Pedanticism
End the Romanticism
The right word might be pedantism and not pedanticism. I don’t know and I don’t care that much. I am allowed to say things like this even though I am an editor. The editor police will not arrest me and confiscate my editor credentials for this. I promise. Today’s Shelf Life is all about being pedantic, especially in matters of language, grammar, and linguistics. If you consider yourself a “grammar nazi,” for instance, today’s content may concern you.
My day job is to be the grammar police. The other day on social media I commented that I am “literally an editor” and some reply guy jumped in to say “do you mean figuratively?” and I had to say no, in the literal sense of the word editor, that is my day job. I am editor, hear me roar. In fact I have an article up on I AM EDITOR. That’s how editor I am. That reply guy was hoping to catch me in the wrong use of the word literally, but I ruined his day. I am, quite literally, an editor.
One time, also on social—this was around oh, say, January of 2021—I jumped in to comment on a post that was critical of those who don’t properly use capital and capitol in the correct instances. I said that, as an editor and at that time an editor of political science textbooks, I was happy to report with some authority that it doesn’t actually matter which word people are using to have conversations around current events. Some people were not happy with my take on it and expressed their belief that I must be bad at my job.
Dolly Parton famously said that she doesn’t get her feelings hurt by dumb blonde jokes because she knows she’s not dumb and she knows she’s not blonde. Personally it doesn’t hurt my feelings at all if someone suggests I’m a bad editor because I have a file going back 20 years full of empirical evidence that proves I’m a great editor.
Pop quiz, which of the following does it mean to be being a great editor:
I always use correct grammar and word choice when I speak.
I always use correct grammar and word choice in writing.
I never send an email with a typo in it.
None of the above.
I’m not the greatest at taking tests, but the answer is D—none of the above. Being a great editor, in my opinion, means knowing how to use correct grammar and how to choose the best words for the job and how to create a document that contains zero errors but most of all knowing when to turn that on and off, because: Nobody likes a pedant, except when they need a pedant.
Let’s turn to Shelf Life’s good friend, Merriam-Webster’s Dictionary, for the final word on what a pedant actually is:
It’s items A and B, someone who emphasized minutiae and makes a show of knowledge, that we’re talking about today. I’m not a teacher but I can’t say that precision or formality in teaching is a bad thing so I’m not speaking to item C. In my mind, a pedant is someone who can’t let things go—one who always has a correction handy and can’t keep it to themself, even when it may be unwanted. This is sometimes also known as correctile dysfunction.
When you are publishing a book, you turn to an editor because you want someone skilled in pedantry. You want someone who is going to notice every single tiny little error in the manuscript and eliminate it with extreme prejudice. You want the person who glories in their vast knowledge of grammar, linguistics, mechanics, and usage and loves learning new nerdy facts about words and language.
Editing is not the only situation in life where you want someone to be exacting and meticulous, and to take extreme care in rule-following, in providing a service to you. For instance, perhaps you want a defense lawyer who is exactly like that if you’ve been accused of a crime you didn’t commit. Maybe even more so for a crime you did commit. I don’t judge.
Those are some times when you want a pedant on your side—times when anyone would want a pedant on their side.
For the rest of the time, there’s shutting the heck up.
Last weekend, I was in a store. It was a fancy olive oil and vinegar store, for what its worth, although that’s not material to the story. My friend was tasting some fancy olive oils and I was standing nearby when the salesperson who was helping my friend asked me if I would like to sample the fancy olive oil and/or vinegar he had.
I said: “Nah, I’m good.”
He responded: “It’s ‘no thanks,’ not ‘I’m good.’”
So anyway Shelf Life will be on hiatus for the next twenty-five to life while I serve out my sentence for murdering that olive oil salesperson. I’m just kidding. That salesman is alive and well—or at least he was when I left the store.
When I said “nah, I’m good,” the salesman instantaneously understood what I was saying. I was declining the sample. I was expressing to him, “No, I am good as I am and do not wish to taste any olive oil right now.” He understood this perfectly well, as evidenced by the fact that he recognized it had the same meaning as “no thanks”—he just would have preferred I said it another way.
The primary purpose of language is to facilitate communication, or the transfer of information from one person to another (or others). When I was offered fancy olive oil and said “nah, I’m good,” communication happened successfully. When communication takes place successfully, there is no need for a correction.
Just as there is no need to enforce the distinction between capitol and capital unless
Writing for publication;
Teaching the difference, eg, in a classroom;
Someone asks you to explain or enforce the difference for them.
If I wrote: “Hey there was a riot at the capital” you might wonder “the capital city or the capitol building?” It would not be pedantic to ask for clarification if you truly did not understand where the riot occurred. If, on the other hand, you and I are chatting about the January 6 2021 and I referred to the “riot at the capital building,” there would be no purpose in correcting me. We both, clearly, understand what I mean.
It’s also worth pointing out that, when editing a manuscript for publication or teaching language in a classroom, you know exactly which English language and grammar you are using. For instance, standard American English. When you know which English dialect you are using, it’s possible to know all the rules and regulations for that dialect.
However, outside of a situation where one English and one style manual have been agreed upon by all, people may be speaking any variety of English. For instance, someone using standard American English correctly might appear to be making grammar, spelling, and word choice errors if judged by a person using British English. Likewise, something that’s correct in British English may not be correct in Ugandan English. Something that’s correct in Ugandan English may be wrong in African American Vernacular English. All of these are valid dialects of the English language with overlapping but distinct grammar rules and vocabulary. Unless one is certain they know the rules and regulations for all English dialects, one should not be so swift to render judgment on another’s use of language.
I don’t take any particular joy or satisfaction in telling people they used a word the wrong way or broke a grammar rule. I do it, a great deal of it, because it’s my job. I do find it satisfying to edit a manuscript to the point that I don’t believe there are any remaining errors in that manuscript. Shaming the writer of that manuscript because they created errors in the first place is not something I find appealing. I’m grateful that writers make grammatical errors, and typos, and spelling mistakes, and sometimes don’t choose the best word. It’s because of this that I have a career.
“If you are good at something you should never do it for free.” This phrase is used to mean you should be paid fairly for the skills you have, a sentiment with which I mostly agree. Although, I do believe in doing things for free that I’m good at, under the right circumstances. I edit resumes for free, for example. This is a way I use the something I’m good at to give back to the people around me.
This phrase—“If you are good at something you should never do it for free”—could also be understood to mean, just because you are good at something doesn’t mean you should do it unasked and uninvited. No one likes to receive unsolicited advice or criticism. I would not appreciate it if someone popped the hood of my car and started poking around in there just because they’re good at tinkering with cars. I wouldn’t want someone to come up and start painting my house uninvited just because they’re really good at painting houses. Likewise, I don’t assume others want my unsolicited grammar advice just because I noticed an error in their speech or writing and I happen to be really good at that kind of thing.
I take this to the degree that when someone I know asks me to read their creative writing, and if I agree to do it, I ask up front—do you want me to read this as your friend Catherine, or as your editor friend Catherine, or as your editor? Because these are three very different reads and would generate three very different responses, and I’m not trying to set my social circle on fire.
I have been known to say “I want to burn it all down,” but I didn’t mean my friends. The fancy olive oil store? Maybe. But you’ll never prove it was me.
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