The Elements of Style by E. B. White
That. Which. That is the defining, or restrictive, pronoun, which die nondefming, or nonrestrictive. (See Rule 3.)
The lawn mower that is broken is in the garage. (Tells which one.)
The lawn mower, which is broken, is in the garage. (Adds a fact about the only mower in question.)
The use of which for that is common in written and spoken language ("Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass."). Occasionally which seems preferable to that, as in the sentence from the Bible. But it would be a convenience to all if these two pronouns were used with precision. Careful writers, watchful for small conveniences, go which-hunting, remove the defining whiches, and by so doing improve their work.
The foreseeable future. A cliche, and a fuzzy one. How much of the future is foreseeable? Ten minutes? Ten years? Any of it? By whom is it foreseeable? Seers? Experts? Everybody?
The truth is. . . . The fact is. . . . A bad beginning for a sentence. If you feel you are possessed of the truth, or of the fact, simply state it. Do not give it advance billing.
They. He or She. Do not use they when the antecedent is a distributive expression such as each, each one, everybody, every one, many a man. Use the singular pronoun.
Every one of us knows they are fallible.
Every one of us knows he is fallible.
Everyone in the community, whether they are a member of the Association or not, is invited to attend.
Everyone in the community, whether he is a member of the Association or not, is invited to attend.
A similar fault is the use of the plural pronoun with the antecedent anybody, somebody, someone, the intention being either to avoid the awkward he or she or to avoid committing oneself to one or the other. Some bashful speakers even say, "A friend of mine told me that they…"
The use of he as a pronoun for nouns embracing both genders is a simple, practical convention rooted in the beginnings of the English language. Currently, however, many writers find the use of the generic he or his to rename indefinite antecedents limiting or offensive. Substituting he or she in its place is the logical thing to do if it works. But it often doesn't work, if only because repetition makes it sound boring or silly.
Consider these strategies to avoid an awkward overuse of he or she or an unintentional emphasis on the masculine:
Use the plural rather than the singular.
The writer must address his readers' concerns.
Writers must address their readers' concerns.
Eliminate the pronoun altogether.
The writer must address his readers' concerns.
The writer must address readers' concerns.
Substitute the second person for the third person. The writer must address his readers' concerns.
As a writer, you must address your readers' concerns.
No one need fear to use he if common sense supports it. If you think she is a handy substitute for he, try it and see what happens. Alternatively, put all controversial nouns in the plural and avoid the choice of sex altogether, although you may find your prose sounding general and diffuse as a result.
This. The pronoun this, referring to the complete sense of a preceding sentence or clause, can't always carry the load and so may produce an imprecise statement.
Visiting dignitaries watched yesterday as ground was broken for the new high-energy physics laboratory with a blowout safety wall. This is te first visible evidence of the university's plans for mondernization and expansion.
Visiting dignitaries watched yesterday as ground was broken for the new high-energy physics laboratory with a blowout safety wall. The ceremony afforded the first visible evidence of the university's plans for modernization and expansion.
In the lefthand example above, this does not immediately make clear what the first visible evidence is.
Thrust. This showy noun, suggestive of power, hinting of sex, is the darling of executives, politicos, and speech-writers. Use it sparingly. Save it for specific application.
Our reorganization plan has a tremendous thrust.
The piston has a five-inch thrust.
The thrust of his letter was that he was working more hours than he'd bargained for.
The point he made in his letter was that he was working more hours than he'd bargained for.
Tortuous. Torturous. A winding road is tortuous, a painful ordeal is torturous. Both words carry the idea of "twist," the twist having been a form of torture.
Transpire. Not to be used in the sense of "happen," "come to pass." Many writers so use it (usually when groping toward imagined elegance), but their usage finds little support in the Latin "breathe across or through." It is correct, however, in the sense of "become known." "Eventually, the grim account of his villainy transpired" (literally, "leaked through or out").
Try. Takes the infinitive: "try to mend it," not "try and mend it." Students of the language will argue that try and has won through and become idiom. Indeed it has, and it is relaxed and acceptable. But try to is precise, and when you are writing formal prose, try and write try to.
Type. Not a synonym for kind of. The examples below are common vulgarisms.
that type employee
that kind of employee
I dislike that type publicity.
I dislike that land of publicity.
small, home-type hotels
small, homelike hotels
a new type plane
a plane of a new design (new kind)
Unique. Means "without like or equal." Hence, there can be no degrees of uniqueness.
It was the most unique coffee maker on the market.
It was a unique coffee maker.
The balancing act was very unique.
The balancing act was unique.
Of all the spiders, the one that lives in a bubble under water is the most unique.
Among spiders, the one that lives in a bubble under water is unique.
Utilize. Prefer use. I utilized the facilities.
I used the toilet.
He utilized the dishwasher.
He used the dishwasher.
Verbal. Sometimes means "word for word" and in this sense may refer to something expressed in writing. Oral (from Latin as, "mouth") limits the meaning to what is transmitted by speech. Oral agreement is more precise than verbal agreement.
Very. Use this word sparingly. Where emphasis is necessary, use words strong in themselves.
While. Avoid the indiscriminate use of this word for and, but, and although. Many writers use it frequently as a substitute for and or but, either from a mere desire to vary the connective or from doubt about which of the two connectives is more appropriate. In this use it is best replaced by a semicolon.
The office and salesrooms are on the ground floor, while the rest of the building is used for manufacturing.
The office and salesrooms are on the ground floor; the rest of the building is used for manufacturing.
Its use as a virtual equivalent of although is allowable in sentences where this leads to no ambiguity or absurdity.
While I admire his energy, I wish it were employed in a better cause.
This is entirely correct, as shown by the paraphrase
I admire his energy; at the same time, I wish it were employed in a better cause.
Compare:
While the temperature reaches 90 or 95 degrees in the daytime, the nights are often chilly.
The paraphrase shows why the use of while is incorrect:
The temperature reaches 90 or 95 degrees in the daytime; at the same time the nights are often chilly.
In general, the writer will do well to use while only with strict literalness, in the sense of "during the time that."
-wise. Not to be used indiscriminately as a pseudosuf-fix: taxwise, pricewise, marriagewise, prosewise, saltwater taffy wise. Chiefly useful when it means "in the manner of": clockwise. There is not a noun in the language to which -wise cannot be added if the spirit moves one to ad
Worth while. Overworked as a term of vague approval and (with not) of disapproval. Strictly applicable only to actions: "Is it worth while to telegraph?"
His books are not worth while.
His books are not worth reading (are not worth one's while to read; do not repay reading).
The adjective worthwhile (one word) is acceptable but emaciated. Use a stronger word.
a worthwhile project a
promising (useful, valuable, exciting) project
Would. Commonly used to express habitual or repeated action. ("He would get up early and prepare his own breakfast before he went to work.") But when the idea of habit or repetition is expressed, in such phrases as once a year, every day, each Sunday, the past tense, without would, is usually sufficient, and, from its brevity, more emphatic.
Once a year he would visit the old mansion.
Once a year he visited the old mansion.
In narrative writing, always indicate the transition from the general to the particular—that is, from sentences that mere-k state a general habit to those that express the action of a specific day or period. Failure to indicate the change will cause confusion.
Townsend would get up early and prepare his own breakfast. If the day was cold, he filled the stove and had a warm fire burning before he left the house. On his way out to the garage, he noticed that there were footprints in the new-fallen snow on the porch.
The reader is lost, having received no signal that Townsend has changed from a mere man of habit to a man who has seen a particular thing on a particular day.
Townsend would get up early and prepare his own breakfast. If the day was cold, he filled the stove and had a warm fire burning before he left the house. One morning in January, on his way out to the garage, he noticed footprints in the new-fallen snow on the porch.
* * *
VAn Approach to Style
(With a List of Reminders)
Up TO this point, the book has been concerned with what is correct, or acceptable, in the use of English. In this final chapter, we approach style in its broader meaning: style in the sense of what is distinguished and distinguishing. Here we leave solid ground. Who can confidently say what ignites a certain combination of words, causing them to explode in the mind? Who knows why certain notes in music are capable of stirring the listener deeply, though the same notes slightly rearranged are impotent? These are high mysteries, and this chapter is a mystery story, thinly disguised. There is no satisfactory explanation of style, no infallible guide to good writing, no assurance that a person who thinks clear-lv will be able to write clearly, no key that unlocks the door, no inflexible rule by which writers may shape their course. Writers will often find themselves steering by stars that are disturbingly in motion.
The preceding chapters contain instructions drawn from established English usage; this one contains advice drawn from a writer's experience of writing. Since the book is a rule book, these cautionary remarks, these subtly dangerous hints, are presented in the form of rules, but they are, in essence, mere gentle reminders: they state what most of us know and at times forget.
Style is an increment in writing. When we speak of Fitzgerald's style, we don't mean his command of the relative pronoun, we mean the sound his words make on paper. All writers, by the way they use the language, reveal something of their spirits, their habits, their capacities, and their biases. This is inevitable as well as enjoyable. All writing is communication; creative writing is communication through revelation—it is the Self escaping into the open. No writer long remains incognito.
If you doubt that style is something of a mystery, try rewriting a familiar sentence and see what happens. Any much-quoted sentence will do. Suppose we take "These are the times that try men's souls." Here we have eight short, easy words, forming a simple declarative sentence. The sentence contains no flashy ingredient such as "Damn the torpedoes!" and the words, as you see, are ordinary. Yet in that arrangement, they have shown great durability; the sentence is into its third century. Now compare a few variations:
Times like these try men's souls.
How trying it is to live in these times!
These are trying times for men's souls.
Soulwise, these are trying times.
It seems unlikely that Thomas Paine could have made his sentiment stick if he had couched it in any of these forms. But why not? No fault of grammar can be detected in them, and in every case the meaning is clear. Each version is correct, and each, for some reason that we can't readily put our finger on, is marked for oblivion. We could, of course, talk about "rhythm" and "cadence," but the talk would be vague and unconvincing. We could declare soulwise to be a silly word, inappropriate to the occasion; but even that won't do—it does not answer the main question. Are we even sure soulwise is silly? If otherwise is a serviceable word, what's the matter with soulwise?
Here is another sentence, this one by a later Tom. It is not a famous sentence, although its author (Thomas Wolfe) is well known. "Quick are the mouths of earth, and quick the teeth that fed upon this loveliness." The sentence would not take a prize for clarity, and rhetorically it is at the opposite pole from "These are the times." Try it in a different form, without the inversions:
The mouths of earth are quick, and the teeth that fed upon this loveliness are quick, too.
The author's meaning is still intact, but not his overpowering emotion. What was poetical and sensuous has become prosv and wooden; instead of the secret sounds of beauty, we are left with the simple crunch of mastication. (Whether Mr. Wolfe was guilty of overwriting is, of course, another question—one that is not pertinent here.)
With some writers, style not only reveals the spirit of the man but reveals his identity, as surely as would his fingerprints. Here, following, are two brief passages from the works of two American novelists. The subject in each case is languor. In both, the words used are ordinary, and there is nothing eccentric about the construction.
He did not still feel weak, he was merely luxuriating in that supremely gutful lassitude of convalescence in which time, hurry, doing, did not exist, the accumulating seconds and minutes and hours to which in its well state the body is slave both waking and sleeping, now reversed and time now the lip-server and mendicant to the body's pleasure instead of the body thrall to time's headlong course.
Manuel drank his brandy. He felt sleepy himself. It was too hot to go out into the town. Besides there was nothing to do. He wanted to see Zurito. He would go to sleep while he waited.
Anyone acquainted with Faulkner and Hemingway will have recognized them in these passages and perceived which was which. How different are their languors!
Or take two American poets, stopping at evening. One stops by woods, the other by laughing flesh.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.*
*From "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening" from The Poetry of Robert Frost, edited by Edward Connery Lathem. Copyright 1923, © 1969 by Henry Holt and Company, LLC. Reprinted by permission of Henry Holt and Company, LLC.
I have perceived that to be with those I like is enough, To stop in company with the rest at evening is enough, To be surrounded by beautiful, curious, breathing, laughing flesh is enough…
Because of the characteristic styles, there is little question about identity here, and if the situations were reversed, with Whitman stopping by woods and Frost by laughing flesh (not one of his regularly scheduled stops), the reader would know who was who.
Young writers often suppose that style is a garnish for the meat of prose, a sauce by which a dull dish is made palatable. Style has no such separate entity; it is nondetachable, unfilterable. The beginner should approach style warily, realizing that it is an expression of self, and should turn resolutely away from all devices that are po
Writing is, for most, laborious and slow. The mind travels faster than the pen; consequently, writing becomes a question of learning to make occasional wing shots, bringing down the bird of thought as it flashes by. A writer is a gunner, sometimes waiting in the blind for something to come in, sometimes roaming the countryside hoping to scare something up. Like other gunners, the writer must cultivate patience, working many covers to bring down one partridge. Here, following, are some suggestions and cautionary hints that may help the beginner find the way to a satisfactory style.
1. Place yourself in the background.
Write in a way that draws the reader's attention to the sense and substance of the writing, rather than to the mood and temper of the author. If the writing is solid and good, the mood and temper of the writer will eventually be revealed and not at the expense of the work. Therefore, the first piece of advice is this: to achieve style, begin by affecting none—that is, place yourself in the background. A careful and honest writer does not need to worry about style. As you become proficient in the use of language, your style will emerge, because you yourself will emerge, and when this happens you will find it increasingly easy to break through the barriers that separate you from other minds, other hearts—which is, of course, the purpose of writing, as well as its principal reward. Fortunately, the act of composition, or creation, disciplines the mind; writing is one way to go about thinking, and the practice and habit of writing not only drain the mind but supply it, too.
2. Write in a way that comes naturally.
Write in a way that comes easily and naturally to you, using words and phrases that come readily to hand. But do not assume that because you have acted naturally your product is without flaw.