Jay Ward created Hoppity Hooper, George of the Jungle and Rocky and Bullwinkle. Confused? If you didn’t know all these shows, you might think that “George of the Jungle and Rocky and Bullwinkle” somehow modify “Hoppity Hooper.” Or you might think that the three shows Jay Ward created were “Hoppity Hooper” and “George of the Jungle and Rocky” and “Bullwinkle.” All this confusion is due to the lack of the serial comma — the comma after the “and” in a series of items. Thus:

Yesterday on Salon, Mary Elizabeth Williams wrote about the uproar over the decision of the University of Oxford’s PR department to revise its style rules to eliminate serial commas. I’m not too upset about this, because for the last couple of decades the serial comma has fallen out of favor and many style guides have given up on it. This does not mean, however, that I agree with the decision.

From the standpoint of clarity, sometimes the serial comma is necessary and sometimes it is not. Therefore, given that it is sometimes necessary for clarity, always use it. I don’t see what is gained by destroying the serial comma, but I know why editors don’t like it. It is part of the general move to remove as much punctuation as possible. I like to use a lot of punctuation, but I fight the urge and end up using a half to a quarter of what I think is right. Really. What’s more, I don’t think the extra punctuation that I want to add would slow the reader. It would help. Punctuation helps define syntax. Those who would remove it think that sentences are clear without them. Sometimes they are — but rarely. Take that last sentence, for example: would it have meant the same thing if written, “Sometimes they are but rarely”? On first reading it, you would parse it incorrectly and then have to figure out what I meant. The way I wrote it, you get it right the first time without having to investigate the sentence like a literary Colombo.

My guiding philosophy is: make rules that make writing easier. This is why I think we should get rid of the word announce. With the serial comma, there are times when a writer must use it. Thus, why not use it all the time so you don’t have to think about whether it is required in a particular instance. Unfortunately, editors write style guidelines, not writers. This is why we Americans are stuck with totally unsupportable constructs like, “He spelled paper ‘papper.'” That period clearly does not belong to “papper.” The American quotation rules do make writing easier, but only at the expense of clarity and consistency. If we are going to do it with periods, we should do it with question marks and exclamation marks. This is a case where we shouldn’t make life easier on the writer. We should only do that when the change does not hurt the writing.

I guess the editors think they are eliminating clutter. But if they really want to remove clutter, why not get rid of all punctuation? Why not get rid of spaces? Who needs a “hot cup of tea” when the reader can figure out a “hotcupoftea”? “Really don’t you think as my friend Gerald Burns did before he died at age 59 that a hot cup of tea with or without sugar but surely with milk is better than coffee?” Perhaps not. “Really, don’t you think — as my friend Gerald Burns did, before he died at age 59 — that a hot cup of tea, with or without sugar — but surely with milk — is better than coffee?” I’m sure you can reverse engineer the first jumble of words, but you don’t have to in the second sentence because of all the directional signals (punctuation) controlling the flow of the jumble.

Oxford can do what it wants. I will continue to use the serial comma. I will continue to over-use the em-dash. The purpose of punctuation is to make the life of the reader easier. The abandonment of the serial comma does not do this. There is all down-side and no upside to this change. And the worst thing of all? This will kill Lynne Truss.[1]

[1] Actually, Truss is very liberal on this matter. She seems to think that she must justify the serial comma when she uses it. See, for example, Eats, Shoots & Leaves, pages 84-85. Lynne: I’m very disappointed with you.

A reader wrote to asked how Fowler compared to Strunk & White’s Elements of Style. I wrote back cavalierly saying that Fowler was fun—implying that S&W was not. That was unfair because I tend to find any grammar book fun. I am not the kind of man who hunts for grammatical errors in his everyday life. Nor do I think grammar is going to hell today. But grammar books are fun because they contain lots of examples of the language at its silliest and most brutal. The following is an example from S&W:

This is very funny in the context of grammatical analysis. But would any reader be confused and think that it was the eighteen men rather than the semen samples that were frozen? No. Is the rewrite of the sentence better? Perhaps. The only thing that may be preferable is that it cannot be scorned by pedants (and I welcome their scorn):

The Difference

The fundamental difference between the two books is that S&W is a how-to manual and Fowler is a reference. S&W is akin to Janis Bell’s excellent Clean, Well-Lighted Sentences. Either of these two will improve one’s writing. Fowler, not so much. The first edition of Fowler runs 742 pages, and is written in dictionary form. (No surprise there!) There is little indication in it of just what is important and what is not. However, when I run into a grammar problem, the first book I reach for is Fowler because it is the most likely to provide me with guidance—not answers, guidance. S&W provides answers to common questions.

A Question of Editions

There is a tendency for people to want the first editions of both these books. I think the idea is that the first editions are not polluted by all the subsequent changes in the language—as if English were perfect when these books were first written. I have shared in this kind of foolishness, but I have changed. Just as the language. For writing purposes, you should use the most recent editions. Those updating these books take great care with them and are loath to make changes. When they do so, they have cause. If you feel the need of such books (as I do—constantly) you know far less than they.

The Fiftieth Anniversary Edition of S&ampW contains what I consider the hopelessly archaic admonition against using “hopefully” to mean “it is hoped.” I’m sure (but I haven’t checked) that this entry is from the first edition. This is an example of how after 50 years, during which time the old “hopefully” has been drowned out by the new, editors still yield to the masters.

So why do I own the first edition of Fowler? Because I like his sense of humor, and read it for pleasure. I do not use it as a reference.

The Best Part

The part of S&W that is most worth reading is the introduction to “Chapter V: An Approach to Style.” If these four pages do not inspiring you, you are not a writer. Of the 21 reminders that follow: I find them all either obvious or dubious. They are nonetheless worth a read.

Good Writing

If I had but one book to depend upon for writing, I would pick neither of these. A good dictionary is far more important. I consult the dictionary many times each day. It answers the question I usually have: “Is this the word I really mean?” Fowler is worth having for reference. S&W is worth reading at least once. But all grammar books are useless unless the reader understands that they (try to) explain the language; they never define it. Good reading is the surest path to good writing. I’m working on it. We all are.

If I remember anything from the 2008 Presidential Campaign, it is Sarah Palin answering questions. She was easy to fear, but hard to hate. She always seemed to me like a small animal in the middle of the road not sure where to run to escape a fast-approaching car. Much later, when she spoke more coherently, I found that she was, in fact, easy to hate: she was filled with the same right-wing hate-mongering that we’ve come to expect from the once Grand Ol’ Party. I miss those early days. And I’ve coined a term to celebrate them.

Katie Couric

Palin’s most famous “answer,” of course, was her answer to Katie Couric’s question about what Supreme Court decisions she was against. Palin provided the following answer initially, “There’s of course in the great history of America there have been rulings that there’s never going to be absolute consensus by every American. And there are those issues again like Roe v. Wade where I believe are best held on a state level and addressed there so you know going through the history of America there would be others.”

Based upon this one interview, I conclude that Couric is a nice woman. She wasn’t trying to “get” Palin. After this answer, Couric follows up with, “Can you think of any?” She says this in the soft, encouraging voice of a good grammar school teacher. A smart, but ignorant person would say, “My mind’s gone blank with all the lights and pressure of the campaign; let me get back to you on that.” Palin says, “I would think of any again that could best be dealt with on a more local level maybe I would take issue with. But as a mayor and as a governor and even as a vice-president if I’m so privileged to serve. Wouldn’t be in a position of changing those things but supporting the law of the land as it reads today.”

There are some interesting things to note about this exchange. There’s the fact that Palin almost never uses the word “um.” I think this is because she doesn’t need to. When most people talk, they need to pause occasionally to collect thoughts. Palin doesn’t need this time because she is not collecting thoughts; she’s just spitting out words and phrases in the hope that it will make sense. It is the equivalent of a bimbo’s giggle or a redneck’s “ah, shucks!” And that’s just fine if all you want to do is hang out with the girls or throw back a few with the boys.

Also interesting is the fact that Palin correctly states that the VP doesn’t really have anything to do with the Supreme Court. When she first met with the McCain people, she asked what the VP did. So this phrase is probably something they had been pounding into her brain. And it came out at Katie Couric!

If you look at just her first sentence you will see what she has going on, “There’s of course in the great history of America there have been rulings that there’s never going to be absolute consensus by every American.” (Remind anyone of Mars Attacks!?) This would be somewhat coherent if the question had been, “What do you think of the conflict between majority rule and Constitutional protections?” However, even if that were the questions (and it wasn’t—not even close), it would still just be a jumble of words.

The Palindrone

This is why I have coined a term: Palindrone. Or, if you prefer: Palin-drone. As all nerds know, a palindrome is a word or phrase that reads the same forwards and backwards. A Palindrone, however, is a collection of words and phrases combined randomly and signifying nothing, which, if combined in any other order, would still signify nothing. It is pronounced just as you would the two words: Sarah’s last name and “drone.” The accent is on the first syllable.

You might think this is a fairly limited word, but it isn’t. It is very common in politics. Most politicians do not have Palin’s ability to keep a Palindrone going for several minutes, but they can easily do it for a sentence or a whole “paragraph.” If you doubt me about Palin’s ability, see the 2008 VP Debate.

Palin Is Everywhere

Shortly before the 2008 election, Las Vegas held a “Sarah Palin look-alike stripper contest.” Here is a picture of the event from the Daily Telegraph:

What is most interesting about this photo is that when I saw it, I thought it was Sarah Palin. The fact that I had no trouble believing that Palin would be dressed like that during her beauty-pageant days says more about me than it does her. But it does say a lot about her. It is sad, but those five women are probably more serious thinkers than Palin. They just don’t get booked on Faux News.

Update

Although I coined this term, I knew that many other must have thought of it before I did. The Urban Dictionary currently has 19 definitions of the word. They roughly fall into two categories: meaningless speech and Palin follower. Most of the meaningless speech definitions focus on the backward-forward aspect of the pun. This is fine, but it doesn’t make a lot of sense. There is no reason that one would parse a sentence backwards. This is a reason to start moving the words around because such sentences sound like they mean something. Almost all of the definitions are from right before the election two years ago. As usual, I’m right on top of things.

Earlier this evening, I sent out some email that contained the following sentence, “Paul Krugman wrote a column that I think is really insightful and enunciates a lot of the frustration that I feel about the Obama administration.” But before I did, I spent a half-hour fretting over whether to use the word “annunciate” rather than “enunciate.” Other people spend their evenings watching TV or visiting with friends. These options are not available to me, having neither TV nor friends close by. So I get enunciate and annunciate.

Normally, such a question would be easy to settle. A hare has hair and not the other way around. But the definitions of “enunciate” and “annunciate” are frustratingly similar. What’s more, reference to Fowler and other usage guides were, in this case, useless—I dare say because “annunciate” is effectively obsolete and literally archaic.

I will get to the differences between these words, but I would like to point out that the Internet—as I find increasingly—provided at best flawed and at worst simply wrong information on the subject. One Step Forward provides a nice overview of the two words—including the etymology of the words, only half of which I could corroborate, but provides a highly misleading definition of “enunciate.” Much worse, Mighty Red Pen rightly blasts a Huffington Post column about Perez Hilton for using “annunciating” where “enunciating” is required, only to provide a ridiculously limiting definition of the latter.

Everyone seems to understand that “annunciate” means “announce.” Thus, it is wrong to say that Perez Hilton over-annunciates. (Although it might be all right to say that Thomas Paine over-annunciated Common Sense. Maybe.) The problem is “enunciate.” Again, everyone seems to understand it as an intransitive verb: to utter articulate sounds. We run into trouble when we deal with it as a transitive verb: to make a definite or systematic statement of. This definition is, in most cases, identical to “annunciate.”

In addition to these problems, the two words have pronunciation issues. “Annunciate” is pronounced with a soft-E, “enunciate” hard. In my experience, “enunciate” is pronounced with a soft-I. This places it right in between the sounds of these two easily confused words.

I think we should jettison “annunciate.” It has many problems:

1. It is almost never used.
2. It means exactly the same thing as “announce.”
3. Its meaning is roughly the same as “enunciate” when used the same way.
4. Enunciate and it are too easily mixed up in spoken English.

Regardless of what the rest of the foolish world does, I plan never to use “annunciate” again.

I am in the middle of reading E. T. Bell’s Men of Mathematics. It was written in 1937, but frankly, it could have been written in 1887. The thinking and style are so Victorian. I’m sure I will have more to say about Bell’s thinking at a later time—for now, take my word he has a simplistic, highly romantic view of people and history. (In its way, it is charming.) Today, I would like to talk just a little about the writing style.

Here is an example of Bell’s style taken almost at random:

Or I could have quoted something from The Sun Also Rises—but that’s not nearly as fun.

The point of all this is that Bell was not a writer; he was a mathematician. Had he written fifty years later, Stein would doubtless have had an effect on him—even (or perhaps especially) if he had never read her. It takes such a long time for the cutting edge to become “less work around the house!” I know Bell understood that about math. I can’t say whether he understood that about writing. But it doesn’t matter; such knowledge would not have changed how he wrote.

I continue to wrestle with the contextualization of art—especially my art—even though I am getting better at not caring. If I were to create a beautiful table, there would be a shared context for that table: it’s a table. No one would question the rounded corners or intricately designed legs. No one would wonder why I created this specific table. Everyone would simply appreciate it for what it was to them—even if it was simply something to set things on. Art, on the other hand, is purely symbolic. A book is paper, glue, ink; but unless one understands the symbols represented inside it, it is roughly the same as a rock. Unfortunately, it is not enough just to understand the words as signifiers of things. One could easily read and understand every word in a book and gleem not a single idea from it. Thusly came my idea for a kind of theater that coddles the audience—that teaches it enough to enjoy what it is watching. People want to find meaning in art, but it stands alone—without context. This is why artists of all kinds need to produce a critical mass of work; it usually takes time for others to contextualize the work.

Consider this: Fifty years from now, Tom Stoppard will not be considered the great artist Samuel Beckett is today. This is not to say that Stoppard is not a great writer—I think he is; I am reading Rock’N’Roll right now—I don’t have time to read plays by hacks. But let’s look at Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead for a moment.It is basically Vladimir (as Guildenstern) and Estrgon (as Rosencrantz) from Waiting for Godot thrown into the middle of Hamlet. There is nothing new here. Admittedly, it is wonderfully creative and great fun; but it is just a variation (and a minor one at that) on Godot. In fact, I would say that Stoppard is ripping off Godot more than Beckett ever did after he wrote it. Endgame? Happy Day? These plays are in no way variations on the theme of Godot.

Under ordinary circumstances, Waiting for Godot would have been a flop; it would have taken years for it to be seen for its greatness. But it had two things going for it. First, Beckett was James Joyce‘s assistant and I think most people thought he was going to take up where Joyce left off. (Thankfully, he did not; I would love to discuss this, but it doesn’t matter and it is getting off track.) But he was already a respected writer and scholar when he wrote Godot. Second, there is something about the nature of the play—the stripping away of what was still (is still) largely Victorian theater that made the fact of meaning in the play obvious to even the most ossified audience. I specifically mean that the audience could not help but understand that there was meaning in the play—maybe important meaning; I am most certainly not saying that they knew what that meaning was.

Barring the part about getting to work with Joyce, I would prefer to have the life of Stoppard; but oh, how I wish I could create like Beckett!