Economy of words

Have you ever felt like you were being violently swept away, thrown about, and then swallowed by a tsunami of words when put in the presence of a man who talks too much? Have you ever felt the pressing need to breathe for him as he frantically spews a thousand words per minute as though the succeeding moments were his last on earth and the key to the survival of mankind must be divulged before his expiration at any second? Do you ever feel sapped of all energy at the close of the conversation — monologue, rather? Are you ever compelled to avoid such a man in social situations lest your evening be leveled by the natural disaster that he is?

I feel that often. I know several such men — good men — but the manic talking prevents any substantial exchange from happening because by their very nature, they can only be engaged with themselves.

I have no problem with profuse talking, per se, but manic speech rarely exists in and of itself. Usually, it is coupled with a high-strung personality, nervous gesticulations, a loud voice, forceful delivery, and strong opinions, which, in classroom and boardroom situations may be the norm, but outside of that could be social suicide.

I much prefer the quiet, relaxed company of people who have a certain stillness about them, enveloped by an aura of calm and positive energy, of those who have a soothing presence, which others gravitate toward. This is the type of people we all subconsciously seek and yet rarely find. I’m not talking about those who really have nothing to say. They’re easy to spot; the blank look on their faces announces: “There’s nobody home.” I’m referring to those who opt to observe first and reserve speech for when it really counts. Usually, it’s the extremely smart guys who have such dispositions.

I have randomly asked about this motor-mouth phenomenon (or what Senator Miriam Defensor Santiago once referred to as, “verbal diarrhea”) because I used to think it more common among females. We grew up hearing how girls are naturally madaldal and boys are the quiet ones. We were socialized into roles that allow girls to be verbally expressive and boys to hold everything in, “like real men,” so it is unsettling to come across a pontificating man, especially when there is not much substance to his homily.

I used to think that the occasional talkative man was the oddball — the bad egg in every dozen. Lately though, I have been coming across such characters with increasing frequency.

Just last night at a cocktail party, I was caught in a huddle of guests listening to this fellow’s oratory on the merits of a highly diversified financial portfolio. Little by little the group thinned as people slipped away. I, unfortunately, was lodged in the front row of a three-body deep perimeter of listeners around said man, who at this point seemed to have been speaking in tongues as though in a trance, raving about treasury bills and Grand Cayman accounts as his saliva spewed projectile onto us, lowly subjects. He even broke a sweat in the middle of things, as his performance was an athletic feat of sorts — all that talking and emoting! I was tired for him.

Attention is difficult to sustain around characters like that. They’re the type we can take only in small doses — a few minutes at a time. It is a surprise that those I know are either married or coupled up. I feel for their partners but when I brought this matter up with a friend, she said, “That’s not really an issue if the partner hardly speaks — in fact, that’s a saving grace. Can you imagine if neither of them talked? They’d both die of boredom.”

I told her, “I don’t know what’s worse, that or when both spouses are motor-mouths.”

“Well, then it’s death by words and the world will be all the quieter when they’re done talking each other to the grave.”

This got me thinking how blissful it is to be in the company of men who are deliberate in speech and moderate in tone. Others may consider this boring company but if someone can hold attention and make memorable points, he doesn’t have to stretch his luck and talk the whole room out. It would seem that more words would bring more clarity, but ironically, the more words we use, the more cluttered the message becomes.

Thomas Jefferson is credited with saying: “The most valuable of all talents is that of never using two words when one will do.”

I’ve never heard the late great Ernest Hemingway speak but I can imagine how it could have been had he spoken in the same manner he wrote — sparingly and yet making every word count. He was famous for his economical use of words. He once said, “I am trying to make, before I get through, a picture of the world — or as much of it as I have seen. Boiling it down always, rather than spreading it out thin.”           

Hemingway also once said his best work was a story he wrote in just six words: “For sale: baby shoes, never worn.”

Here are some other contemporary authors with their attempts at economical writing in the mold of Hemingway:

•“Dad called: DNA back: he isn’t.” — Helen Fielding

•“Megan’s baby: John’s surname, Jim’s eyes.” — Simon Armitage

•“Thought love must fade: but no.” — George Saunders

•“He didn’t. She did. Big mistake.” — AL Kennedy

•“They awaited sunrise. It never came.” — AS Byatt

•Funeral followed honeymoon. He was 90. — Graham Swift

It is intriguing how these passages convey more in what is left unsaid than in what is. Men should realize how much more they can engage women with economical speech and not because they really have nothing to say but because they’re not compelled to spew words out for purposes of grandstanding.

I remember a time when I was very small at my parents’ dinner parties when men mostly listened because they gave way to the women who did most of the talking — at least that’s how it seemed to me. These days it is very common to see men not only hogging the conversation but also interrupting women and fighting for talk time. It could be that they simply wisened up over the years. 

Since women have been clamoring for equality in every avenue, men have jockeyed for equal talk time. Fair enough.

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Thank you for your letters.  You may reach me at cecilelilles@yahoo.com