The art(lessness) of the reply

Hello. I hope you’re having a lovely day.

I was speaking with a friend recently about texting and she made a point about the endless ways in which texting has somehow altered the ‘harmony’ of modern life. Not to launch into a Boomer-esque paroxysm against phones and the tik tok and all that…but texting is terrible and ruins everything.

My trinity student past reared its unsightly head as I brought up the latest ‘Sally Rooney’ - an enjoyable shorthand for Beautiful World, Where Are You? - in response to her observation. I mentioned a specific scene where one character is considering texting another after an argument. This character types a hateful message, then deletes it, before typing a remorseful one, and then deletes that. At first, I thought my reaction to this might just be a result of my generally anachronistic attitude towards things like phones and social media. Upon reflection, however, I do genuinely think that the premise of such an interaction is deeply strange.

Rooney’s literary representation of this speaks to texting’s enduring existence in our day-to-day life. It demands depiction and examination, in that the art of the reply is really an art. The perfect tone, syntax and phrasing for any digital message has become its own form of writing to be scrutinised and perfected according to the rules or conventions of the individual user - another factor which distinguishes it from typical modes of communication.

Of course, when I say this scene was ‘deeply strange’, I don’t mean unlikely or unrealistic. I have, of course, found myself in this same situation many a time and oft, and have likely been on the receiving end of such ghost-texts.

No, what I find strange about this is the possibility to project one’s thoughts so immediately, as to craft and potentially send two entirely different messages within the space of a few seconds. Messages which have the power to permanently affect relationships. This hyper-connectivity with other people seems, to me, an unnatural form of interaction. This is especially pertinent in the dating arena, wherein a text becomes an instant form of validation that is both convenient and addictive. Thanks to its instantaneity, and the possibility of an immediate response, it becomes easier to recognise a reply as a legitimate form of affirmation. Accordingly, you can become accustomed or even reliant on this way of communicating.

Circling back to my original point, I would very much like a societal reversion back to a time of writing love letters and that we bin texting altogether. Literacy rates are considerably higher than they were back in the day, which can help us somewhat deconstruct love letters as an affectation of the heteropatriarchal middle classes. Certain text messages are preserved in the same way as love letters, through screenshots or save functions. To me, this act of digital preservation points to the enduring sentimentality of modes of communication which can be preserved. It shows that we still reminisce for a time when messages endured beyond the immediate.

One thing which disturbs me about the artlessness of this mode is the possibility of the ‘unsent message’. A virtual what-if, which offers a sort of Schrodinger’s text for the recipient and sender. I could, for example, text unspeakable profanities to my boss, and then unsend them moments later. I wouldn’t know if they’d seen the notification or the message unless they had replied in kind.

This overanalysis of messaging stems from its ubiquity in influencing all forms of digital contact. It has re-shaped digital communications, such as through the anglicisation of language within instant messaging (e.g. the loss of diacritic marks or the universality of ‘lol’).

David Crystal makes the point in Language and the Internet that e-discourses lack any long tradition or formalised method. They do not benefit from ‘agreed modes of behaviour established by generations of usage,’ which encourages miscommunication and reduced reliance on convention. I personally think this point hits at one of the core reasons why texting can be so anxiety-inducing - the lack of understood rules. As mentioned, interpretation is left to the individual and, especially in the case of young people, this disproportionately results in negative readings.

This means that the self or personality you signify through instant messaging isn’t really you, at least in my opinion. What you say won’t be understood through any lens other than that of the recipient. The resulting digital hastilude of virtual flirtation, attempts at being funny or smart, or a mix of both, seems increasingly ludicrous to me as I grow older. Though instant messaging is technically a synchronous form of communication, I often find myself misinterpreting and feeling completely out of of sync with the person I’m talking to. Overall, as I said at the start of this big ole rant…texting sucks n makes me sad. But what else are we to do?

***

I was originally planning on creating a piece of digital art to accompany each letter, but the fact that I’ve barely had time to write Good for U. this year has somewhat scuppered that idea. Maybe later in the year, if you’re lucky(:

***

Thanks for taking the time to read this. Speak soon.