I’ve been editing essays this fall for professionals who are applying to graduate school programs. As always, I am pointing out passive voice constructions and instructing the applicants on how to make them active constructions, and I’m also pointing out dangling modifiers and suggesting alternative wording.

I know from looking at my own drafts and the work that others send me (whether that is in the form of biographical contributors’ notes, essays, vignettes, or poems) that all of us have a propensity toward writing sentences like, “The deal was handled by a team of five members” rather than writing, “A five-member team handled the deal.”  We also sometimes write ungrammatical sentences like this one: “Negotiating a contract, the numbers kept rising.” We fail to notice that we have implied that numbers can negotiate (and perhaps get up from the table) when we mean: “As I negotiated the contract, the numbers kept rising.”

The more I correct these constructions in my own work and in the work of others, the more I wonder by what process the brain tells the hand to write in a way that slows readers down and ultimately may confuse them.  I also wonder if there is ever a case for passive construction over active construction and for modifiers that dangle.

Defining Terms:
Passive construction occurs when the writer makes what would be the object in an actively constructed sentence into the subject.  In the sentence above, “the deal” becomes the subject of “was handled” and the five members of the team becomes the object.  This makes the team seem less important.

A dangling modifier is a phrase that intends to modify a particular noun or pronoun but because of its placement actually modifies an unintended noun or pronoun.  Hence, “negotiating the contract” in the sentence above is an action modifier placed next to “the numbers” making them into the negotiators.

Perhaps if we writers understood what tempts us to use passive constructions and dangling modifiers, we might more often circumvent the kind of writing that fogs readers’ attention.

 I emailed my daughter, Emily M. Bender, who holds a doctorate in linguistics and asked if she could shed some light.

Emily:
The purpose of the passive construction is to rearrange the arguments of a verb: the object becomes the subject, and the subject is either left out all together (“the deal was handled”) or bumped off to a prepositional phrase (“the deal was handled by the team of five members”).

This can be useful because subject and object are not equal in terms of topicality.

Sheila:
What is topicality?

Emily:
The topic of a sentence is the thing in the sentence that is already familiar from the context. It is what we expect the writer to say more about.  In English, the topic of the sentence is more likely to be expressed as the subject than as the object.  So, if the writer chooses “the deal” as the topic and the verb that occurs to the writer is “handle,” it feels natural to use the passive voice.  In saying, “The deal was handled”, “the deal” becomes the subject.

Sheila:
Why does this feel natural?

Emily:
Topics like to be subjects. If you’re asking why “the deal” should be the local topic in the sentence we are using as an example — well, it probably is not a good idea to make it the topic in that sentence.  The overall topic of the essay must surely be the student.  Although the student doesn’t have to be the topic of every sentence, seeing the deal promoted to topic combined with the extra words it takes to write a passive construction with the prepositional phrase certainly shifts the focus.

Sheila:
Yes, it does shift the focus.  Some people think we learned this maneuver from the writing required in academia.   It’s probably not so useful in creative writing.

Emily:
Well, before you get too sure of that, read this example of a passive construction (it’s in italics) from Jane Austen’s novel Emma.  I hope you’ll agree that this one flows well:

Mr. Perry was an intelligent, gentlemanlike man, whose frequent visits were one of the comforts of Mr. Woodhouse’s life; and, upon being applied to, he could not but acknowledge, (though it seemed rather against the bias of inclination,) that wedding-cake might certainly disagree with many — perhaps with most people, unless taken moderately. With such an opinion, in confirmation of his own, Mr. Woodhouse hoped to influence every visitor of the new-married pair; but still the cake was eaten; and there was no rest for his benevolent nerves till it was all gone.

Sheila:
I think this passive construction works well for Jane Austen. When she writes, “but still the cake was eaten,” that “but still” allows the topicality of the cake to rise (a pun, I know).  It also offers an interesting rhythmic experience.  The phrase “but still the cake was eaten” has a different rhythm than everything that comes before it – it has the beat of a human heart.  This sound underscores the difference between the complex machinations of Woodhouse’s mind and the simple natural behavior of people at a party, bringing to life his obsession.

The example you found from Jane Austen’s work shows us that the passive can get a boost from other phrases and help writers establish tone and voice. But I don’t think the student has accomplished this with his passive construction.

Emily:
Right. Passive feels most natural and most rhythmic when the subject in the passive construction is really the topic and the focus of attention.  In addition, animates (“a team of five people”) tend to be better topics than inanimates (“the deal”).  So, people in a non-subject phrase are likely to overtake an inanimate subject in topicality, making the whole sentence awkward.

In Austen’s example, however, the cake really is the topic, and she backgrounds the people eating the cake.  Austen’s people do not even appear in a prepositional phrase and the focus remains on the cake eating and the effect so much cake disappearing has on Mr. Woodhouse’s nervous system.

Passive construction can background agents in a scene completely as in the Austen example or partially (by demoting them to the prepositional phrase) as in your example.

Writers probably pick this tone up from school textbook writing and then employ the passive construction in an attempt to sound more objective, sophisticated, or official.

Sheila:
Yes, our instructors coach us to write, “The specimens were placed in the apparatus,” instead of “We placed the specimens in the apparatus.”  For a long time objectivity was considered very important and the language of objectivity involved lots of passive constructions so the acting agents in the scene remained invisible and unimportant.  The inference is that is doesn’t matter who placed the specimens in the apparatus; the test results are independent of the technician.  Now, however, even scientists believe that merely observing something actually changes its performance.  I think it’s time to let go of the illusion of objectivity.

I think the attempt to sound more sophisticated, objective and official usually detracts from the tone, emotions, and meaning of a piece of writing. In other words, if a writer is trying to sound authoritative, it is the trying and not the authority that shows.  The writing does not seem authentic and it does not engage its readers.  I believe that a writer’s authority stems from the images and details he or she uses, not from attempts to try to sound authoritative.  I also believe that passive construction in the service of authority is misdirected unless someone is creating a character that has to hide behind his tone. Then the passive construction might help the writer build the character and direct the reader’s reaction to the character.

Emily:
This is fun! As a linguist, I’m used to thinking about what passive does in terms of changing objects into subjects. It’s interesting to learn from you what it can do in terms of building the personality of a character.

Sheila:
Well, onward to the dangling modifiers problem.  Our example from above was, “Negotiating a contract, the numbers kept rising.”

Emily:
Modifiers like “negotiating a contract” risk becoming “danglers” because they don’t contain their subject.  Linguists say they have an “unexpressed subject.” English grammar usually requires all subjects be expressed directly in their own clauses. In the few cases where clauses can lack subjects, there are usually strict rules for determining how that missing subject is understood. For example, in, “We try to write clearly,” the clause “to write clearly” doesn’t have a subject, but the rules of English grammar dictate that the subject is understood as “we.”  In cases where modifiers like “negotiating a contract” appear at the beginning of a sentence, there’s a little more leeway in where that missing subject’s interpretation can come from—but not too much!

You seem to think that the unexpressed subject has to be the same as the subject of the sentence’s independent clause (the one that can stand alone without the modifier) for the sentence to flow properly.

(1) Negotiating the contract, I felt powerful and creative.

That’s not always true, though, as sentences like the following are actually grammatical:

(2) Negotiating the contract, it became obvious to me that this is my calling.

Sheila:
I find (2) awkward.  I would edit like this: “I negotiated the contract and saw that this was my calling.”

Emily:
I disagree.  I think the sentence works. The “me” in (2) provides the reference of the understood subject of the modifier.  This is probably because “me” in that sentence refers to an experiencer (of something becoming obvious), and represents the point of view of the sentence.

Sheila:
Oh, I have always thought that dangling modifiers confuse people.  Perhaps I have been judging these sentences too literally.  Maybe I should trust that readers can correctly identify the subject even when the sentence does not explicitly state the subject.

Emily:
Well, some cases that look like danglers aren’t, but there are also true danglers, like the one you found in your student’s essay. I believe that the reason why people are tempted to write that kind of dangling modifier has to do with the concept of “point of view”:

(3) Negotiating the contract, the numbers kept rising.

The intended understood subject of “negotiating” is the candidate writing the essay.  The writer’s point of view is very salient to the writer, so the writer may have forgotten that it’s not as salient for the reader. Combine this with the desire to avoid first person reference in order to sound objective, and the temptation to write (3) becomes very strong, even though the sentence is ungrammatical.

Sheila says:
Yes!  That makes sense!  We are so afraid to say “I” that we write in circles around that pronoun.  I think we need to learn dexterity with sentences to learn more ways to combine sentences and reduce the repetition of “I” but we also need to learn to relax.  If the “I” isn’t the agent writing something, then who else could it be?

Could you find a sentence from literature, though, where an author successfully dangles a modifier and uses it to great effect like Jane Austen succeed with her passive construction?

Emily:
It’s a bit harder to search for almost dangling modifier examples, but I found one.  It’s from Mark Twain’s Innocents Abroad.  It appears below in italics:

…and here those who may have preferred to make the journey from Beirut through the country, passing through Damascus, Galilee, Capernaum, Samaria, and by the River Jordan and Sea of Tiberias, can rejoin the steamer.

Leaving Joppa, the next point of interest to visit will be Alexandria, which will be reached in twenty-four hours.

I think that Twain has established the traveler’s point of view strongly enough so that it is clear who is leaving.

Sheila:
But notice how this sentence also employs a passive construction: “will be reached.”  Is the topic geography or traveling? I think the point of view is not so much the traveler’s but a kind of tour guide’s. The traveler seems to be to disappear (become backgrounded, I think you’d say) so that the tone becomes that of a travel brochure. This way, any reader can imagine he or she is on this trip, needing this information.  Interesting.  The writing brings the reader closer in, I think, to the author’s world. Although I don’t feel the rhythmic pleasure I did with Austen’s passive construction, I feel the clever manipulation of voice to lure the reader.  I almost hear a train conductor calling to me in one of the train cars.  Here’s another of the masters’ tricks we might copy to see where it gets us in creating connection or disconnection with our readers.

“Leaving the bedroom, the next room of interest is the study where last night’s stale chips lay open on the desk and the author’s eyeglasses sit next to her computer like two feeder roads leading to booths on a toll plaza. ” It’s fun writing like Twain.  I think making a point of doing this would encourage new topics in my writing just because I’m bringing a point of view in that I don’t usually use–the writer as tour guide.

*****

So, what should we do as writers when we face decisions about using passive construction?  I think we must look at our use of passives and decide if the passive constructions are helping us build character and voice or if we have just slipped them in because writing is supposed to sound “written” or because English teachers told us to avoid using “I” and the passive construction helps a writer do that.

The cake as well as the digestive disturbances that it could cause in those who eat it torment Mr. Woodhouse.  The use of the passive with the increased focus it places upon the cake builds the obsessive tone of the man’s character.  But when a business school applicant writes, “The deal was handled,” he veers from his task of building a strong voice for the admissions people, who will decide whether or not to offer him a place in their program.  In choosing between “The deal was handled” and “A five-member team handled the deal,” I’d say the latter builds a better voice for the occasion. Teamwork and seeing people involved are the important concepts here.  In Twain’s case, the passive really does create just the voice he wants on the page and does not confuse the reader at all.  On the contrary, it helps the reader identify with the true topic–being on a trip.

What shall we do then as writers when we face decisions about dangling modifiers?  I believe that we must be ruthless proofreaders and make sure that any introductory phrase using an “-ing” word is associated with an agent that can do what the phrase describes, whether that is negotiating a contract or noticing a fire or running around the block.  Notice and rewrite sentences like, “Running around the block, the house was on fire.”

If, however, you are tempted to do as Twain does, make sure you consider whether readers will understand what you are communicating and stay with the feeling you want to create. You don’t want readers to burst out laughing from cartoon images your writing provokes.  Additionally, make sure that the agent’s point of view is what you have down on the page; there’s a big difference between a house on legs and a human noticing a fire!

When you go through the revision process and you spot these constructions, you must decide whether to keep them or rewrite your sentences. If the constructions seem to add a flavor you want, think about leaving them in, but if you can’t tell whether they add, you should probably take them out.  If you are convinced that you have the opportunity to do as Austen and Twain do, using passives to build tone and can get away with dangling a modifier by a thin thread, more power to you and send me the example!