Several months ago I was visiting customers of my previous employer, EMC, in Tokyo. With me was EMC’s full-time translator, Ichi-san. At the day’s end we were talking about my struggles with succinctness. I was observing my tendency of unneeded redundancy. I wondered if Ichi-san, a student of language, had any thoughts on the matter. He said to me, “it is the very fact that you are redundant that allows me to do my job.”
As Ichi-san later explained, translators do not provide word-for-word translations. They do not even provide sentence-for-sentence translations. The internalize the substance of the message and state it in their own words. Their choice of words is what separates great translators from the rest. Their ability to perform this feat at speed is essential. Ichi-san told me that speakers’ unnecessary restatements provided him the time to fully understand the message. Only then could he produce his original version of the spoken thought.
Succinctness is a challenge for we developing writers. It is a gift of the talented and a well-earned badge of honor for the experienced. Concision makes for beautiful prose. And compact communication does not come easy. As Mark Twain once said, “if I had more time, I’d write a shorter letter.”
In written communication every superfluous word devalues the previous ones. But I do wonder if circumlocution might sometimes be necessary for touchy subjects. Consider the following:
While sunning himself in the Bahamas, a wealthy English businessman received a telegram from his butler, which read simply: “Cat dead.” Distraught at the loss of his beloved pet, the businessman cut short his holiday and returned home. After giving the cat a decent burial in the garden, he remonstrated with his butler for the cold-hearted nature of the telegram.
“You should break bad news gently,” he said. “If I had been telling you that your cat had died, I would have sent a telegram saying: “The cat’s on the roof and can’t get down.” Then a few hours later I would have sent another telegram, saying: “The cat’s fallen off the roof and is badly hurt.” Finally, a couple of hours after that, I would have sent a third telegram, saying: “The cat had sadly passed away.” That way, you would have been gradually prepared for the bad news and would have been able to deal with it better.”
“I understand, sir,” said the butler. “I will bear that in mind in future.”
With that, the businessman booked another ticket to the Bahamas and resumed his holiday.
Two days later, he received another telegram from his butler. It read: “Your mother’s on the roof and can’t get down.”
(from oChristian.com)
I love that joke. But in seriousness delicacy is sometimes needed. I learned from one of my previous managers that unsettling statements echo and resonate in large audiences. They need to be delivered obliquely and delicately. That allows time for the listener to ponder the message. And recognize and respect the speaker’s care for the listener.
All-in-all I think brevity benefits the listener or reader. It flatters their intelligence and saves them time. With the rare exception of communication that may frighten, Shakespeare’s Polonius in Hamlet was right: “brevity is the soul of wit.”