I bought an antique mantle clock recently. I’ve always appreciated old clocks and have been toying with the idea of one for a while, and finally pulled the trigger on a little 1938 beauty made of walnut.
My clock was made in England by manufacturer Smiths-Enfield, and would have come on the tail end of a fairly productive period for clock making in England. When war broke out in 1939, most if not all of these companies turned their attention to the war effort. Clock making continued in the war years, but at a trickle.
What I like most about this clock is its quality but also its pragmatism. It tells perfect time, has clean lines with enough decorative touches to give it character. It also has a deep, simple chime on the hour and half hour. The ornate, fussy or frilly clocks really don’t appeal to me.
As I consider what appeals to me about clocks and about my new/old clock specifically, it seems to parallel to what I like about novels and novel writing styles. I like clean writing, as in, oral or written gymnastics are distracting and unappealing to my sensibilities as a reader. I don’t like flowery, encumbered, cluttered writing. Nor do I like novels that go off in dozens of different directions, trying to do too much. Colloquial is good. So is unpretentious. Having said that, however, I do appreciate a turn of phrase that is new and exciting, and I love writing that makes me stop and think, as well as feel.
Interestingly enough, my clock was mass produced for its day, and therefore not especially collectible. But you know what? That doesn’t bother me a bit. The books I read are mass produced too and not collectible. That’s why they appeal, with the proof being that many thousands and sometimes millions of people also enjoy those same books. As with my old clock, it was designed to be reliable and to appeal to the masses.
So as I sit listening the my old clock chime tonight, I think I’m going to pull out a Charles Dickens classic to read because, well, when in Rome…
