A Word, Please: Seven words whose common use would have made past grammar experts livid
These days, weâre all experts in the perils of time travel. Through extensive research in front of our TVs, we know that if we go back in time we should never step on a bug, never try to talk sense into Yoko, and, most crucial, never, ever get romantic with an enchanting stranger who âreminds usâ of our grandmother or grandfather.
But thereâs one peril weâre completely unprepared for: old-timey grammar snobs. Turns out, Marty McFly and Stewie Griffin have been utterly negligent in preparing us for what would happen should we go back, say, 60 or 70 years and use a word like âdeplore,â âessential,â âgorgeousâ or âlivid.â Spoiler alert: We would be wrong, wrong, wrong â at least according to some influential language experts at the time. Hereâs a list of seven dangerous words to put on a Post-it note in your time machine.
Absolutely. Thinking about time traveling back to the Roaring â20s? If your answer is âabsolutely!â youâre in trouble. Word cops of the day, notably the author F.K. Ball, had a bone to pick with âabsolutelyâ: âIt is much used, but seldom needed,â he wrote. Decades later, Ballâs peeve was still going strong, with language commentators saying itâs bad to use âabsolutelyâ to mean âyes.â
Concept. Do you find time travel to be a fascinating concept? Well, if you go back to 1965, keep it to yourself. âThe tendency among some groups, particularly social workers, teachers, and advertising writers, to make the lesser seem the greater and to enfold the commonplace in the mantle of science or philosophy has had a debasing effect on the word âconcept,ââ wrote Theodore M. Bernstein in the righteous burn on social workers we never knew we needed till he laid it down. A concept, Bernstein insists in âThe Careful Writer,â isnât an idea. Itâs âan idea that results from drawing a generalization from particulars.â Youâve been warned.
Deplore. If you think âdeplorableâ is a loaded word today, take a little trip back to 1942 when one Eric Partridge couldnât think of a single thing more deplorable than the way we modern folks use the word âdeplore.â As he wrote in âUsage and Abusage,â you canât deplore a human being (did I mention it was 1942?). ââDeploreâ governs a thing or quality, not a person.â
With the word âback,â âhearken,â âharkenâ and âharkâ take on a different meaning than their original definition, âlisten.â
Essential. For me, the best reason to travel back to 1961 would be to lure author Thomas Elliott Berry onto my time machine for a return trip to 2024. Iâd take him to a cosmetics counter and show him all the products made with essential oils. Then Iâd take him to a bookstore and turn to the entry for âessentialâ in every dictionary on the shelf. Then Iâd sit back and watch his head explode. As Berry wrote in âThe Most Common Mistakes in English Usage,â the word âessentialâ means only ânecessary for the existence of. ⌠It should not be used synonymously with âimportant.ââ
Gender. Returning now to the Department of Donât Go There, the word âgenderâ doesnât mean what you think it means. At least it didnât used to, according to Bernstein. People and animals donât have genders, he said. Only words do. ââGenderâ is a grammatical term, denoting (in English) whether words pertaining to a noun or pronoun are classed as masculine, feminine, or neuter,â he insists in âThe Careful Writer.â âIt is not a substitute for âsexâ (but, then, what is?).â
Gorgeous. Thereâs more than one reason you should avoid calling someone âgorgeousâ if you go back to 1965. For the most important of them, I refer you back to the grandmother/grandfather warning above. But almost as perilous: Anyone who read Bernsteinâs book will sneer at your vocabulary. ââGorgeousâ applies not to a person but to the adornment of a person,â he wrote. âAs a synonym for âbeautifulâ or âsplendid,â the word is slang.â
Livid. Have you heard that someone was so angry they were âlividâ? Or perhaps you heard someone use âlivid,â as Truman Capote did, to mean a shade of red? Back in the day, that would have made Berry downright ⌠well, livid. Per his 1961 rant, âlividâ means only a bluish color, the color of lead or the color of bruised flesh.
June Casagrande is the author of âThe Joy of Syntax: A Simple Guide to All the Grammar You Know You Should Know.â She can be reached at [email protected].
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