In this age of publishing desperation, with traditional publishers slow to catch up with modern trends, and either going bankrupt or having to merge into fewer and larger companies, it is commercially helpful to keep your book short. Some literary agents will not even consider a novel longer than 150,000 words. Some won’t even open a manuscript over the 120,000 mark. I understand. Commercial profits rely on low printing costs. This is another reason why self-publishing can be attractive.
But my point goes beyond this. I am strictly interested in what actually constitutes a good book – and I utterly refute the idea that cutting out all description and layering while keeping word count to the absolute minimum, automatically means good writing.
I would rephrase John Ruskin’s advice and say, “The number of words you use is less important than the quality of plot, characterisation and style you use. Your reader will not skip as long as your writing keeps them utterly absorbed.”
I am biased, of course. I love long books. I want a novel – of whatever genre – to carry me into its world, transport me into its exciting and vibrant life – and to immerse me in its emotional diversity. I want to lose myself in the pages and that means a big feast of a book where I can swim and climb, savouring the beauty of its words and cherishing every tasty morsel.
I write long books too. And the same delight applies. I disappear each morning into a new world of dark mystery and adventure. And words are my roads, my map, my milestones, and my rumbling, rattling coach, lined with velvet and pulled by magic.
And of course, I do not denigrate short books in general, they can be delightful, frivolous and fun. There are sometimes advantages in a quick snack or a romantic dalliance. But it’s those magnificent heavyweights that usually end up being my favorites.  
Oh – and one more thing. If we, as authors, must take the advice of others, let me suggest the delicious and utterly convincing advice of Somerset Maugham, who said – "There are three rules for writing a novel. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are."