Translator: Yangha Kim Reviewer: Ellen Maloney
I’m Rebecca Pressman,
and I'll be talking about precision in expression.
"I had the time of my life last night."
So you hear this from me and understand, generally,
that whatever I may have done last night
was really great.
And maybe you’re happy for me that I had a good time.
Or maybe you’re jealous because you were stuck at home.
But either way, we have not formed any connection,
and I have been let off the hook.
But right now, let’s talk about remaining on the hook.
When I was in high school,
my English teachers would groan upon hearing clichés.
The dramatic ones sometimes adding a pantomime stabbing to the heart.
Being the eager-to-please student that I was,
I took note of this,
making sure to avoid trite expressions in my writing and in my speech.
Now, I am that English teacher,
and when I’m feeling a little dramatic,
I too will bring my fist to my chest with a look of defeat
when I hear one of my students
talking about the grass always being greener on the other side,
or consoling a friend after a breakup
with the statement that there are plenty of fish in the sea.
I suppose it has always been ingrained in me
that clichés are inherently bad.
But it was more recently that I began to explore and consider why.
Here’s the problem:
a cliché when originally coined,
refers to something specific even if it’s used figuratively.
A cliché becomes a cliché, however, through overuse.
And oftentimes these language devices
are little more than superficial expressions
that are not necessarily supported by anything of substance.
The person using a cliché
does little to convey a true emotion, experience or idea.
And the person hearing it
has only surface insight into what that person means.
This quashes an opportunity for human connection.
The expression "wearing one’s heart on one’s sleeve," for instance,
was once specific and fresh
when it was originally used in Shakespeare’s "Othello"
by the evil villain, Iago,
who shamelessly informs Rodrigo that he is not an honest man.
He is not, however, willing to let the rest of the characters see
the disparity between his true self and the one he presents outwardly.
He goes as far as to explain the risk of exposing his true self, stating:
"'Tis not long after.
But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve.
For daws to peck at."
This expression originally referred to this character’s justifications
for concealing who he inherently is,
for fear that revealing his true self would lead to his demise,
or, metaphorically, to birds pecking away at his heart.
Today, we might use that expression to find an efficient way to convey
that somebody is transparent in revealing his or her emotions.
But it in no way
refers to a specific situation pertaining to a specific person.
Clichés certainly can be effective,
but they also risk sounding glib and generalized.
It’s especially important for us to be alert to clichés right now
as we are steeped in the election season.
Much of campaigning relies on language and its power.
There is something effective about a candidate’s use of a slogan
that makes him or her identifiable.
But we need to remember that language is just that.
Promises to "make America great again,"
or to be that champion that Americans need,
surely drum up excitement.
But, they are not necessarily backed by anything of substance.
Language does not equate to action,
and, as we buy into this rhetoric, we are permitting a degree of complacency.
A few months ago, I was renting a cottage on Cape Cod.
Upon finding the guestbook,
faded from sitting on an accent table by a west-facing window,
I picked it up and settled into the couch
to read the messages written by other people
who had also stayed in the little cottage.
Page after page,
I read about how grateful these renters were
to have the opportunity to experience the "little slice of paradise,"
or some equally styled, wordy descriptor
that was the little cottage on the bay.
I noticed the clichés’ sentiment in these messages
stripped the experience of anything unique,
minimizing the cottage to just any cottage,
on just any body of water.
I became acutely aware of this other cringe-worthy aspect of clichés:
their ability to reduce something unique to something general.
I made sure that when I added my page to the guestbook,
I would mention all of the things
that contributed to making my stay a unique one:
I talk about playing gin rummy by the fire;
my fascination with the large photograph on the wall
of the Barnum and Bailey circus gathering,
depicting some pretty creepy clowns;
my appreciation for the upstairs shower
with the celadon tiles from floor to ceiling;
and a window facing out to the bay;
and waking up each morning
to the yellow bedroom lit by the muted brightness of the gray sky,
and to the sound of the hushed wind.
I in no way believe that I was unique in appreciating these things,
but this was the specific experience that I had,
so I wanted my message in the guestbook to reflect that.
Not some vague experience
that could have happened anywhere, at anytime, to anyone.
A guestbook provides an opportunity for human connection,
both amongst all the people
who have existed in the same space at one point,
and between the renters and the owner of the home.
To articulate this experience with precision
strengthens that connection.
Language is a form of art.
Good art speaks to us,
not because it captures a vague experience,
but because it captures a specific one.
This might seem counterintuitive:
it might seem that in engaging with art,
if it’s more broad, it will speak to a wider audience.
But I wonder if engaging with art,
we're struck more by the notion
that the artist was responding to something real and valid,
and not to something vague.
If we use any opportunity to express ourselves precisely,
and if we use language
that accurately reflects experience rather than language that replaces it,
we’re communicating in ways that breed human connection.
If you take anything from this talk, let it be this:
clichés - avoid them like the plague.
(Laughter)
(Applause)