The Ministry of Clarity: Grammarly vs George Orwell's 1984

From time to time I have enjoyed taking classic works of literature, such as Moby Dick, or Brave New World, and pasting them into Grammarly to see what sort of score it gets. This works with other A.I. writing editors, too, of course, but there is something so bold about Grammarly's corrections and suggestions.

During a recent reading of 1984, and while I was struggling to edit one of my own works of fiction, I decided to try my little experiment with Orwell's first chapter. The opening line of 1984, "It was a bright cold day in April," was flagged by the AI with the suggestion to insert a comma: "a bright, cold day."

This ability to offload the mechanical labor is a source of hope, allowing writers to focus on the large-scale architecture of their narrative and trust their own voice without obsessive worry over every minute detail. However, the analysis of these classics demonstrates a critical warning: the AI’s core function is standardization, and it inevitably clashes with artistic intent. The decision in 1984 to omit the comma in "bright cold day" is a stylistic choice that connects the two adjectives, influencing the rhythm and sensory impact of the phrase. To an algorithm, this is a technical error to be fixed; to an author, it is a deliberate choice.

This technical bias is amplified when the AI tackles more complex prose. Reviewing Anna Karenina, the AI finds 25 "critical mistakes" and explicitly suggests five sentences be "shortened." Similarly, the algorithm flags an astounding 51 "critical mistakes" in the opening of The Great Gatsby, urging the writer to "Simplify word choice" and "Clarify dense passages." The complexity and philosophical density of Fitzgerald's first-person narration, or the length of Tolstoy's psychological sentences, are not flaws; they are the intentional texture of their brilliance. The AI's focus on an optimal "Writing quality" score (e.g., Gatsby at 85/100) attempts to strip away these elements, showcasing a strong bias toward conciseness and technical efficiency over human artistic resonance.

Writers should feel free to embrace these tools only as a safety net. Let the algorithm worry about the common typo and the basic comma. By outsourcing the mechanics, you can confidently lean into your unique perspective. But never grant the machine unquestioning authority. The moment a writer allows an AI to overrule their powerful artistic choices—to simplify a complex thought or shorten an impactful sentence—they risk ceding control of their unique style.

This algorithmic scrutiny embodies a form of stylistic "Big Brother," a force that subtly nudges diverse human expression toward a single, homogenized norm. The high scores awarded to these classics are less a compliment to the authors and more a warning that even the most brilliant prose is deemed "imperfect" by the rigid standards of the machine. AI is a proofreader, not a muse, and we must treat it as a helpful editor of mechanics, not a trusted arbiter of taste.