Nobody can object to the evolution of language. You might not enjoy it while it’s happening, but there can’t be many of us who would prefer today to be talking in Shakespearean English. Or even Victorian English. Change in the words we use, and the way we use them, is a natural, inevitable process, which keeps our language alive. It’s the process that didn’t happen to Latin, or Ancient Greek. And look what happened to them. Etruscan, indeed, failed so completely to evolve, that it’s not simply a dead language – we don’t have any idea what it was. Not just dead, but completely lost.
But while we ought allow our language to change, we owe it to our language to protect it from distortion or corruption or pointless change. I mean English, of course. Not just because that’s the language I’m using here, but because it’s one of the most used languages in the world. No doubt Spanish speakers and Chinese speakers feel the same concerns about their own language.
Distortion and corruption? You know what I mean. Xmas for Christmas. Tonite for tonight. And let’s not go anywhere near the text-message English mess. Pointless change is change of the worst kind. Because it brings no benefit. It adds no value, as they say, to communication. It just changes it. And change for the sake of change is never a good thing.
What happened?
We were talking about a script. Somebody referred to the lead character’s back story. What is his back story, I asked. Well, they said, he’s probably had a tough childhood. Drunk dad, y’know, uncoping mom. Joined the marines, got dishonourably…
No, I said. I mean, what do you mean by back story? Papers are put down. Glasses are pushed up. People sit back, and look at each other, then me. Roger, we mean, what is the character’s background? What are the events leading up to the point where the script opens? Why does he have this deep drive to solve multiple murders, but take out his own angst on Chinese prostitutes?
You mean, what is his background? What is his history?
Yeah! That’s his back story. Roger.
Back story. Think about it. All stories are back stories. They have to be. Even those told in the present tense. Because they have to exist before they can be told. Back story is just a made-up phrase, fabricated to impart some special industry-code importance to a necessity of scripting.
Yes, I know that back story can mean some quite complex plot elements that have to be communicated through some kind of retrospective implication, or by references, rather than real action. But that doesn’t change anything. It’s background. It’s history. What’s so wrong with using those words – which everyone understands?
Back, a popular front
But back is becoming a popular front. How often do you hear, usually someone in the music industry, referring to a back-catalogue? What is a back catalogue? Is it different to a catalogue?
Why do they talk about ‘the entire Beatles back-catalogue’? (Indeed, why?). What is the difference between the Beatles back-catalogue, and the Beatles catalogue? Apart from their latest album (which is itself a historical work, a day after they released it), all their work is historical. Maybe, if a band is on tour, the newest music in their concerts could be described as current, rather than back. But that’s a small and hardly meaningful distinction.
Dead composers have canons of work. We don’t talk about Haydn’s back-catalogue (unless, perhaps, you listen to Classic FM). The word back, in front of catalogue, adds nothing to communication, except an extra pointless word, and an extra wasted breath out of the lives of the speaker and the listener.
You can’t have it
At the builders’ merchants, they are out of stock of 1 ½” non-return valves. ‘Sorry, mate. They’re on back-order.’
What? Do you mean you’re out of stock, and you’ve ordered some more? What’s the difference between something being ordered, and something being back-ordered? Do they mean it was ordered some time ago, and still hasn’t arrived? That’s what ordered means. Do they mean they’re awaiting delivery? That’s what ordered means. Does ‘back’ mean they’ve reversed time, travelled into the past, ordered the items, then come back to the present (which would have been the future, then)? If they’ve back-ordered the goods, can I, in turn, back-order some for myself. ‘Oh, OK. In that case I’d like to back order two, please, name of Carey.’
What would happen if we called and said we’d like to back-order a taxi. Or back-order a pizza for delivery?
The most wretched aspect of the use of these pointless words is this: even the users don’t know why they say them, or what they mean. Not one of them can explain the difference between the meaning of the word with back in front of it, and the same word without back in front of it.
So why do they do it? One can only conclude that they want to add some pompous importance to the concept of story, or catalogue, or order. Some made-up value that makes it more special than the ordinary simple version we all understand. Because simple isn’t good. The practice comes from the thinking that calls dustmen refuse disposal operatives, or window cleaners vision management technicians.
Come on, guys. Words that mean nothing take precious time out of our lives. They complicate communications. They betray your own misgivings about the importance of what you do.
There’s a simple solution. Only ever put back in front of a word you can put front in front of. Don’t ever put back in front of a word that describes a past action or condition. The word you’re fronting-up already does the job fine, without your misguided embellishment. There’s always – and I mean, always – a word which already describes what you’re on about, and which does it much better than you can, by adding pointless extra words.
And now, I’ll go and discuss some smart-alec objections from my wife, who’s just mentioned bacchanalia, baccalaureate and backgammon.
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