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I'm a stickler, alright. I cringe every time when I see mistakes which shouldn't appear anywhere, since here punctuation and grammar are being taught in primary school. But it looks like every language has its own tormentors.
Beside being extremely informative, it is in equal measure hilarious. What is it with these books on punctuation that makes them so unputdownable? I've read not long ago Semicolon: The Past, Present, and Future of a Misunderstood Mark, and I loved it. Now this one is even more captivanting. Here are some fragments:
I mean, full stops are quite important, aren't they? Yet by contrast to the versatile apostrophe, they are stolid little chaps, to say the least. In fact one might dare to say that while the full stop is the lumpen male of the punctuation world (do one job at a time; do it well; forget about it instantly), the apostrophe is the frantically multi-tasking female, dotting hither and yon, and succumbing to burnout from all the thankless effort.
Punctuation developed slowly and cautiously not because it wasn't considered important, but, on the contrary, because it was such intensely powerful ju-ju.
Everyone knows the exclamation mark - or exclamation point, as it is known in America. It comes at the end of a sentence, is unignorable and hopelessly heavy-handed, and is known in the newspaper world as a screamer, a gasper, a startler or (sorry) a dog's cock.
In the family of punctuation, where the full stop is daddy and the comma is mummy, and the semicolon quietly practises the piano with crossed hands, the exclamation mark is the big attention-deficit brother who gets overexcited and breaks things and laughs too loudly.
The name comes from the Greek, as usual. What a lot of words the Greeks had for explaining spatial relationships - for placing round, placing underneath, joining together, cutting off! Lucky for us, otherwise we would have had to call our punctuation marks names like "joiner" and "half a dash" and so on. In this case, the phrase from which we derive the name hyphen means "under one" or "into one" or "together", so is possibly rather more sexy in its origins than we might otherwise have imagined from its utilitarian image today.
Recommended to everyone, I've seen a lot of reviews which could benefit from it. (Mine too, unfortunately...)
Beside being extremely informative, it is in equal measure hilarious. What is it with these books on punctuation that makes them so unputdownable? I've read not long ago Semicolon: The Past, Present, and Future of a Misunderstood Mark, and I loved it. Now this one is even more captivanting. Here are some fragments:
I mean, full stops are quite important, aren't they? Yet by contrast to the versatile apostrophe, they are stolid little chaps, to say the least. In fact one might dare to say that while the full stop is the lumpen male of the punctuation world (do one job at a time; do it well; forget about it instantly), the apostrophe is the frantically multi-tasking female, dotting hither and yon, and succumbing to burnout from all the thankless effort.
Punctuation developed slowly and cautiously not because it wasn't considered important, but, on the contrary, because it was such intensely powerful ju-ju.
Everyone knows the exclamation mark - or exclamation point, as it is known in America. It comes at the end of a sentence, is unignorable and hopelessly heavy-handed, and is known in the newspaper world as a screamer, a gasper, a startler or (sorry) a dog's cock.
In the family of punctuation, where the full stop is daddy and the comma is mummy, and the semicolon quietly practises the piano with crossed hands, the exclamation mark is the big attention-deficit brother who gets overexcited and breaks things and laughs too loudly.
The name comes from the Greek, as usual. What a lot of words the Greeks had for explaining spatial relationships - for placing round, placing underneath, joining together, cutting off! Lucky for us, otherwise we would have had to call our punctuation marks names like "joiner" and "half a dash" and so on. In this case, the phrase from which we derive the name hyphen means "under one" or "into one" or "together", so is possibly rather more sexy in its origins than we might otherwise have imagined from its utilitarian image today.
Recommended to everyone, I've seen a lot of reviews which could benefit from it. (Mine too, unfortunately...)