Quote:
Originally Posted by doubleshuffle
Yet it seems the people who dislike "could care less" are fighting a losing battle. Here's a statistic about the ratio of "could" vs. "couldn't" in the NYT. . . .
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I appreciate that you're using the phrase
fighting a losing battle as a figure of speech, but my sense is that a few people on this thread
do regard others' incorrectness as a dialectical call to arms.
Here's my question about that:
Why should our passion for conveying thought clearly be expressed as a battle with other people?
I can't change someone else's writing style, and I certainly don't want to shame them for it. The only thing I can do is improve my own.
When others say they wish they cared less than they do but are actually trying to say they don't care in the slightest, I try to overlook their mistake. If they aspire to correctness and have made it known they won't flinch or wilt if I point out they've misspoken, then I might act on their implicit request -- if I think it is sincere -- and ask the question: Do you mean you
couldn't care less?
What I try never to do is behave as if they've failed an intelligence test.
In my own writing, however, I do try to be vigilant. The aim is to excise any errors or overtones that could distract the reader from what I'm trying to say.
It doesn't matter whether the style and character are discrete (as in Flaubert's "A Simple Heart") or seamless (as in
Last Exit to Brooklyn, which also happens to be ostensibly indiscreet). The goal for any of us is to judge our writing mercilessly.
"Move among the lovers of perfection alone.
Seek ever to stand in that hard Sophoclean light
and take your wounds from it gladly."
-- Ezra Pound, "Xelia"
But here's the thing:
When interacting with friends, I believe it's important to respect the casual qualities of their communication. If I like someone -- let alone, love them -- then I'd rather have them feel comfortable with me than writhe on the tweezers of self-consciousness.