By Alex Mercer
Warning: This article contains strong language.
Hardboiled crime stories and classic noir often carry an unmistakable edge – not only in their plots but in the very words their characters speak. Some readers balk at every expletive, and major review outlets quietly insist on a PG-13 limit. But is sanitizing dialogue really true to the world of violence and desperation these tales inhabit?
Criminals, by nature, don’t pause to filter their words. A mugger’s tirade is as raw as the punch he’s about to throw, and a double-crosser’s curse hits as hard as the backstab. In 1930s pulp, writers like Paul Cain didn’t tiptoe around profanity: betrayal was rewarded with a string of em dashes standing in for six letters that would make modern editors flinch. Yet those jagged blanks spoke volumes – sometimes more than any euphemism could.
On screen, networks have danced around the F-word for decades, while heroic characters get a free pass under the banner of “art.” Viewers forgive Tom Hanks’s slip in a dunk tank far more readily than Bono’s one-off expletive. Context, we’re told. But if we demand realism in on-screen heroism, why do we still muzzle the antiheroes and villains who populate crime fiction?
Not every noir tale needs a barrage of profanity. Some writers prefer restraint, letting violence carry the weight. Others wield harsh language sparingly, using it to punctuate the moment when tension snaps. But when a story drowns out its grit for fear of a Rupert Murdoch–style reprimand, it risks losing the very authenticity that drew readers in.
Ultimately, the choice rests with the author and their vision of the story’s world. If a character’s background and temperament call for coarse language, omitting it can feel like dressing a brawler in silk gloves. Conversely, a careful edit can heighten suspense, leaving the reader to fill in the blanks.
About the Contributor
This piece was submitted by Alex Mercer, a lifelong mystery aficionado from Vermont. One winter evening, Alex found himself stranded in a rural diner during a blizzard. Over lukewarm coffee and a hasty slice of pie, he was treated to a gravel-voiced monologue from the gruff cook—a story about stolen snowplows and midnight chases on the frozen highway. That night, Alex realized that every word, no matter how rough, carries the heartbeat of a real crime story.