Subeditors yesterday declared war on full-blown hyperbole amid fears a new tidal wave of mixed metaphors and dramatically overused cliches is both decimating clarity and opening a Pandora’s box of grammatical confusion.
Apologies, readers. But while it’s a parody of journalese, the above paragraph contains many of the tonal and verbal issues that consume subeditors’ precious time as we (hopefully) help transform the thousands of words crafted daily by reporters and writers into a vibrant newspaper.
All while trying to shake off the well-earned “Grauniad” reputation, of course.
On the news section of the newspaper, reporters write the articles, desk editors commission and finesse their copy, designers (or layout subeditors) liaise with picture editors and graphic designers to draw up pages, and, finally, subeditors check, correct, cut and coax the copy into the allocated space before getting to work on the all-important page “furniture”: headlines, subheadings, pullout quotations and picture captions.
As production editor, my job is to act as a link between the duty editor, news desks, page designers and subeditors. Along with other revise subs, I check over the subs’ work. I’m also responsible for subbing the splash (front-page lead story) – all while ensuring the news pages are “off stone” by the first edition deadline.
Each day, the subeditors on the Guardian news pages get through between 25,000 and 35,000 words. The finished product will never be perfect. Mistakes are made – and overlooked – all along the way. The corrections and clarifications column (now in its 20th year) bears testimony to this fact.
The column often shines a spotlight on the peculiarities of the “editing process”. But, as the latest edition of the Guardian Style Guide points out, we’ve come a long way. A comment piece on US politics in the 1960s contained the following: “Mr Nion was looking towards Washington, but the committee was liiking at Mr Nixon. He would have to oick the candidate, and if he oicked another man, eho lost, the party would be loth to nominate for the Preidency a national leader whose influence could not carry his own state in a state election. Yet, if Mr Noxon ran himself and won, he would practically forsweat the presidency.”
In the days of spell check, such a festival of typos is, thankfully, not likely to happen. However, subeditors have to be on their toes. We are, in footballing terms, the last line of defence; the nameless, faceless goalkeepers in the team. A howler in a front-page headline is there for all to see. An instant own goal.
So, apart from avoiding a guest entry in the column, what are our priorities when subbing?
Number one is you, the reader. We are, in many ways, the first readers. When a news story raises questions in our minds, we try to answer them. If we’re at all unsure about the facts of a story – the who, what, when, where, why and how – we seek clarity, with perhaps an added paragraph from the writer, a subtle rewording or the judicious insertion of an omitted background fact.
In the age of Trumpian “alternative facts” the need for the Guardian to retain its integrity as a trusted source of news is __more vital than ever. While the historian EH Carr rightly pointed out that not all facts were equal – “The facts speak only when the historian calls on them,” he wrote in his seminal text What is History? – the Guardian’s specific ethos, laid down by the long-serving editor CP Scott, decrees that facts for a journalist (chroniclers of the present) are “sacred”, whereas “comment is free”.
With a nod to these two complementary philosophies, subeditors play a crucial role in ensuring the accuracy of the information in stories. As well as checking, corroborating and verifying – the Guardian’s code of conduct urges care to avoid publishing “inaccurate, misleading or distorted” information – we try to create space for __more facts.
A good place to start is redundant words, which are more an alternative to facts than they are “alternative facts”.
Subeditors act as gatekeepers. Consistency, clarity and readability are the watchwords when it comes to grammar, syntax and house style. This may include rewriting botched sentences or inelegant variation, excising extraneous words and tautological phrases, converting figures (temperatures, currencies, distances etc), and amending the level of detail to fit what we see as the readers’ likely understanding.
A grasp of basic media law (primarily defamation and contempt risks) is also vital; not expertise, as such – that’s what our highly skilled lawyers bring – but an awareness of the basic principles so that, for example, we can quickly hack back a 1,000-word court report to 500 words while maintaining balance and fairness. Reporters take great care in constructing lively, balanced stories. Subs must ensure the (sometimes heavily) edited version in the paper retains that poise, accuracy and fairness.
It also pays to question presumptions of knowledge among readers.
As a Liverpudlian who works in London, one of my pet peeves in copy, and particularly picture captions, is a confusing lack of detail on place names. An image identified as “in Kensington” is never enough. There is more than one Kensington – and we must not presume all our readers are aware there’s actually one in London too.
Similar judgment calls extend to the favourite role of many subeditors: writing headlines.
It’s our chance to shine. While trying to “hook” the readers into the story with a vibrant, active and grabby headline, we are at all times committed to clarity and accuracy. A headline must reflect the story. It must be full of impact, but not too weak and not too strong. The parody headline above is a good example of what we avoid.
The legendary newspaper editor Harold Evans, in his book Newspaper Design, 1973, sums up the headline writer’s quest. “The whisper in the quiet room is as emphatic as the shout in the hubbub,” he wrote. “If every headline shouts, there is no emphasis.”
This is where the carefully orchestrated rhythm of a Guardian news page comes in. The use of different design formats, fonts and headline sizes (standard Guardian Egyptian headlines on newspaper pages range from 22.25 point to 60.25 point) help create a hierarchy on a page.
To fail in this mission, according to Evans, would be to “transform a humble enough newspaper into a Kafkaesque confusion”.
But enough of the perils of headline writing. Writing headlines for the Guardian is a pleasure. One of my favourites for simplicity and impact is the classic (subject, active verb, object) metaphorical phrase used to sum up the huge implications of George Osborne’s first coalition spending review in 2010. “Axe falls on the poor,” it announced, in 94 point (over 3cm tall), above a picture of Nick Clegg and David Cameron congratulating the chancellor for a job well done.
The other one that sticks out is an example of the sort of headline that, in a way, almost writes itself – but its effortless whimsy is all too often overlooked for something too clever by half or a weak and hackneyed pun. The story was the Conservative party’s desperate and futile attempt to rebrand itself – by objecting to the media’s use of the word “Tories” – at the height of Tony Blair’s New Labour dominance.
“Don’t call us Tories, say Tories,” ran the Guardian headline. Clear, accurate, devoid of cliched hyperbole – and a beguiling invitation to the reader to read on.