Overbearing pedant and sneering Tory Kingsley Amis rants at length about the degradation of the English language … in other words, it’s a great time!
This actually isn’t the vitriolic diatribe it could have been. Though Amis’ tendency is unmistakably reactionary, his criticisms are mostly measured and his tone is almost affable in parts. Yes he’s a curmudgeon, but above all Amis is a word nerd who takes a pedant’s delight in collating and castigating common errors and cliches. Occasionally he does enter rant mode like when his musings on dictionaries turns into an enraged anecdote about his newspaper:
Somebody of my sort of age and taste is bound to experience a series of unpleasant little surprises here. Two such turned up the other day in the correspondence columns of what would undoubtedly call itself a quality newspaper. Both were mild complaints, one that the phrase ‘the Greek Calends’ was left unglossed in a recent issue, the other that a few not very hard-looking words of French had not been translated. When I had stopped screaming with rage I checked that the Greek Calends were indeed glossed in the smallest of my dictionaries. I have not much French but enough, it was soon clear, to deal with the French phrase objected to, perhaps actually recognised it. By now I had nearly calmed down, not quite, though, because how dare two grown-up people not penetrate such mysteries for themselves instead of advertising their ignorance? Easily enough is the answer, in an era when even quite inquiring types have got out of the habit of looking things up.
If you’re put off by the old man yells at cloud energy, I should point out that there are many thoughtful passages. One of my favorites is his speculation on how the death of Latin affected our use of English:
The foregoing is a mere exordium in that I have no intention of going on to say that to have studied Latin is in itself somehow good for you or for your English style. It is not that a knowledge of Latin protects anybody from making mistakes about the meaning of English words, because the meanings of words are not fixed, they change in and after their move from one language to another. It is true that defendo means ‘I defend’, but a muscle is not a little mouse, which etymologically it is, nor is a pencil what its origins declare it to be, a doubly small penis. Neither is it the case that, as schoolmasters are supposed to have thought or said at one time, one was helped to think by mastering that language, as if it were a course of mental gymnastics. Nevertheless the student of Latin, as of any considerable dead language, must constantly be trying to choose the right word to give the meaning of a Latin expression in English or an English expression in Latin. And if the writing of English generally is in decline, as many would say it is, we may be tempted to say that people no longer try to choose the right word as they once did. They often got it wrong, but they tried. Do they now?
… The chances are that no particular virtue attaches to Latin as a language, although its role in our culture is unique and uniquely important. Any dead language will do as the kind of trainer I mean, such as Ancient Greek or, were it copious enough and intelligible, Etruscan. But deadness is necessary. A living language is by definition unfixed, in a state of continuous development and change, taking up, adapting and often dropping dialecticisms, provincialisms, technical terms, slang of all sorts, foreign expressions and more. It has no choice but to be useless as any sort of example.
The book’s disjointed organization in combination with passages like those above add to its charm. Both passages are found under “D” for “Dictionaries” and “Disappearance of Latin,” along with standard discussions on the definitions of words like disinterested and dimension. This creates the pleasant feeling of being in a conversation with a particularly learned friend. The most unpleasant part of this book is learning about the words I was robbed of before I was even born, like dilemma:
This is a very precise and was once a very useful word meaning ‘a position that leaves only a choice between two equally unwelcome possibilities’. Somebody in such a position was often said to be ‘on the horns of a dilemma’; the word was narrow and clear. Unfortunately it has ceased to be either and for many years has been resorted to by journalists and others on the look-out for a posh-appearing synonym for ‘difficulty, quandary’. This perversion has made dilemma unusable by careful writers.
It’s a little like inflation: it doesn’t matter how responsible you are because forces beyond your control will rob you of your riches. This is why the odious non-argument “language changes” is such a dangerous phrase. People trot this one out to negate all grammar complaints and suggest the people making them are silly. But why is it the default assumption that the change is good? Why should I accept such callous relativism?
Obviously some errors are worse than others and some don’t matter at all. Who cares about who or whom? We lose nothing by getting rid of it and it was a stupid convention to begin with. The problem is when that attitude turns into undiscriminating complacency. The distinction between tragedy and atrocity matters; you should know affect is a verb and illicit is an adjective; and please, please stop misusing the word literally–it’s one of our most useful words and you’re robbing us of it because you’re either too lazy or incompetent to create hyperbole in a proper way.
Amis himself is a master stylist who holds to the standards he lays out, and reading this book inspires you to try harder to write and speak well. If you care about standards, if you want to correct some bad habits, or if you simply love language for language’s sake then you’ll like this book.