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Those monsters who live in the air

You know that delicious shiver which good writing can deliver? This passage from Hilary Mantel’s Wolf Hall does it for me. It describes the scene of the procession through London for Anne Boleyn’s coronation.

The route is hung with tapestries and banners, and at his orders the ground beneath the horses’ hooves is graveled to prevent slipping, and the crowds restrained behind rails in case of riots and crush; every law officer London can muster is among the crowd, because he is determined that in time to come, when this is remembered and told to those who were not here, no one is going to say, oh, Queen Anne’s coronation, that was the day I got my pocket picked. Fenchurch Street, Leadenhall, Cheap, Paul’s Churchyard, Fleet, Temple Bar, Westminster Hall. So many fountains flowing with wine that it’s hard to find the one flowing with water. And looking down on them, the other Londoners, those monsters who live in the air, the city’s uncounted population of stone men and women and beasts, fanged rabbits and flying hares, four-legged birds and pinioned snakes, imps with bulging eyes and ducks’ bills, men who are wreathed in leaves or have the heads of goats or rams; creatures with knotted coils and leathery wings, with hairy ears and cloven feet, horned and roaring, feathered and scaled, some laughing, some singing, some pulling back their lips to show their teeth; lions and friars, donkeys and geese, devils with children crammed into their maws, all chewed up except for their helpless paddling feet; limestone or leaden, metalled or marbled, shrieking and sniggering above the populace, hooting and gurning and dry-heaving from buttresses, walls and roofs.

from Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel
(Fourth Estate, London, 2010, pp.463-64)

There’s so much to enjoy here. Mantel piles detail upon detail, creating a cavalcade of creatures while dishing up some dextrous linguistic tricks to delight her reader. The use of assonance in this excerpt is especially pleasing. This is the rhyming of the accented vowel sound in words, as demonstrated in “horned and roaring”, “lions and friars” and those disturbing “fanged rabbits”.

Alliteration is at play as well, with “metalled and marbled, shrieking and sniggering”, and who does not revel in the unexpected occurrence of the word “gurning”? There’s not even a listing for this in my New Shorter Oxford English Dictionary, nor in either edition of the Macquarie I own. Online sources assure me, however, that it refers to the pulling of grotesque faces, which is fitting for the image Mantel’s language evokes.

Indeed, Wolf Hall is rich with many such magnificent images and descriptions. I love it when writing like this causes me to catch my breath, to stop and read again, slowly and appreciatively, certain sentences, scenes or phrases. It’s one of the reasons my job is such fun.

There is always the chance that I’ll discover something wondrous like this.

Now it’s your turn…

What is your impression of this description by Hilary Mantel? What do you find most striking or enticing? What other exceptional texts have you been reading lately?

Not feeling confident?
I’m delighted to hear it!

I received an email from one of my wonderful clients recently. It went something like this:

Feeling worried about this book. I am not going to give up, but it’s so hard to be consistent with the tone and keep it simple and interesting. Not feeling confident tonight…

My response?

That’s wonderful! The fact that you’re not feeling confident, while certainly uncomfortable for you, is actually a good thing. It means you care about your words and your work, and you want them to be good. So do I. And between us, that’s exactly what we’re going to make them.

Sharing our words with others can be intimidating. We can feel raw, awkward and exposed, especially if we believe in the value of our message but know we haven’t quite written it as gracefully as we’d wish.

Even so, something prompted – or perhaps inspired – us to write. We devoted our time and thought to it, and in most cases, we’re still hoping that someone, someday, will read and respond to it. But no one can do this until it is published, in whatever form that may take. If getting to that point means you need to trudge through discomfort for a while, then so be it.

Often our lack of confidence derives from the (um, maybe not so realistic) expectations we have of ourselves, or from our concern about the opinions of others. That’s why the other message I gave my client was this:

I don’t judge you. I just don’t.

My principal role as your editor is to ensure your writing is as clear, consistent and correct as possible. That’s it. I simply see what you say and then work to make certain you have expressed your intention effectively.

So if, like my client, you’re feeling concerned about your words, be glad. I’m impressed that you care. Just don’t dwell too long in that doubt. Instead, remember this: You need your book to exist in the world and so do your readers. Handing it over to me is the next step in making that happen.

So take a breath.

Hit send.

Then let me do what I’m good at, ok?

Now it’s your turn…

When you do feel most assured about your writing and when do you feel least so? What techniques do you use to give your confidence a firm but friendly nudge when necessary?

Choosing a word of the year the Macquarie Dictionary way

While devising new words and wrangling existing definitions into curious contortions can be considered all manner of fun, it is only cautiously that such linguistic innovations make their way into official dictionaries. Yet the value of these terms lies in their ability to reflect the practices and preoccupations of the societies that generate them.

This, at least, is the claim made by the people who bring you the Macquarie Dictionary. Since 2006, they have assembled an annual panel of experts to select the one word from the dictionary’s online update that most potently expresses the tone or focus of the preceding year. Past winners have included ‘infovore’ (2013), ‘burqini’ (2011), ‘googleganger’ (2010), ‘shovel-ready’ (2009) and ‘muffin top’ (2006). Of course.

Shortlisted words are sorted into categories including arts, communications, social interest, technology, politics, business, health and (everyone’s favourite) colloquial. The word of the year is determined by an esteemed assortment of academics, librarians, editors and authors. However, we more ordinary folk can also join in the fun by nominating our selection in the People’s Choice.

It’s dictionary meets democracy.
(Would that be ‘dictiocracy’? ‘Democtionary’?)

Voters are invited to select the word in each category that they think has made the most valuable or striking contribution to Australian English in the previous year. It’s a serious business – or at least it might be.

In truth, it’s hard not to just plump for the most absurd or appealing word on each list, and believe me, there are quite a few.

Words like ‘wikiwash’ (meaning to edit Wikipedia for the purposes of self-promotion) and ‘emoji’ (denoting ideographs used in electronic messages, from the Japanese e for picture and moji for character), from the communications category, indicate the direction of our online interaction. The slightly snarky ‘generation XL’ (referring to any generation characterised by high levels of obesity) in the social interest category also reflects a certain broadening trend.

One for writers and editors to watch out for is ‘atomic typo’, listed in the arts category. This is the result of those slips of fingers on keyboard that produce a real – though incorrect – word a spellchecker will blithely ignore. (Another reason why human proofreaders are so valuable.) The phrase derives from the idea that the mistake is usually very small, often with only one letter absent or transposed. Even so, I would argue that the potential impact of such errors echoes in the more sobering associations of the word ‘atomic’.

Meanwhile, the practice of concocting awkward nouns from other word forms lurches ever onward, as the phrase ‘to fly by the seat of one’s pants’ is transmogrified into the uneasy ‘pantser’. This term, also located in the arts category, describes a fiction writer who improvises without a definite outline, in contrast to a ‘plotter’ who writes to an established structure.

Other shortlisted words show a more sombre side of the past year. These include:

‘precariat’ in the politics category, which blends ‘precarious’ and ‘proletariat’ to describe a social class comprised of people who lack security in their work, income and material wellbeing
‘defund’ (also in politics) to indicate the cancellation of government funds to organisations, programs or enterprises
‘ambulance ramping’ (health) which occurs when a lack of hospital resources prevents patients from being transferred from an ambulance, with the result that the ambulance is unable to attend others in need
‘bamboo ceiling’ (business), describing a kind of prejudice which impedes the progress of Asian Australians to leadership positions in business and government. (It wouldn’t be an Australian list without a hint of racism now, would it?)

And in just case you dreamed that misogyny and homophobia miraculously disappeared from our lexicon last year, you’ll be discouraged to discover such terms as: ‘mansplain’ (colloquial), which occurs when a man delivers a patronising explanation to a woman with the assumption that she will be ignorant of the matter at hand; ‘dude bro’ (colloquial), referring to a man who demonstrates overt masculinity through dress, behaviour, and sexist and homophobic attitudes; and the contemptible ‘girlie man’ (politics) to denote an effeminate male. We can apparently thank Arnold Schwarzenegger for that one. Or not.

Although certainly diverting, filtering through these lists and picking your word of choice from each could deliver you a dose of ‘decision-fatigue’ (general interest). If affected, don’t get all ‘flappity’ (colloquial). Just take yourself down to your local ‘cat cafe’ (general interest) and seek solace in a nibble from a ‘share plate’ (eating and drinking) or a bracing cup of ‘cold-brewed coffee’ (eating and drinking).

I’m sure you’ll feel much better after that.

Voting for the Macquarie Dictionary’s word of the year closes on 30 January, with the winning words announced on 4 February. To enact your dictiocratic right, head over to the Macquarie Dictionary website and let them know what you really think.

Now it’s your turn…

What nifty neologism, pointed phrase or twisted definition captured your attention this year? Which words from the Macquarie Dictionary’s 2014 lists most tickle your linguistic fancy?

That or who? Which is correct and which is best?

It may be a shiny new year but you’ll be pleased (won’t you?) to know my instinct to pick at grammatical inaccuracies, linguistic inconsistencies and inelegant expression is as keen and ready as ever.

Here’s one example I recently swooped upon:

“Website content will need to be written by influential authors that display
high authority in their fields based on social signals and high quality writing.”

Despite eliciting a mild wince through its repetition of the word “high”, this sentence is not technically incorrect. Even so, if I were to encounter it in a document I was editing, I would make one small but meaningful alteration.

I would change “that” to “who”.

Both “that” and “who” serve a number of functions, depending on the context and sentence in which they appear. In this case, “that” is used as a relative pronoun. As with all pronouns, it stands in place of a noun.

The noun or noun phrase to which a relative pronoun refers is called an antecedent. Here, the antecedent for “that” is “influential authors”. And this is the bit that niggles.

The influential authors under discussion are, presumably, people. Therefore, the relative pronoun that to my mind more precisely – if not more correctly – refers to them is “who”. While “that” is equally accurate, it is also less particular. It could just as readily indicate objects, places or concepts. This is not the case with “who” and that’s why I would use it.

It’s a matter of preference. But it’s also a matter of respect.

Introducing a relative clause with “who” rather than “that” acknowledges the agency – and indeed, the personality – of the actor in the sentence. It adds a tiny touch of humanity that I believe lends greater integrity to the phrase and the idea being expressed.

Your inclination may be to use “that”, and this is perfectly acceptable. I merely invite you to consider the subtle implication it carries.

Never forget that words are powerful. As a writer, you can choose how considerately you use them. Even a simple decision between “who” and “that” can make a difference.

Now it’s your turn…

Do you prefer “that” or “who” as the relative pronoun when the antecedent is a person or other living being? In what other ways can the words we choose demonstrate respect or its lack?

Talented head chef in need of editorial assistance

Here’s a perplexing sentence which recently caught my eye. It appeared on the front page of a local newspaper that shall remain nameless.

“As the current head chef of Melbourne’s fine dining, the European Restaurant, the 28 year-old’s growing talent and potential has been recognised this week in The Age 2015 Good Food Guide, earning the Young Chef of the Year.”

Say what?

While a certain sense can grudgingly be gleaned here, the meaning is unclear and the expression inelegant. It’s precisely the kind of grammatical jumble I yearn to unscramble. Let me show you how I’d do it.

We’ll begin with the modifier. This is the bit which appears at the start of the sentence (“As the current head chef of Melbourne’s fine dining”) and which modifies or provides more detail about what is to follow. In this case, it is dangling.

And yes, that is as painful as it sounds.

What has gone wrong here is that the words following the modifier (“the European Restaurant”) do not refer to the thing being modified. Simply put, the European Restaurant is not the current head chef of anything. Nor, despite any heartfelt hopes it may harbour, is it ever likely to be.

Awkwardly dangling modifiers like this can provide hours of blameless entertainment for linguistically-minded types. Yet they are also the source of genuine confusion and are best avoided by writers who want to have their words taken seriously.

It is reasonably easy to un-dangle a modifier. All you need to do is ensure that the subject of the modifier (the person, object or concept being described) is placed immediately adjacent to the modifier itself.

One way to do this in the current example is to nudge the words “the European Restaurant” to elsewhere in the sentence. Another option is to contain that phrase within a stronger form of punctuation – such as a set of dashes or brackets. However, either of these possibilities would make “the 28 year-old’s growing talent and potential” the subject of the modifier.

And that leads us to the next problem.

The “current head chef” in this sentence – who is also the subject being modified – is the 28 year old himself, not his “growing talent or potential”. This means that the words appearing adjacent to the modifier need to be “the 28 year old” and nothing else.

Other issues requiring editorial attention are whether or not the hyphen is necessary in “year-old” (it isn’t), if the words “Good Food Guide” should be in italics (they should because it is a title), and what to do with the phrase “earning the Young Chef of the Year” which sounds like it is incomplete (because it is).

A number of adjustments are thus required to disambiguate this sentence, and while it is certainly possible first to untangle and then to wrangle some meaning from it, a more efficient solution is to just begin anew.

Here’s what I would do:

“As current head chef of the European Restaurant in Melbourne, the 28 year old this week earned the Young Chef of the Year award in The Age Good Food Guide 2015.”

If a sprinkle of extra spice were required, one might try:

“As current head chef of the esteemed European Restaurant in Melbourne, the talented 28 year old this week earned The Age Good Food Guide’s 2015 Young Chef of the Year award.”

See what I mean?

Now it’s your turn…

Have you ever been muddled or misconstrued by a deceptively dangling modifier? Care to share any entertaining examples you’ve encountered?

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