We seem to have switched positions on the subject of studying literature. I've maintained that a formal study of literary elements is necessary in the sense of it's better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it. As you've mentioned, it's possible for an alert person to catch all of this on his own. But a formal study indicates that someone really has become familiar with elements.
I think history indicates that people, as often as not, are not always able to spot great literature when they see it. Melville's publisher made five hundred copies of "Moby Dick." Only fifty sold in Melville's lifetime. Even an experienced artist can be unsure of whether he's on the right track or not. For instance, Jack Nicholson showed up to work on the set of "As Good As It Gets" one day and shocked the producer by offering to leave the project without pay. He thought his performance wasn't working. The Academy thought otherwise and gave him the award for best actor.
Right now, I'm reading "No Country for Old Men." It's mesmerizing. Yet there is no formal backstory. One needs to pick that up as one goes along. There's no traditional description of landscape or descriptions of what people are doing with a cigarette or cup of coffee. No descriptions of interiors not absolutely essential to the plot.
All of these considerations tell me that a writer, if he can, is far better off not relying upon the opinions of a publisher. If a writer knows that his work is headed toward or within the realm he wants it to be, he's been true to his own vision--and nobody can take that away from him. Joseph Conrad proved that. He left a stunning body of work behind him, each book a piece of art in its own way--and he never wavered from his vision of what he wanted to write about or the style in which he wanted to tell it. His style is unique in literature. He was mostly popular with fellow writers in his day, and even know, if not for "Heart of Darkness," he wouldn't be very well known--no more so than Ford Madox Ford.
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Not really. It is, simply, that in the early stages - probably before you even begin to write - you'll pick up lessons on writing through reading. Pretty soon you get to a point where you can spot good and bad writing. If you're only interested in reading, you can skim a few pages, assess the quality, and make a value judgement right there.
However, if you're writing, the odd 'correctional' volume can come in handy (I'm not saying you have to
actively seek out the bad or wallow in it, mind) because the question then can be 'Why isn't it working?'
(
Moby Dick, btw, bored me rigid within a dozen pages. More on that in a sec.)
When I said to write a lot before, I wasn't perhaps as clear as I ought to have been. Once you've learned the basics (which, tbh, you've probably done through reading, whether you're conscious of it or not), have developed the beginnings of your style, and so on, it's time to practice. Initially, there'll be a relatively steep learning curve where you discover what works for you as a writer and what doesn't. After that, there's just the work. There's no constant, incremental improvement. You hit more or less of a plateau. It's the same in sport, and as in sport, a writer will add experience to his or her ability. Over time, they'll become proficient at hiding their ongoing weaknesses - and there will be some, maybe many - and play more to their strengths. Ultimately, they'll hit their peak, where everything comes together and they may even appear to transcend what seemed to be their maximum (it's really just an illusion; it's actually maximum ability allied to - or alloyed with - consistency). In the end, they'll come off their peak of performance, the 'brilliance' will show only in winks and flashes again, then, one day, they'll be done. It's just that, in the case of writers (or actors, or musicians), this peak can last for years and years. Decades, even. Or it can last for one book, or a short story, or an album, a single song, one performance in the right role... No one ever knows.
You've said before that Montgomery could write beautifully (agreed), but regretted never writing a great work. Then there's the comment on Melville and
Moby Dick.
I want to suggest there are three things in play: ability to write; ability to generate ideas; and ability to tell a story. These things form 'clines', with every story - and every writer - falling into a place somewhere along each, which then combine to form the whole (on a story-by-story basis, which is why writers don't always, or can't, incrementally improve).
Can Montgomery write? Definitely. Tell a story? Yes. But what about the
ideas? Are the ideas behind the story strong enough, and when the ideas are there, is the storytelling all that it should be/usually is, or is the idea so good that it proved beyond her ability to fully grasp it? If there's a reason why she never wrote a great book (at least in her own opinion; as with the example you use of Jack Nicholson, none of us are the best judges of our own efforts), the answer will lie somewhere in there.
The problem I have with
Moby Dick isn't in the idea or even most of the writing (though I'd argue that it fluctuates between the accomplished and the turgid, as if Melville was trying too hard), it's the story. For the amount of words he appears to have wanted to use, he doesn't tell it quite well enough. A story should interest and excite (perhaps even educate a little, in a gentle way). For many readers,
Moby Dick doesn't. (The same can be said for
War and Peace,
Crime and Punishment,
Frankenstein,
Dracula, or
Great Expectations and
Pride and Prejudice, to name but a few.)
That may indicate a deplorable lack of taste, but most likely it simply shows that appreciation is subjective. (If I was doing this anything like properly, I'd say that
Moby Dick appears to be dull due to the high level of lexical density in Melville's prose; instead of giving us a pleasantly runny syrup of a story, he's presented us with molasses. The story is too simple a one to sustain the writing.)
Other writers have brilliant ideas, but are let down by either their actual writing or their storytelling ability - arguably, Arthur C Clarke is a prime example of an ideas man who didn't always write well, or when he wrote well, forgot to tell the story in an interesting or exciting way. H G Wells, too, come to that.
Having read Peter Blauner's
The Intruder (which SK mentions in his list of recent-ish reads at the end of
On Writing) and
Man of the Hour, the impression I was left with was that the books had good central premises and were told well enough (decent pace, etc), but that the writing itself let the story/ies down in certain (often key) areas.
But enough of this. On with the work itself!
