Inside ancient Jerusalem, someone couldn’t see beyond the walls but had to anticipate what lay ahead by what came through the city gate. The Nazarene by Sholem Asch was first published in 1939, back when long paragraphs and endless descriptions were popular.
Text as It Appears in the Book:
And there was a great press of people at the gate, for many folk returned then from the fields, and they had with them donkeys laden with grain; likewise there were caravans of camels laden with cruses of oil and honey and flaxen and woolen clothes and all manner of merchandise. For the city of Naim was rich with possessions and the rich men were not content with the produce of their land, but imported much merchandise from afar. But for all that, there were some in that press of men and animals who remarked that a Rabbi had come to the city with his disciples (for we had surrounded him, that his robe might not be soiled) and they called to one another, “Make a way.” And when it was toward darkness, there was one at last—he was a boy leading his donkey—who looked upon us and called out: “See, the man of wonders of the city of K’far Nahum is coming unto us.”
Now, readers want short sentences and short paragraphs.
Every paragraph needs to be filled with thought, feeling, and action. We’re told to “show,” don’t “tell,” but what does that mean? And how do we do it?
In “telling,” we have the feeling of a reporter who is giving us information. Boring.
In “showing,” we have only enough information to make us want to find out what will happen next. Readers like this approach because it resembles the romance, suspense, and mystery of everyday life.
After reading Sholem Asch’s paragraph, we can develop a feel for what a blind beggar sitting at the marketplace might see as he anticipates what is coming.
Here’s one way we might write a scene to engage today’s readers:
People passed through the city gate, but their numbers and rapid movement seemed more intense than usual. Harvesters came from the fields, their donkeys braying complaint for their heavy loads of grain. Camels plodded at a caravan’s pace, ready to unload their treasures of olive oil, honey, and rich perfumes.
The rich were never content, always wanting more, so they eagerly shopped the tables, negotiating a better price for something they didn’t really need. Of what value was a rug from Persia? Supposedly, the richness of the weave justified the exorbitant price, but native wool would have felt just as good if it were not so cheaply obtained.
In the exchange of drachmas for merchandise, the sounds were different from before, strangely hurried. Then the whispers increased like the wind before a storm. A gruff voice shouted, “He’s coming.”
A Jewish dignitary, perhaps, but who? The man’s tone had contained excitement, which was different from anticipating the arrival of a Roman magistrate or even a king. Who could this be?
Then came the joyful cry of a youth. “He’s at the gate. The miracle worker.”
