Among the most disconcerting aspects of the events of the last two years has been the way in which language in our political, social, media world has been used to confuse, mystify and mislead; to cast lies as truth, falsehoods as facts; to create shadows rather than cast light. It has been such a persistent and pervasive phenomenon that I have often feared I might slip into a numbed cynical acceptance that this is the way it is; that I can no longer trust language to make sense. Since I am a writer, this is more than a little discomfiting.


The author, George Saunders, in an interview on Writers on Writing, was asked to comment on the place of writing and art today when so much in our society seems to be falling apart. Saunders, a fiction writer, had done research during the recent presidential campaign for a magazine article, research that included attending many Trump rallies. I anticipated that Saunders would beat the social action drum, which he acknowledged was a viable option. Instead, he suggested that writing at a high level may be more important now than ever before. He noted how much communication has become degrading, combative, crude and abusive. He suggested that writing was important “if only to remind ourselves as a species that a high mode of communication is possible.” He went on to say that we should “keep a sacred chapel where…making models of the world that are intricate and faithful and loving...”

 still exists.

I found his thoughts heartening.

To use language to elucidate what it means to be a plain old human being living in the world—that is why I write. That is my “sacred chapel.” I want to lift up what seems common so it can be recognized for its uncommon complexity and beauty.


 To do this, I have to handle letters and words and sentences and paragraphs respectfully, because they are all I have; they are my lenses, my ciphers, my pavers; they are the only means I have for making sense of the world, for wringing meaning from it. If I become lazy, if I no longer care how I use it, if I lose respect for language, all is lost. I am left to muddle through vast plains of verbiage devoid of sense, language no longer in the service of meaningful expression or human connection or even the simplest exchange of accurate information.
I know there are a great many ways to change the world, to affect the lives of others, to elevate the well-being of the many; and they are all important. But for now, I will be a defender of language, someone who endeavors to write in ways that are “intricate and faithful and loving.”