Prose Critique #13
Use precise language to invoke imagery instantly
Welcome to Prose Critique, in which I critique an excerpt for grammar and style. Style is subjective, so my notes won’t resonate with everyone, but I hope that they’ll help writers learn how to focus their writing to convey meaning in the boldest, clearest, most interesting way possible.
In this excerpt of Holiday Hills by Justine Constantine, Jules and her husband leave California for their new home in the suburb of Holiday Hills. My comments mostly focus on how to use more precise language to allow readers to picture descriptions quickly and easily. The imagery in this excerpt is detailed, fun, and expansive. It lends a lot of voice to the narration and personality to the main character. With more precision, the reading experience will be smoother for the reader.
Jules Cunningham felt like she was headed to meet her fate at the mouth1 of a guillotine. A phantom spasm rippled through her lower back as she imagined bending at the waist and exposing her long neck toward the culture-less pit of the suburbs, and braced for impact as the desert landscape whizzed by her window, whisking away life as she knew it.2
She’d never lived anywhere other than California, which in hindsight, felt like a magical existence that she hadn’t appreciated enough as she was experiencing it. Now, she and her husband were headed toward a new reality, one she smugly3 imagined full of white picket fences and homemade snickerdoodles delivered by neighbors. It was everything her husband wanted, and it was everything she was supposed to want, but really, it made her feel like stepping off the Golden Gate Bridge.
Sunlight faded in the sky and painted the rocky terrain crimson, then blossomed into a deep purple.4 To her left, her husband Charlie was looking dead ahead, his eyes focused on the winding desert road. His profile always caught Jules off guard. The way his nose appeared sharp and patrician from the side. The brief glimpse of his wide-set eyes that were the color of cerulean wishing wells.5 From where she was sitting sat, he looked like some ancient idea of a man carved from marble.
The couple’s beloved dog, Jasper, a leggy dachshund mix,6 twitched his tan nose as he slept. Curled up on Jules’ lap, he began to pump his front legs as if chasing after a bouncing tennis ball. His gray and tan fur was mottled with dark black spots that seemed to expand and contract as he shifted.7 She petted his long body and whispered “Shh,” and then returned her gaze to her husband in the driver’s seat.
Charlie wasn’t smiling, even though he was the one who insisted the drive into the desert would be fun. So far, after 11 eleven hours on the road, the fun hadn’t arrived. The air-conditioner in the rental truck hardly worked, and even though it was only March, the atmosphere inside the cabin was stifling. Every 30 thirty miles or so, Charlie would mutter profanities under his breath and twist the air conditioner knob one way or another, hoping something would change. He’d occasionally hit the dashboard with the heel of his palm, exhale sharply out (of) his nose and then, begrudgingly, resume driving.8
It had been eight long months since The Incident. But Jules didn’t like to dwell on it. After countless expensive therapy sessions, passive aggressive comments, tears, and terse text messages, they’d come to a resolution with the help of their therapist — the Cunninghams would move to a new city and start fresh.
“the mouth of a guillotine” It’s hard to imagine which part of the guillotine is the mouth. I’m not sure this word works for immediately invoking an image. Could “steps” work better than “mouth”?
“and braced for impact as the desert landscape whizzed by her window, whisking away life as she knew it.” The first part of this sentence delighted me, but this part confused me. What or who is “bracing for impact”? In one sentence have a spasm rippling, Jules bending and exposing (and bracing?), and the dessert whizzing and whisking. There are too many subject-verb pairings to keep track of in one sentence.
“one she smugly imagined full of white picket fences” I can’t figure out what Jane is smug about in this sentence. She seems not to want life in the suburbs, so why would it make her smug to imagine having it? Does “grudgingly” work better here? “Resentfully”?
“then blossomed into a deep purple.” It’s hard to track what’s blossoming here. Is the sunlight fading and painting and blossoming? That’s a lot of images to move through in one sentence.
“wide-set eyes that were the color of cerulean wishing wells.” Technically, if his eyes are cerulean, they are the color of the water in the wishing wells. Wishing wells are usually made of gray stone, right?
“a leggy dachshund mix” I think this works, except that dachshunds usually aren’t leggy, so it maybe me stumble a bit. I suppose it’s the other breed in the mix that makes the dachshund leggy—but then maybe it’s clearer to mention that breed. “A leggy daschund-wolfhound mix” or something like that.
“His gray and tan fur was mottled with dark black spots that seemed to expand and contract as he shifted.” This is okay as is, but it’s written in passive voice. Active voice would read like this: “The black spots that mottled his gray and tan fur seemed to expand…” Does that work any better? Plenty of writers use passive voice, so it’s just a matter of preference.
“resume driving.” But he’s driving even while he’s hitting the dashboard, right? He hasn’t stopped the car? Would it work better to say “return his hands to the wheel” or “turn his attention back to driving”?