ct upon him of written speech or dialogue is very
nearly primary. The fiction writer has not the actor's studied tones to
give dialogue complete life and body, but the appeal of written speech
is infinitely more direct and compelling than that of any other sort of
writing. A word is a word, whether spoken or written, and cannot be read
without setting up some echo in the ear. When the writer of a story
describes its hero, a reader may or may not see an image, faint or
distinct, behind the words. But when the writer sets down his hero's
words, a reader cannot choose but hear. Even if the words be unnatural
and stilted, they will be heard. That is why badly managed dialogue is
so potent to ruin a story. The speech of the characters in a story is
strongly impressive, whether for good or ill. The more powerful a tool,
the more damage it will do if mismanaged.
Thus the essential force of dialogue or written speech may be a handicap
or an assistance. If a character's words jar upon a reader, they will do
so strongly, if they are natural and in keeping with the whole
conception of the person, they will do much to give him the breath of
life. It follows that the writer of fiction should give due attention to
the transcription of speech, the more so because superficially the task
is easy.
Perhaps the first consideration is the mere mechanical distribution of
dialogue. In real life only the after-dinner speaker talks at inordinate
length. Conversation, except that of the bore, is essentially
fragmentary. Not only is each person's part fragmentary, but the whole
conversation is usually somewhat brief. People caught in a more or less
rapid sequence of events have no time to talk at length, and a story is
a more or less rapid sequence of events. The writer must counterfeit a
like phase of life with his story, and to do so he must mingle the
mechanical elements of the story in a texture pleasing because varied.
The mechanical elements of a story are its narrative, its description,
and its dialogue or speech of the characters; these must blend and
intermingle, varying the appeal to a reader and simulating the pattern
of life. An unfailing sign of the amateur, at least of the amateur with
no innate sense of fictional values, is a story made up of hard and
angular blocks of narration, description, and dialogue. The skilled
writer--if the particular story permits, a proviso always to be
understood--will intermingle speech with action
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