You’ve probably read a certain type of sentence lately. It comes wrapped in something that is almost like insight and dressed in perfect rhythm. It shifts. It is breathing. When you’re done, you pause, and nothing happens. It contained no real thought. Just one’s shape.
Many writers currently reside here, and it’s important to consider how we arrived at this point.
The phenomenon is not wholly novel. In 1946, George Orwell expressed his frustration with it by claiming in his essay “Politics and the English Language” that unclear, overly elaborate prose was being used, frequently unintentionally, to conceal the lack of a clear idea. The scale has changed. This tendency has become almost industrial due to the internet and, more recently, the proliferation of AI-assisted content. Platforms incentivize productivity. Consistency is favored by algorithms. And in the midst of that pressure, a generation of writers discovered how to maximize the reading experience rather than the significance of the content.
It’s difficult to ignore its unique confidence. You lean in when a writer begins with a broad, depressing observation, such as something about light coming through windows or the unique quiet of winter cities. The craft is truly amazing. The sentences flow nicely. The vocabulary is exact without being ostentatious. When you get to the end, you realize that the piece has essentially told you everything you didn’t already sense before you began, all in lovely language.
In writing communities, the phrase “prioritizing the “how” over the “what” occasionally comes up. It may seem like a small difference, but it’s the root of the issue. The actual argument or observation begins to take a backseat when a writer becomes so engrossed in the mechanics of language—the cadence, the word choice, the image. Even optional. The reader gets nowhere, and the prose becomes the destination rather than the means of transportation.
Ernest Hemingway held nearly the opposite opinion, despite his lack of tolerance for literary posturing. Simply put, his writing philosophy was to write from experience rather than the desire to sound like a writer. The prose style would come next. His emphasis on lived reality rather than stylistic performance may have been a response to this kind of hollow elegance, which was also popular in some literary circles during his time.
What’s remarkable right now is that AI has accelerated the issue in an unanticipated way. No human can match the speed at which automated writing tools can produce prose that is tonally consistent and grammatically flawless. On a cursory glance, some of it is actually difficult to tell apart from human writing. However, something is lacking; it’s not always a technical problem, but rather a void where true observation ought to be. There are the sentences. They don’t have the particular human moment that would make them significant. Furthermore, some human writers are unknowingly starting to gravitate toward that same register, which may be unsettling. pursuing smoothness. avoiding the more specific, unfamiliar, and harsher elements that would truly make the work worthwhile.
It appears that serious readers are taking notice. Sales of literary fiction have been steadily declining. A confessional opening, a lyrical pivot, and a conclusion that suggests profundity are common characteristics of essays that go viral on the internet. Because the format is so well-known, it functions almost like a template, and templates by definition yield predictable outcomes. Clean and even beautiful writing is possible. Seldom is it unexpected.
It’s still unclear if this is a crisis or just a shift, if the culture is momentarily filled with polished emptiness before something more significant emerges. The writers who are able to cut through it all seem to have one thing in common: they have a specific, deeply felt message to convey, and their writing serves to support it rather than to replace it. Because the idea is genuine, the prose is excellent. Not the other way around.
Be clear, be concrete, and say the real thing. Orwell’s old advice still holds up better than most. It sounds easy. In reality, it necessitates a level of honesty that is difficult to avoid when using beautiful language.
Chloe Olliver is senior editor at vclib.org, where she leads editorial coverage of literary criticism, political commentary, cultural analysis, and the evolving relationship between literature and public life across New York City and beyond. With a career spanning the intersection of literary journalism, political commentary, and educational publishing, Chloe brings both rigorous research discipline, in-depth knowledge, experience, and an accessible editorial voice to subjects that most readers find thought-provoking and culturally significant.