11.29.07
Communication: Written, Oral, and Digital
In C.S. Lewis’s introduction to Mere Christianity, he reccounts that he composed the work as a series of lectures, which he then turned into print form. In doing so, he left the contractions in the text and used italics to convey the emphasis from his voice. In the later addition, he reconsidered the matter, deciding that the written form should be without contractions, and he recast the sentences with italics to create emphasis through structure and word choice, as befits the written medium. (Ironically, I listened to this written edition of his work on a CD recording.)
I agree with C.S. Lewis that the written and spoken language are distinct media for communication, possessing different advantages and warranting different treatment. Often in reading briefs, I would guess that one was the product of dictation based on the casual tone, contractions, and (sometimes) lack of coherent paragraph structure. Personally, I have never managed to draft by talking, but I do know and respect several attorneys who manage to do so without compromising the written form. Similarly, oral arguments that were essentially read from a script lacked the necessary engagement and versatility to persuade judges whose questions did not follow the advocate’s plan.
I would further note that the digital age and speed of communication has brought forth another medium: text messaging and email, which bear with them a peculiar abbreviated and informal style. (If I could have, I would have managed to produce a sentence here with a slew of the latest coined phrases, but, alas, such is not my gift.) In business, I have treated email as written letters, but I harbor an instinct to treat digital communication differently. Among friends, I would be happier to forget the shift key and formal punctuation, and dash off quick notes. Of course, such informalities are best suited for true friends, as such shortcuts often lose a sense of tone, often causing ambiguities and potential offense if the reader does not give the sender the benefit of the doubt. Hence, one friend’s advice to wait before hastily clicking send. I do wonder what C.S. Lewis would think of today’s rushed use of language, the near evaporation of real letters (with stamps!), and (perhaps?) loss of the appreciation of lingustics and word origins.
11.28.07
E’ = E – b
E-prime equals English minus the being verbs. I recently read about this subset of the English language, “E-prime”, which some advocate for legal writing. Lawyers did not invent e-prime (see here, describing its origins in semantics and offering a taste of my grad school days–check out the relativism in the ‘improved’ sentences), but lawyers may benefit from the discipline the ‘language’ imposes. The omission of being verbs makes writing more efficient, forces writers to employ less cumbersome verb phrases, eliminates the passive voice and other ambiguities, and generally shortens and focusses communication. That said, complete elimination of being verbs creates a slavery of its own (for example, if arguing for a client’s actual innocence, should not the lawyer simply say, “the defendant is innocent”?). Sometimes we do want to make absolute identity statements, making “is” the most efficient word choice (for example, Superman is Clark Kent, Samuel Clemens is Mark Twain). Nonetheless, E-prime offers a method to disciplining one’s drafting. Although the billing attorney may not afford the luxury of “translating” a brief into e-prime, keeping the rule in mind while drafting might tighten one’s thoughts and make reading easier for the law clerks and judges who spend their days skimming briefs.
11.26.07
Eating Words
My Dear Husband pointed me to a fun (well, fun to me at least) website that provides a feast of words–literally. It is a vocabulary test, and for each correct response, ten grains of rice are donated to the UN World Food Program. Dear Husband also reports that it’s legitimate–yay! So, feed the hungry, learn new words, and consider any procrastinating on the site to be a corporal work of mercy! Feel free to share any favorite new words below.
Split Infinitives
After communion, our priest invites the extraordinary ministers of Holy Communion “please to come forward.” Perhaps the regularity of his invitation allowed my ear to catch that he never splits the infinitive! Week after week, the “to” always comes out next to “come,” and the “please” precedes them both (instead of coming between them, as one expects). I am fairly certain that in speaking I regularly slice and dice my infinitives, although I try to purge them from my writing.
In H.W. Fowler’s entry on the split infinitive in Modern English Usage, he writes: “The English-speaking world may be divided into (1) those who neither know nor care what a split infinitive is; (2) those who do not know, but care very much; (3) those who know and condemn; (4) those who know and approve; and (5) those who know and distinguish.” He amusingly describes those in class (1) as “the vast majority” who “are a happy folk, to be envied by most of the minority classes; ‘to really understand’ comes readier to their lips and pens than ‘really to understand’, they see no reason why they should not say it (small blame to them, seeing that reasons are not their critics’ strong point) & they do say it, to the discomfort of some among us, but not to their own.”
For most of my adult writing life, I have fallen into class (3): knowing and condemning. Keeping infinitives together reflects an awareness of grammar, which in today’s education may only come when learning a foreign language that has a single-word infinitive (Latin’s fumare, for example). Yet, as I have recently reflected on the versatility of English’s two-word infinitive, I have slipped into class (5): knowing and distinguishing. Fowler’s entry continues: “We maintain, however, that a real [split infinitive], though not desirable in itself is preferable to either of two things, to real ambiguity, & to patent artificiality. For the first, we will rather write ‘Our object is to further cement trade relations’ than, by correcting into ‘Our object is further to cement . . . ‘, leave it doubtful whether an additional object or additional cementing is the point. And for the second, we take it that such [awkward recasting of sentences] are far more abnormal than the abnormality they evade.” The occasional use of a split infinitive to avoid ambiguity or artificiality still pains me. (I resist the urge to drop a footnote to excuse and explain the usage.) I do, however, find it useful to think of splitting the infinitive as an advantage of the two-word verb form, intrinsic to the language. Why not take advantage of it when appropriate? Thoughts?
Word in Context: argot
I like finding the right word. Often the right word is a simple word. The mantra of an old English teacher to “prefer the simple word” still echoes in my head as I draft. Yet the English language provides a feast of vocabulary options with subtleties or efficiencies and, in the proper context, I think fancy, precise words are fun and admirable. On the Seventh Circuit, Judge Easterbrook (who is reputed to author his own opinions without initial drafts from law clerks) often offers a delicacy to the reader. I like his work because it never seems as if he is stretching to use a big word. He just chooses a precise word to convey his meaning. This suggests a trenchant mind that has plenty of word choices! Here’s one example (other favorites will follow from a variety of judges regularly).
“And without any prospect of rivals’ exit, there is also no prospect of higher prices later (“recoupment,” in antitrust argot) and no antitrust worry.” Schor v. Abbott Labs., No. 05-3344 (7th Cir. July 26, 2006). [It's a published opinion, but I don't have access to Westlaw or Lexis to get the F.3d cite, alas. I miss my passwords . . . ]
As you may have guessed, argot means a specialized vocabulary or idioms used by a particular group. It’s more formal than “lingo” or “jargon,” befitting a legal opinion, and more efficient and less cumbersome than “in the language of” or some such phrase. I like it.
11.21.07
The Extraordinarily Ordinary Life
I eagerly anticipate the postal worker’s regular trek to our home and the surprises he often bears, but the arrival of magazines is always a mixed joy. Many of them are unsolicited, and often not even that interesting, but somewhere along my life’s journey I developed the compulsion to read (or attempt to read) whatever arrives. I fear missing some little gem hidden among the tedious pages of bar journals and other materials. Every now and then I find something to reinforce this compulsive habit, like this line in a recent letter to the editor of a university publication: “. . . some alumni who are ‘extraordinarily ordinary’ never get into the magazine except for a death notice.” The alumnus writes that the previous issue of the publication “brought the sad news of the death of” a friend and fellow alumnus “who was extraordinarily ordinary, who worked hard, loved his family, [and] was a good citizen,” concluding simply that “[h]e will be missed.”
The extraordinarily ordinary. St. Madeline Sophie Barat founded the Religious of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, the order that educated me for thirteen years. We learned that she would have founded the order “for the sake of one child.” (Curiously, the correct translation may be “for the soul of one child,” but I leave that for another post.) I, perhaps like most of the students, wondered if I were that child. Would I become president, discover a critical cure, or write the great American novel? (I did not know about Supreme Court clerkships in high school.) Having tasted a bit more of life, I have come to think differently of the one child referenced by the saint. The woman leading an extraordinarily ordinary life, of loving God and family, of diligent work at home and in the community, and of personal growth, seems as worthy of the saint’s efforts for the Society as the politician or Nobelaureate. I offer this blog (to both of you readers out there) to share some of the extraordinarily ordinary parts of my life and mind, perhaps for the simple purpose to learn what I have to say. Here goes!
11.19.07
It’s not the First Monday in October, but . . .
. . . it is the third Monday in November and as fine a day as any to enter the blogosphere. Oyez!
