Approximate Reading Time: 9 minutes
“Genius is making the complex simple.” I’m not sure where that quote comes from, but it’s always stuck with me. As a beta reader, I’ve come to believe there’s a companion idea for writers: “Art is making the elegant straightforward.” It’s a subjective take, of course, but it gets to the heart of a common issue I see: readers are often more interested in the story you’re telling than how you’re writing it. The prose should serve the story, not try to outshine it.
This is a delicate balance, and it’s one that writers at all levels wrestle with. On one hand, I’m a huge fan of the more eloquent, beautifully crafted prose found in novels from the early 1900s to the 1930s. There’s a lyrical quality to books like Anna Farquhar’s The Professor’s Daughter and the old Boy Scouts in the Maine Woods that feels almost like poetry.
On the other hand, a lot of contemporary literature—psychological thrillers like Jessica Knoll’s My Sweet Girl or YA novels like Suzanne Collins’s The Hunger Games—prioritizes a direct, straightforward style. It moves the story along at a cracking pace, but to my eye, it sometimes feels like it sacrifices the artistic elegance of older works. It’s as if contemporary writers are trained to think in pictures and write in plain diction, almost unaware that beautiful, evocative prose is a choice.
This often leads to a tricky situation. A writer is moved by a beautifully written book, tries to emulate that style, but because their craft isn’t quite there yet, the prose comes off as ornate and clunky instead of elegant. It’s a common stumbling block, and it’s something beta readers are almost always going to catch.
The Sunset Example: Ornate vs. Straightforward
Let’s look at a classic writing exercise: describing a sunset. Here’s what an overly ornate description might look like:
As the effervescent hues of illuminating oranges and vivescent golds lit the sky, restricting the boundaries of the erstwhile lavender and deep-ocean blue of the dwindling twilight, Helena inhaled an exquisite sigh, eager for the promise of the oncoming day, even though on the exhale, she felt the dire descending of dread into the abyss of her abdomen, and wondered what might be the comeuppance of the day once Michael accosted her.
This paragraph is trying very hard to be beautiful, but it ends up burying the story’s drama—Helena’s conversation with Michael—under a pile of flowery adjectives and convoluted phrasing.
Now, here’s a more straightforward description, similar to what you might find in many popular contemporary novels:
As the sunrise’s bright oranges and yellows pushed away the twilight, Helena sighed. She was eager to confront Michael but dreaded how he’d react.
This version might be less vivid, but it gets the job done. It’s direct, it’s clear, and it keeps the focus squarely on Helena’s internal conflict. For most aspiring authors, this is the better version to aim for.
The Power of Clarity
The true power of prose, even beautiful prose, lies in its clarity. As I often tell clients, eloquence will resurface as clarity rather than ornateness, much like how a well-cut diamond is most attractive when its facets catch the light and it stands out, rather than being overshadowed by an overly ornate setting.
This is about trimming redundancies and avoiding verbose descriptions that don’t add to the narrative. A gust of wind, for example, inherently implies harshness. “Settling into” a seat already suggests comfort. My advice to a writer in this situation would be:
“Don’t worry about these types of redundancies in your first draft. That stage is about finding your story’s rhythm and energy. But during the editing process, watch out for them and trim them where possible.”
This isn’t about discouraging beautiful writing; it’s about helping writers build a solid foundation first.
The Sweet Spot: Clarity and Elegance
So, does this mean you should never try to write beautifully? No! The goal isn’t to choose between “bad” ornate prose and “good” plain prose. The goal is to build your skills until you can write something that is both vivid and elegant without getting in the way of the story.
Here’s a third version of the sunset description that, to my mind, strikes that perfect balance:
The sunrise bled across the sky, washing away the last of the deep twilight blue with shades of vibrant orange and warm gold. Helena drew a long breath, ready for the day but heavy with the dread of her impending conversation with Michael.
This version uses strong verbs (“bled,” “washing,” “drew”), evocative imagery, and an elegant rhythm, all while maintaining the clarity and focus on the story’s core drama. It’s vivid without being gaudy. This kind of writing can be found in early 20th-century novels, and in the work of contemporary masters like Barbara Kingsolver (whose Demon Copperhead features masterfully vivid prose even with a plain, broken narrative voice) and Yangsze Choo. Consider this passage from Choo’s The Ghost Bride:
I stood on the edge of a cliff, overlooking a harbor. The sea was a sullen green, the surrounding peaks blue and misty in the fading afternoon light. Wind shredded the clouds and the air is cold and strange. The bay, deep and curving with numerous inlets, held scores of ships far beyond Malacca’s capacity. There were tea clippers, steamers, and so many junks that the harbor was dotted with their fierce, finlike sales. […] The wind blew unceasingly; the sh1apes of the mountains were new to me. (Yangsze Choo, The Ghost Bride (New York: Harper Perennial, 2014), p. 141.)
Choo’s prose here is rich with sensory details and creates a strong sense of place without feeling overwrought or distracting from the narrative. It’s a perfect example of elegant clarity.
A Path to Success
There’s no single “right way” on this writing journey. However, a helpful path for many aspiring authors is to first focus on telling your story simply and straightforwardly. Let the artistry develop naturally with experience—though “naturally” doesn’t mean passively. It means working at it consciously, taking classes, and, of course, seeking feedback from experienced editors and beta readers.
Don’t imitate. First, seek clarity. Then, seek elegance and clarity. Your readers will thank you for it.
________________________________________
Your Turn!
What’s your take on prose? Do you prefer the lyrical elegance of older works, or the direct clarity of contemporary novels? Can you think of other examples of contemporary authors who balance vividness with clear storytelling? Let me know your thoughts in the comments below!
And if you’re struggling to find the right balance between prose and story in your own manuscript, I’m here to help you get it right. You can find more information about my beta reading services on my website.
