In a prior life, one of my jobs was to draft academic policy. This was always fraught with peril, not over the policy but over alleged grammar errors. I recall one particularly nasty note accusing me of the sin of using a split infinitive. I had to look that one up, and was shocked to learn that a phrase like, “To boldly go where no man has gone before” was a split infinitive. The adverb “boldly” splits the infinitive “to go.”
Today, I’d probably avoid both the adverb and the generic use of “man” for “person,” but back then I was chastised. At least, until a colleague from the English Department pointed me to paragraph 5.108 of the Chicago Manual of Style, which states “Although from about 1850 to 1925 many grammarians stated otherwise, it is now widely acknowledged that adverbs sometimes justifiably separate the to from the principal verb.”
Ha! Take that, nasty-gram author!
Still, effective writing involves effective use of language, and that inevitably means understanding grammar. Take verbs, for example. A verb, any verb, has five properties: voice, mood, tense, person, and number. Verbs are conjugated to show these properties. Each of these, even the obvious ones like tense and person, have nuances. Paragraphs 5.117 through at least 5.155 of the Chicago Manual of Style deal with verbs. Each of the five verb properties have a place in the fiction author’s inventory, and it occured to me that it might be useful to have a newsletter devoted to each one.
At least, it seemed useful when I couldn’t think of anything else to write about this month, so here goes.
Chicago Manual of Style, 5.118: Active and passive voice. Voice shows whether the subject acts (active voice) or is acted on (passive voice)—that is, whether the subject performs or receives the action of the verb.
Consider the two sentences.
- Marie slapped Sam.
- Sam was slapped by Marie.
They describe the same event, but the subject of the verb changes. In both sentences, Marie is the actor and Sam receives the action, but the grammatical construction is different. Marie is the subject of the first sentence, while Sam is the subject of the second. The first sentence uses active voice, while the second uses passive, signaled by the helper verb “was” and the prepositional phrase, “by Marie,” identifying her as the actor. The grammar is simple enough, although CMOS drones on about progressive conjugations and other matters, the basics are pretty direct.
But it’s also more complicated than mere grammar.
In fiction, the author attends not only to voice but also to point of view. We want to put the readers inside the point-of-view character’s head. When this is successful, the readers become the author’s partner in imagining the fictional world. This active imagination then fills in the myriad incidental details that don’t make it to the page but nonetheless bring the scene to life. Activating the readers’ imaginations is one of the primary goals of point-of-view.
If we’re in Marie’s head, then the first sentence, the one using active voice, keeps the readers in her head. She’s acting on an element of the fictional world, namely Sam. Her action keeps the readers’ imaginations engaged and helps to keep them inside her head and thus inside the fictional world. In this case, the first sentence, with active voice, is superior to the second because it keeps the reader focused on Marie and her actions.
But suppose Sam is the point-of-view character and the readers are in his head. To be sure, the second sentence keeps the focus on Sam, but he’s not acting or even reacting. Instead, he’s passively receiving the action. This passivity gets transferred to the readers since they’re in his head. The result tends to deactivate the readers’ imaginations and distance them from the ongoing events in the here-and-now. So, the passive voice in the second sentence acts in a manner contrary to one of the main goals of point-of-view, namely inciting active readers.
Of course, in the real world, and hence in the fictional world, things happen that are beyond our control. It’s certainly possible that Sam might get slapped. The point here is that way to show that is not with passive voice, but rather by showing Sam’s reaction to being slapped. For example, we might write, “Marie slapped Sam and set his cheek on fire.” Marie’s acting, but now the focus shifts to Sam’s internal reaction, namely the sensation of being slapped, something only he can feel. This keeps us in his head and keeps the readers active. Better yet, the metaphor “fire” suggests an emotional response of anger as well as a physical one and stimulates the readers’ imaginations. Marie is still the actor in this sentence for both verbs—“slapped” and “set”—but now the readers are in Sam’s head, imagining both his sensations and emotions.
I’m a mathematician by training, and that peculiar heritage often clouds my thinking. It would be nice if language followed consistent rules, like Zermel-Frankel set theory, but the reality is that English is both irregular and evolving. To be sure, there are grammar rules, and they are often clear-cut, but they can be convoluted as well. I’ve learned over the years to rely on a guide like The Chicago Manual of Style when in doubt. It’s inexpensive to access online, and definitive. If you can’t afford the modest charge, online sources like the Purdue Owl are free and quite good.
Grammar is useful for both clarity and rigor. But grammar isn’t the whole story, or even an important part of it, as the above discussion on voice demonstrates. It’s showing your characters acting and reacting to the fictional world that brings your story to life. Grammar is no substitute for effective craft and artistic nuance. If you write with your heart but edit with your head, you’ll probably achieve a good balance.
Next month, I’ll tackle a verb’s mood. Unless I think of something more interesting.
- See also Part Deux and Part Trois
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