In the world of “professional” writing there exists an air of patronisation and snobbery against any writing which doesn’t fit the mould of standardisation. From those in charge of editing and publishing new books and articles, to blurb and copywriters. These people have a degree in languages and a fancy corporate writing job but are too busy sitting around discussing the placement of commas in Oxford or Associated Press rules. Too busy are they sucking the life of creativity to care about the most important reason for the written word: self-expression. They call out supposedly bad sentence structuring with very little in the way of creative understanding, or indeed the language of people. These LinkedIn-dwelling, know-it-all’s who brown-nose their superiors, offer shallow platitudes and wave their sense of superiority over others, whilst killing the souls of aspiring writers, some of whom take up corporate writing jobs to make ends meet.
These pedantic peddlers of punctuation are everything that’s wrong with writing today. They are draining the lifeblood out of writing and turning it into robotic, boring, rule-following drivel, that might be met by rounds of applause in the boardrooms of the bourgeoisie beige brigade, but is about as inspired as a wet flannel. At one time it was genuine creatives who were trusted with these tasks, and they at least made corporate writing interesting or relatable. But they have been replaced by a breed of white-collar pen pushers who claim to be passionate about writing but have not a modicum of original thought between them. These people are on a mission to reduce the written word to rules, regulations and box ticking exercises, then have the audacity to take to social media to moan about artificial intelligence taking their jobs. Are they really surprised? If your writing is menial and functional, it’s only going to be a matter of time before it is – like all things menial and functional, automated in some way. At times I think these people almost deserve to be replaced by AI.
You see, what I truly love about writing, is how malleable and changeable both written and spoken language can be. It is constantly evolving and boldly adapting in order to express and articulate oneself as authentically as possible. In essence, it keeps it interesting. Books which bravely discard the rules and sensibilities of academic and professional skulduggery in favour of creativity and immersion, remain some of the most influential and best loved works in history. In many cases, works that have broken boundaries and pushed the envelope of the written word are now regarded as works of inimitable genius. And rightly so.
As writers, it’s the ground-breaking and courageous authors who often inspire us the most. It’s one thing having a great story, characters, or plot, but it’s how well these things are brought across on the page that separates good writers from great writers. In times where we lose our faith to just write as we feel, it’s those bold experimental writers who we turn to for courage. Those writers who, in the face of ridicule from the literati critics, chose authenticity over academia, and individuality over formula. Who challenge the reader in ways that is labelled as pretentious yet is always true to self; rebels who stick a middle finger up to the establishment and follow their own rules. The Bukowskis, the McCarthys, the Joyces. Out of a defence for their craft, or maybe just out of sheer obstreperousness, it’s these defiant authors who despite being sneered at in their day, eventually go on to become loved for their boldness, for their experimentalism.
Artistic Fusionistas
I’m going to be biased here but hear me out.
There is perhaps no language more suited to linguistic creativity than English. It’s the language which constantly breaks its own rules. Us Brits by nature are, at heart, libertarian with our creativity. We’re left field. Off the wall. Artistic Fusionistas. And our hodgepodge melting pot of language is so broad and flexible it’s utterly compelling, without ever losing any of its robustness or sense of Englishness.
Don’t get me wrong I love learning languages whenever I can, and they all have their creative beauty. But each has their limits. The Japanese Katakana script for example, was invented purely to write foreign words, since Japanese scholars refused, in typical Japanese conservative fashion, to sully their own language to adapt for anything foreign. Imagine English language scholars creating a new alphabet to accommodate foreign words. The uproar would be monumental. And besides, I think at this point there’d be very few words left untouched. Instead, in English, we simply absorb foreign words en masse. We were linguistic colonialists long before empire. It’s just who we are.
I was once waiting for a friend outside Birmingham’s Bullring shopping centre, and I got chatting to a man whose native language was Arabic. He was explaining that English is the hardest language to master, but the easiest to be understood in. And that’s because in English, even a broken sentence out of syntax and pronounced wrong still contains enough correct information to be coherent to native speakers. For example, he said, “Library...where is?” “Where library is?” or “Library is where?” are all trying to convey the same thing, and it can be understood. In other languages, he said, changing syntax equates to totally different words entirely. Sometimes, as in Arabic, simply by saying the word from a different part of the throat can get you in trouble linguistically. I always thought of English and the myriad homophones, spelling inconsistencies and grammar rules that have more exceptions than rules. But essentially, he was absolutely right. Broken English doesn’t stop people from effectively communicating.
The Beating Heart of Stories
It’s this syntactic freedom of English which allows for the plethora of beautiful dialects, accents and literary expressionism that we have in the UK and English-speaking countries. And a large part of that has come about from our rich history of multiculturalism and cross-pollination of cultures. Sure, the beastliness of colonialism played a big part, but it was not just from conquest. People have ended up on these shores for many reasons since William the Conqueror and brought with them their language and culture. From Norse and Anglo-Saxon meshing with the French and Latin of the royal courts, to the economic refugees from Eastern Europe and the Middle East in modern times.
Despite the political tumult that sometimes came from - or as a result of these movements of peoples, it all eventually helped to redefine not just our language, but our national identity, bringing people, culture and spoken word together in a way that few other languages have managed to do. We are often made to feel ashamed of our peppered past as Brits, but this fusion of language and culture is one thing we can truly be proud of. And I stand by that.
English is spoken differently in syntax, rhythm, tone and formant, in seemingly as many ways as there are people. Take for example my hometown of Birmingham. The Brummie accent and dialect is rich in history - a lingo spoken from the diaphragm that can be traced back as far as the Vikings. In Brum, we have a multitude of communities who have all developed their own accented version of English, coupled with the inevitable cultural rub-off of the Brummie twang. (The Indian/Brummie fusion, for example is a thing of beauty that you will never hear anywhere else.) And that’s just Birmingham. Every major city in Britain comes with its own accent, dialect, slang, and twang, with communities now home to second, third and fourth generation English speaking Brits. Our language continues to change and evolve with no sign of it stopping any time soon.
For a writer, this opens up a potential world teeming with deep, rich characters and wonderfully expressive dialogue. After all, Britain is, and always has been, a hotbed of dialectic slang, colloquialisms and fusions. If one is to attempt to recreate in writing the beating heart of their hometown, it’s the linguistics of people and locales that will always be the soul of any story. It’s what makes stories and characters believable.
Standardisation is a guide, not a rulebook
Grammar and punctuation are fabulous tools for direction of language. But that’s what they are: directions, that are functional in the traditional way, to separate clauses and sentences, and to group tenses, verb-noun relationships and prepositions. When people talk, we don’t think in terms of clauses or prepositions. We just talk. We communicate. We banter. We swear. And we do it in a way that colours the world, makes us smile, and defines who we are. If there was just one way of writing, it would remove any expression and character from an author’s intended voice, context and syntax. The rich tapestry of spoken language would be lost in time and remembered by nobody.
Some of my favourite authors like Ernest Hemingway, Anthony Burgess, James Joyce and Cormac McCarthy, are heralded as geniuses, not just for their imaginative storytelling but for their playful use of language and grammatical creativity. Had these authors been subjected to rigorous rules in editing; to have ‘properly structured sentences’ or ‘proper grammar’, their works would not have had the impact that they are so remembered for. Sanitise Hemingway and you lose the quick American wit. Standardise Joyce and you ruin the beautiful prose and flow of the Irish twang. Correct McCarthy and you lay to waste that sprawling southern nineteenth century drawl and imposing endlessness that makes Blood Meridian a work of absolute genius. A prime example is Uncle Tom’s Cabin by Harriet Beecher Stowe, which would not be anywhere near as immersive if some academic busybody changed all the phonetic patois into standard English. Not everybody likes those phonetic dialect sections (I struggled with it in Wuthering Heights), but it’s there for authenticity. As the author intended.
I recently published an essay called We Are Building Statues of Critics, in which I talked about how critics are gaining a bigger status in society than the artists they critique. I really hope that today’s new writers of culture fusion and phonetic dialect aren’t being stifled, whitewashed, forced underground and raked clean of character, by wine-quaffing intelligentsia “oh that street trash banter is charming darling, but really not what our readers want” types. Because it will be the death of great modern literature.
We need to preserve our linguistic freedom, because all of the authors I’ve mentioned – Joyce, Hemingway, Dostoevsky, McCarthy, they’re all dead now. And if we don’t honour their legacy by pushing forward and evolving literature with the times, then the sticklers of standardisation will continue to berate our literary trailblazers as “pretentious” or “self-indulgent”, whilst simultaneously pumping out safe, clean, copy-and-paste stories that don’t rock any boats and stay within the lines; constricted and bland.
Language should not be restricted, shackled or bleached of its roots. Language should be free.
Cheers for reading.
If you enjoy what I do, please consider ‘buying me a coffee’:
Cover art ©RussVale Created using AI on Nightcafe.
See what I’ve been reading on my Goodreads page: