What is
the point of grammar?
In Muriel
Barbery’s novel, The Elegance of the Hedgehog, 12-year-old Paloma
is taken aback when her literature teacher says, "The point is to make us
speak and write well."
To offer this explanation to "a group of
adolescents who already know how to speak and write is," in Paloma’s
opinion, "like telling someone it is necessary to read a history of
toilets in order to pee and poop."
Paloma doesn’t think her teacher’s
explanation is wrong exactly; she thinks it "grossly inept."
"We already knew how to use and
conjugate a verb long before we knew it was a verb," she reflects.
To her precocious mind, grammar lessons are "a sort of synthesis after the
fact . . . a source of supplemental details concerning terminology."
More than that, "Grammar is an end in
itself and not simply a means. It provides access to the structure and
beauty of language. It’s not just some trick to help people get by in
society."
How do you feel about grammar? Is
it merely a set of rules that make you look good if you follow them and
embarrass you if you don’t?
For Paloma, "Grammar is a way to attain
beauty. When you speak or read or write, you can tell if you’ve said or
read or written a fine sentence. You can recognize a well-turned phrase or
an elegant style. But when you are applying the rules of grammar
skillfully . . . you peel back the layers to see how it is all put
together [and] you say to yourself, ‘Look how well made this is, how well
constructed it is, how solid and ingenious, rich and subtle.’"
One often hears the contrary argument.
Why study English when I already know how to speak? Why study writing when
I already know how to write? As long as you understand me, what does it
matter if I follow the rules?
There’s nothing wrong with using words
pragmatically to conduct business or seal the deal, but is there a place
in your everyday life for beauty? Do you, like Paloma, "get completely
carried away just knowing that there are words of all different natures,
and that you have to know them in order to be able to infer their
potential usage and compatibility"?
If creating beauty is not your first
thought when you arrive for work on Monday morning, consider what is
likely to satisfy you at the end of the day. When you look back on a
lifetime of work, will you be proud that you nudged the boulder a little
higher up the hill, or that you did so with dignity, style, and grace?
Isn’t that what we all want in the end?
Something more than tricks to get by? Something of more enduring value?
Perhaps we would do well to remember
Paloma’s concluding thought on grammar: "Pity the poor in spirit who know
neither the enchantment nor the beauty of language."