I remember one improv class in which a couple of students were just beginning a scene. One of the students had just said that he had a car, and then the instructor stopped the scene. There was nothing wrong with the introduction of a car, he remarked, but the scene would be more interesting if the person had specified what type of car. It would have been more interesting to watch a scene about someone with a Chevy Impala than one about someone with “a car”. It would have been even more interesting to watch a scene about a someone with a new, two-door Chevy Impala, a car which may not even exist. The instructor’s point was that specificity was better.

A similar idea was presented by Malcolm Gladwell in an episode of his podcast. In that episode, he compares country music to rock and pop music. What struck him at first was that country music tended to be much sadder than these other genres. After analyzing the differences, he concludes that country music is more poignant and melancholic because its lyrics are much more specific. Rock and pop songs, he observes, can treat sad topics, but they tend to do so in a generic way. Theirs is the language of cliché: a “break-up”, “wild horses”, a “party for one”. In contrast, country songs often mention very specific details, how each “I love you” in every letter is underlined in red, how the father isn’t there but the child has his eyes.

A few weeks ago, Toronto had an annual event at which they gave the public access to many buildings that are normally inaccessible. Among others, I was able to visit the R.C. Harris Water Treatment Plant. The building is beautiful, but it spoke to me all the more because I had recently read a novel by Michael Ondaatje called In the Skin of a Lion. The novel takes place in Toronto and is based on historical events. One of the storylines is about the city official who commissioned the plant and conceived of its lavish design. The story also describes the immigrant workers who manually bore the tunnels beneath Lake Ontario to feed the plant. Visiting the site, I was reminded of this entire history through this book. It was a powerful experience that wouldn’t have existed at all if Ondaatje had written a more generic book. This other book might even have been set in Toronto, but at some anonymous city building with a hypothetical city official. The basic story would have been the same, but it would have carried none of the richness.

I think we tend to avoid being hyper-specific because it seems, at first glance, to limit the relevance of what we’re saying. Another reason is that it requires us to be more openly personal. For example, there is this one YouTube channel about cocktails. Overall, from its set design to the actual drinks, the channel is not that different from others in the category. What sets it apart are the tasting notes which the host gives, which are unabashedly extemporaneous, subjective, and often a bit ridiculous, such as when he describes a Gimlet as cold sea spray in order to capture its special bracing quality. Those might not be the words that I or most others would have used, but that is certainly a description that will stand out in my mind much more than “assertively tart”. What often ends up sticking with you is some particularity rather than the general idea, and that is often the most specific detail.