A competition has broken out between American author William Faulkner and Russian-born émigré Vladimir Nabokov concerning who can write the longest sentence with the most subordinate clauses.
A sentence with a subordinate clause is grammatically considered a complex sentence because the meaning of the sentence relies on a subordinate conjunction and ancillary structure that serves to complement the main clause.
Both authors are taking the competition very seriously and insiders close to both authors are calling it "friendly yet hostile."
Both authors are taking the competition very seriously and insiders close to both authors are calling it "friendly yet hostile."
The conflict broke out after Nabokov read a review from one critic that asserted Faulkner being extremely wordy, to the point where his longer sentences "lose the reader."
Not to be outdone, Nabokov flexed his muscles and re-typed a sentence from his story "The Gift," which uses 96 words and at least 12 subordinate clauses. He sent a copy to the critic and an open letter challenging any writer to "write a sentence that could possibly be more unnecessarily long, gratuitous, and difficult."
"Thems fighting words," thought Faulkner. "Unnecessarily long, gratuitous, and difficult is my bread and butter."
Faulkner answered the letter with an aggressive and confrontational response, sending a sentence from his short story "That Evening Sun," which uses 118 words and 15 subordinate clauses.
At the bottom of the paragraph he wrote the word "superiority."
Let's just say that's when things started to escalate. Nabokov then dipped into his novels and found a sentence from Lolita, which only uses 99 words, but employs at least 17 decipherable subordinate clauses and at least 8 additional restrictive clauses.
Faulkner maintained size and quality, submitting a grammatically correct 122 word single-sentence from Absolom, Absolom which uses 20 subordinate clauses, three relative clauses, and one conditional clause.
"Deadwood, indeed," he signed.
Faulkner thought that was the end of the matter, but his antagonizing tone woke The Bear.
Faulkner got word that Nabokov had increased the ante and begun writing an original prolonged sentence and was actively working on it from his home in Montreux. There he was, night and day using free-hand composition, without the use of reference tools.
Now the contest was on. Forgoing his usual weaponry of his Underwood Universal Portable typewriter, Faulkner took out a trusty pen and also began to write a new sentence, lingering on a thought and drawing out every detail about a subject until the image was devoid of any real meaning.
This was his wheelhouse.
For months, the two writers have been engaged in this sort of demonstration of dominance and power, rarely getting up to use the bathroom while their wives mix and pump each author up with his favorite cocktail.
Each author is going for broke, demonstrating a needless skill and futile flourish of the written language. It’s no longer just a battle of subordinate clauses, but also the heedless use of gerund, participle, metonia, and diazeugma.
Critics and friends agree that this "arms race" has kept the literary heavyweights busy and tension between them has cooled. But they debate whether this rivalry increases or decreases the risk of all out blows, leading to more dire consequences.
Leading literary journalist and longtime friend of both authors Edmund Wilson is reminded of a quote from Sir Edward Grey, Britain's Secretary of State during World War One.
Wilson quoted, "The moral is obvious; it is that great armaments lead inevitably to war."