Wordsmiths
Recently I've come across the odd word
wordsmith in both of its current
meanings, 'writer' and 'expert on words':
1. "Paradoxical wit and wisdom
from history's greatest wordsmiths", subtitle of Mardy Grothe's Oxymoronica (HarperCollins, 2004),
a compendium of oxymoronic quotations by writers through the ages.
2. "It could be said of modern wordsmiths, perhaps as much as for
any other group of writers, that they 'stand on the shoulders of
giants.' ", beginning of Jeffrey Kacirk's acknowledgments for Informal English (Simon and
Schuster, 2005), a collection of "curious words and phrases of North
America".
So I've been musing about why
wordsmith
strikes people as an appropriate (fancy) label for writers, and also
about the variety of things that wordsmiths in the second sense do.
Wordsmiths in sense 1 are like coppersmiths and silversmiths: they
craft things from some material -- copper, silver, words. (
Tunesmith and
songsmith aren't entirely parallel
compounds, since in them the first element denotes the thing crafted
rather than the material from which it is crafted.) The image
here is that a language is just a "big bag of words", as Geoff Pullum
put it in
an
early Language Log posting (with reference back to a 2001 note that
he and Barbara Scholz published in
Nature);
the craft of writing is then a matter of having a very big bag and of
picking well from it. Writers are word-slingers.
The problem with this way of looking at things is that it puts all the
emphasis on words as the raw material, and totally disregards syntactic constructions as another kind of raw material. Syntax becomes a matter of technique, not material.
This distorted view is part of the folk conceptualization of language, however.
On to sense 2, which seems to be -- the OED is of no help here, so I'm
speculating -- a semantic extension, from one specific kind of
expertise with words, artful word-slinging, to a more general
expertise, applying to all sorts of people who collect and display
information about words. Not to morphologists, it seems, but to
lexicographers (who do this sort of thing professionally) and all kinds
of word fans (from what we might think of as semi-professionals to
enthusiastic amateurs). The product of this wordsmithery is
an enormous range of publications about words (and idioms): scholarly
reference works, advice literature, entertainment. Everything
from the OED, though usage dictionaries and compendia of often-confused
words, self-improvement literature (like the
Reader's Digest feature "It Pays to
Increase Your Word Power" -- note its very American reference to
benefits configured in economic terms), the website wordsmith.org ("We
are a community of more than 600,000 linguaphiles in at least 200
countries"), with its A Word A Day feature, and what I think of as the
"ooh, shiny" literature, like Kacirk's book (from which you will carry
away virtually nothing that you could actually
use). Now-obsolete words,
dialect vocabulary, vogue words, taboo vocabulary, foreign expressions
borrowed into English, jargon, word and idiom histories -- all these,
and more, are catalogued for us. And most of this material is
aimed at a general, not specialist, audience.
Turn with me now to syntax. Where are the comparable compendia of
syntactic constructions? Almost entirely in the specialist
literature: in the big reference grammars of English, in college
textbooks, and the like. The usage dictionaries are organized,
insofar as possible, by reference to specific words; to find out about
English relative clauses, for instance, you'll probably have to look
under the various relativizing words (
that,
which,
who). In material for a
general audience, it's pretty much all about words.
I study syntactic variation, I think it's really cool stuff, and I'd
like to communicate my enthusiasm about it to a more general audience,
but I haven't yet figured out how to pull that off. Everybody
wants to hear about words, words, words.
zwicky at-sign csli period stanford period edu
Posted by Arnold Zwicky at September 4, 2005 03:22 PM