Articles & Essays Book Reviews Creative Writing
Consciousness, Literature and the Arts
Volume 18 Number 2, August 2017
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The Adverb Surfaces in Poetic Prose and Intimates Dramatic Dialogue
By
Imagine the opening scene of John Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men describing the vivid shining mountains of the Salinas Valley at sunset in a gentle breeze of 1950s pellucid air. Envision Ernest Hemingway’s aquamarine blue sea beneath the lucid clarity of 1940s Mediterranean sun in his Old Man and The Sea. These moments in literary time emerge from the misty valleys and foggy seas of linguistic history and stand out in starkly defined clarity against the vast watercolor backdrop of language and culture. These moments also exemplify a critical literary tool, the –ly adverb, which is artfully employed. Linguistically speaking, the -ly adverb might be one of the newest parts of speech. Most contemporary writers use it, and some undoubtedly abuse it. Yet as a critical part-of-speech and tool for writing, it is often misunderstood and underappreciated. When we look closer, the –ly adverb offers a glimpse into our sophisticated English language like no other part of speech can. Steinbeck’s and Hemingway’s novellas each give us a scintillating view of artistic adverbs in action, despite both authors’ finely polished styles being innately different. Through close inspection of both, we begin to see nuances in their sentence and word choices that speak of economy, precision, and impact. Much of the impact centers around astute and eloquent use of the –ly adverb as it becomes a key player in defining each authors’ style. Steinbeck and Hemingway thereby exemplify adverb usage in Modern Era short fiction as a pinnacle of stylistic literary artistry, revealing itself through syntactical inflection, dramatic imagery, and stylistic uniqueness.
SOME ADVERBIAL ROOTS
In order to fully appreciate Hemingway and Steinbeck and their use of the adverb, We must start with a discussion of its origin, which began back in the foggy annals of linguistic heritage. Rare indeed are the –ly adverbs, even as late as the Chaucerian era of Middle English. Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales does employ some –ly adverbs such as, “outrely, scarsly, skylfully” (Middle English Primer). Before that, the adverb primarily consisted of the early preposition and prepositional phrase, but not the modern form of the –ly single word that could modify another word, phrase, or even entire clause. Not until the era of fourteenth century Late Latin did the adverb become properly defined as adverbium— ad = to plus verbium = verb. By 1500 the Latin version of pars oration was established as the eight parts of speech, and the –ly form of the adverb became firmly rooted in English usage (Online Etymology Dictionary). Wide use of the adverb, however, as a critical tool of language was still an event of the future. The adverb had evolved as a recognized part of speech, but authors of the time period rarely employed it. Despite Gutenberg’s printing press being invented around 1440, canonized and widely published works of the fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries still encompass a fairly narrow list of authors. When perusing the works of these writers in situ—non-modernized or translated form—we see almost no use of the -ly adverb. The most noteworthy of these writers were Moore, Skelton, Wyatt, Howard, Sidney, Spenser, and Marlowe (Norton xi-xiii). Most of the works presented in the fourth edition of The Norton Anthology of English Literature feature poetic works, with the exception of Moore, Sidney and Wyatt. Poetry of the era, including lyric, narrative, dramatic, and epic poetry, exhibits little or no –ly form of adverb use. The same is true of apologies, letters, essays and even novels: none show more than the most rudimentary and rare use of the –ly form of adverb. The writing of William Shakespeare and the onset of the English romantic poets is where we begin to notice an increase in adverbial use, particularly the –ly adverb. Yet even Shakespeare rarely draws upon the –ly adverb. There are fewer than twenty –ly adverbs used in all of his 154 sonnets (Shakespeare 154). He does begin to infrequently yet very effectively employ them in his plays. Perhaps these uses along with the more than 26,000 new Latinate words added to English from 1500 to 1659 (Garner 151) established both the seeds and the fertile ground for the type of adverb and adverbial use that is so prevalent and powerful in Hemingway and Steinbeck’s writing.
By the close of the 17th Century, the adverb was well on its way to being not just one of the eight parts of speech, but one of the key four most important parts of speech. And yet the –ly adverb was still eclipsed by the others. Most noticeable was the adjective which took center stage. Along with the adjective came a surging use of the complex abstract noun. This makes sense, however, when viewed through the lens of the Age of Enlightenment and its subsidiary the Age of Reason. Ranging from the second half of the seventeenth century until nearly the end of the eighteenth century, this intellectual blossoming yielded a fruition of advanced diction and syntax. It is important to note that the influence of this movement on writing styles lasted through the nineteenth and even into the early twentieth century (Bodrogean 65).
Complex adjective and noun use perpetuated itself due to the fact that the mainstay of reading material for budding writers came from this era of prolific intellect. From Conrad to Faulkner, Austin to Chopin, highly educated, well read, intellectual authors gravitated toward extensive use of thoughtful adjectives and often complex abstract nouns. This is where we might include the paragon of prescriptivism in grammatical usage: British and American public educational practices were richly immersed in Latin and Greek studies. It seems that intellect, imagery, and creative prose styles all gravitated to advanced nouns and adjectives. The next shift, one that occurs in more contemporary literature, is the shift to active and creative verbs. So where and how does the –ly form of the adverb fit in? For Hemingway and Steinbeck, the –ly adverb usage in their short works becomes a tool of balance. Their uniquely different uses add rhythm to their syntax, meaning to their diction, clarity to their voices, and a unique cohesion to their styles. Instead of overloading readers with erudite vocabulary like many other authors of their time, they wrote in clear and balanced prose. This clarity is seen most often in passages which incorporate the –ly adverb.
SYNTACTICAL INFLECTION
When wielded by the these masters’ pens, the three elements of cohesion, rhythm, and voice meld holistically into text that seems more woven than composed, more painted than produced. The elements blend seamlessly, thus creating the impact that has made both books so beloved by readers. Each has a unique, uncomplicated style that combines characters, themes and settings into a unified whole, and each gracefully incorporates adverbs. Let us first look at Hemingway’s approach from the holistic view of cohesion, rhythm, and voice. The Old Man and The Sea presents a character that, instead of relating deeply to his peers, is displayed as united deeply with his environment. Early in the story Hemingway writes:
In the dark the old man could feel the morning coming and as he rowed he heard the trembling sound as flying fish left the water and the hissing that their stiff set wings made as they soared away in the darkness. He was very fond of flying fish as they were his principal friends on the ocean. He was sorry for the birds, especially the small delicate dark terns that were always flying and looking and almost never finding, and he thought, the birds have a harder life than we do except for the robber birds and the heavy strong ones. Why did they make birds so delicate and fine as those sea swallows when the ocean can be so cruel? She is kind and very beautiful. But she can be so cruel and it comes so suddenly and such birds that fly, dipping and hunting, with their small sad voices are made too delicately for the sea. (Hemingway 29)
This passage cohesively blends referential context of the coastal ocean setting with subtle but parallel comparisons. He parallels fish to birds, beauty to harshness, and even masculinity to femininity. In addition, the flow of syntax mixes long, short, and medium sentences centered around a key thematic question. The question asks: Is nature sometimes too harsh? Parallel structures utilizing “He was” and multiple conjunctions add to the rhythmic feel of the passage. Hemingway also utilizes “adverbials of emphasis” (Koln and Gray 114) to portray the limited omniscient perspective of the old man. This is seen in “especially,” “so suddenly,” and “too delicately.” Alliteration also adds a poetic element of cohesiveness to this poignant moment of time—the dawning of day. It is important to note, however, that Hemingway judiciously uses adverbs, which makes this passage particularly revealing in its balanced approach. This passage stands out, becomes more essential, due to the unusual use of the –ly adverbs, thus exemplifying Hemingway’s short fiction style.
Steinbeck, though much different in his stylistic approach, achieves a similar balance. The omniscient voice, rhythmic style of narrative and dialogue, and cohesive form are all at work in this short passage from Steinbeck:
Noiselessly Lennie appeared in the open doorway and stood there looking in, his big shoulders nearly filling the opening. For a moment Crooks did not see him, but on raising his eyes he stiffened and a school came on his face. His hand came out from under his shirt.
Lennie smiled helplessly in an attempt to make friends.
Crooks said sharply, “You got not right to come in my room. This here’s my room. Nobody got any right in here but me.”
Lennie gulped and his smile grew more fawning, “I ain’t doing nothing,” he said. “I just come to look at my puppy. And I seen your light,” he explained.
“Well I got a right to have light. You go on get outta my room. I ain’t wanted in the bunkhouse, and you ain’t wanted in my room.”
“Why ain’t you wanted?’ Lennie asked.
“’Cause I’m black. They play cards in there, but I can’t play because
I’m black. They said I stink. Well, I tell you, you all of you stink
to me.” (Steinbeck 75)
Rhythmic use of the adverb largely defines this passage and setting with a contextual view of Lennie and his personality. The word “helplessly” adds a cohesive reference to what readers have learned about Lennie’s character. The narrator’s omniscient voice is also evident with “noiselessly” and “nearly filling the doorway.” The dialogue which follows, in particular the dialogue of Crooks, is wonderfully rhythmic regarding both tone and syntax. Crooks speaks in simple, clear sentences. He uses conjunctions twice, but he still uses simple, clear sentences. Only at the end of this passage does his syntax begin to alter with an ellipsis-oriented complex sentence, “Well I tell you (that) you (and I mean) all of you stink” (75). The overall cohesion of this passage draws first upon reference to Lennie’s character, secondly upon repetition of both adverbs and simple syntactical style, and thirdly upon ellipses and conjunction usage. Furthermore, the characters themselves, Lennie, Crooks, and Candy add cohesion to this passage due to their collective “misfit” status in society. Contrary to Hemingway’s style, Steinbeck uses adverbs liberally, both in explanatory remarks for dialogue and in description. Yet they are nonetheless precisely placed for effect and also add tremendous balance to his prose.
DRAMATIC IMAGERY
Focusing more directly on specific adverb use of both authors in these particular works demonstrates the effectiveness of this part of speech. Dramatic imagery is enhanced in both authors’ works, which is largely due to their insightful adverb use. In Old Man and The Sea Hemingway writes, “The shark lay quietly for a little while on the surface and the old man watched him. Then he went down very slowly” (Hemingway 102). Hemingway could not have chosen more effective, concise, and yet simple terms to describe the stealthy and seamless movement of a shark in calm waters. There is even an implied adverb, “ . . . and the old man apprehensively watched him” (102). Steinbeck works similarly with:
A water snake glided smoothly up the pool, twisting its periscope head from side to side; and it swam the length of the pool and came to the legs of a motionless heron that stood in the shallows. A silent head and beak lanced down and plucked it out by the head, and the beak swallowed the little snake while its tail waved frantically. (Steinbeck 109).
The connotation of the two adverbs in the Steinbeck passage is very clear. Steinbeck’s predator/prey description utilizes “smoothly” juxtaposed against “frantically” to adroitly capture the immensely important momentary calm, and then the impending crisis to come; this foreshadows Lennie’s fate by the campsite along the Salinas River. Although both of the preceding passages demonstrate creative use of the adverb, the overall descriptive imagery is greatly enhanced as well.
What Hemingway accomplishes with his adverb use in dramatizing the imagery of his tale can also be seen in this passage: “Maybe he suddenly felt fear. But he was such a calm, strong fish and he seemed so fearless and so confident. It is strange” (Hemingway 84). The single adverb “suddenly” captures the essence of the spurts of fighting the fish, the adrenaline, and even the searing pain of the old man’s cut hands. Suddenly sets readers up for several paragraphs later where we read, “He took hold of the line carefully so that it did not fit into any of the fresh cuts . . .” (84). Suddenly plays into carefully, then soon badly thus dramatizing the sensory imagery. For a full page prior and two pages following this use, Hemingway employs no other –ly adverbs. The rarity of his adverb use also makes them stand out as images of their own.
Perhaps the most dramatic scene in Steinbeck’s novella occurs right before George shoots his friend. Steinbeck characterizes Lennie’s profound and innocent simplicity using, “Lennie looked eagerly,” “Lennie cried happily,” and “Lennie removed his hat dutifully” (Steinbeck 112-115). This is starkly contrasted by George’s grim awareness and focused actions written as, “George came stiffly near,” “He said woodenly,” and “He said shakily” (112-115). In this scene alone, the use of the –ly adverb form poignantly enhances the harsh situational drama which leads to the book’s climactic tragic moment.
Let us return for a moment to the realm of eighteenth and nineteenth century prose. Whether they meant to elucidate ostentatious language as their stylistic imperative, or meant to adroitly elaborate their ideas using the most explicitly articulate and definitive diction, writers of this era gravitated to a prolific vocabulary. It took the wisdom of simplicity and style such as Hemingway and Steinbeck possessed to reign in language and focus it. They chose balance rather than pretense. They elected inflection, syntax, and the adverb as tools with impact. Could they use fancy words and complex syntax? Of course they could. Steinbeck’s East of Eden is replete with complex language and syntax, much more complex than the language of his novella. His adverbial usage is evident, but eclipsed by complexity. Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls retains much of his clear, concise style, but often utilizes complexity commensurate with the themes and cultural settings within the novel. Adverbs again are evident, perhaps even are utilized more in his longer works, which makes the sparingly used –ly form of adverb in Old Man and The Sea noteworthy. Steinbeck uses more adverbs in his short works, but it is evident that both authors purposefully chose to write with simplicity and clarity in mind.
A SECOND LOOK AT INFLECTION—
THE RISE AND FALL OF THE –LY ADVERB
Looking at the morphology of the adverb gives us context through which we can appreciate creative use of adverbs by Steinbeck, Hemingway and other authors. Initially, it seems that the classic adverb consists primarily of the –ly suffix and most often converts an adjective; however, there is more. Middle English during the time of Chaucer relates to the propensity for the preposition to act as an adverb or a form of inflection. When we read Middle English, prepositions abound, but adverbs as we know them now are rarely incorporated (Sweet). Furthermore, Old English adverb form, much of which held over into Middle English, utilized a different word structure. These adverbs were created from adjectives by adding a final –e, –lie, and near the end of Old English, the –lice which would eventually become the –ly we know today (Donner 1). Linguists Fromkin and Rodman remind us that, “At one time, Old English was highly inflectional” (339). They go on to say that, “Many inflectional endings were lost, and English became more ‘isolating’; the syntactic information provided by these endings was then supplied by other syntactic means [for example, more use of prepositions and stricter word order]” (339). This discussion of the evolution of adverbs means that inflection metamorphosed into syntax variation. It seems natural then that the evolving adverb would become a critical tool for manipulating meaning, creating inflection, and offering style to syntax.
Even before its change to the current –ly that we now know so well, the concept of the adverb was an important tool to writers. According to Donner, “For Middle English poets, mastery of the modal adverb system serves as one measure of command over the resources of the language itself” (Donner 11). Modern readers are well-accustomed to inflection; it’s simply known as syntax—sentence structure and its resulting stresses and accents. Yet when sentence arrangements fail to convey the correct impact—the intended impact of an author—they must look elsewhere for assistance. And this is where the adverb comes in. Even modern texts on language and grammar understand the power of the adverb. As stated by one recently written text, “Adjectives and adverbs are especially powerful when they are preceded by another modifier” (Kolln and Gray 112). They go on to discuss “adverbials of emphasis” and the impact of negative adverbials at the beginning of sentences. (114). Effective writers like Steinbeck and Hemingway understand the power of the adverb, and they use it as a critical tool.
STYLISTIC UNIQUENESS
Steinbeck and Hemingway were writers raised on a world of grammatical prescriptivism and literary pedagogical formality. When they pared their words down to include only the best words, as one must do in order to write shorter works, their work held a unique appealed to the sensibility of a reading audience that was also raised on the Age of Reason. There was a vast store of intellectual vocabulary and linguistic style and technique available for writers of the time. Yet both authors utilized a poetic economy of words, and this economy of words, including creative use of adverbs, set a subtle, even a poetic tone. Perhaps this was a reaction to the predominate literature and rhetoric of the time period in which formal language and usage embodied, “Justification by logic, literary precedent, analogy, and etymology” (Nunberg 7). Much of the influential literature on which Steinbeck and Hemingway were raised was serious, complex, and agenda-oriented—both in fiction and non-fiction. In addition, during and probably for some time after, that same eighteenth century influence demonstrated that, “ . . . written language was more powerful than spoken” (10). The great orators might argue with this claim, except that classic oration has always been equivalent to rhetorically effective essays presented orally. Before language and mass communication changed the paradigm of prescriptivism and formality to a more descriptive and fluid model, both written language and written for speech language seem to have reached a peak in formality. Most canonized writers, even as late as Steinbeck and Hemingway, used big words—many of them—and they often wrote long, complex and complicated sentences. To parallel this, the intellectual climate of the time held a population of readers who could and would read and comprehend and even enjoy such complexity. Simplicity, however, still had its place. Witness poetry for instance; its basic form and conventions have survived all literary eras. If a poem is a series of only the very best words, then poetic prose might be defined as only the very best words woven into the clearest syntactical style available. Of Mice and Men and Old Man and the Sea set the stage for style that counterbalanced the complexity of Age of Reason language; moreover, thoughtful and creative use of the –ly adverb is clearly evident in both authors’ unique, and even poetic styles.
Considering poetry, it simplicity and its roots in oral tradition then gives us another insight regarding Hemingway and Steinbeck. As children, we learn to speak first, then to listen, then to write. So let us take a look at how speaking and listening play a key role. In a formal world, one established by the elite, adverbs would roll off the tongue with sophistication and style; they sound nice. Additionally, exercises in grammar were also exercises in speech. The following excerpts from a classic 1935 primer text called A New Self Teaching Course in Practical English and Effective Speech demonstrate the serious tone accorded to understanding the adverb. The text states in lesson booklet ten, “Conservative persons prefer to use more loudly as the adverbial form, and to reserve louder for use as an adjective” (Hunter 3). Here we surmise that the term conservative would imply educated, cultured, and sophisticated. Lesson booklet eleven expands on the adverb explaining:
Originally ly was like, so that quickly was quicklike, and awkwardly was awkwardlike. If you ever hear the expressions quicklike and slowlike, you will recognize them as survivals of former usage. Of course they are not considered good usage today. (Hunter 5)
The fact that a hint of linguistic history occurs in a grammar and speech primer tells us that learning, knowing, and properly using adverbs was considered important to both speaking and writing even up to the mid-twentieth century. Looking at this from the perspective of prescriptive grammar, learning the rules for writing and speaking the adverb accomplishes two critical functions: first, the rules “. . . help remind us of the difference between private and public talk” (Nunberg 13), and second, the rules offer “. . . an indirect way of teaching people to listen and read” (13). The key words here are talk and listen. Even now in a world of grammar, which is ever moving in the direction of descriptivism, when we read, many of us still hear the words in our mind’s eye such as the –ly, the –ness, or the exclamation point. At its peak during Enlightenment Era America, classic rhetoric moved to consider speaking and writing equally important. Therefore authors would employ one of the newer elements of linguistics, the –ly adverb, for inflectional tone and also for auditory effect. Not only were –ly adverbs nice to work with stylistically, but –ly adverbs also offered a unique tool that appealed to both the reading and listening audience. The polished short works of Hemingway and Steinbeck demonstrate careful use of this tool at a peak in concise, modern American literature. Due to the innate speaking and listening aspects of language during this era, many readers would undoubtedly hear the language—the stylistic adverbial use—of these two authors as they read their works.
Dialogue by nature would be heard in the reader’s mind, and so here is one place where both authors’ stylistic adverbs shine. The impact of their uses comes in qualifying how characters speak. Hemingway uses one adverb in his explanatory remarks as follows:
“Ay,” he said aloud. There is no translation for this word and perhaps it is just a noise such as a man might make, involuntarily, feeling the nail go through his hand and into the wood. (Hemingway 107)
One clear adverb set apart by commas puts an immense amount of interpretation into the expression ay. This stands out even more due to the fact that Hemingway uses adverbs sparingly, and almost never with dialogue. Hemingway’s few adverbs stand out like jewels. Steinbeck, on the other hand, incorporates many adverbs with his dialogue. These passages excerpted from one scene in the book vividly characterize Curly’s wife and add suspense to a key turning point:
. . . Her face was heavily made up. Her lips ere slightly parted. She breathed strongly, as though she had been running.
“Curly ain’t been here,” Candy said sourly. . .
. . . She regarded them amusedly . . .
. . . Candy laid the stump of his wrist on his knee and rubbed it gently with his hand. He said accusingly, “You gotta husban’, You got no call foolin’ around with other guys, causin’ trouble.”
. . . “Awright,” she said contemptuously, “Awright, cover ‘im up if yaw anta. . .
. . . He stood up suddenly and knocked his nail keg over backward. “I had enough,” he said angrily. . .
. . . Suddenly she said, “Where’d you get them bruises on your face?”
Lennie looked up guiltily. “Who—me?” (Steinbeck 84-7)
Beginning with a description of character and then following with explanatory remarks, the –ly adverb is precise and prevalent here. The –ly adverb also adds to the suspense by qualifying the reactions of Candy, Crooks, and Lennie, further enhancing the poignancy of the shattered fragile bond that has just developed among the men. Yet there is no –ly adverb use by the characters themselves in their dialectical conversation.
These examples and others demonstrating the often overlooked and even seemingly innocuous –ly adverb do not determine the literary pinnacle from which Hemingway and Steinbeck shine. Rather, they are more of an indicator or a sign of peak American literary accomplishment. Therefore the gradual decline of the –ly adverb also represents the gradual decline in grammar, written text, and speaking in modern American English.
It is unlikely that the –ly adverb will ever become totally archaic; however, it is already fading from use, and that by itself is quite telling. Linguists place adverbs in the “open” class of language because new words are regularly added to these classes (Fromkin & Rodman 140). Recently, though, it seems that the –ly is losing ground, and therefore we are potentially losing words when it comes to adverbs. Why is this so? Simply using the –ly adverb might begin to answer this. In order to speak the adverb, one must employ a liquid alveolar with a palatal glide articulatory function after correctly articulating (pronouncing) the word root (78). In short, the adverb requires technique to pronounce. Take for example the word infrequently. There are as many as eight articulatory functions (both voiced and voiceless) that must be made before the –ly is added to the end.
It takes work. In a world where we are constantly seeking efficiency, speed, and economy, it is no wonder that the work necessary to perform precise articulation is also minimalized. Fromkin and Rodman write about linguistic performance regarding long sentences stating, “When you perform linguistically—there are reasons why you cut the number of adjectives, adverbs, clauses, and so on” (7). Extrapolating that concept to individual words makes it easy to see why modern speakers use “real nice” instead of really, “go quick” instead of quickly, and so forth. R. Macaulay writes in The Journal of Sociolinguistics that, “. . . a socially stratified sample showed a difference in the use of adverbs with the middle-class speakers using derived adverbs in –ly more than twice as frequently as the working-class speakers” (Macaulay 398). This aptly describes the commonly coined term “lazy tongue,” but it does not explain why many forms of contemporary writing seem to be moving away from thoughtful use of adverbs—unless we conjecture about the psychology of reading. Perhaps the simple fact that while speaking the adverb takes some work and thought, reading the adverb intuitively feels like speaking it in the mind’s eye, and there, it also takes more work. It must however be noted that although lazy tongue syndrome is becoming part of descriptive grammar, and although many writers are seeking short, clear, concise, dialectical words and sentences at the cost of many wonderful adverbs, the –ly adverb is still alive and well in many places. Some readers seek older, more complex or more polished text. Some writers adhere to classic style and traditions. Some speakers are schooled in articulation and they practice it. Yet knowing that most has now become some, and knowing that quantifiable decline in speaking and writing can be evidenced brings light to classic works and helps us appreciate their nuances and subtleties and style.
CONCLUSION
Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men and Hemingway’s Old Man and The Sea were produced before prescriptivism’s statue began to spall and crack—before the demise of grammar.
Their works occurred before descriptivist’s stylistic experiments severely altered formal and proper use of English. They existed before mass media and print and computer technology flooded the world with more stories than could ever be followed by a standard and common group of English speaking readers. They were created during a time of noteworthy change in culture, both American and worldwide. The clarity and uniqueness of their styles allows their works to stand out, allows their messages about human nature and society to ring clearly as a great bell in a literary tower. Steinbeck represents the massive shift of post-depression era labor and rural farm life to the urbanization of late industrial era America. Hemingway exemplifies the shift from the rural, indigenous cultures to that of more cosmopolitan, worldly influenced populations—the shift from villages to towns, from towns to cities, and from cities to the megopolis. The writing, the novellas, and the contextual time periods converged like a nexus of art and culture. They indeed emerged at the crest of a worldwide wave of intellect, reason, and rhetorical accomplishment. They emerged amidst a world replete with great complexity of social thought and literature. Quality and precision of language used to portray both stories highlights a sociolinguistic balance point between complex exposition and concise expression. The simple adverbs in both stories shine like the diamonds of sun sparkling on Hemingway’s clear and concise water of words. They reflect like the infused rainbow of sun filtered dust through which flows Steinbeck’s air of dialectic dialogue. Inflection is altered, meaning enhanced, and style defined through the –ly adverbial usage in Old Man and The Sea and Of Mice and Men. This simple grammatical tool, subtly yet stylistically employed, is a touchstone, a gemstone of literary time that illuminates two pinnacles of literary achievement.
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