Critical thinking and writing skills

Critical Thinking & Writing

Anyone who has ever suffered through a long and unwieldy document, such as a poorly written 19th century novel or a contract defining a real estate transaction in legal language, or even hearing a loved one defend coming home late from work, can appreciate the need to omit needless words in prose and in life. Needless words wear down a reader's patience as well as tax a reader's vision. No writer worth his or her salt would wish to stand accused of causing a poor beleaguered person to have to order a stronger prescription for reading glasses!

Some of the most artless charm in prose can be found in children's stories, written for children, about children. "I like rocks! Rocks are not boring!" As opposed to "the party of the first part feels, in regards to the party of the second part, that igneous substances are indeed salutary and interesting, despite initial appearances to the contrary." But even children can be guilty of watering down the intensity of the immediate impact of their simple, emotional expressions, with long and meandering excursions into meaningless adjectives and adverbs.

As soon as one writes a story, not about 'the boy and the dragon,' but instead writes about 'the little young boy and the very big dragon,' the reader finds his or her wandering mind plagued with questions such as -- what dragons are not big? Aren't most young boys little? If the boy was big, then it might be necessary to specify that this was so, but little -- surely not! And why 'young boy' -- after all, the protagonist is a boy not a man.

Thus, the focus of even this first sentence shifts from the images generated by the pictorial words referencing people, places and things, to vague, unnecessary and ultimately empty and indeterminate adjectives. Keep it short, and keep it sweet -- the prose of Hemingway is founded upon such an innovation, shifting away from the verbiage of the earlier century into 20th century modernism. Ironically, simple prose without adjectives or adverbs often conveys more emotion than complex statements of emotion or argument, which makes the writer sound as if he or she is avoiding the real issues, when a straightforward statement of agreement or disagreement would contain a more unequivocal sense of truth -- "I wept," as opposed to, "well, what do you expect, when you see something sad? My cheeks felt damp. A droplet of moisture rolled down my skin. It was a tear."

Yet one could argue, although not an effective expression of grief, such a meandering monologue may convey the processes of thought of a particular character, or an emotional or psychological need of a character to cover up his or her grief in a work of fiction, or a narrative work of nonfiction. To return to the example of the 19th century novel, when in the short story of Charles Dickens, "A Christmas Carol," Bob Cratchitt uses a meandering monologue to 'thank' Scrooge for having a day off on the holiday, and Scrooge talks a great deal of unnecessary 'humbug' when first visited by the ghost of Marley, trying to convince himself out of the manifest evidence that yes, what is happening is real, the supposedly extra words convey the attempt of these characters to lie to others and to themselves, what they are actually feeling. Even the kindly Bob Cratchitt is angry about having to ask about having to take a day off, without pay, for the Christmas holiday. Even Scrooge is unnerved at the possibility of the undead lurking in his home. They use extra words to lie, to cover up the truth.

Such words, the authors of The Elements of Style, might say, are necessary in context -- using only necessary words does not mean using the fewest amount of words that one possibly can, creating the potential prosaic sins of omission. But by making this principle of "omitting unnecessary words," an inflexible rule of style, rather than just an editorial encouragement not to be wordy, beginning readers and writers might be discouraged to experiment with the glorious, diverse possibilities of the English language. Long, meandering and overly discursive passages can be boring, true. But so can too-short sentences and concepts that convey little meaning, as well as little emotion. "See Dick run. See Jane eat a brownie." The old first grade primer Dick and Jane was abandoned from the sheer tedium it inflicted upon young minds.

See Dick run with curious speed! See Jane eat a chewy brownie! The images might be similar from the first two sentences, but in the reader's mind certain questions arise -- what is curious about Dick going so fast? The sensuous texture of the brownie in Jane's mouth of lush, chewy, chocolate goodness oozes through one's imaginary sensibilities, creating a cloying texture upon one's tongue.

Of course, as the brownie example highlights, advertising has benefited tremendously by playing upon the ordinary, human delight in unnecessary words. Altoids the curiously strong mint. A Happy Meal, as opposed to just a meal, or an Extra Value Meal -- Super-sized! Crude examples, perhaps, but although "wretched" excess of adjectives and purple prose may not be desirable, "a little too much" of verbiage might do at least a beginning writer good, as he or she learns to play with language, and perhaps will, as eventually Shakespeare did, use an excess repetition of "Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow," in Macbeth's final, famous soliloquy, to convey depression and despair. Thank goodness no one said, "Hey, Will S. -- don't you think just one word is enough to show that this guy Mr. M is depressed?" Even Strunk and White's own comment that "vigorous" writing is concise shows the power of a potentially extraneous adjective -- what delight, what fun, to create vigorously concise prose, as opposed to merely "concise writing!"

2. Use one of Fauconnier and Tuner's early examples to explain the notion of conceptual blending. Be sure to explain what it means to say that something new is created. The examples are: Iron Lady, Waiter-skier, Computer Desktop, Complex Numbers, and Sexual Fantasies. Show an awareness of and respond to some good objection that nothing new is created. (Please refer to The Way We Think: Conceptual Blending and the Mind's Hidden Complexities by Gilles Fauconnier and Mark Tuner)

The Iron Lady. Why not just call Margaret Thatcher, to whom this appellation was first applied, one tough broad? There is a certain tension between the ideas of being ladylike or living like a lady that contains a suggestion of fragility and removal from the ordinary and work-a-day world, with iron, which does not, which is a strong and useful metal. Also, the term "Iron Lady" has resonance, culturally, in particular when applied in a British context. It recalls the image of the iron maiden, a medieval torture device that involved twisting or squeezing the poor, accused individual until he or she 'fessed up' to heresy.

This device, to highlight the horror the tormentor was subject to, featured a painting of a lovely young woman, in whose death grip the afflicted individual would find himself in as he howled in pain. Thatcher's opponents would similarly find themselves lured in by her apparent lady-like and reserved quality of speech, only to find their points twisted and turned and crushed beyond recognition -- rhetorically speaking. Because Thatcher was opposed to so many individuals in her own Conservative Party as well, and was often accused of heresy to the true ideals of the party, while she accused more liberal members of heresy to the true principles of being a Tory, being British, and being self-sufficient as a human being in line with traditional British principles, the appellation of a torture device applied to potential heretics seemed uniquely appropriate.

But are ladies really so fragile? After all, to be a lady is to have a strong social position and to have the power of title, and subsequent social and financial entitlement, merely by being designated a lady. To call someone a lady is to already affirm her iron place in society.

Ironically, Margaret Thatcher was a grocer's daughter. But as prime minister, her place in the parliament was secure. She had an iron grip and domination of the legislative body, numerically and with her words. Ironically as well, she had to receive dialect coaching to soften the harsh tone and accent of her early political career. Her ladylike qualities were just as painted on as the iron lady.

Moreover, iron is not perfectly resilient. AS the nursery rhyme goes, 'iron bars can bend and break, my fair lady.' Iron can be gray and dull, rather than contain attractive qualities of strength, and is ultimately malleable in human hands. But none of these associations flow through the mind through the use of conceptual blending in this author's work -- instead, something new is created by the pairing of the two words. To the ear, suddenly, by being paired with the word 'iron,' lady sounds like something very weak and feminine, while 'iron' sounds like something masculine and strong. Thus, the idea of a strong, female leader is created through conceptual blending, and the ultimately oxymoronic pairing of unlike words. Something new is created, through the use of cultural, political, religious, and historical references, and of the pairing of these two specific nouns together.

3. Explain what Fauconnier and Turner mean when they assert on page 15, in effect, that, "Metaphor is not just something derived from 'core meaning'?" Are they right? (Please refer to The Way We Think: Conceptual Blending and the Mind's Hidden Complexities by Gilles Fauconnier and Mark Tuner)

Because unlike the literary device or trope of simile, the use of metaphor deploys the verb 'is,' as in, 'hope is a thing with feathers,' in the famous poem of Emily Dickinson of this title, one is tempted to assume that metaphor accesses some core meaning of a word or concept. But as this example shows, the poet's point-of-view is highlighted rather than representing something truthful about hope. For Dickinson, hope may be elusive, ethereal, and bird-like. Hope was not nearly as tenuous, perhaps, as it was for the recently deceased actor Christopher Reeve, who believed with stalwart determination until the very last day of his life that with enough hope in his heart, mind, and body, he would be able to walk again.

Thus, metaphorical use often tells a reader more about the way a culture is interpreting a particular concept or word, rather than something intrinsic to the concept or word itself. Traditional linguists before the authors of the aforementioned text often suggested in their analyses that words in literal expressions invariably denoted what they meant according to common or dictionary usage. In other words, what one saw on the page was what one 'got,' when a reader saw that 'highway construction will take place from October to November' on Route 66, as opposed to the use of words in figurative expressions, such as "life is a highway -- I want to ride it all night long!" In the second expression, a highway is used to connote something other than what was meant according to common or dictionary usage. The writer was not talking about a literal highway he or she wished to ride all night long, but some larger meaning about life.

But cognitive linguists Gilles Fauconnier and Mark Turner have begun to take issue with such notions, suggesting that what is called literal as opposed to metaphorical meaning is not so clear-cut. Perhaps in the specified context of paving the meaning might be clear. But once one enters the realm of metaphor, something new is created. Thus, according to these authors is not clear that the notions of literal meanings should be seen as superior to metaphorical meanings. In fact, literal meanings and metaphorical meanings might be closer than we might think.