Writing styles can be as different as fields of flowers and deserts of sand

Do you prefer long, complex sentences or tight and concise ones? Or does it all depend on the story?

Some people love romance novels. Others prefer epic fantasy and sci-fi. Or mysteries, thrillers, horror, westerns, literary fiction … the list goes on.

But in addition to the topic of genres, there is another debate among readers and writers that has always fascinated me.

It’s a matter of style.

Do you prefer writing that is flowery and poetic? Short and concise? Some blend of the two? Or is it only the story that matters, no matter in what manner it is told?

Photo by Sergey Shmidt on Unsplash

Here are a pair of examples from two all-time greats:

It ran in his knowledge before he ever saw it. It looked and towered in his dreams before he even saw the unaxed woods where it left its crooked print, shaggy, huge, red-eyed, not malevolent but just big—too big for the dogs which tried to bay it, for the horses which tried to ride it down, for the men and the bullets they fired into it, too big for the very country which was its constricting scope. He seemed to see it entire with a child’s complete divination before he ever laid eyes on either—the doomed wilderness whose edges were being constantly and punily gnawed at by men with axes and plows who feared it because it was wilderness, men myriad and nameless even to one another in the land where the old bear had earned a name, through which ran not even a mortal animal but an anachronism, indomitable and invincible, out of an old dead time, a phantom, epitome and apotheosis of the old wild life at which the puny humans swarmed and hacked in a fury of abhorrence and fear, like pygmies about the ankles of a drowsing elephant: the old bear solitary, indomitable and alone, widowered, childless, and absolved of mortality—old Priam reft of his old wife and having outlived all his sons.
— from The Bear, a novelette by William Faulkner

Photo by Ganapathy Kumar on Unsplash

“If people bring so much courage to this world the world has to kill them to break them, so of course it kills them. The world breaks every one and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry.”
— from A Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway

Clearly, we are in Genius Land here, so it’s difficult to find fault with either excerpt. But does one stand out to you as better than another?

Faulkner was known for using unconventional punctuation and sentence structure, flowing from idea to idea within a single paragraph or even sentence. His stream-of-consciousness artistry unveiled the inner thoughts of his characters to his readers.

Hemingway was straightforward, concise, and realistic, which was unlike many other writers of his generation. He championed a simple style that revealed minimal detail on the surface, with deeper meaning hidden beneath the surface.

As a writer, I have always considered myself to be on the flowery side. Here is an excerpt from The Death Wizard Chronicles, my six-book epic fantasy for mature adults:

In Torg’s perception it began as a low growl, like that of a large feline sighting prey, though it was interspersed with tiny cackles and high-pitched profanities. The bizarre mixture of sounds was designed to breed despair, as if confirming the worst fears of all living beings: Hell was the only true reality and eternal suffering the fate of all. The effect on the gathering was widespread. Several of the noble ones, temporarily freed from the grasp of their captors, bent over and vomited. Sōbhana and the other Asēkhas spat and reflexively drew their curved swords. Kusala bared his teeth and growled in return, one dangerous beast squaring off with another. But Torg held up his hand, as if to stay them all.

In my newest work, book 1 of a middle-grade epic fantasy titled Dark Circles, I have purposefully simplified my style, both to appeal to younger readers but also to test its relative effectiveness.

Her eyes followed his direction. What she saw caused her to take a step back and say, “Whoa!” The world’s biggest crab stood twenty feet away. Its blue shell—as broad as the lid of a garbage can—perfectly matched the color of the ocean. In comparison to its large body, its claws were larger still, easily as big around as Virgil’s tubby stomach and maybe two to three feet long. If one of those chomped down on a wrist or ankle, a person could be in trouble. Those claws looked stronger than the jaws of a snapping turtle.

Don’t get me wrong. I am by mo means comparing my writing to Faulkner’s and Hemingway’s, two of the greatest to ever live. Also, all four of these excerpts are taken out of context, which plays a huge role in a reader’s perception of them. But when you read my two excerpts, do they feel different to you? Would you have guessed that the same writer wrote both of them?

I’d love to hear your thoughts on this. As mentioned above, I find it fascinating.