Bad diction: the uninhabited clause (9)

Today we look again at the overuse of the uninhabited clause, a form of bad diction. I use the phrase “uninhabited clause” to describe a main clause* with a subject that is a physical thing or a concept, as opposed to a person or group of persons. It is a main clause that has no people in it.

Now, there’s nothing inherently wrong with an uninhabited clause. But when we use a lot of them, we tire and irritate our readers.

An example of the overuse of the uninhabited clause

Today’s example is an excerpt from an essay titled “Wind Power,” in which the author discusses public statements of U.S. Treasury Secretary Timothy Geithner. Here are two consecutive paragraphs from the essay, with the subject of each main clause in boldface:

“In his own way, Geithner – along with his predecessor, Henry Paulson, Ben Bernanke, et al. – has been generating his own form of wind power in an effort to disguise the corporate-state self-serving ends that have, for decades, underlain government economic policies. There is an increased public consciousness of the realpolitik at work in the halls of state that makes it difficult for intelligent minds to any longer indulge the establishment-serving media’s explanations of governmental behavior. Hollywood film studios would, today, be unable to produce a Mr. Smith Goes to Washington with a straight face.

“The giggling must have commenced even in the congressional hearing room when Mr. Geithner began his public catechisms about how the conferral of hundreds of billions of dollars on AIG was undertaken for the benefit of American taxpayers. Nor was his self-contradiction more evident than when he first declared that trust in the financial system required disclosure and transparency, but later warned that it would be a grave mistake to make public the machinations of the Federal Reserve Board. Such actions (i.e., exposure to the American people about how the Fed actually operates) would destroy this agency’s ‘independence.’ There was even some suggestion that the cause of ‘national security’ had been invoked early on when the AIG bailout was being considered! Such are the consequences whenever hot air is disguised as cool reasoning.”

Critique of the example

I’m sure you can feel it. Whenever a writer uses a lot of main clauses with non-human subjects, his writing feels academic, theoretical and irrelevant. He conveys to the reader a sense that “nobody’s doing anything.”

In these two paragraphs, the author has used eight sentences, with eight main clauses, with eight subjects. Six subjects are non-human. Two are human: Geithner is a person and film studios are groups of persons.

Geithner has been generating
consciousness is
studios would be unable
giggling must have commenced
self-contradiction was
actions would destroy
suggestion was
Such are

The author has done other things that further increase the academic feel of the text: he has used 2.8 clauses per sentence (high), and he has used 28.3 words per sentence (high). All else being equal, the higher we make those numbers go, the more we risk tiring and irritating our readers.

The Takeaway: Whenever you feel that your prose is bloodless, conduct this test. Select a paragraph or two. Then take out a pen and circle every non-human subject of every main clause. Then read aloud all those non-human subjects and their verbs, as in the list above. You will see, hear and feel the lifelessness of your copy. Where possible, put in some people. It will make your prose feel more alive to the reader.

*Also called primary clause, independent clause, and sentence.

See disclaimer.

How to avoid writing “awful” business copy

If you write business copy for an employer or for yourself, I have a brief reading assignment for you. I hope you will accept it.

It’s a 1400-word article titled, “Why Is Business Writing So Awful?,” by a software entrepreneur named Jason Fried (pictured). It is one of the best pieces I have ever read on this topic.

Mr. Fried says, “If you could taste words, most corporate websites, brochures, and sales materials would remind you of stale, soggy rice cakes: nearly calorie free, devoid of nutrition, and completely unsatisfying.”

He warns, “When you write like everyone else and sound like everyone else and act like everyone else, you’re saying, ‘Our products are like everyone else’s, too.’ ”

Then he does something very helpful; he describes three companies that unmistakably stand out, and he shows you why they stand out.

The Takeaway: Read “Why Is Business Writing So Awful?,” by Jason Fried. If the ideas in it are thoroughly familiar to you, be proud and walk tall. You are one of the champions. If they are not, read the piece a few times and assimilate the ideas. It will be the best thing you do for yourself this year.

Writers, check your facts

To strengthen the credibility of your writing, check your facts. Make sure you are accurately stating and accurately citing the facts you’re using. A significant error in your use of facts can detract from your credibility.

Example

U.S. President Barack Obama, who once taught constitutional law at the University of Chicago, apparently confused the Constitution of the United States and the Declaration of Independence while publicly reading his scripted State of the Union Address, January 27, 2010 (photo).

Mr. Obama read, in part, “We find unity in our incredible diversity, drawing on the promise enshrined in our Constitution: the notion that we’re all created equal; that no matter who you are or what you look like, if you abide by the law you should be protected by it; if you adhere to our common values you should be treated no different than anyone else.” (Boldface added.)

In fact, “the notion that we’re all created equal” is not even mentioned in the Constitution.

The notion is prominently stated in the Declaration. The second sentence in the Declaration begins: “We hold these Truths to be self-evident, that all Men are created equal...”

What makes this error so significant is that these facts are common knowledge, even among school children.

Seven weeks earlier (December 10, 2009), Mr. Obama publicly misrepresented the president’s oath of office. The exact words of the oath are prescribed in Article II, Section 1 of the Constitution.

The Takeaway: Don’t embarrass yourself. After you write and edit something, take the time to check your facts.

See disclaimer.

Don’t write like a lawyer (2)

In my April 29 post I explained why you generally should not write like a lawyer. I mentioned the writing of contracts; we pay lawyers to write contracts because lawyers are good at anticipating and describing every possible event that may affect a contract. That’s why contracts sound tedious. They are not really prose.

A similar example is the writing of government regulations. Lawyers who write regulations try to anticipate every possible misinterpretation by every possible reader: smart, dumb or in between. Here’s a great example from Richard Mitchell, “The Underground Grammarian.” This is from the second and third paragraphs of Chapter 12 of his 1979 book, Less Than Words Can Say:

Example

“It’s hard to decide whether the people at OSHA [Occupational Safety and Health Administration] are simply ineffectual bumblers or supremely talented satirists boring from within. Here, for instance, is how they define an exit: ‘That portion of a means of egress which is separated from all other spaces of the building or structure by construction or equipment as required in this subpart to provide a protected way of travel to the exit discharge.’ That’s not all. Now they elaborate on ‘means of egress’: ‘A continuous and unobstructed way of exit travel from any point in a building or structure to a public way [which] consists of three separate and distinct parts: the way of exit access, the exit, and the way of exit discharge.’

“That’s certainly ugly, and it makes us wonder whether an exit has to be defined at all, and, if it does, why couldn’t it just be called a way to get out. Then we wonder why a ‘means of egress’ has to be defined at all, and, if it does, why couldn’t it be called a way to get to the exit. If these reservations seem reasonable to you, it’s because you’re just not thinking. You are assuming that any ghastly mess of verbiage that comes from a bureaucracy needs to be simplified because it is needlessly complicated to begin with. Wrong. As it happens, that horrid prose serves its aims perfectly. Regulations of this nature have one clear purpose, and that is to answer, before the fact, any imaginable questions that might be asked in a court of law. For that purpose it’s not enough to assume that everyone knows what an exit is. Is a door an exit? Maybe, but maybe not, if a drill press just happens to be standing in front of it. Is a hole in the wall acceptable as an exit? Do you really get out of the building (let’s say it’s ready to blow up) if you go through a door and find yourself in an enclosed courtyard instead of a ‘public way’? You don’t have to be very clever to think of lots of other such questions, and the writer of this regulation is thinking about your questions. He has done a good job, although he has written something very ugly. But it’s only ugly; it’s not wrong, it’s not more complicated than it has to be.” (Boldface added.)

The Takeaway: Don’t write like a lawyer. Lawyers write for purposes different from yours. Most of what they write is intended to be exhaustive, plausible or intimidating. That doesn’t necessarily mean it’s wrong. But it does mean it’s not prose as you and I think of prose.

See disclaimer.

Practical tips for writers (2) – Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.

Here’s another list of practical tips for writers. It’s an essay by the great satirist Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. (pictured). The essay is titled “How to Write with Style.”* Not surprisingly, it is both practical and entertaining. A sample:

5. Sound like yourself

The writing style which is most natural for you is bound to echo the speech you heard when a child. English was the novelist Joseph Conrad’s third language, and much that seems piquant in his use of English was no doubt colored by his first language, which was Polish. And lucky indeed is the writer who has grown up in Ireland, for the English spoken there is so amusing and musical. I myself grew up in Indianapolis, where common speech sounds like a band saw cutting galvanized tin, and employs a vocabulary as unornamental as a monkey wrench…. [However,] I myself find that I trust my own writing most, and others seem to trust it most, too, when I sound most like a person from Indianapolis, which is what I am.

The Takeaway: Read and internalize Mr. Vonnegut’s essay, “How to Write with Style.”

*This essay has appeared many places during the last three decades. This appearance, in a 1980 advertisement for International Paper Company, is the earliest I have found.