The importance of punctuation – Dashes and hyphens, inverted commasJanuary 13th, 2011 | Author: thecreativegenieTopics: Effective writingTags: dashes, Em dash, En dash, hyphens, punctuation, quotation marks, writing

The appendixes to Effective Writing provides a succinct list of common writing errors. It is not a complete list but rather a compilation of some of those I come across most frequently as an editor.

Dashes and hyphens

There are commonly three types of hyphens and dashes used in punctuation. These are the straight hyphen (?) plus the extended hyphens:  the Em dash (—) and the En dash (–).

The hyphen is used in spelling to link compound words, form prefixes and compound adjectives. It is also used to define syntax within sentences by forming compounds needed to keep words together as in the “the soon-to-be prime minister…” Compound family names are also separated with a hyphen as in Barbara Smith-Jones and in printing it is used to split words that do not fit at the end of the line although this should be avoided if at all possible and there are rules as to how to split words when there is no other option.

An Em dash is used in much the same way as a colon or parenthetic expressions (in place of brackets). It is often associated with the less formal writing styles and in formal writing a colon or bracket would be used as appropriate.

The En dash is used to denote sequence or range as in 2008–2009; “module 2 can be found on pages 36–55” or “module 2 can be found from page 36 to page 55.” A spaced En dash “ – “ can also be used in place of an Em dash which generally does not take spaces.

The free and fair elections – if you can call them such – will be held in May of this year.

The free and fair elections—if you can call them such—will be held in May of this year.

Word 2007 shows a distinct preference for the former and will automatically replace a spaced hyphen with a spaced En dash as you type.

Sadly, if you prefer Em dashes (as I do) then you have to place them manually. You can also do this via a global Find and Replace. Some companies and organisations use a Spaced Em dash rather than an unspaced one, so check the preferred style of the organisation for which you are writing.

Inverted commas

Quotation marks are inverted commas but not all inverted commas are quotation marks. They are a form of punctuation that separates out a group of words from the surrounding text and can be single (‘ _ ’) or double (“ _ ”). Inverted commas can be used (i) to identify direct speech, (ii) to identify the titles of literary works (but see comment on italics below), (iii) to draw attention to a particular word or a word used in an unusual context or (iv) to indicate that the writer does not necessarily agree with the proposition being put forward.

Whether to use single or double quotation marks is a common problem for authors and again there is no one rule for all occasions. In Britain, single commas are more prevalent than double while in the United States the reverse is true. In Australia, the Australian Government style is to use single quotation marks.

There are some easy rules to apply and which are widely practised by writers. These are a few suggestions:

1.    Use double marks for inline quotations and direct speech

2.    Use single marks for specific words and for quotations WITHIN quotations

3.    Use italics to identify titles and avoid inverted commas altogether.

As in other areas, in the absence of firm rules being set down for you, what matters most is consistency in your use

Hyphen (-)

Hyphens are used to link words and parts of words. They are not as common today as they used to be, but there are three main cases where you should use them:

in compound words to join prefixes to other words to show word breaks Hyphens in compound wordsHyphens are used in many compound words to show that the component words have a combined meaning (e.g. a pick-me-up, mother-in-law, good-hearted) or that there is a relationship between the words that make up the compound: for example, rock-forming minerals are minerals that form rocks. But you don’t need to use them in every type of compound word.

Compound adjectives

Compound adjectives are made up of a noun + an adjective, a noun + a participle, or an adjective + a participle. Many compound adjectives should be hyphenated. Here are some examples:

noun + adjective noun + participle adjective + participle

accident-prone computer-aided good-looking

sugar-free power-driven quick-thinking

carbon-neutral user-generated bad-tempered

sport-mad custom-built fair-haired

camera-ready muddle-headed open-mouthed

 

With compound adjectives formed from the adverb well and a participle (e.g. well-known), or from a phrase (e.g. up-to-date), you should use a hyphen when the compound comes before the noun:well-known brands of coffee

an up-to-date account

but not when the compound comes after the noun:

His music was also well known in England.

Their figures are up to date.

It’s important to use hyphens in compound adjectives describing ages and lengths of time: leaving them out can make the meaning ambiguous. For example, 250-year-old trees clearly refers to trees that are 250 years old, while 250 year old trees could equally refer to 250 trees that are all one year old.

Compound verbs

Use a hyphen when a compound formed from two nouns is made into a verb, for example:

noun verban ice skate to ice-skate

a booby trap to booby-trap

a spot check to spot-check

a court martial to court-martial

Phrasal verbs

You should NOT put a hyphen within phrasal verbs - verbs made up of a main verb and an adverb or preposition. For example:Phrasal verb Example

build up You should continue to build up your pension.

break in They broke in by forcing a lock on the door.

stop off We stopped off in Hawaii on the way home.

 If a phrasal verb is made into a noun, though, you SHOULD use a hyphen:

Noun Examplebuild-up There was a build-up of traffic on the ring road.

break-in The house was unoccupied at the time of the break-in.

stop-off We knew there would be a stop-off in Singapore for refuelling.

Compound nounsA compound noun is one consisting of two component nouns. In principle, such nouns can be written in one of three different ways:

one word two words hyphenatedaircrew air crew air-crew

playgroup play group play-group

chatroom chat room chat-room

 

In the past, these sorts of compounds were usually hyphenated, but the situation is different today. The tendency is now to write them as either one word or two separate words. However, the most important thing to note is that you should choose one style and stick to it within a piece of writing. Don’t refer to a playgroup in one paragraph and a play-group in another.Hyphens joining prefixes to other wordsHyphens can be used to join a prefix to another word, especially if the prefix ends in a vowel and the other word also begins with one (e.g. pre-eminent or co-own). This use is less common than it used to be, though, and one-word forms are becoming more usual (e.g. prearrange or cooperate).Use a hyphen to separate a prefix from a name or date, e.g. post-Aristotelian or pre-1900.Use a hyphen to avoid confusion with another word: for example, to distinguish re-cover (= provide something with a new cover) from recover (= get well again).Hyphens showing word breaksHyphens can also be used to divide words that are not usually hyphenated.

They show where a word is to be divided at the end of a line of writing. Always try to split the word in a sensible place, so that the first part does not mislead the reader: for example, hel-met not he-lmet; dis-abled not disa-bled.Hyphens are also used to stand for a common second element in all but the last word of a list, e.g.:

You may see a yield that is two-, three-, or fourfold.

You can read more about when to use hyphens on the Oxford Dictionaries blog. Here you will find helpful tips on when to use hyphens and examples of when they should not be used. 

Back to punctuation.You may also be interested inExclamation mark (!)Question mark (?)Dash (–)

Hyphen and DashThis section is concerned with the two punctuation marks hyphen (-) and dash (–). Even though they look rather similar, they have different functions, as the rules and examples below are intended to illustrate.

On the use of hyphensWe know that sometimes words contain hyphens. There is considerable variation in this area (that is, not everyone agrees on the proper use of hyphens), but there are a number of cases in which hyphens are used that we must bear in mind. Also always try to be consistent, so that you do not write the same word in different ways in the same text.At the end of a line of writing

If possible, put the hyphen between two parts of a compound word (eg. motor- at the end of one line and cycle at the beginning of the next one).

Otherwise, put the hyphen before a suffix (understand -ably, instead of understa -ndably) or after a prefix (mono- transitive, instead of monot- ransitive).

Words that are not compounds and which do not contain affixes are normally not long enough to have to be divided at the end of a line.

In compoundsGenerally speaking, compounds can be written in three different ways in English, namely as one word, as two words with a space between them, or with a hyphen between the first and the second part of the word.

In many cases, there is variation among writers, and writing conventions change over time, so always consult a recent and trusted dictionary when in doubt. However, the following general rules and advice should be useful:Compound adjectives are often (but not always) written with a hyphen. A compound adjective is typically an adjective that consists of an adjective + a participle (e.g. long-lasting and short-natured), a noun + a participle (thought-provoking and data-driven), or a noun + an adjective (camera-ready, lead-free).It is extra important to use a hyphen when not using one could lead to ambiguity. For instance, we should not write ten year old children if we mean ten-year-old children, since ten year old children could equally well refer to ten children that are one year old (i.e. ten year-old children).Generally speaking, compound premodifying adjectives, that is, adjectives that precede and modify the head of a noun phrase, are more often written with a hyphen than compound adjectives functioning as predicatives. This is especially important to remember when the compound adjective contains the adverb well. For example, even though we could very well write as in (1), we have to use the hyphen in (2):(1) I find this paper well written.(2) This is really a well-written paper.Similarly, we have to use hyphens if a premodifying adjective is formed from a phrase (3), even though we may leave out the hyphen when such a compound adjective functions as predicative (4):(3) A new state-of-the-art laboratory on Deeside marks a big step ahead in Wales' drive for economic renewal and green jobs.(4) This document is part of a series of reviews of the state of the art in cognitive systems. Compound numbers less than 100 are spellt with a hyphen (e.g. seventy-six, thirty-five).  Phrasal verbs have no hyphens when they are verbs (5), but when they are used as nouns, they get a hyphen, as in (6) below.(5) Long queues started to build up at these security checkpoints.

(6) There was a build-up of fluid in the inner ear, and the doctors drained the fluid out so the child could hear. After a prefixWe insert a hyphen between a prefix and a number or a proper noun (name):(7) This is a pre-2004 phenomenon.(8) This would reduce the risk of the further deterioration of Iraq into a post-Yugoslavia type of situation.We also include a hyphen in order to avoid words getting mixed up, so, for instance, we write re-cover, if we do not meanrecover, as in (9):(9) I would like to know how to re-cover dining-room chairs.It is (or used to be) common practice in British English to insert a hyphen between a prefix ending in a vowel and a word starting with a vowel, as in (10), but this use appears to be losing ground, so we also frequently find such words written as one word without a hyphen, as in (11):(10) Nato and Russia have made a historic agreement to co-operate over the creation of a missile defence shield protecting more than one billion people in a move aimed at bolstering the “reset” in relations between Moscow and the west.(11) Although the duty to cooperate would render it more difficult for local authorities to refuse a transfer outright, it did not override their discretion when deciding whether this would be compatible with other of their statutory duties or whether they could fulfil the terms of an offender's licence conditions.There are also a number of prefixes that are always suppused to be followed by a hyphen, for instance all-, cross-, ex-, self-,half-, and anti-, as in (12) to (17):(12) In principle this could be done by an all-knowing central planner.(13) Cross-Cultural Research (CCR) publishes peer-reviewed articles that describe cross-cultural and comparative studies in all human sciences.(14) After a year or so, my friend and ex-colleague John. Murray VII offered help again.(15) Self-esteem has to do with how one sees and experiences oneself.

(16) There is no way anyone in attendance left this show thinking it was half-hearted. (17) To illustrate what types of behaviour are anti-social, below are examples of ASB.Finally, please remember the practice of spelling premodifying compunds with hyphens, as illustrated in some of the examples above.

The dashA dash is the punctuation mark – , which is used to separate parts of a sentence. Dashes look like hyphens (which are used, for instance, to connect two or more words, as in a two-year-old child) but are longer. There are two forms of dashes in English language print:en dash (en rule) – This is the shorter dash, preceded and followed by a blank space (as illustrated).em dash (em rule)—This is the longer, unspaced dash (as illustrated).Dashes can be used instead of commas to set off a parenthetical element in a sentence:(1) Driving at night—especially in the rain—can be dangerous and requires more attention than daytime driving.Note the difference between British and American publishers: most British publishers (except Oxford UP), use the en dash, whereas the em dash with no blank spaces is preferred by most American publishers (and by Oxford UP) (Ritter, 2003, p. 141).

Semicolons, Colons, and DashesPrinter-friendly version

Punctuation marks: terribly powerful in the right hands. Punctuation marks are silent allies, and you can train yourself to exploit them as such. Punctuation marks do not just indicate sound patterns—they are symbols that clarify grammatical structure and sentence meaning. And, as I demonstrate in the writing of this paragraph, punctuation marks showcase your facility with the language. What follows are some basics about three of the most powerful and most commonly misused punctuation marks.

The Semicolon

The semicolon is often misused in technical writing; in fact, it is often confused with the colon. Grammatically, the semicolon almost always functions as an equal sign; it says that the two parts being joined are relatively equal in their length and have the same grammatical structure. Also, the semicolon helps you to link two things whose interdependancy you wish to establish. The sentence parts on either side of the semicolon tend to “depend on each other” for complete meaning. Use the semicolon when you wish to create or emphasize a generally equal or even interdependent relationship between two things. Note the interdependent relationship of the two sentence parts linked by the semicolon in this example:

The sonde presently used is located in the center of the borehole; this location enables the engineer to reduce microphonics and standoff sensitivity.

Here, we see how the second half of the sentence helps to explain a key detail (the sonde location) of the first half. The semicolon, along with the repetition of the word “location,” helps to draw our attention to the explanation.

The semicolon is also handy for linking a series of parallel items that could otherwise be confused with each other. One savvy student used the semicolon in a job description on her resume as follows:

As an engineering assistant, I had a variety of duties: participating in pressure ventilation surveys; drafting, surveying, and data compilation; acting as a company representative during a roof-bolt pull test.

The Colon

The colon: well-loved but, oh, so misunderstood. The colon is not just used to introduce a list; it is far more flexible. The colon can be used after the first word of a sentence or just before the final word of a sentence. The colon can also be used to introduce a grammatically independent sentence. Thus, I call it the most powerful of punctuation marks.

The colon is like a sign on the highway, announcing that something important is coming. It acts as an arrow pointing forward, telling you to read

on for important information. A common analogy used to explain the colon is that it acts like a flare in the road, signaling that something meaningful lies ahead.

Use the colon when you wish to provide pithy emphasis.

To address this problem, we must turn to one of the biologist’s most fundamental tools: the Petri dish.

Use the colon to introduce material that explains, amplifies, or summaries what has preceded it.

The Petri dish: one of the biologist’s most fundamental tools.

In low carbon steels, banding tends to affect two properties in particular: tensile ductility and yield strength.

The colon is also commonly used to present a list or series, which comes in handy when there is a lot of similar material to join:

A compost facility may not be located as follows: within 300 feet of an exceptional-value wetland; within 100 feet of a perennial stream; within 50 feet of a property line.

The Dash

The dash—which is typically typed as two hyphens or as one long bar (available on your word processor’s “symbol” map)—functions almost as a colon does in that it adds to the preceding material, but with extra emphasis. Like a caesura (a timely pause) in music, a dash indicates a strong pause, then gives emphasis to material following the pause. In effect, a dash allows you to redefine what was just written, making it more explicit. You can also use a dash as it is used in the first sentence of this paragraph: to frame an interruptive or parenthetical-type comment that you do not want to de-emphasize.

Jill Emery confirms that Muslim populations have typically been ruled by non-Muslims—specifically Americans, Russians, Israelis, and the French.

The dissolution took 20 minutes—much longer than anticipated—but measurements were begun as soon as the process was completed.

Finally, the dash we typically use is technically called the “em dash,” and it is significantly longer than the hyphen. There is also an “en dash”—whose length is between that of the hyphen and the em dash, and its best usage is to indicate inclusive dates and numbers:

July 6–September 17            pp. 48–56.

Like the em dash, the en dash is typically available on your word processor’s symbol map, or it may even be inserted automatically by your word processor when you type inclusive numbers or dates with a hyphen between them. When you type the hyphen, en dash, and em dash, no spaces should appear on either side of the punctuation mark.

BEFORE considering any of the aims and purposes of poetry, or any of its essential characteristics, it will be helpful to consider it in its place, as one of the fine arts. If we then ask ourselves what the fine arts are to do for us, what place they are to hold in a civilized nation, we shall perhaps be able to look at poetry in a broader way than we otherwise could; we shall be able to think of it, not merely as a pleasant and amusing diversion, but as one of the potent factors in history.

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  If we try to find a place for the fine arts among our various human activities, we might begin by making a rough classification of our subject in this way: the most primitive and necessary occupations we engage in, such as fishing and agriculture, trading, navigating, hunting, etc., we call industries. These marked the earliest stage of man’s career in civilization. Then he comes to other occupations, requiring more skill and ingenuity; he weaves fabrics, he makes himself houses, he fashions all sorts of implements for the household and the chase. He becomes a builder, a potter, a metal worker, an inventor. He has added thought to work and made the work easier. And these new occupations which he has discovered for himself differ from his earlier ones, chiefly in this, that they result in numerous objects of more or less permanence, cunningly contrived and aptly fitted to use. They are objects of useful or industrial art.

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  We must note two things about this step forward which man has taken toward civilization: in the first place he had to have some leisure to do these things, and in the second place the objects he has made reveal his ingenuity and forethought. They are records of his life. And it will happen that, as his leisure increases, his implements will become more and more elaborate and ornate. Every workman will have his own way of fashioning them, using his own device and designs, so that they will become something more than rude relics of one historic age or another: they will

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tell us something of the artificer himself; they will embody some intentional expression of human life, and come to have an art value. In so far as they can do this, they contain the essential quality of the fine arts. And the more freely the workman can deal with his craft, the more perfectly he can make it characteristic of himself, the greater will its artistic quality become.  The only purpose of the primitive industries was a utilitarian one. The prime object of the industrial arts is also a utilitarian one; but they have a secondary object as well, they aim at beauty too. They not only serve the practical end for which they were intended; they serve also as a means of expression for the workmen. Now just as we passed from the industries to the industrial arts, by the addition of this secondary interest, this human artistic expressional quality, so by making this quality paramount, we may pass from the industrial arts to the fine arts, where expression is all important and utility is almost lost sight of. It is the distinguishing mark of the fine arts that they give us a means of expressing ourselves in terms of intelligible beauty.

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  I have made this distinction between the fine and the industrial merely for the sake of clarifying our ideas, and getting a notion of what is the essence of all art. But really the difference is not important and, having served its turn, may be forgotten. There is an element of art, of course, in everything that we do; the manner of the doing, that is the art. The quality of art which we should appreciate and respect may quite as truly be present in a Japanese tobacco box as in a Greek Tragedy. The Japanese, indeed, offer an instance of a people who have raised the handicrafts quite to the level of the fine arts. All those fascinating objects of beauty, which they contrive with so much skill, are often, one may guess, only as many excuses for the workman to exhibit his deftness and his taste. This black oak cabinet inlaid with pearl, or that lacquer bowl, may perhaps be counted useful objects; but I fancy that before all else they were just so many opportunities for the artist; and when he fashioned them he had in mind only the creation of something beautiful, and thought very little of the use to which they might be put. He was bent on giving play to his imagination, and you may be very sure he was glad in the work of his hands and wrought all those intricate effects with loving care. Surely the result is much more deserving of respect than a mediocre epic or a second-rate painting. It is not what we do that counts, but how well we do it. There is no saying one kind of work is art, and another kind is not art. Anything that is well done is art; anything that is badly done is rotten.

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  I do not wish, either, to confine the word “useful,” in its application, to our material needs. Everything we do ought to be useful, and so it is, if it is done well. Tables and chairs are useful; but so are pictures and cathedrals and lyrics and the theatre. If we allow ourselves only what are called the necessities of life, we are only keeping alive one-third of being; the other two-thirds of our manhood may be starving to death. The mind and the soul have their necessities, as well as the body. And we are to seek these things, not only for our future salvation, but for our salvation here and now, that our lives may be helpful and sane and happy.

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  It is often easy to see how a fine art may grow from some more necessary and commonplace undertaking. The fine art of painting, for instance, arose of course from the use of ornamental lines and figures, drawn on pottery, or on the walls of a skin tent, where it served only to enhance the value of the craftsman’s work, and please his fancy. Gradually, through stages of mural decoration, perhaps, where ever-increasing freedom of execution was given the artist, its first ornamental purpose was forgotten, and it came to serve only as a means of expressing the artist’s imaginative ideals. So too of sculpture and architecture, of dancing and acting. It is an easy transition from the light-hearted superfluous skip of a child as it runs, to the more formal dance-step, as the child keeps time to music and gives vent to its gayety of spirit. It is an easy transition from gesture and sign-language, employed as a useful means of communication, to their more elaborate use in the art of acting, where they serve merely to create an illusion. So, too, whenever a piece of information is conveyed by word of mouth, and the teller of the tale elaborates it with zest and interest, making it more memorable and vivid, the fine art of letters is born.

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  We may notice again that the quality of art begins to appear in all our occupations, as the dire stress of existence is relieved and man’s spirit begins to have free play. Art is an indication of health and happy exuberance of life; it is as instinctive and spontaneous in its origin as child’s play. To produce it naturally the artist must be free, for the time being at least,—free from all doubt or hesitation about the truth, free from all material entanglements, free from all dejection and sadness of heart. So that the primitive industries mark the first grade in the human story, when we were barely escaping from the necessity for unremitting hand-to-hand physical struggle for life; and the second grade in our progress is marked by the appearance of the industrial arts; while we may look on the fine arts as an index of the highest development, as we pass from savagery and barbarism to civilization. And perhaps we shall not go very far astray, in

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our comparative estimate of nations, and their greatness on the earth, if we rank them in the order of their proficiency in the arts.  The fine arts, having thus had their rise in the free play of the human spirit, as it went about its work in the world and busied itself with the concerns of life, became a natural vehicle for giving expression to all men’s aspirations and thoughts about life. Indeed it was this very simple elemental need for self-expression, as a trait in human character, which helped to determine what the fine arts should be. To communicate our feelings, to transmit knowledge, to amuse ourselves by creating a mimic world with imaginative shapes of beauty, these were fundamental cravings, lurking deep in the spirit of man, and demanding satisfaction, almost as imperiously as the desires of the body. If hunger and cold made us industrious humans, no less certainly love of companionship and need for self-expression moulded our breath into articulate speech.

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  Since therefore the fine arts are so truly a creation of man, we may expect to find in them a trustworthy image of himself. Whatever is human will be there. All our thoughts, all our emotions, all our sensations and hopes and fears. They will reveal and embody in themselves all the traits of our complex nature. Art is that lovely corporeal body with which man endowers the spirit of goodness and the thought of truth. For there are in man these three great principles,—a capacity for finding out the truth and distinguishing it from error, a capacity for perceiving goodness and knowing it from evil, and a capacity for discriminating between what is ugly and what is fair. By virtue of the first of these powers, man has sought knowledge,—has become the philosopher and scientist; by virtue of the second, he has evolved religions and laws, and social order and advancement; while by virtue of the third he has become an artist. Yet we must be careful not to suppose that either one of these powers ever comes into play entirely alone; for man has not three separate natures, but one nature with three different phases. When therefore man finds expression for his complete personality in the fine arts, you may always expect to find there, not only creations of beauty, but monuments of wisdom and religion as well. Art can no more exist without having a moral bearing, than a body can exist without a soul. Its influence may be for good or for bad, but it is there and it is inevitable. In the same way no art can exist without an underlying philosophy, any more than man can exist without a mind. The philosophy may be trivial or profound, but it is always present.

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  Art, therefore, is enlisted beyond escape, both in the service of science and in the service of religion. Great art appears wherever the heart of man

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has been able to manifest itself in a perfectly beautiful guise, informed by thoughts of radiant truth, and inspired by emotions of limitless goodness. Any piece of art which does not fulfill its obligations to truth and goodness, as well as to beauty, is necessarily faulty and incomplete.  At first thought perhaps you might not be quite ready to admit such a canon of criticism as this; for truth is the object of all science, and goodness is the object of all morality, and some persons have been accustomed to say that art has nothing whatever to do with either morality or science, but exists for its own sake alone, for the increase and perpetuation of pleasure. But art cannot give us complete pleasure, if it appeals only to our senses, and leaves unsatisfied our natural curiosity and wonder,—our need for understanding, and our need for loving. That is to say, our reason and our emotion must always be appealed to, as well as our sense of beauty.

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  For instance, I am to be entranced by the beautiful diction and cadence of the poem; at the same time, its conception of life and universe may be patently false and puerile, and from that point of view it would not please me at all; it would disgust me. Or it might show a just estimate of life, it might be true to philosophy and science, and yet celebrate some mean or base or ignoble or cruel incident in a way that would be revolting to my spirit. In other words, while it satisfied my sense of beauty, it might fail utterly to satisfy my sense of right or my desire for truth. To be wholly pleasing, the fine arts must satisfy the mind with its insatiable curiosity, and the soul with its love of justice, quite as thoroughly as they satisfy the needs of the senses.

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  To my mind the great pre-eminence of Browning as a poet does not rest on any profound philosophy to be found in his work, nor in his superior craftsmanship, not yet in his generous uplifting impulse and the way with which he arouses our feelings, but rather on the fact that he possessed all these three requirements of a poet in an equally marked degree. The work of Poe or of William Morris, on the other hand, does not exhibit this fine balance of strength, intellectuality, and passion. On its sensuous side, it is wonderfully beautiful; and yet it is not wholly satisfying, since it fails to give us enough to think about. Its mentality is too slight. Neither of these poets, to judge from his poetry alone, had any large and firm grasp of the thought of the world, such as Browning possessed, and that is why the wizardry of Poe and the luring charm of Morris are not more effective. An artist must be also a thinker and a prophet, if his creations are to have the breath of life. And again, poetry may easily fail by being overladen with

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this same requisite of mentality. It may have more thought than it can carry. Browning himself, in several of his later books, like the “Inn Album,” quite loses the fine poise of his powers, and almost ceases to be a poet, in his desire to be a philosopher.  All this is so fundamentally important, that we cannot have it too clearly in mind. It is the one great central truth, which must illumine all criticism, and help our understanding of life, as well as of art.

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  When we say however that it is the business of art to give pleasure, in all three of these possible ways, of course we must not suppose that the arts do not differ one from another, in their ability to meet such demand. The art of music cannot satisfy my reason as completely as the art of poetry, for example; because it cannot transmit a logical statement of fact. It may appeal to my senses more charmingly than poetry can; it may arouse my emotions profoundly; but it cannot appeal to my mind in the way poetry does. On the other hand poetry itself is less strictly rational than prose literature; it does not attempt to satisfy our curiosity as completely as prose does, though it pleases our æsthetic sense more. There need be no question of one art being greater or less than another; we need only remember the way in which they vary, and how each has a different proportion of the three requirements which are necessary to them all.

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  To speak quite simply, then, art is concerned first of all in the creation of beauty. At the same time it is closely related to science on one side and religion on the other. But how? I suppose we may say (to speak again quite roughly) that science is all we know about things, and religion is all we feel about them. Naturally therefore every artistic conception to which we give expression will betray something both of our philosophy and of our morality. It cannot be otherwise. In the case of literature the human spirit is finding expression for itself through the medium of human speech; and speech is the most exact means we have for conveying definite thought, and narrating facts. So that every literature contains a great body of work which is almost pure science. In De Quincey’s useful phrase, “There is a literature of knowledge and a literature of power.” Euclid’s Geometry, Newton’s “Principia,” Darwin’s “Origin of Species,” are works of science rather than of letters. They appeal solely to our reason, and do not attempt to please our sense of the beautiful by their literary structure and the arrangement of verbal sounds, nor to work upon our emotions in any way. Euclid does not care whether you like his XLVIII. proposition or not, so long as he can convince you that it is true. Neither does Darwin care whether his theory pleases you or not. He is only interested in getting

  17

at the truth. How that truth may affect our feeling is quite another matter. It is so too of the theological and philosophic writers, like Spinoza and Kant; they are primarily scientists, not artists. But when you pass from these austere reasoners to a work like Plato’s Dialogues, you perceive that two new elements have entered into the making of the book. Plato is not only interested in finding out the truth, and convincing you of its reasonableness; he wishes at the same time to make the truth seem pleasant and good; he tries to enlist your feelings on his side; and also to satisfy your sense of beauty with his form of words. He has added a religious value and an art value to the theme of pure philosophy. He has made his book a piece of literature.  And as literature is related to science on one hand, it is related to religion on the other. A book of meditation or of hymns may be extremely devout in sentiment, without possessing any value as literature. Because, very often it takes a certain set of ideas for granted, without caring very much whether they are the largest and truest ideas or not; and also because it makes no effort to be fine and distinguished in its diction. It may be entirely worthy in the fervor of its sentiment, and yet be quite unworthy in an artistic way. With great religious books this is not so. Works like the Psalms or passages of Isaiah, or the poetry of Job, or Tennyson’s “Crossing the Bar,” are first of all religious in their intention,—they are meant to play upon our emotional nature: but they do not stop there; they are cast in a form of words so perfect and fresh that it arrests us at once, and satisfies our love of beauty. At the same time they accord with the most profound and fundamental ideas about life and nature that humanity has been capable of. They satisfy our mind and our æsthetic sense, as well as our spiritual need. It is because of this three-fold completeness, that we class them as pieces of literature, and not merely as records of religious enthusiasm. Depth of religious feeling alone would not have been sufficient to make them literature, any more than clear thinking and accurate reason alone could have made Plato’s book a piece of literature.

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  We must remember, too, how vapid the artistic quality is, when it exists by itself without adequate intelligence and underlying purpose. Think how much of modern art is characterized by nothing but form, how devoid it is of ideas, how lacking in anything like passionate enthusiasm. I believe this is to some extent due to our failure to realize that these components of which I have been speaking are absolutely requisite in all art. We forget that there is laid upon art any obligation except to be beautiful; we forget that it must embody the truest thought man has been able to reach, and

  19

enshrine the noblest impulses he has entertained. This is not so much a duty for art to undertake, as an inescapable destiny and natural function.  It is a sad day for a people when their art becomes divorced from the current of their life, when it comes to be looked on as something precious but unimportant, having nothing at all to do with their social structure, their education, their political ideas, their faith or their daily vocations. But I fear that we ourselves are living in just such a time. Fine arts may be patronized even liberally, but you could not say they have any hold on us as a people; we have no wide feelings for them, no profound conviction of their importance.

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  There may be many reasons for this, and it is a question with which we are not directly concerned here. One reason there is, however, it seems to me, which is too important not to be referred to. The fine arts, as I tried to show a few pages back, are an outgrowth and finer development of the industrial arts. One would expect them to flourish only in a nation where the industrial arts flourish; only in such a nation would the great body of the people be infused with the popular love of beauty, and a feeling for art, which could create a stimulating, artistic atmosphere, and out of which great artists could be born. So much will be readily admitted. But under modern industrial and commercial conditions, the industrial arts are dead; they have been killed by the exigencies of our business processes. The industrial artist has become the factory-hand. To produce anything worth while, either in the fine or in the industrial arts, it is necessary that the worker should not be hurried, and should have some freedom to do his work in his own way, according to his own delight and fancy. The modern workman, on the contrary, is a slave to his conditions; he can earn his bread only by working with a maximum of speed, and a minimum of conscientiousness. He can have neither pleasure nor pride in his work; and consequently that work can have no artistic value whatever. The result is, that not only have we almost no industrial arts, properly speaking, but the modern workman is losing all natural taste and love of beauty, through being denied all exercise of that faculty. If you allow me to learn the art of a book-binder, or a potter, or a rug-maker, and to follow it for myself as best I can, my perception and love of what is beautiful will grow with my growing skill. But if you put me to work in a modern factory, where such things, or rather where hideous imitations of those things, are produced, I should not be able to exercise my creative talent at all, and whatever love of beauty I may have had will perish for lack of use. Thus it happens that the average man today has so little appreciation of beauty, so little

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instinctive taste, and that art and letters occupy so small a place in our regard. Before we can reinstate them in that position of honor which they have hitherto held among civilized nations, we shall have to find some solution for our industrial difficulties.  It may seem at a superficial glance that the arts are all very well as a pass-time, for the enjoyment of the few, but can have no imperative call for busy men and women in active modern life. And if we should be told that, as a nation, we have no widespread love of beauty, no popular taste in artistic matters, we would not take the accusation very much to heart. We should probably admit it, and turn with pride to point to our wonderful material success, our achievements in the realm of trade and commerce, our unmatched prosperity and wealth. But that answer will not do. You may lead me through the streets of our great cities, and fill my ears with stories of our uncounted millions of money, our unrivalled advance among the nations; but that will not divert my soul from horror at a state of society where municipal government is a venial farce, where there is little reverence for law, where Mammon is a real God, and where every week there are instances of mob violence, as revolting as any that ever stained the history of the Emperors of degenerate Rome. We may brag our loudest to ourselves, but the soul is not deceived. She sits at the centre of the being, judging severely our violence, our folly, and our crime. And when at last we come to our senses, and perceive to what a condition of shame we have fallen from our high estate as a freedom-loving people, we may be able to restore some of those ideals which we have lost,—ideals of common honesty, of civic liberty, of simple unostentatious life, of social order and law and security.

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  All this of course goes almost without saying. But the point I wish to make is, that this decay in moral standards goes hand in hand with our loss of taste. Our sense of beauty and our sense of goodness are so closely related, that any injury to the one means an injury to the other. You cannot expect the nation which cares nothing at all for art to care very much for justice or righteousness. You cannot expect a man who does not care how hideous his surroundings are to care very much about his moral obligations. And we shall never reach that national position of true greatness, which many Americans have dreamed of; we shall lose entirely those personal traits of dignity, honor, and kindliness, which many old-fashioned Americans still retain, unless we recognize the vital need of moral standards, and æsthetic ideals, and set ourselves to secure them. The two must go hand in hand.

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  If you ask me why America is producing for the most part only that which is mediocre in art and literature, I am forced to reply, that it is because the average man among us has so little respect for moral ideals. In a restless age we may resort to all kinds of reform, but no scheme of social betterment will take the place of personal obligation and integrity. It all comes back to the man at last. We don’t need socialism or imperialism, or free trade, or public ownership of monopolies, or state control of trusts, as much as we need honest men, men in public life and private enterprise who have some standard of conduct higher than insatiable self-interest.

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  Such ideals of conduct, in the widest sense, it is the aim of art to supply, and education to inculcate. And education like art has its three-fold object. It has to set itself not only to train our minds, in a desire for the truth, but at the same time to train our spirits to love only what is good, and our bodies to take pleasure only in what is beautiful and wholesome; and the work of education in any one of these directions must always be intimately related with its work in the other two. Emerson’s wise phrase is profoundly true here—

  “All are needed by each one.Nothing is fair or good alone.”

An education which does not quicken the conscience, and stimulate and refine all our senses, and instincts, along with the growing reason, must still remain a faulty education at best.

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  I am sure we cannot lay too much stress on this philosophic conception of man, and the three aspects of his nature. I believe it will be found a helpful solvent of many difficulties in education, in art, in life, in social and political aims. I believe that without it, all our endeavors for advancement in civilization will be sadly hampered and retarded, if not frustrated altogether. For the simple reason that art and civilization and social order exist for man; and they must therefore be adapted to the three differing kinds of requirements in his make-up. His intellectual needs and capacities must be trained and provided for; his great emotional and spiritual needs and powers must be given exercise; his sensitive physical instincts must be guided and developed.

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  With this notion in mind, we may turn for a few minutes to consider what tasks literature must set itself, and what it may be expected to do for a people. In the first place, it is the business of literature, as of all the arts, to create an illusion,—to project upon the imagination a mimic world, true to life, as we say, and at the same time more goodly and fair than the actual one we know. For, unless the world of art be in some way more delightful

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than the world of our every-day experience, why should we ever visit it? We turn in sympathy to art, to music or reading, or objects of lovely color and shape, for recreation and refreshment, for solace and inspiration. We ask to find in it, ready to hand, these helpful and pleasant qualities which are so hard to find in real life. And the art which does not give them to us is disappointing, however clever it may be. It is this necessity for finding the beautiful, this necessity for providing an immediate pleasure, that makes pure realism unsatisfying in art. Realism is necessary, but not sufficient.  For instance, you bring me a photograph of a beautiful elm-shaded street in an old New England town. It fills my eye instantly with a delightful scene. But by and by something in it begins to offend me, and I see that the telegraph pole is too obtrusive, and spoils the composition and balance of the picture. The photograph loses its value, as a pleasure-giving piece of realism. Now a painter in reproducing the same scene would probably have left out the telegraph pole. That is the difference. And that is why photography, as usually practised, is not one of the fine arts. It is said by those who contend for realism, for the photographic in literature, that art must be true to nature: and so it must to a certain extent; but there are other things besides the physical fact, to which it must conform. Your photograph was true to nature, but it was not true to my memory of the scene. The painter’s reproduction was truer to that; he preserved for me the delightful impression I carried away on that wonderful June morning, when I visited the spot. For me his picture is more accurate than the photograph. When I was there, I probably did not see the telegraph pole at all. It is therefore right that literature and art should attempt something more than the exact reproduction of things as they are, and should give us a city more charming and a country more delectable to dwell in than any our feet have ever trod, and should people that world with characters, varied and fascinating as in real life, but more satisfying than any we have ever known.

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  There is another reason why art must be more than photographic; as time goes by and the earth grows old, man himself develops, however slowly, in nobleness and understanding. His life becomes different from what it was. He gradually brings it into conformity with certain ideals and aspirations which have occurred to him. These new ideals and aspirations have always made their first appearance in art and literature, before they were realized in actual life. Imagination is our lamp upon the difficult path of progress. So that, even in its outward aspect, art must differ from

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nature. The world is by no means perfect, but it is always tending toward perfection, and it is our business to help that tendency. We must make our lives more and more beautiful, simply because by so doing we make ourselves more healthy and happy. To this end, art supplies us with standards, and keeps us constantly in mind of what perfection is. If we live much under the influence of good art, ugliness becomes impossible. As long as we are satisfied with the photograph we are content to have the telegraph pole. And we shall continue to be satisfied with them both until the artist comes and shows us the blemish. As soon as we perceive the fault, we begin to want the telegraph pole removed. This is what a clever writer meant when he said that art does not follow nature, but nature follows art.  I lay so much stress on this point, because we have somewhat lost the conviction that literature and art must be more beautiful than life. We readily admit that they must be sincere servants of truth, and exemplars of noble sentiment, but there is an idea abroad that, in its form and substance, art need only copy nature. This, I believe, is what our grandfathers might have called a pestilent heresy.

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  If art and literature are devoted to the service of beauty, no less are they dedicated to the service of truth and goodness. In the phrase which Arnold used to quote, it is their business to make reason and the will of God prevail. So that while literature must fulfill the obligations laid upon it to be delightful,—to charm and entertain us, with perennial pleasure,—quite as scrupulously must it meet our demands for knowledge, and satisfy our spiritual needs. To meet the first of these demands, of course it is not necessary for literature to treat of scientific subjects; it must however be enlightened by the soundest philosophy at its command, and informed with all the knowledge of its time. It may not deal directly with the thought of its age, but it must never be at variance with truth. There can be no quarrel between science and art, for art sooner or later makes use of all knowledge, all discoveries, all new ideas. It is the business of art to assimilate new knowledge, and make it a power; for knowledge is not power, so long as it remains mere knowledge, and does not pass from the mind into the domain of the will.

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  In a scientific age like our own, when the limits of knowledge are being extended so rapidly, prose is a more acceptable medium of expression than poetry because it can keep much nearer to science than poetry can; though poetry in the long run has quite as much need of accurate wide information as prose has.

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  It is only that they make different use of the same material. Prose serves to bring us definite reports of science, it appeals to our reason, our curiosity. But poetry has another motive as well; it wishes to emphasize its subject, so that we can not only know it more clearly, but feel about it more deeply. Of course prose has this aim in view also, though to a less extent; and it invades the dominion of poetry whenever this aim becomes paramount. So that in literature we must never too dogmatically try to separate prose from poetry.

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  The attempt which literature makes to deepen our feeling about a subject, is the spiritual purpose of art. And this spiritual or moral influence is always present in all literature, whether apparent or not. Art has its religious value, not because it deals directly with religious themes, but because it plays upon our moral nature, and then enhances our emotions. How intrinsically incumbent it is upon art, therefore, to stimulate our generous and kindly feelings, rather than our cruel or violent or selfish impulses!

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  It may often be necessary for art and literature to deal with human crime and depravity and moral obliquity, but it must never dwell upon them exclusively, nor make them seem to prevail. For evil does not rule the world; however powerful it may seem for the moment, in the long run it is overcome by the good. There is a tendency in modern letters to deal with repulsive themes, and depict for us the frailty and sorry short-comings of human nature, and to do this with an almost scientific accuracy. Some people praise this sort of thing, as being true to life; while others call it immoral, because it touches upon such subjects at all. A juster view of the matter may perhaps lead us to a different opinion. Since it is the prime duty of art to make us happy, to give us encouragement and joy, to urge and support our spirits, to ennoble and enrich our lives, surely the one way in which art can be most immoral, is to leave us depressed, and sad, and uncertain of the final issue between sorrow and gladness.

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  I have not said much about the technic of poetry, because I wished to indicate, if I could, a scope and destiny for poetic art more significant than we are accustomed to grant it. If we assure ourselves of the vital importance of art to a nation, if we set ourselves resolutely to change the tenor of public sentiment in regard to it, if we turn from the absorbing and ridiculous worship of unnecessary possessions, and devote ourselves generously to the cause of beauty and kindliness, the specific development of poetry may be left to take care of itself.

STYLISTIC PUNCTUATION OF PROMOTIONAL TEXTS

The article deals with promotional texts as the genre of advertising allows disclosing the methods that its creators use in seeking to attract the addressee's attention and persuade them to purchase an item under consideration. Promotional texts are closely related to the style of public media, i.e. that functional style which due to its greater persuasive character acquires the features of all other functional styles, including punctuation. Applying the analytical and the descriptive methods, this article aims at exploring to what extent the semantics of punctuation has developed in advertising and how punctuation marks are used to effectively create information with an emotional and expressive quality.            Promotional texts contain no neutral punctuation marks. They have one main function, i.e. an emotional-expressive function. Even when they perform other functions, at the same time they also convey a certain emotional shade of meaning. The exclamation mark, question-mark and ellipsis in advertising mark the greatest number of emotion shades, create suspension, an impression of emotion swings, make the addressee think, evaluate and fill the gaps that have been left. When an advertisement makes use of suspense which is eventually broken and leads to a positive ending, its creators use a combination of several punctuation marks.           The semantics of the dash in advertising has also acquired new shades of meaning. A dash gives rise to unexpected nuances of thought, dynamics of text, it marks an emotional pause, burst of feelings; yet, when a dash performs the emotional-expressive function its effect is strengthened by the usage of an exclamation mark.           The period, which is traditionally a neutral mark, in advertising is not entirely neutral: in a slogan it occupies the position of an exclamation mark and therefore it obtains emotional character. When performing a compositional function, it gives more flexibility to emphasise different semantic foci; it highlights segmentation, addition (pridūrimas) and distribution (parceliacija).           The comma in advertising may be neutral but it can also mark emotional pauses. It performs the expressive function when it separates parentheses, additive clauses or when it highlights rhetorical figures.           One of the principles of advertising is its compactness, therefore neither the

colon, nor the semi-colon are commonly used in texts of advertising.           The usage of several punctuation marks helps an author of an advertisement create a certain mood, suspense, natural conversational flow.           Zero punctuation in promotional texts is not random but it creates a graphical figure the aim of which is to intrigue the addressee, activate their memory, feelings and imagination. This manner of punctuation and non-punctuation brings promotional texts closer to artistic texts.

Stylistic PunctuationParentheses, dashes, brackets, and ellipsis marks are a form of stylistic writing that can often be placed where a comma could be usedParentheses

     1. Set off distantly related information -- not part of the main statement.             i.e. Beulaville is located in Duplin Conty, about 4 miles (6.4 kilometers) from Kenansville. 2.You should use full parentheses for numbers/letters to list items or to insure accuracy.                                                 i.e . (1) name (2) date; (A) name (B) date                                                  i.e. thirty-two (32)

 3. Punctuation:

complete sentence in parentheses within a sentence -- do not capitalize first word of use end mark.

                        i.e. They debated which layer of the excavation (nine different cities were built on the side) was Troy.

complete sentence in parentheses outside a sentence -- capitalize first wor and use end mark.

                        i.e. John had been a student of Homer. (In fact, he knew the verses by heart.)

parenthetical note at the end of the sentence -- end mark on the outside.

 

comma, semi-colon, and colon go outside after the last parenthesis.

  question mark and exclamation mark go inside if they are

part of the parenthetical note--still do not capitalize first word; they go outside if part of the sentence.

         Most common mistakes: punctuating incorrectly          Dashes

1. Dashes are used to set apart abrupt breaks in thought.             i.e. Mary told me -- would you believe it? -- that she liked school. 2.Used to set off a heavily punctuated appositive or parenthetical element.             i.e. His roommates -- Josh, Caleb, Alex, and Michael -- are going with him.   Most common mistakes: using hyphens instead of dashes           Ellipses Marks

1. Ellipses marks are used when omitting words, phrases, lines, paragraphs, or more from a directly quoted passage. 2.Use a space after each ellipsis dot whether at the beginning, middle, or end of the sentence.

                i.e. " . . . Our fathers brought a nation."                i.e. "Ask not what you . . ." 3.If a period must be used, place period and conitue with the ellipsis dots as in an other sentence.                i.e. "All men are created equal. . . ."  Most common mistakes: overuse.         Brackets

1.Follow the same rules as parentheses, except they are used within quoted material; they never go outside of quoted material. 2.  Brackets are used to include explanitory words or phrases added within quoted language.        i.e. "He [Buck] stood in the doorway."  3. Enclose [sic] to show blunders or typos are a part of quotation after the blunder or typo.        i.e. "Tony and I went went [sic] to the game." said Sue.

                         Most common mistakes: using parentheses instead of brackets.                     

 The Stylish Semicolon: Teaching Punctuation as Rhetorical Choice.  English Journal (forthcoming).

 

Return to Scholarly Publications and Presentations Home When taught as stylistic or rhetorical choice, the semicolon reveals to students that punctuation and grammar are more than rules in textbooks.  Thoughtful analysis and use of the semicolon enables students to understand the words of other authors and to communicate better with their own readers.

 

I have a confession to make.  I am a grammar addict.  Yes, it’s true.  I can

spend hours reading handbooks that outline the intricacies of English grammar and

its related topics of punctuation, usage, and mechanics.  I enjoy discerning the

difference between restrictive and non-restrictive phrases.  I am proud when I can

figure out whether to use or omit a comma between two independent clauses.  Of

course, my addiction may be a lonely one.

Consider,   for   example,   the   following   words:   grammar,   punctuation, 

mechanics, usage. These four words can strike terror into the hearts of the most 

steadfast lovers of English. According to Ron Featheringill, these words call up the 

“horrible   specter   of   English   grammar”   for   students   and   instructors   alike 

(85).  Anyone who has taught subject/verb agreement or the uses of the comma 

can attest to the glazed expressions that cross students’ faces as soon as subjects, 

predicates,   and   comma   splices   are   mentioned.  Teachers   themselves   are   not 

immune   to   grammar’s   power   to   induce   boredom   and   frustration.  Addicts 

excepted, Featheringill asserts that he has “seldom” met a teacher “who enjoys 

teaching   grammar   in   the   traditional  manner”   (85).  This   aversion   to   grammar 

manifests   itself   among   English   instructors   in   various   ways.  For   example, 

researching this article, I found few works on grammar and related topics in the 

top journals in English, composition, and reading.  However, I did recognize the 

specter  of  grammar   in  articles   like  Gregory  Shafer’s,  which  adamantly   rejects 

“discrete rules of competence . . . prescribed rules and formats” and “monolithic 

ideas of writing or correctness” in writing programs (10).

Given this   resistance,  what   is  a  grammar addict   to do,  especially   in  the 

classroom? Ironically, Featheringill offers a solution, suggesting that the problem 

with grammar is not the subject itself but the “traditional manner” in which the 

topic   has   been   taught—through   the   rigid   rules   and   formats   that   Shafer 

rejects.  For this reason, I propose a form of instruction that departs from these 

methods,   one   that   captures   my   own   reasons   for   becoming   a   grammar 

addict. Specifically, when teaching grammar, punctuation, usage, and mechanics, 

instructors   can   introduce   these   topics   as   more   than   discrete   rules,   void   of 

context.  Rather,   they   can   introduce   these   subjects  as  what  Devan  Cook   calls 

“purposeful rhetorical moves” (154).  In this way, students discover that grammar 

and  its   related topics  are not  ancillary   to   language but   represent   language  in 

action. Students realize that these patterns for use form the backbone or skeleton 

of language, that they are part and parcel of, according to I.A. Richards, the way 

that “words work” (23), not in isolation but rhetorically and in context, in the give 

and take between author and reader.

What   follows   is   just   one   example   illustrating   how   teachers   can   create 

reading and writing activities that emphasize how words work through grammar, 

punctuation,   mechanics,   and   usage. Specifically,   I   describe   a   workshop   that 

highlights a single punctuation mark: the semicolon.  More rhetorical or stylistic 

choice than grammatical requirement, the semicolon defies rigid rules for use and 

is therefore ideally suited for instruction that defies traditional ways of teaching 

grammar. When   introduced   as   a   matter   of   choice,   the   semicolon   brings   the 

patterns of language to life for students, whether that language is the student’s 

own text or the work of another author, and even when that language is tied to 

the “horrible” specter of grammar. 

 

Theoretical Rationale: Why Teach the Semicolon as Rhetorical Choice?

Addressing   the   teaching   of   grammar,   Sonja   Launspach   and   Martha 

Wetterhall Thomas observe that what students and instructors “often understand 

to be grammar” represents “a group of language features that includes spelling, 

punctuation, and mechanics as well as . . . grammar” (233).  Thus, although more 

precisely a matter of punctuation, the semicolon is often subsumed under the 

larger   category   “grammar.”  Grammar   nuts   notwithstanding,   Tina   Good   and 

Leanne Warshauer correctly identify this area of instruction as one of the more 

“painful  parts” of teaching and learning language (xi).  Nevertheless,  no matter 

how we define grammar or how painful it is, this aspect of language profoundly 

influences teaching and research in areas such as reading, writing, and language 

arts.  Grammar   instruction,   moreover,   remains   a   highly   controversial   topic   in 

these disciplines.

For   example,   Patrick   Hartwell   argues   that   the   “grammar   issue”   has 

dominated   composition   scholarship   for   “the   last   seventy-five   years” 

(320).  Hartwell   adds   that   despite   these   years   of   research,   grammar   remains 

“complicated” and “controversial,” papers regularly appearing that either attack 

or defend the teaching of grammar, especially traditional or “formal” instructional 

methods   (318).  Recent   developments   in   language   studies   reveal   that   this 

seventy-five-year preoccupation—and controversy—continues.  My own state of 

Texas, for instance, mandates assessment in grammar, punctuation, usage, and 

mechanics at every level of the state standardized test or TAAS.  So prevalent are 

these tests and their emphasis on grammar that a growing number of language 

scholars (McClaskey; Nelson; Thomas) bemoan the nation’s increasing interest in 

standardized testing and the  traditional,  drill-and-kill  grammar  instruction that 

these tests sometimes encourage.

If  we judge from this  continuing obsession with grammar,   it  seems that 

grammar   instruction   is   here   to   stay,   and   despite   valid   concerns,   this 

preoccupation is not necessarily a bad thing.  In fact, Judith Cape Craig’s survey of 

employees in occupations from entry-level to professional illustrates how highly 

these   individuals   value   the   “correct”   use   of   language.  Eighty-four   percent   of 

Craig’s  respondents  cited “correct  spelling,  grammar,  and mechanics” as “very 

important,”  Craig  adding  that  not  one  respondent   identified  these  abilities  as 

“unimportant   in   their   line   of   work”   (48). Grammar,   punctuation,   usage,   and 

mechanics:  these form the foundations of communication,  and echoing Craig’s 

respondents,   Sean   McDowell   sums   up   grammar’s   importance   to   our 

students: “Without   fairly   sound   technical   expertise,   even   the   most   brilliant 

students cannot express their ideas completely or effectively.  If teachers do not 

add   to   students’   expressive   resources,   they   perform   a   disservice”   (254).  An 

expressive   resource,   grammar   is   indeed   here   to   stay,   and   teachers   have   an 

obligation   to   help   students   navigate   the   patterns   of   use   that   enable 

communication with others.

But   how   can   students   best   learn   these   patterns?  As   Deborah   Dean 

observes, years of research and anecdotal evidence demonstrate that traditional 

methods of grammar instruction simply do not work.  In trying to figure out what 

does work, a number of scholars, many of them teachers, have offered several 

approaches.  These   approaches   range   from   methods   grounded   in   linguistics 

(Hartwell; Launspach and Thomas), rhetorical theory (Cook; Dawkins; Kolln), the 

teaching of editing and revision (Cook; Harris and Rowan), and the recognition of 

patterns of error (Shaughnessy) to streamlined approaches that tackle students’ 

most common grammatical problems (Featheringill; McDowell; Sitler) and playful 

methods   that   teach   students   grammar   without   their   knowing   it’s   grammar 

(Dean).  Each of these methods has merit, but the one informing my work with 

semicolons is rhetorical.

Specifically, the workshop that I  will  describe introduces students to the 

semicolon not through sets of rules but as a matter of style: the thoughtful choice 

of   the  semicolon  to  create   rhetorical  effect   in  an  audience.  One of   the  most 

prominent twentieth-century rhetoricians, Kenneth Burke describes language as 

“the Scramble, the Wrangle of the Market Place, the flurries and flare-ups of the 

Human   Barnyard”   (23).  Burke’s   image   takes   language—and   students   and 

instructors of language—far beyond the dry rules and contextless examples that 

have   permeated   grammar   instruction.  His   comments   inform   the   workshop 

outlined in the following section, a workshop that  illustrates how words, even 

semicolons, work and help us to negotiate this human barnyard.

 

The Semicolon: More Rhetoric Than Rule

Among   marks   of   punctuation,   the   semicolon   is   something   of   an 

oddity.  Variable as they are, punctuation marks suggest certainty—the required 

use of the mark in specific situations—and handbooks present punctuation in this 

way.  Each   punctuation   mark   has   exceptions,   but   marks   such   as   the   comma, 

period, and apostrophe are required to make meaning clear to a reader.  Without 

these marks, most strings of words will simply not make sense.

Semicolons,  on   the  other  hand,  are  more  akin   to  other  oddballs   in   the 

world of punctuation—colons and dashes, for example.  These marks are useful 

and increase readability, but for the most part they are not essential to creating 

meaning.  While commas and periods are required to mark beginnings, endings, 

and transitions, most sentences that employ semicolons, colons, or dashes could 

be rewritten to eliminate the mark and still make sense.  In the semicolon’s case, 

this   mark   could   be   eliminated   entirely   from   the   English   language   and   the 

language would remain comprehensible, though far less rich.  In the end, marks 

like the semicolon signal matters of choice and, therefore, are more issues of style 

and rhetorical effect than precision and correctness.

Handbooks hint at the semicolon’s stylish place among its fellow marks of 

punctuation.   For   example,   like   many   handbooks,   Andrea   Lunsford’s Everyday

Writer presents   the   semicolon   as   weaker   than   a   period   but   stronger   than   a 

comma and lists the following guidelines for using this punctuation mark:

o Use semicolons to link closely related independent clauses.

o Use  semicolons   to   link   independent  clauses   joined by  conjunctive 

adverbs or transitional phrases.

o Use   semicolons   to   separate   items   in   a   series   containing   other 

punctuation. (326-27)

In each of these cases, the semicolon is useful but not essential.  Independent

clauses, including those joined by adverbs or phrases, could just as easily be linked

by a period or comma plus conjunction.  Moreover, determining whether two

clauses are closely related remains a matter of opinion and not grammatical fact,

this decision based on the author’s sense that the clauses are related or the desire to

link the clauses in the reader’s mind.   As for using semicolons in series, even this

guideline is more choice than requirement.  Semicolons certainly render series

more readable, but commas in series are just as technically correct as their more

understandable counterpart.  Lunsford and other handbook authors suggest

inserting semicolons to increase coherence and clarity; once again, though, these

decisions stem from choice, not grammatical absolutes.

            When writers must make decisions about their language, they leave behind

rules and enter that rather nebulous arena called “style.”  Difficult to define, style

often signifies the amorphous area of writing made up of word choices, sentence

structures and rhythm, tone, voice, verb tenses, and other features not easily

reduced to rules in textbooks.  William Strunk and E.B. White, for example, define

style loosely as “what is distinguished and distinguishing” in language.  In fact,

Strunk and White caution readers that their famous text Elements of Style enters

areas of “high mystery” where there “is no satisfactory explanation of style, no

infallible guide to good writing.” For these authors, style is “the Self escaping into

the open” through idiosyncratic language choices (66-67).  Another arbiter of style,

Richard Lanham agrees, adding that our style or writing choices “enhance and

expand the self, allow it to try out new possibilities.”  According to Lanham, a

properly chosen style “clarifies, strengthens, and energizes” an author’s language

and renders these words “rich, full, and social” (98).

            Never absolutely necessary or bound by hard-and-fast rules, the semicolon

belongs to this mysterious arena called style.  And, as an issue of style, the

semicolon emerges as profoundly rhetorical, one of the available means of

persuasion that, according to Aristotle, speakers and writers use to move an

audience.  Indeed, for all his talk of self and style, Lanham positions style outside

the self, as rhetorical or in the relation between author and audience and in the

author’s ability to “take the position of the reader” (98).  When writers must make

stylistic choices that will reach their audience, they enter this realm of rhetoric, the

barnyard of language where words work to connect readers and writers.  Part of

this mystery, the semicolon encompasses more than the rules that try to fix its use,

and a semicolon workshop can introduce students to this mystery.

 

The Stylish Semicolon: A Workshop

One common complaint about grammar instruction stems from its lack of 

context—its reliance, for example, on abstract rules and bare examples.  While 

these  stark  examples  clarify  grammatical   ideas,   they   fail   to  capture   language, 

including   its   grammar   and   punctuation,   in   action,   in   the   real-life   texts   that 

surround us.  For this reason, the workshop that I propose incorporates the actual 

texts that students read or compose on their own.

The text that my students and I use for our semicolon workshop is Martin 

Luther  King,   Jr.’s   “Letter   from Birmingham   Jail.”  Frequently  anthologized,   this 

popular   text   appears   in   many   student   textbooks   and   readers,   and   typically, 

instructors use King’s   letter to spark discussions of equality,  race,  U.S.  history, 

political   activism,   and   civil   disobedience.  However,   King’s   text   also   teaches 

students about the semicolon and one author’s use of a seemingly insignificant 

punctuation mark to express ideas.

The workshop begins after students have read King’s letter and discussed 

its ideas and historical context.  I then ask students, now familiar with the letter’s 

content, to work either alone or in small groups to search out as many semicolons 

in the text as they can find.  Owing to different editors, the copies of King’s letter 

included   in   anthologies   exhibit   slightly   different   punctuation   and 

phrasing.  Nevertheless,   these   varied   texts   demonstrate   fairly   consistent 

punctuation,  including semicolons.  Taken from an edition that my classes use, 

the following are examples of semicolons that my students frequently cite:

        We   know   through   painful   experience   that   freedom   is   never 

voluntarily   given   by   the   oppressor; it   must   be   demanded   by   the 

oppressed.  (King 157)

        Is not segregation an existential expression of man’s tragic separation, 

his awful estrangement, his terrible sinfulness?  Thus it is that I can urge 

men to obey the 1954 decision of the Supreme Court, for it is morally 

right; and I can urge them to disobey segregation ordinances, for they 

are morally wrong.  (159)

        There was a time when the church was very powerful—in the time 

when the early Christians rejoiced at being deemed worthy to suffer for 

what   they   believed.  In   those   days   the   church   was   not   merely   a 

thermometer   that   recorded   the   ideas   and   principles   of   popular 

opinion; it   was   a   thermostat   that   transformed   the   mores   of 

society.  (166)

        Abused and scorned though we may be, our destiny is tied up with 

America’s   destiny. Before   the  pilgrims   landed   at   Plymouth,  we  were 

here.  Before   the  pen  of   Jefferson  etched   the  majestic  words  of   the 

Declaration   of   Independence   across   the   pages   of   history,   we   were 

here.  For more than two centuries our forebears labored in this country 

without  wages; they made cotton king; they built   the homes of   their 

masters while suffering gross injustice and shameful  humiliation—and 

yet   out   of   a   bottomless   vitality   they   continued   to   thrive   and 

develop.  (167)

Although powerful on their own, these isolated examples risk seeming as void of

context as the examples in handbooks.  However, these samples differ from those

in handbooks in that students have read and discussed King’s entire letter.  In other

words, they analyze King’s punctuation in context, as the rhetorical work of an

author trying to connect with an audience that may or may not agree with his

political protest.  One subtle stylistic device that King uses to reach this audience is

the semicolon, and examining King’s semicolons leads to rich discussions about

this punctuation mark.

            As Cook points out, these discussions ask students “to read in a new way,

focusing on stylistic effects and how they are achieved” (155).  Most students have

never read punctuation in this way, and for the first time perhaps, they must ask

questions like: Why did King use a semicolon here instead of the stronger period

or weaker comma?  How does this semicolon shape the meaning of its sentence, its

paragraph, the work as a whole?  Does this semicolon help King to reach his

audience?  Why or why not?  Questions such as these can spur useful

conversations about areas of grammar and writing related to semicolon use—for

example, parallelism, repetition, and contrast.  Just as important, these questions

introduce students to punctuation as an integral part of writing, requiring as much

thought and care as any other stylistic or rhetorical device.

            For example, my students and I often consider the following excerpt from

King’s letter:

        I doubt that you would have so warmly commended the police force if

you had seen its dogs sinking their teeth into unarmed, nonviolent

Negroes.  I doubt that you would so quickly commend the policemen if

you were to observe their ugly and inhumane treatment of Negroes here

in the city jail; if you were to watch them push and curse old Negro

women and young Negro girls; if you were to see them slap and kick old

Negro men and young boys; if you were to observe them, as they did on

two occasions, refuse to give us food because we wanted to sing our

grace together.  I cannot join you in your praise of the Birmingham police

department.  (167)

Complex and powerful, these lines represent style at its best.  When asked to read

at the level of style (words, syntax, punctuation), most students quickly point out

the repetition of “I doubt” in the first and second sentences.  Here, King’s words

pound home his point, the repetition grabbing—and holding—the reader’s

attention.

            In addition, students note the three semicolons that link the subordinate

clauses (“if . . .”) in the second sentence.  Instead of writing two or three short

sentences, King wrote one long sentence, the clauses running on and on, as though

the grievances described overwhelm and cannot be contained.  My students have

observed, though, that King cuts short these abuses with his direct final sentence:

“I cannot join you in your praise of the Birmingham police department.”  To the

point and dominated by one-syllable words, this sentence serves as King’s line in

the sand, declaring that the racial abuses, once so overwhelming, “stop

here.”  However, powerful as it is, this short sentence’s effect depends on its

contrast to the longer sentence that precedes it and, thus, on the semicolons that

extend the previous sentence.  King’s style—

semicolons alternating with periods, short sentences alternating with long—gives

his lines their power, and this rhetorical force hinges on the author’s punctuation.

Beginning  writers   cannot   learn   to  use   semicolons   in   this  way   from  the 

guidelines and examples that many textbooks offer.  Only by exploring language 

in context, written for a particular time and place, can students discern the subtle 

ways   that  punctuation  affects  meaning. And,  once   students  understand   these 

stylistic   choices   in  others’  writing,   they   can  make   these  choices   in   their  own 

texts.  For example,  once my students  and  I  finish analyzing the semicolons  in 

King’s text, we turn to their own decisions about when to use this punctuation 

mark.  First,   I  ask  students  to search once again through King’s   text,   this  time 

looking for instances in which King does not employ the mark.  I ask students to 

imagine that they are the letter’s authors and to identify places in the text where 

they might insert a semicolon. 

One passage that students often highlight concerns King’s discussion of just 

and unjust laws:

        How does one determine whether a law is just or unjust?  A just law is 

a manmade code that squares with the moral law or the law of God.  An 

unjust law is a code that is out of harmony with the moral law.  To put it 

in the terms of St. Thomas Aquinas: an unjust law is a human law that is 

not rooted in eternal law and natural law.  Any law that uplifts human 

personality   is   just.  Any   law   that   degrades   human   personality   is 

unjust. (159)

When asked where they would insert semicolons, my students typically respond 

that they would add a semicolon either between the two sentences beginning 

with “A just law” and “An unjust law” or between the pair that begins with “Any 

law.”  My students argue that the two clauses in each pair are closely related and 

that  a  semicolon would strengthen the  contrast   (a   just   law; an unjust   law) or 

more  effectively  drive  home  the  point  made  through  repetition  (any   law; any 

law).

Exercises like this one encourage students to engage with another author’s 

text  on   two   levels.  First,  as   readers,   students  must  ask   themselves  why  King 

selected periods rather  than semicolons  in these  lines.  Why did he make this 

stylistic choice?  Next, as potential writers, students must consider what they are 

trying to accomplish rhetorically by choosing semicolons instead of periods.  The 

decision to use semicolons must spring from more than a vague sense that the 

clauses could be related.  Why are they related?  What rhetorical advantage does 

the  author  gain  by   linking   the   clauses   in   the   reader’s  mind?  What   rhetorical 

advantage   does   the   writer   lose   by   abandoning   the   short,   abrupt   stops   that 

periods create?  Students participating in this semicolon workshop have not yet 

applied what they are learning to their own texts.  Nevertheless, experimenting 

with   another   author’s   text  will   help   students   to   consider  more   carefully   the 

stylistic choices that they make when they sit down to write.

After all, this semicolon workshop aims to help students become not just 

better   readers  but  better  writers.  For   this   reason,  a   semicolon  workshop  can 

continue well into the semester.  For instance, like Cook, I ask students to carry 

what they have learned about the semicolon’s rhetorical power into the writing 

that they do all semester.  Echoing Cook, I encourage students to find one or two 

places in their drafts where they could insert a semicolon.  If students can select 

these semicolons thoughtfully, then they will understand how they can use this or 

any mark of punctuation to reach out to their audiences.

 

Conclusion: Semicolons, Words, and Work

            Richards states correctly that words work.  Through words, we shape and 

make   sense   of   the   world.  Through   words,   we   express   our   thoughts   and 

ideas.  Words connect speakers and writers to their audiences and enable these 

audiences to respond, becoming speakers and writers themselves. According to 

Richards, the study of how words work is called rhetoric, a field that explores the 

different   choices   that   language-users  make  and   the   consequences   that   these 

decisions  bring.  For   too   long,  punctuation,   grammar,   and   related   topics  have 

been   perceived   as   beyond   words   and   choice,   mere   rules   memorized   from 

textbooks.  King’s   “Letter   from   Birmingham   Jail,”   however,   demonstrates   that 

even the smallest punctuation mark signals a stylistic decision, distinguishing one 

writer from another and enabling an author to move an audience.  Only when we, 

as teachers, present grammar and punctuation as matters of style and rhetorical 

choice will students truly understand just how powerful words are, even when 

these words are the dots, dashes, and curves that make up punctuation.

 

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Shaughnessy, Mina P.  Errors and Expectations.  New York: Oxford UP, 1977.

Sitler, Helen Collins.  “Solutions to Mechanical Errors in Writing: Usage Scans and 

Fix-It Pages.” Teaching English in the Two-Year College 29.1 (2001): 72-76.

Strunk, William, and E.B. White.  The Elements of Style.  4th ed.  Boston: Allyn and 

Bacon, 2000.

Thomas,   P.L.  “Standards,   Standards   Everywhere,   and   Not   a   Spot   to 

Think.”  English Journal 91.1 (2001): 63-67.

 

Alliteration: e.g. The silken ship sailed silently through the sea. (Here the "s" sound is helping to reinforce the silence and the smooth grace of the ship's passage through the sea.) Poets are very fond of alliteration but look out for it also in newspaper headlines.

Allusion: a reference, sometimes indirect, to a person, place, theory etc. which the reader is assumed to have some knowledge of. e.g. a Biblical allusion with which the reader is assumed to be familiar.

Anecdote: a short story used to illustrate a point, often used by writers as a way of introducing their topic.

Analogy: a parallel case with one or more points of resemblance. This is often used by writers to help the reader to understand a complex or abstract point

Audience: the readership whom the writer is addressing, the people who are being targeted by the article. e.g. young people, the elderly, an intelligent, sophisticated and articulate readership etc.

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Bathos: anti-climax, designed to shock or amuse. e.g. " The Queen stepped graciously out of her gleaming limousine, walked up the red carpet in suitably regal style--then gave a huge yawn, bored with the day's proceedings." (The reader has been built up to expect one type of serious, ceremonial atmosphere but this anticipation is deflated with reference to the yawn.)

Brackets: these are for extra information (an aside, sometimes humorous etc.) which is clearly not part of the main statement. They are used for the same purpose as a pair of commas but are more decisive.

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Cliche: a stereotyped expression which is overused e.g. "the dawn of a new era".

Coin an expression: to invent a new word or phrase to suit the context.

Colloquialism: word or phrase chiefly found in everyday speech, as opposed to writing. The use of colloquialism is one of the hallmarks of an informal style of writing. e.g. "kids" for children or "magic" for wonderful.

Colon: separates two clauses/sentence structures that are of equal importance and are related to each other. e.g. Spring is green: Autumn is gold.It is used after a general statement before a list of examples: e.g. The world is full of challenges: climbing mountains, exploring the oceans, discovering new ideas.

Command: This gives a sense of urgency, requiring action from others. e.g. Do this!

Comma: this cuts off one clause from another. It separates items on a list.. As a pair, it acts as parenthesis, separating added information, asides, non essential extras etc. from the main sentence. The placement of a comma can alter the emphasis placed on a word or phrase.

Connotation: the various secondary meanings and overtones of a word: what associations it carries.

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Dashes: often used for the same purpose as brackets (parenthesis). One dash may be used to indicate a pause in thinking before speech.

Denotation: the dictionary meaning of a word, what it literally denotes.

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Emotive Language:

language deliberately designed to arouse the emotions. (often to be found in tabloid newspapers) e.g. murderers described as "beasts" or people who might have unusual views on something being described as "raving lunatics" etc.

Emphatic words being used for the purpose of emphasis: e.g. even; so;

Words: too; indeed; only; most; all (as in "all too clear")Euphemism: a deliberate softening of a harsh truth. e.g. The old man passed

away. (rather than "died")Exclamation: This gives a sense of astonishment, anger or urgency. e.g. Do

that!

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Hyberbole: use of intentional exaggeration to create an effect. e.g. In her excited state she imagined she heard thousands of fans beating on the doors, ready to die if they did not set eyes on their idol.

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Imagery: figurative or descriptive language which builds a mental picture of a person, place or idea.

Inverted Commas:

The most common use of inverted commas is to indicate direct speech or a quote from someone. Other key uses are: To indicate a foreign word that has been imported into the English Language e.g. "glasnost". To enclose a title of a film, play etc. To show the deliberate use of a slang or colloquial expression in an otherwise formal piece of writing. e.g. "a dead ringer". To indicate an expression from which the writer wishes to disassociate himself. e.g. He was a so-called member of the "ruling classes".

Inverted Sentence Structure:

A sentence in which the normal grammatical order of subject, verb, object has been inverted, usually to place emphasis on the initial or end word(s).

Irony: a device where words conveying a meaning different from the apparent meaning are used, sometimes to emphasise a point or a situation. Dramatic irony occurs when an audience is given privileged information which is unknown to the relevant character(s). e.g. Spoken by a dying man who is unaware of his condition; "I think the future is a bright and beautiful time which I shall enter into with all my energies."

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Layout of Text:

e.g. in columns usually indicates a newspaper article; divided into clearly marked sections with sub-headings usually indicates some kind of instruction manual or official report. Font Style, Size of lettering, use of Italics, Bold Type, Block Capitals, Underlining, Framing, Use of Illustration, Centring of text: These are all useful techniques used to attract the reader's attention to a particular piece of writing.

Litotes: a deliberate understatement, often designed to create a comic or sarcastic effect. e.g. In the middle of a furious argument, a third party might enter and say, "Did I detect a slight difference of opinion here?"

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Metaphor: a comparison but this time one thing becomes another in every sense, except the literal. There is no "like" or "as" acting as links. e.g. The man was a mountain. The wind was a knife, cutting through outer garments to attack the defenceless body.

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Onomatopoeia: a device whereby the sound of the word accords with the meaning. e.g. splash! bang! splinter! whoosh! etc.

Oxymoron: the technical term for a paradox which is expressed in two contradictory words. e.g. bitter sweet; love hate; bitter laughter.

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Paradox: an apparent contradiction. e.g. Riches make men miserable. (One would normally assume that wealth would bring

happiness, rather than misery.)Parody: a humorous imitation of a literary work or style. e.g. a serious

news report written in the style of a disc jockey's script could be described as a parody.

Personification: a device whereby an inanimate object is given a human quality. e.g. The coals settled comfortably in the fireplace. (Coal is normally regarded as inanimate/lifeless but here it is seen as settling like a human might settle into a chair.)

Pun: a deliberate playing on two possible meanings of one word. e.g. arms (as in limbs on the body ) and arms (as in weapons) or meet (as in coming together with someone socially and meat (as in flesh) This device is usually used to create a comic effect. It is very popular with newspaper headline writers.

Punctuation: a system of marking written text to illustrate pauses or logical relationships e.g. brackets; comma; colon; dashes; inverted commas; semi-colon.

Purpose: The reason(s) for which the text has been written. Some of the main purposes of writing are: to inform; to persuade; to entertain; to convey a personal experience; to rouse to action.

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Register: This is a technical term for words, phrases or sentence structures which are associated with a particular group of writers or professionals. e.g.legal, medical, pop musical, computer magazine, specialised instruction manuals etc. These will all use a particular type of specialised language or jargon which is peculiar to their genre.

Rhetorical Question:

This is a literary device used to indicate a question to which no answer is expected: the answer is implied in the question. e.g. Is there such a thing as evil in the human child?

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Semi-colon: The semi-colon separates clauses that form part of a list. It also

separates a statement from further development of that statement, perhaps in the form of an expansion or explanation.

Sentence Structures:

the ways in which sentences are organised. The most common is the short, simple sentence, often used very effectively to shock the reader or to heighten tension. e.g. The result was disastrous. The next two types are called complex or compound-complex. These are characterised by length and by number of secondary clauses. They are often used to convey complex ideas or to develop a basic point into a more elaborate one. The effect of these sentences can sometimes be to create a very detailed and even, sometimes, a long winded style. Other sentence structures include:command or imperative; exclamation; inverted sentence structure;rhetorical question; verbless "sentences".

Simile: a literary device whereby two things or actions are compared to each other, linked by the words "as" or "like". e.g. The litter drifted round the playground like tattered butterflies lost in flight.

Slang: a more extreme form of colloquialism of a racy, offensive or abusive nature. e.g.referring to the police as "pigs".

Style: There are a number of features that would go under the collective heading of style: e.g.see register/tone/language (colloquial,emotive,jargon)

Symbol: refers to something that stands for or represents something else. e.g. a nation's flag is literally a piece of cloth with a distinctive design but it is also a symbol of that country's identity.

Syntax: This means the relationship between the word order within a sentence. The normal word order within a sentence would follow the pattern: Subject, Verb, Object. e.g. The boy borrowed the rubber. ("boy" is the subject of the sentence, "borrowed" is the verb and "rubber" is the object)

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Tenses: These are three main tenses: the Present, Past and Future. If a writer suddenly switches tenses, he is doing so for a particular reason. If, for example, he changes from the past to the present, he may be trying to convey a sense of immediacy, of the event

happening NOW. There are THREE past tenses in English: the Simple Past to indicate something that has happened in the immediate past, the Continuous Past to show an incomplete action and the Past Pefect where you want to indicate an event that is over and done with in the more distant past. For example:Yesterday he went to the shops to gaze at the array of new bicycles. (Simple)He was examining the elaborate gear system when the salesman intervened. (Continuous)The previous week he had indicated to his parents that he would like a new bicycle for Christmas. (Past Perfect)

Tone: this is the emotional feel of the passage, the unspoken voice of the writer. e.g. amused, mocking, angry, indignant, sympathetic, approving, cynical, scathing, indifferent. (N.B. a tone can also be neutral, as in an informative passage where the writer is not conveying any particular point of view)

Typography: This term relates to the way in which a passage is set down visually on the page. Some of the features to be aware of are listed under Layout.