Excessive descriptions

I often find myself annoyed at the excessive amount of description of things, persons, places, whatnot, that fill many works of literature (by renowned and/or German authors, especially).

To some degree, it is as if the measure of an author would be his ability to “paint a picture” with words, while more important factors, say, the ability to build an interesting character, give psychological or philosophical insight, or provide an entertaining story, are secondary or, even, tertiary. (Exactly what is important to a book will, of course, depend on the purpose of the book and measuring a spy novel by the standards of high literature, or vice versa, is an error. However, there are precious few types of books where such lengthy and detailed descriptions bring much value.)

Worse, there is a great chance that such description detracts from what the reader should notice. Consider (partly, by analogy; partly, as a special case) “Chekhov’s gun” and let us say that an author goes into great detail about the optics of a literal gun—and a fireplace, and two crossed sabres, and a rocking chair, and a Persian carpet, and this, and that, ad nauseam. How is the reader to understand that the gun has any special significance, that he benefits from knowing that there is a gun available, or whatever else might apply? This the more so, when most things described do not have the characteristics of “Chekhov’s gun” and are described mostly to give color or for some other reason that does little for me.

Sometimes such description has a hidden purpose of characterization, e.g. in that the presence of a gun, a fireplace, a whatnot, can tell us something about the persons or setting at hand that is relevant in a more indirect manner. But beyond some of the more obvious conclusions, what am I as a reader to do? Go full Sherlock Holmes and speculate in detail on the history of a character based on facts that could point to A but could equally point to B or C—and which could be incidental or, even, co-incidental? If in doubt, that the one author has such intentions does not mean that another does. (And, in my impression, most do not.) Indeed, even Sherlock Holmes is unlikely to have done as well in real life as he did in fiction, with the help of a cooperative author. Consider his pal Watson: an army veteran with a limp could have been shot on duty in Afghanistan—or he could have been shot by accident during a hunt, he could have been involved in a traffic accident, etc. It is then better to give such characterisation through explicit telling, inner monologue, soliloquies, whatnot—and, above all, the statements and actions of the character at hand. (Again, what is appropriate will depend on the work at hand.)

A related point is that if one or two points suffice for some element of characterization, there is no need to add another three points with the same purpose. For instance, if a character has worn out shoes, mentioning the state of his hat for comparison can be beneficial. (A hat in a poor state would, in the sum, point to a lack of money; while a hat in a good state could point to a lack of interest in shoes or lead on to something more interesting. Also mentioning that shirt, trousers, and coat were in a poor state brings little. Stating explicitly that the character has little money is often the best option outright—and never mind even shoes and hat.)

Other cases can serve to build mood, but here moderation is the key, lest the reader grows bored over a five-page description of a dark and stormy night, while the events supposed to take place, the dangers faced, the illicit tryst agreed upon, whatnot, fail to manifest. Who is the greater author—the one who takes five sentences to create the right mood or the one who takes five pages? If in doubt, “it was a dark and stormy night”, as ridiculed as the phrase is, actually covers a great amount of ground, and what more there is to say can often be brought in piecemeal as the actual events progress. (With the added benefit that the reader is reminded of the circumstances and the mood is refreshed.)

More generally, many authors include irrelevant details of other types that are similarly low in value and similarly wasteful. For instance, if it matters to the story where the protagonist earned his B.A. (or that he has a B.A., at all), it should be mentioned. If not, it is the type of detail that soon overloads a work. Yes, if only the protagonist’s B.A. and some very few other facts are mentioned, this might qualify as “color”, but if the description goes on and on for him and similar descriptions follow for secondary characters, the results are poor. As with more physical descriptions (e.g. that “dark and stormy night”), what goes beyond the barest minimum is also better interspersed throughout the book. With this type of character background, it can also be worked into dialogue with little effort, with the effect that the dialogue can be given some life without additional contortions, but with the killing of two birds with one stone. (Here, we could simply have another character casually ask the protagonist where he went to college, or the protagonist make some character-revealing claim of greater importance that additionally mentions this information.)

While I (cf. side-note) do not necessarily believe in “Chekhov’s gun”, I do believe in a related idea, namely, that every sentence in a book should serve some purpose for the benefit of the reader. Not every purpose is equally important and many different purpose are acceptable, but some such purpose should be served, be it to bring the story forward, to help characterization, to give the reader a good laugh, whatnot. Sentences that serve no such purpose are better stricken—including a great deal of pointless description and anything added simply for the purpose of reaching a certain word count. (Reaching a word count is a purpose, but it is not usually a purpose that benefits the reader. The opposite is more likely.)

In conclusion: If I want to see the world of a story in great detail, then I watch a movie. If I read, such details only matter to the degree that they affect the (story, character, whatnot) developments of the work at hand.