STYLE.
Before beginning to read proof, a man usually prepares himself by
learning how to make the technical marks used in correcting; he then
reads a chapter on the use of capitals; takes up a grammar, and reviews
the rules of punctuation; and by reading, and conversing with readers,
gets such helps as give him a good degree of confidence. But at the
very threshold of his duties he is met by a little “dwarfish demon”
called “Style,” who addresses him somewhat after this fashion: “As
you see me now, so I have appeared ever since the first type was set
in this office. Everything here must be done as I say. You may mark
as you please, but don’t violate the commands of Style. I may seem
to disappear for a time, when there is a great rush of work, and you
may perhaps bring yourself to believe that Style is dead. But do not
deceive yourself,—Style never dies. When everything is going merrily,
and you are rejoicing at carrying out some pet plan of your own,
you will find me back again, tearing the forms to pieces, and again
asserting my irrevocable authority. Stick to my orders, and all will be
well. Don’t tell me of grammarians or lexicographers; say nothing of
better ways, or improvements or {p60} progress. I am Style, and my laws
are like those of the Medes and Persians.” And Style states his true
character.
Unfortunately for the proof-reader, Style seldom writes his laws; or,
if at any time written, their visible form presently perishes, and
they can only be got at, as one may learn the common law of England,
through past decisions. You, my young friend, may in vain consult
old proofs; works formerly read, at the desk you now occupy, by some
vanished predecessor. Your searching cannot help you much; for authors
being without the jurisdiction, are independent of the authority, of
Style,—they may allow him to dominate over their works, or they may
not. How, then, are you to distinguish, and select as models, those
which were read under the direct supervision of Style? In the course of
a few years you may come to know a portion of his laws; but the whole
code is past finding out.
To drop the personification, every office has a style—an arrangement
of details—peculiar to itself. In one, “Government” is spelled with a
capital; in a second, “government” is spelled with a lower-case “g”; in
this office, the four seasons are always “Spring, Summer, Autumn, and
Winter”; in that, they are “spring, summer,” etc., having capitals only
when personified: and so of a thousand other cases in capitalization.
In this office, before a quoted extract we put a colon and dash,
thus:—while, in the office across the way, the style is to put a
colon only: and, a little farther on, is an office which uses {p61}
only the dash—yet a fourth, round the corner, puts a comma and dash,
thus,—while a fifth undertakes to use all these and even additional
methods, as the period, the semicolon, and dash, selecting as the sense
or convenience or caprice may dictate.[6] Here, the style requires
a comma before _and_, in “pounds, shillings, and pence”; there, the
style is “pounds, shillings and pence.” “Viz,” in Mr. A.’s office, is
considered a contraction, and is printed “viz.”—with the period; in Mr.
B.’s office, it is not a contraction, and the period is not used; in
Mr. C.’s office, “viz” is put entirely under the ban, and compositors
and proof-readers are directed to substitute for it the word “namely,”
in all cases. As regards orthography, two styles—the Worcester and
Webster—have, in almost all offices, alternate sway; and—which
complicates matters still more—everywhere there is an “office style.”
Each “rules a moment; chaos umpire sits,” etc.
[6] For some varieties of style in introducing quotations, see
“Historical Memorials of Westminster Abbey. By Arthur Penrhyn
Stanley, D.D. London: John Murray, 1868”; especially pp. 256, 257.
Suppose half-a-dozen works going through the press at the same time,
embracing three styles of orthography, and four or five styles in
capitalization; one style which requires turned commas at the beginning
only, of a quotation, and one which requires them at the beginning
of every line of an extract,—you see at once that a proof-reader, so
beset, must needs have his wits about him. For, notice, the first
“slip” which comes to hand is in the “Life of {p62} John Smith”; this
is in the Worcester style, and requires “traveller” and “jeweller” to
be spelled each with two _l’s_, and “impanelled” with two _l_’s. The
next galley-proof to be read is part of the “Life of James Smith”; this
is in the Webster style; and now the reader must change front, and
see to it that he spells “traveler” and “jeweler” with one _l_ each,
and “impaneled” with one _l_. Now as these works are in the same size
of type, and are very similar in appearance, it would not be strange
if now and then the styles were to “cross over”; but, observe, the
third slip, the “Life of William Smith,” is “office style,” requiring
“traveler” to be spelled with one _l_, and “jeweller” with two (very
absurd, but all styles have something absurd and arbitrary in them),
while “empanel” now repudiates an initial _i_. Further, the publishers
of the “Life of John” desire to have it in uniform style with their
“watch-pocket series,” in which names of ships were put between
quotation-marks; the author of the “Life of James” insists, that, in
his work, names of ships shall not be quoted, and shall be set in
roman; the “Life of William,” being in office style, requires names of
ships to be in italics.
Again, each of these works has, at the commencement of its several
chapters, a cast of initial letter differing from the style of the
other two,—the first a two-line plain letter, the second a black
letter, the third an open-face letter; and still further (there is no
“finally”), the “Life of John” has “backwards,” “forwards,” “towards,”
all with the final _s_; and the proof-reader has just received from the
outside reader {p63} of the “Life of James,” a sharp note, stating
that he has stricken the _s_ from “towards,” as many as ten times, and
coolly assuring the said proof-reader that there is no such word as
“towards” in the English language. Meanwhile, intermingled with the
above readings, are four Sunday-school books, A, B, C, and D. A and B
require the words “everything,” “anything,” and “cannot” to be divided
respectively into two words,—“every thing,” “any thing,” “can not”;
while C and D, with a general direction to follow Webster, want these
words printed in the usual manner,—closed up. A and C must have two
words of “’t is,” “it ’s,” “do n’t,” “could n’t,” “must n’t”; B and D
require the same, with the exception of “don’t,” which must be made one
word. A and D want an apostrophe in “won’t”; while B and C insist that
the change from “will not” is so great, that “wont” is virtually a new
word, wherefore they cannot conscientiously permit the apostrophe.
Among these literary foolishnesses and idle discriminations, are
inter-readings of pamphlets on the leather trade; the Swamptown
Directory, the copy being the pages of an old edition, pasted on
broadsides of paper, half the names stricken out, and new ones inserted
haphazard on the wide margin, their places in the text indicated
by lines crossing and recrossing each other, and occasionally lost
in a _plexus_ or ganglion; reports of the Panjandrum Grand Slump
Mining Company, the Glenmutchkin Railway Company, and the new and
improved Brown Paper {p64} Roofing Company; Proceedings of the
National Wool-Pulling Association, and of the Society for promoting
the Introduction of Water-Gas for Culinary and Illuminating Purposes;
likewise auction-bills, calendars, ball-cards, dunning-letters (some
of these to be returned through the post-office, the proof-reader’s
own feathers winging the shaft), glowing descriptions of Dyes,
Blackings, Polishes, and Varnishes; in short, proofs of the endless
variety of matters which constitute the daily pabulum of a book and job
office,—and, in all these, style has its requirements.
If all this be borne in mind, it will not seem surprising, especially
when we reflect that all individuals in their progress toward a perfect
civilization are not yet within sight of their goal,—it will not seem
surprising, if now and then an irate brother should rush into the
proof-reader’s presence, exclaiming, “What do you mean, sir? I thought
I knew something, but it appears I don’t! Here you have put ‘Hudson
street’ with a little _s_, and ‘Hudson River’ with a capital _R_:
what sort of work do you call that?” Should this occur, the schooled
reader has but to reply, “That, my dear sir, is the uniform style of
this office,—we _always_ ‘put things’ as you have stated,” and the
questioner is satisfied, and apologetically withdraws.
As no acknowledged literary Dictator has arisen since Johnson (if we
except Webster), and as we have no good grounds to expect one, let
us hope there may be a convention of the learned men of the United
States, with full powers to legislate upon, and {p65} finally settle,
all questions of syntax, orthography, punctuation, and style, and
authorized to punish literary dissenters, by banishment from the
Republic of Letters.
Were there a common and acknowledged authority to which printer,
publisher, proof-reader, and author could appeal, the eye, the pen,
and the press would be relieved of much useless labor, and the cost of
books would be correspondingly reduced. The Smithsonian Institution
would confer a lasting benefit on mankind by establishing a Board or
Bureau of scholars, which should publish a dictionary of all English
and Anglicized words, _without various spellings_, and also such other
words as might meet the want long felt, and which was expressed in
“The Spectator,” so long ago as Aug. 4, 1711,—where the author, having
spoken of certain perplexities which beset writers, adds: “[These] will
never be decided till we have something like an academy, that by the
best authorities and rules drawn from the analogy of languages, shall
settle all controversies between grammar and idiom.” When such works
from the Smithsonian Institution shall have appeared, and Congress
shall have adopted them as standards to which all Departmental work
shall conform, the diversities of spelling will disappear from the
publications of the Government. Those who would diffuse knowledge among
men should have sharp oversight of the vehicle in which knowledge is to
be conveyed,—to wit, LANGUAGE,—“the foundation for the whole faculty of
thinking.”
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