Will the written word as we have known it for so many centuries survive the carnage it has been subjected to since Instant Messaging (IM) first sunk its ugly teeth into it? Judging from English usage in the social media since the opening of the Internet barely 20 years ago, I fear not. As long as Mxit, Facebook and Twitter were still regarded as unlikely communication channels on the fringes, catering for the purely social whims of teenagers and other rebels, the language still had a chance, but those days are over.
IM language has crossed the divide into business language and it seems to have found some comfort there.
Is it entirely unreasonable to expect modern communicators to respect the language in its beauty as it had evolved through great minds and wordsmiths such as the Bard, Dickens, Jane Eyre and Mark Twain? One answer could well be that this evolution has never stopped and that the modern super short version is just the next stage in this process. Get a life and get used to it! It’s kewl and ur not gonna c the gr8 lingo in its old shape no more. Lmao.
But when I then discover the beauty of the language as it is harnessed by modern authors such as Indian novelist, Arundhati Roy, who won the Booker Prize with her The God of Small Things, Gregory Dean Roberts in Shantaram and Andrea Levy in Small Island, my hope soars. I now believe, more than ever before, that the two can exist side by side; one for functional communication and the other for the enrichment of the human spirit, better relationships, and food for souls … and ne’er the twain shall meet on that front!
I must share some of Arundhati Roy’s magical language with my readers to illustrate my point:
“The only dream worth having is to dream that you will live while you are alive, and die only when you are dead. To love, to be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and vulgar disparity of the life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair.”
-----
“But what was there to say?
Only that there were tears. Only that Quietness and Emptiness fitted together like stacked spoons. Only that there was a snuffling in the hollows at the base of a lovely throat. Only that a hard honey-colored shoulder had a semicircle of teethmarks on it. Only that they held each other close, long after it was over. Only that what they shared that night was not happiness, but hideous grief.
Only that once again they broke the Love Laws. That lay down who should be loved. And how. And how much.”
-----
“He folded his fear into a perfect rose. He held it out in the palm of his hand. She took it from him and put it in her hair.”
Need one say more?
IM language has crossed the divide into business language and it seems to have found some comfort there.
Is it entirely unreasonable to expect modern communicators to respect the language in its beauty as it had evolved through great minds and wordsmiths such as the Bard, Dickens, Jane Eyre and Mark Twain? One answer could well be that this evolution has never stopped and that the modern super short version is just the next stage in this process. Get a life and get used to it! It’s kewl and ur not gonna c the gr8 lingo in its old shape no more. Lmao.
But when I then discover the beauty of the language as it is harnessed by modern authors such as Indian novelist, Arundhati Roy, who won the Booker Prize with her The God of Small Things, Gregory Dean Roberts in Shantaram and Andrea Levy in Small Island, my hope soars. I now believe, more than ever before, that the two can exist side by side; one for functional communication and the other for the enrichment of the human spirit, better relationships, and food for souls … and ne’er the twain shall meet on that front!
I must share some of Arundhati Roy’s magical language with my readers to illustrate my point:
“The only dream worth having is to dream that you will live while you are alive, and die only when you are dead. To love, to be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and vulgar disparity of the life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair.”
-----
“But what was there to say?
Only that there were tears. Only that Quietness and Emptiness fitted together like stacked spoons. Only that there was a snuffling in the hollows at the base of a lovely throat. Only that a hard honey-colored shoulder had a semicircle of teethmarks on it. Only that they held each other close, long after it was over. Only that what they shared that night was not happiness, but hideous grief.
Only that once again they broke the Love Laws. That lay down who should be loved. And how. And how much.”
-----
“He folded his fear into a perfect rose. He held it out in the palm of his hand. She took it from him and put it in her hair.”
Need one say more?
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