Bad Prose of the Day

From the Lodi (California) News-Sentinel:
On Assignment to Teach

I shouldn’t pick on small-town newspapers, but sometimes the writing is so egregiously bad I can’t help myself. Case in point: this abysmal piece about Mormon missionaries.

You should probably know that these articles, which appear pretty regularly in small-town papers, are not spontaneously generated. The article’s author did not decide one day to write an article about those interesting boys on bikes. Nope, the LDS church assigns people to serve as “public affairs specialists,” whose job it is to increase visibility for the church within their geographical area. One way these specialists do their job is by soliciting articles like this one. Because the author usually doesn’t know much about the church and its missionary effort, the specialist will helpfully feed the desired content to the author. Unfortunately for the church, the specialist cannot control the author’s writing skills.

The article begins with the rhetorical equivalent of, “OK, I’m starting my article now”: “It’s a frequent sight in Lodi and other cities and towns across the nation: A team of two young Mormons, dressed in sharp, black slacks; white shirts; ties and bike helmets.” In the newspaper business, the first sentence is all about establishing interest in the article. This one’s not exactly catchy.

Next we learn that they “peddle” (sic) around the town preaching the gospel. Inquiring minds want to know what they’re peddling. Then we get an attempt to use repetition as a rhetorical device: “They peddle … They don’t drive … They aren’t allowed … They are allowed … They must also.” The structure here has the rhythm of lock-step marching, and I wonder if that’s the effect the author was going for.

Once again, we hear about the peddling and two paragraphs on how they don’t use first names. Then we learn how they are assigned. First, we’re told that women and older missionaries serve along with the young men. “Women, however, don’t ride bikes.” That must mean older missionaries are riding bikes, right?

A committee of apostles and church president Thomas Monson assign the missionaries to a mission, in this case, the California Sacramento Mission. Once there, they are assigned to different areas by the mission president, “known only as President Jardine.” I don’t know about you, but that has a particularly cloak-and-dagger feel to it, as if “President Jardine” is a nom de guerre, like Comandante Segundo.

“Missionaries are in groups of two,” which are usually referred to as pairs, but that would be too easy. A “companion,” we are told, is a “bicycle partner” (I’m picturing tandem bikes). Then we get a dreary recital of the missionaries’ daily schedule, except the writer can’t decide whether to use past or present tense, so he uses both: Some missionaries “go out on their bicycles” while others “began their bicycle trip.”

The next section deals with the loneliness of being cut off from contact from their friends and families. Then follows the longest subject I’ve seen in a long time: “The purpose of not being allowed to communicate with family and friends except on Mondays is to avoid being distracted from missionary work.” If you’re counting, that’s 15 words before we get to the verb, “is.” All that run-up for “is.”

The next two paragraphs make a mission sound downright cult-like:

If a family emergency like a death in the family takes place, their parents still can’t contact the missionary directly. Instead, the call goes to the California-Sacramento Mission, and word is relayed to the missionary.

To compensate for lack of contact with family and friends, there are great people in each community who become your family, Elder Zuniga said.

Inexplicably, the author starts asking questions in the headings:

“Why do they dress in suits?” A missionary gives this answer: “We represent Jesus Christ. We are going to be united in what we wear.” Sure, Jesus wants you to dress alike. But at least, we are told, their ties are “of different colors.” Those rebels.

“Who pays for their shoes and bikes?” Instead of telling us “they do,” the author spends three paragraphs saying essentially that. And he adds one paragraph about a missionary’s having gone through four bikes.

Then it’s back to declarative headings. They deal with rejection, and the author deals with a dilemma: spell out numbers, or give them as numerals? Undecided, he does both: “Only five to 10 percent of the people” contacted have return visits. No surprise, there.

And almost on cue, we get the obligatory paragraph about how the LDS are not polygamists like those awful cultists, the FLDS. This paragraph alone marks the piece as originating from the public affairs specialist. The church has been pushing this distinction lately, and the paper is doing its part.

The final paragraph gives the missionaries a chance to share what they like about Lodi. “The smell of General Mills,” one missionary offers. But the best line is this one: “They are the nicest people in Lodi,” Elder Abeyta said. “It’s like Pleasantville.” Only a Mormon missionary would think comparing a town to Pleasantville, the fictitious movie town of superficiality and sexual repression, is a good thing.

Bad prose of the day: MormonTimes

I wonder if there’s something wrong with me for enjoying awful prose, but here’s the first installment of what will be a regular feature.

The Deseret Morning News announced a new online resource for Latter-day Saints called MormonTimes.com, which the newspaper tells us “will include unique features and stories created by Deseret Morning News staff members. It also will point readers to the best LDS news and information being created on other Web sites around the world. And it will feature opportunities for readers to share their experiences, testimonies and opinions through a variety of reader participation activities.”

As anyone who knows me understands, I’m all for finding “the best” in all things LDS. The site looks pretty much like I thought it would: an online version of The Church News, basically, though they do have a piece by Orson Scott Card. Anyway, the column that caught my eye today is by one Jerry Johnston, who, if memory serves, is a writer for the paper.

His column considers Mormon “passion,” which is not readily apparent to the naked eye. But the prose is horrific. He describes early Mormons as coming “from the rugged, dry-eyed stock of New England farm families, then came West to live as flinty-eyed John Waynes.” And then, as if anticipating our bewilderment in imagining a community of John Waynes with dry yet flinty eyes, he reassures us, “Which is pretty much what happened.”

Moving on, we learn that “like lava, LDS passion simmers down out of sight, at the core.” What the hell is he talking about? Mormons have always been told that ”the natural man is an enemy to God” and that passions are to be bridled and suppressed. The acknowledgment that Mormons still feel something passionate is an almost subversive statement.

Next is this: “The Book of Mormon is soaked with ecstatic outbursts — ‘excited utterances’ lawyers call them, evidence of honesty.” How do you soak something with an ecstatic outburst, and since when is an ecstatic outburst evidence of honesty? Then follows a deft use of alliteration: “percolating passion.” Johnston is so happy with this phrase he repeats it three times.

Finally, he chooses as the apex of Mormon passion a passage from Alma wherein Ammon becomes so caught up in religious ecstasy that he boasts. I’ll spare you the passage (which we are told is a “wild soliloquy” that “soars”), but Johnston then tells us he imagines “how a trained Shakespearean actor would tackle that outburst — someone like Ian McKellen or Patrick Page. I’m sure they’d make it ring like church bells.” Uh, yeah.

He then reminds us that the Book of Mormon isn’t ”dry and dusty” but filled (soaked, maybe?) with passion. The last few lines are priceless and need no comment:

 ”An invigorating book might have a sober, hide-bound cover, but inside, the contents will take flight.

“Ditto for invigorating people.”

If you find any particularly  bad prose, let me know. I love collecting this stuff.