May 8, 2008...10:36 am
Comma, too.
Working on a 900-plus-page novel at the office, and my proofreader has queried every instance of a comma-less “too”—i.e., “He laughed too,” as opposed to “He laughed, too.”
It depends on the style the author prefers, of course, plus my boss once instructed me not to globally add or remove such commas, as it really depends on the construction of the sentence and even of the paragraph itself. In this case, however, the author is dead, and the translator, if asked, would prefer to keep a comma-less rhythm. I have honored this preference for the most part, and yet there are some spots that beg for that comma—though if I had to explain the reason behind it (the comma separates the two preceding items; the comma offers a needed pause; the comma refers to the subject of the sentence, not the object), I would get confused, because for every reason to isolate that “too,” there’s an equally reasoned counterpoint to leave it alone.
Now I’ve got the urge to ignore the proofreader’s queries and change all instances to “He laughed along” or “He laughed as well” or “He too laughed,” though the last would probably be flagged by another proofreader with the query “Add commas around ‘too’?”
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Am on page 692 now, and despising this word. It feels like I’m okaying or naying commas willy-nilly.
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On page 723, and am recalling my fondness for “too” when a narrator would spew out a list of observations and depend on the word to emphasize her sense of urgency or state of mind (earnest, innocent, righteous).
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What is a “metallic voice”?
5 Comments
May 13, 2008 at 9:42 pm
A metallic voice is that of Ozzy Osborne, Dio and occasionally Robert Plant.
I went and saw your favorite displaced Serbian in Canadia. And wrote a brief account, too. Erm. I mean, as well.
May 14, 2008 at 10:03 am
I love the idea of an proofreader changing the outcome of a novel, in some small way. (I say this as a reader, not as a writer.) Just as in Saramago’s The History of the Siege of Lisbon, it is a great notion. Be it commas, or periods, or a translation of words, or a historical fact.
May 14, 2008 at 2:50 pm
Witness: I just started The History of the Siege of Lisbon and am in proofreader heaven. And you know, at work it’s sometimes tempting to change something small just for the hell of it, especially when an author’s particularly difficult—I don’t do this, not to worry, though I do make the decision to ignore some author corrections because they’re blatantly wrong. My boss will argue with the editor and the author about such issues, and an old-school colleague got in trouble last year for heatedly arguing with an author.
Chris, thank you—I was picturing somebody with little magnetic balls rolling around in his throat. And thanks for your Albahari report! I hope you find Snow Man as weird and absurd as I do. The narrator’s obsession with his map make up my favorite bits of the novel. And: Erm indeed.
May 20, 2008 at 11:00 am
I think of metal in a voice as being hard and flat, not melodic or soft. Computerized voices can be metallic.
I’ve adopted your approach of identifying people in my posts by an initial, by the way. I like how concise it is.
May 20, 2008 at 6:01 pm
In Susan Sontag’s diaries, she identifies her lover Irene as “I.,” sometimes with the period and sometimes without. The copy editor corrected them all to include the period, otherwise sentences would read like “I said I was selfish” and “I wanted to have sex with me.”
Brilliant.
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