Tag Archives: Oxford comma

A good read for a snowy day…

Here’s a wonderful essay to read on what is here yet another snowy day. It’s from the 23 February 2015 New Yorker: “Holy Writ,” by Mary Norris, Copy Editor at the magazine.

Norris may be my new goddess. I agree with her on everything—except the claim that the comma is a pause. I think it’s a vocal dip usually without an actual pause. Using that definition, I concur on every comma choice she describes even though she makes those choices for reasons of a different nature. The test of my ear concurs with the test of her principles and reinforces her preference for the “Oxford comma.”

Well, anyway, it’s lovely, and exquisitely punctuated. Please follow this link and have yourself a great time!


“This passage discusses the main ideas of life, death and suicide.

Here’s a very good argument for retaining the use of the “Oxford comma” (also called the Harvard comma, so elites of both major English-speaking cultures are represented!)—the comma preceding “and” in a series.

Whatever the passage my student was referring to, if she meant her sentence to present a series, the themes of the passage are sweeping, to say the least: Life! Death! Suicide! In other words, all of existence, all of the cessation of existence, and at least one means of transition between the two.

But there’s no comma before the “and,” and so she may not be presenting a series at all; she may be offering a parenthetical clarification: The passage discusses the main ideas of life, which are death and suicide. Here’s a very pessimistic outlook, indeed, wherein most of life is spent contemplating its end and the means to the end.

I don’t really care that in many series the reader knows what the writer means with or without the comma. I can contemplate the sun, moon, and stars; I can contemplate the sun, moon and stars. Any confusion?

On the other hand, “and” occurs in a lot of phrases that can be compound or separate entities. If I bring Scotch and sodas to my guests, am I delivering mixed drinks or alternatives? How about if I serve them wine, Perrier, gin and tonic, Scotch and soda? Hah!

I have several friends who have been cherishing weird news since long before “News of the Weird” became a feature in alternative newspapers; I’m sure you also have such friends, or even ARE such a one. A favorite such story of mine is that of a man who had shot (and killed) his wife, and had received a light sentence. Since the setting was Texas, this fact alone is interesting. His explanation was probably what persuaded the judge to go easy on him: His wife had served him a casserole, after he had repeatedly told her he liked his food “separate.”

Well, that’s how I feel about commas.

What’s the quickest, surest way to teach college students to punctuate? Had they been paying attention in grade school, or even high school, they would have had a chance to learn the “rules” of punctuation (if such things are still taught). Better, had they been avid and attentive readers, particularly of fiction and poetry, they would probably have absorbed good punctuation practices without the impediment of rules and exceptions. But both these learning processes require time. Once students have arrived in college they don’t have much leisure for these basic lessons—even in writing classes we have bigger flounders to fry: analysis, argument, evidence, and clarity.

The quickest way I’ve found is singing—well, sort-of singing. I take one class session to demonstrate for them the vocal behavior represented by each punctuation mark. Punctuation, after all, serves the same purpose in representing speech that rests, accent marks, and note-duration indicators serve in representing music. What’s the difference between a simple descending major scale and “Joy to the World, The Lord Is Come”? Phrasing. Emphasis, duration, and silence. What’s the difference between “I’m hungry! Let’s eat Grandma” and “I’m hungry! Let’s eat, Grandma”? Phrasing. Emphasis, duration, and silence. Once we practice the sounds and silences of punctuation for awhile, we read aloud, and then note the relationship between the phrasing of the sentence and the meaning of the sentence. Then I tell them to listen when they write.

I started doing this with a student many many years ago who was sent to me in the English department’s Writing Clinic by his Creative Writing professor, with this note: “HELP! This kid can’t punctuate to save his soul!” Knowing I couldn’t get very far very fast by reviewing rules, I scrounged around in my own experience and thought of the music analogy. He didn’t play an instrument, but he could sing a little. I spent a total of an hour with him. Two weeks later I ran into his professor. “What did you do with Eric?” he asked. “It’s a miracle. He makes NO errors. The rhythm of his writing has even gotten more interesting.” So I keep doing it. The approach seems to have a higher “success” rate than other methods, at least in my hands.

So: if you hear it, mark it. And by this one “rule” of punctuation, just about every series needs the comma before the “and.”

Perhaps my “main ideas of life” student was not writing a series; perhaps she was a hopeless pessimist. On the basis of a single sentence I can’t really tell. But in a world where the Oxford comma was the standard practice, I would know right away.

“He will be brought up in a suitable environment…”

My student is writing about the case of a young woman who, needing money for college (you have to sympathize with that), agreed to be artificially inseminated and bear a child for the biological father and his wife—but after the birth refused to part with the little boy.

The essays on this subject tended toward the impassioned-but-inarticulate, and I jotted down a lot of spectacular sentences.

What interests me most about the example here is its diction. In fact, my student made no errors whatsoever, unless the reader is, like me, determined to preserve the so-called Oxford comma even though Oxford University has itself become so foolish as to make it a judgment call. But her sentence makes clear that good writing requires a lot more than correct spelling, grammar, and punctuation.

What is remarkable about what follows is not the correctness, but the language choices. A perfectly reasonable beginning suddenly tilts, with “suitable environment” as the fulcrum, into the voice of a Chamber of Commerce or realtor’s brochure.

She’s arguing that the contract should be upheld and the child should be part of his father’s family. After all, she reasons, the biological mother is still in school, in need of money, uncertain of her future. The father and his wife are a prosperous and stable couple living in a good neighborhood and eager to give a child the good life they clearly can afford.

Reading this sentence, wouldn’t you feel the appeal? Here we go:

“He will be brought up in a suitable environment with convenient recreational centers, clinics and transportation.”

As the song says, Who could ask for anything more?