Why We Punctuate; or, Reason Versus Rule in the Use of Marks

by William Livingston Klein

BURKE’S INDIA

India and its inhabitants were not to him, as to most Englishmen, mere names and abstractions, but a real country and a real people. The burning sun; the strange vegetation of the palm and the cocoa-tree; the rice-field and the tank; the huge trees, older than the Mogul Empire, under which the village crowds assemble; the thatched roof of the peasant’s hut, and the rich tracery of the mosque, where the imaum prayed with his face to Mecca; the drums, and banners, and gaudy idols; the devotee swinging in the air; the graceful maiden, with the pitcher on her head, descending the steps to the river-side; the black faces, the long beards, the yellow streaks of sect; the turbans and the flowing robes; the spears and the silver maces; the elephants with their canopies of state; the gorgeous palanquin of the prince, and the close litter of the noble lady—all those things were to him as the objects amidst which his own life had been passed—as the objects which lay on the road between Beaconsfield and St. James’s Street.

The value of punctuation will appear in comparing this passage, as above printed, with the same passage as it appears in a work on composition edited by a university professor:

...the rice-field; the tank; ... the thatched roof of the peasant’s hut; the rich tracery of the mosque where the imaum prays with his face to Mecca; ... the graceful maiden, with the pitcher on her head descending the steps to the riverside; the black faces; the long beards; the yellow streaks of sect; the turbans and the flowing robes, the spears and the silver maces; ...

By such punctuation the tank is taken out of the rice-field; the contrast between hut and mosque is lost; the absence of the comma before “where” makes the imaum pray at a particular mosque; not the maiden, but her head, is descending the steps; beards are separated from faces, and yellow streaks of sect may be on fence posts for aught the reader knows; and turbans and flowing robes, emblems of rank, are put on spear-and mace-bearers.

And by such punctuation the beauty of the picture is entirely lost in a mere catalogue of things seen in India—and this is not literature.

A NEW ENGLAND WOODPILE

When the charitable mantle of the snow has covered the ugliness of the earth, as one looks towards the woodlands he may see a distant dark speck emerge from the blue shadow of the woods and crawl slowly houseward. If born to the customs of this wintry land, he may guess at once what it is; if not, speculation, after a little, gives way to certainty, when the indistinct atom grows into a team of quick-stepping horses or deliberate oxen hauling a sled-load of wood to the farm-house.

It is more than that. It is a part of the woods themselves, with much of their wildness clinging to it, and with records, slight and fragmentary, yet legible, of the lives of trees and birds and beasts and men, coming to our door.

Before the sounds of the creaking sled and the answering creak of the snow are heard, one sees the regular puffs of the team’s breath jetting out and climbing the cold air. The head and shoulders of the muffled driver then appear, as he sticks by narrow foothold to the hinder part of his sled, or trots behind it beating his breast with his numb hands. Prone like a crawling band of scouts, endwise like battering-rams, not upright, with green banners waving, Birnam wood comes to Dunsinane to fight King Frost.