What I mind in modern society very much is the awful lack of

Hear the lament of Ruth Rendell, the great teller of mysteries, who spoke these sharp words: “What I mind in modern society very much is the awful lack of grammar.” Though at first it may seem a simple complaint, it is in truth a cry against the crumbling of order, a warning that when language falters, thought itself begins to decay. For grammar is no mere set of rules, but the framework through which ideas are built, communicated, and preserved. Without it, the tower of meaning collapses, and the light of wisdom flickers.

For language is the blood of society. It binds generations together, allowing the dead to speak to the living and the living to instruct those yet unborn. Grammar, the structure of that language, is the vessel that carries clarity and precision. When it is neglected, when words are thrown about carelessly, misunderstanding breeds, and with misunderstanding comes discord. Thus, Rendell’s lament is not trivial, but prophetic: if a people abandon the care of their speech, they risk abandoning the care of their very thoughts.

History itself shows us this truth. Consider the scribes of ancient Egypt, who guarded the hieroglyphs with reverence, knowing that sloppy writing led to broken meaning, and broken meaning led to chaos in law and ritual. Or think of Rome, whose orators were trained not only in rhetoric but in the discipline of grammar. It was through well-ordered language that laws were preserved, contracts secured, and justice proclaimed. When the empire fractured, so too did the discipline of language, until clarity gave way to confusion and learning was lost for centuries.

Nor is this decay merely of the past. In the modern age, when messages fly swiftly across glowing screens, care for grammar is often abandoned for speed. Shortened words, fractured sentences, and careless errors are accepted as normal. Yet behind this neglect lies danger: for if thought is expressed poorly, thought itself weakens. Just as a craftsman who neglects his tools produces shoddy work, so too a speaker or writer who abandons grammar produces shallow understanding. Rendell, as a writer who wielded language with precision, felt this loss keenly, for she knew its cost.

And yet, Rendell’s words are not only lament but also challenge. She calls us to remember that grammar is not a prison, but a guide. It is the scaffolding that allows us to build towers of poetry, arguments of philosophy, and declarations of freedom. Consider the Declaration of Independence, or the speeches of Churchill—each word carefully chosen, each phrase crafted with grammar that lent it rhythm and power. Without this structure, their ideas would not have carried across centuries, nor stirred the hearts of millions.

The lesson, O listeners, is clear: care for your language, and it will care for you. Do not let the convenience of haste rob you of clarity. Teach your children to treasure words, not merely to use them, but to wield them with accuracy and grace. In doing so, you arm them with the greatest tool of freedom: the ability to think clearly and to be understood. For where grammar dies, confusion reigns; but where it lives, wisdom flourishes.

Therefore, let Rendell’s lament be your call to vigilance. Do not dismiss her concern as the muttering of a lover of books. See instead in her words the eternal truth: that the strength of a society is bound to the strength of its language, and the strength of its language is bound to the care of its grammar. Preserve it, and you preserve thought itself. Neglect it, and you invite the slow decay of meaning, truth, and unity.

Thus remember: “What I mind in modern society very much is the awful lack of grammar.” In these words lies both grief and warning. Let us rise to meet it with care, reverence, and discipline, so that our words may endure, our thoughts may shine, and our society may stand firm upon the solid ground of understanding.