A Walk Through Grand Central

Here are today’s Wonderful Words:

To the average man the immediate experience of Grand Central is neither architectural nor social; it is sensory. He passes through a marvelous sequence; emerging in a dense, slow-moving crowd from the dark, cool, low-ceilinged platform, he suddenly enters the immense concourse with its variety of heights and levels, its spaciousness, its acoustical properties, its diffused light, and the smooth texture of its floors and walls. Almost every sense is stimulated and flattered; even posture and gait are momentarily improved.

A Place of My Own, Michael Pollan, page 212

Background

A Place of My Own is a book about Pollan—a writer—building himself a writing room on his property. These sentences were part of a description of constriction and release, one of the many architectural principles Pollan explains throughout the book.

What makes it wonderful?

I used to commute through Grand Central Station every morning. This description took me back in time and made me feel like I was walking off the Harlem line, hurrying to a 9am meeting.

Everything about this description feels like the exact experience of Grand Central on a busy weekday morning.

When you emerge from the bowels of the station, from the dirty tracks to the breathtaking concourse, you’re overcome by the entire experience. You can hear the faint whine of a violinist performing in a distant corridor. The feel of the polished stone floor on your dress shoes makes you wish you could swap them for skates or a scooter. And the domed roof creates an audible illusion where you can hear everyone and noone all at the same time.

At its core, this passage is wonderful because it captures a strong sensory experience from the real world and translates it into words.

The description is perfect, but so is the cadence of the writing. The speed of the sentence increases when the subject enters the concourse, which is exactly what happens in real life.

Passengers exit the trains onto crowded, narrow platforms. They shuffle slow and steady, less like people and more like an amorphous blob. But as the blob reaches the concourse, it splits, speeds, and shoots each individual on their own path through the city. So the writing starts slow but speeds into staccato bursts to mimic the experience and make you feel like you’re there.

Let's get technical

This is a perfect example of imagery—descriptions so vivid they stimulate your senses to evoke a picture or a feeling.

I could feel my shoulders rubbing against other passengers on the platform. I could see the towering ceiling and the staircases rising toward the mezzanine. I could hear the echoes from the dome, and feel the slick shiny floors beneath my feet. And although the author never mentioned it, I could smell the fresh brewed coffee and warm bagels wafting through the hallways as I made my way toward Lexington Avenue and on to my office.

Imagery often paints a picture, but in this case it sets a scene—touching on multiple senses and dropping me into an experience.

Imagery is a powerful tool because senses are tied to memories. If you can evoke the right senses, you can trigger memories in your readers and make them feel like they’re a character in your writing rather than a voyeur watching from behind the page. And if you can reach beyond the description and write with a cadence to match the experience, that’s the mark of a masterful writer.

Happy writing,

Joe