Curious

‘Sign the screen and push enter.’ The DMV employee barked the order without even looking up. I complied only to catch a scowl as the signature flashed onto the woman’s monitor screen. With a snort, she pointed to the stylus. ‘I said sign it. Give me your signature.’

My confusion increased. ‘But that is my signature.’

‘You kids don’t even know cursive, do you? Do they even teach you how to write?’

First of all, it’s never worth your time to argue with the DMV. So I didn’t, even though Ms. DMV’s inference about my self-worth was quite clear (and misguided, I’d like to think). I don’t recall much about the genesis or evolution of my handwriting. Legend has it that I learned three systems of handwriting by the age of ten before adopting italic handwriting. (My recantation of traditional North American cursive is largely blamed on a grade-school teacher who, despite the fact that I was a left-handed student, forced me to angle my paper to the left just as the right-handed students did.)

Be that as it may, Ms. DMV wasn’t far off: it seems that kids, “these days,” don’t universally learn cursive. And the arguments surrounding this growing trend reveal that handwriting is still alive and well as a form of social signalling.* Of course, its social role is nothing new under the sun. In “Writing Material: Readings from Plato to the Digital Age,” Tribble and Trubek assert:

By the nineteenth century many people firmly believed not only that every person’s handwriting was unique, but that handwriting was an unfailing index of character, moral and mental health, and a criterion by which to judge of peculiarities of taste and sentiment.

Popular history categorizes such beliefs as middle class phenomena (the middle classes generally esteem fine handwriting skills as well as handwriting practice while the upper classes remain principally and intentionally flippant on the matter). Nevertheless, Naomi Baron, in The Art and Science of Handwriting, argues that handwriting no longer fashions a “mirror to the soul” in this postmodern society.

After my DMV experience, I can’t help but want to qualify her assertion (more precisely, its implications). Handwriting is probably less significant as a social signal, but not less significant because the middle-class has abandoned self-presentation for other postmodern ideals. Handwriting is less significant because it is presenting fewer satisfying opportunities for self-presentation in daily life. And in almost every plea for the continuation of cursive, I find this nostalgia for self-presentation (nothing horrible in itself, just fascinating, I suppose). Throughout the last few years, I’ve stumbled onto several reminders of how very much society longs to attach significance (social or otherwise) to handwriting:

1. Prophecies regarding “The Death of Handwriting,” wherein many mourn the growing irrelevance of handwriting to daily life, once again appeared on the BBC (as is their annual habit). A few years ago, the BBC Weekender also broadcast some humorous, little pieces highlighting the significant role cursive plays in both social and personal development. Personality, the first expert suggests, correlates one’s handwriting closely. (You guessed it: if you write with cursive, he will identify you a self-confident person.) The second piece discusses women and handwriting, then submits Elizabeth Gaskell’s manuscripts to a graphologist’s critique.
2. Even more amusing was a fabulous yard sale find P. gave me: Know Yourself Through Your Handwriting (Jane Paterson). Of course, once we sat down and glanced through the pamphlet, it became clear that P.’s (a) tall, (b) broad, (c) equally-zoned, (d) irregularly designed, (e) upright, (f) disconnected, (g) sharply formed, and (h) heavily-pressed graphology fit the MO of a superhero (self-confident, precise, poised, intellectual, and a calm individual with a good sense of self-proportion), while my (a) medium, (b) slant-varying, (c) broad, (d) bottom-heavy, (d) irregular, (e) connected, (f) pasty, and (g) narrowly-spaced graphology indicated that I was a strumpet (adventurous, sensual, poised but dissatisfied with myself, and an original thinker). Dozens of similar books can grant you the same joy of self-diagnosis.
3. A few years ago, a Newsweek article even suggested that teachers (a solid, middle-class lot) still form conclusions from students’ handwriting. I used to work as a paper grader for a public school instructor. I graded AP English compositions and drafts. The drafts always came to me on lined paper and were written by hand. And I have to admit: I do recall fighting distinct impressions about certain students based on their handwriting. (I’m fairly sure I can say it didn’t affect their grades, but even so, my susceptibility makes me uncomfortable.)
4. And speaking of education, a few schools still insist on cursive instruction despite the growing encumbrance of No Child Left Behind. In fact, California’s state educational standards still mandate cursive instruction. If the SAT remodel has anything to say about it, other states will be sure to maintain similar standards if they want their SAT takers to perform well on the essay portion of the exam.

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*I will mention the strong Montessori tradition of defending cursive is much less entangled in social signalling and more concerned about the pragmatic: speed, nature, and efficiency (as if it’s a race). I’m not sure whether one can prove that cursive would be more accommodating in the developmental sphere, but the argument is as follows: if you look at a child’s pre-writing scribbles, you will find rounded, indistinct forms which indicate a fine motor predisposition to cursive handwriting. Of course, others oppose teaching cursive to children because of its growing irrelevance to society. Print is much more appropriate for almost every form of business correspondence. And after all, the opposition argues, isn’t business where this whole writing thing started?