Semicolons, Sociology, And A Little Bit Of A Soapbox

The semicolon debate rages.

I admit that I like the slant of this article: semicolon as nuance. Though I suppose it’s not really all that different a thought from the semicolon as meditation.

For being a punctuation mark that I have never previously read very much about or thought very much about, I discover that everything I learn makes me love it more. How much am I growing to love them? This entry marks the second time in mere months that I have written about the semicolon. And if you told me a year ago that this would ever be the case, I would have laughed openly. At you, dear, not with you.

I am warming to this thesis that the semicolon represents, in a way, the kind of life I aspire to: gentle, reflective, nuanced, connected. If in fact it is possible for a punctuation mark to become such a symbol.

I don’t want to come off as a fusty curmudgeon here, or a strict grammarian with a penchant for down time. I certainly fall victim to rushing; I get impatient and frantic and harried. There are times when I feel full of snark and very little circumstance. This is an ideal, a purpose, a horizon, if you will allow me to co-opt a Presidential phrase and a Stewart-ian analysis, that I am always headed toward.

But here’s what bothers me: the fact that I feel compelled to defend my love of the semicolon. My affair with the mark should be eccentric, certainly, but not condemnable. You know? Why has the semi been relegated to the domain of fusty curmudgeons? Why does anyone young enough to not know corporal punishment in classrooms feel the need to defend the semicolon's usefulness? What I find most troubling in this new article is this:

The credit probably belongs to Trevor Butterworth, who in 2005 - citing Truss [Lynne Truss who wrote Eats, Shoots & Leaves] as partial inspiration - wrote a 2,700-word essay on the semicolon in the Financial Times. Butterworth, who had worked in the States, wondered why so many Americans shared Donald Barthelme's sense that the mark was "ugly as a tick on a dog's belly." His answer: As a culture, we Yanks distrust nuance and complexity. (Links, italics, and parenthetical asides are mine.)

Do we really not do nuance? I find that assessment disappointing. Not least of which is because the candidate I have chosen to support this election cycle is a practiced wielder of nuance. And I wonder to what degree that is why some of the electorate does not trust him. And I hope that particular some of the electorate is not enough to turn the tide – or rather, keep the tide flowing (four more years, anyone?).

I don’t want to get preachy or partisan here. I get to say who I support, but I don’t get to beat anyone up about it. Anyway, it’s just a small part of the picture. An utter lack of nuance is apparent in "classic" American foods served up by "classic" middle America restaurant chains too. This morning, Rick recounted to me the new developments at Applebee's (from this article) that include such culinary feats as a bruschetta quesadilla (still in development), and a quesadilla burger (currently available for purchase at an Applebee's near you). There is no crescendo of complimentary flavor profiles here, no complexity, no layering -- unless, of course, you count cheese. In college, my friends had a theory that you could open any food-related shop and market it as fast food simply by adding: ‘n shit. Like, “Piroguies ‘n shit,” “Bangers ‘n shit,” “Gefilte fish ‘n shit.” But it appears that we were wrong. All you need to do is make it as much like a quesadilla as possible.

I’m not really shocked to learn that these things sell well. I will even admit that I would eat them. (I would.) But I’m happy to be outraged that menus filled with quesadilla-esque fare exist. Because frankly, no one over the age of 20 should eat these things. Greasy, extruded, artificial, neon-colored – these adjectives should only be used to describe your diet when you are an adolescent. And I say this despite my weakness for Cheetos, which meet the requirements of all four adjectives, by the way.

Ok. So maybe nuance isn’t an American forte. But I can only accept that as reality by devoting myself to beefing up our capacity for it. I know that it is not particularly inspiring to run out in the streets, pumping fists in the air, exclaiming: “Come on, everybody! Let’s be contemplative, reasoned, multi-faceted!” That it is, instead, much more exciting to generate slogans and rattle off glib, two-word answers like:

Q: Does evil exist, and if it does, do we ignore it, do we negotiate with it, do we contain it, or do we defeat it?

A: Defeat it.

(Though really, given the glibness of this very leading question, it’s hard to be surprised by the bombast glibness of the answer. And both parts of that equation are the problem.) But maybe we are misserved by excitement. Maybe we should retire from "off-the-cuff" and "sharp-shooting," and simply regard them, fondly, as fancies of our collective youth.

What do you say?

ETA: Oh, look at me. A railing against oversimplification. A call to embrace the meditation, the nuance of the semicolon. And not a semicolon in sight. *sigh*