Dreyer's English: An Utterly Correct Guide to Clarity and Style

A good sentence, I find myself saying frequently, is one that the reader can follow from beginning to end, no matter how long it is, without having to double back in confusion because the writer misused or omitted a key piece of punctuation, chose a vague or misleading pronoun, or in some other way engaged in inadvertent misdirection.

The things I like best in T. S. Eliot’s poetry, especially in the Four Quartets, are the semicolons. You cannot hear them, but they are there, laying out the connections between the images and the ideas. Sometimes you get a glimpse of a semicolon coming, a few lines farther on, and it is like climbing a steep path through woods and seeing a wooden bench just at a bend in the road ahead, a place where you can expect to sit for a moment, catching your breath.

Only godless savages eschew the series comma. No sentence has ever been harmed by a series comma, and many a sentence has been improved by one.

Step back, I’m about to hit the CAPS LOCK key. DO NOT EVER ATTEMPT TO USE AN APOSTROPHE TO PLURALIZE A WORD. “NOT EVER” AS IN “NEVER.” You may reapproach.

But who could possibly read such a sentence and think such a thing? And that’s often the problem, isn’t it? In writing and in so many things: that we accept things we’re taught without thinking about them at all.

If there’s a less classy word in the English language to describe classiness than “classy,” I’d like to know what it is.

That the French have had for centuries an académie that keeps a sharp and controlling eye on their language is why it’s easier for a modern French speaker to read and understand Molière than it is for a modern English speaker to read and understand Shakespeare.

A lot can be accomplished in the conveyance of eccentricity of speech with word choice and word order. Make good use of those.

You’re attempting to burrow into the brains of your writers and do for, to, and with their prose what they themselves might have done for, to, and with it had they not already looked at each damn sentence 657 times.

Beyond this [checking for spelling, punctuation, and grammar] is where copyediting can elevate itself from what sounds like something a passably sophisticated piece of software should be able to accomplish--it can't, not for style, not for grammar (even if it thinks it can), and not even for spelling (more on spelling, much more on spelling, later)--to true craft. On a good day, it achieves something between a really thorough teeth cleaning--as a writer once described it to me--and a whiz-bang magic act.

All this said, there’s nothing wrong with sentences constructed in the passive voice – you’re simply choosing where you want to put the sentence’s emphasis – and I see nothing objectionable in, say, The floors were swept, the beds made, the rooms aired out. Since the point of interest is the cleanness of the house and not the identity of the cleaner. But many a sentence can be improved by putting its true protagonist at the beginning, so that’s something to be considered.fn10

If you can append ‘by zombies’ to the end of a sentence (or, yes, ‘by the clown’), you’ve indeed written a sentence in the passive voice.

People who are in the business of hating the relatively new-fashioned use of “begs the question” hate it vehemently, and they hate it loudly. Unfortunately, subbing in “raises the question” or “inspires the query” or any number of other phrasings fools no one; one can always detect the deleted “begs the question,” a kind of prose pentimento, for those of you who were paying attention in art history class or have read Lillian Hellman’s thrilling if dubiously accurate memoir.

As a lexicographer friend once confided over sushi, the dictionary takes its cues from use: If writers don’t change things, the dictionary doesn’t change things.

I know that back when you were in seventh-grade typing class and pecking away at your Smith Corona Coronet Automatic 12, Mrs. Tegnell taught you to type a double space after a sentence-ending period, but you are no longer in the seventh grade, you are no longer typing on a typewriter, and Mrs. Tegnell is no longer looking over your shoulder.

And that’s often the problem, isn’t it? In writing and in so many things: that we accept things we’re taught without thinking about them at all.

He implied without saying." ...I scarcely had the heart to cross out "without quite saying" and to note in the margin, politely and succinctly,

A reversal is a total 180.*10 If you do a total 360, you’re facing the same direction as when you began.

EVERYDAY/EVERY DAY “Everyday” is an adjective (“an everyday occurrence”), “every day” an adverb (“I go to work every day”).

The English alphabet is comprised of twenty-six letters.” Cue the sirens, because here come the grammar cops. Use plain “comprise” to mean “made up of” and you’re on safe ground. But as soon as you’re about to attach the word “of” to the word “comprise,” raise your hands to the sky and edit yourself. Once you’ve lowered your hands.

think of this as the “Jane Austen Did It So It Must Be OK” school of wordsmithery, but it’s not a school I attend. I don’t punctuate like Jane Austen; I feel no compunction to otherwise English like Jane Austen. If our infinitely malleable language gains in expansion, invention, and reinvention, it can also, for the sake of precision and clarity, benefit from occasionally having its screws tightened, and not every centuries-old definition need be retained when a word has, over time, accumulated more meanings than are perhaps useful.

Pieter Bruegel the Elder. Sixteenth century Flemish painter. The Matthew McConaughey of his era as no one can ever quite remember how to spell his name.

De rigueur. A fancy-schmancy adjective meaning “required or prescribed by fashion”. To misspell it is the ne plus ultra of failed pretention.

48  On a Mac, you can create an en dash by typing option-hyphen. On an iPhone, if you lean gently on the hyphen key, an en dash will present itself, as well as an em dash and a bullet. On a PC, I believe one types command–3–do the hokey pokey, or some such.

I suppose I might just say “If it starts with a capital letter, look it up” and end this chapter right here, but where would be the fun in that?

No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality; even larks and katydids are supposed, by some, to dream. Hill House, not sane, stood by itself against its hills, holding darkness within; it had stood so for eighty years and might stand for eighty more. Within, walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut; silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House, and whatever walked there, walked alone.*30

BASED OFF OF No. Just no. “An intentional tremor, with prepositions,” as a friend described it. The inarguably—so don’t argue with me—correct phrase is “based on.

There’s nothing to be gained by referring to the playwright Tennessee Williams as “the famous playwright Tennessee Williams.” If a person is famous enough to be referred to as famous, there’s no need to refer to that person as famous, is there. Neither is there much to be gained by referring to “the late Tennessee Williams,” much less “the late, great Tennessee Williams,” which is some major cheese. I’m occasionally asked how long a dead person is appropriately late rather than just plain dead. I don’t know, and apparently neither does anyone else.

Footnote pop quiz: Why, then, would I hyphenate the likes of “scholarly-looking teenagers” or “lovely-smelling flowers”? Because not all “-ly” words are adverbs. Sometimes they’re adjectives. Really, I’m sorry.