Grammar never dies
and you ought to learn it
“Do we expect someone to fix a kitchen sink without tools?”
—Ursula K. Le Guin
I. Destruction
Any honest analysis will discover that grammar is an illusion. A set of arbitrary rules we mostly, but not entirely, agree on.
Grammar is an amorphous thing. It shifts and bleeds among the generations. A grandfather’s error becomes a father’s convention which becomes a son’s rule.
What we call truth is the misspoken words of our ancestors.
Those who pride themselves on their ‘proper usage’ and profess endless conventions, telling you the language you use everyday is wrong, are like orangutans grasping after fog.
We all see grammar, but it fades when touched.
Then again, should I reconsider my view? If we destroy grammar, what will we have left?
Those of you who would destroy grammar, go no talk good and be very try hard to understand.
Even if a mist, dissolve grammar and dissolve yourselves. You will become dissociated from society, left forever bitter that your ‘modern usage’ and ‘experimentality’ gains no praise, or even understanding, from the masses.
It’s so tragic! There are so many who would call themselves a writer, claiming it is their life’s purpose, that they would do anything for success, and yet they cannot be bothered to learn what a restrictive clause is. To understand the tool they use.
After all, language is the window to the soul.
Neglect the usage of language, and your soul will be shut and shuttered.
~
II. Definition
To call grammar ‘arbitrary’ is to philosophize at a universal level. If we humble ourselves and review language inside the boundaries of the world, we will see grammar is not arbitrary at all.
We know grammar because we have heard others speak.
Some time ago, you so badly wanted that toy, a blue train, from mommy. Slapping the ground and making semi-tonal sputters didn’t do the trick, so you tried all arrangements of noises until you found the petitionary phrase “that one!” got you the precious, blue train.
As your life became more complex, you needed lingual upgrades.
One day, the younger brother had your blue train. So you learned to shout, “That one mine!”
You were corrected, told to say, “That one is mine,” and in a short while, you were capable of intellectual discourse with your family—
As the chicken tenders were passed around the table, you reasoned with superior language capabilities against your brother, arguing, “He already had four tendies! Those last two are mine!”
In your early years, you learned a logic called grammar that told you which words are ‘right’ to use and in which contexts. Grammar taught you when to say, “that one,” and how to inflect the phrase into “those last two.”
This process hasn’t only happened to you—it’s happened to everyone (among those who use language), in households, across families, across the world. Not that grammar always looks the same. Each home has it’s own logic, their way of saying things, or in other words, grammar.
Even among us English speakers, we did not all learn the exact same system.
Where some may say, “that one,” others may prefer, “this one,” or even, “third from the left.”
It is a matter of convenience then we can all understand each other.
Within a particular language, our grammars generally overlap, maybe 99% of the way, so we all get the gist of what the other means.
In this 99%, we live most of our lives.
And it was thanks to this 99% that you got the blue train.
~
III. Decision
You ought to learn grammar, but I won’t tell you which one.
My illustration at the end of the last section was a bit disingenuous—most of our grammars don’t overlap 99% of the way.
There are variations across regional dialects and registers of a language. For instance, in American English there are parts of the country where it is acceptable to remark, “The table needs set.” Other parts of American English have a unique modal verb, “Been,” as in: “I been gone.” (Meaning, I was gone and I still am.)
While this may sound incorrect to you, it sounds perfectly correct to a person native to this grammar.
And who’s to say what is the correct way? By what standard would we do so?
Is it fair to say a grammar is more correct because more people use it? Or because richer people use it?
Because it’s used among the educated elite? So that means bankers and professors are inherently superior, linguistically, than plumbers and farmers?
That the northeastern and rich have inherently better language than the southern and impoverished?
As long as I am understood by my peer group, who can say that I am incorrect? What other purpose does language have than to communicate?
The banker has trouble understanding the dialect and accent of the farmer because both exist in different contexts, thereby having different grammar systems.
Now, one could argue that in the U.S. there is a common form of English used in most communications and commerce. So it would make sense for you to learn that form of English, known as American Standard English, to navigate the vast majority of American life.
I think that makes sense.
One could argue, on the other hand, that in creative writing you would want to employ a form of English that is more familiar to you, reflective of the culture and upbringing that gave you language.
I think that makes sense, too.
What matters is that you make a choice, that you may navigate life well, that you may get every metaphorical blue train you desire, that you may be understood, and—most importantly—understand why you were not understood.
You should make a choice to learn grammar. Whichever one suits you.
~
IV. Declaration
Grammar will never die. Never.
You use it, live in it, breath it out everyday.
Don’t you want to know how it works?
Many of us, especially the creative writing types, ignore that 99% overlap and rush to the 1% where we can be different, find our style, and make a name for ourselves.
But if you were, let’s say, demo’ing a house, you could rush in and start ripping down walls. But you may find that one of those walls is load-bearing, and as you tear it down, the whole ceiling crashes down with it.
In grammar, there are things you can break. Stretch to their limits.
Touch you cannot others things. Lest you risk losing the meaning of the whole sentence.
So why not learn that 99%?
Know too, when I say learn grammar, I don’t just mean mechanics and conventions. Split infinitives and ending sentences on prepositions are perfectly understood by most and are matters of preference.
What I mean is: learn it all.
Learn the parts and structures, understand both the fundamental and the particular. Learn which parts of language English uses and which it doesn’t.
Learn those terms I’ve used in this essay—restrictive clause, inflection, modal verb.
While it may be a lifetime commitment, believe me, it is worth it.
As you understand the house’s plumbing, the electrical wiring and wood framing, you can understand what makes your 1% so special, the decorations and furniture you move inside.
You can take risks with more confidence. Bend and contort sentences, inside out and upside down, to get the right pacing, tone, and messaging you wanted, getting exactly where you planned to go all along.
You can say, “Ah! A dangling participle! No wonder everyone misunderstood Susan’s email.”
Most of all, for those of us who make writing our passion, words are the trenches we scrap in.
We live and die by participles, phrases, and predicates—whether we appreciate them or not.
Any of you who want to be resistant, go ahead, give grammar your best fight. See if you can kill it. Fight it as long as you can, all your days. Just remember this:
Grammar never dies.
also like how i put the title at the end? that’s called a literary move