Thread: Nocturne [vignette]

..........A constellation of freckles, the fruit of twelve summers, lay across Sarah’s cheeks and nose and brought to mind carefree days spent out of doors. Her large blue eyes were as clear as the cloudless sky and still sparkled with that undimmed mirth and joy of life that commonly abides in the female child before the complexities of adulthood loom large on the horizon.

..........But that usual light in Sarah’s face was veiled by clouds this night. There was a paleness in her cheeks and her head hung low where she sat. Upon her eyelashes, the remnants of tears glinted in the firelight. She began again, softly pressing the piano keys down with her slender fingers. The gentle rolling notes of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata filled the stifling air of the sitting room. She moved her head tenderly to one side as she concentrated all of her attention on bringing out the wordless melody that spoke so much. She finished the piece in the gentlest manner, lightly intoning the last notes and letting them fade away into silence before she lifted her foot from the pedal.

..........“Did you like that one, Grandfather?” she asked. The gentleman seated behind her continued to stare with blank eyes down and gave no hint of response. His grey visage seemed to droop slightly down from his skull, and his thin frame, all skeleton and skin, was insufficient to fill out his black suit, which draped shapeless around him sitting in the armchair. The cravat he wore, which had been tied for him, was loose, allowing the wrinkled folds of skin on his neck to hang down freely upon his starched collar.

..........A woman’s hand touched his shoulder. “Uncle, she played that one for you, remember how Auntie loved it?” The old man stirred not at all. The stillness of a graveyard in winter hung about him. Josephine, whose pretty forehead was creased with concern, let her hand remain on his slumping shoulder. The candles in the room flickered with some slight stirring of the air. The two aged men standing back by the wall shifted uncomfortably, and one whispered briefly to the other. He nodded a response and both looked forward again with grave faces. Their wives nearby held bunched lace handkerchiefs up to their faces.

..........Josephine glanced towards Sarah, who was gazing with moist eyes at her grandfather.

..........“Perhaps another piece, love,” Josephine said. “How about Chopin, you like Chopin don’t you, Uncle?” The man maintained his vacant stare. Sarah nodded and turned slowly around. She placed her hands above the keys and paused. She noticed that her hands were quivering. She took a breath and tried to calm herself. Her black taffeta dress rustled as she shifted on the bench. Then she began.

..........She played Nocturne in E-flat major, and with the opening notes there was a faint flicker in her grandfather’s eyes. Sarah deftly brought out in the simple melancholy strain a lilting optimism that seemed to ease the heaviness in the room. With a quieted note here and a well-executed trill there, Sarah managed in that moment to make the piece seem fresh and newly heard, when in truth Grandmother Agnes had played it hundreds of times on quiet evenings over the years on that very piano.

..........The fragile old man leaned forward, tremulous hands clasped before him. “Oh!” he said, with a rough-throated voice. He continued to exert himself and, as it became clear that he wished to stand, Josephine and the two men moved in swiftly to assist him. As he was being gently lifted to his feet, Sarah paused in her playing to look back over her shoulder. Josephine whispered to her, “Keep playing dear, it’s lovely.”

..........With the attentive assistance afforded him, the widower took slow small steps across the room towards the open coffin of polished mahogany. It was flanked by two large arrangements of white and yellow roses, and several small vases of lilies and violets were set nearby. Joseph approached his wife. Her face radiated that quiet grace even now. But her mouth was stiff, never to smile again. He reached out for her, and laid a wrinkled and spotted hand over her delicate folded hands. The skin on them was very white in this light, and nearly transparent in its thinness. And cold. He lowered his head.

..........Sarah gently quitted the piano bench, leaving the song unfinished. She placed an arm tenderly around her grandfather, who was weeping his first tears since his beloved’s passing.

This is lovely. There is something about reading works on the Internet that hampers my ability to get into a piece but I found no problem enjoying this short. My only issue was this: "was insufficient to fill out his black suit, which draped shapeless around him in the armchair." Is he wearing the suit or is the armchair wearing it?

Originally Posted by CoinOperatedSpork

This is lovely. There is something about reading works on the Internet that hampers my ability to get into a piece but I found no problem enjoying this short. My only issue was this: "was insufficient to fill out his black suit, which draped shapeless around him in the armchair." Is he wearing the suit or is the armchair wearing it?

thanks for the feedback - I added the word "sitting", see if that helps

glad you enjoyed it - I'm trying to branch out from poetry to narrative, this was practice - so any critique is helpful
---todd

"A constellation of freckles, the fruit of twelve summers, was arrayed across Sarah’s cheeks and nose in a manner that brought to mind the golden sunshine of carefree days spent out of doors."
this struck me as long and complex for a first sentence, may I suggest juggling the elements?

Arrayed across Sarah's cheeks and nose was a constellation of freckles, the fruit of twelve summers of golden sunshine and carefree days spent out of doors.
or
Twelve summers of golden sunshine and carefree days spent out of doors had arrayed a constellation of freckles across Sarah's cheeks and nose.

The cheeks and the freckles go together, and the summers and the sunshine.

"A stillness like that of a graveyard in winter"

I look for qualifiers and try to eliminate them.

"The stillness of a graveyard in winter"

Sounds so much more definite and does not invite the reader to explore the differences.

What a beautiful piece of writing. Your poetry skills really shine through in this with the lovely metaphors and analogies.

A constellation of freckles, the fruit of twelve summers, was arrayed across Sarah’s cheeks and nose in a manner that brought to mind the golden sunshine of carefree days spent out of doors. Her large blue eyes were as clear as the cloudless sky, and still sparkled with that undimmed mirth and joy of life that commonly abides in the female child before the complexities of adulthood loom large on the horizon.

I love the way you begin this piece, you encapsulate the youthfulness of Sarah really well. I like the way you begin the piece with Sarah, then we get a wider view of the room, and of course the grandfather, then you end with Sarah, it has a nice connection between the beginning and the end.

But that usual light in Sarah’s face was veiled by clouds this night. There was a paleness in her cheeks and her head hung low where she sat. Upon her eyelashes, the remnants of tears glinted in the firelight. She began again, softly pressing the piano keys down with her slender fingers. The gentle rolling notes of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata filled the stifling air of the sitting room. She moved her head tenderly sidelong as she concentrated all of her attention on bringing out the wordless melody that spoke so much. She finished the piece in the gentlest manner, lightly intoning the last notes and letting them fade away into silence before she lifted her foot from the pedal.

I felt like uttering 'bravo' after this. I like the imagery, especially the "firelight", you handle the music very well so that I can hear it when I read this. I like the way you introduce the allusion to sadness.

.“Did you like that one, Grandfather?” she asked the gentleman seated behind her, who continued to stare with blank eyes down, and gave no hint of response. His grey visage seemed to droop slightly down from his skull, and his thin frame, all skeleton and skin, was insufficient to fill out his black suit, which draped shapeless around him sitting in the armchair. The cravat he wore, which had been tied for him, was loose, allowing the wrinkled folds of skin on his neck to hang down freely upon his starched collar.

I felt the first sentence was too wordy, what about this instead?

“Did you like that one, Grandfather?”
The gentleman seated behind her continued to stare at the floor near his feet, and gave no hint of response.

We can gather he is her grandfather, no need to say it.

A woman’s hand touched his shoulder. “Uncle, she played that one for you, remember how Auntie loved it?” The old man stirred not at all. A stillness like that of a graveyard in winter still hung round about him. Josephine, whose pretty forehead was creased with concern, let her hand remain on his slumping shoulder. The candles in the room flickered with some slight stirring of the air. The two aged men standing back by the wall shifted uncomfortably, and one whispered briefly to the other. The other nodded and both looked forward again with grave faces. Their wives nearby held bunched lace handkerchiefs up to their faces.

I like the graveyard simile, obviously it fits well with the major event of this piece too. However I don't think the word "round" in the fourth sentence is necessary.

Josephine glanced towards Sarah, who was gazing with moist and bleary eyes at her grandfather.

..........“Perhaps another piece, love,” Josephine said. “How about Chopin, you like Chopin don’t you, Uncle?” The man maintained his vacant stare. Sarah nodded and turned slowly around. She placed her hands above the keys and paused. She noticed that her hands were quivering. She took a breath and tried to calm herself. Her black taffeta dress rustled as she shifted on the bench. Then she began.

Very nice. I'm not too sure about "bleary", it seems a little plain against the rest or your poetry I really liked the rustling of the black taffeta dress.

She played Nocturne in E-flat major, and with the opening notes a faint flicker passed over her grandfather’s eyes. Sarah deftly brought out in the simple melancholy strain a lilting lyrical optimism that seemed to ease the heaviness in the room. With a quieted note here and a well-executed trill there, Sarah managed in that moment to make the piece seem fresh and newly heard, when in truth Grandmother Agnes had played it hundreds of times on quiet evenings over the years on that very piano.

I think the following sentence "Sarah deftly brought out in the simple melancholy strain a lilting lyrical optimism that seemed to ease the heaviness in the room" could be reworked to show the way Sarah's playing lightened the room - perhaps there was some laughter from a corner of the room, Josephine smiled, or something, you get the picture, it'd be nice to see the way she changed the mood

The fragile old man leaned forward, tremulous hands clasped before him. “Oh!” he said, with a rough-throated voice. He continued to exert himself and, as it became clear that he wished to stand, Josephine and the two men moved in swiftly to assist him. As he was being gently lifted to his feet, Sarah paused in her playing to look back over her shoulder. Josephine whispered to her, “Keep playing dear, it’s lovely.”

Great use of simple dialogue here.

With the attentive assistance afforded him, the widower took slow small steps across the room towards where an open coffin of polished mahogany had been placed. It was flanked by two large arrangements of white and yellow roses, and several small vases of lilies and violets were set nearby. Joseph approached his wife. Her face radiated that quiet grace even now. But her mouth was stiff, never to smile again. He reached out for her, and laid a wrinkled and spotted hand over her delicate folded hands. The skin on them was very white in this light, and nearly transparent in its thinness. And cold. He lowered his head.

I like the use of the term "widower" saved for the end. You might consider changing the first sentence a little, again to something less wordy -

the widower took slow small steps across the room towards the open coffin of polished mahogany.

Sarah gently quitted the piano bench, leaving the song unfinished. She placed an arm tenderly around her grandfather, who was weeping his first tears since his beloved’s passing.

Great ending!

Overall I really liked this. It is such a poignant piece of writing, very beautiful. Thanks for sharing it

Edit - forgot to say I also like the title, fits nicely.

Clearly you’ve attempted to create a mood for this, and it mostly works.

What you also needed to do was concentrate on the nuts and bolts that held it together.

Here are a few things I noticed, that spoil the overall effect:

Her large blue eyes were as clear as the cloudless sky, and still sparkled with that undimmed mirth and joy of life that commonly abides in the female child before the complexities of adulthood loom large on the horizon.

But that usual light in Sarah’s face was veiled by clouds this night.

You can’t have it both ways. Either her eyes were clear and sparkling or the light in her face was “veiled by clouds”. As you intend the latter, you need to change the wording of the former so that it indicates what her eyes are normally like.

She moved her head tenderly sidelong

A movement of the head is part of the physical world. The word ‘tenderly’ on the other hand indicates an emotion, a feeling. Maybe a word like ‘gently’ would work.

However, we then run into the problem of the word ‘gently’, plus a derivative, already being used in this paragraph, and one of my pet peeves is overuse of any word in close context. It’s a hard one.

I can’t find anything in the dictionary to say your use of ‘sidelong’ in this context is incorrect, but even so I don’t like it. I think of sidelong glances or even comments. In this context I might have chosen ‘sideways’.

The two aged men standing back by the wall shifted uncomfortably, and one whispered briefly to the other. The other nodded and both looked forward again with grave faces.

The second ‘the other’ could be replaced with ‘He’.

a faint flicker passed over her grandfather’s eyes.

Examples of what could pass over one's eyes would be shadows, clouds and looks of varying types. They're all figures of speech. A flicker on the other hand is an actual physical movement within the constraints of the eyelids, and as such, the verb form ‘passed over’ is incorrect. If you think about it, I'm certain you'll come up with an alternative.



As I said, your intentions are good. You just need to work on how you say it.

Enchanting to read....I was wondering as I read --why there was an emotionally charged atmosphere in the room, I knew something was wrong--but not what--and knowing you Todd[just a little] from your poetry--I was more than a little afraid where this was going....But I had to know...I was hooked! loved the compelling visual imagery and the underlying feeling of tension .Great read! Peace...Jul

Thanks everyone for all the great feedback and generous tips - some really good advice here.
I plan on editing when I have time to process the feedback and weigh out alternatives.
thanks again -
---todd

A really lovely piece that brings with it a lot of emotion and atmosphere; I'm not sure I can add much to what's already been said, apart from to add my voice to those who have read it and enjoyed it!

Originally Posted by Atys

A really lovely piece that brings with it a lot of emotion and atmosphere; I'm not sure I can add much to what's already been said, apart from to add my voice to those who have read it and enjoyed it!

Thanks Atys, atmosphere and emotion were what I was going for - as well as a period piece, and the contrast of old and young, among other things.

I have made some edits based on feedback so far - I didn't make drastic changes to the first line, but hopefully it isn't as long and complex - I made many of the other suggested changes. I haven't yet decided about the "show not tell" suggestion about "easing the heaviness in the room", will have to give that more thought. I tinkered with it, but it ended up being too much, so I left as it for now.

Thanks again for the feedback so far - great suggestions, I've learned a lot
---todd

Wow this is good you got real potential here I like it. Sorry if this lacks any deep analysis but anything grandiose I'd have to say would eventually boil down to "this is good".

Originally Posted by ravensty

Wow this is good you got real potential here I like it. Sorry if this lacks any deep analysis but anything grandiose I'd have to say would eventually boil down to "this is good".

Thanks so much for the positive feedback, I really appreciate it - also, thanks for honoring me with your first comment posted on this site : )
---todd

When I reached the end of your piece, I wanted to keep reading. I would love for you to consider this as a work in progress and continue this well turned snippet.

fp

Originally Posted by feralpen

When I reached the end of your piece, I wanted to keep reading. I would love for you to consider this as a work in progress and continue this well turned snippet.

fp

thanks for this, and yes actually I was considering just yesterday that I could continue this into a series of similar pieces, exploring just who these folks are, where they live and what happens to them as the months and years unfold
---todd