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words
Duh Vinci
A
paper I edited recently for AAPG
regularly used the wrong words. For
example, High density sources have
been interpreted as Miocene reefs, amplified
by underlying Oligocene intrusives.
(In the interests of not too blatantly fingering
the author, I have modified this and other
examples slightly from the original, retaining
the errors but changing the setting.)
Are the high-density bodies properly described
as ‘sources’? The context is that they are
the ‘source’ of the positive Bouguer Gravity
anomalies. Underlying dense intrusive material
was interpreted as also contributing to the
gravity highs. So, it was the gravity highs that
were amplified, not the Miocene reefs.
I do sense an increase in this type of error in
the geological papers I’ve edited over the past
few years. Is this the geoscientific community’s
drift into Amglish, the ‘language’ I discussed last
month, with its dumbing-down loss of precision
and a lack of any care at the loss; indeed, a
cheering at the freedom of close-enough will
do, and applauding this as far more politically
correct for our times than the elitist notion of
speaking properly. I hope not.
By co-incidence, I was browsing through past items
in a favourite blog, Language Log, when I came
across posts by Geoffrey K. Pullum criticising the
writing in Dan Brown’s novel The Da Vinci Code.
One of his posts offered an excellent example of
imprecision. (May 1, 2004, The Dan Brown Code)
Pullum quoted from the first page of the novel,
as terrified Louvre curator Jacques Saunière
flees from his attacker.
A voice spoke, chillingly close. "Do not move."
On his hands and knees, the curator froze, turning
his head slowly. Only fifteen feet away, outside
the sealed gate, the mountainous silhouette of
his attacker stared through the iron bars. He was
broad and tall, with ghost-pale skin and thinning
white hair. His irises were pink with dark red pupils.
Pullum then listed the errors and imprecisions
– what he, being precise, called infelicities and I
quote him almost directly below.
1. A voice doesn't speak — a person speaks; a
voice is what a person speaks with.
2. ‘Chillingly close’ would be right in your
ear, whereas this voice is fifteen feet away
behind the thundering gate.
3. It was the fall of the gate that made a thunderlike
noise; the gate itself wasn’t thundering.
4. The curator cannot slowly turn his head
if he has frozen; freezing (as a voluntary
human action) means temporarily ceasing
all muscular movements.
5. A silhouette does not stare! A silhouette is a
shadow.
6. If the curator can see the man's pale sk in,
thinning hair, iris colour, and red pupils (all
at fifteen feet), the man cannot possibly be
in silhouette.
Perhaps we can call such errors duhvincis.
It is important for authors to read closely what
they have written. This is especially true for
younger authors, many of whose schooling
had a less rigorous approach, shall we say, to
grammar and writing than was the case for
older Pesapersons.
I have touched before on this need for very
careful reading of what has been written before
it is passed onto editors or managers and the
like. It is a point that needs regular restating. It is
too easy to simply glance across the words and
sit back with a Nobel-winners smile, confident
that the words say exactly what was meant.
Consider these sentences from recent papers:
••
‘When lake level rose and spilled into an
adjacent basin …’
••
‘The overfilled lake model occurs when
the rate of supply of sediment and water
exceeds the potential accommodation.’
••
‘The top surface of the lower unit reflects
the thickness changes of this sequence.’
••
‘The main objective was to interpret
basement structure within the data.’
••
‘The contract deadline was not achieved
because of the timely negotiations
necessitated by the contractor.’
The meaning is clear enough in most cases but
the words do not say what the writer meant to
be saying.
••
Lake levels can’t spill. ‘When lake levels rise
and the water spills into …’
••
Models don’t occur, in the real-world sense
used here. (Plus I have always had a struggle
accommodating ‘accommodation space’ as
a necessary term – though several geologist
friends I admire greatly, and whose skills
exceed mine, are enthusiastic supporters and
users of the term; so it might be me. But, in
this case, is it the potential accommodation
that is being exceeded? Or is it the actual
accommodation? And, while I’m being picky,
shouldn’t it be ‘accommodation space’.)
••
The isopach reflects (shows?) the changing
thickness of the sequence; the top (upper?)
surface does not. (I can hear the ho wls
that, given a smooth lower surface for the
sequence, the top surface would reflect the
thickness changes. Fair enough. If that was
the case, the sentence is acceptable. But it
has to be read in context and that decision
made by the writer.)
••
There is no ‘basement structure within the
data’; …from the data? …using the data.
Maybe … use the data to interpret …
••
The negotiations weren’t timely; they
were time-consuming. ‘Required’ by the
contractor would be better.
As several of these examples show, a common
problem is the imprecise use of a term in relation
to the action being discussed; the lake level
‘spilling’ or the model ‘occurring’. Sometimes it is
just poor expression and needs more work.
Confronted by these confused sentences, an
experienced editor or manager will begin to
look very closely at the technical details. If
a writer can’t put down what he means in a
simple and clear way, it might be revealing
that he doesn’t have a clear and simple
understanding of what he (or she) is saying.
I have cited Hemingway many times in this
column, most commonly his declaration that
when you know something well (as opposed
to knowing about it – a distinction one of my
mentors was very fond of ), you know what you
can leave out and still get the message thr ough
clearly. When you don’t know well enough
what you’re writing about, it shows.
On which note, let me remind younger
Pesapersons that the Papa in my August column,
A Reminder from Papa, was not me being all
fatherly. That was Hemingway's popular nickname,
given him, not surprisingly, by his children, and
adopted quite widely by his friends and admirers
later in his life and after his death.
All the best for the New Year. Enjoy the
Christmas season. If it all gets too much, read
the first few pages of The Da Vinci Code and
have a bloody good laugh. Try not to think too
much about the money he made writing that
badly about something so ridiculous. And let’s
have less duhvincis in our writing in 2013.
Peter Purcell
56 | PESA News Resources | December 2012 / January 2013