Two earlier postings covered these and those, the plurals of this and that, as demonstrative pronouns. Today’s covers this and that as singular demonstrative pronouns. (Curiously, Fowler has no entries for them in this—or that—form.)

Their use in distinguishing time, order, or nearness is straightforward.

This is a pleasant meal.

That was a pleasant meal.

I prefer this to that.

But where this and that are demonstrative pronouns referring to an earlier sentence, matters can become more complicated. Consider this except from a piece in The Economist called “Time to buy.”

But neither government bond markets nor commodities can in any sense be described as being near a bottom.

In short, this does not look definitely like the kind of low from which very good long-term returns can be made. That may be because the market has a lot further to fall; Morgan Stanley suggests that, if the superbear argument is correct, equities could drop a further 50%. But that will surely require some kind of economic news of the kind seen in the 20^th century.

The present tense (does not look) governs the use of this in the first sentence. And present tense (may be) would indicate the use of This in the second sentence as well, but having already used this in the preceding sentence, the writer switches to That to avoid repetition and possible confusion over the antecedent. Future tense (will surely require) would indicate the use of this in the third sentence too, but distance in time (seen in the 20^th century) indicates that, overriding tense.

Here are a few more from a piece in The Economist on chemical sensors, “Gas, gas, quick boys.”

In this way the components of the sample separate from one another. Each component is puffed onto the nanotubes, where it sticks to the carbon atoms. This, in turn, causes the conductivity of the nanotubes to change—how much is a characteristic of each gas.

What is needed is a cheap way of detecting such gases and, having raised the alarm, of identifying which gas is involved so that anyone who has succumbed can be treated.

And that is what a team of chemical engineers at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, led by Michael Strano (pictured on the left), think they have created.

Present tense dictates the use of This in the first pair. It should also dictate the use of this in the second.

Perhaps the writer felt that that would be more demonstrative than this. Or perhaps the writer preferred the word with an abrupt finish over the one with a hiss, a preference I’m beginning to note.

For more on that, view http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zo1XFz0kac0.

 

The demonstrative pronoun these can precede a noun as an adjective: these apples are ripe. Or it can stand alone as a substantive, acting as a noun: these are ripe.

Consider this pair of sentences from a recent Economist:

In a bid to salvage his reputation, Mr Badawi has belatedly started keeping the bold promises of reform that he made on coming to office in 2003. Foremost among these was curbing corruption within the government.

Here, these is the object of the preposition among, acting as a pronoun and standing for promises.

These can often stand alone as the subject of a clause, if it’s clear what these refers to (see below). But these works less well as the object of a preposition or of a verb form. I usually switch to the pronoun them, which for me works much better.

…the bold promises of reform that he made on coming to office in 2003. Foremost among them was curbing corruption…

If it’s not clear what these or them refers to, I insert the noun, switching these from a substantive to a demonstrative adjective (…Foremost among these promises…).

Another usage is as follows:

 The case studies come next. These are straightforward and require mainly copyediting.

My colleagues Meta, Elaine, and Chris would write they, because these implies the existence of those, as though there’s another set of book elements that are not straightforward. If there is another set, these would be acceptable, though I’d probably stick with they. Nick has another view (see his comment on this post).

One problem with the standalone substantive is that it usually forces the reader to stop and go back to look for the noun it refers to.

Less of a problem is announcing the noun:

These, then, are the reasons for taking the new threats seriously.

A nice rhetorical flourish.

But why not write those, then, are the reasons…? More on this next week.

Many writers wrongly see some pairs of words as synonyms, alternating between them randomly or using one in ways that violate convention or ignore its origins. Reminding me of this was Henry Kissinger’s use of historic in a recent opinion piece in the Washington Post:

Essentially tactical issues have overwhelmed the most important challenge a new administration will confront: how to distill a new international order from three simultaneous revolutions occurring around the globe: (a) the transformation of the traditional state system of Europe; (b) the radical Islamist challenge to historic notions of sovereignty; and (c) the drift of the center of gravity of international affairs from the Atlantic to the Pacific and Indian Oceans.

I won’t comment on the sentence’s length (67 words), on the use of two colons, or on the use of letters (a, b, c) to indicate the three (1, 2, 3) revolutions. I will stick instead to the use of historic. Kissinger may have used historic to avoid repeating traditional.

Historic’s seeming synonym is historical. The difference? Historical is history’s ordinary adjective, meaning of history. Historic means memorable or dramatic, but I don’t believe that Kissinger was thinking of memorable notions or dramatic notions.

Would anybody misread the second revolution? Yes. I would. Does distinguishing the two seeming synonyms make a difference? I believe that it does. So does Fowler in Modern English Usage: “the use of one in a sense now generally expressed by the other is a definite backsliding.”

Historic also means assured of a place in history, as with historic accord or historic building. Grammarians also use historic as a technical term, as with the tense, historic present, the use of the present tense to relate events that occurred in the past..

Here are three other seeming synonyms routinely abused:

Comprise (embrace) and constitute (make up), as in “The whole comprises the parts, and the parts constitute the whole.”

Imply (suggest to the reader or listener) and infer (conclude from the writer or speaker), in “Are you implying that we should act on this? And may we infer from what you say that we should act on this?”

Masterful (domineering) and masterly (skillful), as in The Economist’s take on Saddam Hussein’s gulf war strategy: “more masterful than masterly.” True, some dictionaries have a second definition of masterful that is the same as that for masterly, reflecting the words’ early history as synonyms and the practice of most dictionaries of recording usage rather than pronouncing on proper usage. (I still shudder at the Merriam-Webster New Collegiate Dictionary’s including prioritize as a verb.)

There are countless others. See Edit Yourself and the ClearEdits compare function.

Note

My colleague Meta pointed me to Merriam-Webster, for the definition of masterful:

Some commentators insist that use of masterful should be limited to sense 1 in order to preserve a distinction between it and masterly. The distinction is a modern one, excogitated by a 20th century pundit in disregard of the history of the word. Both words developed in a parallel manner but the earlier sense of masterly, equivalent to masterful 1, dropped out of use. Since masterly had but one sense, the pundit opined that it would be tidy if masterful were likewise limited to one sense and he forthwith condemned use of masterful 2 as an error. Sense 2 of masterful, which is slightly older than the sense of masterly intended to replace it, has continued in reputable use all along; it cannot rationally be called an error.

Samuel Johnson's dictionary gave both meanings for masterly:

1. Suitable to a master; artful; skilful.

2. Imperious; with the sway of a master.

(He did not include masterful.)

And this is what Fowler (the 20^th century pundit?) writes in Modern English Usage for masterful, masterly:

Some centuries ago both were used without distinction in either of two very different senses: (A) imperious or commanding or strong-willed, and (B) skilful or expert or practiced. The differentiation is now complete, -ful having the (A) and -ly the (B) meaning, and is nicely observed in The presentation in each case was masterly (perhaps in a few rare instances a trifle too masterful) and always the playing was crystal clear.

I agree with Fowler (and Meta) that the distinction is useful (I won’t comment on his use of A and B). If someone were to write, Diana Vishneva’s performance was masterful, how would I to know whether it was an expert performance or an imperious performance?

Masterful in the (B) meaning may survive because of the clumsiness of forming an adverb from the adjective masterly: masterlily. Masterfully clearly is less clumsy.  

Only is another of those words (like that) that does many things and has many meanings, depending on what it limits, modifies, or connects and where. Sometimes it’s not clear what only modifies. And sometimes where only is placed affects the meaning, especially when it is as an adverb (only can also be an adjective or conjunction).

Only she is my wife.

She only is my wife.

She is only my wife.

She is my only wife.

She is my wife only.

Today’s post looks at only as an adverb.

In speech and informal writing only often appears earlier than the word, phrase, or clause it modifies.

Today’s post only looks at only as an adverb.

With only preceding looks, the readers’ first take is that the post only looks and does nothing else. Readers are unlikely to misunderstand this, but by putting only one position later, their first take is the correct one, that the post looks only at only as an adverb, the full and unbroken adverbial phrase.

Today’s post looks only at only as an adverb.

Fowler, in his Modern English Usage, writes that the first version is the normal way of speaking and, however illogical it may be, changing to the second version would succumb to pedants, who “If they are not quite botanizing on their mother’s grave, they are at least clapping a strait waistcoat upon their mother tongue, when wiser physicians would refuse to certify the patient.”

But especially in formal writing, I think placing only immediately before the word, phrase, or clause it modifies can improve clarity by making the writer reflect about what only is limiting.

Consider this, from a March 24 piece in The Atlantic by James Fallows, Nerds only: Firefox 3 beta is available:

I switch back to 2 only when I want to use that Chinese plug-in.

Compare that with:

I only switch back to 2 when I want to use that Chinese plug-in.

Readers will figure out what only is limiting, but they will start on the wrong scent with only switch. A look at some of Fallows’s other sentences shows the same care in placing only.

Where the placement matters most is when the part of the sentence modified is some distance from only.

Compare:

I only decided to arrange a trip to the Bahamas to do a bit of fishing when it struck me that I might not have another chance for some time.

With:

I decided to arrange a trip to the Bahamas to do a bit of fishing only when it struck me that I might not have another chance for some time.

So, when using only as an adverb, reflect on where best to place it.

For more on only, visit Dictionary.com. There you’ll see its many uses as an adverb and as an adjective (or conjunction). You’ll also see its origins, from Old English, as aenlic or anlic, or one-like to only.

A third candidate for a stark attachment is a sentence with two (or more) verbs. The first two candidates, remember, were a pair of sentences with the same subject and a sentence with a who or which clause.

Consider this sentence from a piece by Jim Holt in the March 3 New Yorker, on the work of Stanislas Dehaene, a Paris-based neuroscientist exploring the brain’s wiring for math:

He pointed to the little furrow where the number sense was supposed to be situated, and observed that his had a somewhat uncommon shape.

The furrow is in a model of Dehaene’s brain. Note the two verbs, pointed and observed. Holt could have converted one of them to a stark attachment at the front of the sentence:

Pointing to the little furrow where the number sense was supposed to be situated, he observed that his had a somewhat uncommon shape.

In the middle:

He observed, pointing to the little furrow where the number sense was supposed to be situated, that his had a somewhat uncommon shape.

Or at the back:

He pointed to the little furrow where the number sense was supposed to be situated, observing that his had a somewhat uncommon shape.

Holt left the compound predicate because he used a stark attachment two sentences later:

Cradling the pastel-colored lump in his hands, a model of his mind devised by his own mental efforts, Dehaene paused for a moment.

The common form would have been:

Dehaene cradled the pastel-colored lump in his hands, a model of his mind devised by his own mental efforts, and paused for a moment.

Holt’s next sentence kept the common:

Then he smiled and said, “So, I kind of like my brain.”

This could have been:

Then, smiling, he said, “So, I kind of like my brain.”

 Or:

Then he smiled, saying, “So, I kind of like my brain.”

Four points, then, on the stark attachment. First, the part starkly attached should be the lesser of two ideas, subordinated to the greater. If the two ideas are of equal weight, use the common form. Second, the earlier the stark attachment—at the front of the sentence rather than in the middle or at the back—the more the emphasis on it. Third, watch the length, especially when separating the subject from its verb. Fourth, don’t overuse it. Holt had three sentences with two verbs in one paragraph, each a candidate for a stark attachment. He used it for just one.

Last week’s post identified pairs of sentences with the same subject as candidates for stark attachments. This week’s looks at sentences with a who or which clause—to see how to switch from the common to the professional.

Consider this sentence from the February 25 New Yorker, in Michael Specter’s piece on carbon emissions, “Big Foot.”

A former Berkeley economics professor and chief economist at the Chicago Board of Trade, Sandor is known as the “father of financial futures.”

The common version would have been:

Sandor, who is a former Berkeley economics professor and chief economist at the Chicago Board of Trade, is known as the “father of financial futures.”

Deleting who is and pulling the rest of the clause to the sentence’s front produces a starkly attached leading part.

Specter could also have deleted who is and left a starkly attached middle part:

Sandor, a former Berkeley economics professor and chief economist at the Chicago Board of Trade, is known as the “father of financial futures.”

And here Specter goes from the common:

Facts like these have transformed carbon dioxide into a strange but powerful new currency, which is difficult to evaluate yet impossible to ignore.

To the professional, with a starkly attached trailing part:

Facts like these have transformed carbon dioxide into a strange but powerful new currency, difficult to evaluate yet impossible to ignore.

So, delete who is or which is and see where best to starkly attach what’s left at the front, middle, or back of your sentence.

Next week’s post will look at a sentence with two or more verbs.

One thing that distinguishes professional writing from the common is the variety of sentence structures. Most writers cling to five or six basic types that they’ve used since high school or college. Professional writers use many more, perhaps 40 or 50. Among those are what we (at ClearWriter) call stark attachments—phrases attached as appositives or similar forms at the front of a sentence, in the middle, or at the back.

Start by looking for two sentences or independent clauses with the same subject.

Here is a starkly attached leading part from this week’s New Yorker, in Michael Specter’s piece on carbon emissions, “Big Foot.”

Compelled by economic necessity as much as by ecological awareness, many corporations now seem to compete as vigorously to display their environmental credentials as they do to sell their products.

The common version would have been:

Many corporations now seem to compete as vigorously to display their environmental credentials as they do to sell their products. They are compelled by economic necessity as much as by ecological awareness.

Note the pattern of two sentences with the same subject: Many corporations and they.

The stark attachment could also have been an inner part, after the subject:

Many corporations, compelled by economic necessity as much as by ecological awareness, now seem to compete as vigorously to display their environmental credentials as they do to sell their products.

Or it could have been a trailing part:

Many corporations now seem to compete as vigorously to display their environmental credentials as they do to sell their products, compelled by economic necessity as much as by ecological awareness.

Where you place a stark attachment usually depends on the emphasis you wish to give it. The earlier, the more emphatic.

Here’s another sentence from the same piece:

Thomas takes a utilitarian approach to the problem, attempting to convince corporations, pension funds, and other investors that the price of continuing to ignore the impact of greenhouse-gas emissions will soon greatly exceed the cost of reducing them.

Dictating the placement here is logic: the second clause elaborates on the first.

The common version would have been:

Thomas takes a utilitarian approach to the problem. He attempts to convince corporations, pension funds, and other investors that the price of continuing to ignore the impact of greenhouse-gas emissions will soon greatly exceed the cost of reducing them.

Again, note the pattern: two sentences with the same subject, always a candidate for folding part of one sentence into the front, middle, or back of the other.

Here’s another example:

I asked if they paid attention to labels. “Of course,” the man said. He looked a bit insulted.

And here is how Specter attached the second sentence to the back of the one preceding it:

I asked if they paid attention to labels. “Of course,” the man said, looking a bit insulted.

Trailing parts often start with –ing words (gerunds, participles).

Other candidates for stark attachments are sentences with two or more verbs, with a who or which clause, or with a long prepositional phrase—each to be covered in coming posts.

Last week I wrote about sentinel nouns, which push a working noun into a prepositional phrase. Many of those sentinel nouns also turn up as weak nouns, following a noun adjective that should displace them.

Consider this, from yesterday’s Wall Street Journal:

Corporations have pared back their debt burden, but consumers owe more than ever.

Why not delete burden? Perhaps because it’s not the absolute amount of debt but the ratio of debt to cash flow. But even if that’s the case, readers would not be led astray by simply writing debt.

I confess that I spent a couple of hours hunting for weak nouns in this week’s The Economist and found none. But they do turn up frequently in the writing of our clients at large organizations.

 

Poverty levels increased                                  Poverty increased

Price levels rose                                             Prices rose

For corporate responsibility purposes               For corporate responsibility

Part of a bank workout strategy                        Part of a bank workout

Light manufacturing activities                           Light manufacturing

Singapore’s growth performance                     Singapore’s growth

In the telecommunications sector                      In telecommunications

Policies to curb inflationary pressures               Policies to curb inflation

Foreign exchange carry-trade markets              Foreign exchange carry trade

Easier money supplies                                    Easier money

More flexible exchange rate regimes                More flexible exchange rates

 

As with others of these edits, we’re compiling a list of weak nouns, identifying when to cut them and when to leave them. Please send us any you might find.

One of the main tasks in editing your writing is ridding sentences of unnecessary words. So, as I read the Lexington column in this week’s Economist, the following sentence caught my eye.

He [Obama] wants to use the combination of his soaring rhetoric and his broad appeal to change the weather of American politics—hence his admiration for Mr Reagan’s power to transform politics, if not for what he did with that power.

Combination is what I call a sentinel noun, announcing the impending arrival of a stronger noun (or two), relegated to a prepositional phrase. The standard edit here is to cut the combination of, propelling the reader to soaring rhetoric and broad appeal.

He [Obama] wants to use his soaring rhetoric and his broad appeal to change the weather of American politics—hence his admiration for Mr Reagan’s power to transform politics, if not for what he did with that power.

The sentinel noun doesn’t turn up too often in the well written and edited Economist, but elsewhere in this week’s are:

For many, the act of voting will be even more solitary.

Voting’s an act, so the act of is dispensable but defensible. And:

The process of choosing the next leader of the world’s most powerful country, in other words, is still at an early stage. But it has already delivered big surprises.

Choosing’s a process, so the process of is again dispensable but defensible. If the phrase is dispensed with, the two sentences could read:

Choosing the next leader of the world’s most powerful country, in other words, is still at an early stage. But the process has already delivered big surprises.

In the piece on financial regulation, also in this week’s Economist, the noun is the point, not a sentinel:

…the patchwork of national rules and regulators that govern them.

…to redesign the architecture of global finance.

The chances of an effective global regulatory regime are…

…the result of inadequate national supervision…

…the lack of teamwork between…

The origins of today’s problems lie not…

But take another look at the last example. There’s a case for cutting The origins of and changing the rest to Today’s problems arise not from…, or something similar. If I were short on space, I’d likely make that edit.

So these are some good uses, when the construction the + noun + of adds meaning. But it becomes useless when the noun isn’t working but is only announcing. As in, the problem of poverty, as if poverty isn’t a problem. And as in, the issue of early primaries, as if early primaries aren’t an issue.

The point is that a the + noun + of construction should become a cue for taking a closer look. Here is a starting list of sentinels to watch for and cut, along with the articles and prepositions that prop them up:

the act of                              the experience of                 the presence of

the adoption of                     the extent of                         the problem of

the amount of                       the field of                            the process of

the area of                            the form of                           the prospect of

the case of                          the functioning of                  the purpose of

the challenge of                   the idea of                            the question of

the character of                    the importance of                  the range of

the combination of                the introduction of                  the rate of

the concept of                      the issue of                          the set of

the course of                        the level of                           the strategy of

the degree of                        the magnitude of                  the sum of

the development of                the nature of                          the use of

the element of                      the number of                       the way of

the establishment of             the pattern of

the existence of

 

(Our ClearEdits software flags all these sentinel nouns.)

The three preceding posts have been on using (or not using) that as a conjunction to link a clause to a transitive verb, a linking verb, or a noun or gerund. Today’s is on using that to link a clause to an adjective, infinitive, or participle.

 

With adjectives

That can attach clauses to adjectives.

He is certain that the bill, on the floor for the first time, will pass today.

Here it’s usual, with the intervening phrases between the subject of the clause (the bill) and the verb (will pass). But it may be omitted and is indeed unusual in:

Be sure you’re on time.

Note again that a pronoun (you) and verb (‘re) follow the adjective sure.

 

With infinitives

That can also connect a clause to infinitives (which can be a noun, adjective, or adverb).

Consider this example from “The Moral Instinct,” by Stephen Pinker in the New York Times Magazine.

This wave of amoralization has led the cultural right to lament that morality itself is under assault, as we see in the group that anointed itself as the Moral Majority.

The clause that morality itself is under assault is the object of the infinitive to lament. In such constructions most infinitives require that. Exceptions are some infinitives acting as nouns, again followed by a pronoun and verb.

To know you are accepted is enough.

For such infinitives follow the convention for the equivalent transitive verb.

 

With participles

Last, consider connecting a clause to a participle (adjective), preceded by some form of to be (such as is, was, will be, has been):

He is thinking that you should do it.

Here that could be used or omitted. But better still would be to switch to the present tense (thinks) and follow the conventions for using that with a transitive verb:

He thinks you should do it.

Recall that using that after think is unusual, especially when the subject of the clause is a pronoun (you) followed by its verb (should).

This post completes the use of that as a conjunction. But I do plan to update it with more examples.