Font haiku

To mark the release of the film Helvetica ("a feature-length independent film about typography, graphic design and global visual culture"), Extensis ("professional font management") is sponsoring a font-related haiku contest. My entry:

In ink, on paper,

words, letters, echo, quarrel:

"Sans serif!" "Serif!"

Bailey Fountain

From a way down Flatbush Avenue it suggests that cloven flame which spoke with Dante in hell but by a nearer view, it is a man and a nude woman in bronze, and their plump child, eager for the Park, and it represents the beauty and stability of Brooklyn, and of human, family life. The man and wife stand back to back, in the classical posture of domestic sleep. It is a thoroughly vulgar and sincere piece of work, and once one gets beyond the esthete's sometimes myopic scorn, is the infallibly appropriate creation of the whole heart of Brooklyn. Michelangelo would have done much less well.

A description of Bailey Fountain, which stands in Brooklyn's Grand Army Plaza, near the entrance to Prospect Park, from an essay by James Agee, "Brooklyn Is: Southeast of the Island: Travel Notes," rejected by Fortune magazine in 1939 and published by Esquire in 1968. In 2005 the essay was published as a slender hardcover by Fordham University Press. I noticed and bought it in a bookstore a few days ago.

The photograph is by Paul Kostro and is used by permission:

Closeup of Bailey Fountain (Flickr)
More photographs by Paul Kostro (Flickr)

According to the NYC Department of Parks and Recreation, the male and female figures represent Wisdom and Felicity. Not a bad way to imagine a human partnership. For more on the history of Bailey Fountain:

Bailey Fountain (NYC Department of Parks and Recreation)

The National Philharmonic of Russia

The National Philharmonic of Russia is on its first United States tour, with piano soloist Olga Kern. If you live in or near a city where the NPR and Kern are performing, try to get tickets. You won't be disappointed -- if, that is, you can get tickets.

My wife Elaine and I heard the NPR and Kern last night at the University of Illinois' Krannert Center in an all-Russian program: Shostakovich's Festive Overture, Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto No. 2 in C minor, and Shostakovich's Symphony No. 5 in D minor. I went to be a good guy and pick up some Husband Points. But I soon figured out that I was listening to one of the most exciting, thrilling performances I'd ever heard.

Elaine's review of the concert (Musical Assumptions)

National Philharmornic of Russia Begins Debut U.S. Tour (Playbill)

Olga Kern plays Rachmaninoff (not with the NPR) (YouTube)

Jacqueline R. Griffith again

Jacqueline R. Griffith's dissertation abtract itself appears to be partly plagiarized.

Helen B. Mason (1995):

The implications are that institutional investors prefer firms that approve stock splits. These investors either encourage stock split behavior or have the ability to identify firms with stock split characteristics in the pre-split period or both.

Jacqueline R. Griffith (2001):

The implications are that institutional investors prefer firms that approve stock splits. These investors either encourage stock split behavior or have the ability to identify firms with stock split characteristics in the pre-split period or both.

Helen B. Mason (1995):

Results of regression, ANOVA, ANCOVA, and correlation analyses indicate a positive relationship between split behavior and level of institutional ownership.

Jacqueline R. Griffith (2001):

Results of ANOVA, regression, and correlation analysis indicate a positive relationship between institutional ownership and stock split behavior.

(Passages taken from Dissertation Abstracts Online.)

Plagiarism: all in the family

Father-daughter plagiarism accusations, in today's New York Times:

Jacqueline R. Griffith seemed to be flourishing as a tenured assistant professor in economics and finance at Kean University in New Jersey -- that is, until another member of her department accused her of having plagiarized sizable portions of her doctoral dissertation.

Déjà vu? Flash back to 1982, when her father, Claude Jonnard, a business school professor at Fairleigh Dickinson University, also in New Jersey, was accused of copying government documents in a book under his own name, without citing any of them.

My favorite sentence from this article:

Asked in a telephone interview whether she had copied her dissertation, Ms. Griffith said, "I don’t believe so," adding, "But let me call you back."

Don't overlook the article's sidebar, which compares passages from a 1995 dissertation by Helen B. Mason and Griffith's 2001 dissertation (or better, the 2001 dissertation that bears Griffith's name). The Times is careful to note that spelling and punctuation have not been changed:

The purpose of the research is to identify and explain the relationship between institutional investor ownership and firm stock splitting behavior. (Helen B. Mason, 1995)

The purpose of the research is to identify and explain the relationship between institutional investor ownership, firm stock splitting behavior and market price changes do to dividend increases. (Jacqueline R. Griffith, 2001)

In a Charge of Plagiarism, an Echo of a Father’s Case (New York Times)

If I were, if I was

[A note to the visiting reader: There's nothing idiosyncratic or unusual about making a distinction between "If I were" and "If I was." Countless speakers and writers make this distinction, and explanations of it can be found in numerous writing handbooks (the kind of book usually used in a college writing class). I've tried to make an explanation of the distinction that's engaging and memorable. Happy reading and writing.]

A reader asked in an e-mail if I could explain when to use "if I were" and "if I was." Here are some examples to make the difference clear:

"If I were" (the past subjunctive) is appropriate in stating conditions that are contrary to fact:

If I were a bell, I'd go ding dong ding dong ding. (Frank Loesser)

If I were a carpenter and you were a lady, would you marry me anyway? (Tim Hardin)

If I were a rich man, [yadda, yadda, yadda]. (Sheldon Harnick and Jerry Bock)

Each of the above sentences states a condition that is not the case: I'm not a bell, not a carpenter, not a rich man.

"If I was" (the past indicative) is appropriate in stating conditions that are not contrary to fact. Here you might say that the truth or falsity of the condition is not certain:

Was I rude? I'm not sure that I really was. But if I was rude, I'm sorry.

If I was to train as a carpenter, I would get to wear safety goggles.

The was/were distinction can be tricky to get right. In that last sample sentence, was somehow sounds wrong to me, and if I were doing something other than writing this post, I'd probably choose were or recast the sentence:

If I train as a carpenter, I will get to wear safety goggles.

Why did I write "if I were doing something other than writing this post"? Because the condition stated is contrary to fact: I am writing this post.

The most awful blurring of was/were probably occurs when people say "If I was you." "I," whoever I am, never was "you." Here's another song lyric, which I know from a Fats Waller recording, to help keep the was/were distinction clear:

If I were you, here's what I'd do:
I'd stick to me my whole life through,
If I were you. (Buddy Bernier and Robert D. Emmerich)

Update, July 17, 2011:

One sample sentence in this post has continued to bug me: “If I was to train as a carpenter, I would get to wear safety goggles.” Should the verb be was or were? Theodore M. Bernstein’s The Careful Writer: A Modern Guide to English Usage (1965) supports the indicative was in such sentences:

Difficulties do arise, however, from making the unwarranted assumption that if always introduces a condition that is contrary to fact and thus should always be followed by a subjunctive. If may introduce clauses of supposition or concession, as well as conditions that are not true or are hypothetical, and in such clauses the verb is usually in the indicative, not the subjunctive, mood.

A sample sentence from The Careful Writer: “The Egyptian declared that if there was more trouble the U.A.R. would ‘exterminate Israel.’”

More recently, the American Heritage Book of English Usage (1996) also supports was:

Remember, just because the modal verb would appears in the main clause, this doesn’t mean that the verb in the if-clause must be in the subjunctive if the content of that clause is not presupposed to be false: If I was (not were) to accept their offer — which I’m still considering — I would have to start the new job on May 2.

The American Heritage Guide to Contemporary Usage and Style (2005) makes the same point, with a different sample sentence. Both AH volumes point out that many people dispense with any distinction between if I was and if I were. If I were you though, I wouldn’t go along with them.

Still more recently, Bryan Garner’s Garner’s Modern American Usage (2009) recommends the use of the subjunctive in contexts that involve supposition. Garner’s sample sentence: “if I were to go, I wouldn’t be able to finish this project.” It seems to me that the use of the subjunctive here might erase the useful distinction between supposition and what’s contrary to fact: if I were to go seems to suggest that the speaker has already decided not to do so. (Think of a politician refusing to step down: If I were to resign, I’d be betraying, &c.) Another sentence or two might be needed to clarify things: If I were to go, I wouldn’t be able to finish this project. But I can always get Fred to do that for me. So I’ll go.

When it comes to supposition and the subjunctive, there is no single answer. If one is considering whether to train as a carpenter, the wise choice, as I have suggested above, might be a sentence that avoids any appearance of error by keeping clear of was and were:

If I train as a carpenter, I will get to wear safety goggles.

Reader, the choice is yours.

Other useful stuff
How to punctuate a sentence
How to punctuate more sentences

How to unstuff a sentence

Student-writers often believe that the secret of good writing is a reliance upon bigger and "better" words. Thus the haphazard thesaurus use that I wrote about last month. Another danger for student-writers involves the assumption that good writing is a matter of stuffy, ponderous sentences. Stuffy sentences might be explained by the need to make a required word-count, but I see such sentences even in writing assignments of only modest length. Most often, I think, these sentences originate in the mistaken idea that stuffiness is the mark of serious, mature writing.

A writer can begin to unstuff a sentence by looking closely at each of its elements and asking if it is needed. Here is an extreme example:

To begin, it is important to note that the theme of regret is an important theme in "The Road Not Taken," which was written by Robert Frost, and that evidence for it can be found throughout the entire poem.

"To begin": Like "to conclude," this phrase is an unnecessary, empty transition. If a point is coming early (or late) in an essay, trust that a reader can see that. Removing "To begin" involves no loss of meaning.

"It is important to note": Focusing on a point implies that the point is worth writing about, doesn't it? Removing these words too involves no loss of meaning. (As an undergraduate, I often wrote "It is interesting to note," until a professor drew a line through the words each time they appeared in an essay.)

"The theme of regret is an important theme": It's redundant to say that the theme is a theme. And is there any difference between "the theme of regret" and regret?

"'The Road Not Taken,' which was written by Robert Frost": Sentences with "which was written by" tend toward stuffiness. Here, the writer can refer to Robert Frost's "The Road Not Taken," a savings of four words.

"Evidence for it can be found": It's often smart to avoid the passive voice ("can be found"). But changing the verb form (to "the reader can find evidence") leaves a larger problem. If this theme is an important one in the poem, is it necessary to say that the poem contains evidence of it?

"Throughout the entire poem": There's no difference between "the entire poem" and "the poem," especially when the word "throughout" is already in play.

A writer might rethink this 39-word sentence in various ways:

Robert Frost's "The Road Not Taken" is, above all, about regret. Evidence that the speaker second-guesses his decision is abundant. (20 words)

A careful reading of Robert Frost's "The Road Not Taken" shows that regret runs through the poem. (17 words)

Robert Frost's "The Road Not Taken" is a poem about regret. (11 words)

Regret colors every line of Robert Frost's "The Road Not Taken." (11 words)

The point of unstuffing a sentence is not to simplify thought or eliminate nuances of meaning. The point is to express a thought, whatever its complexity, with clarity and concision — the real marks of good writing.

Related reading
All "How to improve writing" posts (via Pinboard)

Hello, Lifehack readers

If you've arrived via my post How to unstuff a sentence, you might be interested in reading some posts devoted to improving real-world sentences:

How to improve writing (previous posts from Orange Crate Art)

Abe's Shades

"Thanks for the picture, Dad. It's great! Do you mind if I put it on my blog?"

"Not at all."

"Should it have a title?"

"Abe's Shades."

My dad sent this portrait of a hipster Lincoln along with a letter this week.

[Pen and ink by James Leddy, 2007.]

More by James Leddy: Happy holidays, Boo!, Hardy mums

Apostrophes and corn

I sometimes like to write letters to companies whose products I use and admire. In August 2005, I wrote a letter to the Morris Reisman, president of Pro Sales Industries, manufacturer of some well-made, handy kitchen tools:

Dear Mr. Reisman:

I write as a happy user of your vegetable and corn brushes. It's a pleasure to use products such as yours, which work as advertised, are designed to last, and are made in the United States.

I have one small suggestion for improvement. The back of the corn brush package reads "That's when your corn is at it's peak of freshness." The word it's (meaning "it is") in that sentence should be its (possessive pronoun). The mistake is a small blemish on an otherwise great package. When the time comes to print a new batch, I hope that you can make this change.

In closing, I wish you continued success with your products.

Sincerely,

Michael Leddy

Yesterday a package arrived in the mail bearing a mysterious mark: RATTLE OK. Inside I found a letter of thanks from Morris Reisman and some sample products: a Rinse-No-More Mushroom Brush, a Scrub n' Wash Fruit & Vegetable Brush, a Silk Away Corn-on-the-Cob Brush, and a Nature's Way Banana Keeper. Cool!



And the text on the back of the Silk Away package has been revised:



Its, not it's: the best gift of all. Thanks, Mr. Reisman!

Apostrophes aside, these brushes really are wonderful -- the ones that I bought in August 2005 are still good as new.

[Morris Reisman died on November 17, 2009, at the age of seventy-six.]