1. Study the following paragraph, decide which ideas are important,
and strike out the details that merely clog the thought:
As I stepped into the room, I heard the clock ticking and that caused me
to look at it. It sits on the mantelpiece with some layers of paper under
one corner where the mantel is warped. When the papers slip out or we move
the clock a little as we're dusting, the ticking stops right away. Of
course the clock's not a new one at all, but it's an old one. It has been
in the family for many a long year, yes, from even before my father's
time. Let me see, it was bought by my grandfather. No, it couldn't have
been grandfather that bought it; it was his brother. Oh, yes, I remember
now; my mother told me all about it, and I'd forgotten what she said till
this minute. But really my grandfather's brother didn't exactly buy it. He
just traded for it. He gave two pigs and a saddle, that's what my mother
said. You see, he was afraid his hogs might take cholera and so he wanted
to get rid of them; and as for the saddle, he had sold his riding-horse
and he didn't have any more use for that. Well, it isn't a valuable clock,
like a grandfather clock or anything of that sort, though it is antique.
As I was saying, when I glanced at it, it read seven minutes to six. I
remember the time very well, for just then the factory whistle blew and I
remember saying to myself: "It's seven minutes slow today." You see, it's
old and we don't keep it oiled, and so it's always losing time. Hardly a
day passes but I set it up--sometimes twice a day, as for the matter of
that--and I usually go by the factory whistle too, though now and then I
go by Dwight's gold watch. Well, anyhow, that tells me what time it was.
I'm certain I can't be wrong.
2. Study, on the other hand, The Castaway (Appendix 5) for its judicious
use of details. Defoe in his stories is a supreme master of verisimilitude
(likeness to truth). As we read him, we cannot help believing that these
things actually happened. More than in anything else the secret of his
lifelikeness lies in his constant faithfulness to reality. He puts in the
little mishaps that would have befallen a man so situated, the things he
would have done, the difficulties he might have avoided had he exercised
forethought. Though Defoe had little insight into the complexities of
man's inner life, he has not been surpassed in his accumulations of
naturalistic outer details. These do not cumber his narrative; they
contribute to its purpose and add to its effectiveness. In this selection
(Appendix 5) observe how plausible are such homely details as Crusoe's
seeing no sign of his comrades "except three of their hats, one cap, and
two shoes that were not fellows"; as his difficulty in getting aboard the
ship again; and as his having his clothes washed away by the rising of the
tide. Find half a dozen other such incidents that You consider especially
effective.
<Verbal Discords>
We may pitch our talk or our writing in almost any key we choose. Our
mood may be dreamy or eager or hilarious or grim or blustering or somber
or bantering or scornful or satirical or whatever we will. But once we
have established the tone, we should not--except sometimes for broadly
humorous effects--change it needlessly or without clear forewarning. If we
do, we create one or the other of two obstacles, or both of them, for
whoever is trying to follow what we say. In the first place, we obscure
our meaning. For example, we have been speaking ironically and suddenly
swerve into serious utterance; or we have been speaking seriously and then
incongruously adopt an ironic tone. How are our listeners, our readers to
take us? They are puzzled; they do not know. In the second place, we
offend--perhaps in insidious, indefinable fashion--the esthetic
proprieties; we violate the natural fitness of things. For example, we
have been speaking with colloquial freedom, sprinkling our discourse with
_shouldn't_ and _won't;_ suddenly we become formal and say
_should not_ and _will not_. Our meaning is as obvious as
before, but the verbal harmony has been interrupted; our hearers or
readers are uneasily aware of a break in the unity of tone.
A speaker or writer is a host to verbal guests. When he invites them to
his assembly, he gives each the tacit assurance that it will not be
brought into fellowship with those which in one or another of a dozen
subtle ways will be uncongenial company for it. He must never be forgetful
of this unspoken promise. If he is to avoid a linguistic breach, he must
constantly have his wits about him; must study out his combinations
carefully, and use all his knowledge, all his tact. He will make due use
of spontaneous impulse; but that this may be wise and disciplined, he will
form the habit of curiosity about words, their stations, their savor,
their aptitudes, their limitations, their outspokenness, their reticences,
their affinities and antipathies. Thus when he has need of a phrase to
fill out a verbal dinner party, he will know which one to select.
Certain broad classifications of words are manifest even to the most
obtuse user of English. _Shady_, _behead_, and _lying_ are
"popular" words, while their synonyms _umbrageous,_ decapitate,_
and _mendacious_ are "learned" words. _Flabbergasted_ and
_higgledy-piggledy_ are "colloquial," while _roseate_ and
_whilom_ are "literary." _Affidavit_, _allegro_, _lee shore_,
and _pinch hit_ are "technical," while _vamp_, _savvy_, _bum
hunch_, and _skiddoo_ are "slang." It would be disenchanting
indeed were extremes of this sort brought together. But offenses of a less
glaring kind are as hard to shut out as February cold from a heated house.
Unusual are the speeches or compositions, even the short ones, in which
every word is in keeping, is in perfect tune with the rest.
For the attainment of this ultimate verbal decorum we should have to
possess knowledge almost unbounded, together with unerring artistic
instinct. But diction of a kind only measurably inferior to this is
possible to us if we are in earnest. To attain it we must study the
difference between abstract and concrete terms, and let neither intrude
unadvisedly upon the presence or functions of the other; do the same by
literal and figurative terms and instruct ourselves in the nature and
significance of connotation.
Before considering these more detailed matters, however, we may pause for
a general exercise on verbal harmony.