in which I dissect "It was a dark and stormy night..."

It was a lengthy and honest substack; words fell in paragraphs—except at occasional intervals, when they were broken by a violent hitting of the 'enter' key.

Hello friends,

This week I had thoughts™️ about an often-mocked and quoted line in literature.

You may not have heard it because it’s pretty underground.

This sentence from Edward Bulwer-Lytton's novel ‘Paul Clifford' (1830) is commonly used as an example of "bad writing" and or "purple prose".

I come humbly to you today to dissect the lengthy line and explore some of the things it does for me, what it makes me think, and what like about it.

Why am I doing this?

1. Saw someone talk about it. Wondered if I’d disagree after a fixation period. Bon Appétit.

2. I like pulling prose apart and looking at how it works or doesn’t work; it helps me understand the craft, and think of ways I can play with it in my own stories. Writing is an art form, and what qualifies as "good" or "bad" is very subjective, and I’m a sucker for an underdog.

3. Asking “What could I find to compliment about this?” often opens up new ideas and understandings of how I can weild prose better in my own work, because it forces me to consider alternative points of view and prompts a deeper thinking. Maybe I don’t like the thing, but in discerning why, I can come up with ways to write things I do like.

4. And I’ll be honest. I have a soft spot for lengthy sentences, and maybe I want to be a little contrarian, as a treat. Plus, look at this cute frog in a rain storm:

Raining Rainy Day GIF by rileyalwayssmiley

Is this to say “the line is good, actually”? Not really—I just think we can learn more from it by engaging with it through a slightly different lense than usual, so I have included my thoughts on what I feel I’m learning from this dissection beneath each point, and I decided to challenge myself by doing some writing activities at the end. Feel free to join in by leaving yours in a comment!

Let’s look closer 🔎

Telling…

“It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents—except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness.”

There’s this little bit of pithy writing advice that gets thrown around all the time, and that’s “show don’t tell”. I’ve sat in on classes and workshops that rightly pull this part of the line up for the crime of telling and not showing, but I want to make the arguement that sometimes telling is completely fine, and can be an effective tool to ensure the reader comes to the correct understanding and visual.

This part immediately sets a strong vibe and tone for me. Darkness, storm, night—These are things we can easily imagine and don’t necessarily need specificity to be able to do so.

One big critique I see of this part is that “dark” and “night” can be considered quite tautological. After all, aren’t all nights dark? Isn’t this like saying “a dark storm cloud” when any reasonable person knows storm clouds are dark and not beautiful wispy white? Well… there are a number of places around the world that do not see dark night times, and even later being told that the scene is set in London, there are a number of reasons why a night might not seem that dark compared to others (I’ve certainly experienced a few not-very-dark nights here in Australia). There are street lamps, which, if unburdened by a violent storm, might very well brighten a night so that we wouldn’t call it “dark”.

Lastly, I don’t think it’s unreasonable to look past the initial meaning of the word “dark” and gleam from it a more metaphorical one—somber, serious, maybe even dispiriting.

What I am learning here is that dual and layered meanings of words really appeal to me, especially when something feels “telly”, though I might want to try for something that feels less redundant at first glance.

🔎 Expansion…

“It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents—except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness.”

This next section adds detail to the opening clause. Some argue that the opening clause paired with this may be a little redundant—afterall, we’re being told it’s stormy, and here we are now being shown the storm—but I argue that it does more than that and thus is at least somewhat earning its keep.

“…the rain fell in torrents” describes a heavy rainfall, but there’s something quite nice to be about “in torrents” as opposed to how we might say “torrential rain”, like it’s so stormy that is deserves a plurality of “torrents”. More than that, I think the plurality here lends itself well to the next part of the line:

“—except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets…”, which described a start and stop, a wind-blown staccato to the rain which creates an illusion of plurality. This part also allows us to better imagine what the storm is like, as a textured downpour. There is also a texture in movmement: a falling down, and violent gust, and later, a sweeping up.

What I am learning here is that I love how language can be used to subtley imply things. I also like how “texture” can be created through the use of word choice without using “textural” words (like rough, soft, etc.) I might be able to create a “vibe” or specific feeling and tone through complimentary choices in vocabulary: green, fresh, flowering, sprout—these feel linked to me and very indicative of spring, though they are all different, and would be used differently in a sentence. A subtle linguistic pattern of showing!

🔎 Movement…

“It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents—except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness.”

I love the use of “swept” here. It is a creative verb which conjures images of someone kicking up a dust storm while violently and dilligently sweeping. It implies so much movement! To sweep something [up/away/out] can be huge.

It also carries multiple meanings for me. In the context of water, it makes me think of a giant wave, a large mass, powerful. In the context of movement, it makes me think of clearing and cleaning. All together this little bit conjures an image in my mind of a rain storm that is so strong, it’s almost as though the streets are moved by it.

Alternatively, the rainclouds are being blown across the sky, and so the rain is moving—sweeping through the streets the same way you might sweep through a room. Either way, it feels fairly dynamic to me. I’m kind of imagining one of those movie openings where the camera is moving through or panning over city streets.

What I am learning here is how, in creating movement of imagery, I might create for the reader a sense of narrative movement too, a sense of impending plot or other material. A creative verb choice can conjure all manner of interesting visuals.

🔎 In which streets are London…

“It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents—except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness.”

Um, are you kidding me? I so rarely see parenthesese in writing these days. This feels so flambouyant. I also love interjections from the narrator.

I like that the narration is just telling us which city we’re in, but it’s also doing so in a way that is self-aware. “… our scene lies” feels like an invitation to the reader, a “this is where the party is at”. I also visualise “lies” as a laying down, an outstretch, and that is another kind of implied movement.

There’s also something kind of funny about the phrasing of “for it is…”, as if because there are streets, you should know the scene is set in London. I know this isn’t technically what’s being said, but the fact that it can be read this way makes me laugh.

What I am learning here is that I am still wedded to narrative intrusions and you’ll have to pry those from my cold, dead hands.

🔎 A culture of verbiage…

“It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents—except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness.”

“rattling” here is such a good descriptor, to me. The rain isn’t falling in cliche poundings. It’s a sharp and rapid succession of noise—a noise that often annoys me. Not only that, but “rattling” carries another meaning; it can be used to convey nerves, worry, and irritation. Perfect.

“…along the housetops…” Again, movement. The whole opening line is chock-full of movement that never stops, and I think it’s a good example of a linguistic ecosystem, of intentional word choices made to build up a consistency of feeling.

What I am learning here is again that I really appreciate a strong verb choice, especially one that contains multiplicity of meaning. Along with these language choices, I like how the passage feels as if we are in constant motion, which I imagine you could use to achieve specific effects. I might like to try my hand at recreating this line and instead building a feeling of stagnancy, of swelling, of shrinking, as an excersize.

🔎 Light vs Dark…

“It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents—except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness.”

If you’re a writer and have heard the advice to “cut adverbs”, clap your hands!

I would argue (and agree with those who do argue) that “fiercely” here is perhaps unecessary, but in the interest of exploring why it works, I’d say that it offers clarity and specificity to the verb “agitating”, which is not inherently a fierce or violent thing on its own. Agitation could be a minute movement, something perhaps akin to a shaking (for ‘agitate’ can simply mean ‘to trouble’), but in this context it is fiercely agitating something, a clear difference.

“…scanty flame of the lamps” I just really love the word ‘scanty’ (limited or less than sufficient in degree, quantity, or extent). There is also a juxtapostion between ‘fiercely’ and ‘scanty’ — the former is strong, aggressive, determined, while the latter is insufficient, poor, meagre. It is a battle. This opening line contains conflict.

It was a dark and stormy night, and all that was lighting that darkness was a bunch of stingy lamps, struggling to stay alight. What happens if they go out? We have a suggestion of a possible outcome of the storm: a plunge into completely lightlessness.

What I am learning here is that I’m a sucker for words that sound cool. Juxtaposition can be used to imply conflict and potential outcomes, which might prompt the reader to engage imaginarily with the story. I really love when a story gives me the ability to engage in this way.

What are your thoughts?

I’ve said my piece. Now it’s your turn 👀

Let’s play!

I don’t think we can talk about this line without at least trying to play around with it, can we? It’s just the done thing. Below are four re-writes and jumble-ups of the oh-so-famous line, according to specific goals.

Are any of them “better”? Eh. The objective here is just to take the original language and phrasing and play around while retaining a similar meaning. I find this helps me unlock fun vocabulary combinations and interesting imageries.

THE ORIGINAL:

It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents—except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness.

PLAY 1: Some word choices (I started off small and replaced some words with my own, creating different prosody and imagery.)

It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell, torrentuous but for when it broke in the violent gusts sweeping up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along frought housetops, and bedevilling the scanty flame of the lamps that faltered against the darkness.

PLAY 2: Structure and language play (I reformatted the line by swapping around the delivery of information and detail.)

A night, storm-tortured, the violence broken only by gusts of wind that swept up the streets. Rain rattled along the housetops, and fiercely agitated the scanty flame of the lamps that whittled against the darkness—this was London.

PLAY 3: Language theme (In which I pick an object, imagery, or theme, and tried to re-write the passage with related vocabulary. In this case, guns.)

It was a storm-clad night; rain shot straight down, bullet-sharp—except when it was knocked aside by a thundergust which smeared the streets (for it is in London that our scene unfolds), rattling along crocked housetops, and snapping the anemic lamp flames that bled against the gunpowder sky.

Play 4: Fundemental shift (I kept the structure and the style, but changed a fundemantal aspect—the weather—and further changed objects/characters to fit it)

It was a bright and spring-hazed day; pollen fell in cinnamon shakes—except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a thrilling gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene blooms), seasoning the housetops, and agitating the scanty noses of the children that struggled against the air-tide.

Play 5: A change in foundation (I kept the structure and the style, but changed a the feeling/vibe from the one I observed —a dramatic movement—to something slower, then slower still.)

1. It was a dark and stormish night; the rain floated in a mist—except at occasional intervals, when it was wafted by a sluggish breeze which crawled up the streets (for it is in London that our scene hangs), clouding the housetops, and cottoning the scanty flame of the lamps that whispered against the darkness.

2. It was a dark and stormish night; the rain hung—stopped completely when even the sluggish breeze stopped inching up the streets (for it is in London that our scene rests), smothering the housetops, and softening the still flames of the lamps that stood against the dark.

Why not join in and post yours?

That’s all, folks.