Webster's Unabridged 1890

This is odd. I’m going to do something not often done: review a dictionary.

Bear with me here. It is my fervent belief that a writer is only as good as the books on his reference shelf; much the same as a carpenter, however talented, needs proper tools in order to do anything besides theorize about building something.

Now, a reference shelf: it should have more than just reference books, don’t you think? Shouldn’t it be more than what it’s been, as classically defined? It should contain those books that have affected us the most as people, let alone as writers. Mine contains books like Where the Red Fern Grows, and The Pacific and Other Stories by Mark Helprin, and The Burnished Blade by George Schoonover. A reference shelf doesn’t just contain collated facts, then, as I’m defining it. But, and this is a big but, it should contain, in order to be all it can be, several dictionaries, thesauri, style guides, and other reference books. I’ll detail some of those on coming Fridays.

For now, though it sounds absurd, I’m going to write about a monument to the English language: the work of Noah Webster in the nineteenth century. My particular volume dates to 1890 and is unabridged. I swear, and I’m not joking, one could sit down to read this thing for sheer entertainment. It’s that good.

Here’s a list of some words you’ll probably not find very often. Besmear. Canoness. Dialist. Inflexure. Prepositure. Smeeth. Yend. And before you dismiss them as entirely unusable in today’s greasy world, remember that they are part of the foundation upon which our communications rest today, whether written or spoken. That, and it certainly helps to know, if one is a writer, a little more etymology; it tends to give scale and depth to your work. It’s not just for historical novelists, in other words. It’s not just for writers either, I’d argue. It’s for all of us who use the language.

In regard to etymology, take a word like infidel, for instance. In the 1890 edition of Webster’s unabridged, it’s actually defined, partially, as “One who is without faith…unbelieving…a Mahommedan.” I find this to be highly instructive. And I learned something else: the root in Latin is infidelis, which can be readily translated as unfaithful, or literally, “not faithful.” Isn’t it amazing how history moves in currents, in and out, changing definitions, sometimes 180 degrees opposite. Then again, I suppose context is everything—but I love how pre-PC this thing is. There’s something insidious about politically correct thought isn't there (there’s actually nothing correct about it; again highly instructive), how it infects our language, the meanings of our words, twisting fact into fiction and fiction into fact. Where are the writers who have anything to say about this? Well…I’m one.

Looking through an old dictionary goes to show how important history really is. Forgive me for this last little bit, but I’d like to point something out. I love writing. I love that lots of other people love it too—heck, it’s such a dream job that sometimes writers write characters, even protagonists, who just happen to be writers. These are bestsellers. Weird. Anyway, I love it. But I never want to take it for granted. In other words, I think we writers have a large responsibility to posterity, since our work is in print. We have to master our trade or craft to the best of our abilities. We can’t just go off half-cocked and start writing books with no working knowledge of grammar, punctuation, or for God’s sake spelling. We can’t do that and still call ourselves writers. I don’t think so. Yes, there’s room to develop, and take your time at it, but start today; now. And yes, find and hire a great editor, but learn and retain what you learn along the way. I think we owe it to ourselves and our readers, however distant in future history they may yet be, to know what the hell we’re doing. We have a responsibility to know what words mean. We use so many of them. Again, it’s all about the right tools.

How to Be a Good Writer, Part 3

Last week I posted another blog in a series of highbrow lectures about how little ol’ you can be more like Ernest Hemingway. Not that I have the slightest clue. But these days, who gives a #@!% about whether or not anybody actually knows what they’re talking about? Full steam ahead.

On to the business, then.

Let’s talk about references. When I was earning my wee business degree at a school that I can decidedly recommend against attending, I nevertheless picked up more than one useful thing for all the tedium and money expended. One of these was a grammar guide. It’s laminated and three-hole punched for your convenience, and tells you all about how to use pronouns. And other useful tidbits. I recommend finding something like this at, say, a college bookstore.

Another useful publication that resides happily on my shelf is this: The Dictionary of Problem Words and Expressions (Shaw, Harry, McGraw Hill, © 1975). This book tells you when to use farther versus further, the difference between hung and hanged, lay and lie, than and then and so on. These are all handy things to know, and they make you look far more intelligent than you actually are. I use it ceaselessly and obviously to great effect.

While we’re talking books to have on hand, we really need to, as professional writers (or at least people who fancy themselves professional writers), build our own library, starting with our very own reference shelf. To that end, I suggest starting off with a quality dictionary. I mean an actual paper one. The older the better (those old ones have such nicely groomed words in them; they never chew gum whilst speaking). I have one from the 1950’s and an unabridged Webster’s from 1890. At one point or another, you’re going to outgrow the stupid and clunky Encarta tools that Microsoft builds into its Word application, and you’re not going to have anywhere to turn if you’re not prepared. I’m warning you now. These older dictionaries are really handy, by the way, for writers of historical fiction or steampunk.

We can include in this vein of reference materials a quality thesaurus. Contrary to what most ignorant bumpkins might think, these are alive and well, and not in fact extinct.  I have a youngish one; it’s paperback and about thirty years old, and already segregated at the binding around the l-m area. So I must treat it carefully. This, again, is an indispensible tool for writers looking to find another word for “suddenly,” or, “therefore.” I’m told by an accountant friend of mine, who was highly irritated as she read through the Twilight books, that she suspects that’s mostly what Stephenie Meyer did especially in books two and three of the series: right click>synonyms in order to make things more interesting. I’ll leave it to the peanut gallery to decide whether or not, as Stephen King has asserted, “She can’t write.”

Now that I’ve worked in a King reference for three weeks straight, I’ll call this a perfect finish.