There are many different terms that are commonly used within the publishing industry that many new writers look at those terms with one simple response: "Huh?" Even a few experienced writers will look at those terms and be completely baffled.
Over the past few weeks, I've been compiling a list of these terms. The list is actually quite extensive, and much bigger than I first thought. I've decided that it's time to help new and experienced writers to learn what some of these terms mean, so if you ever encounter them in an editorial report, you're not completely confused by what the editor is saying.
Let's start with one that tripped me up when I first started as a writer: Purple Prose.
To put it simply, purple prose is any passage that is excessively descriptive.
An overly ornate term for an ornate description.
King George VI (Notice the purple regalia.)
The exact origins of the term purple prose stems back to the Roman days where a poet spoke about ornate finishings on a garments. In today's society, it might seem like an odd term, but it actually has historical significance.
The color purple was reserved for royalty and the insanely rich. Only those with money to burn could afford the dye made from a rare form a sea snails. This remained the case until the late 19th Century, when a chemist stumbled across a synthetic dye to make the color quite by accident. Even then, the color still had a strong connection with the extravagance of royalty.
With the understanding of the historical significance of the color purple, one can see how any written passage that was ornate in nature would be called purple prose.
Is purple prose a bad thing?
Some will be quick to say "Yes," while others, like myself, will stand back and take each passage on its own merits.
Consider the following example:
"Once in the hands of Duncan Nicol it was translated, as by consecration in the name of a divinity more benevolent than all others, into pisco punch, the wonder and glory of San Francisco’s heady youth, the balm and solace of fevered generations, a drink so endearing and inspired that although its prototype has vanished, its legend lingers on, one with the Grail, the unicorn, and the music of the spheres.”
— Columnist Lucius Beebe, Gourmet magazine, 1957; quoted by M. Carrie Allan in "Spirits: Pisco Punch, a San Francisco Classic Cocktail With Official Aspirations." The Washington Post, October 3, 2014
My editor brain has gone into overdrive looking at that. Talk about a run-on sentence on steroids. However, the above is an extreme example.
For the sake of my sanity, let's consider a more contemporary example (from a book that I actually enjoyed), but the exact line that has led to so many jokes about sparkly vampires.
Edward in the sunlight was shocking. I couldn’t get used to it, though I’d been staring at him all afternoon. His skin, white despite the faint flush from yesterday’s hunting trip, literally sparkled, like thousands of tiny diamonds were embedded into the surface. He lay perfectly still in the grass, his shirt open over his sculpted, incandescent chest, his scintillating arms bare. His glistening, pale lavender lids were shut, though of course he didn’t sleep. A perfect statue, carved in some unknown stone, smooth like marble, glittering like crystal.
— Stephanie Meyer in Twilight
Here's another example (from another book that I enjoyed).
On the other side of the opening was a dark, heavily built chamber that reminded Eragon of the caves under Tronjheim. A huge circular pattern of inlaid stone—marble and chalcedony and polished hematite—occupied the center of the floor. Around the edge of the patterned disk stood rough, fist-sized chunks of amethyst set within silver collars. Each piece of the purple rock glowed softly—the source of the light they had seen from the corridor. Across the disk, against the far wall, was a large black altar draped with a gold and crimson cloth. Pillars and candelabra flanked the altar, with a closed door on each side.
— Christopher Paolini in Inheritance (Book 4 of The Inheritance Cycle)
Purple prose is not the death of a book.
I'll happily admit that I enjoyed the Twilight series — except the fourth book, because I got angry with that fight scene in the end (all the build-up, but none of the release). And I fell in love with Eragon from page 1. You should have seen me in the middle of Heathrow Airport when I discovered that Brisingr, the third book the The Inheritance Cycle, wasn't the end. I had been waiting over a year for Brisingr, only to discover I had to wait at least another year to know how the story ended. "NOOO!!!" My travelling companion was laughing her head off as she was trying to hide from the looks we were getting.
Purple prose, like all bits of writing, is a matter of balance. How much detail do you really need to include in a book to create that scene for a reader? It's a question that so many writers (and editors) struggle with every day. However, just look at the success of the stories from the examples above. If you get the balance off, it's not the end of the world. It certainly isn't the death of your book.
Should you used purple prose in your own writing?
The writer in me says "No way." However, the editor in me knows that this is a question that only the writer can answer. It really comes down to genre and expectations of your readers. There are times that you really do need those overly descriptive passages, to build excitement and tension. Yet, purple prose, if not treated carefully, could fall into the realm of too much exposition.
(There's another term that will be the topic a future post: exposition.)
At the end of the day, it's all about balance and knowing your story. But know if you do slip in the odd purple prose, your faithful readers actually won't care.