Live a Little. Use an Adverb Today.
Forgive me for going all Atticus Finch on you, but I'm getting just a little tired of writers who recoil in horror at the sight of an adverb. Somebody's got to step up with the case for the defense.
True, the adverb is not a part of speech to be tossed around with abandon. Like truffle oil, it should be deployed with caution. But it's become axiomatic that adverbs are inherently bad, that they define bad writing. That's some pretty boneheaded stuff right there.
What's the beef against adverbs? Well, they're said to be responsible for overwriting, since they result in additional words on the page. (This is held to be awful by definition.) They're also supposed to be Delilahs to verbs. A solitary verb is a fine, strong, noble thing, but slap an adverb by its side and it morphs into a spindly, chinless, pasty wretch. Couldn't get your message across without an adverb, you sorry little part of speech? What's wrong with you?
In the case of the first, the cure is often worse than the disease; it can take many words to accomplish what a well-chosen adverb can do with one. In the case of the second, it is — as is true of so many of life's riskier endeavors — all in the execution.
Writing well isn't so much about adhering to rules as it is knowing what the options are, having a clear sense of the effect each option will have on the reader, and choosing accordingly. Adverbs not only modify verbs, often in clever and satisfying ways, but they affect the rhythm of sentences, and that is everything. They can flabbify a sentence, yes, but they can also add just that essential beat that makes a sentence sing. It's ridiculous to tell a writer learning the craft that he's allowed to use every arrow in his quiver except this one. That's not good advice; it's lazy teaching.
The ban-the-adverb trope is analogous to the eternally fraught question of the passive voice, another valid technique that gets no respect. Using the passive voice conceals the agency in a sentence, which might be exactly what a writer wants to do at a given moment. And like the adverb, the passive voice alters the rhythm in ways that might be desirable. In both instances, as long as the writer is using the tool consciously and for a good reason, pipe down and get out of the way.
Here are some examples of adverb-dotted sentences that are damn near perfect, if you ask me. Read and savor.
To my surprise, instead of clicking the tongue and waggling the head gravely to indicate that he saw the stickiness of the dilemma, he chuckled fatly, as if having spotted an amusing side to the thing which had escaped me. Having done this, he blessed his soul, which was his way of saying 'Gorblimey'.
- P.G. Wodehouse, Jeeves in the Offing
It was when curiosity about Gatsby was at its highest that the lights in his house failed to go on one Saturday night — and, as obscurely as it had begun, his career as Trimalchio was over. Only gradually did I become aware that the automobiles which turned expectantly into his drive stayed for just a minute and then drove sulkily away.
- F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby
When Thorne came back from his conference, the axe, which had been poised so delicately over the back of my neck, fell.
- Laurie Colwin, The Achieve of, the Mastery of the Thing (in The Lone Pilgrim)
It was this cloistral hush which gave our laughter its resonance, and carried it still, joyously, over the intervening clamour. Here, discordantly, in Eights Week, came a rabble of womankind.
- Evelyn Waugh, Brideshead Revisited
