One of the reasons I love Elena Ferrante’s Neapolitan novels is the urgency of her prose.
I am currently on page 259 (of 469) in The Story of a New Name.
When I tell someone who has already finished the series what part I am up to, I realize how much is happening. In under twenty pages, Ferrante gives you a hundred pages worth of information. She doesn’t rush but she definitely doesn’t linger. Each moment is a sentence, a paragraph only long enough to communicate the feeling or progression of a moment.
I believe that those who find Elena Ferrante’s writing to be slow have not yet passed the half-way mark in her first book. I often get restless reading the first half of any book. You need time with the characters to sync up with the rhythm of their stories. Same goes for the first twenty minutes of movie. Or the first episode of a show. Once I gave Elena Ferrante my full attention, I was completely blown away by the pace of the writing.
To call her writing simple is a reduction. Besides, the excellence of a dish is measured by its simplicity. (I heard that in an episode of Chef’s Table and it really stuck with me). It applies equally to a piece of writing. She is concise. To the point. Her words are at once selective and complete.
My only complaint is that I find her writing so compulsively readable that once I am more than adequately inspired, I struggle to put down the book when I ought to be picking up on my own work.
I need this book right now because writing the second half of my novel has been torment. Slow-going because I am worrying too much about description when all I need to do is TELL THE GOD DAMN STORY.
Write first.
Judge later.