Lush greenery, fir and pine floated on the breeze. The paved road, needles speckling the edge, snaked through the forest. Sunlight filtered through the canopy between openings, bright glimpses of the mountain range. Signposts reminded drivers of the CB channel where the truck operators called out their position by mile post marker. A truck rumbled around the corner carrying a load of gray logs.

The forest suddenly gave way to desolation leaving behind a wall of trees. The ridges and valleys were gray, a lifeless land of fallen trees ripped free of bark. The gray sticks slept in lines fanned out away from the crater beyond the hillside. The fresh asphalt was a ribbon of gleaming black hanging onto the side of the ridge.

At the road block, visitors parked in a gravel lot. A wreck of a car, smashed and burnt, attracted attention. “A miner’s car,” the ranger said. He told the tale of the car landing in the spot, thrown from a mine a few miles away. The volcano hid behind a ridge, but the fallen timber gave her position away. Each log, even the ones on the backside of the ridge, pointed the direction to the crater. The road continued, a dusty hike winding over Independence Ridge where a trailer served cool drinks to hikers taking in the view.

Rising dust clouds marked log trucks following the dirt road beneath the volcano. After resting feet, the hikers trudged on up the hill pausing for rumbling trucks. A trail led to a ridge, a view into the crater and the surrounding destruction.

Onlookers peered around in silence while they imagined the blast, the searing heat rolling over the ridges followed by a rain of ash. When they spoke, the visitors kept their voices quiet in respect for the mountain. And others. The wind carried voices far. Gazing at the devastation made the little volcano models in the science fairs seem inadequate.

Life returned to the mountain. Trees and bushes emerged along the creeks, and flowers appeared across the meadows. Elk bounded in and out of the forest. Even after a quarter century, much of the blast zone remained nearly barren. Plants peeked out growing bolder. Hikers, climbers, and mountain bikers took in the scenery and imagined the destruction. Many remembered the landscape before the blast while enjoying the new face of Mount St. Helens.

The pictures above were taken in 1983 by my father, Jerry Shrock. Below is a picture I took in 2004 on the Plains of Abraham.

Learn more by visiting the US Forest Service Mount St. Helens National Volcanic Monument website.

Geoffrey K. Pullum’s essay, “50 Years of Stupid Grammar Advice”, offers criticism for The Elements of Style with some humor. Pullum points his finger at the authors claiming they are responsible for degrading American students’ grasp of English grammar. Instead of supporting this claim with evidence, he spends the majority of the essay with false accusations based on poor comprehension.

The Elements of Style, by Strunk and White is a reference guide about improving writing. The guide contains advice and lessons about grammar, but it is not a textbook on grammar. The rules presented are not inflexible. Reminding novice writers of common mistakes is the primary goal.

Pullum’s essay makes a curious claim:

Since today it provides just about all of the grammar instruction most Americans ever get, that is something of a tragedy.

How did Pullum arrive at this conclusion? He provides an example from personal experience, but offers no evidence. Perhaps some students use the reference guide as their sole source of grammar instruction, but the majority?

Where Pullum fails is in his misinterpretation of the text. Part of his evidence is the claim that Strunk and White do not understand passive construction. He points out errors in the section titled, “Use the active voice.” He claims that three of the four examples given are mistakes, that three of the examples are not passive such as:

“There were a great number of dead leaves lying on the ground” has no sign of the passive in it anywhere.

Nowhere in the text do the authors claim this example is in the passive voice. The section never implies that all of the examples given are in the passive voice. The examples illustrate making a sentence stronger as noted in the text with the alternate version, “Dead leaves covered the ground.” The paragraph in The Elements of Style before these examples makes clear the intention:

The habitual use of the active voice, however, makes for forcible writing. This is true not only in narrative concerned principally with action but in writing of any kind. Many a tame sentence of description or exposition can be made lively or emphatic by substituting a transitive in the active voice for some such perfunctory expression as there is or could be heard.

And the text after the examples:

Note, in the examples above, that when a sentence is made stronger, it usually becomes shorter. Thus, brevity is a by-product of vigor.

The authors know the difference between the active voice and the passive voice. It is up to the reader to read and understand the entire section. Perhaps the section could be more clear, but careful reading shows that Pullum’s assertion that the examples are in error is false. Each example shows a sentence made stronger.

Pullum defends his conclusion with this statement:

The only clauses that are not active are the passive clauses: “active” and “passive” are antonyms. Putting those four sentences (one of which is genuinely a passive) in a section that opens by attacking (illicitly) the use of the passive voice, and recommending that they be replaced by active equivalents, is equivalent to saying that they are passives.

This is an example of poor logic (not equivalent*, and again read and understand the entire passage.) Flawed logic leads to poor comprehension.

In another response, Pullum concedes that maybe Strunk and White understand the difference between passive and active, but maintains that the text makes it look like all the examples are in the passive voice. In a later response on the same page, he mentions that he cites evidence supporting his claims. But his essay lacks evidence supporting the claim that Elements “provides just about all of the grammar instruction most Americans ever get.”

Pullum asks us to try the following:

These examples can be found all over the Web in study guides for freshman composition classes. (Try a Google search on “great number of dead leaves lying.”)

A Google search including quotes without a period reported 358 results (70 without duplicates; skip to last page to find actual result count.) Ignoring all the links to Pullum’s essay and other blogs about it, a number of sources stated that the sentence is not passive. A few results showed a misunderstanding including a science course, a computer course, and a blog. A source showing understanding. Minnesota State made the mistake. Of the resulting sources aimed at English or writing students, 3 made the mistake and 6 correctly identified the sentence. Pullum has a point. Some readers do not understand what they read including Pullum. Considering the results revealed very few study guides for freshmen composition, this evidence is weak.

Another curious statement by Pullum:

Some of the claims about syntax are plainly false despite being respected by the authors. For example, Chapter IV, in an unnecessary piece of bossiness, says that the split infinitive “should be avoided unless the writer wishes to place unusual stress on the adverb.” The bossiness is unnecessary because the split infinitive has always been grammatical and does not need to be avoided.

Again, the authors make no claim about grammatical correctness. The text advises on style, and states in Chapter V (referenced from Chapter IV) that using the split infinitive is “a matter of ear.” Strunk and White want writers to think about and improve their writing.

Near the end of the piece, Pullum makes this claim:

Consider the explicit instruction: “With none, use the singular verb when the word means ‘no one’ or ‘not one.’”

Pullum cites counterexamples including Dracula and The Importance of Being Ernest. The counterexamples are valid only if instruction is truly explicit. Within the introduction of The Elements of Style, White states that style rules are a “matter of individual preference,” “established rules of grammar are open to challenge,” and “unless he is certain of doing well, he will probably do best by following the rules.” And throughout the text, White reiterates that the rules are not inflexible. Pullum’s statement is false and his evidence, irrelevant, apparent to anyone with basic comprehension.

Pullum’s response to criticism shows a lack of professionalism by attacking his critics, however much of it may be in jest considering the source of criticism.

I agree with Pullum that The Elements of Style should not be the sole resource for learning grammar, but grammar instruction is not the intent of the book. Is it responsible for degrading grammar in America? Pullum does not offer any evidence.

When I read an essay (or blog) from a linguist, I expect a well written piece based on solid comprehension citing strong evidence. (I don’t expect basic logic.) Do I ask too much?

Read and understand.

Other responses to the essay:

• Athens & Jerusalem
• NPR
• Grammar Girl
• Orange Crate Art includes a response from Pullum and again here.
• Another from Orange Crate Art
• Ask Nicola contains a response from Pullum.
• Overcoming Bias
• Daily Writing Tips

*Pullum tries to argue using a binary system (passive vs active) based on the section starting with an example of the passive voice. For a definition, see An Introduction to Analysis Third Edition by Wade, page 590. There are other ways to show this false including a counterexample found within the text itself.

Dad set the telescope on the driveway. Unfolding, the rickety tripod clanged into position. It wobbled on its feet, slender tube drooping. Dad scanned the sky, looking over the first few stars awakening in the fading light. He knew the major constellations and could recognize several planets, but not much more. This was his first time, too. Hunched over, he lifted the tube aiming into the southern sky and peered into the eyepiece.

Watching, I waited. He nudged the scope, turned a knob at the base of the eyepiece. Looking at the sky, I saw a bright gleam floating in the deep azure. I asked him what he was looking at. Head bobbing, he switched between peering down the length of the tube and into the eyepiece. He adjusted a knob. Rising up, he stepped back. Slinking up to the instrunment, I followed directions. Nearly the same height as the telescope, I only had to lean over a bit to peer into the tiny opening at the back. A shining blob caught my eye. It wiggled within the view as I wobbled on my feet.

“It’s Saturn,” he said.

I had seen photographs of Saturn in a magazine. The blob inside the telescope appeared nothing like the planet on the glossy pages. I gazed at something shaped more like a squished ball. Holding my breath, keeping still, I gazed into the eyepiece. The slender oval drifted sideways. And I saw it. The tips on either side of the round center were rings. Staring at it, details emerged. Nearly lost in a blur, two specks of darkness marked the space between the rings on either side of the planet. Peering up, I looked at the bright gem in the sky. Saturn, I thought.

Realizing destinations filled the sky, the world expanded around me. The hunger took over. I had to know more. Pouring over books at the library, I absorbed it all. But never too much at a time. After each section, each small bite, I thought it over. The numbers and other data became images in my mind. But everything seemed so big. The schoolyard became a scale model, basketball sun at one end and a marble Saturn at the other. Walking from the basketball to the tiny blue plastic bead planet, I imagined the trip. Eight minutes for light, a few less for my feet. Looking back at the basketball, I saw the sun. Peering the other way, beyond the other end of the football field, I spotted where the marble rested in the grass. I saw Saturn. My eyes opened and questions poured in. What kept everything together?

“It’s gravity,” Dad said. Explaining the force holding my feet to the ground, he told me the same force held the planets in orbit. I argued that a force is physical like pulling a wagon. “An invisible force,” he said. It sounded like magic. A good story, but it did not sit well with me. Not one bit.

It never sat well with Newton, according to a book. The implication was in the mathematics tested by observation. But what caused the force? Spinning a bucket over my head held the water inside, but my arm and bucket were real, a physical force. And the book pointed out that Mercury did not play by the rules of the invisible force story. Predictions of positions lost accuracy over time. The problem simmered in my head for years while I read books and thought about other problems. I took small bites, imagined the meanings, asked questions. My skills improved as each answer revealed tougher questions. Sitting in the car while picturing planetary orbits, the answer leaped into my thoughts.

Dad listened to my explanation. I told him that objects followed natural pathways within the fabric of space warped by the objects themselves. Newton’s mathematics relating gravity to a force was only an approximation. Gravity was not a force like twirling a bucket of water. “You shouldn’t believe everything you read,” he said. Wise words, I questioned everything. But his bites of knowledge were less frequent. I was on my own.

A book on relativity, requiring small doses of reading and long hours of imagining, confirmed my suspicion. This different story and its mathematics predicted Mercury with high accuracy. I never shared this with Dad. We talked about comet hunting and viewing planets. Problems twirled through my head as I worked them out on my own. Everyone has their own pace, their own hunger.

In a park after sunset, I set up my new telescope. The heavy instrument whirred on its motors tracking the sky, revealing Saturn in clear detail. No longer a squished ball, the object in the eyepiece appeared much like the photos in the magazine. Within the rings, Cassini’s Division carved a black line. Above the rings, two hazy stripes-cloud belts-crossed the planet. A couple walked up and asked what I was looking at.

“It’s Saturn,” I said. Sometimes folks asked more questions, and I answered them in small handfuls. Knowledge is best served a bite at a time. The couple did not ask any questions, and I only offered instruction on peering into the eyepiece. They marveled at the details, their small bite, and went on their way.

Take small bites, savor each delight.