Harold Evans’ new book Do I Make Myself Clear? Why Writing Well Matters was published earlier this month by Little, Brown.
As Harold Evans watched the television broadcasts in the immediate aftermath of last week's suicide bombing in his hometown of Manchester, which killed 22 people, he bristled every time a reporter or anchor said that no organization had yet claimed "credit" for the attack.
"It's so sloppy. It actually offends me enormously when somebody gets 'credit' for something like that," he said over the phone from New York less than 48 hours after the bombing. The reason? When you receive credit for something, according to the actual definition of the word, you're being recognized for something that's improving your reputation. "We're given these words, and this capacity for words, to try to make some sense out of a chaotic universe, and then we make it more chaotic. It's disturbing. I think that's one of the reasons I wrote the book. It's not a grammar book. I'm just treasuring some clarity [amidst] a lot of confusion."
The book is Do I Make Myself Clear? Why Writing Well Matters, which was published earlier this month by Little, Brown. If there's anyone on the planet qualified to write such a guide, it's Sir Harold – he was knighted in 2004. The former editor of both the Sunday Times and The Times of London, after coming to America in the mid-1980s, he occupied a series of high-profile positions, including editor-in-chief of Atlantic Monthly Press, founding editor of Condé Nast Traveler and president and publisher of Random House. Evans has spent his life immersed in, and deeply concerned with, the inner workings of the English language; he understands both its uses and abuses. (He's also a noted author, whose books include The American Century and his charming memoir, My Paper Chase.)
Evans recently spoke to Books editor Mark Medley about his hometown, his career and his own shortcomings as a writer.
Before we get to the book, I'd be remiss if I didn't ask you about the attack in Manchester, as I believe you grew up there?
I did indeed. I'm very much a Mancunian, and Manchester United supporter. I began writing for the Manchester Evening News, and became a sub-editor, then became a political reporter, and eventually an assistant editor at the paper.
I was so moved and shocked and horrified by what happened. The murder itself is so appalling and the idea that somebody could come into this city, which is such a welcoming city, and do something so corrupt and soulless and blind …
Why did you write this book at this stage in your career?
It goes back a long way, really. I had the benefit of starting on a weekly newspaper. I was bringing to it the impatience of a young reporter who had to take down, in short hand, enormous amounts of verbosity … sentences that were absolutely six, seven, eight, nine, ten times as long as they needed to be. I was burning with impatience to edit those councillors, those policemen, those defenders, those solicitors. Then when I got to the Manchester Evening News, after university, I was thrown onto the subeditor's desk. I had to take a piece of copy which was probably around 700 words and turn it into 200 without losing effect. That was a real challenge, because we were up against the clock. I had five minutes! The exasperation of taking down shorthand and having to type it up was nothing compared to the sheer panic of having to reduce these rather complicated stories in front of me in time for them to get it into the paper. The number of people who didn't survive on the Manchester Evening News subediting [desk] was tremendous. At the end of two or three weeks I certainly expected to get fired, because I wasn't all that good. Gradually, I think I learned the techniques of sentences that were expressing complicated truths in simple language.
Is one of the reasons you wrote this is because you felt it was important to pass on everything you've learned during your career?
Yeah, I did. I think many people are put off from writing by the feeling they're going to make some mistake. My objective is simple: To make things easier to understand.
I wanted to ask you about Donald Trump. One of the things I found interesting is that this is a book that underscores the importance of clarity, yet you point out that this is one of the things that helped him win last year's election – this idea that he was telling it like it is.
The language by which he got attention was simple and clear. When he says, "We have to build a wall, we have to build a wall," you know completely what he's on about. When you examine it, it doesn't add up in terms of truth – the substance of what he's saying. What he says about climate change, for instance, it's almost incomprehensible, in terms of the actual science, but the words are clear enough. The real danger with Trump, as I think I've tried to argue, and with the people who support him, like the Tea Party, is there are no such things as facts. There are opinions, and a lot of the opinions differ. Yes, but there are such things as facts! For instance, after water reaches a certain point, it boils. Okay, if there are no such things as facts, I'm just going to pour this water on your left leg and see if there's any such thing as a fact. The first thing the totalitarian wants to do is to destroy faith in the arbiters of facts. So the attack on the agents who are supposed to safeguard truth is itself the most corrupting and dangerous thing that Trump does. Trump has not released his taxes, right? We don't know what his tax situation is. Quite recently, only about two weeks ago, [U.S. press secretary Sean] Spicer said, "Oh, don't ask about the tax thing. We litigated that through 2016. We won the election." They didn't litigate it! There wasn't a court case! So they're using the word litigate there to borrow the clothes of the judiciary. The clear speech, which can be applauded in the case of Trump, is leading into a labyrinth of lies. That's the danger.
As I read this book I recognized things I do in my own writing. I'm a terrible monologophobe (somebody who tries to avoid using the same word) for instance. What are your weaknesses as a writer?
I can't write fiction. I don't have the imagination. One half of the brain is not working properly. My wife [Tina Brown] has the perfect answer, actually. I'll show her something, she'll read it, and she'll say "This is a vomit draft." I always edit myself. As a writer, I wouldn't say that I wrote concisely the first instance. I need to re-edit and rewrite. I think I have a very clear idea of what is clear, and I recognize when I look at some of my stuff that it's not clear. So I've cultivated the habit of actually re-editing.
Last question: Did writing this book help you become a better writer?
No question about it.
This interviewed has been condensed and edited.