It happened
again—I was reading the Norwegian newspaper Aftenposten and flipping through
the Culture section, when I came to the book review section. I came across a
review of a new book by an (American) author. The nationality of the author
doesn’t really matter for this discussion; what is important was that this was
his third book, that his first book had been an amazing debut, and that it had
sold very well. It had also been well-received critically. The small headline that
introduced the actual review provided the following message (translated more or
less literally from Norwegian): ‘only the
mountains are the same as in the first book; nothing else achieves the heights
that were achieved in the first novel’. Clear enough message, I thought—I expected
to find a negative tone throughout the review. But no, quite the opposite. The
reviewer used his column to praise the book, and ended his review by saying the
following: ‘it is almost unthinkable that
(the author) would be able to achieve the heights that he did with his debut
novel, but with his new book he has shown that he didn’t just have one good
book in him. This book is undoubtedly one of the year’s most important American
books’. Why did this review irritate me, when it was in fact well-written and
positive to the author? Because these types of reviews or newspaper articles are
not uncommon these days. Because the introductory headline and the review
itself were at odds with each other. Because the headline creates the
anticipation of a negative review, when in fact it was not negative at all.
This is how
I would have written the introductory headline: ‘despite the fact that the third novel does not live up to the standards
set by the debut novel, the author’s third book is very good and will be one of
the year’s most important books’. Nothing more and nothing less. You then know
what you have to deal with when you read the review. Your expectations of
praise and some criticism will be met. You will get a clear message of what the reviewer meant about the book.
I look for
Clearspeak in most conversations and in most of what I read and listen to in
the media these days. Unfortunately, I find that Clearspeak is in short supply.
What is Clearspeak, you wonder. Clearspeak is the opposite of Obscurespeak, and
even of Newspeak (a la George Orwell). It is the ability to express one’s
thoughts and meanings clearly, so that your listeners and readers understand
you. It is the ability to use words and vocabulary in an honest and direct (not
necessarily politically-correct) way, again so that your listeners and readers
understand you. It is not about being politically-correct or cowardly or any of
those things. Clearspeak says—'I have an opinion or a specific meaning about
something and I feel comfortable with expressing it clearly. I want you to know
what I think'. Obscurespeak says—'I have an opinion or a specific meaning about
something but I feel uncomfortable with expressing it clearly, so I will
introduce a certain amount of confusion so that readers and listeners cannot ‘attack’
me for my opinions and meanings afterward. I’m not sure I really want you to
know what I think. I am afraid'. Obscurespeak is obfuscation. It is also
Safespeak—it protects the writer or speaker from being taken down or attacked,
because your readers and listeners are too busy trying to figure out what it
was you meant by what you wrote or said. Obscurespeak is the new language of
huge bureaucracies as well, because if the average ordinary person actually started
to understand what is written in the rules, regulations, tax laws, import laws,
etc. he or she might actually start to ask some clear and direct questions that
politicians wouldn’t want or be able to answer. Understanding how society and
the government work might lead to grass-root revolutions and to an overthrow of
politicians and bureaucrats who worship Obscurespeak and even Newspeak. Perhaps
that day is coming and that is what they’re afraid of.
