It was the United States of America in the cold late spring of 1967, and the market was steady and the G.N.P. high and a great many articulate people seemed to have a sense of high social purpose and it might have been a spring of brave hopes and national promise, but it was not, and more and more people had the uneasy apprehension that it was not.
Joan Didion, "Slouching Toward Bethlehem"
This sentence is breathless, running from one clause to the next as if worried you won't listen, as if it must be said all at once, as if the speaker is gripped by emotion and swept along. At the content level, the sentence is primarily factual: It was the spring of 1967. The market was steady. The G.N.P was high. At the syntactical level, it's a different thing altogether.
Sentences are either paratactic or hypotactic, and Didion's sentence falls into the former category.
Parataxis is the term for phrases or clauses arranged one after the other—with everything on the same level—no subordination. This was Hemingway’s preferred way of writing long sentences. Hypotaxis is the term for sentences that subordinate a phrase or a clause, and it suggests a mind that has thought about things and ordered them, creating a hierarchy.
Didion's sentence has six independent clauses connected by conjunctions.
1. It was the United States of America in the cold late spring of 1967 (and)
2. The market was steady and the G.N.P. high (and)
3. A great many articulate people seemed to have a sense of high social purpose (and)
4. It might have been a spring of brave hopes and national promise (but)
5. It was not (and)
6. More and more people had the uneasy apprehension that it was not.
The breathless quality is amplified by the lack of commas between the second independent clause and the third, and then again, between the third clause and the fourth.
The conjunction "but" always turns a sentence in a different direction, and Didion's sentence is a perfect example of this. From hope and promise to uneasy apprehension. Now we see another use of parataxis: it provides a great build to a turn in a sentence.
The fifth independent clause is short, with three syllables, in contrast to the fourth clause, with 15 syllables. The short "it was not" creates an abruptness, almost stopping the sentence, cutting off the reader's breath. There’s also a feeling of formality and seriousness because Didion doesn’t use a contraction: “it wasn’t,” which is informal and colloquial.
She emphasizes the feeling that things are not rosy through epistrophe, the repetition of a word(s) at the end of phrases, clauses or sentences. Didion repeats "not" and ends the entire sentence with "not."
I want to return to the first independent clause and note Didion gave us a whiff of the turn in the sentence with the word "cold," along with the three heavier stresses: COLD LATE SPRING. The stresses slow the reader to take in the chill. Then we forget about it and optimism warms us up and whisks us along, though there is another tiny clue with the word "seem," which suggests less than confidence.
Your Turn
Make a list of six independent clauses. The two final clauses should contrast with the four previous clauses. For example, Didion started out relatively optimistic, but her last two clauses negated optimism. Your sentence can move a different way—from despair to optimism or any opposite emotions.
Connect the four independent clauses with the conjunction "and."
Now add "but" and include your two final independent clauses. Can you vary the sentence length? Add epistrophe?
Go back to your first independent clause. Can you add an adjective that gives the reader a sense of the final mood of the sentence as Didion did with "cold"?
Try it!
Let me know how it goes!
About Me
I’ve taught “Style in Fiction,” “Word for Word” and “Cultivating Your Prose” at the University of San Francisco and Stanford Continuing Studies since 2007. In each of these classes, we spend 10 to 15 weeks drenched in the beauty of sentences, reading them and writing them. It’s such a pleasure! I’ve watched my writing and my students’ writing blossom with this practice of paying close attention to the sentence.
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The self-contradictory essence of this sentence also provides the breathless chill: the sense that although all the indicators are pointing in the right direction, the machine is rotten to its core. The facade of beautiful progress is going to snap you in two and break your heart completely.
It was the season of grass, and the sky was motionless and the winds were scarce and the clouds drifted placid and pregnant and it could have been a season of lust and leisure, but it was not, and the parched fields testified that it was not.