In Defense of Being Literal...Literally

I would like to speak on behalf and in favor of literal language. I feel the need to speak for literal language because literal language can no longer speak for itself; it can no longer be trusted.  Last year, the internet claimed another victim. Reputable dictionaries (not just the Urban Dictionary) included the non-literal meaning of literally. Merriam-Webster now defines literally as meaning “actually” and “virtually.” The Cambridge online dictionary also included a modified definition of literally that describes how it is used to create dramatic effect. The word literal is just another victim of our changing times. It can now join unanswered questions, articles that aren’t presented as lists, carrying cash, card catalogues, and privacy at the Island of Misfit Toys.

One of my biggest pet peeves has quickly become the flagrant (flagrant 2 for my basketball readers) misuse of literally. (What can I say? You were right Joanie Mitchell…and Passenger; I didn’t appreciate “literally” until it was gone). When I hear people say things like “I am literally starving,” I have to tell myself not to say, “Actually, I think what you meant to say is that you are figuratively starving or that you are hungry.”

It isn’t just the death of literally that concerns me though. I’ve noticed—and am guilty of—a dependence on superlatives, too. We fall back on superlatives describing movies, people, foods, songs, days, experiences, etc as being either “the best,” “the worst,” “the coolest,” or more recently “all of the things.” Words have meaning and power, and like all powerful stuff (Nyquil, tequila, habanera hot sauce, after-shave), you have to tread lightly. With great power comes great responsibility. If I use a hyperbolic superlative to describe the disappointing breakfast and service that I had this morning (“It was the worst”), I won’t have that powerful superlative to use when I actually do experience the worst food-service of my life. Literally, I ordered the special, and it disappointed me; it wasn’t what I expected. And I didn’t really know what to expect because my waitress seemed indifferent to my breakfast experience and offered very little information about the specials. I tipped her anyway and will probably be back to that restaurant again. It was definitely not the worst. I hear “the worst” most days at work from my students; they LOVE hyperbole more than anything. I passed out the rubric for annotated bibliographies last week, and one of my students looked at me and said “Ms. Kennedy, this is literally the worst.” Since I can guide my students with more immunity than I can my peers, I asked her if she thought annotated bibliographies were worse than the Holocaust, Rwandan genocide, or human trafficking. She chuckled and sheepishly said, “I get it.” It was a gentle (and hyperbolic) reminder that annotated bibliographies are not the worst; annotated bibliographies are literally—in its original form—just a minor, time-consuming task that she finds annoying.

I know I am stepping on a lot of toes here, including my own (weird masochism). I speak in hyperbole all the time. But I am starting to feel lazy; there are so many words out there with so many nuanced meanings. By falling back on these superlatives, I am taking the easy way out and what’s worse, I’m not actually expressing myself. I’m starting to think that we are taking the power out of some very powerful words. We’re using them up until they don’t mean what we need them to. These superlatives are kind of like salt; I enjoy them sparingly. If you use superlatives too much, just like salt, everything starts to taste—or sound—the same.  

Be ingenious and genuine with language and expression. Support literality. Superlatives are the WORST!