Letteraly

It was a time before generation Y, yet after generation X, in a city not accustomed to letters of that kind. At the time, we were a people of the Letter, with most of them written in Holy Tongue, Yiddish, or Aramaic. Of course, there was the contraband – or, contrabook – sandwiched between mattress and board, or unfolded with our pants in the cubbies; but they were the exception, not the norm.

The Jekyll and Hyde show was on, just as it is today, and we played the part to perfection. When the sun’s shining cheeks radiated, so did Dr. Jekyll; when the moon went a peek-a-boo from behind the clouds, so did Mr. Hyde. During the day we would sit in chairs long molded to our derrières, learning timeless sacred texts; during the night we would lie on beds sandy from swirling desert winds, perusing first-rate secondhand books. At times, Day and Night would switch roles, but only so when Time was measured by the clocks hand; when measured by the hearts ticking, Day remained Day and Night remained Night.

As healthy seventeen-year-olds with even healthier imaginations, during the navigation through endless passages of Talmud we would discuss, for better or worse, topics foreign to the Aramaic language. These discussions would naturally turn to the argumentative, and then, inevitably, full-out war. Even when discussing mundane themes, it would seem, the Talmudic knack for dispute would intervene.

One such discussion, based on the pages of the secondhand bookstore’s stock, was whether or not the writing geniuses – genius by our teenage standards – were grammatically correct. I, being the anarchist that I am, held they were not. Most of the others, I’m sure they are reading this and remembering that, insisted they were.

If my memory serves me correctly, for it hasn’t in the past, the argument, like most arguments in that era, was more for the sake of arguing than for the sake of clarification. Now, some four years later, for the sake of clarification, and because this topic has always haunted me, I will attempt, to make a gram of sense out of this grim grammatical grime.

Letters need rules – in fact, Letters are rules. A, B, and C are tools with which to express oneself. They are finite, but they can create infinite amount of words. The writer (I use writer, but this is true with any language form) has the ability to manipulate letters into words, words into sentences, sentences into paragraphs, paragraphs into chapters, and chapters into books – until these letters, so miniscule on their own, convey a profound message as a whole.

Accordingly, for the reader to understand the writer – which is, after all, the writer’s objective – he first must be able to read that which the writer writes. Therefore, the writer cannot just combine letters as he sees fit: lest he, and his letters, be deemed misfits. This is why rules were imposed upon the rules, that is, grammar upon the letters, to ensure that reader and writer are on the same page.

These rules, both the letters and their structure, are manmade. Therefore, when a man whose expression is not bound to conventional methods comes along and manipulates the letters in a way never before manipulated, the manmade rules take a new, manmade form. Sure, at first, he is titled Crazy, but, when successful, he is titled, Genius. At first he plays beyond the rules, then he creates new rules. There are innumerable examples I could bring, and will therefore bring none.

Mundane language is manmade; it is therefore also prone to man’s creative genius. As grammar is not an end in itself, but only a means with which to formulate comprehensive ideas, then, if one were to find a better means with which to formulate his ideas, he would be foolish not to use it.

Of course, one must be an extremely talented individual to invent new means of expression, and grammar is therefore needed for us underprivileged creatures. But, wait, we are "extremely talented individuals", each to his own – so why play by the rules when we can create new ones?

(For the fear of length, to be continued...)