V a l u e1 9 3writing, including memos and menus. You do not have to sound
like The Rainbow or Romeo and Juliet to qualify as a reputable piece
of literature.
So what makes such works good or bad? We have seen that some
common assumptions on this score do not bear much scrutiny.
Perhaps, then, we can cast more light on the question by analysing
some literary extracts with an eye to how well they do.
* * *We may begin with a sentence from John Updike’s novel Rabbit at
Rest: ‘A shimmery model, skinny as a rail, dimpled and square-
jawed like a taller Audrey Hepburn from the Breakfast at Tiffany
days, steps out of the car, smiling slyly and wearing a racing driver’s
egg- helmet with her gown made up it seems of ropes of shim-
mering light.’ Apart from one rather careless near- repetition (‘shim-
mery’, ‘shimmering’), this is a highly accomplished piece of writing.
Too accomplished, one might feel. It is too clever and calculated by
half. Every word seems to have been meticulously chosen, polished,
slotted neatly together with the other words and then smoothed
over to give a glossy finish. There is not a hair out of place. The
sentence is too voulu, too carefully arranged and displayed. It is
trying too hard. There is nothing spontaneous about it. It has the
air of being over- crafted, as every word is put fastidiously to work,
with no loose ends or irregularities. As a result, the piece is artful
but lifeless. The adjective ‘slick’ springs to mind. The passage is
meant to be a bit of detailed description, but there is so much going
on at the level of language, so many busy adjectives and piled- up
clauses, that it is hard for us to concentrate on what is being
portrayed. The language draws the reader’s admiring attention to
its own deftness. Perhaps we are particularly invited to admire the