I argue in the book version of “Writing Tools” that the writer uses sentence length to determine the pace of the story. In other words, the writer may want the reader to move fast, or to go slow, and chooses the appropriate sentence length to create that effect.
But why would the writer want the reader to move more slowly?
I can think of three reasons: 1.) to explain complicated idea; 2.) to build suspense; and 3.) to magnify emotional power.
Here’s a simple equation: the more periods in a paragraph, the slower the reader will move. Each period is a stop sign. It’s hard to drive fast down a street with lots of stop signs. Unless you want to break the law. And pay a fine. Or go to jail.
Which brings me to a recent New York Times essay by an author named Maureen Gibbon, who has written the novel “Swimming Sweet Arrow“ and a book of poetry called “Magdalena.” Her essay bears the provocative title “My Rapist,” and begins with this sentence:
One day several years ago, I opened up my hometown newspaper and found a picture of my rapist on the Engagements page.
Her phrase “my rapist” seems strange enough, but the idea of a photo of a rapist appearing in a wholesome setting like an Engagements page makes this lead irresistible, and creates compelling questions that only a good story can answer: Would the victim confront her attacker? Would she get revenge by breaking up the wedding? Would she feel more empowered to take action, or more discouraged? Tom French gives such questions a name. He calls them the “engines” of the story.
The essay is short, but reads slowly. This effect comes from the brutal nature of the story, but also, I would argue, from sentence length. Gibbon does not want you to breeze through her pain. Why would she?
Here’s the second paragraph:
Notice those four periods, and how they slow the pace. Here are the lengths of the first 12 sentences: 22, 6, 7, 9, 14, 8, 25, 19, 6, 23, 10, 7 words. The average is 13 words. The variation in length creates a rhythm and prevents tedium.
The writer has made an effective choice. Her short sentences magnify the emotional power of the piece, holding up a vision of enduring grief, so the reader cannot look away.
