Adverbs

Copious digital ink has been spilled over the years on social media about the merit of adverbs. There are two camps: (1) adverbs are really* good and using them is just* fine, and (2) adverbs are of the devil and must be exorcised from every sentence that has been or will be written. Being the good Episcopalian that I am, I try to find the middle way between these two extremes. (Though, in the interest of full disclosure, I trend toward Number Two, as you will see…)

A quick refresher: adverbs are words that describe verbs, adjectives, or other adverbs. They fall into two general categories: quantitative (very,* extremely,* hardly*) and qualitative (smoothly,* contemplatively,* mercifully*) Many, but certainly* not all, adverbs end in the suffix “-ly.” There are also adverbial phrases, which I’m not going to talk about in this post. (“In this post” is a prepositional adverbial phrase because it modifies where I’m not going to talk about something. Isn’t grammar fun?)

Okay, so adverbs. When should we use them and when should we not use them? Let’s start with the when not to use them because the answer is “most of the time.”

When Not to Use an Adverb

Quantitative Filler
First up, the word “very” is almost* nearly* always* extraneous. “He walked away quickly*” and “He walked away very* quickly*” mean the same thing.

Lazy Word Choice
The primary knock against adverbs is that they signal lazy writing. English is a language of multitudinous assignations designed to convey specialized meaning. That is, we have a word for everything. So instead of using an adverb to shade the meaning of a standard-issue word, why not choose a less* common word? The noise wasn’t “extremely* loud”; it was “deafening.” She didn’t “eat her burger speedily*”; she “devoured it.”

Bulky Sentences
Meandering sentences often* need cuts to make them flow better.* Meandering sentences need cuts to make them flow.

97% of Cases
Yes, I made up that statistic, but I’m with Stephen King in the “most adverbs are unnecessary” camp. Here’s a few paragraphs of dialogue from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban that feature egregious adverb (ab)use.

“Okay, side with Ron, I knew you would!” [Hermione] said shrilly.* “First the Firebolt, now Scabbers, everything’s my fault, isn’t it! Just* leave me alone, Harry, I’ve got a lot of work to do!”

Ron had taken the loss of his rat very hard indeed.

“Come on, Ron, you were always saying how boring Scabbers was,” said Fred bracingly.* “And he’s been off-color for ages, he was wasting away. It was probably* better for him to snuff it quickly* – one swallow – he probably* didn’t feel a thing.”

“Fred!” said Ginny indignantly.

“All he did was eat and sleep, Ron, you said it yourself,” said George.

“He bit Goyle for us once!” Ron said miserably. “Remember, Harry?”

“Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw” Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban by J.K. Rowling

Shrilly. Bracingly. Indignantly. Miserably. Leaving aside the fact that I have no idea how to say something “bracingly,” these adverbial dialogue tags are beyond* needless. Hermione’s dialogue sounds shrill. The author doesn’t need to tell us. The other three are useless words. Read it again without them, and the text flows so* much* better.*

When to Use an Adverb

In the rare instance where an adverb improves a sentence, the careful writer has, no doubt, exhausted all other options. In this case, an adverb is tolerable. Maybe the guy does need to walk away “quickly*” because he’s not dashing or rushing or running, but he is moving at a pace faster than a normal walk.

So that you, dear reader, know that I don’t have a vendetta against ALL adverbs, here’s my favorite use of adverbs from a book I read this year. Memoirist Kathryn Schulz describes sitting with her dying father in this way.

To my surprise, I found it comforting to be with him during this time, to sit by his side and hold his hand and watch his chest rise and fall with a familiar little riffle of snore. It was not, as they say, unbearably* sad; on the contrary, it was bearably* sad – a tranquil, contemplative, lapping kind of sorrow.

Lost and Found by Kathryn Schulz

The contrast between “unbearably” and “bearably” makes this paragraph sing with insight unachievable in any* other manner. I must have read the paragraph a dozen times before moving on because it took my breath away.

So there you have it, my not quite middle way on adverb use. When I’m line-editing my manuscripts, I cut stray adverbs with the same relish as an exterminator laying rat traps. But every once in a while, a necessary adverb will survive the purge. In the end, adverbs are like salt – wonderful in tiny quantities to enhance the flavor, but too* much and everything tastes uniformly* salty.

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Check out my book The Storm Curtain and see if you can find my first adverb use. Hint: It’s in the middle of the eighth paragraph of the prologue.