A Clumsy Attempt to Adopt Eliot's Voice

During a literature assessment today, I was asked to write a piece which mimicked Eliot's style. I don't believe I was up to the challenge - instead scraping together self-made metaphors and spending two pages just describing water...

Anyway, just needed to get this out ;)

The two parts I regret the most:
- When I compared my character's feet to a trained elephant
- Calling gondolas 'human oysters' (don't know where I was going with that :()

Anyone with similar experiences? I guarantee you did a better job :)

Should I type a few snippets up? Obviously I didn't attempt to write poetry, and these are pretty dodgy :eek:

Something along these lines:
"The sunlight began to fade, the weak streams surrendering to the darkness"

"The burnt-out ash wicks of candles were given new life - a sickening glow spread across the canals. The candlelight flickered across the surface of the water - like an outbreak of smallpox"

"The hollowed out base of a once grand tree now contains the slimy bulks of people - human oysters bob and sway along"

"With great effort, my feet begrudgingly yield to my request - they, like all the creatures of this dreary world, must obey their masters. Like trained elephants, in some far-off exotic land, they push through their tedious tasks, trying desperately to suppress the painful memories of their past"

Never had that kind of task at secondary school but still, that part with "human oysters" amused me :lol:

Thanks Veva - I laughed at that as soon as I walked out ;)

Eliot's poetic lines are (usually) shorter, and do not look like prose on the page-- but, like the lines of e e cummings, they actually scan.

Thanks Aunt Shecky. I was trying to convey Eliot's voice, rather than follow his style of writing - though I don't think I succeeded (as I said before) ;)

I finally got a copy and typed it up... sorry if it's a little long ;)
I really don't like the start, but think the final paragraph is reasonable. Any thoughts?


The sunlight begins to fade, the tired streams of light losing hope – surrendering to the darkness. I sit in a worn-out chair, trying desperately to slow my mind, but to no avail. Endless questions plague my thoughts – Should I stay where I am and abandon the struggle against melancholy? Should I light the candles, or will the light attract too much attention? If I were to go out – where would I go?

My room seems to share my bleak outlook – the carpet, void of the vibrance and lushness implied by its faded pattern, slowly disintegrates, acting as a hollow reminder of its past. The threads from the bed sheet slowly twist around the bed post, pulling more and more substance away from the thin, uncomforting blanket. Even the candlestick, the guardian of light, stands alone – covered in dust – no match for the overwhelming darkness. A vase of lilacs, placed by the manager in an effort to liven up the room, fail to fulfil their purpose – instead withering and shrinking from the suffocating atmosphere of the closed-up room.

A weak beam of moonlight penetrates the darkness, and I rise from my chair to greet it. I reach the window and peer through the cracked pane at the city beneath me. The people below are beginning to stir, venturing forth slowly from their daytime retreats – preparing for the night to come. The burnt-out ash wicks are given new life – a sickly orange glow spreads along the canals. The flickering candles reflect across the black water – covering the surface like an outbreak of small pox.

The water is relentlessly stabbed and prodded by the poles of gondoliers, guiding their passengers through the irksome liquid towards the unknown. The hollowed-out inside of a once-grand tree is now packed with the slimy lumps of people – human oysters bob and sway along. The narrow sidewalks, a hardened crumbling accompaniment to the canals, swarm with people – becoming a liquid mosaic of skin and flesh. Flowing everywhere, people fill up the cracks in the path, bursting into every building, every alleyway and over every bridge.

There is a building, a while away, which resists my attempts to describe it. It stands alone, though is surrounded by small, submissive bulks of buildings – seeming both isolated and overwhelmed. I can’t decide what to make of it – are its walls blackened by the night or by some mysterious unholy power? Does it hold some unthinkable evil within it? Is that why it gives off such a disturbing vibe? Do I dare to seek the truth? Surely thinking about it can do no harm... or can it? Can you suffer at the hands of fate for contemplating the mysteries of the world? Have I disturbed the delicate balance which holds the Earth in place?

A mist creeps slowly over the scene – a blanket of grey dividing the black city from the dark sky. The sea of bodies becomes covered – only the eyes remain visible. A shiver runs down my spine as I feel the countless eyes on me – staring, gazing, fixating on me. A panic spreads over me, engulfing my ability to reason, I cannot breathe, the eyes continue in their relentless pursuit, I can’t escape them, I must retreat…

After great effort and manipulation, my feet answer me – begrudgingly yielding to my need. They, along with all who occupy this dreary Earth, must obey their master – must continue to perform tricks to satisfy my every whim. Like an elephant, in some far off, exotic land – trained to lift and push fallen trees – my feet fulfil their task, trudging along, desperately suppressing the painful memories of their past.

A newly-pressed suit lies in wait in the closet, scolded into submission by the brutality of steam. I dress slowly, ensuring every detail is attended to, but though my outward dress hints at the dignity I wish to display, it provides no relief. My collar, necktie and pin all in place – I can find no fault, and yet… something nags at me. Perhaps the Italians have different customs – do I dare step out in this style? No suit can hide what exists within, but should I make an effort to adopt their ways? I return to the window, edging forward slowly – peering through and praying the eyes are no longer there to taunt me.

The mist, pushed aside by the wind, has disappeared, and the eyes seem to have abandoned their pursuit. My relief is short lived, for as I stare out into the night a new terror rises to meet me. The water, having fed off the darkness of the night, has become a mass of black and grey – the apparent calm of the surface attempting to deceive. The moonlight shines across the motionless expanse – masking the true nature of the swamp beneath.

The gondolas, still persisting with their journey, carve through the dark liquid – now unrecognisable as the canal it once was. As their hard bottom slices the water to pieces a trail of ripples is left behind – scars of the trauma it has endured. The eerie calm of the surface, momentarily disturbed with these hideous mementos, opens up to reveal the dingy harshness beneath – the grime and residue left by countless years of abuse.

A smell wafts through the crack beneath my door – stealing my attention from the window. A hazardous mix of well-know smells and enticing perfume intoxicates me. It changes unexpectedly, and awaiting a renewal of the previous visit I foolishly gorge on this changed smell. This rancid, unbearable odour hints at the devious nature of acts being committed within these walls. I see her now, the source of these deceptive scents – stained by the weary repetitive nature of her work. Her eyes betray the front she adopts – their glossy, faded appearance revealing the pain concealed within.

I realise the bitter irony of my words – the painful revelation that the feelings I have described are my own stabs at me. The barrier I place between myself and reality defends me – yet leaves me void inside. I have become the dictator of my own misery, and perhaps the time has come to rebel. I turn the rusty door knob – determined to fight against the enemy I have harboured inside for so many years. But what next? How should I proceed? My fears have ruled me all my life – they are all I know. I release the doorknob and the safety of my misery welcomes me home.