The meadows lead down to the shores of the mere, and the nearest fields melt almost insensibly into the green margin of the water, for at the edge it is so full of flags, and rushes, and weeds as at a distance to be barely distinguishable there from the sward. As we approach, the cuckoo sings passing overhead; she cries as she flies is the common country saying.
I used to imagine that the cuckoo was fond of an echo, having noticed that a particular clump of trees overhanging some water, the opposite bank of which sent back a clear reply, was a specially favourite resort of that bird. The reduplication of the liquid notes, as they travelled to and fro, was peculiarly pleasant: the water, perhaps, lending, like a sounding-board, a fulness and roundness to her song. She might possibly have fancied that another bird was answering; certainly she cried much longer there that in other places. Morning after morning, and about the same time – eleven o’clock – a cuckoo sang in that group of trees, from noting which I was led to think that perhaps the cuckoo, though apparently wandering aimlessly about, really has more method and regularity in her habits than would seem. …
There was a superstition that where or in whatever condition you happened to be when you heard the cuckoo the first time in the spring, so you would remain for the next twelvemonth; for which reason it was a misfortune to hear her first in bed, since it might mean a long illness. This, by-the-by, may have been a pleasant fable invented to get milkmaids up early of a morning.
–Richard Jefferies, The Gamekeeper at Home, 1890
***
There are a fair number of cuckoo species, most of which are nest parasites, so that’s not as pretty as the bird itself. Brown-headed cowbirds are also nest parasites and there are lots more of them around where I live; I haven’t seen a cuckoo in years. I don’t think I’ve heard one either, but I’ll have to pay attention and see if I do hear any this spring. The call really does sound a bit like “cuckoo,” though to me it’s more like “coo-coo.” They sound something like doves, but not really.
Image from Unsplash
Let’s take a closer look at this passage, which I chose mostly because I enjoy that last paragraph. Well, and the first paragraph. How often have you seen anybody use “mere” in a sentence? Or, for that matter, “sward?” Anyway, take a look at this —
***
The meadows lead down to the shores of the mere, and the nearest fields melt almost insensibly into the green margin of the water, for at the edge it is so full of flags, and rushes, and weeds as at a distance to be barely distinguishable there from the sward. As we approach, the cuckoo sings passing overhead; she cries as she flies is the common country saying.
I used to imagine that the cuckoo was fond of an echo, having noticed that a particular clump of trees overhanging some water, the opposite bank of which sent back a clear reply, was a specially favourite resort of that bird. The reduplication of the liquid notes, as they travelled to and fro, was peculiarly pleasant: the water, perhaps, lending, like a sounding-board, a fulness and roundness to her song. She might possibly have fancied that another bird was answering; certainly she cried much longer there that in other places. Morning after morning, and about the same time – eleven o’clock – a cuckoo sang in that group of trees, from noting which I was led to think that perhaps the cuckoo, though apparently wandering aimlessly about, really has more method and regularity in her habits than would seem. …
There was a superstition that where or in whatever condition you happened to be when you heard the cuckoo the first time in the spring, so you would remain for the next twelvemonth; for which reason it was a misfortune to hear her first in bed, since it might mean a long illness. This, by-the-by, may have been a pleasant fable invented to get milkmaids up early of a morning.
***
There: that’s all the adverbs I spotted on a quick glance. Adverbs should be as rare as a solar eclipse, says James Scott Bell, and I will just point to this passage and wonder where people get these notions. I am aware that writing styles were possibly somewhat different in 1890 than they are today. The shift has not largely been toward better writing, so the argument that now there is something wrong with adverbs is not going to carry much weight with me.
Let me look once more at the first paragraph of the passage, this time noting a different part of speech.
***
The meadows lead down to the shores of the mere, and the nearest fields melt almost insensibly into the green margin of the water, for at the edge it is so full of flags, and rushes, and weeds as at a distance to be barely distinguishable there from the sward.
I just noticed the use of conjunctions, that’s all, and thought this was worth noting because of my recent post about the use or non-use of conjunctions – asyndeton, remember that? A neat word, though of limited utility in daily conversation. Anyway, I like the use of all these conjunctions here. Personally, I think the use of all these comma-conjunctions gives that first sentence a delightful lazy feel, as though you’re ambling along the stream.
I haven’t seen a cuckoo for a long time, which is regrettable, because they are beautiful birds.
But back to the passage. How about this:
***
The meadows lead down to the shores of the mere , and the nearest fields melt almost insensibly into the green margin of the water , for at the edge it is so full of flags , and rushes , and weeds as at a distance to be barely distinguishable there from the sward. As we approach, the cuckoo sings passing overhead ; she cries as she flies is the common country saying.
I used to imagine that the cuckoo was fond of an echo , having noticed that a particular clump of trees overhanging some water, the opposite bank of which sent back a clear reply, was a specially favourite resort of that bird. The reduplication of the liquid notes , as they travelled to and fro , was peculiarly pleasant : the water , perhaps , lending , like a sounding-board , a fulness and roundness to her song. She might possibly have fancied that another bird was answering ; certainly she cried much longer there that in other places. Morning after morning , and about the same time – eleven o’clock – a cuckoo sang in that group of trees , from noting which I was led to think that perhaps the cuckoo , though apparently wandering aimlessly about , really has more method and regularity in her habits that would seem. …
There was a superstition that where or in whatever condition you happened to be when you heard the cuckoo the first time in the spring , so you would remain for the next twelvemonth ; for which reason it was a misfortune to hear her first in bed, since it might mean a long illness. This , by-the-by, may have been a pleasant fable invented to get milkmaids up early of a morning.
***
This would be a nice passage to use when demonstrating almost anything about punctuation or nested clauses.
I used to imagine that the cuckoo was fond of an echo, having noticed that a particular clump of trees overhanging some water, the opposite bank of which sent back a clear reply, was a specially favourite resort of that bird.
You can wander through that sentence for a while, trying to figure it out. Where is the subject, the main verb, the object? This sort of sentence would be good for teaching children how to recognize all that. Diagramming that sentence would be fun.
Or, you could de-complicate that sentence by rearranging the clauses:
Having noticed that a particular clump of trees overhung some water, the opposite bank of which sent back a clear reply, was a specially favourite resort of that bird, I used to imagine that the cuckoo was fond of an echo.
What do you think? I think this new structure clarifies who noticed the thing, whereas in the original, this was ambiguous.
How about this version:
At one location along the stream, where a particular clump of trees overhung the water, the opposite bank sent back a clear echo of any sound. This was a specially favourite resort of the cuckoo, so I used to imagine that she was fond of an echo.
This is significantly simpler to understand.
Which you’d prefer depends on why you’re writing the passage and whom you imagine your reader to be. If you write the first version, you are demonstrating confidence that your reader will have sufficient skill to unravel the clauses without effort, and will, moreover, enjoy your elliptical writing. The last version imagines that the reader might have lower competence at reading, or perhaps be too impatient to figure it out. This is a less generous view of the reader. On the other hand, I mean, this version really is easier to understand. I can hardly say it’s unreasonable to prefer clarity.
***
This might have jumped out at you, but if not, look at it now:
There was a superstition that where or in whatever condition you happened to be when you heard the cuckoo the first time in the spring, so you would remain for the next twelvemonth; for which reason it was a misfortune to hear her first in bed, since it might mean a long illness.
This sentence is 53 words long. Of course the semicolon means it’s actually two sentences. Still. Both independent clauses are quite simple in construction – only one comma each.
Did you notice the fake subject “There” at the beginning? English throws fake subjects into sentences all the time: There was, it is. This is because English REALLY likes subject-verb-object word order and invents fake subjects in order to put sentences into this order, when otherwise they might be awkward.
English instructors will sometimes tell you that fake subjects are weak or indirect or some such term, and – possibly surprisingly, given the various nonsense English teachers sometimes espouse * – that can be true. Generally speaking, I would tend to rephrase a sentence to avoid this kind of fake subject. On the other hand, I wouldn’t obsess about it, and the above sentence demonstrates why. I mean, it’s fine.
If you did want to rephrase that sentence, how would you do it?
If you knew where or when you were, you could say, “In the county of _____, a common superstition held that …” Or else you could say, “When I was a child, a common superstition held that …”
Suppose you didn’t want to start with a prepositional phrase or a dependent clause of any kind, not that there is anything wrong with dependent clauses, but you could say, “People in the county of _____ commonly held a superstition that …”
Would any of those be better? Not really. They’re just variations, all about equally as good. That’s what I think. The final version obviously introduces yet another adverb, which doesn’t bother me.
When helping students write clearly, I often say, “Put the grammatical subject in the front and alllllll sorts of problems automatically shake themselves into proper order.” Of course, since students today are taught absolutely nothing about grammar, as a rule, they can’t identify the grammatical subject, so this may lead to a longer digression about grammatical subjects. (What is a verb? What is the verb in this sentence? That is not actually a verb; it’s a noun disguised as a verb. You can tell because it is doing noun things in the sentence. What is actually doing verb things? Yes, there, that’s the verb. Okay, now who or what is doing the verb? That is the grammatical subject. And if you have a dependent clause, the comma goes in front of the grammatical subject. You keep emphasizing “grammatical” in front of “subject” because you need to make it clear that here, “subject” does not mean “topic.”)
An English instructor – or an editor fond of super-tight, stripped-down writing styles – might also say “You should take out for which reason and put in so because concise writing is better.” You could certainly do that. Would that be better?
For once, the answer is clear. That would be much less good, because there’s already a “so” in that sentence. You could use “therefore” instead, but that would change the tone a little bit, plus “therefore” would be doing the same job as “so” in the same way, so it would produce a repetitive feel even though it’s a different word with more syllables. I prefer for which reason here. Of course, super-tight, stripped-down styles aren’t really my jam anyway.
*Don’t start a sentence with “and” or any other short conjunction even though long conjunctions are peachy at the front of a sentence; don’t repeat “and” in a list; don’t use “it;” don’t use “be” verbs; don’t use “get” in any form; don’t use passive voice; don’t use semicolons, my child, because that’s too complicated for your tiny brain. On and on, I’m not making any of this up except I doubt any English teacher ever explicitly says the part about the tiny brain. That’s simply implied.
Should you or your child be taking any multiple-choice test that includes questions over punctuation, such as the ACT, it might be worth knowing that semicolons do exactly the same job as periods, except with an added implication that the two sentences linked by a semicolon are related somehow. Why is this a handy bit of trivia? Because, on a multiple-choice question where two answers are exactly the same except one has a period and one has a semicolon, both those answers must be right or else both must be wrong, which means, on a normal standardized test, they’re both wrong. This semicolon = artistic period also makes it easier to decide which is right: semicolon or comma? If a period could be right, the comma cannot be right, but the semicolon could.
However, really, the point of this post was to linger over a few nice paragraphs.
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