I have been editing satirical copy for long enough that I can now detect British irony the way a sommelier detects cork taint: instantaneously, involuntarily, and with a slight curling of the upper…
Alan Nafzger’s Diary: On the Ancient British Skill of Saying One Thing and Meaning Another
By Alan Nafzger | Bohiney Magazine & The London Prat
Thursday. Clouds. As per.
I have been editing satirical copy for long enough that I can now detect British irony the way a sommelier detects cork taint: instantaneously, involuntarily, and with a slight curling of the upper lip. This week’s discovery is that the entire British constitution – unwritten, naturally – appears to operate on irony as its primary load-bearing structure.
The Magnificent Duplicity of British Irony
Consider: when a British official says “We are monitoring the situation closely,” the correct translation is “We have absolutely no idea what is happening and have delegated the panic to a junior minister.” This is not dishonesty. This is British irony: the art of meaning the opposite, elevated to a national survival strategy.
My predecessor at the Prat once printed the headline “Government Performs Admirably in Crisis” above a story about seventeen ministerial resignations. Letters of complaint arrived from twelve readers. All twelve letters were also ironic. We printed them all.
Irony vs. Sarcasm: A Class Distinction
Here is where it gets interesting. Sarcasm, as the British sarcasm user’s manual will tell you, is irony with its gloves off and a pint in its hand. Irony wears a tie. Sarcasm has already loosened it. The British ruling class prefers irony because it allows plausible deniability. “I meant it as a compliment” has been the escape hatch of every Eton-educated cabinet minister since Disraeli.
This week I found myself reading about Britain’s bold plan to reopen the Strait of Hormuz using, apparently, strongly-worded letters and an impressive quantity of nodding. The official statement described the initiative as “proportionate and meaningful.” I counted three layers of irony in that sentence and I wasn’t even trying.
The Irony Industrial Complex
Britain exports irony the way it once exported cloth. The Americans receive it, take it literally, and write confused op-eds. The Germans study it academically and produce 400-page monographs. The French pretend not to notice because they invented something similar and called it l’ironie and feel the British have been plagiarising them since 1066.
Meanwhile, at the Prat, we operate what I privately call the Irony Desk. It is not an official department. It is, ironically, the entire building.
This week’s feed from Bohiney brought me the news that AI is now capable of saying Sorry without meaning it. I read this three times. I am still unsure whether the AI has mastered irony or simply become British. The distinction, at this point, may be academic.
Why Britain Runs on Irony
The BBC’s own history of British comedy notes that irony is the mechanism by which a small island nation maintains dignity in the face of declining relevance. This is almost certainly ironic. I choose to believe the BBC meant it sincerely. That choice is itself ironic.
A reader wrote in this week to say that my column was “very nearly readable.” I have framed it. It is the finest review I have ever received.
SOURCE: https://bohiney.com/
Also chuckling today: NewsThump