“Some people spend their lives halfway through a sentence, waiting for someone braver to end it.”
Veronika Kavendish-KnollEditor-in-Chief, Unsolicited Opinions
The Semicolon;
Elegant, Useless, and Afraid to End Things
My friend Tori recently told me she’s dating this beauty of a man’s man with the most delicious name one can have: Rory. Of course, I tried my best not to laugh, but together, Tori and Rory sound like a limited company specialising in spiritual entrepreneurship. He talks a lot, holds doors open, remembers small details, and simply cannot punctuate properly. Can you imagine how I feel about this pair?
Now, Tori isn’t perfect either. She rarely ends a sentence gracefully, but at least she commits to a full stop when the time comes. She smacks her commas in roughly the right places, rarely confuses one with the other, and never semicolons her way out of emotional punctuation.
I’ve been told that readers of this column are rather conveniently well punctuated, sorry, educated, sorry, well read. I don’t mean to offend the connoisseurs and connoisseuses of linguistic joy, but just in case, here’s a brief, not-so-condescending refresher on what the semicolon actually is.
Semicolon; A Hellish Pause Between Two Bad Ideas
It’s that little mark people use when they want to look clever but aren’t sure where to stop. Too timid for a full stop, too self-important for a comma. The middle ground. The Switzerland of punctuation. To some, a symbol of sophistication; to others, a hellish pause between two bad ideas.
Of course, nothing you didn’t already know.
ToRory Limited
Tori and Rory went to some sort of family event last weekend, something involving champagne, second homes, and opinions about tax reform. Surrounded by people named after counties, Tori decided to say something about politics. She meant well. She asked, loud enough for the marquee to hear, “Why do we even tax the poor when there are so many billionaires?”
It went down exactly as you’d imagine. Someone dropped a canapé. A spaniel barked. One of the uncles pretended to choke on his Pimm’s.
Now, if you were Rory, wouldn’t you say something to help her out of that little PR disaster? Of course you would.
But Rory, unfortunately, is a complete moron, sorry, semicolon. He couldn’t fully commit to a defence. Instead, he said, “Well, it’s complicated; have you tried the truffle crisps?” The conversation died, the spaniel sighed, and someone quietly turned up the jazz. A man suspended between thought and appetite. Too clever to be kind, too cowardly to finish a sentence.
A semicolon in human form.
And since Tori didn’t dump him, she’s not much better. Together, they’re one long, grammatically confused sentence that refuses to end.
Spot, Do Not Edit, End, Repeat
So, in the spirit of public service, here’s a brief self-help guide from me to you:
1. Spot the semicolon early
If they say, “I’m not ready for labels, but I really value what we have,” that’s punctuation for run.
2. Don’t try to edit
Semicolons don’t change. They’ve been sitting on the fence since 1494.
3. End your sentence
Full stop. Then breathe.
Now you understand why we need to call semicolons out. Send this piece to anyone with commitment issues so they can finally see what they are: punctuation without purpose.
And yes, there are worse things than semicolons. If you’re wondering, “Veronika, what could possibly be worse?”—fear not—the em dash takes the crown for sheer ridiculousness. But that’s a story for another time. Possibly when Rory says something about “economic realism” that translates to deporting the poor at Tori’s fundraiser.
All names and vignettes are completely made up. Any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental. Obviously.
