Calm Down About "Whom"

I’ve gone over what makes a sentence quite a few times lately (subject + verb + direct object if needed), so now seems a good time to go over who and whom, since those two words are closely related to sentence structure.

The question of when to use who or whom is one of the most common grammatical questions in the English-speaking portion of the world. 

(Toby was right, naturally.)

The explanation is actually pretty simple: use who when the word is the subject of the sentence (or an embedded clause—more on that in a moment) and use whom when it isn’t the subject.

     Who      bought    these cookies?

   Subject     Verb      Direct Object

        To whom              should          I           give       the cookie?

   Indirect Object         Verbal      Subject     Verb         Direct

(i.e. not the subject)   Auxiliary                                    Object

An embedded clause is basically a sentence within a sentence—it has its own subject and verb:

     We       need to find out         who bought these cookies.

   Subject         Verbs             Embedded clause with who as its subject

I could go on for much longer about how to properly use who and whom, but I’m not going to; Matthew Inman has already done a great (and much more entertaining) breakdown of that over at The Oatmeal. What I would like to delve into is why—why whom is so tricky, and why you should (or shouldn’t) use it.

Why Whom Is Tricky

(This section is pretty in-depth, so if you’re just interested in advice on using whom, skip to the next section)

There are quite a few pronouns that have both a subjective form and an objective form. For example:

I and me, she and her—we’re all used to these pronoun pairs, right? We don’t have to stop and think for a moment to figure out whether to say they or them. So why are who and whom difficult to keep straight?

Part of the answer is that who is different from the other pronouns shown in that chart. I, you, he, she, and they are all personal pronouns. Who, on the other hand, is what we call an interrogative pronoun—a pronoun that asks which person or thing is meant. Let’s look at who and whom on a chart with other interrogative pronouns:

Notice how who stands out? It’s literally the only interrogative pronoun in the English language that changes depending on how it is used. No wonder it’s so hard to use, when every similar word works in a completely different (and far simpler) manner!

So why is who different from all the other interrogative pronouns? Well, language is constantly evolving—new uses for words develop while old ones fall away and disappear. All those other interrogative pronouns probably used to have objective forms that fell out of use long before the language began to form into what it is today. The same thing happened to you. Take a look at that first chart up above—notice how you is the only personal pronoun on the chart that doesn’t have a distinct objective form. But that wasn’t always the case.

There was a time when you not only had an objective form, but also had a separate singular form that declined into its own objective. So our chart above would once have looked something like this:

Over time, thou, thee, and ye all fell out of use; these days, we use you in all of the instances where we would once have used those other words. Imagine if English teachers around the world suddenly began to demand that we all resume using thou, thee, and ye. It wouldn’t go well—it would be confusing and irritating if people tried to force us to use words that don’t improve or enhance our ability to communicate. But, for some stubborn reason, that’s exactly what people do with whom. We don’t need the word; it doesn’t improve the language. But people just won’t let it go.

Why You Should Use Whom and Why You Shouldn’t

Whom is on its way out—give us another century, tops, and it won’t really be part of the language anymore. It’ll be an abandoned, archaic word like thou or whence; a word we all know used to be part of the language, something we can find in older books, but not a word that even the most demanding college professors demand we use. And good riddance to it.

Most of the time, my advice to new writers is to pay attention to all of the rules of grammar—don’t risk looking inept because you don’t care about comma splices or the difference between amused and humored. Whom, on the other hand, is one of the rare bits of grammar that I feel beginning writers can safely ignore. In fact, you'll look worse if you use whom incorrectly than you will if you don't use it at all!

Generally, whom is not a word you should bother with unless you have a specific purpose in mind. If you are striving for an intellectual and formal tone to your story, than go ahead and whom it up. If you have an educated or pedantic character, you can pepper their language with whoms. But if you want your dialog or your prose to feel more relaxed and natural, then get rid of the word. It’s not something that most editors will be bothered by—if they really feel that you need to use whom, then they’ll tell you; but they won’t reject your manuscript because of it.

Dialog to Avoid: "As a ____, I . . ."

Here’s an irritating little phrase that we’ve all heard or read some variety of in a story: “As a _____, I . . .”

     “As a mortician, I can tell you that her description of the embalming process is accurate.”

     “As a psychologist, it is my expert opinion that this man is completely off his nutter.”

     “As your mother, I cannot allow you to meet with that girl anymore.”

     “As lord of these lands, it is my duty to care for the needs of the lesser beings under my rule.”

     “As someone who blogs about prose and grammar, I am constantly showered with praise and entirely deserved adoration.”

 

"And money. Don't forget all the money."

Nine times out of ten, this phrase and its variations are unrealistic, unnecessary, or unintentionally arrogant. Unrealistic, because they tend to be a form of maid-and-butler dialog, where a character tells people information they should already know. Take that third example above—whoever the woman’s child is, they already know that she was their mother. She didn’t need to say it. It feels like breaking the fourth wall; the woman isn’t identifying herself as the other character’s mother for the purpose of speaking to her child, she’s doing it because the author needed to let the audience know that she was the other character’s mother (and even then, it was probably already obvious to the readers).

That brings us to the second problem—such phrases are generally unnecessary. You’ll almost never encounter a situation where a character needs to explain who they are or what qualifications they possess before they speak. Usually, if you’ve done your job right, you’ll have explained all that far more smoothly in some other situation.

So often, when this phrase pops up, it is because the author wanted to remind the readers who this character is or what their qualifications are. Maybe the character hasn’t been around for a while, or you simply haven’t mentioned their profession in some time. In those situations, find a smoother way to work a reminder in. Or, better yet, trust your readers to remember what you told them before. If they don’t, maybe you need to make the character’s profession or position a stronger part of their character so that your audience won’t forget who they are.

But what about situations where the people around a character genuinely don’t know who a character is? That would justify them beginning a sentence in this way, right? Well, yes . . . but . . . that brings us to the final problem with this phrase: unintentionally arrogant.

Writers tend to be a loquacious bunch—we usually have respectably large vocabularies and a great fondness for words. We tend to read a lot, sometimes far more than we actually speak to other people. Being insulated into a group that so loves wordplay and a well-spoken turn of phrase can skew our perspective on how people actually speak. It can also blind us to how we ourselves sometimes sound when we speak.

So, that said, here is a variety of ways to express the thought “As a ____, I . . .”:

     “Oh, I can answer that—I’m a nursing student at the U. I think she actually got the details of the procedure pretty close to perfect.”

     “Hon, I know you don’t like it, but it’s a father’s job to look out for his daughter. I don’t think you should go out with that boy again.”

     “Well, if you want an engineer’s opinion, I’m happy to give mine. That whole design is completely infeasible.”

     “As an artist, I am frequently misunderstood by those around me.”

Which of those sounds the most arrogant? Now, this could just be me, but I generally feel like “As a ____, I . . .” is pretty much the most puffed-up way of expressing one’s qualifications.

Of course it’s possible to use this phrase in a way that doesn’t sound arrogant. But in those cases, the lack of arrogance is generally conveyed through tone and body language. When you’re writing, you can’t rely on those tools. So you have the distinct possibility that people will supply their own emphasis and tone to words which make them think of these sorts of people:

     “Well, as a vegan, I don’t believe in hurting any creatures in any way, especially for my own mere comforts.”

     “As a Christian, I would never let my daughter behave in that manner. It’s just not right.”

Now, sometimes you’ll have a character who is rather puffed-up with their own importance, or who is very loquacious and maybe a little oblivious to how they sound. If that’s the case, then it might be worth busting out the “As a ____, I . . .” phrase. Most of the time, however, people just don’t speak that way—it’s redundant, odd, and often viewed as an indication of self-importance.

Creating Distinct Character Voices

Creating unique voices for your characters can often be difficult. Each of us has our own voice, after all—our own habits and styles and mannerisms of speech—and it can be hard to set aside our own self and attempt to speak like someone else. Even when you manage that, you’re likely to need several different character voices for any given story, which just further complicates things.

So in an effort to help you create distinct and engaging voices for your characters, I’ve isolated some of the factors that make up a unique voice.

Vocabulary

What sort of words does this character use? Do they use the shortest, simplest word possible, or do they use large, grandiloquent words, or are they somewhere in between? Vocabulary will often be a reflection of how educated and well-read your character is, but it can also reflect their humility. Perhaps they have a very large vocabulary but prefer to speak simply. Or maybe they use large words to show off how intelligent they are (and maybe they’re not as well-read as they obviously think they are).

Talkativeness

How much does this character talk? Are they the strong silent type, the shy silent type, or the easily-cowed silent type? Are they fond of lecturing at length, of gossiping about anything and everything, or of being the center of attention? Talkativeness can be a useful tool for character building. If your character doesn’t talk much, what does get them to talk? What breaks through that shell? What do they enjoy discussing? On the other hand, if your character is self-absorbed and constantly talking, what would actually get them to shut up? What could leave them speechless?

Part of talkativeness is nervousness. How comfortable is this character with unexpected discussion? How about being asked to give a speech or simply tell a story? Do they stutter and lose their way when they are nervous? Or do they ramble and speak too much? If they are nervous speakers, what topics do they know well enough to always be comfortable with? If they’re not usually nervous, what topic does make them uncomfortable?

Seriousness

Some people are always serious, while others are almost always joking around. Most people are somewhere in between. Where does this character lie on that sliding scale? How do they compare to other characters in the story, and how does that affect their relationships with the other characters?  This can be used to show depth of character in much the same way as talkativeness: if your character is always serious, what can get them to loosen up and joke around? What don’t they take seriously, and why? If your character is irreverent and always joking, what actually gets them to sober up and be serious? What matters to them that much?

Formality

Some situations require greater formality than others. And some people do not speak or behave formally even in those situations. It might be because they don’t know how to behave in a formal, polite manner, or it might be because they refuse to. They might skip the “sirs” or “my lords” that other expect of them, or they might kick back and tell funny stories in a situation where no one else would.

Coarseness

How rough does this character’s language get? Some people never swear, and some people can’t seem to get through a complete sentence without cursing. If they swear, why do they swear? Are they perpetually angry? Or is it just how they grew up—a habit of speech with little to no emotion behind it? If they don’t swear, why not? Are they religious? Do they simply dislike it? Does it bother them when other people swear?

Beyond simple curse words, coarseness also encompasses subject matter—what topics does this character consider inappropriate for everyday conversation? Do they frequently make sexual and scatological jokes? Do they make dark, morbid jokes? Are they just flat-out immature? How do they react to people who would prefer that they reign in their coarseness? Do they tamp it down, or do they just get worse?

Focus

How easily does this character veer off of topic? Some people discuss one thing at a time without deviation. Other people will start discussing one topic, and then end up covering several other topics at length over the course of the conversation. Some people only do this in conversation—if they were lecturing or presenting to a group of people, they would have an easier time staying on topic. Other people would meander through various subjects no matter the situation.

Emotion/logic

What generally motivates this character’s speech? Are they highly emotional or very in control of their feelings? Are they more likely to appeal to logic in an argument or to emotion (possibly including threats, an appeal to fear)? Are they passionate and energetic or distant and thoughtful?

An excellent exercise is to take these various aspects and to rank some of your favorite characters in each—this way, you can see how their voice is built out of these traits. For example:

Firefly has one of the best arrays of unique character voices you’ll ever find in a story—creating character voices is one of Joss Whedon’s most impressive abilities. So let’s take a few of these characters and rank them in our categories:

Simon: High vocabulary, middle/low talkativeness (middle/high nervousness unless he is speaking on medical matters or defending his sister), high seriousness, high formality, low coarseness, middle/high focus, and mostly on the logical side of the scale (except on some occasions relating to his sister).

Kaylee: Middle/low vocabulary (unless she's discussing engines, in which case it spikes up high), middle/high talkativeness (low nervousness unless she’s trying to impress Simon), middle seriousness, low formality, middle/low coarseness, middle focus, and a little closer to emotion than logic.

Jayne: Low vocabulary, middle/low talkativeness (low nervousness most of the time), low seriousness, low formality, high coarseness, middle focus, and almost completely on the emotion side of the scale (made even more interesting by his low awareness of his emotions).

You can figure out the others on your own, or apply this scale to any other characters you love. Next time you’re stuck trying to create a distinct voice for a new (or old) character, pull out these scales. Figure out where each of your characters is on each scale, and then start sliding things around to create a little more variety.

You could probably come up with a few scales I haven't thought of—if you do, please let me know in the comments! I'd love to hear them. If we get enough, we may do another post on this.