There’s more to creating a compelling narrative than just throwing words on a page. If you’ve followed our previous articles featuring Mark Forsyth’s book: The Elements of Eloquence: How to Turn the Perfect English Phrase, then you’re already familiar with several nifty literary devices used to manipulate word and sentence structuring (click here for parts 1, 2 and 3). Join Wordsmith as we examine how to apply poetic devices to improve your copy.
Much of Dr. Seuss’ works are written paratactically using simple declarative statements. Such a writing style is easy to comprehend and makes the process less of a chore for new readers.
Short and sweet with parataxis
When we think of eloquence in English, it’s not unusual to think of the conversations between aristocracy and royalty during the Victorian era – brimming with lengthy sentences, grandiose words and pompous inflections masquerading as sophistication.
Forsyth, however, believes that using more words is not always the key to eloquence. Instead, he believes beauty is found in brevity. Like this. Simple English is beautiful English. Short and abrupt sentences are called parataxis, and Forsyth dubs them “the natural way of speaking English.”
“It’s the way English is meant to be spoken. English is a basically uninflected language. Everything depends on word order. It’s all subject-verb-object,” Forsyth explains. For comparison, he points to the less restrictive sentence structure of Latin. If you want to say “the sailor likes the girl” in Latin, you can say either “nauta amat puellum” or “nauta puellum amat” while keeping the same meaning. Without changing the sentence tense, trying to do the same in English is nigh impossible!
That said, most clients would rarely accept content that consisted entirely of short, abrupt sentences. This is where punctuation comes in. Provided each clause follows brevity and the subject-verb-object structuring, it still counts as a parataxis. Commas, dashes and semicolons can all be used as well to maintain linguistic simplicity in the guise of a longer sentence!
Relying solely on punctuation to separate clauses raises a slight concern, as it only dictates the length of the pause between each clause. Imagine attending a prestigious speech. All of the industry’s greatest minds are there. The MC walks on stage with the mic. He talks for 20 minutes to introduce the speakers. Every line he spouts is about this long. Regardless of how charming the MC was, you’d go mad listening to such a staccato delivery! On the other hand, parataxis is a fine option when conciseness is key – such as when making repeated declarative statements (like when bartering) or in note taking.
Lucy Ellman’s novel Ducks, Newburyport consists mostly of a single sentence spanning nearly 1,000 pages. Hypotaxis (and the phrase: “the fact that”) are primary writing tactics used to keep this ultralong run-on sentence going.
Honouring hypotaxis
Conjunctions (and, or, but, etc.) are much more effective at bridging the gaps between awkward pauses and create a smoother rhythm. However – as with most things in English – there is a catch. Use these with restraint, lest you intend to create abominably long sentences that go on forever, and force the reader to navigate through a wall of words, as if they were Theseus wandering the Labyrinth in search of the dangerous minotaur (not unlike the periodic sentences covered in the previous chapter).
This act of stringing subordinate clause upon subordinate clause is called a hypotaxis, and while you can technically stack them indefinitely, it becomes frustrating to read – especially if your readers have to sift through the whole thing to pick out points of interest.
Although Forsyth appreciates parataxes for their simplistic beauty, he believes hypotaxes are where true eloquence is found. “You have to think calmly for a long time to come up with a good hypotactic sentence, and so a good hypotactic sentence tells the reader that you have been thinking calmly for a long time,” writes Forsyth. “An angry drunk might shout paratactically; only a just and gentle mind can be hypotactic.” He explains that most modern criticisms appear as parataxes, such as “Lawyers are only interested in money. Sure, lawyers pay you compliments. Compliments are free.” Then he points to a quote from Charles Dickens saying the same thing hypotactically:
“It was a maxim with Mr. Brass that the habit of paying compliments kept a man’s tongue oiled without any expense; and that, as that useful member ought never to grow rusty or creak in turning on its hinges in the case of a practitioner of the law, in whom it should be always glib and easy, he lost few opportunities of improving himself by the utterance of handsome speeches and eulogistic expressions.”
While it is significantly longer than the paratactic equivalent, you can’t deny there’s a certain beauty to it. Forsyth calls this: “Seventy-three words of hypotactic fun that somehow never seems rude, even though it definitely is… but hypotaxis doesn’t just stop you being rude, it stops you being too enthusiastic as well.” Consider reading a paratactic advert for a candy bar:
“You want a Donny’s candy bar. It’s smooth. It’s velvety. It’s 70 percent dark chocolate. It’s got nuts – lots of nuts. Satisfy your cravings for decadence and crunch. Buy one today.”
Due to the gushy nature of the copy, audiences’ first reaction would be to grow wary around the product. Some might even argue that it sounds sketchy and be turned away by the ad’s pushiness. Let’s see if we can tone it back a bit with some Jane Austen-esque hypotaxis.
“Donny’s candy bars, smooth, velvety and 70 percent dark chocolate, mixed with an assortment of premium nuts – almonds, hazelnuts, macadamias – for a pleasant balance between semi-sweet decadence and crunch, buy one today.”
Where parataxis appears overly abrupt and aggressive (“smutty and almost vulgar” in certain circumstances according to Forsyth), hypotaxis is “terribly, terribly civilised.” Provided it’s well-crafted, hypotaxis is highly adaptive and can be applied to all sorts of usages – such as complaint letters, redundancy notices and even ransom notes!
So why isn’t hypotactic writing more popular? Despite its eloquent beauty, Forsythe argues that hypotaxis is unnatural in English. We’re too used to being able to pinpoint what we want immediately, so the moment we’re presented with lengthy blurbs where the desired details aren’t immediately clear, we subconsciously zone out – which was why Forsythe speculates modern hypotaxis to be most commonly found tucked away in terms and conditions and other rarely read material.
Like yin and yang, neither parataxis nor hypotaxis are superior over one another. Their effectiveness is largely determined by usage context, so pay mind to what you are selling, and how you’re selling it. Want to learn more about Forsyth’s literary techniques? Stay tuned for the next chapter!