I try not to make individuals the target of my criticism. On the basis that we all make mistakes, I prefer to carp about collective conduct. But when somebody is described as an ‘Editor-in-Chief’, they’ve been set up as some kind of higher being, and deserve specific scrutiny. After all, might we not learn from someone who is a something-in-chief?
Christian Swalbach is Editor-in-Chief of a vain publication called Departures. It’s a magazine published by American Express. It’s supposed to make us feel affluent, and to encourage us to rack up more expenditure on our American Express cards. On the way to doing that, it publishes ads for ridiculous watches, daft motor cars, stupid boats, and silly fashion. It also wallows in what it evidently kids itself is mellifluous up-market editorial copy.
You and I both know very well that, these days, rich people can’t read nor write. They don’t need to. They have people to text for them. But it’s the way of those who promote conspicuous consumption – and I should know – to lard things up with oily imagery and pompous copy. They simply hate the idea that their target audience might be plumbers and plasterers and car-dealers. And sadly, though most of those who flick through Departures magazine may never note the shortcomings of Mr Swalbach’s careless copy, you and I will. And, you’ll agree, that’s enough to count.
In the Autumn 2010 issue of Departures, Swalbach plants his stake in the editorial high ground, under the heading Checking In. He opens thus:
The great American songwriter Johnny Mercer's haunting lyrics in The Autumn Leaves are among the most evocative of the season we now embrace: "The falling leaves / Drift by the window / The autumn leaves / Of red and gold." But the hallmark of the prose is the forlorn realisation that summer is over and winter will soon be upon us.
Prose, Christian? Song lyrics, verse, surely. Hallmark? Something by which we measure the provenance of something, a means of gauging quality, a proof mark? Ah, forget it, says Christian. Prose and Hallmark are words that sound nice, and ones which most people don’t use. Chuck ‘em in. And press on:
For many who holidayed on a cramped stretch of sand, elbowed their way past a myriad of other hikers on a particular trellis of trail or had to manoeuvre, cheek-by-jowl, through crowded pavilions and airport terminals, that recognition is a welcome one. And it's a wake-up call for us to rethink our next holiday.
We might decide it’s not worth worrying about when the noun holiday took itself a verb form. We may decide it would be tiresome to note that he means a myriad other hikers, rather than a myriad of. We’ll also ignore the cliché cheek by jowl, which suggests Mr Swalbach was either too tired or too lazy to bother with originality. But, for a man who evidently thinks he’s literate, the mis-spelling of pavillions is unforgivable. We might question whether he really means pavillions. But we're being hard enough on him already. That it takes him 41, count them - 41, words to get to the subject of a no-less-than-57-word sentence, tells us something. It tells us he’d never get a job on a proper newspaper.
Why is it, for example, that we happily join the crowded conga-line of holidaymakers for a destination, overflowing with the demimonde, when the very same place, region or locality is virtually uninhabited by the visiting gentry in the off-season, where you'll be rewarded by lower rates and great service?
Oh, what? Demimonde? Christian, what are you on about? The demi-monde is, literally a half-world. The term describes a society of kept women, mistresses, or the dodgy end of a trade or profession - private banking or fine-art dealing (for example). And what’s the point of the phrase ‘the very same place, region or locality’? Looks like inspiration was so short here, our Editor-in-Chief just decided to cut-and-paste his thesaurus. Gentry? The paragraph construction suggests the word is being used as a synonym for demimonde. Which it ain’t.
Perhaps it's human nature for us to congregate, but more and more of us, myself included, are now happily eschewing on-season travel for what can be colloquially described as, off-season sojourns.
Myself, Christian, in the way you’ve used it here, is a solecism popular with junior managers and local government officials. It’s frequently, but almost always wrongly, used instead of ‘me’ or ‘I’. Just say me, Christian. We all know what you mean. And don’t even think about using the word eschewing, ever again, unless you really are some Dickensian puffball. In this case, hardly anybody knows what you mean. Nor do we think anyone, speaking colloquially, would use the phrase off-season sojourn.
Are we beginning to wish Mr Swalbach would simply sojourn-off, here? I know I am.
Take a place like Florence, as an example, where in January, 250,000 fewer visitors per month crowd into its ancient streets than they do in August. That means, you won't have to elbow your way past day-trippers at the Duomo or the uber crowds at the Uffizi. Or the Mediterranean, where in late-autumn, you can have places like Southern Spain or even islands like Crete, Ibiza and Sicily all to yourself during a period when they are at their most flattering, agreeable and price-wise.
Christian, if you want people to read your editorial, use language they use. Please. Why say ‘as an example’ when you can say for example. It’s one-third shorter and faster. (In communications, pal, short and fast is good). And it’s what they say. The than they do in August should simply be than in August.
Elbow past? Hang on. We were elbowing past in the first paragraph. Repetition of that kind is simply sloppy writing. Stop it.
Uber crowd? Huge crowd. Enormous crowd. Big crowd. Mega-crowd, if you must. Or maybe he really does mean an uber crowd. One that's above all the others.
And the next question is…can anyone understand the last sentence of that paragraph?
Here it is again, for those of you who missed it before: Or the Mediterranean, where in late-autumn, you can have places like Southern Spain or even islands like Crete, Ibiza and Sicily all to yourself during a period when they are at their most flattering, agreeable and price-wise.
There’s no scope for debate here, except to ask: what the hell does that actually mean? Anything? Nothing? Is this why I have an American Express card?
And while most of us are unfortunately tied to the annual calendar of school holidays and half terms, nowhere does it dictate that we need to head to the usual destinations at the customary times.
Christian, Christian, Christian. Nowhere does it dictate. Nowhere does what dictate? Maybe you mean the annual calendar. In which case, you don’t mean it, you mean, that calendar.
Instead, if summer travel is a must, then make for locales usually associated with the opposite season. The Caribbean, for example, which is much less crowded in summer also offers competitive rates - on average of around 40% lower than those in its usual high season of December. July and August are also prime months for visiting the Maldives, where you can spot manta rays thanks to lower plankton levels and enjoy rates that are, on average, 44% lower than in January.
Yes, I hear you crying out for straightjackets and padded cells, already. We’ll gloss over the on average of around 40%. It’s likely he originally wrote an average of, then changed to on average, and forgot to take the of out*. But, as we’re already very clear, this is an Editor-in-Chief in a hell of a hurry. We understand.
But, guys, what’s with the lower plankton levels in the Maldives, and the visibility of manta rays thanks. Exactly how does a manta ray express its thanks to lower plankton? Does levels of lower plankton mean clearer water? Or are there more manta rays because there’s lower plankton? And these 44% lower rates of plankton. Should they be 44% lower rates of summer travel? Or 44% lower holiday costs? Please. Read that last sentence again, carefully, and tell me what, in the name of merciful God does this man actually mean.
With all that in mind, in this edition of Departures, we've showcased three regions that are ideally explored in late autumn and early winter. For those who travel to New York City often but rarely head out to the suburbs, indulge us by reading New York Escapes on page 30. You'll be surprised at what's on The Big Apple's doorstep. Similarly unexpected are the bevy of attractions in a quiet and picturesque slice of Wales, which when the Ryder Cup has come and gone will be an ideal region to repair to from London. Read about it on page 17.
Enough, enough. Forget the absence of commas in sentence two. Forget the failure to tell us which slice of Wales, more missing commas, more Pickwickian repairing from London. It all hurts much too much.
And speaking of Italy, and Tuscany in particular, we drop into Maremma - an unexplored and mostly unknown corner that demands your attention. We hope we've managed to capture yours with some food for thought and, as usual, articles that inspire you to enjoy life to the fullest.
No! NO! Stop this, now! Italy? Who was speaking of Italy? There was a mention of Florence, several paragraphs back. But, Christian, old boy, your prose simply isn’t that memorable. We forgot Florence. We lost Florence, in the fog of rambling illiteracy and stumbling articulation that would seem to be one of the hallmarks of your style.
Oh – and what do you hope you’ve captured? My mostly unknown corner? See what I mean …
CHRISTIAN SCHWALBACH
Editor in Chief - Departures Europe
God bless him.
*Probably the first and last time any of us will see a sentence which ends, correctly, with the words ‘the of out.’ Enjoy it.
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