Without prose there is no story.
Good prose does far more than just relay information, it shapes the way the reader experiences the narrative. It establishes the mood, creates atmosphere, reveals character and theme. In fact, the bulk of a writer’s narrative voice is revealed through prose.
It is in their word choice, pacing, rhythm, flow, and tone. It is in how they construct sentences and the language they choose. The short, choppy sentences with punchy verbs that create the quick, cutting angles of a fight scene. The slow, meandering and flowery adjectives that let us warm ourselves in sun-drenched, flower-strewn glades under endless blue skies. The pause. The delicate touch. The indrawn breath. The trembling lips and pounding heart just before he leans in…
All of those choices, ones that change and shift over the course of a narrative, are the colors with which an author paints a mental image for the reader to enjoy. And some authors are so good at this, their work so recognizable, that you know it as soon as you read the first paragraph. The lean, muscular prose of Hemingway. The fluid, introspective, lyrical prose of Virginia Woolfe. The dense, complex, stream-of-consciousness style of James Joyce. The clever, conversational warmth and familiarity of Emily Henry.
Those authors are not just recognized for the kinds of stories they tell but the WAY they tell them. How their prose conveyes nuance, creates subtext and depth, builds characters and worlds from the ground up with the subtle strokes of the right word chosen at the right time.
Now, I will grant you that every reader has a different bar over which an author must spring in order for the prose to be both readable and enjoyable. And each author has different preferences for the sound and style of their prose, some wanting simple, effective writing and others striving for elegance or opulence.
And none of those are wrong. But they are artistic choices, ones the author should be making in the service of the story they want to tell and what they believe is the best way to communicate it. But ignoring prose altogether, or acting as if it is an afterthought to storytelling not only misunderstands what prose is altogether, but defames the crucial role it plays in communicating the story.
Without prose, there is no story. Only ideas in a writers head. How a story is told can elevate or debase it, can make the characters clearer or more opaque, can communicate themes and emotions that leave tears on cheeks or create sighs of unfulfilled frustration.
The telling of the story exists in the prose.