Conjunction Injunction
My London Review of Books subscription is a gift, and a good deal of what powers me through from each TOC to the self-consciously raunchy personals is that it’s my sole means of acquaintance with most of the books and authors reviewed, and the sole reason I’ve given any thought over the last year to Tamerlane, the Royal Bank of Scotland or the late Roman Empire. So much for my erudition.
In the 06 August summer books issue, Hilary Mantel takes on David Lawday’s new biography of Georges-Jacques Danton. Mantel is generally a terrific stylist, with fluid sentences and an engaging dash of just the right snark in just the right places:
The Cordeliers [Danton’s political club] had an opinion on everything, from the parish to the world; you would think they owned the Revolution.
You would disagree, of course, if you were across the river at City Hall, and struggling to impose good order on the populace.
What a terrific rhetorical move—the casual “you” in the familiar usage “you’d think” invites our confidence; you’d think Mantel and the reader were discussing the Revolution over a carafe of wine. Then in the next paragraph, the “you” is carried on, no longer just a figure of speech but referring to Danton’s actual political opponents, summarizing their (presumed) opinions (they did end up executing him, after all) but appending those opinions to the joke, indeed, essentially, making their into a punch line. Such jocular assurance with the full range of the topic at hand—well, Mantel has me at hello.
Until this:
As France slid towards bankruptcy and political turmoil, Danton had assets and prospects, but he also had entangling debts, obligations.
Had I been writing or editing this piece, I would have written “debts and observations” and it would never have occurred to me to replace the ‘and’ with a comma. In print, the sentence’s meaning is clear; but would it be clear if read aloud? Conversely, why not also write “assets, prospects?” If it’s a stylistic flourish for rhythmic or sonic effect, it’s too self-conscious by half.
I’ve noticed the same construction in stories by classmates at writing conferences and workshops (or, should I say “conferences, workshops”). While I’m all in favor of efficiency and condensing, this non-standard usage demands that the reader do what, at least in my schooling, we were taught the writer should do. The missing ‘and’ isn’t a flourish; it alerts us not to expect further items in the list. Maybe omitting it is British usage; A.L. Kennedy employed it in Day (just where escapes me right now). But, fellow Americans—resist! Don’t use it. It’s confusing, off-putting (see? Isn’t it?).
