As I read Oliver I thought of a few of my favorite lines from Shakespeare, a pretty good writer (I dare to cite from memory): “O that this too too solid flesh could melt, thaw, and resolve itself into a dew.” (some editors say “sullied.”) “This hand would rather the multitudinous seas incarnadine, making the green one red.” Should Shakespeare have stopped at “melt”? Or abandoned the whole line before “green one red,” which not only has the artfulness of long and short, and the fruitful ambiguity of “green one” or “one red”?
As for the last quote, it may be a fair summation of him considered "as a writer", though I'm not sure quite what that is. But Orwell forged something remarkable from his life with immense courage (and not a little stubbornness). A beacon.
I found this piece delightful and illuminating, Henry.
You make a very important point: writing has to be experienced line by line, sentence by sentence. And, if it achieves its effect, it is effective writing--passive voice or not!
Thanks for always looking squarely at the many sacred cows in our literary tradition!
The passive voice is mostly [be] + past participle + (by PP).
“They were the footprints of a gigantic hound!” is simple past active voice, not passive.
In “The lawn and drive had been crowded with the faces of those who guessed at his corruption—and he had stood on those steps, concealing his incorruptible dream, as he waved them good-bye”, _had been crowded_ is arguably passive, but _crowded_ here is likely an adjective, not a verb. _Guessed_ and _waved_ are active past-tense verbs, and _had stood_ is past perfect active.
"If they didn’t write like that about Nixon, they ought to have done" has multiple clauses, but none of them is in the passive voice.
As a book editor, an occasional novelist, and someone who dislikes being told what is and isn't good advice, I bristle at this article. Most, but not all the writers I most relish, would side with Orwell. His lucid prose is admired by many, even if his political leanings are less acceptable.
Hmm. Ironically, I'm not sure we're communicating. My prose here is obviously not consistent with Orwell's rules, but that wasn't my goal; I'm confident your audience is pretty sophisticated. If you asked me to write a piece on behalf of a government agency or spokesperson explaining why water rates are going up, for example, or a corporation wanting to explain why it lied about selling user data, then you can bet the result would hew more closely to his rules, since simplicity, active voice, and avoidance of undefined technical language are going to be more useful to a broader range of people. That's not to say his rules should be followed rigidly even in those cases, but they are more helpful. Again, my main point isn't to defend his rules in all situations; only to say that they have utility, especially outside the realm of literature.
Pedantic point here: when I went, as you instructed, to tell "Tom Wolfe" off per Orwell, he rather peevishly insisted that he hadn't written *The Great Gatsby*. Realizing my error, I then reached out to the other Tom Wolfe, but he insisted he hadn't even been *born* when *The Great Gatsby* came out in 1925. Doesn't affect your point, of course.
As to the larger argument, I think it matters a lot what *kind* of writing we're talking about, and for what audiences. No rules for clarity or simplicity will be useful in every situation, and certainly not in the realm of art and literature. Still, nearly all the examples you give in this piece are from fiction or drama, where there's so much pleasure to be found in ambiguity, complicated syntax, and ornate or lyrical language. Orwell's rules, however, are helpful (as guidelines only) for people who are not practiced writers or readers, especially those writing in a non-literary capacity -- for them, the rules militate toward clarity and discourage ambiguity.
As you noted, Orwell was concerned with propaganda and bureaucratic dodges (like the passive voice) being used to obscure responsibility; a concern that's just as valid today. In my professional life, I've found that many people assume they can write clearly and effectively, when, in fact, they can't; it's not until they run into a good editor that they even become aware of passive constructions, the way needless jargon obscures meaning, or even the ways in which what they write is often contradictory in its implications or subverts their stated aims. Obviously, the propagandist uses these techniques intentionally, just as certain professions elevate and lionize prose that is dense and obscure as a way of asserting and protecting their authority; but most people absorb these habits of writing because they are both easier than writing clearly and to borrow authority from others. Give your average person David Bentley Hart's laughably mandarin guidelines, and you'd only end up increasing the mountain of pointlessly arcane sludge we already contend with.
Orwell was writing against the grain of propaganda. It is against that fact that I've always loved his advice on writing, though I accept the critique you offer if you take his words literally.
Thanks for the good introduction to skepticism about “PatEL” (Jargon? I say we need an acronym for Orwell’s dubious essay.)
British linguist Geoffrey Pullum co-author of “The Cambridge Grammar of the English Language” is unrivaled at taking down Orwell and Strunk & White.
http://www.lel.ed.ac.uk/~gpullum/LandOfTheFree.pdf
“I believe the success of Elements to be one of the worst things to have happened to English language education in Amer- ica in the past century.”
Pullum aggressively defends the passive voice.
For language obsessives only. (Everyone here, I trust?)
Fear and Loathing of the English Passive
http://www.lel.ed.ac.uk/~gpullum/passive_loathing.pdf
Google Pullum and Orwell or Strunk and you’ll find more.
I think Orwell was a fine writer who did not follow his own rules.
As I read Oliver I thought of a few of my favorite lines from Shakespeare, a pretty good writer (I dare to cite from memory): “O that this too too solid flesh could melt, thaw, and resolve itself into a dew.” (some editors say “sullied.”) “This hand would rather the multitudinous seas incarnadine, making the green one red.” Should Shakespeare have stopped at “melt”? Or abandoned the whole line before “green one red,” which not only has the artfulness of long and short, and the fruitful ambiguity of “green one” or “one red”?
As for the last quote, it may be a fair summation of him considered "as a writer", though I'm not sure quite what that is. But Orwell forged something remarkable from his life with immense courage (and not a little stubbornness). A beacon.
I found this piece delightful and illuminating, Henry.
You make a very important point: writing has to be experienced line by line, sentence by sentence. And, if it achieves its effect, it is effective writing--passive voice or not!
Thanks for always looking squarely at the many sacred cows in our literary tradition!
Blessings,
Daniel
“They were the footprints of a gigantic hound” is not in the passive voice.
The passive voice is mostly [be] + past participle + (by PP).
“They were the footprints of a gigantic hound!” is simple past active voice, not passive.
In “The lawn and drive had been crowded with the faces of those who guessed at his corruption—and he had stood on those steps, concealing his incorruptible dream, as he waved them good-bye”, _had been crowded_ is arguably passive, but _crowded_ here is likely an adjective, not a verb. _Guessed_ and _waved_ are active past-tense verbs, and _had stood_ is past perfect active.
"If they didn’t write like that about Nixon, they ought to have done" has multiple clauses, but none of them is in the passive voice.
None of which is to defend Orwell, but still.
As a book editor, an occasional novelist, and someone who dislikes being told what is and isn't good advice, I bristle at this article. Most, but not all the writers I most relish, would side with Orwell. His lucid prose is admired by many, even if his political leanings are less acceptable.
Hmm. Ironically, I'm not sure we're communicating. My prose here is obviously not consistent with Orwell's rules, but that wasn't my goal; I'm confident your audience is pretty sophisticated. If you asked me to write a piece on behalf of a government agency or spokesperson explaining why water rates are going up, for example, or a corporation wanting to explain why it lied about selling user data, then you can bet the result would hew more closely to his rules, since simplicity, active voice, and avoidance of undefined technical language are going to be more useful to a broader range of people. That's not to say his rules should be followed rigidly even in those cases, but they are more helpful. Again, my main point isn't to defend his rules in all situations; only to say that they have utility, especially outside the realm of literature.
Pedantic point here: when I went, as you instructed, to tell "Tom Wolfe" off per Orwell, he rather peevishly insisted that he hadn't written *The Great Gatsby*. Realizing my error, I then reached out to the other Tom Wolfe, but he insisted he hadn't even been *born* when *The Great Gatsby* came out in 1925. Doesn't affect your point, of course.
As to the larger argument, I think it matters a lot what *kind* of writing we're talking about, and for what audiences. No rules for clarity or simplicity will be useful in every situation, and certainly not in the realm of art and literature. Still, nearly all the examples you give in this piece are from fiction or drama, where there's so much pleasure to be found in ambiguity, complicated syntax, and ornate or lyrical language. Orwell's rules, however, are helpful (as guidelines only) for people who are not practiced writers or readers, especially those writing in a non-literary capacity -- for them, the rules militate toward clarity and discourage ambiguity.
As you noted, Orwell was concerned with propaganda and bureaucratic dodges (like the passive voice) being used to obscure responsibility; a concern that's just as valid today. In my professional life, I've found that many people assume they can write clearly and effectively, when, in fact, they can't; it's not until they run into a good editor that they even become aware of passive constructions, the way needless jargon obscures meaning, or even the ways in which what they write is often contradictory in its implications or subverts their stated aims. Obviously, the propagandist uses these techniques intentionally, just as certain professions elevate and lionize prose that is dense and obscure as a way of asserting and protecting their authority; but most people absorb these habits of writing because they are both easier than writing clearly and to borrow authority from others. Give your average person David Bentley Hart's laughably mandarin guidelines, and you'd only end up increasing the mountain of pointlessly arcane sludge we already contend with.
Mr. Oliver; Very much enjoyed your “unorwellian” writing which also gave me quite a few good laughs . Great article and response.
Orwell was writing against the grain of propaganda. It is against that fact that I've always loved his advice on writing, though I accept the critique you offer if you take his words literally.