In high school, big words were prized possessions. Everyone had a few classics stowed away ("copious," "supercilious," "cantankerous" — you know the ones I'm talking about) that always seemed to prove surprisingly useful in counteracting the many run−on sentences in thesis−less essays about books we hadn't read.
Little did we know that when that very last bell rang that was all to change; a new era began. The five−paragraph essay was no longer, "I" wasn't blacklisted from all things written, it was OK to make up words as long as they sounded cool, and suddenly verbosity was last summer's trend.
No sir, this is no longer the reign of "antidisestablishmentarianism" with its many, many knowledge−filled syllables. That elitist kingdom has been overthrown by the underdog army of the long forgotten everyday words. This is a kingdom — nay, a democracy! — in which little words have big voices; in which a little word can go a long way. This is a world in which sometimes, big words make you sounds stupid, and little words make you sound smart.
The one I'd like to talk about today is one that graces our conversations constantly throughout the day without so much as a fleeting thought given to it. Yes, perhaps it's time to pay some homage to the good old reliable article, "the."
In July, the renowned New York Times language columnist William Safire (recently deceased) devoted one of his columns to a question he received from a reader. It should be noted that, having read about the exact same Q&A topic in Esquire Magazine some time ago, I would love to be pointing fingers, but unfortunately I do not recall who was the copycat here.
The reader wanted to know why the Times (as well as many other publications) insists on including the article "the" before nouns that are used to identify names (e.g. job titles); why, for example, is it "the notorious Tufts embezzler Jodie Nealley" or "the food vendor Moe" rather than simply "notorious Tufts embezzler Jodie Nealie" or "food vendor Moe?" Or, if word count is a driving force, why not, "Jodie Nealley, a notorious Tufts embezzler" or "Moe, a food vendor?"
His answer gave me a new respect for the sophisticated little word.
Quoting The New York Times deputy news editor Phil Corbett, Safire explained that publications veer away from the "notorious Tufts embezzler Jodie Nealley" and "food vendor Moe" format to avoid calling people by titles that don't really exist. "President Bacow" or, to use the example that Corbett gave, "General John Smith," seem like valid ways to address these people because their titles are official (capitalized, no less) titles indeed. But promoting "notorious Tufts staff embezzler" or "hotdog vendor," or any job title for that matter to the official status of president or general seems a bit odd and definitely not correct.
On the flip side, the alternative format — as in, "Jodie Nealley, a notorious Tufts staff embezzler" and "Moe, a hotdog vendor" — makes the publication sound like it doesn't really know what it's talking about — like that kid who proudly introduces a revelation that everyone already knows about.
Safire himself seemed a bit skeptical of "the trendy the," playfully challenging Corbett with a, "What's wrong with the trend−resistant ‘architect I.M. Pei?'"
Still, it's an impressive role for the little "the" to play, and besides, a little conformism once in a while won't kill the independent mind (which, if you're a "copious" or "supercilious" kind of guy or gal, you've already figured out).
Conclusion (as our five−paragraph essay would call for): If you want to sound smart, minimalism is the name of the game. You can finally flush the Princeton Review flash cards and start thinking more about the words you learned in preschool.
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Romy Oltuski is a junior majoring in English. She can be reached at Romy.Oltuski@tufts.edu.
