Ambrose Bierce was a journalist who wrote for and edited a
number of newspapers and magazines for decades before vanishing in
northern Mexico in 1914, at a time when Pancho Villa and his
compañeros were riding high. Bierce’s literary
reputation (he was fond of noting that journalism was not to be
confused with literature) rests on several vivid, brutal short
stories about the Civil War, in which he served. He spent much of
the rest of his life in San Francisco, ending up in Washington,
D.C. for a dozen years or so.
Bierce was a stickler for precision in writing. He once said,
“Clear writing is clear thinking made visible.” His slender,
now-forgotten book titled Write it Right: A Little Blacklist of
Literary Faults was published in 1909. Some of its
approximately 400 examples of thou-shalt-nots are amusing today.
Take, for example, his caution that one should not use
“conservative” when one means “moderate” as in “‘a conservative
estimate’; ‘a conservative forecast’; ‘a conservative statement,’
and so on. These and many other abuses of the word are of recent
growth in the newspapers and ‘halls of legislation.’ Having been
found to have several meanings, ‘conservative’ seems to be thought
to mean everything.”
A San Francisco book dealer’s spring catalogue carried a listing
for this hard-to-find volume, so I snapped it up. As I went through
it, this irony struck me: Bierce, a career journalist, was
passionate about verbal precision and clarity in his writing, and
he used good grammar in its service. Today, setting aside fad words
and phrases of teenagers, it is journalists who, in large part,
have forsaken precision and clarity for endless — and thus
irritating — repetitions of slovenly phrases and who wring new and
confusing meanings out of words that were otherwise serviceable as
is.
Take “That said.” In newspaper and magazine stories, this often
begins a paragraph which follows a recitation of facts or
circumstances that are related to one another. The writer follows
“That said,” with some countervailing information. One wonders
whatever happened to “nevertheless.”
Another journalistic favorite is “arguably,” which is used
instead of “perhaps,” “may be” or “probably.” It is always used in
a context in which no one is likely to raise an argument.
The New York Times, which thinks of itself as the
arbiter of good journalistic taste, permits its writers to us
“like” as it if meant “such as,” which it does not. It means
“similar to.”
A common fad at present is to turn verbs into nouns and vice
versa. The computer world has given us “access” as a verb, but it
is journalists, especially those on television, who use the verbs
“construct,” “disconnect,” and “intercept” as if they were nouns
(as in, “There is a disconnect between what he said and what he
did”). Considering the glottal-stops required to convert these
verbs into nouns, they are actually more work for the person
speaking them.
Easily the most misused word among journalists today is “media.”
It is derived from a Latin word and is the plural of “medium.”
Today, it is frequently used as a singular noun by those who should
know better. To use it as if it were singular, one must assume that
the news media, collectively, are monumental — integrated and
unified — which of course they are not. Or, to put it another way,
the media, they is not monumental.
Six months to the day after the September 11, 2001 attacks,
television news readers and commentators were taking note of what
they called “the sixth-month anniversary” of the event.
“Anniversary” is derived from two Latin words, “annus” (year) and
“vertere” (to turn). Any dictionary will define it as “Commemorated
at the same date each year” or words to that effect. Thus, a
sixth-month “anniversary” does not exist.
Why does no one at news organizations spot these errors? Lazy
writers. Not enough editors. Not enough editors trained in the use
of the language. Indifference to clarity and precision. Widespread
abandonment of the teaching of grammar in public schools. Choose
any or all.
Which brings me to locutions that seem rooted in broader social
trends. Do you know anyone under the age of 30 who, when thanked
for something, says “You’re welcome”? Chances are your “Thank you”
will get as a reply, “No problem” (pronounced “prollem”). “You’re
welcome” means, in effect, you are welcome to the small service I
have just performed. The Spanish say de nada and the
French, who always find a long way to say short things, use il
n’ya pas de quoi. Both mean, in effect, “it was nothing; don’t
mention it.” Like “You’re welcome,” both express modesty and a
pleasure in accommodating the other person — positive notions. “No
problem,” on the other hand is assertive and negative: “You didn’t
cause me a problem — fortunately.” Americans like to think of
themselves as problem-solvers and this may be the basis for the
ugly phrase. What to do about it? No prollem. Next time you hear
the phrase, just reply, “”Funny, but it didn’t occur to me that it
would be a problem.”
