Techniques of Perecian Description

This is a partial list of techniques that class members have noted as we've been trying to figure out how to write like Perec. We'll keep working on this list over the next few weeks, so if anyone in the class has a suggestion for a new technique or thinks we should revise one of the items on the list, feel free to bring it up in class.

I think it's interesting that our list mixes items that explain how Perec frames a descriptive point of view (for example #s 1, 5, 6) and items that explain how Perec uses language in his descriptions (for example #s 8, 9, 10) and items that speculate about his writing process (for example #s 13 and 14). Of course all of these things are worth considering as you work.

1. Write about surfaces, not "interiority." In other words, write about what you can observe outwardly, not about what you or others think and feel inside.

2. Make carefully-chosen observations and let the reader draw her own conclusions.

3. Make lists, but not random lists: ordered lists, thematic lists, chronological lists, lists that record the arrangement of objects in space or arrange them by size or color or smell or shape; rhythmic lists that alternate long and short phrases, big "million dollar" words and tiny, simple words. By giving an order to the elements of your description or by establishing a rhythm, you can create variation or surprise when that order or rhythm changes. Play with your lists.

4. Pay attention to the language and not just the "content": the words you are writing and not just what you are writing "about." Make aesthetic decisions. Singular or plural nouns? Past-tense verbs or "ing" verbs? Try changing what you have already written to see what difference the changes make.

5. Focus on sensory details: sight, touch, taste, smell and hearing. Try to describe things in a way that allows the reader to experience the scene actively and directly, instead of "talking at" the reader.

6. Focus on the functionality of objects and the ways people relate to them. Consider the uses an object is designed for and the uses to which it is actually put -- and the differences between them, which can be quite funny.

7. Focus on the dimension of time. Consider the passage of time (minute by minute, day by day, season by season) and its effect on the objects of your description. Consider the routine uses of an object: who usually does what with it and when.

8. Use an absurd number of synonyms. Say the same thing in a number of different ways. Use all of the words for a thing instead of choosing between them. Consider how the subtle differences between synonyms change the description of an object or the tone of a passage, and adjust your description to take advantage of those differences.

9. Use parentheses to explain things (or to make them more complicated). Use parentheses to keep the sentence moving (by quickly providing extra information) or to interrupt the sentence (with a long aside: for example, the word "parenthesis" (plural "parentheses") refers both to a punctuation mark and to any clarification that interrupts the flow of the sentence, which means that you can have parentheses without parentheses) and distract the reader.

10. Use repetition as an ordering device: "A bedroom is a room which.... A dining-room is a room which.... A kitchen is a room which" etc. The person who provided this example notes that the repetition of the word "room" with the indefinite article "a" makes it sound like all rooms are interchangeable: "it doesn't matter what is inside the room because it is still going to be a room." The kinds of room that make up our households are defined at least in part by what we put in them -- like the guy I knew in college who saved on rent by making his bedroom in a large coat closet. See Technique #6.

11. Play with punctuation. Use it, avoid it, overuse it, and see what effects this has on the rhythm of the piece.

12. Write some sections in prose and other sections in "almost poem-like" lists.

13. Write "on the fly," adjusting as you go to take advantage of the possibilities that come up as you write. Don't get locked into a preconceived idea of what you are doing ("I'm going to describe everything on this shelf and then I'll be done") or what you are writing about. Write to figure out what you are writing about.

14. Revise your work! "There's no way Perec wrote this stuff on the first try." Change something. Change everything. Change it again. Go back to your earlier changes. Change them some more.

15. Make use of surprising and unexpected adjectives.

16. Ruminate!

17. Include definitions in the text -- but thoughtful definitions, not just stuff that's copied out of the dictionary. Explain the nuances of a word for time to time. See technique #8.

18. Focus your attention on a scene by asking yourself questions about it.

19. Think of yourself as a "guide" to a particular place, object, or activity. Write as if you're explaining it to someone who doesn't understand the simplest things about it -- like an "anthropologist from mars" or a small child. Uncover the obvious. See the things you've ignored that have been right in front of your eyes the whole time.

20. Include an absurd amount of detail. Describe every facet of an object, every step of an action, every move someone makes.

21. Use the particular to describe the general.

22. Compare things to discover what makes them the particular things they are. How is a loveseat different from a couch? How is a living room chair different from a dining room chair? How is a couch different from a living room chair? See technique #19.

ONE FINAL NOTE: A handful of people wrote "be original" in their list of techniques. I didn't include that on the list because it describes a state of being, not a technique. Telling a writer that she should "be original" without giving her any guidance about how to do that is like telling an athlete to "be a winner" without helping them to train. See technique #19.

Perec Page

Here is a great page for anyone who happens to read French: Georges Perec / interroger l'habituel. The name of the site means "to question the habitual" -- it comes from one of Perec's own titles, and it's a remarkably good description of his work.

Perec Images + Info

Sometimes it's nice to know a little about who you're reading, so I'll provide a few photos and a little bit of information about Georges Perec here. First, a link to Paul Auster's excellent review/introduction to Perec's life and work, published in the New York Times when the English translation of Life: A User's Manual was first published. I think Auster has it exactly right here: "Perec had an uncanny gift for articulating the nuances of the material world, and in his hands even a worm-eaten table can become an object of fascination." And here: "To read Georges Perec one must be ready to abandon oneself to a spirit of play."

And here are a few images...

Photo of Georges Perec with his cat:



French postage stamp, obviously based on an image from the same photo shoot:



The stamp may be counterfeit.

Descriptive Writing + Sensory Detail

"Thinking is more interesting than knowing, but less interesting than looking”
-- Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

As expected, some people in the class were stuggling with the idea of "sensory detail." We're going to talk about this issue a lot more in the coming weeks, but I might as well try to define it here. Basically, "sensory details" in descriptive writing are details that appeal to the five senses: sight, sound, smell, touch, taste. The trick of descriptive writing is to use language in a way that activates your reader's senses, allowing the reader to "experience" what is being described instead of just telling her about it. For example, say you were to write this:

The station was old and crowded.

This sentence provides some information, but it's relatively "low resolution." As a reader, I know that we're in a station -- some kind of public place where people come and go. But what kind of station? Police, bus, subway -- I'm not sure. I know that the station is "old," but I don't know quite what that means. Is it a well-preserved 100-year-old building, full of marble and polished wood? Or is it a creepy, decrepit place with peeling paint and a leaky ceiling? Again, I'm not sure. I know that the station is "crowded," but I couldn't say whether that means that all of the seats are taken or people are standing shoulder to shoulder, unable to move.

Now look at this sentence:

People from all over the city crowd the platform -- ragged hipsters and hip-hop wannabees, Wall St. executives in fine Italian suits, old men in dark work clothes and guard uniforms, their slack bodies leaning on the rusted pillars and soot-covered white tiles as they wait for the train home.

Here we have a relatively "high resolution" sentence. As a reader, I know that we're in the subway by the time I reach the word "platform." I know that a lot of people are waiting for the train, and I have an active sense of their presence because the verb "crowd" makes them seem like they are doing something (even if that something is just pressing against each other and leaning on the vertical surfaces of the station), as opposed to the adjective "crowded" in the previous example, which doesn't imply action or an actor. I have a very developed sense of who is present and the range of differences they represent, but I also get the feeling (in "slack," "leaning") that they share the deep tiredness most people feel at the end of the workday. (Which also means I have a sense of what time of day it is.) And I have a detailed sense ("rusted," "soot-covered") that the station is very old and poorly maintained.

Some of these things I know simply because the writer has shown them to me (for example, that there are a lot of people on the platform). Others I know because I'm able to infer them from the details I've been shown (for example, that it must be between 5 and 7 o'clock in the evening). However, the writer has "told" me very little of what she thinks I should learn from the scene -- because when the scene is described well, she doesn't have to tell me. For example, the writer doesn't have to tell me that these people are tired: I can "see" it. She doesn't have to tell me that the station is old: I can "see" it. And so on.

Here's one last sentence:

The precinct is full tonight, huge bull-necked cops pushing their way through a slow herd of sweating bodies that fills the lobby from the sergeant's desk to the cracked glass of the front doors.

Now this may not be the finest sentence ever written, but it is certainly "high resolution." As a reader, I know where I am from the second word (in the US, the word "precinct" is used almost exclusively in connection with police stations) and, if not then, certainly when I reach the word "cops." I can feel how crowded the station is, and because the setting has been specified, I have some idea of who is in the crowd. I can feel the heat and discomfort of the crowd ("sweating"), probably because there are so many "bodies" in the room. I have a sense of the attitude and disposition of the crowd ("herd" suggests passivity and patience, but also stupor from the heat). I have a sense of how the people in the crowd are being treated ("herd" also suggests that they are being acted on, rather than acting of their own free will), and I have sense of who has power in this situation, since only the police are described as moving freely through the space. I haven't been told about these things -- nowhere in these lines does it say, for instance, that the police are controlling the crowd or that the people in the crowd are tired from the heat. Instead, the sentence is written in a way that lets me "experience" the scene using my five senses and draw my own conclusions from the experience.

The most effective descriptive writing tends to be "high resolution": it allows the reader to imagine the scene as if he were experiencing it and to understand what's going on in the scene by thinking about the details he's been given. The writer doesn't tell the reader what to think. Instead she guides the reader's imagination through careful selection of details and word choice, and she guides the reader's attention through the order in which those words are placed and those details are revealed.

First Day Exercise

We started off the semester last night with an in-class "descriptive immersion" assignment, which I've posted below. We only had time to hear from a few people during the workshop period, but I was encouraged by the sensory details that drove some of the work presented. I was also pleased to find that a handful of people in the class were willing to discuss what they heard and provide critical feedback. These two things -- descriptive detail and critical feedback -- are going to be our focus for the first part of the semester.

First Day Exercise

Look around the room: observe the people around you, very closely. Get up and walk around the room, keep looking. Keep looking until you notice some small, unique detail about one of your classmates—a gesture, a feature, a facial expression, an element of dress, a belonging—that tells you something about that person. Not an overall impression, but a singular detail. Not something that interests you (cool shoes, nice sweater) but something that tells you about the individual person you’re observing. Not something obvious (that t-shirt means he listens to the Wu Tang Clan) but something subtle, something quiet—something no one else will notice. All writing is detective work.

Take a few notes. If you are focusing on someone’s clothing or belongings, pay special attention to patterns of use and wear—the features that make an object different than the same object would be if it were owned by someone else. Note the size, shape, color, and placement of objects, their newness or oldness, and the precise details that let you know whether they’re new or old. Look again. If you are focusing about someone’s facial expression or gestures, try to describe them as they are—don’t write what you think they mean. (“She looks grouchy” is a judgment, not a detail. What about her looks grouchy?) Don’t write anything about what you think anything means.

Now write down what you’ve seen in two or three sentences, choosing your words carefully and using them as precisely as you can. Try to write in a way that will let your reader “see” exactly what you’ve seen. Remember, the “meaning” of a piece of writing is what happens when the reader reads—it’s not what the writer meant to say, but what is on the page.

Be prepared to share your work with the class.