Adverbs are the most controversial type of word in your writing arsenal. (“More controversial than curse words?” you may ask. “Fuck yes,” I say.) Some people say you should never, ever use them. Other people don’t have a problem and use them all the time.
Before I begin, let’s define the term: An adverb is an adjective that describes a verb, and they usually end in –ly. It tells you how someone does something. For example, he walked slowly, or she fell spectacularly.
I have long been of the belief that you can use them occasionally, but avoid it where you can. But what does that mean? How do you know when it’s okay to use an adverb? Should you even listen to what other people say about adverbs, or should you just do whatever the fuck you want?
I decided to put adverbs on trial.
The Opposition
Stephen King has published 60 books, sold more than 350 million copies of them, was awarded the National Medal of Arts, as well as a fuckton of other impressive résumé-type stuff. (Thanks, Wikipedia!) Basically, if he says something, people listen. He wrote a non-fiction book called On Writing: A Memoir on the Craft, which is part-memoir, part-writing advice, and it’s funny, informative and well worth a read. (Not Wikipedia that time. I’ve actually read it. So there.) In it, he says:
I believe the road to hell is paved with adverbs, and I will shout it from the rooftops.
He goes on in more detail about why he hates adverbs, and if you’re interested I recommend you just read On Writing (seriously, it’s great) but his argument boils down to this: Adverbs are a sign of a weak verb. They are clutter, an unnecessary modifier that sticks out like a sore thumb and shows that you’re an insecure, amateur writer.
And it’s not just Stephen King. Lots of people hate adverbs:
Using adverbs is a mortal sin. – Elmore Leonard
Adverbs are a sign that you’ve used the wrong verb. – Anne Dillard
If you are using an adverb, you have got the verb wrong. – Kingsley Amis
You get the picture.
In a lot of ways, I see where they’re coming from. Since reading On Writing, I’ve tried to avoid using adverbs as much as I can, and I notice clunky adverbs by other writers more than I used to. The worst use of an adverb I have ever come across was in The City of Bones by Cassandra Clare:
Isabelle fastidiously ordered a fruit smoothie. – The City of Bones
I don’t even know what it’s supposed to mean! How the hell do you fastidiously order a fruit smoothie? How do you order a fruit smoothie in any way at all? Don’t you just say, “Can I have a fruit smoothie?” or “Fruit smoothie, please,” and then you’re done?! WHERE DOES FASTIDIOUSNESS COME INTO IT??? Dumb. Stupid. Bad adverb.
But does that mean all adverbs are bad?
The Defence
I was re-reading Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire the other day (I have to re-read at least one of the Harry Potter books every year. It’s like upgrading my nerd software) and I noticed two things:
1. Harry Potter is fantastic and J.K. Rowling is a genius.
2. J. K. Rowling uses a fuckton of adverbs.
Here’s a sample of what I’m talking about:
‘Potter!’ said Snape suddenly. ‘What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?’ – Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, page 102
‘Perfect Quidditch Conditions!’ said Wood enthusiastically at the Gryffindor table, loading the team’s plates with scrambled eggs. - Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, page 188
Fingers trembling slightly, he opened the envelope. - Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, page 12
‘Because George wants to invite [Pidwidgeon] to the ball,’ said Fred sarcastically. - Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, page 343
Hagrid’s fingers slipped on the dragon steak and it slid squelchily on to his chest. - Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, page 374
Riddle did not look remotely abashed; he was still staring coldly and appraisingly at Dumbledore. - Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, page 256
‘King’s Cross station!’ Dumbledore was chucking immoderately. ‘Good gracious, really?’ - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, page 570
In fact, adverbs are so ubiquitous in the Harry Potter books that all I needed to do to find those examples was open each book at a random page. There was an adverb on every page I randomly opened onto, and on a few occasions, there were two adverbs on one page. Many of the adverbs are used in dialogue tags, which, by the way, is the kind of adverb that Stephen King said was the least forgivable.
So, what does this mean? Is J. K. Rowling a worse writer than I thought? Or are adverbs more forgivable than I thought?
If it were anyone other than J. K. Rowling, I would bite the bullet and say she isn’t as good a writer as I initially thought. But I just can’t do that. My fingers simply will not let me type those words out in that order. So, instead, I’ll reach a compromise: She manages to be a great writer through the force of her characters, plot and world-building, and in spite of her overzealous use of adverbs.
The fact that J. K. Rowling’s prose isn’t perfect (that took a lot for me to write) is understandable: She was writing for children and young adults, Harry Potter were her first novels, and she wasn’t writing capital L ‘literature,’ was she? She was writing mainstream, commercial, genre fiction.
So what about someone else? Someone who did write capital L ‘literature’ for adults, who is praised for the beauty and mastery of his prose?
I’m talking, of course, about F. Scott Fitz-fucking-gerald. You’d be hard-pressed to find a list of the best books of the twentieth century that doesn’t have The Great Gatsby on it. So if he uses adverbs, we can take notice. Oh, and what’s this? The last line of the whole book? That super-famous line that everyone loves? How does that go again, exactly?
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past. – The Great Gatsby, page 188
A-HA! Oh, but you might be thinking, ‘That’s not in a dialogue tag, so it’s more acceptable,’ but look here, what’s this?
‘I did, old sport,’ he said automatically, ‘but I lost most of it in the big panic – the panic of the war.’ – The Great Gatsby, page 97
‘You see,’ cried Catherine triumphantly. – The Great Gatsby, page 39
‘There’s something funny about a fellow that’ll do a thing like that,’ said the other girl eagerly. – The Great Gatsby, page 49
I could go on, but I think I’ve made my point.
Conclusion(ish)
So, what does it all mean? If you can use adverbs liberally (see what I did there? Eh? Eh?) and still produce great work, does that mean there’s nothing wrong with adverbs?
Then again, maybe my logic here is flawed. Just because good writers have used adverbs, doesn’t mean they’re good because they used adverbs. They might have been even better without them. Maybe even F. Scott Fitzgerald could have done with some editing. Maybe the rule of thumb still holds.
Honestly, I’ll never be able to reach a proper conclusion on this topic, so I’m just going to cut to the chase and tell you my personal opinion. Every time I’m looking at an adverb, I put it through three tests:
1) Does it make sense? Is it descriptive enough? For example, I might be tempted to say, “He flicked mud off the bottom of his shoe disgustedly.” However, it would be a lot clearer if I said, “He flicked mud off the bottom of his shoe, his nose crinkled in disgust.” The second one is way easier to imagine, yes? And it gets rid of the adverb. Yay! Double whammy! (This would get rid of the ‘fastidiously’ travesty I mentioned earlier.)
2) Is it overly descriptive? If I take it away, is anything lost? For example, I might write, “She jumped up and down, clapping and giggling excitedly.” But it doesn’t make any sense to say “She jumped up and down, clapping and giggling morosely.” In fact, all I need to say is “She jumped up and down, clapping and giggling,” and you get the picture. She’s excited. Duh. Don’t need an adverb to tell you that.
3) Can I replace it with a better verb? For example, “he smiled broadly” could be “he grinned,” and “she ran quickly” could be “she sprinted.” The verb that implies the adverb is always stronger.
If I put it through the three tests, and I still think I need it, then I keep it in. Up yours, Stephen King!
(Please don’t tell him I said that.)