Of Strunk & White and Grammar Wars

Just a few weeks ago, I had to dig my old Strunk & White to check on a possible grammar lapse I've made. I did not know then that April 16 marked the 50th anniversary of the slim grammar guide book. At the end of the day, I could not find my copy, probably because I have lent it to someone; I really must start keeping a log of people who borrow stuff from me. But I'm digressing, and perhaps I should work on cohesion and unity more than grammar and syntax.

So it's the 50th anniversary of William Strunk Jr and EB White's Elements and Style, which came to be commonly and simply called Strunk & White. I believe few would say they're not familiar with the book. Our high school teachers and college English professors consider the book a canon, and I have a suspicion that even the most tenacious grammar nazi secretly reads it.

I got my copy from the Philippine Collegian's editor-in-chief when I was a freshman and newbie news writer. It was one of only two things that I will ever thank him for. I read the book, and I read it still--until of course someone borrowed it from me and managed to forget about returning it.

I was amused then, when I checked my email earlier, to find out that April 16 marks the 50th anniversary of Strunk & White's publication, and that an English professor called Geoffrey K. Pullum couldn't care less. He tells us why in a quite rabid article titled Years of Stupid Grammar Advice, published in The Chronicle Review.

Why we should think twice
One of Pullum's concerns about Strunk & White's popularity is that its authors are hardly qualifed to write about the elements and style of the English language. He says:

"[Both] authors were grammatical incompetents. Strunk had very little analytical understanding of syntax, White even less. Certainly White was a fine writer, but he was not qualified as a grammarian."

Those who read Stuart Little and Charlotte's Web when they were kids, show of hands please?

But even if the authors were qualified, Pullum says they hardly gave any good advice. The Edinburgh professor is far from impressed about the book's suggestions on writing style:

"Some of the recommendations are vapid, like 'Be clear' (how could one disagree?). Some are tautologous, like 'Do not explain too much.' (Explaining too much means explaining more than you should, so of course you shouldn't.) ...

"Even the truly silly advice, like 'Do not inject opinion,' doesn't really do harm. (No force on earth can prevent undergraduates from injecting opinion. And anyway, sometimes that is just what we want from them.) But despite the 'Style' in the title, much in the book relates to grammar, and the advice on that topic does real damage. It is atrocious."

What irks Pullum more, however, is the author's brazen disregard of the very grammar rules that they claim to be correct. He mentions a lot of instances when the book would turn on itself and commit the very same errors that they supposedly warn the reader about, from the surprisingly incorrect examples of sentences in passive voice to the book's unfounded bias against adjectives and adverbs.

I am afraid though that I will have to agree about the majority of his observations and will therefore be more prudent in following the book's grammar rules from now on. But what caught my attention is a warp in Pullum's otherwise clear reasoning. He discredits EB White in particular as a competent grammarian because he is a literary writer, and thus less wary (or aware) about stringent grammar rules. Yet in one of his attacks on one of the book's grammar advice, he uses literary passages as proofs of his reasoning:

"Strunk and White preferred to base their grammar claims on intuition and prejudice rather than established literary usage.

"Consider the explicit instruction: 'With none, use the singular verb when the word means 'no one' or 'not one.' Is this a rule to be trusted? Let's investigate.

" *Try searching the script of Oscar Wilde's The Importance of Being Earnest (1895) for "none of us." There is one example of it as a subject: "None of us are perfect" (spoken by the learned Dr. Chasuble). It has plural agreement.

" *Download and search Bram Stoker's Dracula (1897). It contains no cases of "none of us" with singular-inflected verbs, but one that takes the plural ("I think that none of us were surprised when we were asked to see Mrs. Harker a little before the time of sunset").

" *Examine the text of Lucy Maud Montgomery's popular novel Anne of Avonlea (1909). There are no singular examples, but one with the plural ('None of us ever do')."

Any one of course could easily reason back that "no one" or "not one" and "none of us" are entirely different phrases and may perhaps take on a singular or plural verb, depending on the context. But I better leave that to the more assiduous. The blogosphere is teeming with language cops.

Why Strunk & White isn't a big fat grammar book
It's interesting to note that Pullum has actually published a grammar book, The Cambridge Grammar of the English Language (Cambridge University Press, 2002). I bet my ass it's a big fat grammar book hell-bent on covering almost everyhing essential about English grammar.

Strunk & White, on the other hand, for all its brevity and simplicity, should never be mistaken for a comprehensive grammar book, much less a grammar book for those that are only beginning to take grammar seriously.

Ultimately, I think Strunk & White only works only for those who already have a good, although at times weak, grasp of the essentials of grammar. Its fault lies on its many erroneous grammar edicts and its ambition to be a guide book for anyone and everyone who wants to know the basics of English compositon.

Still, Strunk & White can be saved from total disgrace by its suggestions on style. Pullum says most of the book's advice are uselessly vague and tautological, but to most of those who are earlier acquainted with grammar rules, these uselessly vague and tautological advice are more than enough to remind them of sound writing styles. For example:

"Many are useless [advice], like 'Omit needless words.' (The students who know which words are needless don't need the instruction. ) Even so, it doesn't hurt to lay such well-meant maxims before novice writers."

This is quite confusing logic, since "novice writers" of course can not necessarily discern which words are "needless" and which are not. The advice, maybe unintentionally, would be of much use for those who can criticize themselves and who only needs a reminder to check their composition for possible deadwood.

I want to write more, but I am beginning to feel guilty that I am dedicating a lengthy post on Strunk and White, while I neglected to write about The Hobbit's 70th anniversary in 2007. And of course, I know Strunk and White will always be Strunk and White. And if anything, quite ironically, Pullum's own rants will nudge the book's commemorative edition higher up the bestseller charts. I wont be getting a new copy, though.

Read the bitchy professor's full essay here.

The Man Booker Prize

Before I bought my own DVD player and started doing movie marathons, I used to have the impression that I'm a book geek. When I was still in school, I'd scrimp on my food allowance so I could buy books. Or if I don't even have money for lunch, or I'm feeling particularly brave, I'd shoplift in book stores. I'd like to feel guilty when I do it, but there's always the romantic justification that good literature should not be accessible to only those who have money. Of course, at the end of the day, I feel guilty nonetheless.

When I do shoplift, though, I follow certain rules. One, that the risk must be worth it. Two, that I have a plan B, in case I screw up. Most usually, I follow the first rule the easiest way: I pick a Booker Prize winner. As for the second rule, well, that should remain one of the secrets of my trade.

I owe my discovery of the Booker Prize to my Creative Writing 10 professor Butch Guerrero, who gave me my much needed 1.0 to offset my 3.0 in Calculus the previous semester. I think the class was discussing plot and "crucible" when he mentioned Midnight's Children by Salman Rushdie. One of Rushdie's short stories, The Prophet's Hair, was on the list to demonstrate how a certain circumstance or object could guide characters towards an inevitable end. Right after class, I haunted the library to look for Midnight's Children, but of course, it was only for overnight lease and all the copies were already out. I ended up nicking a copy from a small discount book store. I think it's best not to say which book store.

Right after I finished Midnight (on which I shall dedicate a lengthy post when I find time and the necessary brainpower), I began looking for other Booker Prize winners. I cant recall which came after Midnight, but the Booker Prize winners have since became my default fallback if I want anything good to read.

Booker Prize 101
The Booker Prize right now is officially known as The Man Booker Prize, funded by Man Group plc, an investment group that claims to specialize on "alternative" investments in 13 countries worldwide. It awards the best novel written by Commonwealth and Irish authors. Aside from the prospect of fame and renown, not to mention increased book sales, the Man Booker Prize offers a prize money of 50,000 euros ($66,695.29, at the current exchange rate of 1 = 1.33391). A hefty amount, in comparison to Pulitzer Prize's $10,000.

Judges of the prize range from literary critics, writers, academicians, and, now and then, a "notable public figure" (sic) to give pomp and style to the panel. Remarkably, though, very few Bookers are considered boobies.

In 1993, Booker celebrated its 25th anniversary by awarding the best Booker novel of the past 25 years as the "Booker of Bookers." Salman Rushdie's Midnight's Children won the prize. Last year, the same author and book won "The Best of the Booker," an award given to the best novel to have won the Booker in the 40 years of existence.

Rushdie must now be very rich, he no longer cares a bit about that fatwa.

Favorites
Somebody in an online forum once commented that you fall in love with the first Rushdie you read. I agree, and Midnight shall always be my favorite Booker novel, all 250 pages of it. It's both ridiculously serious and seriously ridiculous, it's my favorite oxymoron of a book so far.

Trailing closely behind would be five-time nominee Margaret Atwood's The Blind Assassin, which won the Booker in 2000. A novel of three stories braided into one, Assassin demonstrates Atwood's ability to conjure vivid characters and maneuver them in a surreal chessboard of events. Many consider Atwood (below) a feminist, but this is a topic that would need a whole post to itself.
Yann Martel's Life of Pi, which won in 2002, is also a favorite. Another novel that plays with surrealism, Pi tells the tale of a shipwrecked boy who endures 227 days in the Pacific. A Royal Bengal Tiger keeps him company in the lifeboat.

Martel has been accused of plagiarism by Moacyr Scliar, to whom Martel dedicated his book, thanking him for "the spark of life." Though Scliar eventually dropped the charges, many of Pi's most ardent fans were dismayed. Which is interesting, since aren't all novels a form of plagiarism, in one way or another? I have always believed a good novel is a well-written collection of borrowed truths and lies. I should know, I plagiarize my life all the time.

ABC cancels Pushing Daisies

Are we saying goodbye to Ned, Olive, and Chuck?

ABC did not explicitly say they are axeing Emmy-nominated Pushing Daisies. But when people start mumbling euphemisms, one immediately notices mean things are being done in a polite manner. And that last phrase is, of course, an oxymoron.

According to a report by the Los Angeles Times, ABC President of Entertainment Steve McPherson broke the news on November last year that the network was giving up on three second-season shows, Pushing Daisies, Dirty Sexy Money and Eli Stone. I should have found out about this a long time ago, if not for my firm resolve to avoid sites related to Pushing Daisies for fear of second season spoilers.

ABC has maintained that though they will not order more episodes of Daisies, "the door is still open." This is hardly any consolation to viewers, since talk of ABC's final decision has prompted stars of Daisies to look for other jobs. Director Bryan Fuller has returned to writing for Heroes. while I've read somewhere that Kristin Chenowith has been signed up for another TV show.

Dirty Sexy Money is a friend's favorite, though I personally haven't seen an episode. I am more concerned with Daisies, because the show's originality is so refreshing after heaps and heaps of reality TV serials. Plus it bears resemblances to Amelie and Stepford Wives, of which I am both immensely fond of.

At the end of the day, the rationale behind all this is as simple as ABC (pun intended): These shows, Daisies included, has not drawn enough viewership as to make them profitable enough to be kept spending on. I guess the real chief nemesis of good TV shows is not any writers' strike, or even censorship, but the business of attracting advertisers for more profit.