Here's a statement of the obvious: The opinions expressed here are those of the participants, not those of the Mutual Fund Observer. We cannot vouch for the accuracy or appropriateness of any of it, though we do encourage civility and good humor.
FYI: Like most people who write for a living, I have fierce convictions about the right and wrong ways to use words. Most of the time I keep them to myself; nobody likes being nagged by a grammar nanny. It’s boring and annoying to be — or to listen to — the pedantic style police. Regards, Ted http://jasonzweig.com/why-i-hate-adverbs/
But I learned something about Twain I didn't know. A quick reading from his semi-autobiographical Life on the Mississippi finds only infrequent use of adverbs. A lot fewer than one would imagine. I wouldn't expect to find many in his novels, like Huckleberry Finn, because they're written more from a child's perspective. Adverbs aren't something that comes easily to children. But, in his more adult level Life on the Mississippi, I'd have expected to find more. https://www.thoughtco.com/two-ways-of-seeing-a-river-by-mark-twain-1688773
In its opening position in that famous movie sentence (not from the novel, quite), it does not function as an adverb in our usual understanding ('I frankly don't give a damn') but something more emphatic and rhetorical. Fortunately, since the novel is kinda windy:
"Well, you get my meaning, don't you?" he questioned, rising to his feet. She threw out her hands to him, palms up, in the age-old gesture of appeal and her heart, again, was in her face. "No," she cried. "All I know is that you do not love me and you are going away! Oh, my darling, if you go, what shall I do?" For a moment he hesitated as if debating whether a kind lie were kinder in the long run than the truth. Then he shrugged. "Scarlett, I was never one to patiently pick up broken fragments and glue them together and tell myself that the mended whole was as good as new. What is broken is broken--and I'd rather remember it as it was at its best than mend it and see the broken places as long as I lived. Perhaps, if I were younger--" he sighed. "But I'm too old to believe in such sentimentalities as clean slates and starting all over. I'm too old to shoulder the burden of constant lies that go with living in polite disillusionment. I couldn't live with you and lie to you and I certainly couldn't lie to myself. I can't even lie to you now. I wish I could care what you do or where you go, but I can't." He drew a short breath and said lightly but softly: "My dear, I don't give a damn."
Point about American authors noted, though this is almost always true, and not the area where 'over-adverbializing' occurs, generally.
Comments
But I learned something about Twain I didn't know. A quick reading from his semi-autobiographical Life on the Mississippi finds only infrequent use of adverbs. A lot fewer than one would imagine. I wouldn't expect to find many in his novels, like Huckleberry Finn, because they're written more from a child's perspective. Adverbs aren't something that comes easily to children. But, in his more adult level Life on the Mississippi, I'd have expected to find more. https://www.thoughtco.com/two-ways-of-seeing-a-river-by-mark-twain-1688773
Thinking Twain the exception, I moved on to the much more eloquent Scott Fitzgerald, expecting to find a plethora of adverbs in his work. Again - I'm struck by the paucity of adverbs.
https://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au/f/fitzgerald/f_scott/gatsby/chapter3.html
Cinematic endeavor may, however, be different. One of the most memorable motion picture lines of all times begins: Frankly, my dear ....
No idea what, if anything, this all means. But want to thank @Ted for one of his better, more informative posts in a long time.
"Well, you get my meaning, don't you?" he questioned, rising to his
feet.
She threw out her hands to him, palms up, in the age-old gesture of
appeal and her heart, again, was in her face.
"No," she cried. "All I know is that you do not love me and you
are going away! Oh, my darling, if you go, what shall I do?"
For a moment he hesitated as if debating whether a kind lie were
kinder in the long run than the truth. Then he shrugged.
"Scarlett, I was never one to patiently pick up broken fragments
and glue them together and tell myself that the mended whole was as
good as new. What is broken is broken--and I'd rather remember it
as it was at its best than mend it and see the broken places as
long as I lived. Perhaps, if I were younger--" he sighed. "But
I'm too old to believe in such sentimentalities as clean slates and
starting all over. I'm too old to shoulder the burden of constant
lies that go with living in polite disillusionment. I couldn't
live with you and lie to you and I certainly couldn't lie to
myself. I can't even lie to you now. I wish I could care what you
do or where you go, but I can't."
He drew a short breath and said lightly but softly:
"My dear, I don't give a damn."
Point about American authors noted, though this is almost always true, and not the area where 'over-adverbializing' occurs, generally.