In the library the other day, I came across a copy of
Michael Wolff’s tell-all book, Fire and
Fury: Inside the Trump White House and, even though I’m pressed for time to
read lately, I decided to check it out. The book turns out to be a great dish
on the chaotic and cringe-worthy first year of the current administration, but
what surprised me most about it is was the language Wolff uses. Scattered
across the pages are words I am embarrassed to admit I don’t know: words like samizdat,
revanchism, myrmidons, quant, and hortatory.
To be truthful, I wasn’t expecting this level of vocabulary
in what I thought would be a People type
of read. To be clear, the book is quite good; it provides a fascinating
first-hand look at the temperament of the current president and the political
machinations of the people he chooses to work for him. But I have had to keep
my phone handy while reading this book, just so I can look up some of the
unfamiliar words I’m encountering as I go along.
This process of looking up new vocabulary words brings back
some of the best memories of my childhood. I was one of those kids who loved to
read and enjoyed diving into books above my recommended reading level. I delighted
in learning new words, and discovered, as an interesting by-product, that doing
so taught me to be a better writer, as well as a reader. But at some point in
my life, I lost this drive to discover new vocabulary words. I replaced it with
a desire to acquire more content in what I was reading. Now I’m wondering if it
was a good idea to lose interest in growing my vocabulary.
While many of us enjoy discovering new words in the books we’re
reading, most of us who write don’t have the same feeling about pushing the
vocabulary envelope. It’s a tough job just to get the words on the page on some
days and forcing ourselves to write with more complex language is sometimes not
a priority. But I have to admit that when I read books that are written with an
elevated vocabulary, I find that I’m more likely to remember them as the books
I love the most.
My appreciation for heightened language is ironic
considering that in the college business classes I teach, I urge students to write
with short, simple words. Some of the rationale behind this pedagogy is that
when writing for business, the primary goal is to be clear. But when it comes
to writing fiction and nonfiction books, the goal is a little different. In those
cases, we are telling stories. Our purpose, for the most part, is to inform and
entertain. And I would argue that in those cases, the type of words we use
matter more.
Finding just the right word to describe a character or
situation might take the writer a little more time, but the end result can be
captivating and memorable, and can make our stories soar. I know some will
argue that forcing readers to stop and look up words might take them out of the
stories we write. There is some truth to that. But reading Wolff’s work has
reminded me that in addition to developing a good storyline and creating memorable
characters, I also need to up my game
when it comes to the language I use in my writing. I believe I owe it to my
characters, my stories, and most of all, to my readers, especially if I want
them to remember my books as the ones they love the most.
