— H.W. Fowler1
It’s almost a cliché to say that writers should “avoid clichés.” They are usually tired and ineffective. But not always. Sometimes they may be justified on grounds of brevity. And sometimes, given a refreshing twist, a cliché may even brighten a line.
In their book on legal writing, Tom Goldstein and Jethro Lieberman say that a cliché “broadcasts the writer’s laziness.”2 Bergen and Cornelia Evans say that a writer who uses clichés is a “mere parroter of musty echoes of long-dead wit. His very attempt to sound clever shows him to be dull.”3 The reader almost wants to groan to the writer, “Couldn’t you come up with anything better to say?” The reader is at least bored and perhaps even insulted by the commonality of it all.
Following is a list of phrases — certainly not exhaustive — that are fairly classified as clichés. Note that their very pervasiveness can mask how trite they are.
Achilles’ heel
acid test
a great deal
agree to disagree
all walks of life
at first blush
auspicious occasion
bitter end
blessing in disguise
can safely say
considered opinion
conspicuous by its absence
draw to a close
end result
every effort is being made
explore every avenue
few and far between
step in the right direction
for all intents and purposes
force and effect
force to be reckoned with
foregone conclusion
grievous error
harsh reality
height of absurdity
incontrovertible fact
inevitable conclusion
in no uncertain terms
not too distant future
null and void
of that ilk
of the first magnitude
on the books
own worst enemy
path of least resistance
pomp and circumstance
powers that be
pure and simple
rack and ruin
sour grapes
spur of the moment
stands to reason
thing of the past
time and time
again to a fault
turn the tables
wreak havoc
Perhaps the most insidious clichés that have crept into contemporary writing are what Jacques Barzun calls “adverbial dressing gowns.”4 For instance: seriously consider, utterly reject, thoroughly examine, be absolutely right, perfectly clear, definitely interested. Apparently, says Barzun, “the writer thinks the verb or adjective would not seem decent if left bare.”5 So the writer feels a need to try to provide additional emphasis — a move that backfires and weakens the effect. Compare “I reject the accusation” with “I utterly reject the accusation”; Barzun disparages the latter as “spluttering.”6
SOMETIMES IT’S ALL RIGHT TO BE AS COMFORTABLE AS AN OLD PAIR OF SHOES
So when can we allow for clichés? Possibly when the cliché is unobtrusive and saves words. Sometimes a cliché’s very familiarity can work to a writer’s advantage.
Take, for example, pride and joy. Most of us can remember hearing it from grandparents; and the grandparents probably heard it from theirs. Standard criticism would suggest that this — one of the most trite clichés ever — must be struck. But what could go in its place? Pride and joy has come to express a combination of love, satisfaction, and delight. Trying to capture this in a few words would not be easy. So we can hardly criticize the lawyer who says of a client in final argument that the injured child was his pride and joy.
Likewise, we wouldn’t object if a writer or speaker said that the apartment showed excessive wear and tear. Or that a deal turned sour. Or that someone knuckled under, instead of gave in to pressure.
Although writers must trust their good judgment, I offer these guidelines for the limited use of clichés.
First, ask yourself whether the cliché is really useful. Is it at least justified by its brevity? Most of the clichés listed earlier would flunk this test. Blessing in disguise is no improvement on hidden blessing. The harsh in harsh reality is an intensifier that doesn’t intensify — like an adverbial dressing gown. End result and few and far between are redundant.
Second, in most cases, the less vivid the cliché, the better. Ironically, older clichés are less likely to draw attention to themselves by raising a picture in the reader’s mind. We have become so used to some of them that we hardly notice. Hence the preference for turned sour over went down the tubes. Avoid above all the current clichés.
Third, generally do not try to create any effect or emphasis through a cliché. Its main virtue is brevity — not forcefulness. If you’re trying to be clever, you probably aren’t.
TWISTING CLICHÉS TO YOUR BENEFIT: WHERE OLD DOGS REALLY CAN LEARN SOME NEW TRICKS
Even the most used-up cliché can gain new life at the hands of a skilled writer. Sheridan Baker, addressing what he terms “rhetorical clichés,” says they should be avoided unless the writer can find a twist.7 Some of his examples:
Old Dogs
tried and true
sadder but wiser
in the style to which she had become accustomed
New Tricks
tried and untrue
gladder but wiser
in the style to which she wished to become accustomed
Not every writer can turn a phrase to this effect. But in the right context, the results can be potent:
- “The unwritten law” is not worth the paper it isn’t written on.8
- I feel the spur of the moment thrust deep into my side.9
- Through thin and thin.10
With that, I rest my case. Better yet: I’m done.
Reprinted from Volume 5 of The Scribes Journal of Legal Writing (1994–1995).