I was recently asked by a friend to proof-read something she had written.
‘I know how proud you are you can do it’ was her slightly dismissive, and not entirely accurate, way of asking.
It is true that my first job after university was as a proof-reader and copy editor. And so I did develop an eye for the work, though I would hardly claim it to be my greatest achievement.
In any event, halfway into the piece I pointed out a badly punctuated sentence; there was a comma in place of a semicolon. My friend does not always take criticism well.
‘I know perfectly well how to use a semicolon, but I think they are pretentious,’ she announced, determinedly, leaving the erroneous comma in its place.
No sooner had the ink dried on her misplaced comma than Babbel, a language software company, released research on the use of the semicolon. It has decreased in use by 50 per cent in the last 20 years. And 54 per cent of students do not know how to use one.
Now I do have skin in this game, both as a writer and as a teacher. I must also admit that I was not entirely confident with the semicolon myself. It was not until I was into my thirties, a journalist, a published writer of fiction and non-fiction, a trained teacher and with a degree from a fine university that I was 100 per cent sure of what I was doing with that pesky piece of punctuation.
Now, however, I love it. It’s not beautiful, but my word it is useful. In fact, I would go so far as to say that it is the most nuanced piece of punctuation to hand, giving as it does sweetly gentle hints of links and connections.
It is also loved by examiners. You might be amazed at how many students turn in extended pieces of writing with no more punctuation than full stops and commas.
Some children will argue the toss, saying there is no point to punctuation. But I can promise them that the semicolon is more than a chunk of extra marks in the exam; it is a magician’s wand that will set them apart from the more earthbound writers.
I told them how I once taught a very dyslexic student, focusing on what the rubric calls ‘sophisticated’ punctuation because I knew her spelling would hold her grade right down.
In the end, she managed to pass her English Language, and I was sure it was all because she had managed to use semicolons.
Vaguely taking in the words ‘punctuation’ and ‘extra marks’, the unconvinced students then vomit exclamation marks over their pages! They do! Oh, how they love an exclamation mark! And how I hate it! Doesn’t reading a list of exclamation marks actually hurt your brain? It does mine!
Step one to curing that habit is to perform an exaggerated Dickensian reading of their work, which provokes first laughter and then shame. But not always a decrease of the dreaded ‘!’.
I was comforted by the outcry of support for the semicolon, a battle call to which I am proud to add my voice.
The Guardian went so far as to run an online semicolon quiz (100 per cent, since you’re asking), to which I shall subject my pupils on my return.
The semicolon has been around since its invention by an Italian printer, Aldus Manutius, in 1494.
How can anything that has been in consistent use, and of consistent usefulness, for so many centuries, be labelled ‘pretentious’?
To use the colon correctly: long live the semicolon!
