Left-branching sentences

In my previous blogpost, I said that right-branching sentences should be your default setting for writing. That’s true. A right-branching sentence adds clarity and power to a text, optimized for comprehension. It starts with an independent clause, followed by everything else – like this sentence.

A left-branching sentence works in the opposite direction and ends with an independent clause. It takes longer to get to the main verb, so the reader may get confused and give up. Left-branching sentences mostly spell trouble. But sometimes, if you use them sparingly and strategically, and deploy them at the perfect moment, they can also pack a punch. Like that one. 

You can use left-branching sentences to create a sense of tension or anticipation. A left-branching sentence achieves its effect by withholding the pay-off – subject and verb – until the very last second. This takes work. You must prime the reader so they know, in outline form, what awaits them at the end of the sentence. 

Here’s an example from The Devil in the White City, Erik Larson’s book about the 1893 Chicago World’s Fair. In the passage, Larson is describing the landscape architect Frederick Law Olmstead as he prepares for the exposition:

It was one thing to visualize all this on paper, another to execute it. Olmstead was nearly seventy, his mouth aflame, his head roaring, each night a desert of wakefulness. Even without the fair he had faced an intimidating portfolio of works in progress, chief among them the grounds of Biltmore, the Vanderbilt estate in North Carolina. If everything went perfectly – if his health did not degrade any further, if the weather held, if Burnham completed the other buildings on time, if strikes did not destroy the fair, if the many committees and directors, which Olmstead called ‘that army [of] hundreds of masters’, learned to leave Burnham alone – Olmstead might be able to complete the task on time. (2003: 139; emphasis in original) 

The passage opens with three right-branching sentences. In all of them, the subject (it, Olmstead, he) and the verb (was, was, had faced) make an early appearance. Then comes the fourth sentence: a left-branching tour de force that builds anticipation with each successive conditional (if, if, if, if, if, if) before we get to the real action (might be able to). It’s a model of tension, tension, tension – then release.

The left-branching sentence runs for over fifty words before we find out who the main character is and what they are doing, but we never struggle to grasp its point. Despite its length, the sentence is manageable because the conditional clauses act like rock cairns on a hiking trail, guiding the reader onwards. The author even gives the reader a helping hand by italicizing each if along the way. So, well before we get to the main verb, we know what the sentence is about and where it’s heading. The structure, in other words, prefigures the meaning.

Now compare. Here’s a typical passage of academic writing, published in The Leadership Quarterly: 

While we have noted numerous boundary conditions with the application of the focal leadership theories to the changing workforce, with some reframing and minor adjustments, the utility of these theories can be maintained for the management of Millennials. First, although transformational leaders may find it difficult to engage Millennials by appealing to a sense of community to achieve common goals, goal setting may still be effective. Revisiting the dimensions of transformational leadership, especially intellectual stimulation and individualized consideration, can offer some insight into how to motivate and manage generations entering the workforce. Because younger generations tend to be motivated by meaningful, challenging work and the potential for individual achievement, and because they desire personalized feedback, it is possible that reframing goal-setting initiatives such that individual goals align with organizational objectives could work well for motivating Millennials. (Anderson, et al., 2017: 254) 

Four sentences, all left-branching. But there’s no tension, no anticipation – and very little release. We muddle through each sentence, feeling our way in the dark. And when the verbs finally arrive, they do so with a whimper not a bang. The verbs are indecisive (may be, can offer) when they should be bold; passive (can be maintained) when they should be active; lifeless (is) when they should be animated. The passage would benefit from a rewrite, like so: 

Traditional leadership theories still apply to Millennials, although we will need to adapt or reframe some of them to reflect changes in the workforce. In particular, a revised version of transformational leadership can help to motivate the new generation entering employment. For example, goal setting remains effective for managing Millennials, even though transformational leaders may struggle to build a sense of community for younger employees. By engaging Millennials in meaningful work, by recognizing their unique accomplishments, and by providing them with personalized feedback, transformational leaders – especially those who tap into the dimensions of intellectual stimulation and individualized consideration – will incite Generation Y to pursue organizational objectives. 

Of these three sentences, only the third one is left-branching. But notice the difference. The sentence signals its direction of travel well in advance (by engaging, by recognizing, by providing), so the reader can easily follow the train of thought as it unfolds. As in Larson’s passage, form follows function: the sentence hints at the sheer effort it takes for leaders to manage Millennials effectively. If you do this, if you do this, and if you do this – well, only then will you succeed. 

Construct right-branching sentences whenever possible. But don’t be afraid to branch out to the left once in a while.