Under American women’s influence, he [Henry James] insisted, language risks becoming a ‘generalised mumble or jumble, a tongueless slobber or snarl or whine’; it will sound like ‘the moo of the cow, the bray of the ass, and the bark of the dog’.
---Mary Beard, writing in London Review of Books.
The whole article can be viewed here.
Of course, everyone is partial to a particular kind of voice but this is something beyond mere preferences or cultural familiarity; this is, instead, about power and marginalization.
One way in which it manifests itself is class: one has to speak in the right way or tell the official stories to be heard. But that is only one way. The elephant in the room in this case is gender. The only acceptable voice is a sexy one (Mariella) or a passive, docile one. So, think for a moment about how M.F. or Joan Bakewell are often described: "the thinking man's bit of crumpet".
What underlies it all? Hard to say. Could it-at least in part-be related to the idea of autonomy? If the ideal is to be alone with one's thoughts or to act in a way unimpeded by other people, then being talked to or talked back to seems extremely unpleasant. Other people are a hindrance, a nuisance. Silence and reticence, quiet contemplation and stillness are promoted over chattiness as a way of being deep (and by temperament or learning you gravitate to that view yourself). But is there another way of talking, one that is more open and genuinely conversational, a quick wittedness, a measured intelligence that knows the right words, the appropriate time for silence, humour, questions?
All of a sudden I am made aware of how awkward (this) writing (this) is because it is, essentially, addressed to myself.
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