Steve High, president

In 1920, William Strunk boasted that he had reduced the number of punctuation rules from “a score or more” to four—three for the comma and one for the semicolon.

Rule 3, “Enclose Parenthetic Expressions with Commas,” epitomizes his largely successful effort to inscribe the rules of grammar on “the head of pin,” as E.B. White wrote.

One of the biggest takeaways from Rule 3 is the use of two commas or no commas, but never one:

Strunk, a onetime math teacher, may have remembered the algebraic prohibition against unbalanced parentheses. In sentence diagrams, you surround appositives with parentheses, just as in sentences you usually surround them with commas.

Next month, in Part Two, you’ll learn more about punctuating which and that in restrictive and nonrestrictive clauses.

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What’s the difference between a senator who is bored with a debate and a senator who observes the debate objectively, trying to learn the truth? The English language has two words to capture these two states of mind: uninterested and disinterested.

Use uninterested to mean “not caring for the issue at hand.”

EX:	We tried to make our kids excited about visiting Stockton, but they remained uninterested.

Use disinterested to mean “objective, free from personal bias.”

EX:	I didn’t consult my friends because I wanted advice from a disinterested party.

We can see how these different meanings arise by examining the prefixes un- and dis-.
Un- means “not,” as in ungrateful (not grateful), unfortunate (not fortunate), or uneducated (not educated).

It’s true that according to the dictionary, both uninterested and disinterested can mean “not caring for the issue at hand.” However, this definition of disinterested is secondary. To take advantage of the resources of the English language, you’ll want to preserve the distinction between the two.

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Nat Crawford, director of tutoring

Pride and Prejudice is a collection of good humor, charming wit, devastating satire, and serious moral reflection. A portrait of upper-class British society at the turn of the 19th century, the novel depicts characters familiar to many societies today. Readers willing to take the time to understand Austen’s language will discover in this work one of the funniest and most enjoyable comedies ever written.

American audiences, their appreciation for humor dulled by slapstick comedy, often fail to grasp Austen’s subtle satire. The author has a gift for understatement: “Mr. Collins was not a sensible man, and the deficiency of nature had been but little assisted by education or society.” In another passage, she undercuts the genteel patronizing of Lady Catherine and her daughter, members of the English aristocracy: “When they parted, Lady Catherine, with great condescension, wished them a good journey, and invited them to come to Hunsford again next year; and Miss de Bourgh exerted herself so far as to curtsey and hold out her hand to both.” Austen’s skill at the subtle putdown recalls John Dryden’s praise of satire over mere name-calling: “How easy is it to call Rogue and Villain, and that wittily! But how hard to make a Man appear a Fool, a Blockhead, or a Knave, without using any of those opprobrious terms! … There is still a vast difference betwixt the slovenly Butchering of a Man, and the fineness of a stroke that separates the Head from the Body and leaves it standing in its place.” In Pride and Prejudice, Austen leaves a fine row of decapitated heads resting neatly atop bodies.

From time to time, though, Austen shows that she can sling a handful of mud, sweetly scented though it may be. Elizabeth can hold her own against Lady Catherine’s hauteur: “And is this all?” cried Elizabeth. “I expected at least that the pigs were got into the garden, and here is nothing but Lady Catherine and her daughter.” Austen also dips her pen in caustic ink when having Mr. Bennet sum up Mr. Collins: “Mr. Bennet’s expectations were fully answered. His cousin was as absurd as he had hoped.” At other moments, Austen is witheringly succinct, as when she describes the company at a card game as “superlatively stupid.”

Austen shifts easily from the absurdities of characters to the absurdities of their actions. The development of Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy’s relationship takes nearly the whole of the novel; that of the buffoon Mr. Collins and the kind but mousy Charlotte Lucas takes all of several minutes:

Miss Lucas perceived [Mr. Collins] from an upper window as he walked toward the house, and instantly set out to meet him accidentally in the lane. But little had she dared to hope that so much love and eloquence awaited her there.

In as short a time as Mr. Collins’s long speeches would allow, everything was settled between them to the satisfaction of both.

Here, Austen delightfully combines the absurdities both of “accidental intention” and of long speeches on a forgone conclusion. For more such scenes, read nearly any chapter of the novel.

Though she writes with humor, Austen does not merely mock idiots and poke good-humored fun at foolishness; she also encourages self-reflection and reform. Austen initially called the novel First Impressions because her hero and heroine, Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet, must seriously rethink their initial impressions of each other. Each begins the novel as a critical observer of the human condition—Darcy scornfully, Elizabeth with more lightness of heart—but turns that criticism toward the self. A letter from Darcy forces Elizabeth to rethink her opinion of herself: “‘How despicably I have acted!’ she cried; ‘I, who have prided myself on my discernment … and gratified my vanity in useless or blameable mistrust! … Till this moment I never knew myself.’” Later, Darcy reveals how Elizabeth’s criticism forced him to change: “my behaviour to you at the time had merited the severest reproof. … I hoped to obtain your forgiveness, to lessen your ill opinion, by letting you see that your reproofs had been attended to.” The best criticism of society, suggests Austen, comes from people unafraid to occasionally criticize themselves.

When first reading Pride and Prejudice, readers may find it helpfulto know how Austen intends us to regard her characters. Modern readers will find them familiar. Elizabeth’s sisters Kitty and Lydia prattle away like unrestrained teenagers of the modern day, their speech touched with slang and grammatical error, their minds occupied with gossip, boyfriends, and hopes of outshining their sisters. Mary, another sister, resembles the modern striver obsessed with adding lines to a college resume: she glibly recites words copied from essays (rather than undertaking the cut and thrust of real conversation), and she eagerly shows off her meager musical talents to uninterested company.

Even Mrs. Bennet’s obsession with marriage should appear familiar, viewed in the right light. Today, as the feminist movement has dissolved the old norms for personal relationships, young women are nearly as free as men to develop independence and find worldly success. In such a climate, it’s easy to laugh at Mrs. Bennet’s obsession with finding the right husbands for her daughters. But great literature outlasts its immediate circumstances; substitute “college” for “marriage” and Mrs. Bennet’s obsession becomes contemporary. Marriage was indeed to Austen’s society what college is to our own: a promise of financial stability and social prestige, an apparent confirmation that the parents had raised their children “right.” When Mrs. Bennet and Charlotte Lucas discuss the dancing partners of their daughters at the previous night’s ball (Chapter 5), it’s easy to picture two mothers discussing their children’s prospects for Princeton or Yale.

For this society, Austen creates two types of heroines. Jane is the conventional heroine who might appear in an 18th-century guidebook entitled How to Get into Marriage: Five Steps to Landing the Household of Your Dreams. A kind, gentle daughter who correctly follows the rules of her society, she eventually achieves success as her society defines it. But while no reader has ever begrudged Jane her happiness, her story would hardly be worth rereading centuries later. Fortunately, Austen created a second heroine to keep the pages turning. Elizabeth, possessing “something more of quickness than her sisters,” has decided that marriage should unite hands, minds, and spirits; she demands a husband who will respect her and receive her respect.

But she has a long road to travel before she finds him, far closer to hand than she could ever have suspected. It’s a road worth walking with her, even if you have already seen one of the many movie versions. For while the love story of Pride and Prejudice translates well to the screen, no movie script will make you laugh the way Austen’s words do.

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