The HeartRescue Project

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DFW blues howler

David Foster Wallace’s writing on language and mathematics comes with many mistakes of fact. But the following statement has gone, to my knowledge, unremarked:

Early Blues history reports Chess Records’ legendary Chess brothers shlepping out into Mississippi cotton fields to recruit promising artists on their lunch breaks.

Mark Costello and David Foster Wallace, Signifying Rappers: Rap and Race in the Urban Present (Hopewell, NJ: Ecco, 1990).

Sheer nonsense. Leonard and Phil Chess were Chicago-based. The post-war musicians they recorded are not a matter of “early Blues history,” whatever that may be. And no writer on blues ever described the brothers Chess recruiting musicians in Mississippi.

My best guess to explain this howler: In 1941 and 1942 Alan Lomax recorded Muddy Waters in Mississippi for the Library of Congress. The recordings were released on the Chess label in 1966 as the album Down on Stovall’s Plantation. And years later, a writer with a cursory knowledge of his subject attributed the recordings to the brothers Chess.

[Why assign an error in a co-authored book to Wallace? The sentence I’ve quoted is from one of the “D.” sections of the book.]

Review: The Story of Ain’t

David Skinner. The Story of Ain’t: America, Its Language, and the Most Controversial Dictionary Ever Published. New York: Harper/HarperCollins, 2012. xiv + 349 pages. $26.99.

The Story of Ain’t examines what David Skinner says might be “the single greatest language controversy in American history,” the 1961 publication of Webster’s Third New International Dictionary, the sequel to the 1934 second-edition Webster’s New International (hereafter, W3 and W2). The controversy surrounding W3 — a controversy muddied by distortions, inaccuracies, misunderstandings, and faulty public relations — developed as American English seemed to some to be sliding toward the slipshod and vulgar. It was the time of indignation about like a cigarette should and about newfangled verbs ending in -ize, a time of polarization between descriptivists studying English as she is spoke and prescriptivists intent on enforcing correct (or allegedly correct) usage.¹ (That antagonism also provides a context for understanding the significance of the 1959 publication of The Elements of Style.) According to critics of W3, its editor Philip Gove abandoned the duty of prescriptivist authority, the authority of “the Dictionary,” as W2 called itself, the single-volume reference with the answers to all questions. The new dictionary’s critics must have thought of W2 as a secular Bible: the inerrant word of the G. & C. Merriam Company, descendants of another Noah, last name Webster. In that dreadful television series My Three Sons (a Biblical title, that), an unabridged dictionary sits open on a small table in the living room. It must be a W2, don’t you think?

The trouble for W3 began with an ill-conceived press release, which gave the impression that the new dictionary sanctioned the use of ain’t. The truth was more complicated. But outrage ensued, and for other reasons too. W3 was a work of pure lexicography, abandoning its predecessor’s “encyclopedic matter” — lists of signficant persons and fictional characters, historical timelines, a pronouncing gazetteer, everything that made the dictionary a household reference work. Perhaps more alarmingly, the dictionary abandoned the usage label colloquial and provided citations with a modern American flavor (think Ethel Merman and Mickey Spillane, not Alexander Pope and Alfred Lord Tennyson). For Jacques Barzun, Wilson Follett, Dwight Macdonald, the editors of Life and the New York Times, and, more recently, David Foster Wallace, W3 became the dictionary of anything-goes, all usage as good usage. Critics of W3 seem to have thought that including a word in a dictionary is a tacit endorsement of that word and not a matter of mapping a language. Imagine a cartographer leaving out houses and neighborhoods because respectable folk would never venture there.

The Story of Ain’t is a fine complement to Herbert Morton’s The Story of “Webster’s Third” (1994). Morton focuses more closely on Philip Gove’s life and work, the people of G. & C. Merriam, the details of the W3 debate, and the dictionary’s later life. Skinner does more to place W3 in relation to developments shaping American English: genteelism and growing resistance to it; increased access to education, secondary and higher; the celebration of American vernaculars in the work of Zora Neale Hurston, John Steinbeck, and other writers; growing contempt among a cutural elite toward “masscult” and “midcult” (Macdonald’s terms); and the principle (from linguistics) that correct usage has no innate superiority but is simply the usage of those in positions of power. Skinner’s manner of telling his story reminds me of Dickens’s Bleak House: characters are introduced one by one in short chapters, and the connections among those characters are sometimes difficult to see. With Bleak House , the element of mystery makes such a strategy engaging: we don’t know where things are headed, so we agree to follow along.² But with The Story of Ain’t we know where things are headed — toward 1961, and it takes a long time to get there, during which the narrative’s many sidetrips and bits of local color can sometimes feel like mere delays. Skinner’s account of Eleanor Roosevelt touring a B-17 is charming and funny, yes. But still. And when we get to 1961, it becomes difficult to figure out whether Skinner stands with W3 or with its critics. It’s not enough to seem amused by it all.

Still: for anyone who cares about American English and dictionaries, The Story of Ain’t will be required and rewarding reading, not least because it points the reader again and again to amusing, odd, revealing details of W3. (One example: the dictionary’s definition of hotel, which reads like a sample of postmodern prose.) The Story of Ain’t is best read with a copy of Philip Gove’s dictionary close by.


[The W3 entry for ain’t.]

Thanks to the publisher for a review copy of the book.

¹ Pedro Carolino’s English As She Is Spoke (1883) is a hilariously incoherent Portuguese–English guide to conversation. I have borrowed its title to suggest imperfections of all sorts in language use.

² Hey, it’s Dickens.

Margie King Barab and Marlene Dietrich

“She was instantly recognizable, of course, even in her incognito nurse’s get–up.” Our friend Margie King Barab is now online, and today she tells the story of how she came to meet Marlene Dietrich. Go read all about it.

Doris Day amid objects

[Click for a larger view.]

Behold Doris Day in a scene from The Glass Bottom Boat (dir. Frank Tashlin, 1966), in the company of two pillars, four lamps, and one slightly bent telescope. And for good measure, there are half a dozen tall candles on the patio table, now out of view. Elaine and I watched this film last night (it was a new arrival at the library) and turned to each other several times in, well, stark incredulity. Stark, I say. People bumping, pressing, vibrating against each other; hoses and seltzer bottles spraying through the air; a messy banana cream cake; a robot vacuum cleaner with a long, predatory hose: the wink-wink moments and double-entendre props must have seemed racy (to someone) in 1966, but now they look clumsy and juvenile. Which is not to say that The Glass Bottom Boat isn’t worth watching: it’s a nice adventure in cultural studies and sort of, sometimes, funny. With Arthur Godfrey, Dom DeLuise, Paul Lynde (in cop drag and drag drag), Dick Martin, Alice Pearce (Lucy Schmeeler in On the Town), and many more. Collect them all.

Related posts
Diane Arbus meets the Platters (from another Tashlin effort)
“Doris Day parking”

November 11, 1922

[From a letter by Percy S. Bullen, Honorary Secretary of the League of Remembrance. Published as “Two Minutes’ Silence: Plans for the World-Wide Celebration of Armistice Day.” New York Times, November 9, 1922. ]

Two minutes of silence: at the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month.

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November 11, 1918
November 11, 1919
November 11, 1920
November 11, 1921

Recently updated

To the next! A new development in the never-ending battle against spam comments.

WHAT?

[Mark Trail, November 6, 2012. Click for a larger view.]

I lost track of Mark Trail this week, but little has changed from last week: Mark is still being held for ransom. His friend and editor has been told to bring back two million dollars in small bills. I wondered: how will Bill get those bills? By asking other comic strips for donations? Today’s strip brings the answer: the magazine’s insurance policy will cover it. But Bill will have to cash the check to make good on the ransom. Tens and twenties, please. Nothing larger.

Note to Mark and the cartoon syndicate: There is no “good way” to tell your wife that you’ve been kidnapped.

Related reading
All Mark Trail posts

Sharked up

A friend recounted the story of a carelessly assembled bibliography he recently had the pleasure of reading. One of the works listed was a United States government publication. The entry began:

White, H.

See what happened there? The technical term to describe this sort of quick and undiscriminating effort: sharked up .

Domestic comedy

“It’s a Braeburn apple — that’s the brand.”

“No, that’s the model.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

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All domestic comedy posts (Pinboard)