Excerpt from Dubrovnik- the washer woman in the Babylon

[Steven Hunley]

Each holding a cup, they made their way past the tables stacked high, and slipped through a barricade of chairs piled against the wall. An angular old woman bent over a sop rag toiled on her hands and knees, skimming over the wood until it shined with her labor. Her hair was sweat-soaked near the scalp and curled on the ends from steam rising up from a bucket. She wore a knotted red handkerchief around her pale withered neck, and although her face was cast down, it displayed a melancholy aspect of suffering, patience, and duty. Then the three went into a room so tall and dark they could only make out small white shadows dancing like angels near the ceiling.

What I'd like to know is that sentence ....'and although her face was cast down, it displayed a melancholy aspect of suffering. patience, and duty."

Does this phrasing date the piece unnecessarily? Does it stick out like a sore thumb? Or stylistically does it reek of one hundred years ago? I fear the use of the word melancholy reeks of Poe and isn't much used nowadays. I don't want the style to draw attention away from the story. I worry!

My scheme in learning to write was to read all the old masters I could. But when I read anything, it often seeps into my style. It's been problematic! I have to admit and I struggle against it on a daily basis. I suppose I should be more confident, but I often have misgivings.

[hillwalker]

I don't have a problem with the phrasing - it's the sense I'm struggling with.

The word 'although' preceding her face being 'cast down' implies there will be an uplifting counterbalance in what follows. 'although her face was cast down, her smile raised the spirits of all who oberved her above the tedium of life on the streets' or some such twaddle. I'm sure you understand what I'm getting at.

'melancholy' is a great word btw - it sounds exactly the same as what it means so don't 'dis' it.

H

[Steven Hunley]

Thanks Hill. I feel more confident now.

Here's how it will read:

Each holding a cup, they made their way past the tables stacked high, and slipped through a barricade of chairs piled against the wall. An angular old woman bent over a sop rag, toiling on her hands and knees, skimming over the wood until it shined with her labor. Her hair was sweat-soaked near the scalp and curled on the ends from steam rising up from a bucket. She wore a knotted red handkerchief around her pale withered neck. Her face was cast down and displayed a melancholy aspect of suffering, patience, and duty. Then the three went into a room so tall and dark they could only make out small white shadows dancing like angels near the ceiling.

Molly found a light switch near a stairway and flicked it on. A sudden flutter of feathers from the tower scared Pam half to death and jostled coffee over the rim of her cup.

“That’s just doves. Come on up. The view will be worth it.”