The word “literally” is most troubling to me. And I believe it may be time for us to bid it a fond farewell.
I am something of a connoisseur of grammar snobbery. I hate grammar snobs, but it is fun to keep note of what little things drive them crazy. A friend of mine recently used the word “principal” in an email where he meant “principle.” I saw no reason to alert him to the error, because I’m sure he does know the difference. I make these kind of mistakes all the time myself. I constantly find myself typing “their” when I mean “there.” And even more bizarre, “their are” when I mean “they’re.”
Such errors can indicate ignorance, but they almost never do. I went through a short period where I repeatedly spelled “throne” as “thrown.” A reader kindly alerted me. But it wasn’t that I didn’t know how to spell the word. It’s just that I use the word “thrown” all the time and “throne” almost never. And I literally didn’t even think about it. But had George RR Martin put out a book called A Game of Throwns, my mind would have gone on tilt.
Literally!
One of the greatest of the pedant’s concerns is the word “literally” when it is used to mean “not literally.” For example, “His suitcase literally weighed a ton.” Unless we are talking about some curious event out of a Discworld, that suitcase did not weight a literal ton. The speaker means to say that the suitcase was really heavy. More to the point, “His suitcase figuratively weighed a ton.” But that there is a sentence that no one could love.
The problem for the grammar pedant is that the dictionary definition of “literally” does, in fact, include the meaning, “not literally; figuratively.” Now I know what the pedants answer back with when this is pointed out, “Just because something has been done wrong a long time doesn’t make it right!” But they are wrong. Just look at our language! It is mostly a collection of things done wrong for a long time. That’s what languages are — unless they are Esperanto. Really! You think Latin is perfect. Ha!
I’ve written about this subject before, Why “Literally” Normally Means “Not Literally.” So it might seem strange that I’m bringing it up again. But I was reading an article by Brian Beutler Saturday morning, Will Marco Rubio Finally Be Tested? And in that article, he wrote the dastardly sentence, “Over the past several months, Rubio has: introduced a tax plan that literally zeroes out investment and inheritance taxes…”
Beutler is a good writer and what he means is that Rubio introduced a tax plan that in fact cuts these taxes to zero. In other words, he used “literally” to mean, well, “literally.” But I still had to take a moment and think, “Does he mean literally literally or figuratively literally?” This is not his fault! But the word has become poisoned to such an extent, that my assumption is that the writer means “figuratively.” And that’s bad news for the “correct” use of the word.
For a long time, as a writer, I’ve been very careful with the word. I try only to use it in its old sense. But now I think it is best to get rid of it. It’s just one more intensifier in a language that is quickly becoming nothing but. What are we to do? It’s just confusing at this point, and I doubt very seriously that the old definition will last the century.
There’s another problem with the word anyway: it isn’t necessary. Beutler could have written, “Over the past several months, Rubio has: introduced a tax plan that zeroes out investment and inheritance taxes…” No need for “literally.” Just the same, so much of writing is not strictly necessary. In that sentence, Beutler was using the word as an intensifier — to drive home the extreme nature of what Rubio is proposing. But there are other ways to do that. I think “amazingly” and “unbelievably” would work better.
So maybe we can all get by without our little friend “literally.” I’m going to try.
It should be literally thrown into the literal garbage.
That said, who can assume readers have time to read what one types? Putting “literally” into a sentence can hook skimming readers accustomed to enjoying sentences which use that word that way. And every writer wants to use, while tweaking, the styles of her time. You don’t Use emphatic Capitalization in the Manner attributable to Persons of a somewhat Educated yet unsavory Persuasion for the Purposes of inciting Unrest as would be altogether disreputably Common in 1785.
I’d also retire the word, it means dead-battery-dildo-nothing. I can’t fault paid writers who get lazy. So much stuff now is about being current, being up to date. This week’s essay is trash unless it gets “x” number of Google hits and social-media “shares.” If I’ve gotta churn it out and focus mostly on what keeps me employed, I’m gonna use the style of writing I’ve seen successful elsewhere.
Original phrases, unique ways of expressing strong emotional takes (opposed to “literally” meaning “I can’t believe this!”) are worth exactly Jack and Shit in our new age (if they ever were, beyond a small group of readers.) These writers can’t enjoy writing purely for the sake of learning about getting better at it. They have to focus on what turns of phrase make them instantly consumable and equally instantly disposable.
It’s a living, and I’d never criticize anyone for doing what they somewhat enjoy and what somewhat pays the bills . . . but, really, would writing be any fun at all if one had to make it that much like what was successful?
I think it’s useful. I liked the way that Beutler used it. He used it with the traditional meaning, but used it in the way people use it when they don’t. It all goes make to my working theory: all is clarity. Every writer has a style. Just try to be clear, and your style will show through.
Maybe every writer has their best style. I could easily do three different ones.
I think you’re quite right on clarity. The best styles are the ones which express one’s meaning in the manner which is closest to how the author thinks. My favorite style is the dullest I have in my toolbox. Because at heart, I’m a voracious reader and someone who enjoys sharing my nerdy interests, not a polemicist.
EB White pointed out that beginning writers tend to think of style as some kind of sauce that you pour on top of your writing, when it is really fundamental to who you are. It is certainly something that a writer can work on, but it is mostly a given that you try to reveal through careful writing.
Oh my, I really disagree with this one. I’m sure that English is the current language of trade and diplomacy mostly for historical and political reasons. However, I also think English has an advantage when it comes to expressing fine distinctions of meaning precisely because English is a packrat language. Words and phrases hang around long after their origin is forgotten, but that’s fine as long as the usage and meaning are commonly understood. And if we can’t put our hands on exactly the word we need, we’ll cheerfully steal one from another language.
Of course you are saying that usage gets corrupted, and that’s true. My current bête noire is the misuse of endear. Half of the internet seems to have noticed someone using this poor word and think they are burnishing their riting skillz by banging it in somewhere — commonly with the wrong object (as in “the movie endeared me to it”). The other half of the internet is busy writing “tow the line” instead of “toe the line”. I don’t know how anyone finds the time to misuse literally.
We don’t have to let useful words slip away, though. I don’t propose that we need the straitjacket of an Académie Française. Luckily, we have volunteer cadres of Internet Grammar Nazis. Like the lowly sanitation worker, they don’t get enough respect. We need to start thinking of them as well-intentioned gardeners, rather than as pests.
Mark Twain had a few words to say about such matters:
“When a person has a poor ear for music he will flat and sharp right along without knowing it. He keeps near the tune, but is not the tune. When a person has a poor ear for words, the result is a literary flatting and sharping; you perceive what he is intending to say, but you also perceive that he does not say it.”
(from Fenimore Cooper’s Literary Offenses — go read, it’s short and hilarious) http://xroads.virginia.edu/~hyper/hns/indians/offense.html
My experience is that “literally” is used to mean “figuratively” far more. But regardless, the closer it is to 50-50, the worse it is. We don’t want to create words that need to be figured out. It slows reading. And note that in Beutler’s case, even though he is using the word in the traditional sense, he is still using it exactly as if he were using it in the new sense: to intensify. So it’s a rhetorical flourish. We don’t need to say “The barn was literally on fire” when we could just say, “The barn was on fire.” In that case, and in the vast majority of cases where literally is used in the traditional sense, it is redundant.
But there is a more fundamental issue here. The figurative literally has changed the way that the old form is used. My guess is that 200 years ago, “literally” wasn’t used nearly as often as it is now. If you were at a concert, someone might say, “The house is on fire!” And you might say, “Yeah, everyone’s really into the show!” And then the person say, “No. The house is literally on fire,” as they point to the flames. That’s it’s main use.
But I’m not trying to block others. I’m making a case for not using the word. But it is mostly for me. I will say this, if a writer is careful enough to use literally in the old way, they should be careful enough to make sure its use won’t confuse the reader. All is clarity.
You should check out the article I liked to and the first two comments to it.
“You should check out the article I linked to and the first two comments to it.”
I did, and mostly I agree with both of you. In any case, I don’t fancy myself an authority and this is all in good fun. That said —
“…if the man was André the Giant, it would be redundant to say that he was literally a giant; he was just a giant — it’s in the name.
This is wrong. Literally is not merely an intensifier in this case. It’s a clarifier, or discriminator — it makes the intent of the author clear by preempting a figurative reading. Really wouldn’t have the same effect; that word has already lost it’s function as anything but an intensifier. If literally goes, what takes its place?
Then where Kristen McHenry says, “Grammar just a tool” — while I’m an inveterate improviser and have been known to use a hammer for all sorts of things, one shouldn’t underestimate the vast difference it can make to have at hand just the right tool and to know how to use it effectively. Besides, tools are beautiful in their own right. “Just a tool” makes me itch in the same way as “Just a theory”.
Finally, McHenry also states, ” I am decidedly not a grammar pendant.”
I should hope not! *snicker* (sorry, but Through the Looking Glass typos just tickle my funny bone — can’t help it)
But don’t you see the problem with the Andre example? If you use literally in a world in which it usually means figuratively, you have gained nothing. You only know that Andre is a giant if you already know it. You could use “actually,” which I don’t think is commonly used to indicate “not actually.”
Kristen is a great writer, but she creates typos like a fiend. But that’s what editors are for. Funny typo though!
I like using the word “indeed” to indicate actuality. It gives my sentence the sort of Midwest gentility my grandmother seemed to have when I was growing up.
Oh, and when it comes to typing slips? For me, it’s “its” and “it’s.” Yes, I know the difference, but I’m not certain my fingers do. ;)
That one is indeed tough. My bete noire is the spelling of “weird.” Because when I spell it wrong, the word looks weird, and that looks completely right for the word!
I think you’re losing your mind, James! The rule is, “I before E except inside weird.”
Oh yeah, I do that all the time too. In that case, though, it actually makes so sense for the possessive to have no apostrophe.
I used “indeed a lot. As a one word sentence, it’s great.
Orwell loathed that “toe”/”tow” confusion. He’s a great writing teacher.
I have learned a lot from Orwell. Just the same, he could be persnickety. In order to understand “toe the line” the first time you read it, you need “toe,” otherwise people will think you are talking about long-line fishing. But once “toe the line” became a synonym for “do as you are told,” it doesn’t much matter. It’s like “beat red.” It’s a funny error, actually; but confusing? No.
I understand: these things bother me too. But in a world of instant publication, it doesn’t make much sense to get in a twist about it. Although I see people all the time complaining about mistakes online, I don’t see a huge outpouring of concern about errors in published books. (Which I see all the time.) Regardless, it is all based upon the belief that we are losing the language — that people used to write better than we do now. This is exactly the opposite of the truth. The problem is that people compare apples and oranges. They compare Hawthorne to People. Go back and read newspapers from the 19th century and you will see just how much writing has improved.
I always assumed “tow the line” was like “tote that barge.” Being forced to do grunt work. Which is similar to the meaning of “toe the line,” but not quite the same. Workers afraid of their bosses tow the line; politicians whose campaigns are bought by those bosses toe the line.
Good point about old newspapers. They used a broader vocabulary than popular writing would now, but much of it ended up being gibberish (or “word salad,” as the kids say today.) And anyone who resents “political correctness” needs to go back and see just how foul some of the stuff in old papers really was.
I try not to correct anyone online. Autocorrect on phones can make anyone seem illiterate. And even those whose grasp of the language is lacking will only get better by writing and reading more, so making them feel stupid doesn’t help them any.
Yesterday I was fighting with a computer and a smartphone to make them do what I wanted them to do (they’re so user-friendly, provided the user toes the line of what the companies expect users to do with them) so I was a little negative about the modern world. But hell, I’m a Luddite and proud of it. Somebody has to be!
I always figured that “toe the line,” like “deadline,” was related to the lines drawn in prisons to maintain order and discipline, to “keep inmates in line.” so to speak. There was a time when the latter ruled my life–but then, I’m sure some of you can relate. ;)
I think that was the original meaning (I have the Orwell essay lying around here somewhere, I’m too lazy to go and look for it.) Over time the meaning has become more applied to yes-men. It’s one of Orwell’s best lessons: “never use a metaphor or other image you are used to seeing in print” (quoting from memory, but I’m fairly sure that’s the line.) It’s not that lazy metaphors are bad (we all have to type fast), just that their meaning is fuzzy.
“Deadline” I don’t know anything about. If it really once applied to making people dead, what an odd word to use now about, well, deadlines. David Brooks won’t be killed if he turns in a column late, although the world may be worse for this.
Not clear on what you meant by “the latter ruled my life,” but it sounds like you’ve had an interesting life change. Share if you wish and feel comfortable doing so; I’d be curious to hear more.
The job I had (Public television office wonk) involved plenty of deadlines, both task-related (monthly viewer guide due to printer, taping schedules for programs or fundraising spots to be followed, weekly, monthly, and quarterly reports, etc.), and employment-related (the chief one being the morning alarm clock).
The “life change” was retirement. Now, my life is my own. No boss, no time clock, no dress code, no deadline. “Now,” I tell myself, “I have all the time I need to write.” The only drawback, if there is one, is that myself often replies, “Yep, and you’ll have all that time tomorrow, too. Why do anything today?”
I’ve always assumed it was from the military with people having their toes just touch the line where they all stand along. Too tired to look it up.
That’s the thing about eggcorns such as “tow the line”. The newer, “wrong” version sort of makes sense, particularly if the original phrase is outdated.
That’s something really interesting. We are so good at finding meaning in things that often it is the case that a misspelling will make sense. “Beat red” really is good because if someone beats on your face, it will become red. I like your take on “tow the line.”
But of my thing with language is that I can delight in little curiosities, even if they are technically wrong. English is so fascinating.