Writing with brevity has little faults, but sometimes, all that conciseness creates a fierce craving… a craving that can only be filled with a little eloquence. Join us as we explore deeper into the literary world of Mark Forsyth’s The Elements of Eloquence: How to Turn the Perfect English Phrase and let’s explore the next set of strategic writing techniques. (Click here to read parts 1, 2, 3 and 4)
The film Dr. No marks the first appearance of the internationally renowned James Bond (played by Sean Connery), and in a scene where the tuxedo-clad spy first meets the seductive damsel, he makes one of cinema’s most quotable introductions.
Dashing diacopes
How do you introduce yourself if you have one of the world’s most boring names? Do you go with “Hi, I’m John Smith”? You can, but it’s hardly going to leave a lasting impression! To spice up the introduction game, we return to 1962 – when the cult film Dr. No (a novel-turned-film written by Ian Fleming) first hit the silver screens – the day when “Bond. James Bond.” took the world by storm and gave people with pedestrian names an exciting way to introduce themselves.
According to Fleming, he intentionally gave the protagonist an unassuming name.
“I wanted the simplest, dullest, plainest-sounding name I could find. James Bond was much better than something more interesting like ‘Peregrine Carruthers.’ Exotic things would happen to and around him, but he would be a neutral figure – an anonymous, blunt instrument wielded by a government department.”
~An interview with the Manchester Guardian in 1958
Despite his uninspiring name, James Bond creates an air of mystery and sophistication around his introduction through the literary technique of diacope, which Forsyth defines as a “verbal sandwich: a word or phrase repeated after a brief interruption.” Since the success of Dr. No, diacopes have seen great use across all forms of media – like the lyrics “Burn, baby, burn” in “Disco Inferno” by The Trammps, Bill Paxton’s famous “Game over, man. Game over!” in the film Aliens and many more.
Writing diacopes are simple and they come in three flavours, the simplest being a vocative diacope. “All you do is chuck in somebody’s name or their title and repeat,” explains Forsyth (such as Dorothy’s famous “Run, Toto. Run!” in The Wizard of Oz). “The effect is to put a bit of emphasis, a certain finality, on the second word. Somehow it ceases to be a joke or an off-the-cuff remark and becomes a rhadamanthine [or stern and inflexible] judgement.” It can be applied to phrases to emphasise greater emotion, like “John said he would be coming with the cake, Martha… He said he would be coming.”
The second kind of diacope is an elaborative diacope. It sounds more difficult, but it’s got the same ABA structure with an adjective standing in as B instead – like the phrase “from sea to shining sea” or the song “Sunday, Bloody Sunday” by U2. Furthermore, you can use both a vocative and elaborative diacope in the same phrase – allowing you to create catchy gems like the lyrics “it’s gold, it’s solid gold baby” from Beyoncé’s “Hey Goldmember”.
Diacope’s final form is the extended diacope and it’s best suited to creating dramatic tension. Following a lengthier AABA structure, many of Shakespeare’s works included some form of extended diacopes – like “Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?” in Romeo & Juliet, “A horse, a horse! My kingdom for a horse” in Richard III and “O villain, villain, smiling, damned villain” in Hamlet. While extended diacopes may be a tad too dramatic for everyday copy, the other forms of diacopes are great for emphasising unique selling points!
(Profanity warning) In the film Pulp Fiction, hitman Jules Winnfield (played by Samuel L. Jackson) interrogates Brett for trying to double-cross crime boss Marsellus Wallace. Using subjectio rhetoric (asking a series of rhetorical questions to which he already knows the answers to), Jules establishes why you shouldn’t mess with his boss.
Why rhetorical questions? Why not!
“What O what is a rhetorical question?” asks Forsyth. “Is it merely a question that requires no answer? No. Is it a question where the answer is too obvious to need stating? Or one where there is no answer? Or just a cold-blooded thing to say to a chap before you pop a cap in his ass?” Contrary to popular belief, there isn’t a specific definition to what a rhetorical question is, he confesses.
To better understand why, you must first realise that there are many different kinds of rhetorical questions. An erotesis rhetoric is a question “that really isn’t a question at all” – like Shakespeare’s “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”, which is more eloquent than simply stating “I shall compare thee to a summer’s day”. The erotesis “is the purest form of the rhetorical question, where a couple of words have been switched around and a question mark slapped on the end…,” writes Forsyth. “No answer is required. A question is just an upside-down way of making a statement. Next is the epiplexis rhetoric, where you ask a question to insult or express grief – like “What’s the point?” or “How could you?” – and like the erotesis, it’s a more stylistic way to express a basic statement (instead of “I’m too bummed out” or “You disappoint me”).
The anacoenosis rhetoric, on the other hand, is a question that both you and the reader know the answer to – like The Beatles’ song “Why Don’t We Do It In The Road?”. “The thing about anacoenosis is that it makes us realise how much we have in common,” explains Forsyth. “We both want to do it in the road… I don’t need to tell you how close we are. I can simply ask you questions and we will both know that we have the same answer.” Then there’s the hypophora rhetoric, an instance where you immediately answer the question after asking it – like in Bob the Builder’s theme song: “Can we fix it? Yes, we can!” Want to ask more than one hypophora? Do you? Well then that’s called an anthypophora rhetoric.
Can you use multiple kinds of rhetorical questions at once? Yes, you can! In the film Dirty Harry (starring Clint Eastwood), he threateningly asks the criminal “Do I feel lucky punk? Well, do you?”, which is both an anthypophora and an erotesis (because the question was unanswered). Assuming that we’re empathising with the criminal, us not wanting to get shot by the .44 magnum is also “an odd sort of anacoenosis” according to Forsyth. Lastly, because Inspector Harry already expected the criminal to surrender, the pair of questions also classify as a subjectio.
Are you tired, oh so tired, of plain copy? Do you feel the need to indulge in something more eloquent? Then diacopes and rhetorical questions are a great way to add life to your copy! Stay tuned as we continue on with more tips to improve your writing style.