Christine’s comment about her dog-eared, patched-up, much loved American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language, made me stop and survey my shelves for those books that show the same long use and emotional attachment.

One is the 1977 Atheneum paperback edition of The Careful Writer, by Theodore Bernstein, which, at latest count, has separated into eight sections. Although I don’t consult it as much as I once did, I continue to be grateful for the reasonable and insightful advice it offers, from the snappy entries advising on proper prepositions (“Mediate—takes preposition on or upon”) to nearly five pages dealing with commas: “The tendency these days is to use a minimum of commas. And if a writer feels the need to use a multitude of commas in a sentence, it is likely that the sentence is confused and requires recasting.” No matter how esoteric the entry, the author’s wit and love of clear writing show through.

My 1980 hardback edition of Roy H. Copperud’s American Usage and Style, the Consensus, also fell apart some years ago from frequent use in my early days of copyediting. Fortunately a decade or so ago a generous colleague took pity on me and gave me her copy, which I’m happy to say is still intact. This is a book I wish were reedited and updated to take into account changing values since it first appeared. I find it immeasurably useful to see how far apart the opinion of experts can be and am always grateful to be validated in some, though not all, of my views. I wonder, if Copperud were writing today, would he still warn against the use of visionary to mean farsighted, prophetic, or imaginative?

The second edition of Webster’s New International Dictionary is within reach of my desk, though it remains unopened for days on end. Still, its presence reassures, even though I now refer more frequently to the third edition.

I too love the American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language and recently replaced my tattered copy with the fourth edition, which at the moment is too clean and lies too squarely on my bookshelf. It hasn’t yet acquired those comfortable qualities of a longtime friend who’s been by your side through ups and downs. But give it time. Even though much of my work now is done on the computer, nothing can replace the tactile satisfaction of leisurely leafing through a dictionary. You never know what you will discover. Just last week I learned that the original spelling of persnickety was pernickety.   

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