(excerpted from:   D. Rosenwasser & J. Stephen, eds., Writing Analytically, New York:  Harcourt, Brace & Co.
1997.)
 

REVISING IS THE VERY HEART OF WRITING. The best ideas develop over time, ,through your repeated attempts to find the language that best articulates your thinking. Revision is a very broad term, however, and so it is useful to distinguish two kinds of revision.

As we have been using it thus far, the term revision refers to the process by which writers continually evaluate and rethink what they have written to improve the clarity and accuracy of their ideas. Revision, in this sense of "re-vision," to see again, might involve choosing the best point you've made in an early draft and building the next draft around it, cutting the majority of what you had written. Or it might mean discovering an entirely different way of analyzing your topic and working to reconcile this viewpoint with your formulation from a previous draft. Such revisions are conceptual: they involve wide-scale changes in content and organization.
 

WAIT TO FOCUS ON TECHNICAL REVISION

Perhaps the first guideline in technical revision is to wait to do it until you have arrived at a reasonably complete conceptual draft. We have delayed until the end of the book our consideration of technical revisions precisely because most writers avoid worrying about them in the early stages of the writing process. As we have suggested, writers need a stage in which they are allowed to make mistakes and use writing to help them discover what they want to say. If you get too focused on producing polished copy right up front, you may never explore the subject enough to learn how to have ideas about it. In other words, it doesn't make sense for you to let your worries about proper form or persuasive phrasing prematurely distract you from the more important matter of having something substantial to polish in the first place. But in the appropriate place-the later stages of the writing process-technical revision becomes very important.
 

USE TECHNICAL REVISION AS A FORM OF CONCEPTUAL REVISION

A second guideline in doing technical revision is to avoid thinking of it solely as a matter of communicating more effectively with your audience. Rethinking the way you have said something will often lead you to rethink the substance of what you have said. Put another way: in practice, technical revision often spills over into conceptual revision. When you reorder the words in your sentences, you will frequently be able to recognize your ideas more clearly and, for that matter, discover new ideas that were shrouded in foggy constructions.

Suppose, for example, that in revising your sentence structure you decide to give more prominence to one of the two ideas that your original draft treated as equal. Your draft reads,

The history of Indochina is marked by colonial exploitation as well as international cooperation.

Here, the claim that Indochina has experienced colonial exploitation is equal in weight to the claim that it has also experienced international cooperation. But consider what happens when your revision, by using an although clause, makes the claim of exploitation secondary to the claim of cooperation:

The history of Indochina, although marked by colonial exploitation, testifies to the possibility of international cooperation.

The first version of the sentence would probably lead you to a broad survey of foreign intervention in Indochina. The result would likely be a static list in which you judged some interventions to be "beneficial" and others "not beneficial." The revised sentence redirects your thinking, tightens your paper's focus to prior

itize evidence of cooperation, and presses you to make decisions, such as whether the positive consequences of cooperation outweigh the negative consequences of colonialism. In short, the revision leads you to examine the dynamic relations between your two initial claims.

Just as commonly, the spill-over from technical to conceptual revision can occur when you are revising at the level of word choice. Let's say that you've drafted an analysis of the president's approach to military spending, and, having encountered some apparently contradictory evidence, you've chosen to call his stance "ambiguous" (open to many interpretations). As you focus on the transitions among your examples, though, you realize that his approach actually tends to fall into one of two responses. You then understand that his approach should more accurately be termed "ambivalent" (possessing two opposite or conflicting views). This recognition, in turn, would lead you not only to reorganize your final version but also to refocus your argument, building to the significance of this ambivalence (that the president is trying to adopt two stances simultaneously) rather than to your previous conclusion (that presidential policy is simply incoherent).

As you read this chapter and apply its advice, keep in mind that revision is the essence of writing. Assume that your first draft-indeed, your first several draftswill not be polished. When you allow time to rewrite, to dwell with your writing, you will begin to notice how to make it cleaner, clearer, and more persuasive. On the other hand, you should also recognize that the process of revision is, in theory, endless. Near the end of his career, Sigmund Freud considered the question of when a person should stop undergoing psychoanalysis, given that one is never totally "cured." His answer was that at a certain point one has simply had enough and so stops arbitrarily. At some arbitrary point you will have to decide to stop revising. The more of it you can find the time to do, however, the more successful your final product is likely to become.
 

WHAT IS STYLE?

Broadly defined, style refers to all of a writer's decisions in selecting, arranging, and expressing what he or she has to say. Many factors affect your style: your aim and sense of audience, the ways you approach and develop a topic, the kinds of evidence you choose, and, particularly, the kinds of syntax and diction you characteristically select. In this sense, style is personal.

The foundations of your style emerge in the dialogue you have with yourself about your topic. When you revise for style, you consciously reorient yourself toward communicating the results of that dialogue to your audience. Stylistic decisions, then, are a mix of the unconscious and conscious, of chance and choice. You don't simply impose style onto your prose; it's not a mask you don or your way of icing the cake. Revising for style is more like sculpting. As a sculptor uses a chisel to "bring out" a shape from a block of walnut or marble, a writer uses style to "bring out" the shape of the conceptual connections in a draft of an essay.

As the rest of this chapter will suggest in various ways, this "bringing out" demands a certain detachment from your own language. It requires that you become aware of your words as words and of your sentences as sentences.
 

LEVELS OF STYLE: WHOS WRITING TO WHOM AND WHY DOES IT MATTER?

How you say something is always a significant part of what you are saying. To took at words as words is to focus on the how as well as the what. Imagine that you call your friend on the phone, and a voice you don't recognize answers. You ask to speak with your friend, and the voice responds, "With whom have I the pleasure of speaking?" By contrast, what if the voice had instead responded, "Who's this?" What information do these two versions of the question convey, beyond the obvious request for your name?

The first response--"With whom have I the pleasure of speaking? "-tells you that the speaker is formal and polite. He is also probably fastidiously welleducated: he not only knows the difference between who and whom, but he also obeys the etiquette that outlaws ending a sentence with a preposition ("Whom have I the pleasure of speaking with?"). The very formality of the utterance, however, might lead you to label the speaker pretentious. His assumption that conversing with you is a "pleasure" suggests empty flattery. On the other hand, the second version--"Who's this? "-although also grammatically correct, is less formal. It is more direct but also terse to a fault: the speaker does not seem particularly interested in treating you politely.

Is one response better than the other? The answer would seem to depend on your point of view and your understanding of the situation. Let's consider one more hypothetical example. You answer the phone, and a voice asks to speak with a member of your household but mispronounces the name. You might reasonably surmise that the caller is working from a list and trying to sell something. If you dislike telephone solicitation, you probably would be more likely to ask "Who's this?" than "With whom have I the pleasure of speaking?"

What generalizations about style do these examples suggest?

-- There are many ways of conveying a message.

-- The way you phrase a message constitutes a significant part of its meaning.

-- Your phrasing gives your reader cues that suggest your attitude and your ways of thinking.

-- All stylistic decisions depend on your sensitivity to context--whos talking to whom about what subject and with what aims.

The last of these generalizations concerns what is called the rhetorical situation. Rhetoric is the subject that deals with the use of language to inform or persuade or move an audience in some way. Obviously, as you make stylistic choices, you need to be aware of the possible consequences of making certain statements to a certain audience in a certain fashion. In reference to our telephone examples, for

instance, you should recognize that in daily speech a proper whom can lead others, however unfortunately, to view you with suspicion.

In an academic context, though, most of the analytical writing that you do occurs in a rhetorical situation that is quite formal. As Chapter 3 ("Questions of Format") discussed, academic discourse tends to be full of conventions-rules and protocols-and these are not simply a matter of etiquette. They also provide guidelines designed to help writers organize and develop their thinking. Along similar lines, the diction you choose to use in academic situations will not only reflect your ability to "talk the talk" but will also, if you respect the terms, help you to think.
 

Formal and Informal Styles

Formal English obeys the basic conventions of standard written prose, and most academic writing is fairly formal. An informal style-one that is conversational and full of slang-can have severe limitations in an academic setting. The syntax and vocabulary of written prose aren't the same as those of speech, and attempts to import the language of speech into academic writing can result in your communicating less meaning with less precision.

Let's take one brief example:

Internecine quarrels within the corporation destroyed morale and sent the value of the stock plummeting.

The phrase internecine quarrels may strike some readers as a pretentious display of formal language, but consider how difficult it is to communicate this concept economically. "Fights that go on between people related to each other" is awkward; "brother against brother" is sexist and a cliche; and "mutually destructive disputes" is acceptable but long-winded.

It is arguably a part of our national culture to value the simple and the direct as more genuine and democratic than the sophisticated, which is supposedly more aristocratic and pretentious. This "plain-speaking" style, however, can hinder your ability to develop and communicate your ideas. In the case of internecine, the more formal diction choice actually communicates more, and more effectively, than the less formal equivalents.

When in doubt about how your readers will respond to the formality or informality of your style, you are usually better off opting for some version of "With whom have I the pleasure of speaking?" rather than "Who's this?" The best solution will usually lie somewhere in between: "May I ask who's calling?" would protect you against the imputation of either priggishness or piggishness.
 
 

The rest of this chapter examines the kinds of choices that you need to consider as you revise your drafts. The choices that arise in contemplating and reconsidering your words involve not only precision but also appropriateness. That is, you want the words with the most accurate meanings but also those that are most acceptable in the given rhetorical situation within which you are writing.
 

GETTING THE RIGHT WORD

The "right" word contributes accuracy and precision to your meaning. The wrong" word, it follows, is inaccurate and vague. The most reliable guide to choosing the right word and avoiding the wrong words is the dictionary. A good one will give you not only concise definitions but also the origin of the word (known as its etymology) and, in some cases, synonyms and advice on the differences among related words. As an alternative to a dictionary, a thesaurus (a dictionary of synonyms) can provide a list of similar words from which to choose, but unless you are certain of the fine distinctions among related words (which a dictionary will generally provide), you run a fairly high risk of choosing an inappropriate word. In any case, you should not overlook one of the best ways to learn more about word choice (also known as diction): pay attention in your reading to how unfamiliar words are used.

If you confuse then and than or infer and imply, you will not convey the meaning that you intend, and you will probably bewilder your readers. Getting the wrong word is, of course, not limited to pairs of words that are spelled similarly. A notorious figure is widely but unfavorably known, whereas a famous person is usually recognized for accomplishments that are praiseworthy.
 

Shades of Meaning

A slightly less severe version of getting the wrong word occurs when a writer uses a word with a shade of meaning that is inappropriate or inaccurate in a particular context. Take, for example, the words assertive and aggressive. Often used interchangeably, they don't really mean the same thing-and the difference matters. Loosely defined, both terms mean "forceful." But assertive suggests being "bold and self-confident," while aggressive carries the sense of being "eager to attack." In most cases, you compliment the person you call assertive but raise doubts about the one you label aggressive (depending on the situation: aggressive is a term of praise on the football field but less so if used to describe an acquaintance's behavior during conversation at the dinner table).

One particularly charged context in which shades of meaning matter to many readers involves the potentially sexist implications of using one term for women and another for men. If, for example, in describing a woman and a man up for the same job, we referred to the woman as aggressive but the man as assertive, our diction would deservedly be considered sexist, since it would imply that her behavior was inappropriately belligerent and therefore "unwomanly," whereas his behavior was poised and therefore full of "manly" leadership potential. The sexism comes in when word choice suggests that what is assertive in a man is aggressive in a woman.

In choosing the right shade of meaning, you can often get a sharper sense for the word by knowing its etymological history-the word or words from which it evolved. In the previous example, aggressive derives from the Latin aggressus, meaning "to go to or approach"; and qggressus is itself a combination of ad, a prefix expressing motion, and gradus, "a step." An aggressive person, then, is "coming at you." Assertive, on the other hand, comes from the Latin asserere, combining ad and serere meaning "to join or bind together." An assertive person is "coming to build or put things together"-certainly not to threaten.

The point is, words embody rich and complex histories that distinguish them from other words and that allow you to discriminate fine shades of meaning. The nineteenth-century English statesman Benjamin Disraeli once differentiated between misfortune and calamity by commenting on his political rival William Gladstone: "If Mr. Gladstone fell into the Thames, it would be a misfortune; but if someone dragged him out, it would be a calamity."
 

What's Bad about Good and Bad (and Other Broad Terms)

Vague terms such as good and bad can seduce you into stopping your thinking while it is still too general and ill-defined. If you train yourself to select a more precise word whenever you encounter these words in your drafts, not only will your prose become clearer, but also the search for a new word will probably start you thinking again, sharpening your ideas. If, for example, you find a sentence such as "The subcommittee made a bad decision," ask yourself why you called it a bad decision. A revision to "The subcommittee made a shortsighted decision" indicates what in fact is "bad" about the decision and sets you up to discuss why the decision was myopic, further developing the idea. Nor are evaluative terms the only ones whose broadness can create problems. In a sentence such as "Society disapproves of interracial marriage:' the broad term society can blind you to a host of important distinctions about social class, about a particular culture, and so on.
 

Concrete and Abstract Diction

At its best, effective analytical prose uses both concrete and abstract words. Simply defined, concrete diction evokes: it brings things to life by offering your readers words that they can use their senses upon. Telephone, eggshell, crystalline, azure, striped, kneel, flare, and burp are examples of concrete diction. In academic writing, there is no substitute for concrete language whenever you are describing what happens or what something looks like-in a laboratory experiment, in a military action, or in a painting or film sequence. In short, the language of evidence usually consists of concrete diction.

By contrast, abstract diction refers to words that he beyond the senses, to concepts. Virility, ideology, love, definitive, conscientious, classify, and ameliorate are examples of abstract diction. In academic writing, by and large, this is the language of ideas.

just as evidence needs to be organized by a thesis and a thesis needs to be developed by evidence, so concrete and abstract diction need each other. Use concrete diction to illustrate and anchor the generalizations that abstract diction
expresses. Note the concrete language used to define the abstraction provinciality in this example:
 

There is no cure for provinciality like traveling abroad. In America the waiter who fails to bring the check promptly at the end of the meal we rightly convict for not being watchful. But in England, after waiting interminably for the check and becoming increasingly irate, we learn that only an ill-mannered waiter would bring it without being asked. We have been rude, not he.

In the example below, the abstract terms causality, fiction, and conjunction are integrated with concrete diction in the second sentence.

According to the philosopher David Hume, causality is a kind of fiction that we ascribe to what he called "the constant conjunction of observed events." If a person gets hit in the eye and a black semicircle develops underneath it, that does not necessarily mean the blow caused the black eye.

The best academic writing integrates concrete and abstract diction. A style that omits concrete language can leave readers lost in a fog of abstraction that only tangible details can illuminate. The concrete language helps readers see what you mean much in the way that examples help them understand your ideas. Without the shaping power of abstract diction, however, concrete evocation can leave you with a list of lively but finally pointless facts.
 

USING AND AVOIDING JARGON

Jargon-the specialized vocabulary of a particular group-is one of those terms with unstable shades of meaning. Many people assume that all jargon is "bad": pretentious language designed to make most readers feel inferior. Many guidebooks on writing style attack jargon in similar tern-is, calling it either polysyllabic balderdash or a specialized, "gatekeeping" language designed by an ingroup to keep others out.

Yet in many academic contexts, jargon is downright essential. It is a conceptual shorthand, a technical vocabulary that allows the members of a group (or a discipline) to converse with one another more clearly and efficiently. Certain words that may seem odd to outsiders actuall y function as connective tissue for a way of thought shared by insiders. The following sentence, for example, although full of botanical jargon, is also admirably cogent:

In angiosperm reproduction, if the number of pollen grains deposited oil the stigma exceeds the number of ovules in the ovary, then pollen tubes may compete for access to ovules, which results in fertilization by the fastest growing pollen tubes.

We might label this use of jargon acceptable, for it is written, clearly, by insiders for fellow insiders. It might not be acceptable language for an article intended for readers who are not botanists, or at least not scientists.

The problem with jargon comes when this insiders' language is ostensibly directed at outsiders as well. The language of contracts offers a prime example of such jargon at work:

The Author hereby indemnifies and agrees to hold the Publisher, its licensees, and any seller of the Work harmless from any liability; damage, cost, and expense, including reasonable attorney's fees and costs of settlement, for or in connection with any claim, action, or proceeding inconsistent with the Author's warranties or representations herein, or based upon or arising out of any contribution of the Author to the Work.

Run for the lawyer! What does it mean to "hold the Publisher ... harmless"? To what do "the Author's warranties or representations" refer? What exactly is the author being asked to do here-release the publisher from all possible lawsuits that the author might bring? We might label this use of jargon obfuscating; while it may aim at precision, it leaves most readers bewildered. While average readers are asked to sign such documents, they are really written by lawyers for other lawyers.

As the botanical and legal examples suggest, the line between acceptable and obfuscating jargon has far more to do with the audience to whom it is addressed than with the actual content of the language. Because most academic writing is addressed to insiders, you need to know the acceptable jargon in a given field. Your ability to use the technical language of the discipline is a necessary skill for conversing with others. Moreover, by demonstrating that you can "talk the talk," you will validate your authority to pronounce an opinion on matters in the discipline.

The following two guidelines can help you in your use of jargon:

1. When addressing insiders, use jargon accurately ("talk the talk").

2. When addressing outsiders-the general public or members of another discipline--either define the jargon carefully or avoid it altogether.
 

USING PRONOUNS: THE PERSON QUESTION

The person of a pronoun takes one of three forms:

"I read Nietzsche" is in the first person. The pronoun (I) identifies the speaker.

"You read Nietzsche" is in the second person. The pronoun (you) identifies the person spoken to.

"He reads Nietzsche" is in the third person. The pronoun (he) identifies the person or thing spoken about.

Table 9.1 distinguishes among first-, second- and third-person pronouns, indicating the various forms for each of the three persons.

"The Person Question" concerns which of these forms you should use when you write. As a general rule, in academic writing you should discuss your subject matter in the third person and avoid the first and second person.

third person: Heraclitus is an underrated philosopher. first person: I believe Heraclitus is an underrated philosopher. second person: You should recognize that Heraclitus is an underrated philosopher.

There is logic to this rule: most academic analysis focuses on the subject matter rather than on you as you respond to it. If you use the third person, you will keep the attention where it belongs. (This does not mean that you should write about yourself in the third person--"This writer believes"--as we discuss in the following section.)
 

The First-Person I: Pro and Con

Using the first-person I throws the emphasis on the wrong place. Repeated assertions of "in my opinion" actually distract your readers from what you have to say. Omit them except in the most informal cases. You might, however, consider using the first person as a strategy for loosening up and saying what you really think about a subject rather than adopting conventional and faceless positions. This is not a bad idea in the drafting stage, especially if you are having trouble bringing your own point of view to the forefront. In the final analysis, though, most analytical prose will be more precise and direct in the third person.

Let's take an example. Say that you are considering the extent to which models of local, state, and national government effectively provide social services for the homeless in an economy in which dwindling funds are available. After considering the strengths and weaknesses of each model, you might conclude, "I am convinced that local governments are most effective at providing services for the homeless, because they avoid the bureaucratic red tape that afflicts efforts on the state and national levels." The first four words of this sentence, although they may serve a rhetorical purpose-announcing to your audience your willingness to take a stand-ire arguably an unnecessary and distracting addition. In fact, they grammatically subordinate the stand you have taken. If you cut "I am convinced that," what you lose in personal conviction you gain in concision and directness by keeping the focus on the main idea in the main clause.
 

The Second-Person You and the Imperative Mood

As for the second person, proceed with caution. Using you is a fairly assertive gesture. Many readers will be annoyed, for example, by a paper about advertising that states, "When you read about a sale at the mall, you know it's hard to resist." Most readers resent having a writer airily making assumptions about them or telling them what to do. Some rhetorical situations, however, call for the use of you. Textbooks, for example, use you frequently because it creates a more direct relationship between authors and readers. Yet even in appropriate situations, directly addressing readers as you may alienate them by ascribing to them attitudes and needs they may not have.

The readiest alternative to you, the imperative mood, requires careful handling for similar reasons. The imperative mood of a verb expresses a direct request or command, leaving you understood, as in the following example: "Don't [you] scorn Aaron Burr too quickly." Such a sentence, though, runs the same kind of risk as the sentences discussed above that use the you explicitly: readers might resent your assumption that they would scorn Aaron Burr or, at any rate, dislike being told so forcefully how to think about him.

On the other hand, in certain writing situations-when, for instance, you are giving a set of step-by-step instructions or politely soliciting your reader's attention--the imperative address is both appropriate and useful. Here are two examples:

Imperatives

Unscrew the distributor cap, and then take a spark plug wrench and loosen the plugs.

Consider how England responded to the new treaty between its historical enemies.

In the first sentence, the insertion of you should or one should before each verb would be wordy and distracting. In the second example, the imperative invites the reader into the discussion fairly unobtrusively.

The conventional argument for using the first and second person is that I and you are personal and engage readers. It is not necessarily the case, however, that the third person is therefore impersonal. just as film directors put their stamp on a film by the way they organize the images, move among camera viewpoints, and orchestrate the soundtrack, so writers have a wide variety of resources at their disposal for making the writing more personal and accessible for their audiences, even when writing in the third person. Some of these stylistic resources can be found in the next section: syntax.
 
 

The term syntax refers to a sentence's structure, the way it arranges words, phrases, and clauses. As such, it is an essential aspect of grammar, the systematic explanation of the structure of a language. Syntax is, first and foremost, a tool of logic. It clarifies the relationships within a sentence and gives some parts of the sentence more emphasis than others. The key to revising the syntax of your sentences is to make sure that the relationships are clear and the emphasis fans where you intend.
 

ACTIVE AND PASSIVE VOICES: DOING AND BEING DONE TO

In the active voice, the grammatical subject acts; in the passive voice, the subject is acted upon. Here are two examples:

Active Voice

Adam Smith wrote The Wealth of Nations in 1776.

Passive Voice

The Wealth of Nations was written by Adam Smith in 1776.

The two sentences convey identical information, but the emphasis differs-the first focuses on the author, the second on the book. As the examples illustrate, using the passive normally results in a longer sentence than using the active. If we consider how to convert the passive into the active, you can see why. In the passive, the verb requires a form of to be plus a past participle (for more on participles, see the "Glossary of Grammatical Terms" in Chapter 10). In this case, the active wrote becomes the passive was written, the subject (Smith) becomes the object of the preposition by, and the direct object (The Wealth of Nations) becomes the grammatical subject.
 

Passive Voice: Pro and Con

Consider the activity being described in the two versions of the sentence about Adam Smith: a man wrote a book. That was what happened in life. The grammar of the active version captures that action most clearly: the grammatical subject (Smith) performs the action, and the direct object (The Wealth of Nations) receives it, just as in life. By contrast, the passive version alters the close link between the syntax and the event: the object of the action in life (The Wealth of Nations) has become the grammatical subject, while the doer in life (Smith) becomes the grammatical object of a prepositional phrase.

Note, too, that the passive would allow us to omit Smith altogether: "The Wealth of Nations was written in 1776." A reader who desired to know more and was not aware of the author would not appreciate this sentence. More troubling, the passive can also be used to avoid naming the doer of an action-not "I made a mistake" (active) but "A mistake has been made" (passive).

In sum, there are three reasons for avoiding the passive voice when you can: (1) it's longer, (2) its grammatical relationships often reverse what happened in life, and (3) it can omit the performer responsible for the action.

On the other hand, there are also good reasons for using the passive. If you want to emphasize the object or recipient of the action rather than the performer, the passive will do that for you: "The Wealth of Nations was written in 1776 by Adam Smith" places the stress on the book. The passive is also preferable when the doer remains unknown: "The president has been shot!" is probably a better sentence than "Some unknown assailant has shot the president!"
 

Passive Voice and Scientific Wr iting (Avoiding 1)

Especially in the natural sciences, the use of the passive voice is a standard practice. There are sound reasons for this disciplinary convention: science tends to focus on what happens to something in a given experiment rather than on the actions of that something. Consider the following passive sentence:

Separation of the protein was achieved by using an electrophoretic gel.

Although you could convert this sentence into the active voice ("The researcher used an electrophoretic gel to separate the protein"), the emphasis would then rest, illogically, on the agent of the action (the researcher) rather than on what happened and how (electrophoretic separation of the protein).

More generally, the passive voice can provide a way to avoid using the pronoun 1, whether for reasons of convention, as above, or for other reasons. For example, the following passive sentence begins a business memo from a supervisor to the staff in her office.

Passive

The Inventory and Reprint departments have recently been restructured and merged.

Like many passive sentences, this one names no actor; we do not know for sure who did the restructuring and merging, though we might imagine that the author of the memo is the responsible party. The supervisor might, then, have written the sentence as an active one:

Active

I have recently restructured and merged the Inventory and Reprint departments.

But the active version is less satisfactory than the passive one for two reasons: one of practical emphasis and one of sensitivity to the audience (tone). First, the fact of the changes is more important for the memo's readers than is announcing who made the changes. The passive sentence appropriately emphasizes the changes; the active sentence inappropriately emphasizes the person who made the changes. Second, the emphasis of the active sentence on I (the supervisor) risks alienating the readers by its autocratic tone and by seeming to exclude all others from possible credit for the presumably worthwhile reorganization.

On balance, consider is the operative term when you choose between passive and active as you revise the syntax of your draft. What matters is that you recognize there is a choice-in emphasis, in relative directness, and in economy. All things being equal, and disciplinary conventions permitting, the active is usually the better choice.
 

STATIC VERSUS ACTIVE VERBS: TO BE OR NOT TO BE

Verbs energize sentences. They do the work, connecting the parts of the sentence with each other. In a sentence of the subject-verb-direct object pattern, the verb functions as a kind of engine, driving the subject into the predicate, as in the following examples.

Active Verbs

John F. Kennedy effectively manipulated his image in the media.

Thomas Jefferson embraced the idea of America as a country of yeoman farmers.

By contrast, is and other forms of the verb to be provide an equals sign between the subject and the predicate but other-wise tell us nothing about the relationship between them. Compare the two sentences above, which use active verbs, with the following versions of the same sentences using forms of the verb to be.

To Be Verbs

John F. Kennedy was effective at the manipulation of his image in the media.

Thomas Jefferson's idea was an America of yeoman farmers.

Rather than making things happen through an active verb, these sentences let everything just hang around in a state of being. In the first version, Kennedy did something--manipulated his image--but in the second he just is (or was), and the energy of the original verb has been siphoned into an abstract noun, manipulation. The Jefferson example suffers from a similar lack of momentum compared with the original active version: the syntax doesn't help the sentence get anywhere. Yet because the forms of to be are so easy to use, writers tend to place them everywhere habitually, thus producing relatively static and wordy sentences.

Certain situations, however, dictate the use of forms of to be. For definitions in particular, in which a term does in fact equal some meaning, is works well. For instance, "Organic gardening is a method of growing crops without using synthetic fertilizers or pesticides." As with choosing between active and passive voices, the decision to use to be or not should be just that--a conscious decision on your part.

If you can train yourself to eliminate every unnecessary use of to be in a draft, you will make your prose more vital and direct. In most cases, you will find a verb that you can substitute for is lurking somewhere in the sentence in some other grammatical form. In the sentence about Kennedy, manipulate is implicit in manipulation. In Table 9.2, each of the examples in the left-hand column uses a form of to be for its verb (italicized) and contains a potentially strong active verb lurking in the sentence in some other form (underlined). These "lurkers" have been converted into active verbs (italicized) in the revisions in the right-hand column.

Clearly, the examples in the left-hand column have problems other than their reliance on to be verbs-notably wordiness. To be syntax tends to encourage this circumlocution and verbosity. In revising a draft, try the following experiment. First, circle the sentences that rely on forms of to be. Then examine the other words in these sentences, looking for "lurkers." Rewrite the sentences, converting the lurkers into vigorous verbs. You will usually discover many lurkers, and your revision will acquire more energy and directness.
 

COORDINATION, SUBORDINATION, AND THE ORDER OF CLAUSES

Nowhere is the interrelationship between conceptual and technical revision more evident than in the choices you make about coordination, subordination, and the order of clauses (a clause is a group of words containing a subject and a predicate). As the first example in this chapter, about Indochina, demonstrated, the syntax of a sentence can give your readers cues about whether the idea in one clause is equal to (coordinate) or subordinate to the idea in another clause. In this context, grammar operates as a form of implicit logic, defining relationships among the clauses in a sentence. In revising your sentences, it is useful to think of coordination and subordination as tools of logic and emphasis, helping to rank your meanings.

Coordination

Coordination uses grammatically equivalent constructions to link ideas. These ideas should carry roughly equal weight as well. Sentences that use coordination connect clauses with coordinating conjunctions (such as and, but, or). Here are two examples:

Coordinate Sentences with And

Historians organize the past, and they can never do so with absolute neutrality.

Homegrown corn is incredibly sweet, and it is very difficult to grow.

If you ponder these sentences, you may begin to detect the danger of the word and. It does not specify a precise logical relationship between the things it connects but instead simply adds them.

Notice that the sentences get more precise if we substitute but for and:

Coordinate Sentences with But

Historians organize the past, but they can never do so with absolute neutrality.

Homegrown corn is incredibly sweet, but it is very difficult to grow.

These sentences are still coordinate, but they achieve more emphasis than the and versions. In both cases, the but clause carries more weight, since but always introduces information that qualifies or contradicts what precedes it.

Reversing the Order of Coordinate Clauses

In both the and and but examples, the second clause tends to be stressed. The reason is simple: the end is usually a position of emphasis.

You can see the effect of clause order more starkly if we reverse the clauses in our examples:

Historians are never absolutely neutral, but they organize the past.

Homegrown corn is very difficult to grow, but it is incredibly sweet.

Note how the meanings have changed in these versions by emphasizing what now comes last. Rather than having their objectivity undermined (Historians are never absolutely neutral), historians are now credited with at least providing organization (they organize the past), Similarly, whereas the previous version of the corn sentence was likely to dissuade a gardener from trying to grow it (it is very difficult to grow), the one above is more likely to lure him or her to nurture it (it is incredibly sweet).

Nonetheless, all of these sentences are examples of coordination because the clauses are grammatically equal. As you revise, notice when you use coordinate syntax, and think about whether you really intend to give the ideas equal weight. Consider as well whether reversing the order of clauses will more accurately convey your desired emphasis to your readers.
 

Subordination

A main or independent clause can stand alone, but a subordinate or dependent clause relies on some other statement to complete it. In sentences that contain subordination, there are two "levels" of grammar-the main clause and the subordinate clausewhich create two levels of meaning. When you put something in a main clause, you emphasize its significance. When you put something in a subordinate clause, you make it less important than the main clause. (For more information, see the "Glossary of Grammatical Terms" and discussion of sentence fragments in Chapter 10.)

A subordinate clause is linked to a main clause by words known as subordinating conjunctions. Here is a list of the most common ones: after, although, as, as if, as long as, because, before, if, rather than, since, than, that, though, unless, until, when, where, whether, and while, All of these words define something in relation to something else:

If you study hard, you will continue to do well.

You will continue to do well, if you study hard.

In both of these examples, if subordinates "you study hard" to "you will continue to do well," regardless of whether the if clause comes first or last in the sentence.

Reversing Main and Subordinate Clauses

Unlike the situation with coordinate clauses, the emphasis in subordination rests on the relation of the subordinate to the main clause, regardless of the clause order. Nevertheless, the principle of end emphasis still applies, though to a lesser extent than among coordinate clauses. Let's consider two versions of the same sentence:

Subordinate Clause First
Although the art of the people was crude, it was original.

Subordinate Clause Last
The art of the people was original, although it was crude.

Both sentences emphasize the idea in the main clause ("original"). Because the second version locates the although clause at the end, however, the subordinated idea ("crude") has more emphasis than it does in the first version.
 

CUTTING THE FAT

If you can reduce verbiage, your prose will communicate more directly and effectively. In cutting the fat, you need to consider both the diction and the syntax. As regards diction, the way to eliminate superfluous words is deceptively simple: ask yourself if you need all the words you've included in order to say what you want to say. Such revision requires an aggressive attitude. Expect to find unnecessary restatements or intensifiers such as quite and very that add words but not significance.

As regards syntax, there are a few technical operations that you can perform on your sentences to reduce the number of words. Most of these have been mentioned in other contexts. Here, with a slightly different focus, is a recap:

-- Convert sentences from the passive into the active voice. "He read the book" reduces by a third "The book was read by him," and eliminating the prepositional phrase clarifies the relationships within the sentence.

-- Replace anemic forms of to be with vigorous verbs and direct subject-verb-object syntax. Often you will find such verbs lurking in the original sentence, and once you've recognized them, conversion is easy: "The Watergate scandal was an event the effects of which were felt across the nation" becomes "Watergate scandalized people across the nation."

-- Avoid unnecessary subordination. It is illogical to write "It is true that more government services mean higher taxes," If "it is true that," then just write "More government services mean higher taxes"--don't muffle your meaning in a subordinate (that) clause.

Beyond these technical operations, perhaps the most useful way to cut the fat is to have confidence in your position on a subject and state it clearly in your paper. A lot of fat in essays consists of throat clearings, attempts to avoid stating your position. Move quickly to an example that raises the question or issue you wish to analyze.
 

THE SHAPES OF SENTENCES

When you write, you build. Writing, after all, is also known as composition--from the Latin compositio made up of parts, We speak of constructing sentences and paragraphs and essays. The fundamental unit of composition is the sentence. Every sentence has a shape, and learning to see that shape is essential to revising for style. Once you see the shape of a sentence, you can recast it to make it more graceful or logical or emphatic.

When you revise your sentences for style, your goal is not to prettify your language but to reveal the organization of your thought, clarifying your meaning and delivering it more accessibly to your readers. Since meanings are rarely simple themselves, clarifying often does not involve simplifying. Meanings usually involve complex relationships, placing two or more items in balance or elevating one over the others. These relationships can be built into the structure of your sentences. A series of short sentences that breaks up items that belong together will make your prose less readable than a long sentence that makes the connections for your readers. Note the choppiness of the following passage.

Interactive computer games teach children skills. The games introduce kids to computers. The games enact power fantasies of destroying enemies. These power fantasies are potentially disturbing.

Compare that to the revision below:

Although interactive computer games teach children certain skills, they also encourage certain potentially disturbing power fantasies.

Because this version connects the items with tighter logic, it generates more forward momentum and is easier to comprehend than the first version, even though the sentence structure is more complex.

It is useful to think about style in this technical, syntactic way because revising your sentences ceases to become vague and undirected. If something sounds awkward but you don't know why, or if you want to make a passage more forceful but you don't know how, there are fairly standard ways of assessing and altering the shapes of your sentences to make them communicate more effectively.
 

How to Recognize the Four Basic Sentence Types

Style, as defined earlier, has to do with choice-the decisions a writer makes about how to express something. But these choices can be realized only if you can recognize and use the basic building blocks of composition.

Every sentence is built upon the skeleton of its independent clause(s), the subject and verb combination that can stand alone. Consider the following four sentences:

Consumers shop.

Consumers shop; producers manufacture.

Consumers shop in predictable ways, so producers manufacture with different target groups in mind.

Consumers shop in ways that can be predicted by such determinants as income level, gender, and age; consequently, producers use market research to identify different target groups for their products.

Certainly these four sentences become progressively longer, and the information that they contain becomes increasingly detailed, but they also differ in their structurespecifically, in the number of independent and dependent clauses they contain. Given that the sentence is the fundamental unit of composition, you will benefit immensely, both in composing and revising your sentences, if you can identify and construct the four basic sentence types.
 

The Simple Sentence

The simple sentence consists of a single independent clause. At its simplest, it contains a single subject and verb.

Consumers shop.

Other words and phrases can be added to this sentence, but it will remain simple so long as "Consumers shop" is the only clause.

Most consumers shop unwisely.

Even if the sentence contains more than one grammatical subject or more than one verb, it still remains simple in structure.

Most consumers shop unwisely and spend more than they can afford. [two verbs]

Both female consumers and their husbands shop unwisely. [two subjects]

The sentence structure in the first example above is known as a compound predicate (shop and spend), the second as a compound subject (consumers and husbands). The first adds another verb, the second another subject. If, however, you were to add both another subject and another verb to your simple sentence, then you would have the next sentence type, a compound sentence.
 

The Compound Sentence

The compound sentence consists of at least two independent clauses and Do subordinate clauses. The information conveyed in these clauses should be of roughly equal importance:

Producers manufacture, and consumers shop.

Producers manufacture, marketers sell, and consumers shop.

As with the simple sentence, you can also add qualifying phrases to the compound sentence, and it will remain compound, as long as no dependent clauses are added:

Consumers shop in predictable ways, so producers manufacture with different target groups in mind.

Consumers shop recklessly during holidays; marketers are keenly aware of this fact.

Note that a compound sentence can connect its independent clauses with either a coordinate conjunction or a semicolon. If you were to substitute a subordinating conjunction for either of these connectors, however, you would then have a sentence with one independent clause and one dependent clause. For example,

Because consumers shop in predictable ways, producers manufacture with different target groups in mind.

This revision changes the compound sentence into the next sentence type, the complex sentence.
 

The Complex Sentence

The complex sentence consists of a single independent clause and one or more dependent clauses. As discussed under "Subordination, Coordination, and the Order of Clauses," the information conveyed in the dependent clause is subordinated to the more important independent clause. In the following example, the subject and verb of the main clause are underlined, and the subordinating conjunctions are italicized.

Although mail-order merchandising--which generally saves shoppers money-has increased, most consumers still shop unwisely, buying on impulse rather than deliberation.

This sentence contains one independent clause (consumers shop). Hanging upon it are two introductory dependent clauses (Although ... merchandising ... has increased and which ... saves) and a participial phrase (buying on impulse). If you converted either of these dependent clauses into an independent clause, you would have a sentence with two independent clauses (a compound sentence) and a dependent clause. In the example below, the subjects and verbs of the two main clauses are underlined, and the conjunctions are italicized.

Mail-order merchandising--which generally saves shoppers money-has increased, but consumers still shop unwisely, buying on impulse rather than deliberation.

This revision changes the complex sentence into the next sentence type, the compound-complex sentence.
 

The Compound-Complex Sentence

The compound-complex sentence consists of two or more independent clauses and one or more dependent clauses.

Consumers shop in ways that can be predicted by such determinants as income level, gender, and age; consequently, producers use market research that aims to identify different target groups for their products.

This sentence contains two independent clauses (Consumers shop and producers use) and two dependent ones (that can be predicted and that aims).
 

Parallel Structure

Besides sentence type, probably the most important and useful device for shaping sentences is parallel structure or, as it is also known, parallelism. Parallelism is a form of symmetry: it involves placing sentence elements that correspond in some way into the same (that is, parallel) grammatical form. Consider the following examples, in which the parallel items are underlined or italicized:

The three kinds of partners in a law firm who receive money from a case are popularly known as finders, binders, and grinders.

The Beatles acknowledged their musical debts to American rhythm and blues, to English music hall ballads and ditties, and later to classical Indian ragas.

There was no way tha the president could gain the support of party regulars without alienating the Congress and no way that he could appeal to the electorate at large without alienating both of these groups.

In the entertainment industry, the money that goes out to hire film stars or sports stars comes back in increased ticket sales and video or television rights.

Where bravura failed to settle the negotiations, tact and patience succeeded.

As all of these examples illustrate, at the core of parallelism lies repetition-of a word, a phrase, or a grammatical structure. Parallelism uses repetition to organize and emphasize certain elements in a sentence, so that readers can perceive more clearly the shape of your thought. In the Beatles example, each of the prepositional phrases beginning with to contains a musical debt; in the president example, the repetition of the phrase no way that emphasizes the president's entrapment.

Parallelism has the added advantage of economy: each of the musical debts or presidential problems might have had its own sentence, but in that case, the prose would have been wordier and the relationships among the parallel items more obscure. Along with this economy comes balance and emphasis. The trio of rhyming words (finders, binders, and grinders) that concludes the law firm example gives each item equal weight; in the entertainment industry example, comes back "answers" goes out in a way that accentuates their symmetry.
 

Antithesis

One particularly useful form of balance that parallel structure accommodates is known as antithesis (from the Greek word for opposition), a conjoining of contrasting ideas. Here the pattern sets this against that, as in the last of the parallelism examples:

Where bravura failed to settle the negotiations, tact and patience succeeded.

Failed is balanced antithetically against succeeded, as bravura is against tact and patience. Antithesis commonly takes the form of "if not x, at least y" or "not x but y.
 

Faulty Parallelism

When you employ parallelism in revising for style, there is one grammatical rule you should obey. It is important to avoid what is known as faulty parallelism, which occurs when the items that are parallel in content are not placed in the same grammatical form.

faulty: To study hard for four years and then getting ignored once they enter the job market is a hard thing for many recent college graduates to accept.

revised: To study hard for four years and then to get ignored once they enter the job market is a hard thing for many recent college graduates to accept.

As you revise your draft for style, search for opportunities to place sentence elements in parallel structure. Often the parallels will be hidden in your sentences, but they can be brought out with a minimum of labor. In emphasizing the parallels, you will make your prose more graceful, clear, and logically connected.
 

The Periodic Sentence: Snapping Shut

The shape of a sentence governs the way it delivers information. The order of clauses, especially the placement of the main clause, affects what and how the sentence means. The two most common sentence shapes are known as periodic and cumulative. The main clause in a periodic sentence builds to a climax that is not completed until the end. Often, a piece of the main clause (such as the subject) is located earlier in the sentence, as in the following example.

The way that beverage companies market health--"No Preservatives," "No Artificial Color," "All Natural," "Real Brewed"--is often, because the product also contains a high percentage of sugar or fructose, misleading.

We have italicized the main clause to clarify how various modifiers interrupt it. The effect is suspenseful: not until the final word does the sentence consummate its fundamental idea. The main clause is spread out across the sentence. (The term periodic originates in classical rhetoric to refer to the length of such sentences.)

Another version of the periodic sentence locates the entire main clause at the end, after introductory modifiers:

Using labels that market health-such as "No Preservatives," "No Artificial Color," "All Natural," and "Real Brewed"--while producing drinks that contain a high percentage of sugar or fructose, beverage companies are misleading.

As we discussed in "Coordination, Subordination, and the Order of Clauses," the end of a sentence normally receives emphasis. When you use a periodic construction, the pressure on the end intensifies because the sentence needs the end to complete its grammatical sense. In both of the examples above, the sentences snap shut. They string the reader along, delaying closure-the point at which the sentence can stand alone independently-until they arrive at a climactic end. (Periodic sentences are also known as climactic sentences.)

You should be aware of one risk that attends using periodic constructions. If the delay lasts too long because there are too many "interrupters" before the main clause gets completed, your readers may forget the subject that is being predicated. To illustrate, let's add more subordinated material to one of the examples above:

The way that beverage companies market health--"No Preservatives," "No Artificial Color," "All Natural," "Real Brewed"--is often, because the product also contains a high percentage of sugar or fructose, not just what New Agers would probably term immoral and misleading but what a government agency such as the Food and Drug Administration should find illegal.

Arguably, the additions (the not just/but clauses after fructose) push the sentence into incoherence. The main clause has been stretched past the breaking point. If readers don't get lost in such a sentence, they are at least likely to get irritated, wishing the writer would finally get to the point.

Nonetheless, with a little care, periodic sentences can be extraordinarily useful in giving emphasis. If you are revising and want to underscore some point, try letting the sentence snap shut upon it. Often the periodic potential will already be present in draft, and revising for style can bring it out more forcefully. Note how minor the revisions are in the following example:

draft: The novelist Virginia Woolf suffered from acute anxieties for most of her life. She had several breakdowns and finally committed suicide on the eve of World War 11.
revision: Suffering from acute anxieties for most of her life, the novelist Virginia Woolf not only had several breakdowns but also, finally, on the eve of World War 11, committed suicide.

This revision has made two primary changes. It has combined two short sentences into a longer sentence, and it has made the sentence periodic by stringing out the main clause (italicized). What is the effect of this revision? Stylistically speaking, the revision radiates a greater sense of the writer's authority. The information has been arranged for us. Following the opening dependent clause (Suffering . . . ), the subject of the main clause (Woolf) is introduced, and the predicate is protracted in a not only/but also parallelism. The interrupters that follow had ... breakdowns (finally, on the eve of World War 11) increase the suspense, before the sentence snaps shut with committed suicide. In general, when you construct a periodic sentence with care, you can give readers the sense that you are in control of your material. You do not seem to be writing off the top of your ahead but rather, from a position of greater detachment, rationally composing your meaning.
 

The Cumulative Sentence: Starting Fast

A cumulative sentence is in many respects the opposite of the periodic. Rather than delaying the main clause or its final piece, the cumulative sentence begins by presenting the independent clause as a foundation and then accumulates a number of modifications and qualifications. As the following examples illustrate, the independent clause (italicized) provides quick grammatical closure, freeing the rest of the sentence to amplify and develop the main idea.

Robert F. Kennedy was assassinated by Sirhan B. Sirhan, a 24-year-old Palestinian immigrant prone to occultism and un sophisticated left-wing politics and sociopathically devoted to leaving his mark in history, even if as a notorious figure.

There are two piano concerti composed solely for the left hand, one by Serge Prokofiev and one by Maurice Ravel and both commissioned by Paul Wittgenstein, a concert pianist (and the brother of the famous philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein) who had lost his right hand in combat during World War 1.

Anchored by the main clause, a cumulative sentence moves serially through this and that and the next thing, close to the associative manner in which people think. To an extent, then, cumulative sentences can convey more immediacy and a more conversational tone than other sentence shapes. Look at the following example:

The film version of Lady Chatterley's Lover changed D. H. Lawrence's famous novel a lot, omitting the heroine's adolescent experience in Germany, making her husband much older than she, leaving out her father and sister, including a lot more lovemaking, and virtually eliminating all of the philosophizing about sex and marriage,

Here we get the impression of a mind in the act of thinking. Using the generalization of changes in the film as a base, the sentence then appends a series of  parallel participial phrases (omitting, making, leaving, including, eliminating) that move forward associatively, gathering a range of information and laying out possibilities. Cumulative sentences perform this outlining and prospecting function effectively. On the other hand, if we were to add four or five more changes to the sentence, readers would likely find it tedious or, worse, directionless. As with periodic sentences, overloading the shape can short-circuit its desired effect.
 
 

The tone of a piece of writing is its implied attitude toward its subject and audience. Whenever you revise for style, your choices in syntax and diction will affect the tone. There are no hard and fast rules to govern matters of tone, and your control of it will depend upon your sensitivity to the particular context-your understanding of your own intentions and your readers' expectations.

Let's consider, for example, the tonal implications of the warning signs in the subways of London and New York.

London: Leaning out of the window may cause harm

New York: Do not lean out of the window.

Initially, you may find the English injunction laughably indirect and verbose in comparison with the shoot-from-the-hip clarity of the American sign. But that is to ignore the very thing we are calling style. The American version appeals to authority, commanding readers what not to do without telling them why. The English version, by contrast, appeals to logic; it is more collegial toward its readers and assumes they are rational beings.

In revising for tone, you need to ask yourself if the attitude suggested by your language is appropriate to the aim of your message and to your audience. Your goal is to keep the tone consistent with your rhetorical intentions. The following paragraph, from a college catalogue, offers a classic mismatch between the overtly stated aim and the tonal implications:

The student affairs staff believes that the college years provide a growth and development process for students. Students need to learn about themselves and others and to learn how to relate to individuals and groups of individuals with vastly different backgrounds, interests, attitudes and values. Not only is the tolerance of differences expected, but an appreciation and a celebration of these differences must be an outcome of the students experience. In addition, the student must progress toward self-reliance and independence tempered by a concern for the social order.

The explicit content of this passage-what it says-concerns tolerance. The professed point of view is student-friendly, asserting that the college exists to allow students to learn about themselves and others and to support the individual in accord with the appreciation . . . of differences.

But note that the implicit tone-how the passage goes about saying what it says-is condescending and intolerant. Look at the verbs. An imperious authority lectures students about what they need to learn; tolerance is expected; celebration must be an outcome; and the student must progress along these lines. Presumably, the paragraph does not intend to adopt this high-handed manner, but its deafness to tone subverts its desired meaning.
 

GUIDELINES FOR STYLISTIC REVISION

1. Strive for distance as you edit: place yourself in the position of the reader, not the writer.

2. Check the diction. Is it precise? Have you pondered your definitions of terms? Is there sufficient balance between abstractions and concrete details?

3. Cut the fat. Don't use five words (due to the fact that) when one will do (because). Root out expletives that needlessly subordinate (It is true that ... ). Avoid redundancy.

4. Tighten the syntax of your sentences by energizing the verbs. The active voice generally achieves directness and economy; it will promote clarity and cut fat.

5. Look for potentially strong active verbs "lurking" in sentences that use a form of to be. Beware of habitual use of to be and passives, since these forms tend to blur or submerge the action, omit its performers, and generally lack momentum.

6. Look at the order and arrangement of clauses. Are ideas of equal importance in coordinate constructions? Have you used subordination to rank ideas? Have your sentences exploited the end as a position of emphasis?

7. Look at the shapes of your sentences. Do they use parallelism to keep your ideas clear? Where do you find opportunities for composing periodic and cumulative sentences that revision can bring out?