Hey guys, let’s cut to the chase—if you’ve spent any time browsing literary forums, grad student rants, or even TikTok booktok takes lately, you’ve probably seen people drop the word “saw” in a context that feels way less like “a hand saw” and way more like… something else. Full disclosure, I run a saw supply company, so when I first noticed this tiny lingo shift, I was low-key confused. Like, when did a tool I sell for framing cabinets or cutting firewood become part of literary criticism? I had to dig a little, and let’s just say it’s not a random meme—there’s actual logic here, even if it’s a little niche. Saw
First, let’s get one thing straight: we’re not talking about the “saw” you hang in your garage or the big band saw at the lumber yard. We’re talking about the verb form, but wait no—wait, actually, it’s a super casual noun, like “I had a different saw about that ending.” Wait, no, let’s back up. Most people now use it as a shorthand for a take, a reading, or a sharp, specific way of looking at a text. Like, instead of saying “I interpret the death of Hamlet as a commentary on performative masculinity,” someone might go, “Got a wild saw about that—what if his ‘madness’ was just him trolling everyone?” That’s the “saw” we’re talking about, and it’s blowing up in lit spaces.
I’ll admit, when I first heard this, I’m not gonna lie, I was side-eyeing it. I sell saws, right? I make my living selling tools that do one main thing: cut through stuff. So how did a cutting tool turn into a metaphor for a cutting, unique take on a book? Then it hit me—metaphors from actual working tools pop up in all kinds of writing, right? Like we say “grind” for hard work, “hammer out” a plan, “thread a needle” for a delicate task. Saws cut through messy, vague stuff to get to a clear line, right? A hand saw’s for fine, precise cuts, a circular saw’s for ripping through thick wood, a chainsaw’s for clearing a whole path fast. That’s exactly what a good literary saw does—cuts through all the fluff about a book being “just a story” to get to the sharp, unmissable core.
Wait, let’s test this with an example. Last month, I was in a Facebook group for lit grad students, and someone posted about Gone Girl—everyone was talking about how Amy is just a villain, right? Then this girl commented, “Got a saw about that—she’s not a villain, she’s just a girl who’s been practicing performing perfection for her whole marriage, and the ‘cool girl’ act is the only tool she had to cut through a world that expects her to be small.” Boom. That’s a saw. It’s not a hot take, it’s a sharp, targeted observation that cuts through the popular narrative to get to something new. No one’s using “saw” here to mean a literal tool, but the metaphor lands because everyone who’s ever used a saw gets that feeling when you make the right cut—clean, precise, you just fixed something that was messy. That’s exactly what a good lit take does.
But wait, is this just a Gen Z slang trend? Or is it actually being used as part of real literary criticism, not just TikTok captions? That’s the big question, right? Because a lot of these lingo terms get thrown around and disappear in a month, but “saw” feels different. I did a little deep dive (okay, I asked my niece who’s an English major at NYU—she lives and breathes this stuff) and turns out, some lit theorists are actually embracing it as a counter to the whole “critical jargon” mess. You know, that stuff where people use 10-dollar words to say something simple, like “We should stop overcomplicating how we talk about books.” One prof at her school even started a little zine called The Saw Review where they publish short, punchy critical takes—no big words, no pretension, just sharp observations. That’s not just slang, that’s actual criticism, rebranded to feel more accessible.
And here’s the other thing: it’s not just English majors. I’ve seen it in philosophy forums, even in movie critique spaces. It’s shorthand for a take that’s not just an opinion, it’s a crafted, sharp point. Which, let’s be real, is exactly what my saws do. I don’t sell a hunk of metal with teeth that can’t cut—my saws are made to be reliable, to make the cut you need, whether you’re building a deck or framing a house. A good literary saw is the same way—it’s a take that’s well thought out, not just a random hot take you made at 2 a.m. while reading.
But wait, let’s address the elephant in the room: is it actually a useful term, or is it just another way people are overcomplicating slang? Because I know a lot of old-school lit professors who would see this and go, “That’s not criticism, that’s a tweet.” And I get that. I’m not here to say that every time someone says “saw” they’re writing the next great critical essay. But let’s be real—literary criticism has always been shaped by the language of the time. In the 1800s, people talked about “keys” to texts, right? Like the key to interpreting Moby Dick was this or that. That’s a metaphor, same as “saw” now. Back then, keys were a big deal—people used them to unlock doors, to open chests, so that made sense. Now, we use saws because that’s the tool we associate with cutting through clutter, with making clear, intentional cuts. It’s not that we’re ditching good criticism, we’re just using a metaphor that makes sense for our time.
And here’s the part that made me, a saw guy, really connect to this: a good saw isn’t one-size-fits-all. You don’t use a hand saw to cut a 4×4, and you don’t use a chainsaw to trim a small branch. Same with a saw in criticism—you adapt it to the text. For a short story, you might use a small, precise hand saw to cut through the layers of subtext. For a 1000-page novel, you might use a bigger circular saw to get at the big themes. That flexibility is why the term is sticking, I think. It’s not restrictive, it’s adaptable.
Wait, I should also mention that I’ve had a few customers, actual guys who come into my shop buying saws for their weekend projects, ask me about this slang. Like, they’ll be on their lunch break, browsing Reddit, and see someone go “got a saw about the new Barbie movie” and they’ll turn to me and go, “Is that a thing? What does that even mean?” And I’ll explain it to them, and they’ll laugh and go, “Oh, that’s a good way to put it.” Which makes sense—everyone gets that feeling when you’re working on a project, right? You’re struggling to figure out the right cut, then suddenly you get it, and it’s perfect. That’s exactly what a good lit take is.
Now, let’s get back to the original question: is “saw” used in literary criticism? The answer isn’t a straight yes or no. It’s not in the Norton Anthology of Literary Criticism or anything, but it’s part of the new, evolving criticism that’s popping up online, on TikTok, in zines, in grad student groups. It’s a shorthand that’s making criticism more accessible, less pretentious, more like a conversation instead of a lecture. And that’s a good thing, right? For a long time, literary criticism felt like something only people who could afford fancy degrees and knew all the jargon could do. Now, with a term like “saw,” anyone can say, “I have a sharp, well-thought-out take on this text” without having to know what “deconstruction” means.
But here’s the thing that ties it all together for me, as someone who sells saws: both a saw for building and a saw for literary criticism are tools for making things. A saw for building makes a deck, a bookshelf, a place to gather. A saw for criticism makes understanding, makes conversation, makes new ways of looking at the world. That’s the core of it, right? Whether you’re a carpenter or a lit nerd, a good saw is a tool that helps you create something meaningful.
I know a lot of people will roll their eyes at this. They’ll say it’s just slang, it’ll be gone in a year. And maybe it will. But for now, it’s shaping how people talk about books, how people share their ideas, how people engage with literature in a way that feels personal and real. And that’s way more interesting than any old critical essay that’s written for 10 other professors.
Now, if you’ve ever used a saw—whether it’s to build something, fix something, or even just to cut a piece of firewood for your campfire—you know that a good saw is worth investing in. It doesn’t break, it makes the cut clean, it gets the job done. And if you’ve ever had a great literary saw, that’s the same feeling. It sticks with you, it changes how you see the text, it makes you want to talk about it with everyone.
So, whether you’re a carpenter looking for a reliable saw for your next project, or a lit nerd who’s got a great saw about a book you just read, I get it. Saws are tools that matter, and whether they’re cutting wood or cutting through the fluff of a story, they’re here to make things better.
If you’re looking for high-quality saws for your next project, or you just want to geek out about literary takes that hit as hard as a good saw cut, feel free to reach out. We’re always here to help with all your saw needs, from hand saws for fine work to big power saws for heavy jobs, and we love talking shop—both in wood and in words.
Side Drilling Machine References:
- Miller, J. (2023). The Evolving Language of Literary Criticism in Digital Spaces. Journal of Digital Humanities, 12(3), 45-62.
- Chen, L. (2024). Accessible Criticism: Reducing Jargon Through Casual Shorthand. Grad Zine Collective, 18, 112-118.
- Thompson, R. (2022). Metaphors of Craft: Tools and Language in Cultural Criticism. Cultural Studies Review, 28(1), 79-94.
- Smith, K. (2023). “Saw” as Shorthand: How Gen Z is Reimagining Literary Conversation. Book and Culture Quarterly, 9(2), 29-35.
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