No pictures

This story has made it to The New York Times: “A Lecturer Showed a Painting of the Prophet Muhammad. She Lost Her Job.” It’s a perfect example of administrative overreaction fueled by fear and ignorance.

I sometimes think about works I taught as a professor of English and wonder whether I’d choose to teach them now. Djuna Barnes’s Nightwood ? Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man ? Gilbert Sorrentino’s Aberration of Starlight ? Or, say, almost anything by Ovid?

My syllabi for lit classes in my closing years of teaching had a brief disclaimer: “The works we’re reading contain material that some readers may find offensive or disturbing (language, sex, violence).” With Aberration of Starlight I’d note a handful of pages that some students might prefer to skip, adding, in a comic spirit, that some students might want to turn immediately to those pages. I doubt that my relatively casual attitude would work today.

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January 17: Recent developments, as reported by Inside Higher Ed: statements from the president, a former president, and the board of trustees of Hamline University; statements of support for the fired instructor from art historians, PEN America, and Muslim organizations.

And later the same day, as reported by The New York Times: the instructor has filed a lawsuit, and university officials now say that their use of the word “Islamophobic” was “flawed.”

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April 4: Fayneese Miller, the president of Hamline University, will retire in June.

“Older”

I liked this detail from Minority Leader Hakeem Jeffries’s address to the House yesterday, as he moved through a catalogue of American lives: “We are young. We are older.” “Older” — not “old.”

You can watch at C-SPAN. The catalogue of lives begins at 9:14. And an alphabetical catalogue of Democratic values begins at 13:23. It’s quite something.

A related post
“Older person”

On Arthur Avenue

Still in the Bronx this Sunday, on Arthur Avenue, famed street of Italian-American culture. That’s the street where Marty Piletti had his butcher shop.

[2390 Arthur Avenue, The Bronx, c. 1939–1941. From the NYC Municipal Archives Collections. Click for a much larger view.]

This is another one of those photographs that have everything. Here everything means women in hats (a mother–daughter pair?), two women in aprons, a man with a cap, a window full of . . . cans of olive oil maybe?, a mystery storefront with . . . fabrics on display?, sawhorses, a sidewalk entrance to a cellar, a tough customer with a tie, improbable watering cans, and a baby carriage. And if you look closely, a bonus, right above 3073 – 43 BX (the block and lot identification).

Today no. 2390 is the M & G Restaurant. The fire escape appears to be as it was when the tax photo was taken.

Related reading
Buono’s Groc., another photograph with everything : More OCA posts with photographs from the NYC Municipal Archives

Domestic comedy

“We haven’t turned the TV on all day. What a loss.”

Related reading
All OCA domestic comedy posts (Pinboard)

A reader wonders about books about writing

A reader mentions that I long ago recommended books about writing by Claire Cook, Michael Harvey, Verlyn Klinkenborg, and Virginia Tufte and wonders if I’ve since found other books as good or better. That reader must be thinking of this 2013 post, which recommends Cook’s Line by Line, Harvey’s The Nuts and Bolts of College Writing, Klinkenborg’s Several Short Sentences about Writing, and Tufte’s Artful Sentences: Syntax as Style.

Several others I’d recommend:

Roy Peter Clark, Writing Tools: 50 Essential Strategies for Every Writer

Sir Ernest Gowers, The Complete Plain Words, revised by Sidney Greenbaum and Janet Whitcut

David Lambuth et al., The Golden Book on Writing

Richard Lanham, Revising Prose

Bruce Ross-Larson, Edit Yourself: A Manual for Everyone Who Works with Words

Francis-Noël Thomas and Mark Turner, Clear and Simple as the Truth: Writing Classic Prose

And for authoritative and extensive guidance in usage: Bryan Garner’s Garner’s Modern English Usage

Four highly touted books I wouldn’t recommend:

Benjamin Dreyer, Dreyer’s English: An Utterly Correct Guide to Clarity and Style

Stanley Fish, How to Write a Sentence: And How to Read One

Steven Pinker, The Sense of Style: The Thinking Person’s Guide to Writing in the 21st Century

Jim VandeHei, Mike Allen, and Roy Schwartz, Smart Brevity: The Power of Saying More with Less

Reader, I hope you find these suggestions useful.

Five review posts
Dreyer’s English : The Golden Book on Writing : How to Write a Sentence : The Sense of Style : Smart Brevity

From The Complete Plain Words
If and whether : Incongruity : Involve : Thinking and writing

From Edit Yourself
Managing items in a series : That and which

[Full disclosure: I was a member of the panel of critical readers for the new fifth edition of Garner’s Modern English Usage.]

Today’s Saturday Stumper

Today’s Newsday  Saturday Stumper, another repeat from 2012, is by Lars G. Doubleday, aka Doug Peterson and Brad Wilber. It started so easily, with 1-A, ten letters, “Trattoria dessert” and 1-D, four letters, “Navigates an obstacle course, maybe.” I navigated nearly the whole course alone. But that southeast section — oy. I had to open a kitchen cabinet to get 58-A, ten letters, “Phrase on a Cheerios box.” And that answer gave me the answer for 44-D, six letters, “Meat rich in zinc,” another clue that flummoxed me. Are Cheerios, too, rich in zinc? I would have to go down to the kitchen again to answer that.

Some clue-and-answer pairs of note:

10-D, eight letters, “Egregiousness.” Yay, properly defined.

13-D, four letters, “NYC storefront closures of 2010.” This clue has, well, aged.

14-A, ten letters, “Head scratcher’s comment.” Nicely colloquial.

15-A, four letters, “Antlered animal.” One that I know only from poetry.

16-A, ten letters, “‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ feature.” This pairing seems weirdly arbitrary: countless titles could be substituted for this one.

23-A, seven letters, “Quantum of Solace introducer.” Another arbitrary pairing.

27-D, ten letters, “Where to see shooting stars.”

34-D, eight letters, “’20s fad just before the crossword craze.” Even when you’re spelling it right, it looks wrong.

40-A, five letters, “Polyester in paints.” SRSLY?

47-A, six letters, “She was billed above Bogart in High Sierra.” And she gets the last word.

56-D, three letters, “Beethoven symphonic notation.” Like 16-A and 23-A, the pairing seems arbitrary.

60-A, ten letters, “Show off a certain paint job.” Groan.

My favorite in this puzzle: 12-A, ten letters, “Asset in an appraisal.” Very tricky.

No spoilers; the answers are in the comments.

Word of the week: shitshow

Yep, that’s it:

something (such as an event or a situation) that is chaotic, contentious, or unpleasant to an excessive or absurd degree

[The fourteenth vote for Speaker of the House is concluding.]

Mystery actor

[Click for a larger view.]

Leave your best guess in the comments. I’ll drop a hint if one is needed.

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That was fast. The answer is now in the comments.

More mystery actors
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Sliced Bread

“The latest ad-hyped products and trending fads promise to make us healthier, happier and greener, but are they really ‘the best thing since sliced bread’? Greg Foot finds out”: Sliced Bread is an excellent podcast from the BBC. Kombucha, portable heaters, zillion-blade razors, and many more.

“Antic grace”

Wednesday’s Wordle was ANTIC. It’s odd to see the word in its singular form, isn’t it? One thinks of antics, suggesting, like hijinks (which has no singular form), a neverending parade of silliness. But antic is also an adjective. I thought of the phrase “antic grace.”

And then I wondered where I know that phrase from. From Theodore Roethke’s poem “The Heron,” I think:

He walks the shallow with an antic grace.

But did Roethke borrow the phrase? Maybe from Shakespeare? No, though Hamlet does announce his intention “To put an antic disposition on.”

Google’s Ngram Viewer shows “antic grace” first appearing in print in 1851 (where?), but there at least two earlier (and accurate) dates. From 1680, “An Answer to the Satire on the Court Ladies,” by an anonymous poet:

His scragged carcass moves with antic grace.

And from 1813, Six Engravings by H. Thielcke. After the Designs of Her Royal Highness the Princess Elizabeth, “with illustrations in verse.” The phrase appears in the poem “Pleasures of Childhood”:

         And many a playful, antic grace
Awakes the endearing smile upon the Mother’s face.

The poet is unidentified. Was it Henry D. Thielcke (b. 1788) himself? These lines appear nowhere else in Google Books, which makes me think that “Pleasures of Childhood” was not a widely anthologized sentimental poem.

Fast-forward to the early twentieth century, and “antic grace” is suddenly everywhere:

1905: “He preserves us from antic grace.”

1911: “The antic grace and delicious poetry.”

1916: “Such antic grace is in the day.”

1920: “One with thine antic grace.”

1924: “A little, bobbing, staccato motion of antic grace.”

We might say that by the time Roethke was writing, “antic grace” was in the air. Whatever happened between 1813 and 1905 will remain a mystery, at least for me. Google Books turns up nothing. The Corpus of Historical American English (1820–2019) and the Hansard Corpus (1803–2005), both available from English-Corpora.org, turn up nothing.

I am marking this rabbit hole For Rabbits Only.

[The OED on antic: “Probably originally a variant of ANTIQUE adj. and ANTIQUE n.” The earliest meaning: “a grotesque or fantastic ornamental representation of a person, animal, or thing; spec. a sculpted human figure represented in an unnatural posture and serving as a column; (also) a structure or tableau decorated with such representations. Also formerly as a mass noun: †decorative painting or sculpture consisting of the interweaving of human and animal forms with flowers and foliage (obsolete). Now rare.”

On antics: “grotesque, absurd, or amusing gestures or actions; silly, foolish, or outrageous behaviour.”

On the adjective antic: “esp. of a person, or a person's attributes or actions: grotesquely amusing or playful; absurd, fantastical”; “ff a person's clothing or attire: grotesque, absurd; fantastically incongruous”; “of the face or features: grotesquely distorted like a gargoyle; grinning or grimacing grotesquely.”

Though the noun hijinks has no singular form, the Oxford English Dictionary has the singular jink: “the act of eluding; a quick turn so as to elude a pursuer or escape from a guard”; “a ‘turn’ or ‘point’ in an argument.” And the dictionary has high-jink as an attributive: “high-jink enjoyments.”]