Given that we live in an age in which taking offence has been raised to a high political art, the idea that it's an individual's own responsibility to decide what words they will be offended by has some appeal. But I wonder how generally one would be willing to apply it? Racial slurs, like swear words, are just alternate words for something. You can choose to use the offensive word or the inoffensive one. If one is willing to use swear words and leave it to others to decided whether or not to be offended, does the same things apply to slurs? And if not, why not?
You are certainly correct that words can offend in other ways, as can tone of voice. But then if one adheres to the principle that it is up to other people to decide what they will be offended by, wouldn't that apply to those words and to that tone of voice as well?
If you know that something you say or do will offend someone, and you do it or say it anyway, then surely your are intending to offend them. Even if you think it shouldn't offend them, if you know it will, and you could reasonably avoid doing it, you are still offending them, and doing it intentionally. I don't see how to separate that from intending to offend.
And, as I have noted before, I don't see how you even tell the swear words or the slurs from their alternate inoffensive alternatives except by the implied violence or intent to offend.
Now, my specific interest here is in their use by writers (or their avoidance by writers). All of these comments get into interesting areas that writers could consider in constructing characters and the way they speak. Using swears and even slurs certainly enters into that conversation. But I presume that any good writer uses every word with specific intention and is aware both of how words like these will affect the reader and how it will portray the character.
I strongly disagree with the assumption that the primary purpose of swearing is to give offense.
There are situations where the only honest reaction is the f-bomb. Or s--t.
A car breakdown. Chainsaw chain coming off the saw bar. Something isn't working right, so swearing at it (probably closer to the older notion of cursing than anything else) is to some degree a form of sympathetic magic intended to make it work right.
Swearing, at least to me, is more about expressing anger or frustration with a situation. A punctuation mark.
But to give offense to someone? Nope, not even on the radar. I don't swear at people to offend them. If I do swear at someone, it's because they have crossed a personal boundary and I'm frustrated or angry with them. Period. Giving offense isn't even in the picture. And if they think that all I'm doing is attempting to offend them, well, they are waaaay off the mark.
Its a fair point that swear words, if we are given to using them, become part of our vocabulary of exclamations, so that we are not intending to give offence every time we use them. One is not intending to give offence to the car for breaking down. The same is true when swear words are used as shibboleths in a group. You are not intending to offend the members of the group when you use the swear words. Quite the opposite, you are intending to express you solidarity with them by adopting their way of talking.
But I would suggest that while the intent is not to offend every time a swear word is used as a shibboleth, they work as shibboleths only because they are offensive to people outside the group. Shibboleths function both to include and to exclude, and they work to include only because they work to exclude. So it is the power to offend that makes a shibboleth work as a shibboleth, even when you don't intend to to offend the person you are talking to.
And it seems to me that it works the same way when a swear word is used as a exclamation. If we are more likely to reach for such a word when we are angry, whether with an inanimate object or with another human being, it can only be because the word has emotional force behind it. If f--k is not more emotionally potent than fudge, what is the point of it?
So the question is, where does it emotional potency come from? And I would suggest that it is its ability to offend. Or, to put it another way, from its transgressive nature. Transgression, undertaken deliberately, has emotional power. Create a word that is inherently transgressive and the emotional weight of transgression attaches itself to the word. And then there is it, with all its emotional punch, when you need an exclamation in moment of great emotional stress.
But it only has that emotional punch because it is transgressive, and it is only transgressive because it has the power to offend.
I'm not sure I buy the claim that when one swears at someone for crossing a boundary, or when you are frustrated or angry with them, that the intent is not to offend. The word becomes a verbal punch. But how does that punch wound except by offending? You could argue, I suppose, that the intent is to express anger and aggression, rather than to offend, but I would question where swearwords get their power to express anger and aggression except from their power to offend.
To put it another way, are there words that express anger and aggression with with the same emotional force which are not considered offensive?
The problem I have with linking swearing to a desire to offend the listener is that this notion that swearing is motivated by a desire to offend others arises from a very specific group of people--namely, certain Protestant denominations of Christianity--and even more so, certain English-speaking denominations of Christianity.
For example, swearing amongst Catholic English-speakers can sound slightly different, considering their cultural background. So--you'll hear "Jesus Mary and Joseph!" "Holy Mother of God!" Etc. No, you won't hear those oaths from a Protestant. Old oaths such as "God's Blood!" "God's Wounds!" are primarily a British thing.
Expanding to beyond English-speakers to people from other cultures who speak other languages--Russian and Ukrainian speakers are quite profane. And they aren't the only cultures for which profanity can be elevated to a high art.
Honestly, I think that assuming that swearing is meant to offend other people centers the non-swearer's offended reaction and not what inspired the swearer to swear in the first place. It's also a class distinction--it's primarily middle class or aspirational middle class to be prissy about swearing in the first place.
I also don't link transgressive with a desire to offend others. But I'm also a horsewoman and have known muleskinners. Real muleskinners, for whom profanity is a high art. I seriously doubt that the muleskinner cussing out the difficult mule string intends to offend anyone in their vicinity, but they are intending to inspire the mules to settle down and behave.
And don't kid yourself. Animals swear in their own way. Only they may be quite expressive about it, either by peeing or pooping on something they find offensive. Or by giving the object of their annoyance a certain look (horses, being primarily non-verbal, can be pretty articulate using body language when something or someone annoys them). I wrote a telepathic horse who used the image of covering whatever annoyed her with buffalo dung. She didn't like the smell or texture of it, so if something offended her...out came the images of buffalo dung.
Well, "Jesus Mary and Joseph!" "Holy Mother of God!" Etc. very definitely offend some denominations and some factions within dominations, and those people who use them definitely know that. I know people who get upset if you say "Oh, God" in a way that does not actually invoke the almighty. The fact that different tribes have their own particular brands of swearing seems to me consistent with my shibboleth theory.
But if we can agree what swearing is transgressive speech, the question becomes, in what way does it transgress except by offending?
As to your muleskinners, would their speech change if there was a nun in their vicinity, for instance? I suspect it would. And why? Presumably because they would not wish to offend her. But if it is that, then they do know that they are using words with the power to offend. No necessarily using them to offend in the instance, but using them because of their power to release emotion. But that power to release emotion has to be based in something, and I can't see how it can be anything other than their power to offend.
But I'll listen to another theory, if you have one to suggest.
Alas, I feel that you are invested in this particular theory and aren't that open to alternatives, and it's too hot to keep on pounding on this subject. I suspect that because you may be more invested in religious orientations, you may lean toward the "goal of offending" than I am. However, the only people I see being deliberately offensive with swearing tend to be middle school-aged students who are experimenting with pushing the boundaries. Culturally, we tend to forbid swearing to children while allowing it in adults. The kids are looking for a reaction from adults. But there is a significant difference between someone swearing to provoke a reaction (look, right-wingers use words like "snowflake" and incels use "Chad" and "Stacy" to provoke reactions) and someone swearing to blow off steam. You do not appear to see or care about the difference.
As for transgressive speech, much of it refers to biological functions.
Historically, muleskinners have apologized to nuns, but not changed their speech. But given that those who are offended by swearing tend to have visceral and vocal reactions, that's part of the trigger for the apology. If you read a number of Western mining histories, yep, the incidents are present. The muleskinners swear, the nuns react, the muleskinners apologize.
But the attitudes toward swearing are also rooted in class perceptions--and I will argue that those who consider swearing to be offensive and aimed at them tend to be from a subset of the bourgeoisie, not the working or ruling classes. Certain professions also tend to be quite profane, and that is an element of their culture.
Which leads me to conclude that swearing is a class issue. Plain and simple.
I do see and care about the difference. My point is that the ability of a word to release steam is based on its ability to offend. It's emotionally the same thing as hitting an inanimate object with a stick. There is no intention or capacity to cause pain, because the object can't feel pain, but the action is cathartic because hitting people with sticks does cause pain. It is redirected violence and it is cathartic because violence is cathartic. Similarly with swearing, if an inanimate object cannot take offence, swearing at it is cathartic because swearing at a person can give offence.
I agree that swearing is a class thing. More broadly it is a tribal thing. It is a marker of tribal identity and inclusion. The reason that it is the lower classes who swear and the upper classes who define swearing by what they choose to take offence at is that the upper classes are effective at occupying and taming spaces for themselves, provoking aggression in the lower classes who use various means, including offensive language, to claim back territory for themselves. It is a way of saying, look, I am here too!
Of course, one could advance the claim that swearing is the default and that it is upper classes who are creating a shibboleth by not doing it. In some sense that is true because it is the upper classes (broadly speaking) who decide what they will be offended by. It's not a good shibboleth, though, because most of the lower classes can turn it on and off at will. But the question would remain, if no one took offense at them, how would we know which words were swear words and which were not? Would those words retain their cathartic power if no one took offence at them?
Again, my contention is not that swearing seeks to offend every time it is uttered. Sometimes it is cathartic and sometimes it is a shibboleth. But its effect as a shibboleth or as a means of catharsis is based on its ability to offend.
It would be reasonable to argue that many of the words we consider swearing today were simply the ordinary lower class words for things like bodily functions. In English, the swear words are often simply the Anglo-Saxon words for things and the non-swearing equivalents are Norman-French. They came to be considered "course language" because they were part of the language of the course people.
But once the lower classes discover that these words offend the upper classes, they become a powerful weapon of class distinction. This changes their character among all speakers. The proscription imposed by the upper classes gives the words new power in the mouths of the lower classes. But that power, with all the emotional force it carries, is based on the knowledge that the word offends the upper classes.
I'm not sure how or if that carries over to other cultures with different patterns of linguistic development, but it does seem that every culture develops a set of swear words that are used for similar purposes everywhere.
Thanks for the discussion, by the way. It has been interesting and has forced me to think my point through in more detail. I'm still open to considering a different theory of how swear words get their power as a means of catharsis or as a shibboleth, but I appreciate that it may not be an issue that deserves more of your time. I appreciate the time you have given to it already. Thanks again.
Nope. It is a lower class AND an upper class thing. The upper classes are as profane as their working class equivalents.
It is the bourgeoisie with upper class pretensions who are offended by swearing. They have not learned the code-switching skills of the upper class and probably will not, because of the aggressive enculturation they receive in their youth. Part of being upper class--I'm talking about those who were born to it, not the nouveau who rose from the bourgeoisie--is that code-switching skill. Trust me, the boardroom can be pretty coarse, especially in the manufacturing world.
Code-switching ability is the key. Most bourgeoisie who swear haven't learned that skill. Upper class knows when it's appropriate and when it isn't. Working class is generally profane all of the time unless they're aspirational bourgeoisie.
Additionally, most of the euphemisms lack both the meaning and the glottal plosives of their profane equivalents. Think about "f--k" as opposed to "fudge." Plus, "f--k" has a meaning that can be considered shocking. "Fudge"? Why would one swear about fudge? Scatologically, it's closer to "s--t".
I agree with much of what Joyce says below. I was going to say something along those lines as well. I think swearing (or as I grew up calling it, "cursing" is complicated. Sometimes it is definitely intended to give offense, especially when used as a slur (calling someone the c-word, etc.) But very often in verbal conflicts between people, objects, and events, swear words are employed as curses--consciously or unconsciously. The words are held so strictly in reserve by society and kept taboo in order to amplify their power when called upon. Whether shouted as an exclamation (d_mn it!) in a moment of anger or danger, or called out to a rival (go __ yourself! eat __ and die!) these are clearly patterned on traditional curses. I think we like to forget this because of the magical and superstitious connotations, but we're creatures of habit, and cursing is cathartic (and gives a sense of action when none is possible.)
Of course, some people have also taken this language and become more creative with it as it has entered their daily speech. This removes or lessens the taboo for those who become casual adopters of swears, so that the "curses" don't have the same effect on them. I grew up in a working class environment where swearing was elevated to an art form, and we were immunized against "offensive" language--probably by design. It was even used affectionately. There's not a word you could say to me that would ever shock or upset me. I consider this a gift. It's like spiritual armor.
As far as writing fiction goes, this is a sound guide, and I think authors are wise to consider their stories and the kinds of audiences they expect to be reading their them. My own books contain (historically accurate) things like headhunting, scalping, and human sacrifice. I'm assuming if my readers can handle that, they're probably not going to begrudge me a little rough language.
Interesting thoughts. So if, as you say, "The words are held so strictly in reserve by society and kept taboo in order to amplify their power when called upon," what is it that holds them in this reserve, that keeps them taboo? It has to be something. My contention is that it is their power to offend. To violate a taboo, surely, is to offend? But if it is not the power to offend that makes them taboo, what is it? How else do swear words get their power if not from their capacity to offend? I'm open to considering alternative explanations.
I grew up first generation middle class. My maternal grandfather was a coal miner and my paternal grandfather was a teamster. I'm not sure if they swore, since the were Methodists. But my parents never did. They were both the first people in their respective families to go to university. (I assume that this common background must have had something to do with how they met.) My guess would be that they refrained from swearing either because they had the working class trained out of them by teachers who recognized their educational potential, or that they learned to do it themselves as a condition of the class they were entering.
My wife and I keep making the mistake of buying houses that need to be renovated, so for months after every move, we have trades tramping through the house. When they are speaking to us, or even to each other within our earshot, never a cuss word passes their lips. But if they don't think we can hear them, particularly when they are taking a break, the cuss words often flow like water (though I notice that this is much less common than it used to be). It's like they speak two dialects, both fluently. (In that sense they are more linguistically accomplished than I am.) The cussing is the patois of the tribe, and so they are certainly not offending each other when they use it. But they drop it as soon as they are around us, because, I think it fair to presume, they think we would be offended by it.
All of which is to say that this seems to me like the clear operation of a shibboleth. One class curses. The other does not. This is how you tell them apart. This seems to me less like immunization and more like enculturation. These are our words, the words that they won't say, the words that they hold taboo. (Because clearly they are not taboo to the people who use them regularly.) They are our words because they offend them. It is the distinction we are after, the badge of tribal identity. But the words serve that purpose because they are taboo, they are transgressive, they have the power to offend.
If they didn't, if you didn't have to drop them when you were speaking to people outside your tribe, they would cease to serve as a mark of identity. In this sense, if they are used as a mark of identity within the tribe, and you refrain from them when speaking outside the tribe, you might never use them with the intent to offend in the particular instance. But even so, where and how you use them, and the group-defining effect they have, is still founded in their ability to offend.
Or so it seems to me.
I'm not sure if your assumption that readers who are okay with headhunting, scalping, and human sacrifice will also be okay with rough language. I think these things are orthogonal. I would have no problem with a story about headhunting, scalping, and human sacrifice, but I find rough language very tedious. I usually stop reading at the first f-bomb. Not because my tender sensibilities are ruffled by it, but because it grates on me in a way I can't quite define. I think my objection is aesthetic rather than moral.
I want to ponder the aesthetic aspect a little more. It may hold the key to understanding why "swiv" used in situations where it is clearly standing in for the f-word, nevertheless does not grate or offend in the same way. But I have not worked that out yet.
My father used to talk about the way his father would talk to his horses, and later his trucks. He called it "chunnerin'." I don't remember any of it now. I don't think it was all swearing, though there may have been swearwords in it. (Then again, Methodists, so maybe not.) It may have been of the "flim, flam, flamin'" variety.
Awe, fear, respect? Let me just say that I’m forming this hypothesis on the fly, so I’m still thinking it through. But my sense of it is that, initially at least, the words were held in reserve in the same way that words like “bear” and “wolf” and the true names of gods were held in reserve, while milder euphemisms like ‘the brown,” “the grey” and epithets were substituted. Although we’ve become less superstitious, we still observe social taboos, and so reserve certain words for when real truth needs to be expressed about certain ugly, touchy, or taboo subjects around which we would normally not speak so openly. Those words are only unleashed when the euphemism will no longer do the trick or, yes, when the speaker wants to unsettle, insult, or offend.
But I don’t think the primary purpose of the words is to cause offense. I still think their main reason for existence is to get at another level of discourse normally untapped by everyday conversation. We might think of it as vulgar or offensive because it addresses aspects of subjects that make us extremely uncomfortable; that’s why we have installed euphemisms in its place to begin with. Swears give us the most direct access to the essential thing itself in its most gritty, raw, undisguised form. This is what makes them such powerful and valuable linguistic tools.
For example, a character in story might say “I want you to make love to me,” or she might say, “I want you to f__ me.” These are two vastly different statements, and they are not interchangeable. The swear here is not being used to offend, it’s being used to starkly clarify a character and a desire. To remove that word from our vocabulary is to remove a potent tool from our linguistic kit.
Swears can strip away all the pretense, all the nicety surrounding them. And people accustomed to speaking that way—people attracted to and unafraid of the nakedness of the language and the things it refers to—recognize one another and share a common vocabulary. For myself and the people I grew up around, it’s not about class or tribe. It’s about authenticity. We always assumed that people who clutched their pearls got offended by words were pretentious, hoity-toity prudes.
Maybe we were wrong. But these words, like all the others, are available to everyone. They’re not the exclusive possession of any class or group. Why do some choose not to use them or converse on equal terms with those who do? Why are they deemed offensive? After all, they’re just words—they can’t hurt anyone who doesn’t choose to be hurt. I think they are seen as offensive less because of their actual content and more because of the class of people they are associated with. I believe it is because some people perceive using these words as being “low class.” They’re offended by the association. Refusing or ceasing to use these words is a statement against that class. No matter their circumstances, people have control over their words. And people can adopt a manner of speaking that they believe will raise them above their lowlier neighbors.
My book is about a barbarian culture and told from their point of view. Which is why I feel alright with throwing in a few swears here and there, especially considering that the story takes place in a warrior encampment. I understand that everyone has their pet peeves when it comes to literature (mine are gratuitous sex scenes, flowery prose, and excessive description) but my text is mild compared to what a real band of warriors would have spoken like, and I stand by every swear. To me, it's true to life.
The taboo hypothesis is interesting. Mind you, breaking taboo is a dangerous thing. It can get you killed or exiled for potentially bringing down the wrath of the gods on the village. It is not something you would do lightly.
Your story about the people you grew up with regarding swears as marks of authenticity and seeing those who got offended as hoity-toity prudes seems to me to be consistent with my notion of swears as shibboleths. They marked a point of distinction between you and the prudes. Do you think they would have had the same authenticity for you if they didn't offend the prudes, if the prudes said they as much as you did?
I agree that they are not always used with the direct intent to offend, but for their emotional power. The question is, where does their emotional power come from?
One alternate theory would be that it comes from their violence. You are right about the difference between f___ and make love. f___ is derived from the Anglo Saxon word meaning to strike. It is a violent word. I remember reading long ago a admonition against using the word "screw" in this context. The writer said, "think about what a screw does to a piece of wood". Get that image in your head and the word suddenly feels as whole lot more unpleasant. Nail is sometimes used in the same way. Screw, nail, and f___ are all violent words. And note that f___ is also used to mean to cheat or to physically assault. It's a violent word. So I think it is reasonable to suggest that their emotional power comes from the violence, which is definitely a big step up from simply offending.
But this does not account for all swears. The other main sources of swears, besides sexual violence, seem to be excremental and religious. The religious swears, such as damn, bloody, and hell, are all considered pretty mild today, even in most religious circles, though definitely not all of them. Bloody is a contraction of "by Our Lady" and probably the mildest of the mild today -- I suspect because almost no one knows it is a religious swear anymore. Why are these swears so mild now (so mild that I don't feel the need to elide them)? I think they have lost their emotional power because of a general societal loss of reverence. They are not particularly transgressive anymore, and so they provoke no particular emotion.
There is a kind of violence in the excremental swears as well. It is like rubbing the hearer's nose is something unpleasant. (Greene's use of "spew" in the passage I cited in response to Adrian Conway has the same effect. A rather clever way of getting the impact of a swear without using an actual swearword.)
To me, offend is a word that seems to encompass all of these sources for the emotional impact of swears. Be it the violation of taboos, violent words (particularly sexual violence), rubbing people's noses in unpleasant things, of taking the name of God (and the things pertaining to God) in vain, they all violate, in one way or another, and violation offends.
I took the word "offend" from the poster I was quoting which provoked the thought. Perhaps starting from scratch I might have chosen to focus on the violence of swears. Violence offends, of course, in more than one sense of the word. But maybe violence is actually the better concept to focus on.
Bloody was a common and quite serious swear when I was growing up. It has got milder over time and seems to be fading away (though it may still be more common in England than in North America). Zounds was once a very serious swear (it is a contraction of "God's wounds". It is comic today. Bloody and zounds have lost their violence because they have become disassociated from their religious roots, and because religious swears generally have lost their force. You can't violate a taboo when almost no one regards it as a taboo anymore.
So let's say that the emotional impact of swears comes from their violence, either in the sense of direct physical attack or in the sense of the violation of taboos. This does not mean that the intent of their use is always violent, but it does mean that they get their emotional impact from their implicit violence, and that that emotional impact declines as the implication of violence fades.
Now, none of this is an argument for not using them in writing. Words with emotional impact are useful in writing. But swears can be a double-edged sword. They can do violence to the reader as well. As far as that part of it goes, my point would be that one can get the same effect as swearing without the swearwords by focusing on the violence.
The Greene quote is a perfect example of this. Pinky is forcing his underlings to eat the fish and chips he ordered. It's a meaningless assertion of power -- a bit of petty violence. And then he moves to "spew", which has it own sense of violence -- the violence of the spew itself, and the violence of rubbing our noses in the word and what it represents. All the same emotional impact of swearing, but nothing for the prudish editor or censor to turn a hair at. It's brilliant.
As you say, we all have our pet peeves and bugaboos when it comes to literature. I don't mind some artful swearing, if its use is limited, but the f-word turns me off immediately and violently. So do gratuitous sex scenes, by the way. They just seem pointless and lazy. Flowery prose and description I'm happy with if they are done well -- though they are seldom done well.
But the point of my post was never to protest against swearing per se. I have no pearls to clutch. It way simply to point our what it is and how it works, and how we might deal with it in writing.
yeah, as far as breaking the taboo goes, i think that’s why it has traditionally been a strategy of people already relegated to some margin of society. they don’t have anything to lose socially, but they might have something to gain by being transgressive—by crossing a boundary other people are unwilling to cross, and shielding themselves against psychological discomfort other people are subject to.
and, yes, i think the “authenticity” of the words exists independent of who speaks them. it’s dependent on whether they skirt around a taboo thing or concept or get at its essence. “manure” is a pretty inoffensive everyday word for a nasty substance, but it makes a lousy exclamation when you step in some…
i think perhaps we are interpreting “offense” in slightly different ways. i agree that many of these words are placeholders or metaphors for offensive or violent things or ideas, and that some people will experience them as, not as the things themselves, but perhaps as the nearest thing to them. saying a taboo word invokes the forbidden, allows the unedited into the mind’s eye. that experience might be discomfiting to some, empowering to others. i’m not among those who believe words are actual violence, but they can hold power over us because of what they symbolize. or we can hold power over them by the way we understand and employ them. certainly, there are alternatives to these words, but swears seem to have the quickest route to the intended meaning.
but the reader’s sensibilities shouldn’t be a main consideration in deciding what language a writer uses to tell his story, or we’re in the same boat as those writers who employ “sensitivity readers” because they fear offending various groups and their myriad discomforts with words. it’s a losing battle. if a writer has certain aesthetic preferences or dislikes, he should embrace them in his writing as he sees fit, because these inform his unique style and voice. worrying about what may or may not trigger readers today, tomorrow, or 20 years from now not only confounds our artistic instincts, but is largely unpredictable.
interesting topic, and definitely worth thinking about. since we’ve been on this subject, i’ve remembered that the linguist john mcwhorter had a book recently on swears called something like “nine nasty words” which i’m curious to read now....
This essay and the comments are very useful. I’m a swearer, myself, because I like the energy it provides in certain contexts--but I’m going to think more carefully about how I use it in my writing as a result of your thoughts.
Interesting convo. For me it’s a question of the appropriate correspondence between character, artistic form and realism. My short story, The Pelican Crossing, is about London teens, who invariably swear. Sometimes I say that they do and sometimes their swearing is represented. What guides my hand is partly linguistic rupture and partly the psychological significance of such words to the characters themselves. Thinking about it, ‘offence’ has never been part of my conscious consideration.
The mimesis of crudity is truly fascinating. This got me thinking about Graham Greene's Brighton Rock, and the portrayal of Pinky and his mob -- razor wielding hoodlums. Here's a passage that illustrates how he portrays their aggression towards each other. Pinky has pre-emptively ordered fish and chips and a pot of tea for his mob.
'It tool longer than we thought,' Spicer said, dropping into the chair, dark and pallid and spotty. He looked with nausea at the brown crackling slab of fish the girl set before him. 'I'm not hungry,' he said. 'I can't eat this. What do you think I am?' and they all three left their fish untasted as they stared at the Boy -- like children before his ageless eyes.
The Boy poured anchovy sauce out over his chips. "Eat,' he said. 'Go on. Eat.' Dallow suddenly grinned. 'He's got no appetite,' her said, and stuffed his mouth with fish. They all talked low, their words lost to those around in the hubbub of plates and voices and the steady surge of the sea. Cubitt followed suit, picking at his fish: only Spicer wouldn't eat. He sat stubbornly there, grey-haired and sea-sick.
'Give me a drink, Pinkie,' he said. 'I can't swallow this stuff.'
'You aren't going to have a drink, not today,' the Boy said. 'Go on. Eat.'
Spicer put some fish to his mouth. 'I'll be sick,' he said, 'if I eat,'
'Spew then,' the Boy said. 'Spew if you like. You haven't any guts to spew.'
In reality, of course, Pinky and his mob would have filled their conversation with profanities. Here the same aggressive manner of speech is suggested by this pointless bullying over fish and chips. There is not a curse word in sight, and yet they sound perfectly authentic because the substance of their conversation is so perfectly drawn.
Not the only way to do it, of course. But the storytelling art is full of many devious and wonderful devices.
Yes, each to their own, as we’ve agreed before. I love Greene’s writing style. His prose here is clearly navigating the strictures of censorship along with, as you suggest, avoiding tiresome replication of profanities. It’s masterful but, (treading where angels might fear), I can feel that crafting going on and it pulls me away from the characters. For my tastes, Brighton Rock never feels quite real enough, maybe because the speech is sometimes shaped more by writing rules than representation - terse for curse. You’ve got me reflecting again on that slippery cod called ‘authenticity’.
Oh yes, authenticity is a tough one. Deliberately stylized is often much easier to pull off. Authenticity is hard because actual authenticity would be unbearably tedious. What one is going for is the feeling of authenticity from something that is actually highly crafted and stylized. But its very hard to make that work for all audiences because the craft of it depends on a whole raft of conventions and different readers, raised on different books, will see those conventions differently. What seems authentic to one will seem contrived to another.
I wonder to what extent the books we read as children shape not only our taste, but our basic reception of stories for our lifetimes. I've read that that is true of music, so why not of books too? I've written before about an anthology called The Best of Both Worlds that was published in 1968 (when I was 11). It brilliantly anthologizes great adult writers of the 100 years before then in a way that is accessible to a bright child, but also to adults as well. It shaped my reading, and therefore, I suppose, my literary taste for years to come. I suspect it shapes it to this day. And there is not one swearword in it from cover to cover.
This is perhaps why the casual use of swearing in novels always strikes me as inauthentic. It always hits me like a deliberate thumb in the eye of literary convention, rather than an authentic representation of reality, even when I know that swearing occurs in the reality being represented.
Literary convention, after all, is about what you agree to leave out. Characters almost never go to the bathroom and take meals only infrequently. Stories are constantly skipping forward big chunks of time. Conversations are clipped and stylized. People speak in full sentences and get to the point. Every conversation is a battle. It was literary convention for the greatest part of the history of English literature, to leave out or highly stylize swearing. It always strikes me, therefore, not as authenticity, but as the writer doing it to get attention.
But if your reading was shaped more by books that do do it, then for you it will be conventional and it will not have that same transgressive feel. It may feel authentic, if it is done craftily, though I suspect that that feeling of authenticity comes not from actually mimicking real life but from conforming to the conventions of the genre.
It may help clarify the (ahem) heart of the matter to put it more bluntly. I suspect the litmus test statement is: all swearing in stories is unnecessary.
I disagree with this because every word has to earn its place and swear words are no different. The question - why are they included? - is the same question as to why any words are chosen. If an author has employed them carelessly or in order to offend then, I suspect, the swearing will feel excessive and ersatz in the text. If the author is trying to capture a sense of reality proportionate to character and art, then I think most readers will get that.
As you know, it's a tougher case to make that all good literature has heretofore avoided swear words therefore the absence of swear words is a necessary condition for good literature. Apart from the difficulty of defining 'good', the twofold danger would be the vain attempt to curtail how literature and language evolve, and, to blind oneself to important stories for the sake of a few f-bombs.
I sense we're agreed on this but there may be more nuances to unpack.
I think that is sound. For most purposes you can tell a story without swearwords, even when swearwords would be present in real life. But there could be stories that you can't tell that way.
By way of analogy, for most purposes you can tell a story with reference to the sex act, even if sex is occurring. But there are some stories that you can't tell that way. There are no stories that require the blow by blow of intercourse -- that is a different thing. But there are stories that require the near approach to it.
Conversely there are stories that use both swearing and sex gratuitously and unnecessarily.
The debatable ground in between are those stories that could be told without swearing or sex but could also be told using them in ways that are not merely gratuitous. Much of that will be dictated by the audience you wish to reach. Frankness is also a shibboleth. But then, so is cleanness.
My preference, as both a reader and a writer, is to only use them sparingly when their use cannot reasonably be avoided. This is, as I have said before, first and foremost a literary prejudice. I really admire what Greene did in Brighton Rock. I think what he did instead of having his character's swear gets closer to the heart of them than putting in the swearing would. I always say that a novel is a lens, not a window. It distorts to focus. That's exactly what Greene achieves in the passage I quoted.
For me, though, it is also a matter of my not being much interested in going down the path of grimness and despair that is the literary fashion of the day. I feel that current culture has a hole in the middle, that high culture has become nihilistic and low culture hedonistic and there is a gaping hole of normal human experience in the middle. This is why I am on my petty little crusade for serious popular literature. I take my model for that from older fiction, from a time when it still existed. Maybe an artist more gifted than I can figure out how to get there going forward rather than looking backward.
May your charger be well watered and ever ready for the fray! A noble enterprise, Mark.
Re Greene extract. Hard agree. A lazier writer would have employed swearing in place of character precision. He's achieved the opposite with perfect economy.
If I might express the matter somewhat strangely - where swearing appears it needs to know exactly why it's there.
There's a superb line in the under-appreciated period crime drama Garrow's Law in which the lead character addresses the aristocracy and accuses them of "knowing everything of manners, and nothing of morals."
Swearing can sometimes end up treated in this way. For me, use of language (swearing or not) is far more about intent than it is about specific vocabulary or speech patterns. Words and words: it's the context, the intention of the speaker and the specific combination that matters.
It's an endlessly fascinating topic, though, and one I've encountered with my son (now 9), who has been fascinated by swearing since he was about 7 (ie, when he went to junior school and presumably started encountering it). Our general approach is that language is language, and what you do with it is important. How you express yourself is important. Specific words, though? I'm not that bothered - not in isolation, at least.
In terms of writing, I've written two books with no swearing. In both those cases it made the books less 'realistic', but this was a trade-off to make them appropriate for as wide a readership as possible. Same reason those specific books hold back on violence and sex. (incidentally, I find it ridiculous that the three things usually referenced in age ratings - sex, violence and language - are presented as being equally problematic. That says a lot about our society...)
I've written two other books (one of which is my work-in-progress Tales from the Triverse, which I'm publishing weekly on my Substack), both of which feature swearing. My first book has swearing but I actually rather wish it didn't - it's a story that would benefit from a younger readership. In the case of Triverse, it's about British police in the 1970s. It features violent crime and often examines the seedy underbelly of the city. To not have swearing in that story would simply be silly.
But the relationship between morals and manners is interesting. True, bad manners is not in itself the worst of sins. Not in itself. But there is this consideration: bad manners may be a sign of pride, and pride is up there in the catalogue of sins, if for no other reason that it can justify just about any sin you can imagine.
Good manners may be a mark of humility. But then again. it can be a mark of pride too. Reproving someone for their bad manners can be an act of pride, but then again, it can be an a act of charity, helping the person get along better in society in a way that is too their advantage.
To me, it is a basic principle of charity that you should not offend someone if you can avoid it without committing a graver sin. A world that places such stock in diversity should recognize that there is a diversity of sensibilities and accommodate them as far as honesty may allow. Of course, as Animal Farm taught us, some animals are more equal than other, and some human are more diverse than others.
Given that we live in an age in which taking offence has been raised to a high political art, the idea that it's an individual's own responsibility to decide what words they will be offended by has some appeal. But I wonder how generally one would be willing to apply it? Racial slurs, like swear words, are just alternate words for something. You can choose to use the offensive word or the inoffensive one. If one is willing to use swear words and leave it to others to decided whether or not to be offended, does the same things apply to slurs? And if not, why not?
You are certainly correct that words can offend in other ways, as can tone of voice. But then if one adheres to the principle that it is up to other people to decide what they will be offended by, wouldn't that apply to those words and to that tone of voice as well?
If you know that something you say or do will offend someone, and you do it or say it anyway, then surely your are intending to offend them. Even if you think it shouldn't offend them, if you know it will, and you could reasonably avoid doing it, you are still offending them, and doing it intentionally. I don't see how to separate that from intending to offend.
And, as I have noted before, I don't see how you even tell the swear words or the slurs from their alternate inoffensive alternatives except by the implied violence or intent to offend.
Now, my specific interest here is in their use by writers (or their avoidance by writers). All of these comments get into interesting areas that writers could consider in constructing characters and the way they speak. Using swears and even slurs certainly enters into that conversation. But I presume that any good writer uses every word with specific intention and is aware both of how words like these will affect the reader and how it will portray the character.
I strongly disagree with the assumption that the primary purpose of swearing is to give offense.
There are situations where the only honest reaction is the f-bomb. Or s--t.
A car breakdown. Chainsaw chain coming off the saw bar. Something isn't working right, so swearing at it (probably closer to the older notion of cursing than anything else) is to some degree a form of sympathetic magic intended to make it work right.
Swearing, at least to me, is more about expressing anger or frustration with a situation. A punctuation mark.
But to give offense to someone? Nope, not even on the radar. I don't swear at people to offend them. If I do swear at someone, it's because they have crossed a personal boundary and I'm frustrated or angry with them. Period. Giving offense isn't even in the picture. And if they think that all I'm doing is attempting to offend them, well, they are waaaay off the mark.
Its a fair point that swear words, if we are given to using them, become part of our vocabulary of exclamations, so that we are not intending to give offence every time we use them. One is not intending to give offence to the car for breaking down. The same is true when swear words are used as shibboleths in a group. You are not intending to offend the members of the group when you use the swear words. Quite the opposite, you are intending to express you solidarity with them by adopting their way of talking.
But I would suggest that while the intent is not to offend every time a swear word is used as a shibboleth, they work as shibboleths only because they are offensive to people outside the group. Shibboleths function both to include and to exclude, and they work to include only because they work to exclude. So it is the power to offend that makes a shibboleth work as a shibboleth, even when you don't intend to to offend the person you are talking to.
And it seems to me that it works the same way when a swear word is used as a exclamation. If we are more likely to reach for such a word when we are angry, whether with an inanimate object or with another human being, it can only be because the word has emotional force behind it. If f--k is not more emotionally potent than fudge, what is the point of it?
So the question is, where does it emotional potency come from? And I would suggest that it is its ability to offend. Or, to put it another way, from its transgressive nature. Transgression, undertaken deliberately, has emotional power. Create a word that is inherently transgressive and the emotional weight of transgression attaches itself to the word. And then there is it, with all its emotional punch, when you need an exclamation in moment of great emotional stress.
But it only has that emotional punch because it is transgressive, and it is only transgressive because it has the power to offend.
I'm not sure I buy the claim that when one swears at someone for crossing a boundary, or when you are frustrated or angry with them, that the intent is not to offend. The word becomes a verbal punch. But how does that punch wound except by offending? You could argue, I suppose, that the intent is to express anger and aggression, rather than to offend, but I would question where swearwords get their power to express anger and aggression except from their power to offend.
To put it another way, are there words that express anger and aggression with with the same emotional force which are not considered offensive?
The problem I have with linking swearing to a desire to offend the listener is that this notion that swearing is motivated by a desire to offend others arises from a very specific group of people--namely, certain Protestant denominations of Christianity--and even more so, certain English-speaking denominations of Christianity.
For example, swearing amongst Catholic English-speakers can sound slightly different, considering their cultural background. So--you'll hear "Jesus Mary and Joseph!" "Holy Mother of God!" Etc. No, you won't hear those oaths from a Protestant. Old oaths such as "God's Blood!" "God's Wounds!" are primarily a British thing.
Expanding to beyond English-speakers to people from other cultures who speak other languages--Russian and Ukrainian speakers are quite profane. And they aren't the only cultures for which profanity can be elevated to a high art.
Honestly, I think that assuming that swearing is meant to offend other people centers the non-swearer's offended reaction and not what inspired the swearer to swear in the first place. It's also a class distinction--it's primarily middle class or aspirational middle class to be prissy about swearing in the first place.
I also don't link transgressive with a desire to offend others. But I'm also a horsewoman and have known muleskinners. Real muleskinners, for whom profanity is a high art. I seriously doubt that the muleskinner cussing out the difficult mule string intends to offend anyone in their vicinity, but they are intending to inspire the mules to settle down and behave.
And don't kid yourself. Animals swear in their own way. Only they may be quite expressive about it, either by peeing or pooping on something they find offensive. Or by giving the object of their annoyance a certain look (horses, being primarily non-verbal, can be pretty articulate using body language when something or someone annoys them). I wrote a telepathic horse who used the image of covering whatever annoyed her with buffalo dung. She didn't like the smell or texture of it, so if something offended her...out came the images of buffalo dung.
Well, "Jesus Mary and Joseph!" "Holy Mother of God!" Etc. very definitely offend some denominations and some factions within dominations, and those people who use them definitely know that. I know people who get upset if you say "Oh, God" in a way that does not actually invoke the almighty. The fact that different tribes have their own particular brands of swearing seems to me consistent with my shibboleth theory.
But if we can agree what swearing is transgressive speech, the question becomes, in what way does it transgress except by offending?
As to your muleskinners, would their speech change if there was a nun in their vicinity, for instance? I suspect it would. And why? Presumably because they would not wish to offend her. But if it is that, then they do know that they are using words with the power to offend. No necessarily using them to offend in the instance, but using them because of their power to release emotion. But that power to release emotion has to be based in something, and I can't see how it can be anything other than their power to offend.
But I'll listen to another theory, if you have one to suggest.
Alas, I feel that you are invested in this particular theory and aren't that open to alternatives, and it's too hot to keep on pounding on this subject. I suspect that because you may be more invested in religious orientations, you may lean toward the "goal of offending" than I am. However, the only people I see being deliberately offensive with swearing tend to be middle school-aged students who are experimenting with pushing the boundaries. Culturally, we tend to forbid swearing to children while allowing it in adults. The kids are looking for a reaction from adults. But there is a significant difference between someone swearing to provoke a reaction (look, right-wingers use words like "snowflake" and incels use "Chad" and "Stacy" to provoke reactions) and someone swearing to blow off steam. You do not appear to see or care about the difference.
As for transgressive speech, much of it refers to biological functions.
Historically, muleskinners have apologized to nuns, but not changed their speech. But given that those who are offended by swearing tend to have visceral and vocal reactions, that's part of the trigger for the apology. If you read a number of Western mining histories, yep, the incidents are present. The muleskinners swear, the nuns react, the muleskinners apologize.
But the attitudes toward swearing are also rooted in class perceptions--and I will argue that those who consider swearing to be offensive and aimed at them tend to be from a subset of the bourgeoisie, not the working or ruling classes. Certain professions also tend to be quite profane, and that is an element of their culture.
Which leads me to conclude that swearing is a class issue. Plain and simple.
I do see and care about the difference. My point is that the ability of a word to release steam is based on its ability to offend. It's emotionally the same thing as hitting an inanimate object with a stick. There is no intention or capacity to cause pain, because the object can't feel pain, but the action is cathartic because hitting people with sticks does cause pain. It is redirected violence and it is cathartic because violence is cathartic. Similarly with swearing, if an inanimate object cannot take offence, swearing at it is cathartic because swearing at a person can give offence.
I agree that swearing is a class thing. More broadly it is a tribal thing. It is a marker of tribal identity and inclusion. The reason that it is the lower classes who swear and the upper classes who define swearing by what they choose to take offence at is that the upper classes are effective at occupying and taming spaces for themselves, provoking aggression in the lower classes who use various means, including offensive language, to claim back territory for themselves. It is a way of saying, look, I am here too!
Of course, one could advance the claim that swearing is the default and that it is upper classes who are creating a shibboleth by not doing it. In some sense that is true because it is the upper classes (broadly speaking) who decide what they will be offended by. It's not a good shibboleth, though, because most of the lower classes can turn it on and off at will. But the question would remain, if no one took offense at them, how would we know which words were swear words and which were not? Would those words retain their cathartic power if no one took offence at them?
Again, my contention is not that swearing seeks to offend every time it is uttered. Sometimes it is cathartic and sometimes it is a shibboleth. But its effect as a shibboleth or as a means of catharsis is based on its ability to offend.
It would be reasonable to argue that many of the words we consider swearing today were simply the ordinary lower class words for things like bodily functions. In English, the swear words are often simply the Anglo-Saxon words for things and the non-swearing equivalents are Norman-French. They came to be considered "course language" because they were part of the language of the course people.
But once the lower classes discover that these words offend the upper classes, they become a powerful weapon of class distinction. This changes their character among all speakers. The proscription imposed by the upper classes gives the words new power in the mouths of the lower classes. But that power, with all the emotional force it carries, is based on the knowledge that the word offends the upper classes.
I'm not sure how or if that carries over to other cultures with different patterns of linguistic development, but it does seem that every culture develops a set of swear words that are used for similar purposes everywhere.
Thanks for the discussion, by the way. It has been interesting and has forced me to think my point through in more detail. I'm still open to considering a different theory of how swear words get their power as a means of catharsis or as a shibboleth, but I appreciate that it may not be an issue that deserves more of your time. I appreciate the time you have given to it already. Thanks again.
Nope. It is a lower class AND an upper class thing. The upper classes are as profane as their working class equivalents.
It is the bourgeoisie with upper class pretensions who are offended by swearing. They have not learned the code-switching skills of the upper class and probably will not, because of the aggressive enculturation they receive in their youth. Part of being upper class--I'm talking about those who were born to it, not the nouveau who rose from the bourgeoisie--is that code-switching skill. Trust me, the boardroom can be pretty coarse, especially in the manufacturing world.
Code-switching ability is the key. Most bourgeoisie who swear haven't learned that skill. Upper class knows when it's appropriate and when it isn't. Working class is generally profane all of the time unless they're aspirational bourgeoisie.
Additionally, most of the euphemisms lack both the meaning and the glottal plosives of their profane equivalents. Think about "f--k" as opposed to "fudge." Plus, "f--k" has a meaning that can be considered shocking. "Fudge"? Why would one swear about fudge? Scatologically, it's closer to "s--t".
I agree with much of what Joyce says below. I was going to say something along those lines as well. I think swearing (or as I grew up calling it, "cursing" is complicated. Sometimes it is definitely intended to give offense, especially when used as a slur (calling someone the c-word, etc.) But very often in verbal conflicts between people, objects, and events, swear words are employed as curses--consciously or unconsciously. The words are held so strictly in reserve by society and kept taboo in order to amplify their power when called upon. Whether shouted as an exclamation (d_mn it!) in a moment of anger or danger, or called out to a rival (go __ yourself! eat __ and die!) these are clearly patterned on traditional curses. I think we like to forget this because of the magical and superstitious connotations, but we're creatures of habit, and cursing is cathartic (and gives a sense of action when none is possible.)
Of course, some people have also taken this language and become more creative with it as it has entered their daily speech. This removes or lessens the taboo for those who become casual adopters of swears, so that the "curses" don't have the same effect on them. I grew up in a working class environment where swearing was elevated to an art form, and we were immunized against "offensive" language--probably by design. It was even used affectionately. There's not a word you could say to me that would ever shock or upset me. I consider this a gift. It's like spiritual armor.
As far as writing fiction goes, this is a sound guide, and I think authors are wise to consider their stories and the kinds of audiences they expect to be reading their them. My own books contain (historically accurate) things like headhunting, scalping, and human sacrifice. I'm assuming if my readers can handle that, they're probably not going to begrudge me a little rough language.
Interesting thoughts. So if, as you say, "The words are held so strictly in reserve by society and kept taboo in order to amplify their power when called upon," what is it that holds them in this reserve, that keeps them taboo? It has to be something. My contention is that it is their power to offend. To violate a taboo, surely, is to offend? But if it is not the power to offend that makes them taboo, what is it? How else do swear words get their power if not from their capacity to offend? I'm open to considering alternative explanations.
I grew up first generation middle class. My maternal grandfather was a coal miner and my paternal grandfather was a teamster. I'm not sure if they swore, since the were Methodists. But my parents never did. They were both the first people in their respective families to go to university. (I assume that this common background must have had something to do with how they met.) My guess would be that they refrained from swearing either because they had the working class trained out of them by teachers who recognized their educational potential, or that they learned to do it themselves as a condition of the class they were entering.
My wife and I keep making the mistake of buying houses that need to be renovated, so for months after every move, we have trades tramping through the house. When they are speaking to us, or even to each other within our earshot, never a cuss word passes their lips. But if they don't think we can hear them, particularly when they are taking a break, the cuss words often flow like water (though I notice that this is much less common than it used to be). It's like they speak two dialects, both fluently. (In that sense they are more linguistically accomplished than I am.) The cussing is the patois of the tribe, and so they are certainly not offending each other when they use it. But they drop it as soon as they are around us, because, I think it fair to presume, they think we would be offended by it.
All of which is to say that this seems to me like the clear operation of a shibboleth. One class curses. The other does not. This is how you tell them apart. This seems to me less like immunization and more like enculturation. These are our words, the words that they won't say, the words that they hold taboo. (Because clearly they are not taboo to the people who use them regularly.) They are our words because they offend them. It is the distinction we are after, the badge of tribal identity. But the words serve that purpose because they are taboo, they are transgressive, they have the power to offend.
If they didn't, if you didn't have to drop them when you were speaking to people outside your tribe, they would cease to serve as a mark of identity. In this sense, if they are used as a mark of identity within the tribe, and you refrain from them when speaking outside the tribe, you might never use them with the intent to offend in the particular instance. But even so, where and how you use them, and the group-defining effect they have, is still founded in their ability to offend.
Or so it seems to me.
I'm not sure if your assumption that readers who are okay with headhunting, scalping, and human sacrifice will also be okay with rough language. I think these things are orthogonal. I would have no problem with a story about headhunting, scalping, and human sacrifice, but I find rough language very tedious. I usually stop reading at the first f-bomb. Not because my tender sensibilities are ruffled by it, but because it grates on me in a way I can't quite define. I think my objection is aesthetic rather than moral.
I want to ponder the aesthetic aspect a little more. It may hold the key to understanding why "swiv" used in situations where it is clearly standing in for the f-word, nevertheless does not grate or offend in the same way. But I have not worked that out yet.
My father used to talk about the way his father would talk to his horses, and later his trucks. He called it "chunnerin'." I don't remember any of it now. I don't think it was all swearing, though there may have been swearwords in it. (Then again, Methodists, so maybe not.) It may have been of the "flim, flam, flamin'" variety.
“what is it that holds them in this reserve”
Awe, fear, respect? Let me just say that I’m forming this hypothesis on the fly, so I’m still thinking it through. But my sense of it is that, initially at least, the words were held in reserve in the same way that words like “bear” and “wolf” and the true names of gods were held in reserve, while milder euphemisms like ‘the brown,” “the grey” and epithets were substituted. Although we’ve become less superstitious, we still observe social taboos, and so reserve certain words for when real truth needs to be expressed about certain ugly, touchy, or taboo subjects around which we would normally not speak so openly. Those words are only unleashed when the euphemism will no longer do the trick or, yes, when the speaker wants to unsettle, insult, or offend.
But I don’t think the primary purpose of the words is to cause offense. I still think their main reason for existence is to get at another level of discourse normally untapped by everyday conversation. We might think of it as vulgar or offensive because it addresses aspects of subjects that make us extremely uncomfortable; that’s why we have installed euphemisms in its place to begin with. Swears give us the most direct access to the essential thing itself in its most gritty, raw, undisguised form. This is what makes them such powerful and valuable linguistic tools.
For example, a character in story might say “I want you to make love to me,” or she might say, “I want you to f__ me.” These are two vastly different statements, and they are not interchangeable. The swear here is not being used to offend, it’s being used to starkly clarify a character and a desire. To remove that word from our vocabulary is to remove a potent tool from our linguistic kit.
Swears can strip away all the pretense, all the nicety surrounding them. And people accustomed to speaking that way—people attracted to and unafraid of the nakedness of the language and the things it refers to—recognize one another and share a common vocabulary. For myself and the people I grew up around, it’s not about class or tribe. It’s about authenticity. We always assumed that people who clutched their pearls got offended by words were pretentious, hoity-toity prudes.
Maybe we were wrong. But these words, like all the others, are available to everyone. They’re not the exclusive possession of any class or group. Why do some choose not to use them or converse on equal terms with those who do? Why are they deemed offensive? After all, they’re just words—they can’t hurt anyone who doesn’t choose to be hurt. I think they are seen as offensive less because of their actual content and more because of the class of people they are associated with. I believe it is because some people perceive using these words as being “low class.” They’re offended by the association. Refusing or ceasing to use these words is a statement against that class. No matter their circumstances, people have control over their words. And people can adopt a manner of speaking that they believe will raise them above their lowlier neighbors.
My book is about a barbarian culture and told from their point of view. Which is why I feel alright with throwing in a few swears here and there, especially considering that the story takes place in a warrior encampment. I understand that everyone has their pet peeves when it comes to literature (mine are gratuitous sex scenes, flowery prose, and excessive description) but my text is mild compared to what a real band of warriors would have spoken like, and I stand by every swear. To me, it's true to life.
The taboo hypothesis is interesting. Mind you, breaking taboo is a dangerous thing. It can get you killed or exiled for potentially bringing down the wrath of the gods on the village. It is not something you would do lightly.
Your story about the people you grew up with regarding swears as marks of authenticity and seeing those who got offended as hoity-toity prudes seems to me to be consistent with my notion of swears as shibboleths. They marked a point of distinction between you and the prudes. Do you think they would have had the same authenticity for you if they didn't offend the prudes, if the prudes said they as much as you did?
I agree that they are not always used with the direct intent to offend, but for their emotional power. The question is, where does their emotional power come from?
One alternate theory would be that it comes from their violence. You are right about the difference between f___ and make love. f___ is derived from the Anglo Saxon word meaning to strike. It is a violent word. I remember reading long ago a admonition against using the word "screw" in this context. The writer said, "think about what a screw does to a piece of wood". Get that image in your head and the word suddenly feels as whole lot more unpleasant. Nail is sometimes used in the same way. Screw, nail, and f___ are all violent words. And note that f___ is also used to mean to cheat or to physically assault. It's a violent word. So I think it is reasonable to suggest that their emotional power comes from the violence, which is definitely a big step up from simply offending.
But this does not account for all swears. The other main sources of swears, besides sexual violence, seem to be excremental and religious. The religious swears, such as damn, bloody, and hell, are all considered pretty mild today, even in most religious circles, though definitely not all of them. Bloody is a contraction of "by Our Lady" and probably the mildest of the mild today -- I suspect because almost no one knows it is a religious swear anymore. Why are these swears so mild now (so mild that I don't feel the need to elide them)? I think they have lost their emotional power because of a general societal loss of reverence. They are not particularly transgressive anymore, and so they provoke no particular emotion.
There is a kind of violence in the excremental swears as well. It is like rubbing the hearer's nose is something unpleasant. (Greene's use of "spew" in the passage I cited in response to Adrian Conway has the same effect. A rather clever way of getting the impact of a swear without using an actual swearword.)
To me, offend is a word that seems to encompass all of these sources for the emotional impact of swears. Be it the violation of taboos, violent words (particularly sexual violence), rubbing people's noses in unpleasant things, of taking the name of God (and the things pertaining to God) in vain, they all violate, in one way or another, and violation offends.
I took the word "offend" from the poster I was quoting which provoked the thought. Perhaps starting from scratch I might have chosen to focus on the violence of swears. Violence offends, of course, in more than one sense of the word. But maybe violence is actually the better concept to focus on.
Bloody was a common and quite serious swear when I was growing up. It has got milder over time and seems to be fading away (though it may still be more common in England than in North America). Zounds was once a very serious swear (it is a contraction of "God's wounds". It is comic today. Bloody and zounds have lost their violence because they have become disassociated from their religious roots, and because religious swears generally have lost their force. You can't violate a taboo when almost no one regards it as a taboo anymore.
So let's say that the emotional impact of swears comes from their violence, either in the sense of direct physical attack or in the sense of the violation of taboos. This does not mean that the intent of their use is always violent, but it does mean that they get their emotional impact from their implicit violence, and that that emotional impact declines as the implication of violence fades.
Now, none of this is an argument for not using them in writing. Words with emotional impact are useful in writing. But swears can be a double-edged sword. They can do violence to the reader as well. As far as that part of it goes, my point would be that one can get the same effect as swearing without the swearwords by focusing on the violence.
The Greene quote is a perfect example of this. Pinky is forcing his underlings to eat the fish and chips he ordered. It's a meaningless assertion of power -- a bit of petty violence. And then he moves to "spew", which has it own sense of violence -- the violence of the spew itself, and the violence of rubbing our noses in the word and what it represents. All the same emotional impact of swearing, but nothing for the prudish editor or censor to turn a hair at. It's brilliant.
As you say, we all have our pet peeves and bugaboos when it comes to literature. I don't mind some artful swearing, if its use is limited, but the f-word turns me off immediately and violently. So do gratuitous sex scenes, by the way. They just seem pointless and lazy. Flowery prose and description I'm happy with if they are done well -- though they are seldom done well.
But the point of my post was never to protest against swearing per se. I have no pearls to clutch. It way simply to point our what it is and how it works, and how we might deal with it in writing.
yeah, as far as breaking the taboo goes, i think that’s why it has traditionally been a strategy of people already relegated to some margin of society. they don’t have anything to lose socially, but they might have something to gain by being transgressive—by crossing a boundary other people are unwilling to cross, and shielding themselves against psychological discomfort other people are subject to.
and, yes, i think the “authenticity” of the words exists independent of who speaks them. it’s dependent on whether they skirt around a taboo thing or concept or get at its essence. “manure” is a pretty inoffensive everyday word for a nasty substance, but it makes a lousy exclamation when you step in some…
i think perhaps we are interpreting “offense” in slightly different ways. i agree that many of these words are placeholders or metaphors for offensive or violent things or ideas, and that some people will experience them as, not as the things themselves, but perhaps as the nearest thing to them. saying a taboo word invokes the forbidden, allows the unedited into the mind’s eye. that experience might be discomfiting to some, empowering to others. i’m not among those who believe words are actual violence, but they can hold power over us because of what they symbolize. or we can hold power over them by the way we understand and employ them. certainly, there are alternatives to these words, but swears seem to have the quickest route to the intended meaning.
but the reader’s sensibilities shouldn’t be a main consideration in deciding what language a writer uses to tell his story, or we’re in the same boat as those writers who employ “sensitivity readers” because they fear offending various groups and their myriad discomforts with words. it’s a losing battle. if a writer has certain aesthetic preferences or dislikes, he should embrace them in his writing as he sees fit, because these inform his unique style and voice. worrying about what may or may not trigger readers today, tomorrow, or 20 years from now not only confounds our artistic instincts, but is largely unpredictable.
interesting topic, and definitely worth thinking about. since we’ve been on this subject, i’ve remembered that the linguist john mcwhorter had a book recently on swears called something like “nine nasty words” which i’m curious to read now....
This essay and the comments are very useful. I’m a swearer, myself, because I like the energy it provides in certain contexts--but I’m going to think more carefully about how I use it in my writing as a result of your thoughts.
Interesting convo. For me it’s a question of the appropriate correspondence between character, artistic form and realism. My short story, The Pelican Crossing, is about London teens, who invariably swear. Sometimes I say that they do and sometimes their swearing is represented. What guides my hand is partly linguistic rupture and partly the psychological significance of such words to the characters themselves. Thinking about it, ‘offence’ has never been part of my conscious consideration.
The mimesis of crudity is truly fascinating. This got me thinking about Graham Greene's Brighton Rock, and the portrayal of Pinky and his mob -- razor wielding hoodlums. Here's a passage that illustrates how he portrays their aggression towards each other. Pinky has pre-emptively ordered fish and chips and a pot of tea for his mob.
'It tool longer than we thought,' Spicer said, dropping into the chair, dark and pallid and spotty. He looked with nausea at the brown crackling slab of fish the girl set before him. 'I'm not hungry,' he said. 'I can't eat this. What do you think I am?' and they all three left their fish untasted as they stared at the Boy -- like children before his ageless eyes.
The Boy poured anchovy sauce out over his chips. "Eat,' he said. 'Go on. Eat.' Dallow suddenly grinned. 'He's got no appetite,' her said, and stuffed his mouth with fish. They all talked low, their words lost to those around in the hubbub of plates and voices and the steady surge of the sea. Cubitt followed suit, picking at his fish: only Spicer wouldn't eat. He sat stubbornly there, grey-haired and sea-sick.
'Give me a drink, Pinkie,' he said. 'I can't swallow this stuff.'
'You aren't going to have a drink, not today,' the Boy said. 'Go on. Eat.'
Spicer put some fish to his mouth. 'I'll be sick,' he said, 'if I eat,'
'Spew then,' the Boy said. 'Spew if you like. You haven't any guts to spew.'
In reality, of course, Pinky and his mob would have filled their conversation with profanities. Here the same aggressive manner of speech is suggested by this pointless bullying over fish and chips. There is not a curse word in sight, and yet they sound perfectly authentic because the substance of their conversation is so perfectly drawn.
Not the only way to do it, of course. But the storytelling art is full of many devious and wonderful devices.
Yes, each to their own, as we’ve agreed before. I love Greene’s writing style. His prose here is clearly navigating the strictures of censorship along with, as you suggest, avoiding tiresome replication of profanities. It’s masterful but, (treading where angels might fear), I can feel that crafting going on and it pulls me away from the characters. For my tastes, Brighton Rock never feels quite real enough, maybe because the speech is sometimes shaped more by writing rules than representation - terse for curse. You’ve got me reflecting again on that slippery cod called ‘authenticity’.
Oh yes, authenticity is a tough one. Deliberately stylized is often much easier to pull off. Authenticity is hard because actual authenticity would be unbearably tedious. What one is going for is the feeling of authenticity from something that is actually highly crafted and stylized. But its very hard to make that work for all audiences because the craft of it depends on a whole raft of conventions and different readers, raised on different books, will see those conventions differently. What seems authentic to one will seem contrived to another.
I wonder to what extent the books we read as children shape not only our taste, but our basic reception of stories for our lifetimes. I've read that that is true of music, so why not of books too? I've written before about an anthology called The Best of Both Worlds that was published in 1968 (when I was 11). It brilliantly anthologizes great adult writers of the 100 years before then in a way that is accessible to a bright child, but also to adults as well. It shaped my reading, and therefore, I suppose, my literary taste for years to come. I suspect it shapes it to this day. And there is not one swearword in it from cover to cover.
This is perhaps why the casual use of swearing in novels always strikes me as inauthentic. It always hits me like a deliberate thumb in the eye of literary convention, rather than an authentic representation of reality, even when I know that swearing occurs in the reality being represented.
Literary convention, after all, is about what you agree to leave out. Characters almost never go to the bathroom and take meals only infrequently. Stories are constantly skipping forward big chunks of time. Conversations are clipped and stylized. People speak in full sentences and get to the point. Every conversation is a battle. It was literary convention for the greatest part of the history of English literature, to leave out or highly stylize swearing. It always strikes me, therefore, not as authenticity, but as the writer doing it to get attention.
But if your reading was shaped more by books that do do it, then for you it will be conventional and it will not have that same transgressive feel. It may feel authentic, if it is done craftily, though I suspect that that feeling of authenticity comes not from actually mimicking real life but from conforming to the conventions of the genre.
Mimesis is tough.
It may help clarify the (ahem) heart of the matter to put it more bluntly. I suspect the litmus test statement is: all swearing in stories is unnecessary.
I disagree with this because every word has to earn its place and swear words are no different. The question - why are they included? - is the same question as to why any words are chosen. If an author has employed them carelessly or in order to offend then, I suspect, the swearing will feel excessive and ersatz in the text. If the author is trying to capture a sense of reality proportionate to character and art, then I think most readers will get that.
As you know, it's a tougher case to make that all good literature has heretofore avoided swear words therefore the absence of swear words is a necessary condition for good literature. Apart from the difficulty of defining 'good', the twofold danger would be the vain attempt to curtail how literature and language evolve, and, to blind oneself to important stories for the sake of a few f-bombs.
I sense we're agreed on this but there may be more nuances to unpack.
I think that is sound. For most purposes you can tell a story without swearwords, even when swearwords would be present in real life. But there could be stories that you can't tell that way.
By way of analogy, for most purposes you can tell a story with reference to the sex act, even if sex is occurring. But there are some stories that you can't tell that way. There are no stories that require the blow by blow of intercourse -- that is a different thing. But there are stories that require the near approach to it.
Conversely there are stories that use both swearing and sex gratuitously and unnecessarily.
The debatable ground in between are those stories that could be told without swearing or sex but could also be told using them in ways that are not merely gratuitous. Much of that will be dictated by the audience you wish to reach. Frankness is also a shibboleth. But then, so is cleanness.
My preference, as both a reader and a writer, is to only use them sparingly when their use cannot reasonably be avoided. This is, as I have said before, first and foremost a literary prejudice. I really admire what Greene did in Brighton Rock. I think what he did instead of having his character's swear gets closer to the heart of them than putting in the swearing would. I always say that a novel is a lens, not a window. It distorts to focus. That's exactly what Greene achieves in the passage I quoted.
For me, though, it is also a matter of my not being much interested in going down the path of grimness and despair that is the literary fashion of the day. I feel that current culture has a hole in the middle, that high culture has become nihilistic and low culture hedonistic and there is a gaping hole of normal human experience in the middle. This is why I am on my petty little crusade for serious popular literature. I take my model for that from older fiction, from a time when it still existed. Maybe an artist more gifted than I can figure out how to get there going forward rather than looking backward.
May your charger be well watered and ever ready for the fray! A noble enterprise, Mark.
Re Greene extract. Hard agree. A lazier writer would have employed swearing in place of character precision. He's achieved the opposite with perfect economy.
If I might express the matter somewhat strangely - where swearing appears it needs to know exactly why it's there.
"where swearing appears it needs to know exactly why it's there." -- This exactly!
There's a superb line in the under-appreciated period crime drama Garrow's Law in which the lead character addresses the aristocracy and accuses them of "knowing everything of manners, and nothing of morals."
Swearing can sometimes end up treated in this way. For me, use of language (swearing or not) is far more about intent than it is about specific vocabulary or speech patterns. Words and words: it's the context, the intention of the speaker and the specific combination that matters.
It's an endlessly fascinating topic, though, and one I've encountered with my son (now 9), who has been fascinated by swearing since he was about 7 (ie, when he went to junior school and presumably started encountering it). Our general approach is that language is language, and what you do with it is important. How you express yourself is important. Specific words, though? I'm not that bothered - not in isolation, at least.
In terms of writing, I've written two books with no swearing. In both those cases it made the books less 'realistic', but this was a trade-off to make them appropriate for as wide a readership as possible. Same reason those specific books hold back on violence and sex. (incidentally, I find it ridiculous that the three things usually referenced in age ratings - sex, violence and language - are presented as being equally problematic. That says a lot about our society...)
I've written two other books (one of which is my work-in-progress Tales from the Triverse, which I'm publishing weekly on my Substack), both of which feature swearing. My first book has swearing but I actually rather wish it didn't - it's a story that would benefit from a younger readership. In the case of Triverse, it's about British police in the 1970s. It features violent crime and often examines the seedy underbelly of the city. To not have swearing in that story would simply be silly.
So, yes. Context and intent.
I love that quote.
But the relationship between morals and manners is interesting. True, bad manners is not in itself the worst of sins. Not in itself. But there is this consideration: bad manners may be a sign of pride, and pride is up there in the catalogue of sins, if for no other reason that it can justify just about any sin you can imagine.
Good manners may be a mark of humility. But then again. it can be a mark of pride too. Reproving someone for their bad manners can be an act of pride, but then again, it can be an a act of charity, helping the person get along better in society in a way that is too their advantage.
To me, it is a basic principle of charity that you should not offend someone if you can avoid it without committing a graver sin. A world that places such stock in diversity should recognize that there is a diversity of sensibilities and accommodate them as far as honesty may allow. Of course, as Animal Farm taught us, some animals are more equal than other, and some human are more diverse than others.