Fun With Semicolons

Connecting with the “middleware” of punctuation

Kurt Vonnegut evidently didn’t have much respect for semicolons, pointing out that they serve no purpose and that “the only reason to use one is to show you’ve been to college.” And one of New York mayor Fiorello LaGuardia’s favorite put-downs for intellectual bureaucrats was to call them “semicolon boys.”

That’s probably because “semicolon boys” (and “semicolon girls,” of course) spend their days debating the delicate nuances of various sentence clauses, coordinating conjunctions, conjunctive adverbs, and other grammatical subtleties you’ve either never mastered or just plain forgot.

What I did learn long ago in English class is that using a semicolon is usually way more trouble than it’s worth.

If you construct a complex sentence that seems to call for a semicolon, you could easily screw up your grade; however, when you split up a long sentence, you don’t take that risk.

(Note to former English teachers: As you can see, I just used a semicolon, but at this point I don’t really care all that much about my grade.)

I’m sure you could find any number of sites that cover the myriad uses of the mystical semicolon, but one use embraces compromise in how you separate your thoughts and ideas.

Indeed, sometimes you want to connect clauses using a comma. At other times, you want to detach those thoughts into two complete sentences using a period. Can’t decide? Come venture with me into “Semicolon Land.”

The semicolon offers that middleware compromise. You can essentially replace words such as “and” or “but” with a semicolon, or use the semicolon just before conjunctive adverbs (however, nevertheless, meanwhile, etc.) that frame a relationship between two clauses.

Consider these examples:

I have never used semicolons, and I never will.

I have never used semicolons; I never will.

I have never used semicolons; furthermore, I never will.

All three communicate my distaste for semicolons, but I almost always favor the first approach. The second two just have that “semicolon boy” ring to them.

An essay on semicolons by Trevor Butterworth quotes Ben Yagoda, professor of English at the University of Delaware. He presents four sample sentences:

1. The book under review is utter hogwash; and that is why it is worth examining.

2. The book under review is utter hogwash, and that is why it is worth examining.

3. The book under review is utter hogwash; that is why it is worth examining.

4. The book under review is utter hogwash. That is why it is worth examining.

Yagoda says that deciding which of the four to choose is strictly a matter of sound, rhythm, and personal style:

“Writers who like (consciously or unconsciously) to stop and pause, and/or who are under the influence of Hemingway, choose 4. Those who like balanced rhythms might choose 3. Those aiming for a ‘transparent’ style might choose 2. And those who are a little bit enamored with the sound of their own voice might choose 1.”

I’m under Hemingway’s influence on this one. Ironically, Hemingway’s very life itself reflected his simpler approach to punctuation—at least to semicolon hater Kurt Vonnegut who said, “When Hemingway killed himself he put a period at the end of his life. Old age is more like a semicolon.”