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Wine writing and the curse of purple prose |
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By Derek Lavallee
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Posted: 03/13/08 06:45 PM [ET] |
“Dark and packed with a large core of hoisin sauce, Port reduction, bittersweet cocoa, raw steak, raspberry ganache and charcoal that manages to stay fleshy and driven through the long structured finish. A stallion of a wine. Offers youthful impact now, but really built for cellaring — unlike most of its peers, which offer vivid fruit right out of the gate.”
As someone who reads and writes a lot of wine reviews, I have a considerably high tolerance for the lofty words and phrases unique to lexicon of the subculture of wine writing. But this particular narrative of a red wine from Chile offends even my soggy sensibilities. Does something evocative of a three-course barbeque in a blender sound like something you want to sip, let alone pay $44 to do so?
To use one metaphor to shame another — this description jumps the shark.
Purple prose is a term of literary criticism used to describe writing that is flamboyant and evocative beyond the requirements of its context. It employs certain rhetorical effects like exaggerated sentiment or pathos to manipulate a reader’s response. I am disheartened to observe that purple prose also aptly describes much of contemporary wine writing. Whether inspired by a sincere but strenuous attempt to describe that which is inherently subjective, or an egotistical outlet for frustrated poets using wine as their muse, most wine-speak typically results in alienation of the reader.
Thankfully, there are some oenophiles who can turn the purple pen on themselves. Greg Sumner created a computer program, called Silly Tasting Notes Generator, which automatically creates random descriptions from a database modeled on the following characteristic sentence structure: (Intro) (Modifier) (Adjective) (Varietal). (Adverb) (Adjective) (Flavor) flavors, (Adjective) (Flavor), and (Strength-word) (Flavor). Drink (When) through (End When).
The results are amusing, especially considering they are not much more absurd than real review: “Crisp and oily Sauvignon Blanc. Resembles quail egg casserole, morally superior bong water and corpulent marrow. Drink now through whenever the cows come home.”
Have you ever noticed that all wine reviews seem to include references to berries, no matter how arcane the fruit? This is a description of California Syrah: “wonderful aromas of rich, chocolaty blackberry and boysenberry, with a touch of huckleberry.” What, no Halle or Chuck Berry?
I am not opposed to all far-reaching metaphors to impart an image or feeling central to a wine’s character. One of my favorites comes from a group of nuns who described wine made from the Burgundy vineyard left in their charge as “smooth as the baby Jesus in velvet pants.”
Most wine reviews are fairly uniform in length, ranging from 15 to 30 words. A recent blog post on the subject (hey, I said subculture) declared that “if each sentence wants to make you read the next, good. Otherwise, haiku.” Lane Steinberg, a wine-blogger whose self-described main interests are “wine, women and song” (in that order), answered the haiku call. His reviews are limited to the disciplined 5-7-5 syllables-per-line form. They range from the cutting —
The Little Penguin Pinot Noir 2004 (Australia)
Poor Mr. Pinot
They went and cut out his brain
Now he just smiles
— to the unsettling:
Frei Brothers Redwood Creek Syrah 2002 (California)
Like a candy cane
That fell into the toilet
Gross, but kinda fun
— to the whimsical:
Mollydooker ‘The Maitre D’ Cabernet 2005 (Australia)
Newfoundland puppy
Tearing up the furniture
Love it to pieces
My recommendation this month: Columbia Crest Grand Estates Chardonnay 2005 ($12). Why? Because it tastes good.
Derek LaVallee is vice president, U.S. Public Affairs Practice at Waggener Edstrom Worldwide, and a certified wine buff. He can be reached at
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