William Atkinson - The Complete Works of William Walker Atkinson

as quoted above from Prof. Samuels.

General Description may be either literal or impressional . By literal description is meant a description “according to the primitive meaning or letter; not figurative or metaphorical; formally, plainly and clearly expressed.” By impressional description is meant a description in metaphor or other figure of speech, or else by means of suggestive terms which give the outlines and excite the imagination to fill in the picture. The term arises from “Impressionism,” which is defined as: “The system in art or literature, which, avoiding elaboration, seeks to depict scenes in nature as they are first vividly impressed on the mind of the artist or writer.”

Literal description appeals to the intellect; impressional description appeals to the imagination. We have familiar examples of literal description in business conversation and correspondence, and in ordinary newspaper writing. Examples of impressional description are given in our preceding chapters in which figures of speech are considered. Dickens and Thackeray were masters of this form of description. The following from Dickens furnishes an excellent example:

“‘A slight figure,’ said Mr. Peggotty, looking at the fire, ‘kiender worn; soft, sorrowful, blue eyes; a delicate face; a pritty head, leaning a little down; a quiet voice and way—timid a’most. That’s Em’ly! * * * * Cheerful along with me; retired when others is by; fond of going any distance fur to teach a child, or fur to tend a sick person, or fur to do some kindness tow’rds a young girl’s wedding (and she’s done a many, but has never seen one); fondly loving of her uncle; patient; liked by young and old; sowt out by all that has any trouble. That’s Em’ly!’”

Narrative Discourse deals with the telling the story of acts or events—the relating of the history of an occurrence. “Narrate” means “to tell, or relate; to recite or rehearse as a story, etc.” Narrative Description, also, may be either (a) literal ; or (b) impressional , the definitions given under the head of “Description” applying equally in this case. And in the same way, Narrative Discourse may be considered in its phases of (a) analytical ; and (b) general ; according to its nature. Hyslop says: “Narration is that process of explanation which presents a theme in its time relations , or which exhibits events in their proper order. * * * In pure mathematical narration the principle must be in chronological order. In pure logical narration the principle must be logical classification and connection of events without regard to other events in the same time. In many instances, however, it is possible and will be proper to combine both processes. This may be done in various degrees according as the object of the narration permits it.”

Hill makes the following valuable comments upon Narrative Discourse: “As the main purpose of narration is to tell a story, a narrative should move from the beginning to the end, and it should move with method. A narrative may move rapidly * * * or slowly * * * but movement it must have. * * * Every story, whether it moves swiftly or slowly, is successful or unsuccessful as a narrative according as it is or is not interrupted. * * * It is not enough that a narrative should move; it should move forward, it should have method . * * * A narrator fails as a narrator in so far as he does not go straight on from the beginning to the end. A story teller who runs this way and that in pursuit of something which is entirely aside from his narrative, and who returns to his subject as if by accident, is perhaps the most vexatious of all who try to communicate by language with their fellow beings. * * * To secure method in movement, a writer (or speaker) should keep constantly in mind the central idea of his narrative; about that central idea he should group all other ideas according to their relative value and pertinence.”

The student will do well to read the stories of Kipling, Poe, Hawthorne, and Maupassant in order to “catch” the spirit of the true narrative style. Some of Richard Harding Davis’s short stories are well adapted for such study. And Stevenson, of course, will ever be worthy of study, analysis, and of great value as a model of narrative style. The following from Stevenson’s

“Will o’ the Mill” will give an idea of the strength and simplicity of his style. Describing the final scene in the life of the old “Will” who from boyhood had dwelt in the old mill, preaching and practicing his quaint philosophy of life, he says:

“One night, in his seventy-second year, he awoke in bed, in such uneasiness of body and mind that he arose and dressed himself and went out to meditate in the arbor. It was pitch dark, without a star; the river was swollen, and the wet woods and meadows loaded the air with perfume. It had thundered during the day, and it promised more thunder for the morrow. A murky, stifling night for a man of seventy-two! Whether it was the weather or the wakefulness, or some little touch of fever in his old limbs, Will’s mind was besieged by tumultuous and crying memories. His boyhood, the night with the fat young man, the death of his adopted parents, the summer days with Marjory, and many of those small circumstances which seem nothing to another, and are yet the very gist of a man’s own life to himself,— things seen, words heard, looks misconstrued—arose from their forgotten corners and usurped his attention. The dead themselves were with him, not merely taking part in this thin show of memory that defiled before his brain, but revisiting his bodily senses as they do in profound and vivid dreams. The fat young man leaned his elbows on the table opposite; Marjory came and went with an apronful of flowers between the garden and the arbor; he could bear the old parson knocking out his pipe or blowing his resonant nose. The tide of his consciousness ebbed and flowed: He was sometimes half asleep and drowned in his recollections of the past; and sometimes he was broad awake, wondering at himself.

“But about the middle of the night he was startled by the voice of the dead miller calling to him out of the house as he used to do on the arrival of custom. The hallucination was so perfect that Will sprang from his seat and stood listening for the summons to be repeated; and as he listened he became conscious of another noise besides the brawling of the river and the ringing in his feverish ears. It was like the stir of the horses and the creaking of harness, as though a carriage with an impatient team had been brought up upon the road before the courtyard gate. At such an hour, upon this rough and dangerous pass, the supposition was no better than absurd; and Will dismissed it from his mind, and resumed his seat upon the arbor chair; and sleep closed over him again like running water. He was once again awakened by the dead miller’s call, thinner and more spectral than before; and once again he heard the noise of an equipage upon the road. And so thrice and four times the same dream, or the same fancy, presented itself to his senses, until at length, smiling to himself as when one humors a nervous child, he proceeded towards the gate to set his uncertainty at rest.

“From the arbor to the gate was no great distance, and yet it took Will some time; it seemed as if the dead thickened around him in the court, and crossed his path at every step. For, first, he was suddenly surprised by an overpowering sweetness of heliotropes; it was as if his garden had been planted with this flower from end to end, and the hot damp night had drawn forth all their perfumes in a breath. Now the heliotrope had been Marjory’s favorite flower, and since her death not one of them had ever been planted in Will’s ground. ‘I must be going crazy,’ he thought. ‘Poor Marjory and her heliotropes!’ And with that he raised his eyes towards the window that had once been hers. If he had been bewildered before, he was now almost terrified; for there was a light in the room; the window was an orange oblong as of yore; and the corner of the blind was lifted and let fall as on the night when he stood and shouted to the stars in his perplexity. The illusion only endured an instant; but it left him somewhat unmanned, rubbing his eyes, and staring at the outline of the house and the black night behind it. While he thus stood, and it seemed as if he must have stood there quite a long time, there came a renewal of the noises on the road; and he turned in time to meet a stranger, who was advancing to meet him across the court. There was something like the outline of a great carriage discernible on the road behind the stranger, and, above that, a few black pine-tops, like so many plumes. ‘Master Will?’ asked the newcomer in brief, military fashion. ‘That same, sir,’ answered Will. ‘Can I do anything to serve you?’ ‘I have heard you much spoken of, Master Will,’ returned the other; ‘much spoken of, and well. And, although I have both bands full of business. I wish to drink a bottle of wine with you in your arbor. Before I go I shall introduce myself.’