Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Pullum on Strunk and White

[Welcome, Daring Fireball readers.]

[Note: There are links at the end of this post to four more posts on Pullum, Strunk, and White.]

"Fifty Years of Stupid Grammar Advice," Geoffrey K. Pullum's recent piece on William Strunk and E.B. White's The Elements of Style, is snarky and sensational enough to appeal to a reader suspicious of a dos-and-don't s approach to writing. How refreshing to be told — by a grammarian no less — that Strunk and White are "grammatical incompetents," "idiosyncratic bumblers," purveyors of "uninformed bossiness" and "misbegotten rules." Pullum's professional indignation shines in this slightly funny sentence: "Certainly White was a fine writer, but he was not qualified as a grammarian."

True enough. But Pullum's take on Strunk and White involves a significant degree of distortion and plain misreading. For example:

Pullum characterizes some of Strunk and White's recommendations as "vapid." Pullum's example: "Be clear." By itself, yes, vapid. In context, "Be clear" prefaces some common-sense advice about sentence revision:

When you become hopelessly mired in a sentence, it is best to start fresh; do not try to fight your way through against the terrible odds of syntax. Usually what is wrong is that the construction has become too involved at some point; the sentence needs to be broken apart and replaced by two or more shorter sentences.
Pullum labels "Do not explain too much" "tautologous." In context, this seemingly unhelpful recommendation appears more useful, as it's followed by advice to avoid adverbs after said when writing dialogue. "Let the conversation itself disclose the speaker's manner or condition," say Strunk and White. Again, reasonable and potentially useful advice.

Pullum says that "many" of Strunk and White's recommendations are "useless," citing "Omit needless words" as an example. On its own, this advice is no more helpful than telling a musician to avoid playing wrong notes. But "Omit needless words" doesn't appear on its own; it's accompanied by sixteen examples of how to improve cumbersome phrasing (e.g., "the fact that") and a demonstration of how six choppy sentences can be revised into one.

Even the recommendation "Do not inject opinion," which Pullum calls "truly silly," makes sense in context, as a reminder not to bring hobbyhorses and pet peeves into contexts where they're irrelevant:
If you have received a letter inviting you to speak at the dedication of a new cat hospital, and you hate cats, your reply, declining the invitation, does not necessarily have to cover the full range of your emotions. You must make it clear that you will not attend, but you do not have to let fly at cats.
Pullum's summing up — "Following the platitudinous style recommendations of Elements would make your writing better if you knew how to follow them" — seems to forget that The Elements of Style is, after all, a book, with examples and explanations to help the reader to put its recommendations into practice.

Pullum's greater ire concerns what he calls Strunk and White's "grammar stipulations," which have "degraded" "American students' grasp of English grammar." Strunk and White: menaces to society! I'm not convinced. I teach many students who have never been taught to look at their writing with any degree of care for clarity and concision. (Indeed, student-writers, encouraged by "vocab"-loving teachers and word-counts, often value the ponderous prose that Strunk and White disdain.) In college composition classes, Strunk and White's minimalism seems passé, replaced by what's called a "handbook," typically a hardcover book of 1,000+ pages. My evidence is anecdotal, but I have never had a student mention Strunk and White as a significant part of her or his writing education. The Elements of Style now seems far more popular outside the world of English instruction, particularly among tech types, whose work writing code would foster respect for clarity and concision.

And speaking of tech stuff, I'm so glad I switched to a Mac. But there I go, injecting opinion. Back to grammar.

Pullum devotes almost a quarter of his essay to Strunk and White's advice to "Use the active voice." After granting that Strunk and White acknowledge appropriate use of the passive voice, Pullum blames them for what others have made of their work:
Sadly, writing tutors tend to ignore this moderation, and simply red-circle everything that looks like a passive, just as Microsoft Word's grammar checker underlines every passive in wavy green to signal that you should try to get rid of it. That overinterpretation is part of the damage that Strunk and White have unintentionally done.
By this logic, the Tate-LaBianca murders are part of the damage that the Beatles did in creating the White Album. Pullum goes further:
What concerns me is that the bias against the passive is being retailed by a pair of authors so grammatically clueless that they don't know what is a passive construction and what isn't. Of the four pairs of examples offered to show readers what to avoid and how to correct it, a staggering three out of the four are mistaken diagnoses.
Pullum again ignores context: Strunk and White do not present these sentences as examples involving the passive voice. Here is the passage preceding these sentences in The Elements of Style:
The habitual use of the active voice, however, makes for forcible writing. This is true not only in narrative concerned principally with action but in writing of any kind. Many a tame sentence of description or exposition can be made lively and emphatic by substituting a transitive in the active voice for some such perfunctory expression as there is or could be heard.
The three examples that Pullum cites as mistakes all have sentences with forms of to be, all then revised with active verbs. Pullum here is misreading the plain sense of the text.

What Pullum says of The Elements of Style — "The treatment of the passive is not an isolated slip. It is typical" — might be said of "Fifty Years of Stupid Grammar Advice": Pullum's treatment of "Use the active voice" is not an isolated slip. It is typical. Pullum consistently decontextualizes Strunk and White's recommendations, turning them into commandments that offer no real guidance.

I'll leave most of Pullum's other points for you, reader, to consider. They involve a fair amount of harumphing and, as Matt Thomas points out, at least one missed joke. And citing "classic texts," as Pullum does, as guides to usage can be tricky. Oscar Wilde, Bram Stoker, and Lucy Maud Montgomery give us one picture of the language. Laurence Sterne and James Joyce would give us another.

In a comment on an earlier post about Strunk and White and a sentence from the New York Times, I wrote that "I've long thought that many of Strunk and White's precepts ('Omit needless words') are less than helpful to a developing writer." Looking back at The Elements of Style, which I hadn't read in years, has made me rethink that comment.

More:

Last week on NPR's Talk of the Nation, Geoffrey Pullum claimed that Strunk and White prohibit the use of adjectives or adverbs. Host Neal Conan let the claim go unquestioned. I've written about it here: Hardly (adverb) convincing (adjective).

A sampling of other comentary: More on Pullum, Strunk, White.

On Strunk and White's mistakes: Strunk and White and wit.

A final word on Strunk and White: The Elements of Style, one more time.

Monday, April 13, 2009

Hard-boiled Proust

Vivian Sternwood Rutledge (Lauren Bacall) has been waiting for Philip Marlowe (Humphrey Bogart) in the reception room outside his office:

Marlowe: Good morning.

Mrs. Rutledge: So you do get up. I was beginning to think perhaps you worked in bed, like Marcel Proust.

Marlowe: Who's he?

Mrs. Rutledge: You wouldn't know him. A French writer.

Marlowe: Come into my boudoir.

From The Big Sleep (dir. Howard Hawks,1946)
This exchange (in a screenplay by William Faulkner, Leigh Brackett, and Jules Furthman) is drawn from Chapter Eleven of Raymond Chandler's 1939 novel, in which Mrs. Rutledge adds that Proust is "a connoisseur in degenerates" and Marlowe prefaces his invitation with a "Tut, tut."

Related reading
All Proust posts (via Pinboard)

Saturday, April 11, 2009

Strunk and White and Seidel

After reading a long, unsparing piece on The Elements of Style this morning, I found myself hung up on a sentence in a long, reverent New York Times profile of the poet Frederick Seidel. The context for this sentence: whether poems ought to include references to expensive hotels and restaurants and rare motorcycles:

The poetic propriety of such inclusions has, by a certain kind of commentator, been questioned.
That's the sort of sentence to which Strunk and White's (overly simple) rules apply: "Use the active voice." "Keep related words together." Possible revisions:
Some critics think poems should not refer to such things.

Some critics think such things have no place in poetry.
Or if you want the alliteration (which to my ear sounds stilted):
Some critics have questioned the poetic propriety of such references.
I'm not sure what the fuss is about: poetry long ago made room for Achilles' shield, an object far grander than any motorcycle. The question is not whether motorcycles belong in a poem but whether the poem is good.

And if you're wondering: I'm no fan of Seidel's work, which I find, well, boring. (It's funny how quickly shocking turns boring.) Some years ago I turned down an invitation to review Seidel's My Tokyo (1993). I wish I had a copy of the letter I sent back, which quoted a few choice bits of the poems.

[This post is no. 24 in a very occasional series, "How to improve writing," dedicated to improving stray bits of public prose.]

Two posts on The Elements of Style
Hardly [adverb] convincing [adjective]
Pullum on Strunk and White

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

Friday, April 10, 2009

Overheard

A manly man speaking:

"It's like 'I'm a full-blown human, and you're an eighteen-year-old girl. What do you know?'"
(Thanks, Rachel and Ben!)

Related reading
All "Overheard" posts

Thursday, April 9, 2009

Inspector Bucket



[From "Dickens Gallery," a cigarette card series packaged with Cope's Cigarettes, n. d.]

Inspector Bucket speaks the above words in Chapter 24 of Bleak House (1853). Bucket has no first name and a wife whom we never see. These details and his genial, deceptively casual manner make him the precursor of another great detective, Lieutenant Columbo of the LAPD.

Dickens Gallery (New York Public Library Digital Gallery)

Today's Hi and Lois

Postcards from a field trip? Not plausible, though it sounds like a good poem title. Also not plausible in today's Hi and Lois is the way the background colors switch places. Really. No joke.

And that hedge — it's coming closer! Quick! Run!

Related reading
All Hi and Lois posts

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

"Iceburg Lettuce"

Does this name signal genetically modified food? Rich meaty taste? Nah. It's just a misspelling that, like hamburger-flavored lettuce, one doesn't expect to find in the grocery store.

[Seen at a friendly neighborhood Wal-Mart. Hyphen between genetically and modified removed in August 2020. Thanks, Lu.]

A related post
Debri

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

Two useful bookmarklets

What is a bookmarklet, exactly? It's "an applet, a small computer application, stored as the URL of a bookmark in a web browser or as a hyperlink on a web page." Thanks, Wikipedia. Here are two useful bookmarklets:

quietube removes the clutter from web videos.

Readability removes clutter from web pages. Also good for making clean PDFs or print versions of online materials. Readability seems to work best with pages displaying a single article or post.

These bookmarklets seem to me especially helpful in classroom settings, where one might want to look at a news item or film clip without the distractions of ads or viewer comments.

If you dislike displaying a bookmarks toolbar in your browser, you can save these bookmarklets as plain bookmarks. Call them up quickly when you're browsing by assigning keywords — for instance, qtube, read.

(found via Daring Fireball and 43 Folders Clips)

Monday, April 6, 2009

Dennison's Gummed Labels No. 27


What is the end
to insects
that suck gummed
labels?

William Carlos Williams, from XII (later titled "Composition"), Spring and All (1923)
The glue on the above labels is untouched by insects, untouched by human tongues. These labels are from a box of forty-five Dennison's Gummed Labels No. 27. I like the clear design, the white bands (shades of Pall Mall Famous Cigarettes), and the lower-case th. I wish I knew the typeface. I found these labels some years ago in a now-defunct stationery store.

[This post is the fourth in an occasional series, "From the Museum of Supplies." The museum is imaginary. The supplies are real. Supplies is my word, and has become my family's word, for all manner of stationery items.]

Also from the Museum of Supplies
Mongol No. 2 3/8
Real Thin Leads
Rite-Rite Long Leads

Saturday, April 4, 2009

"[S]ought for smell for dust for lace"

T's comment about the smell of books made me remember this poem by Gregory Corso:



Corso, like Percy Bysshe Shelley, is a poet of exclamatory, lofty energy. As you might already know, Corso's ashes are buried next to Shelley's in the Cimitero acattolico di Roma, the Non-Catholic Cemetery in Rome.

If you're wondering what a "cypressean skein" is, I am too. Corso's poem "Bomb" mentions "cypressean torches." But a skein? Corso, like Malcolm X, was a dictionary reader in prison.

I do know that I love the adjective steep (high, lofty) modifying book. O book!

A related post
Gregory Corso and words