Adverbs! Who Needs 'Em?

The orthodox position among writers is that adverbs should seldom be used, because they are superfluous. Adjectives are more acceptable, although they tend to be overused as well. Recognizing an adverb is part of the writer's job. In this paragraph, I believe there are two adverbs, seldom and more. To my understanding, these are insignificant and not as annoying as an adverb such as "tenuously," or for that matter, any adverb with an "-ly" serving as a suffix.

One of my favorite writers, Paul Bowles, holds a contrary opinion. He's got an enormous vocabulary and likes to flaunt it, an impulse I recognize. Bowles is what I term an adverb advocate. I disapprove, however.

Today, I was reading his novel, Let It Come Down, set in Tangiers, Morocco, during the 1950s, when I was struck by a series of adverbs that jarred me from my reading. I quote from page 456 of a 2002 volume compiled by Daniel Halpern for the Library of America:

"Darling, please!" She struggled a little to free herself from his embrace. Since he still held her, she squirmed violently and managed to sit up, bathed in sweat, wine, and grease. The air of the room suddenly seemed bitter cold. She ran her hand tentatively over her stomach and drew it back, disgusted. Quickly she jumped out of bed, locked the door into the corridor, drew her peignoir around her, and disappeared into the bathroom without turning on any light.

The trouble is, each of the "-ly" words stand out like third thumbs. Imagine this paragraph without the irksome "-ly" adverbs. Would any meaning be lost? To my mind, the paragraph works better without them, like so:

"Darling, please!" She struggled a little to free herself from his embrace. Since he still held her, she squirmed and managed to sit up, bathed in sweat, wine, and grease. The air of the room seemed bitter cold. She ran her hand over her stomach and drew it back, disgusted. She jumped out of bed, locked the door into the corridor, drew her peignoir around her, and disappeared into the bathroom without turning on any light.

This revision sounds better, although I concede it needs further revision, not just a reduction of adverbs. Here's another passage that disturbs me:

The thought filled him with ineffable happiness. "Ah, God," he murmured aloud, not knowing that he did so.

First of all, ineffable is not a good word to ever use. If something is ineffable, it is because the writer has not taken pains to analyze and describe it. Second, it appears that Bowles adds a supplication to the deity as a clarification for readers who do not know the definition of "ineffable."

Another habit of Bowles that irks me are the frequent digressions into philosophy. Even when hot, sexy action is going on, a Bowles character is liable to escape into an inner world of intellectual contemplation. I receive the impression the writer is bored with his own characters, with the story itself, and prefers these excursions to the action in the story. Prompted by the writer himself, the reader is prone to concur and put the book down.

These are some of the reasons it has taken me weeks to plod through Let It Come Down. Every time it looks like I'm on the verge of finishing the book, Paul drops a bucket of adverbs on my head, ejecting me from Morocco and placing me back in writing class, where I was taught what not to do.