Slightly Askew

Pic by andrew_mrt1976

Many moons before J. K. Rowling was telling stories to illiterate Britain about a strange world with wizards, Terry Pratchett’s first Discworld novel – The Colour of Magic – was published.

But if you’re not a fan of fantasy, don’t let the wizards, dragons and treasure chests with legs put you off picking up one of his books.

Because Terry Pratchett is far from just a fantasy writer; he’s probably more of social commentator. The many tribes in the Discworld represent religions, cultures, and factions of society in our real – and often, more absurd – world.

A dwarf is not necessarily just a dwarf.

His wit is razor sharp – perhaps too sharp for most – but once you hit his groove, every page presents a quip that’s worthy of a chortle. Terry Pratchett made me realise how fucking great books can be.

And then, in December 2007, Pratchett told the world he had a rare form of early onset Alzheimer’s. I cannot comprehend how scary it must be to be told that your soundest of minds is, well, going to be far from sound.

Yet, in typical Pratchett fashion, he described the diagnosis as an embuggerance. And then he went on the attack; determined to raise the profile of this cruel, cruel disease that – in his words – strips away your living self, bit by bit.

And today was all about good news (and another chance to boost the awareness of Alzheimer’s). Liz got her sword out and knighted the now Sir Terry Pratchett.

A splendid decision methinks.

Tweet this post.

Ever bought a book just because the front cover looked pretty?

Never? Liar.

This is great. Delightful interface: big and simple. Still not as good as going to a bookshop, but they’re getting closer.

Tweet this post.

A sausage and bacon baguette from the butcher ’round the corner, a packet of McCoys, a Twix, and a bottle of Coke.

And yes, that’s a man lunch.

Tweet this post.

Home Making in Colour is a rather cool-looking book from the 1960s. I scored this copy on Sunday at an antiques fair in Dedham.

As yet, I haven’t had a chance to take a good read. A quick flick through indicates that it might not only be a nifty piece of ’60s design, but also useful and entertaining.

Stay tuned.

Tweet this post.

Ah, the serial (or Oxford) comma

You may have heard Vampire Weekend’s take on it.

Who gives a fuck about an Oxford comma?

Erm, I do.

No idea what I’m talking about?

Some people would write

Red, white and blue.

I prefer

Red, white, and blue.

The serial comma is the comma before an and or an or (the conjunction, darling) in a list of three or more things.

Without the comma, white and blue seem somehow related. And less important than red. The serial comma restores equality.

We’d say “red… white… and blue” with equal pauses, so why not let the comma denote that pause?

And when using semicolons to separate a list, it’s common practice to put a semicolon before the last and (or whatever conjunction you decide to use) - so why not with commas?

My real bugbear is that many copywriters pretend to worship the classic Strunk & White book The Elements of Style, yet decide not to use the serial comma.

Did these copywriters give up at page one?

Because on page two of that book it reads:

In a series of three or more terms with a single conjunction, use a comma after each term except the last.

Thus write,

red, white, and blue
gold, silver, or copper
He opened the letter, read it, and made a note of its contents

Who knows what fate has in store for my beloved serial comma. Its usage on these shores is slim, but our American cousins keep the flame burning.

At school, I wasn’t taught to use it. Thankfully I’ve seen the light. My schooling ruined my education.

And it’s lost me some friends (they were bizarre drunken conversations), but nobody said that finding clarity in writing would be easy.

Maybe I’ll send the words “I give a fuck” to vampireweekend@gmail.com.

Tweet this post.

Thank the lord for Apathy and Other Small Victories. Or Paul Neilan, he wrote it.

If you’re a dullard without a sense of humour, you won’t like it.

If you have a deluded Mother Teresa complex and get a little upset by things that haven’t been signed-off in triplicate by some unelected bunch of students parading as a human rights movement, you won’t like it.

If you weren’t born yesterday, have a healthy chunk of cynicism for pretty much everything, and have ever worked at an insurance company, this is the book for you.

Follow Shane through his life as a saltshaker stealing insurance temp who’s having sex with a woman he hates and happens to be his girlfriend. And his landlord’s wife (but only on Tuesdays).

On my first day I tried to alphabetize for about ten minutes, but being twenty-eight years old and not severely retarded I really couldn’t justify it to myself so I stopped.

The guy who live above him sells guns and walks his guinea pig, his local bar’s happy hour is between 7 and 10 in the morning, and he’s learnt sign language.

Oh, and Marlene - the deaf dental secretary - is dead.

Read it.

Tweet this post.

One of the best books I’ve read recently is Chocolate Mousse for Greedy Goose.

It’s full of fun, the story has a great rhythm, and the use of language is wonderful.

I should also mention the beautiful illustrations.  And the fact that it’s suitable for children.

I think I liked it more than my nephew.

Tweet this post.

It’s Not How Good You Are, It’s How Good You Want To Be

If an idea of yours has ever been greeted by blank looks and general indifference, well done.  Keep up the good work.

Don’t worry, the book will explain everything.

Tweet this post.