Genevieve Simms
English ‘as it should be spoken and written’
Words. Like every other Fast Forward writer I depend on my selection of words. If I make a wrong choice an inappropriate choice or even just a dull choice I reduce the chances of conveying my ideas to the reader.
Sir Ernest Gowers understood this well. A distinguished civil servant in postwar Britain he produced The Complete Plain Words as a guide to help other bureaucrats express themselves clearly. It’s also a snapshot of the English language — as used by the English — at a time of change with Gowers noting in particular a trend towards informality (which he admitted was to “be welcomed rather than deplored”) and the Americanization of the language (spread through the 1950s’ TV cultural revolution and the global influence of the United Nations preference for American English).
Sixty years later Gowers’s concerns look quaintly antiquated. Yet still with some regularity there appear valiant (if doomed) efforts to defend the English language “as it should be spoken and written.” Paul Yeager’s slim volume Literally the Best Language Book Ever may be counted among these. Yeager a weatherman by profession has compiled a list of 350 linguistic abuses ranging from overworked clichés (light as a feather) to illogical phrases (I could care less) to tautological redundancies (foreseeable future). It’s a mildly entertaining and occasionally barbed reminder of the need to write and speak with more precision.
Yet ultimately Yeager’s litany serves only to remind that as Gowers understood languages are shaped far more by democratic practise than by grammatical principles. He may well be correct in his assault on such nonsense as the “honest truth” and being “partially naked” (you’re either naked or you’re not) but the tide of mass indifference has already washed over such objections.
In any case words themselves present far more fundamental challenges challenges that confront anyone who attempts to meet Gowers’s criteria of making the reader comprehend his (or her) meaning “readily and precisely.” Here are three of them.
First the selection of any word must by definition exclude all the countless alternatives that the writer could have chosen instead. Every time you start a letter story report etc. your first word denies all your other options. And so does the next word and the third and so on. This might be fine as the job has to get done somehow but if you have any doubts about the choice you make each time then the odds of you accurately “conveying ideas from one mind to another” are reduced.
This might not be an issue with simple declarative statements such as “The dog chased the cat” but for anything slightly more complex there’s always a risk of uncertainty.
For example I’ve just picked at random from my bookshelf George Orwell’s Burmese Days . The second sentence reads: “It was only half past eight but the month was April and there was closeness in the air a threat of the long stifling midday hours.” Looks straightforward enough. However while the words “closeness” and “stifling” convey a sense that we assume Orwell wants us to apprehend can we be sure that his intention and our comprehension correspond? What words might he have rejected before settling on those two? Does “closeness” convey the same image to you as it does to me?
Such lingering doubts relate to the second problem with words: they lack concrete identity. As poststructuralists like to point out words consist of two basic components: the signifier i.e. the arbitrary selection of letters that bears no relationship to the object they denote; and the signified i.e. the concept or image that is induced by the signifier. For example the word “cat” in itself has no intrinsic connection to the furry creature it signifies (which is why the French Germans etc. have their own words for the same animal). Likewise the specific image that “cat” brings to mind varies from person to person (orange cat? Three-legged cat? Fat cat?). As a result even simple statements like “The dog chased that cat” defy a common interpretation among readers.
A third problem is more personal. There are some words and phrases that for whatever reason I actively dislike and cannot bring myself to use (in speech or writing) even when they are clearly the most appropriate word or words to use. This goes beyond Yeager’s disdain for overworked clichés and has nothing to do with whether a specific word is vulgar politically incorrect or jargon. It’s simply that I don’t like and can’t use certain words.
And it’s not just me. I asked around and found that others have their own lists of verboten words. One colleague at work hates “vagina” while my wife loathes “odour” and “slacks.” Me I will avoid at all costs using “yummy” “munchies” “facilitate” “sashay” “fondue” “circumspect” “gag” “cornucopia” “bye-bye” “synergy” “bamboozle” and “to die for.”
Why these words? I have no idea. All I know is that I’ll go to great lengths to avoid using them — and many other words too — whenever possible even if they’re the most appropriate choice at the time. And given that there really isn’t another word for “fondue” I fear I often fall short of meeting Sir Ernest’s objective.
