Well, what compliments can I give that your hordes of adoring (and much deserved) fans have not already bestowed?
First, I apologize for not reviewing earlier since I've basically been bugging you to continue this for a good week (or two) but RL just hurdled a cartwheeling fireball of crap at me this week and I haven't even had time to get on the kinkmeme until just now.
That being said, this review is a priority (whatever that says about my personal priorities) because goddamn woman, your writing is a balm on my soul.
Wait, that sounded totally schmoopy. Eh, f*ck it, it's true. You're my favorite writer on this meme. There. I said it.
It's not so much what you write as the way you write it. In the hands of a lesser author (like me) this prompt could have been dreadful, but there's a deftness to your style that makes the reading effortless. I have no idea how difficult it is for you to write, how much wrestling you have to do with your muse but you make it look easy. (and I hop that comes across as the compliment it meant to be.) You manage to portray all the emotional turmoil and drama of a situation without resorting to overwrought melodrama or hyperbole.
You find emotion in the little things; like Holmes unable to play his violin as he would wish. Though you carefully avoid the worn out cliche of detailing his emotions ("I felt like this, I felt like that..") we nonetheless understand exactly what he's experiencing because his violin tells us:
I tried Haydn. I wanted something in which peace and radiance and order still shone untouched. But my fingers stuttered on the strings and the music died in an ignominious squawk after the first few bars. I shook my head, uttered a grunt of confusion and apology and tried again. This time I got a little further, but stopped before I ran into the emptiness looming ahead of me where the cadenza should have been. I let the violin dangle from my hand as I turned away to face the windows, considerably shaken to find that I could not, for the life of me, remember how to play a piece I have known for eighteen years.
"Considerably shaken". That's all he says about his own feelings. But that paragraph tells us so much more. We know he's far, far beyond "shaken". And that's beautiful, m'dear. That's writing. You don't just tell us what happens, you describe it in such an evocative and yet understated way that I can't help but be soothed, even when I'm reading about the most horrific things. I don't know if that makes any sense. I hope so.
If I had one word to describe your style, it would be elegant. And I love it.
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branchandroot
A Long, Rambling Review 'O Love Mach II
Date: 2010-05-07 04:03 am (UTC)First, I apologize for not reviewing earlier since I've basically been bugging you to continue this for a good week (or two) but RL just hurdled a cartwheeling fireball of crap at me this week and I haven't even had time to get on the kinkmeme until just now.
That being said, this review is a priority (whatever that says about my personal priorities) because goddamn woman, your writing is a balm on my soul.
Wait, that sounded totally schmoopy.
Eh, f*ck it, it's true. You're my favorite writer on this meme. There. I said it.
It's not so much what you write as the way you write it. In the hands of a lesser author (like me) this prompt could have been dreadful, but there's a deftness to your style that makes the reading effortless. I have no idea how difficult it is for you to write, how much wrestling you have to do with your muse but you make it look easy. (and I hop that comes across as the compliment it meant to be.) You manage to portray all the emotional turmoil and drama of a situation without resorting to overwrought melodrama or hyperbole.
You find emotion in the little things; like Holmes unable to play his violin as he would wish. Though you carefully avoid the worn out cliche of detailing his emotions ("I felt like this, I felt like that..") we nonetheless understand exactly what he's experiencing because his violin tells us:
I tried Haydn. I wanted something in which peace and radiance and order still shone untouched. But my fingers stuttered on the strings and the music died in an ignominious squawk after the first few bars. I shook my head, uttered a grunt of confusion and apology and tried again. This time I got a little further, but stopped before I ran into the emptiness looming ahead of me where the cadenza should have been. I let the violin dangle from my hand as I turned away to face the windows, considerably shaken to find that I could not, for the life of me, remember how to play a piece I have known for eighteen years.
"Considerably shaken". That's all he says about his own feelings. But that paragraph tells us so much more. We know he's far, far beyond "shaken". And that's beautiful, m'dear. That's writing. You don't just tell us what happens, you describe it in such an evocative and yet understated way that I can't help but be soothed, even when I'm reading about the most horrific things. I don't know if that makes any sense. I hope so.
If I had one word to describe your style, it would be elegant.
And I love it.