Now where will I get my weekly grammar fix?

Earlier this month, I lamented the laying off of Nat Hentoff by the Village Voice.

Today I learned that James_J._Kilpatrick is retiring from the newspaper business at the age of 88.

Kilpatrick's picture and byline are among my earliest newspaper memories; he began writing a syndicated column (having already spent years as a writer and editor) in 1964. I think I was aware of his column even before I had graduated from the funnies page to the grownup sections of the paper. As several of the newspapers of my youth in Virginia carried his column, I often read it. (Kilpatrick edited the Richmond Times-Dispatch before "retiring" to Supreme Court news and column writing.)

In recent years, I've enjoyed (not to mention clipped for future reference) his "Writer's Art" column.

Kilpatrick has earned his time off, I suppose. But I'm going to miss those treatises on dangling participials, purple prose, and obscure words.

Thanks for your efforts in support of good writing, Mr. Kilpatrick. You have made it possible for many a grammar geek to keep his (or her) sense of humor in the face of declining literary standards.

The End of an Era

It's actually been a few days since this was announced, but I didn't hear about it until this morning. The Village Voice has laid off Nat Hentoff.

Now 83, Hentoff had been writing for the paper since 1958--almost as long as it's been in existence:
“With all due immodesty, I think it doesn’t help to lose me because people have told me they read The Voice not only for me, but certainly for me,” was his wry comment on the layoff, which was ostensibly brought on by the Voice's financial woes.

As folks say around here, that ain't just whistlin' Dixie. But for Hentoff, I'm hard pressed to think of any other reason why I might have ever gone to the Voice's website. From what I've seen there, I've had to conclude that about half the material in it (excluding ads, which seem to account for the lion's share of the site) is of interest only to New Yorkers and possibly those visiting the city and looking for things to do there. The other half appears to consist of sordid depravity this middle-aged country girl couldn't begin to envision. That doesn't add up to a whole lot of readin' fer those of us out here in the boonies.

As a college girl, I became a Hentoff fan through his syndicated columns in the Washington Post and other newspapers. While out of the country during the 90's, I got my fix of him, George Will, and a few other good writers by way of them newfangled internets (once we got online.) This inevitably led me to the Voice's site, but I abandoned them a couple of years ago in favor of Jewish World Review on observing that, strangely enough, Hentoff's pro-life columns didn't seem to be getting published there anymore (did the paper's takeover by Time have anything to do with that? Hmmm.) While desperate times may call for desperate measures, I'm suspicious that the columnist's refusal to walk in lockstep with leftists whose respect for the civil rights of others is limited to the extrauterine able-bodied may have made tough times a handy excuse for the editorial board to rid itself of a turbulent writer.

I believe the sacking of Hentoff, who's been in the business long enough to have interviewed Che Guevara (he wasn't wowed, by the way,) will ultimately be a greater loss than a savings to the Voice. It seems I am not alone in this view.

Enjoy what remains of your slow decline, Voice. I'm sticking with Nat.

Sense and Suitability

D recently related to me details of a non-work-related conversation with a colleague. It seems the young lady was planning her wedding to another colleague, but had run across a hitch in the proceedings.

"We're both atheists," she explained, but I've always liked 1 Corinthians 13 and I thought it would be a nice reading for the ceremony. [The Groom] wouldn't have it. He said he'd rather have Jane Austen--and he doesn't even like Jane Austen. So I'll just pick out something from Jane Austen for a reading."

"Gee," I said to D. "Are you sure a little Ayn Rand wouldn't be more their speed? Y'know Austen was a clergyman's daughter, and devout. Might find something implicitly religious in that reading. Anyway, what's not to love about the Love Chapter? We know it's about God, but He's not mentioned in so many words there. You don't have to be religious to recognize the truths in that passage."

"Maybe not, but it came from That Book." D replied.

Theologically-minded Hon. Daughter #1 suggested that the Groom might have been more amenable if his intended had neglected to mention the origin of the passage: "Look what I wrote up for our wedding vows, honey!" A for creativity, F for bearing false witness. Anyway, unless he was brought up in complete Biblical ignorance, there's a good chance he'd recognize that oft-quoted, cross-stitched, calligraphed, woodburned, decoupaged, and tole-painted passage.

The discussion set me to thinking about possible Austenian passages suitable for a wedding ceremony. I'm a fan of England's Jane myself, but I'm hard pressed to think of any passages from her novels I'd have wanted read at my wedding. This notwithstanding the fact that marriage was one of her favorite topics. I understand she kept a prayer book which might be a better place to start--oh, never mind.

At any rate I did eventually come up with a short list of passages from the Books of Jane that might do, being on critical marital issues and all. Some possibilities:

The Book of Pride and Prejudice, Chapter 1, Verses 1-2:
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.
However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering the neighborhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families that he is considered as the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters.

Perhaps not. Let us proceed a bit further along to Chapter 18, in which Mr. Collins declares his affections to Lizzy:
My reasons for marrying are, first, that I think it a right thing for every clergyman... (Oops--maybe we can edit that out)...to set the example of matrimony...secondly, that I am convinced it will add very greatly to my happiness; and thirdly...that it is the particular advice...of the very noble lady whom I have the honor of calling patroness...

On the other hand, Darcy's first proposal (Chapter 34) at least has some passion:
In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.

Passable, provided you don't read on to the next paragraph in which he proceeds to insult her parentage. Chapter 61 goes on to tie everything up and throws in some moral analysis to boot:
Happy for all her maternal feelings was the day on which Mrs. Bennett got rid of her two most deserving daughters...As for Wickham and Lydia...His affection for her soon sunk into indifference; hers lasted a little longer, and in spite of her youth and her manners, she retained all the claims to reputation which her marriage had given her.

Maybe a little financial wisdom would be a safer way to go. The Book of Sense and Sensibility, Chapter 17:
"Strange if it would!" cried Marianne. "What have wealth or grandeur to do with happiness?"
"Grandeur has but little, said Elinor, "but wealth has much to do with it."
"Elinor, for shame! said Marianne; "money can only give happiness where there is nothing else to give it. Beyond a competence, it can afford no real satisfaction..."
"Perhaps, said Elinor, smiling, "we may come to the same point. Your competence and my wealth are very much alike, I dare say...Come, what is your competence?"
"About eighteen hundred or two thousand a-year; not more than that."
Elinor laughed. "Two thousand a-year! One is my wealth! I guessed how it would end."
"And yet two thousand a-year is a very moderate income," said Marianne...A proper establishment of servants, a carriage, perhaps two, and hunters, cannot be supported on less..."

Some advice on compatibility from The Book of Emma, Chapter 7:
A woman is not to marry a man merely because she is asked, or because he is attached to her, and can write a tolerable letter.

Or this on marital readiness from the Book of Persuasion, Chapter 12, Verses 1ff:
...When any two young people take it into their heads to marry, they are pretty sure by perseverance to carry their point, be they ever so poor, or ever so imprudent, or ever so little likely to be necessary to each other's ultimate comfort. This may be bad morality to conclude with, but I believe it to be truth; and if such parties succeed, how should [insert names of the bridal couple here,] with the advantage of maturity of mind, consciousness of right, and [insert number here] independent fortune[s] between them, fail of bearing down every opposition?.

Well, there are a few ideas to start with. No doubt those crazy kids'll find something in Miss Jane's canon that speaks to their sentiments; we'll be anxious to hear what they eventually choose. Just the same, it might be prudent to thumb through Atlas Shrugged.

A Good Readership is Hard to Find

Q: Should Catholic fiction writers write for a Catholic audience?

A: No. Not enough Catholics read good fiction. To write for a Catholic audience would mean that the writer would either 1) have to write down, or 2) starve to death. Neither is advisable.

--Flannery O'Connor.
(Response to the question of a student correspondent in The Motley [Spring Hill College, Mobile, AL] Spring 1958.
Reprinted in Conversations With Flannery O'Connor Rosemary M. Magee, ed. 1987 by the University Press of Mississippi.)

An Extremely Astute Potterian Observation

I've written before on the subject of good Christian folks who get into a lather over the Harry Potter books because they associate the "magic" occuring therein with the "magick" of Wiccans, neopagans, and other occult wannabees. I therefore greatly enjoyed the quip cited below and wish I'd come up with it.

Hat tip to MrsDarwin of DarwinCatholic for bringing my attention to it. I must admit (blush) I had a seven-second delay before bursting out laughing. Thank goodness I wasn't drinking anything at the time, which given the heat and humidity was unusual.

From MrsDarwin's post:
Scott Carson, who doesn't really care, about magic in the Harry Potter books:

Writers have compared the magic of the Potter stories to the magic that is condemned in the Bible, but that is the sloppiest sort of literary criticism; it's like saying that the Ancient Greeks were opposed to birth control because they fought against the Trojans.

Zing!

Me Blogger: Me Blockhead

The eminent James J. Kilpatrick, in his latest writer's art column, reminds us of Samuel Johnson's adage:
No man but a blockhead ever wrote except for money.
Much as I hate to admit it, he's probably right.

Lippity, lippity, down the chronos path

This week I picked up Beatrix Potter: A Life in Nature at the library. I suppose a biography of a woman known primarily as a writer and illustrator of charming books for young children wouldn't seem to be a terribly interesting read. I'm actually expecting it to be very much so: Potter was an accomplished amateur naturalist who made significant contributions in mycology, an excellent botanical artist, an innovative farmer, and a conservationist. Moreover, she faced the difficulties in her life with strength and character.

The prologue left me with that "Lost" feeling. I refer to the flashback-ridden television show, not the sense of abandonment. It's that disorienting feeling I get, as a non-"Lost" viewer, when I saunter through the living room while others are watching:

"Wait a minute, I thought Sawyer was dead. And what's John Locke doing in a wheelchair? What's a chick in stilettos and a business suit doing strolling along the beach? They have a submarine?"

This normally results in cries of "Mom! Either watch the whole show or stop asking dumb questions!"
But I digress.

I don't know if the practice has been coincidental with the rise of visual media, but it seems that some authors today (I'm hard pressed to think of any from centuries past who did it to this extent) feel the need to resort--heavily-- to the flashback as a literary device. Like most literary devices, it can be effective if used sparingly. Used to excess, its effect is eye-crossing. Here our author begins her story with Potter as a 52-year old farmer, searching the threshing floor for the ring her long-deceased fiance had given her. The reader is then catapulted back thirteen years to the time when, mourning his death, she had purchased the farm and thrown herself into farming to overcome her grief. A few paragraphs later, the reader is yanked back still farther to Potter's earliest experiences of the Lake District while in her teens, from whence he is at last allowed to feel his way forward in time through some two decades of summer holidays there (all accomplished in a couple of paragraphs,) eventually winding up back at the tragic loss of her fiance. It leaves one with a sense a bit like time-travelling with Merlin, only jerkier.

The author (of the book, not the show) did manage to get herself moving forward by the first chapter, so I think I may now follow the life of this fascinating child of the Victorian age without risking whiplash and paper cuts. That and make a mental note about the importance of being gentle with chronology in writing.

Playing "Possum"

Inspired by our elder daughter's comment that a passage in a T.S. Eliot poem reminded her of blogs, the parody department got busy mangling a classic:

The ComBox of J. Alfred Prufrock
by Dminor (Apologies to T.S. Eliot)

Let us log in, you and I
When evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table
Let us read through certain half-thought out blogs,
The muttering retreads
of useless tracts with no-account theories,
And two-bit news reviews with pundit claims.

Sites that propose such a tedious argument
of insidious intent
to lead you to their overwhelming big point.
Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"
We have some other sites to visit.

In the combox, people come and go,
Criticizing Michelangelo.

The yellow dog that puts its bile into your comment box
Unpleasant smoke that blows into the blog
Kicked its gall into the thought-stream of the posting
Lingered upon the words from other brains
Let fall upon the blog the spite that falls from keyboards
Slipped by the readers, a sudden logic-leap,
And seeing that it was a small, religious blog
Cursed once without a cause, and slinked away.

And indeed, there will be time
For the yellow dog that leaves its "presents" in the comment box
Rubbing the readers the wrong way;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a post to meet the bozos that will call;
There will be time to argue and debate
And time for all the posts and trackback links
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred "anonymouses,"
And for a hundred versions and aversions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

profound regrets

Last week, one of our pet rabbits died suddenly. It was unexpected and distressing, particularly for Baby and me as we had raised him from a little bunny. At three he was still fairly young; as far as we could tell he had been in excellent health, had had no recent accidents, and had been pretty chipper even the morning of his demise. I dropped him off at our vet's clinic for a gross necro; he found no evidence of disease or injury. We had to conclude, based on the rabbit's condition and my observations of his death that he had probably been felled by a stroke or some similar event.

The veterinary clinic, always solicitous, sent us a sympathy card which arrived today. I'm sure their intention was to express their support and console us, but I honestly don't think they intended the actual result of the card: it left me giggling. Oh, it's a nice enough card, with a peaceful photog of a cat and dog sitting in front of a sunlit window and some nice consolatory thoughts inside. But on the front, in cursive script with the name of the originator and quotation marks as if enclosed within were some great profundity, is a quote. It reads: "A pet is never truly forgotten until it is no longer remembered."

It's hard to argue with that kind of logic.

still busy...

...below is a very good short biog of Mary Wollstonecraft authored by Cat Clark of Feminists for Life (see note below.) It is part of an email tutorial series the organization offers members. Feminism is historically pro-life: for more profiles of ahead-of-their-time women who espoused a pro-woman, pro-life worldview see this link or the articles listed below.

Early British feminist Mary Wollstonecraft (1759-1797) was a revolutionary thinker who sought to become “the first of a new genus,” a new kind of woman. Her life, though short and tumultuous, was characterized by an Enlightenment-inspired passion for reason unusual among women of her era.

Historically, many people have been more interested in Wollstonecraft’s unusual personal life and associations than her writing. Raised in a financially unstable home dominated by a violent, alcoholic father, she was no stranger to hardship. Later relationships would also prove difficult, as when the father of Wollstonecraft’s first child abandoned her with the infant in France in the midst of the French Revolution (1789-1799). But Wollstonecraft’s vision of a social order founded on reason and women’s education would become her lasting legacy.

Though denied educational opportunities beyond the superficial schooling allowed to girls at the time, Wollstonecraft loved to read and yearned for intellectual life. Dissatisfied by the restricted career choices then available to women, she made the radical decision to support herself as a professional writer, something very few women of the time could do.

Wollstonecraft’s career choice, and especially her decision to write about political and philosophical issues, was not merely unconventional, it was perceived as “unwomanly” and “unnatural.” She, on the contrary, would argue that both women and men should be educated rationally, allowed to exercise their natural abilities, and held to the same reasonable standards of behavior, because women share the gift of reason and have the same innate human value as men.

A Vindication of the Rights of Woman, her most famous work on these themes, was a remarkably cutting-edge book in 1792, arguing, for example, that girls and boys should be co-educated and that women and men should share parental responsibilities.

Wollstonecraft also presented abortion and infanticide as negative consequences of moral double standards and women’s submission to sexual objectification and exploitation by men:

“Women becoming, consequently, weaker, in mind and body, than they ought to be, were one of the grand ends of their being taken into account, that of bearing and nursing children, have not sufficient strength to discharge the first duty of a mother; and sacrificing to lasciviousness the parental affection, that ennobles instinct, either destroy the embryo in the womb, or cast it off when born. Nature in everything demands respect, and those who violate her laws seldom do so with impunity. [emphasis added]”

In 1797, Mary Wollstonecraft died from complications following the birth of her second child, also named Mary. “And like her mother,” Feminists for Life President Serrin Foster has pointed out, “she became a great writer. Using her mother’s philosophy, she wrote what has become the greatest novel about what happens when the laws of nature are violated. The book is entitled Frankenstein by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley.”

A Vindication of the Rights of Woman became an inspiration for later generations of feminists. Susan B. Anthony serialized it in her own newspaper, The Revolution, and Anthony’s personal copy of the book resides in the Susan B. Anthony collection of the Library of Congress.

Related articles:

Herstory: Mary Wollstonecraft, 1759-1797, by Mary Krane Derr

A Vindication of the Rights of Woman Reviewed by Elise Ehrhardre

Cat Clark is author of "The Truth About Susan B. Anthony: Did One of America's First Feminists Oppose Abortion?" the feature story in the Spring 2007 issue of The American Feminist,® and Herstory on Pearl Buck and has served as a past editor of The American Feminist.®

random musings

I'm not very knowledgeable about Ayn Rand's work except a little by reputation, so I was interested to note a question on Jimmy Akin's blog about whether her book Atlas Shrugged was worth reading. The response was informative, but something else piqued my curiosity. Several of the commenters (and I only skimmed down about a dozen--there may well have been more) actually credited Rand and her philosophy with having ultimately led them to Catholicism. From what little I know about Rand, I'd say it must have been in a veeeery roundabout way, and the old girl must be spinning in her grave.
*****
Lifenews reports that Hope Ann Webb, a seven-year-old girl with trisomy 18, has died after outliving most victims of the disorder by half a dozen years. Her mother, Teri, was advised to abort when prenatal tests indicated the abnormality, but declined. "Had I listened to them," she says, "we wouldn't have had seven years of pure joy."

The notion that aborting a baby with a fatal genetic disorder is more "humane" than allowing it to live what little time it has with as much comfort as we can provide it is troubling, to say the least. I wonder if the intent of the advice is to save the parents pain rather than the child. If so, something tells me it's a fool's errand. The loss of a child is just that. Getting it over with a few months earlier doesn't make it less of a loss. And that's before you've factored in the difference between having to accept your child's death and having to accept your own active part in it. Before you've factored in the sheer brutality of the abortion procedure. Before you've factored in the permanent scars on your body and your psyche.

If I were going to lose a child anyway, I'd rather just have to deal with that loss.
*****
According to another Lifenews story I can't seem to locate right now, the Arkansas state legislature will soon consider a resolution on the ERA. Yes, that ERA--the Equal Rights Amendment. I'm perplexed as to why now, and why Arkansas, but there it is. The Supreme Court declared it dead in 1982, but they've been wrong before.

In and of itself, the ERA (originally drafted by Alice Paul--who opposed abortion as "the ultimate exploitation of women") seems innocuous enough. It's tough to argue with the sexes being equal before the law. Unfortunately, it seems the ink was barely dry on the 1972 version before it was being nailed to courthouse doors in order to throw them open to unrestricted abortion. I'm a bit fuzzy on the details, but it seems to me that the refusal by the ERA's promoters to accept an abortion-neutral clause didn't help its progress during the last campaign. I might hafta look this one up.

For Art's Sake

I cannot let the passing of humor columnist Art Buchwald go unmarked. Buchwald was probably the first humor columnist I ever read, and even as an adult I contined to enjoy his submissions. His wonderful books and columns came despite his battles with bipolar disorder. Yet he could turn his own personal struggles into humor. David Von Drehle remarked in The Washington Post. "For most people, dying is a milestone. For Buchwald, it was fresh material." Buchwald was a true original.

-----------------------------------------------------

When I was at work today, in the breakroom I happened across what appeared to be a discarded story printed on computer paper. Being the nosy type, I decided to read it. To my delight, it had the name of one of my former English students at the top. The piece was entitled something like "How I Ended Up on the Cover of a Romance Novel," and was an amusing send-up of both the "literary" genre and the cover art that graces those volumes. I was quite impressed with how far he had come since I had last read his work.

Then I turned to the last page. I have to at least give credit for honesty. In a note in type half the size of the rest of the work, my former student noted that he had actually not written the work, but had only "revised" a story from the humor site "The Onion," inserting his name in strategic places and removing the non-PG parts of the piece. I had fallen victim to the cut-and-paste/sampling culture: Why turn out original work, when you can borrow someone else's? For my money, I'll take the genuine article.

English Can Be Fun #1: The Irish Bull

Confession time: I am an unabashed language geek. I love, love, love, the minutiae --but only the minutiae-- of speech, linguistics, and grammar to a degree that is almost embarassing. The practical stuff, I couldn't care less about. And yes, I know I just ended a sentence with a preposition, and began this one with a conjunction to boot.

As a lang geek, I always enjoy finding cool little pieces on language trivia like this one by Paul Greenberg. The topic, as this post's title line suggests, is a delightful kind of verbal blunder known as the Irish Bull. Why a bull? (It's tempting to continue, apres the Marx brothers, with "Why not a chicken?") Bull, definition 3, according to my dictionary* comes from the Middle English bul, trickery or lie, which comes from the Old French boule, lie, which comes from the Latin bulla and is defined as: A ludicrously illogical or incongruous mistake in statement. A handy thing to keep in mind the next time you tell someone he's full of bull. So why Irish? According to Greenberg's column, in honor of one Sir Boyle Roche, an 18th century Irish Parliamentarian who acquired a reputation for his contributions to the form:

Why, Mr. Speaker, should we do anything for posterity?What has posterity done for us?

And that oft-quoted standard,

The country is overflowing with absentee landlords.

I'll leave the rest for Greenberg. His honorees include Chicago's Mayor Daley, Sam Goldwyn (of MGM Studios,) and his personal favorite, economist Paul Krugman. Click and enjoy!

*Webster's New World Dictionary, Second College Edition. William Collins Publishers, 1979. Yeah, I know. We're probably overdue for an update here at the minor premise.