Classic literature and the changing English language

By Kat


I'm a bit of a writing nut, I must admit. I source much of my information from the classics I've encountered, which is why even I sometimes notice the archaic nature of my fictional prose...in terms of reading, however, I do indulge myself in some nice modern books every now and then, however I am perfectly happy with my collections of novels like Jane Eyre, 1984, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest and the like, all of which display writing in brilliant and eloquent styles, something which is sadly lacking nowadays. I hope that modern literature will take some form of appreciation to its older counterparts, and return to its roots more so than it has in past years.
Ernest Hemingway is one of my favourite writers. He revolutionised prose (which led to what defines the vast majority of novels today), but the problem is this- Hemingway's prose was considered 'hard prose', but it still managed to hold something that so many modern novels lack- substance. I've given some of these books a go, and I then chose to promptly retreat into my hidey hole of old books, content in distancing myself from literary change (A Series of Unfortunate Events was recommended to me in high school. Ack.). Today's fiction is so heavily focussed on action, excitement, and punchy dialogue that I find myself deeply missing the descriptions and the artful language that usually accompanied such writing. We can weigh up the two: modern prose has drive, classics tend to linger; modern prose excites; classics inspire. It's true, many can cross over and not follow their stereotypical images. But the newer generation that is left with little good choices is left reading meaningless action after action.
Language is a beautiful and flexible thing. Especially in a language that is rooted from Romance languages such as English, there is so much that you can do to evoke emotion or to change the mood. It happens less and less nowadays. Even in acclaimed books, where the book is set on a good foundation, we find sentences that are often bland and rather uninteresting throughout. Unlike the great works of James Joyce and his famed 'stream of consciousness' style, the modernists choose to keep their language uniform. Unlike Daphne du Maurier and her flowing description of Manderley ("Time could not wreck the perfect symmetry of those walls, nor the site itself, a jewel in the hollow of a hand"), modernists lack a sense of poetry.
Language is an evolving thing. The way people write has changed for millenniums, and it is impossible to ascertain an idealist style, for newer people will always prefer different things. But it is rather pleasant to encounter a writer who writes with all the drive and pacing of modern prose, while still remembering the genius writers who took symbolism to their work, and utilised the very fashion of writing itself to manipulate the emotions that were evoked on each stage of the novel, on every page turn and every skimming of eyes over interconnected words. It is rather pleasant to encounter a writer who chooses to learn from their predecessors, and creates something that is not merely prose, but artwork.