Write On! :: Comments :: The Treacherous Second Person

I think you would be well served to separate the use of the word into two contexts, for the sake of readability (convenience) and for the sake of voice (artistic use). Talking about it in terms of voice is the thing that's fun. The main thing is rhythm. Some writers find a much better rhythm with 'you.' Hemingway's short sentences are an example.

However, if one wants to see the power of 'you.' The best place to look is one's seventies record collection. Listen to the crackling of any Pink Floyd record of the Roger Waters era. He is the master of using 'you.' These lines from three different songs are totally dependant on the word.

There is no pain you are receding The distant ships smoke on the horizon You are only coming through in waves Your lips move but I can't hear what you're saying. ...

You bought a guitar to punish your mum You didn't like school and you know you're nobody's fool ...

So, so you think you can tell heaven from hell, blue skys from pain. Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail? a smile from a veil? Do you think you can tell?

In the first example he's all at once placing you in the scene and forcing you to experience his emotional state. You are with him and inside of him. In the second, he is describing someone. Could that be you? That is the question he posits. It sure was a lot of people because I was hardly born when it came out and it floated right out of my memory and on to the page. The third use of you is a direct challenge. These are two of the great lines in the history of language. They, almost by default, immediately lead one into a state of introspection.

That, my friends, is what writing is all about--creating value for the reader. And also BTW the point the Great Russian makes wonderfully. (He doesn't give a damn whether the reader likes it or not; he just wants the reader to think--to ponder.)

Finally, there is the opposite perspective. Norman Mailer is very keen on using the journalistic "one" in situations where it is obviously unnatural to do so. Read Armies of the Night. There is rarely an instance where 'I' or 'You' is used in the whole book. He only uses 'one.' I think he did it to portray a sense of faux elitism, sort of a way ridiculing how the "square" media was reporting on the Vietnam War. Personally, I'd never use 'one' unless someone specifically told me not to do it.

Why take a chance on missing out on good accidental art?

You have a good point that "you" is sometimes just more appropriate than a more formal alternative such as "one" -- notice I didn't suggest that "you" should be replaced with "one" in any of the above examples. It wouldn't have fit, and it wasn't the effect any of the authors were going for; though they can convey similar ideas, the two are not interchangeable. Increasingly, journalism and nonfiction works take a more casual tone, though "you" would still strike too familiar a tone in a piece of academic writing.

In the same vein, "one" would sound jarring in most songs. Your examples do show how effective the use of "you" can be in drawing the listener in to a song. But take another look at the lyrics you chose. "Comfortably Numb" is all about the singer, not the "you" being addressed -- it is a vivid description of the speaker's experience, almost independent of what "you" might be doing. In fact part of its power comes from the fact that the speaker feels more and more distant from "you", sensing his audience fading away, yet still struggles to communicate and make himself understood.

The lines from "Wish You Were Here" are a challenge, but not in a hostile manner -- it is an invitation to introspection in some ways. But the lines from "Welcome to the Machine", though they may well resonate with a number of listeners, might also completely miss the mark with others who may think, "this isn't about me," and lose interest.

That is the thing -- a writer can use "one" to maintain a sense of academic detachment, or "you" to try to forge a more personal connection with the audience, but as you can see its effectiveness becomes very subjective.

Why take a chance on missing out on good accidental art?

Because you also take the chance of losing your audience altogether. Dostoevsky was a master, but even he would not have been able to make his readers think if they decided they'd rather stop reading (they have to like the writing -- not necessarily the narrator -- enough to keep turning the pages). He knew the risks he was taking and nothing he did was accidental. That's not to say it isn't a chance worth taking, that it can't have an enormous payoff, but it is a chance, and not by any means a sure fire way of connecting with your readers or listeners.

--ich sage nicht, was ich will, sondern was die Sprache will--
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Dostoevsky was a master, but his writing isn't suited for a mass audience. It takes an awful lot of effort to really get it. I can never tell if that's because of the translation or if it's just the way he wrote. I suspect the latter.

I remember reading Faukner's The Sound and the Fury. I had to read sections over and over to figure out what was going on. There's one scene of dialogue between Quintin and his father that isn't even broken into sentences and paragraphs (much less quotes). I remember sitting down to read the book every so often and only being able to get through a few pages before drifting off. Then I'd have to go back and reread what I just read. The whole novel basically went like this for me.

Then I became sort of facinated with the few scenes I read that actually made sense. Based on those building blocks I went back and read it again, and I thought so much of it that I went and read a bunch of literary criticism. It became like a puzzle that I had to solve. There have been several novels, however, that I started and just couldn't see to the finish (including others by Faukner).

So, I'd say if you don't have that kind of narrative power, you'd better try to write for your audience.

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