Dreyer's English

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by Benjamin Dreyer


  STEPHENIE MEYER

  Writer.

  Not “Stephanie.”

  LIZA MINNELLI

  Star.

  Two n’s, two l’s.

  Same, happily enough, goes for her father, Hollywood director Vincente.

  ALANIS MORISSETTE

  Singer-songwriter.

  In her surname: one r, two s’s, two t’s. Very easy to get wrong.

  See also “irony,” this page.

  ELISABETH MOSS

  Actress.

  Not “Elizabeth.”

  FRIEDRICH WILHELM NIETZSCHE

  Trouble-causing philosopher.

  There are, I’ve learned over the years, so many, many ways to misspell Nietzsche.

  GEORGIA O’KEEFFE

  Artist.

  Two f’s.

  LAURENCE OLIVIER

  Actor.

  Laurence with a u. Knighthood made him Sir Laurence Olivier, or Sir Laurence for short. Not Sir Olivier, an error Americans are prone to. (He was also eventually Lord Olivier, but that’s a different honour [sic].)

  EDGAR ALLAN POE

  Writer.

  I’d venture to say that Poe’s is the most consistently misspelled author’s name in the Western canon. His central name is not “Allen.”

  CHRISTOPHER REEVE

  Actor.

  Played Superman.

  GEORGE REEVES

  Actor.

  Also played Superman.

  Thus, I imagine, the frequent misrendering of Christopher Reeve’s surname.*8

  While we’re here, let’s also take note of:

  KEANU REEVES

  Star of Bill & Ted comedies, Matrix uncomedies, and John Wick unintentional comedies.

  CONDOLEEZZA RICE

  Politician.

  Mind the double z.

  RICHARD RODGERS

  Composer of numerous landmark musicals, most famously partnered with lyricists Lorenz Hart (The Boys from Syracuse, Pal Joey, etc.) and Oscar Hammerstein II (Oklahoma!, Carousel, The King and I, etc.).*9

  Not to be confused with Richard Rogers, the architect of London’s Millennium Dome.

  ROXANE

  The love object of Edmond Rostand’s 1897 play Cyrano de Bergerac. One n.

  The writer Roxane Gay is also a one-n Roxane.

  The eponymous heroine of both the 1978 Police song and Steve Martin’s 1987 film (inspired by Rostand’s play) is Roxanne. Two n’s.

  PETER SARSGAARD

  Actor.

  Wasn’t the vampire in True Blood.

  FRANZ SCHUBERT

  Austrian composer.

  The American theatrical impresario brothers Sam, Leo, and J.J. were the Shuberts. Same goes, then, for the Shubert Theatre (and Shubert Alley) in New York, and the Shubert Organization.

  MARTIN SCORSESE

  Director.

  Not “Scorcese.”

  ALEXANDER SKARSGÅRD

  Actor.

  Was the vampire in True Blood.

  The ring diacritic in his surname is often omitted, perhaps because no one can bother to figure out where it’s hiding in their keyboard.

  SPIDER-MAN

  Superhero.

  Note the hyphen, note the capital M.

  DANIELLE STEEL

  Prolific novelist.

  Before I came to work for the company that publishes her, I managed, in a book referring to her, to let her name go to print not once but a half dozen times as “Danielle Steele.” Yeesh.

  BARBRA STREISAND

  It’s a bit late in the history of Western civilization for people to misspell her first name as “Barbara,” but it still happens.

  MOTHER TERESA

  Nun, missionary, now a Catholic saint.

  No h.

  TERESA OF ÁVILA

  Nun, mystic, now a Catholic saint.

  Nope. Still no h.

  If you’re utterly jonesing for a saintly h, I commend to you Thérèse of Lisieux.

  TINKER BELL

  Fairy.

  Two words, the latter conveying the sound of her communication, the former conveying that her job was to mend pots and pans. Really.

  HARRY S. TRUMAN

  President on whose desk the buck stopped.

  The middle initial doesn’t stand for anything, so for decades copy editors have amused themselves, if no one else, by styling his name as Harry S Truman. Truman seems to have (mostly) signed his name with a perioded S, so let’s do it that way.

  TRACEY ULLMAN

  Funny actress. Note the e in Tracey.

  LIV ULLMANN

  Less funny, but no less remarkable, actress.

  FELIX UNGAR

  In Neil Simon’s 1965 Broadway comedy The Odd Couple and the 1968 film thereof, the quintessential fussbudget is Felix Ungar, with an a.

  In the later TV series, he is Felix Unger, with an e.

  NATHANAEL WEST

  Author of The Day of the Locust.

  Not “Nathaniel.”

  WINNIE-THE-POOH

  Bear.

  A. A. Milne styled the bear’s full name with hyphens (though the character is also called, hyphenlessly, Pooh Bear). The Disney folk do not.

  ALFRE WOODARD

  Actress.

  Not “Woodward.”

  Joanne Woodward, though.

  VIRGINIA WOOLF

  Writer, though it hardly does her justice to refer to her so plainly.

  Neither “Wolfe” nor “Wolf.” Perhaps you’re thinking of, respectively, Thomas and the Man.*10

  ALEXANDER WOOLLCOTT

  New Yorker contributor, Algonquin Round Table denizen, and compulsive quipster, the inspiration for the character Sheridan Whiteside in the George S. Kaufman–Moss Hart comedy The Man Who Came to Dinner, a role originated by the actor Monty Woolley (and eventually played by Woollcott himself). Called, for short, Alec.

  Neither Woollcott nor Woolley is to be confused with the writer Wolcott Gibbs, a longtime editor at The New Yorker, who described Woollcott as “one of the most dreadful writers who ever existed”—and who, you may recall, is the author of every copy editor’s favorite maxim, “Try to preserve an author’s style if he is an author and has a style.”

  FLORENZ ZIEGFELD

  Impresario.

  Frequently misspelled (and mispronounced) “Ziegfield.”

  PLACES

  ANTARCTICA

  Two c’s.

  ARCTIC

  Also two c’s.

  BEL AIR

  The name of the Westside Los Angeles neighborhood is generally given unhyphenated. The Hotel Bel-Air is, though, hyphenated.

  While we’re here: Los Angeles has, unofficially, an Eastside and a Westside. New York City has, more or less officially, an East Side (including an Upper East Side and a Lower East Side) and a West Side (including an Upper West Side, but only people who refer to Manhattan’s Sixth Avenue as Avenue of the Americas would ever refer to a “Lower West Side”). Discerning fans of Law & Order: Special Victims Unit will note, in the show’s opening credits, the eternally incorrect newspaper headline “EASTSIDE RAPIST CAPTURED.”

  BLEECKER STREET

  In New York’s Greenwich Village.

  Not “Bleeker,” though one occasionally, even on local signage, encounters it misspelled.

  BRITTANY

  The French province Bretagne, that is.

  Or the late actress Brittany Murphy.

  Not Britney Spears, though.

  An increasing number of women whose parents were clearly not paying attention are named Britanny.

  CAESARS PALACE

  Hotel and casino.

  There’s no apostrophe in Caesars because, we are told, Caesars founder Jay Sarno decr
eed, “We’re all Caesars.”

  CINCINNATI

  Not “Cincinatti.”

  COLOMBIA

  South American country. Two o’s.

  Columbia, with a u, is, among other things, a New York university, a recording company, a Hollywood movie studio, the District also known as Washington, the Gem of the Ocean, and the female representation of the United States.

  FONTAINEBLEAU

  Both a French château and a Miami Beach resort hotel.

  GRAND CENTRAL TERMINAL

  Magnificent Beaux Arts structure located at the junction of Forty-second Street and Park Avenue in New York City—a junction and not an intersection because the streets meet but do not cross.

  That the building is often referred to as Grand Central Station does not make that its name. That said, if you’re going to characterize a busy and/or crowded place by saying “It’s like Grand Central Station in here!,” you should go ahead and do that because that’s what everyone does, and there are occasions when idiom outweighs*11 accuracy.

  LAGUARDIA AIRPORT

  Hellhole.

  The person after whom the thing was named is fabled New York City mayor Fiorello H. La Guardia, but there is no space in the airport’s official name.

  While we’re here: The official name for that G in LaGuardia (or for any midword capital letter, whether it’s the D in MacDonald or the P in iPhone or the S in PlayStation) is “medial capital,” though it may also be called a camel case (or, more self-reflexively, CamelCase) capital.

  MIDDLE-EARTH

  Nerd heaven.

  Hyphenated, and the “earth” is lowercased.

  MISSISSIPPI

  Some people, present company included, cannot ever spell it correctly without singing the song.

  PICCADILLY CIRCUS

  All told, four c’s.

  ROMANIA

  The spellings Roumania and Rumania are obsolete.

  That said, if you’re quoting the last line of Dorothy Parker’s poem “Comment,” it remains, inarguably, “And I am Marie of Roumania.”

  SAVILE ROW

  Not “Saville.”

  SHANGRI-LA

  The hidden Tibetan paradise in James Hilton’s 1933 novel Lost Horizon. Note the hyphen, note the capital L. That some dictionaries offer it as “Shangri-la,” with a lowercase l, strikes me as effrontery. Surely Hilton, who made up the name, knew best how to spell it.

  TUCSON, ARIZONA

  Not “Tuscon.”

  OTHER BITS AND PIECES OF SOCIAL, CULTURAL, AND HISTORICAL ARCANA THAT TURN UP, WITH REASONABLE FREQUENCY, IN MANUSCRIPTS, OFTEN MISRENDERED

  ALICE’S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND

  The full title of Lewis Carroll’s 1865 deceptively lighthearted fantasy,*12 though it cannot be denied that people have been calling it Alice in Wonderland pretty much since it was published. The 1871 sequel is Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There. You may drop the second half of that title; don’t drop the hyphen in “Looking-Glass.”

  THE BEAUTIFUL AND DAMNED

  There’s only one “the” in the title of this F. Scott Fitzgerald novel.

  THE BRIDGE OVER THE RIVER KWAI

  The English-language title of Pierre Boulle’s novel Le pont de la rivière Kwai. (Boulle was also the author of La planète des singes, first published in English as Monkey Planet. You may know it best as Planet of the Apes.)*13

  David Lean’s film thereof is The Bridge on the River Kwai.

  BULFINCH’S MYTHOLOGY

  Written by single-l Thomas Bulfinch, not by a double-l passerine bird.

  THE DIARY OF A YOUNG GIRL

  The title under which Anne Frank’s journal was first published in English.

  The Diary of Anne Frank is the title of a play by Frances Goodrich and Albert Hackett, as well as of its film adaptations.

  FINNEGANS WAKE

  A novel by James Joyce that you’ve either not read, not comprehended, or both, despite what you tell people.

  No apostrophe.

  I repeat: No apostrophe.

  FLORODORA

  A onetime cultural touchstone, now a nugget of obscure and frequently misspelled trivia,*14 Florodora was a musical that played in London’s West End in 1899, ran even more successfully in New York beginning in 1900, then enjoyed numerous tours and revivals for decades. (Little Rascals aficionados may recall its shout-out in Our Gang Follies of 1936.) Its hit number, “Tell Me, Pretty Maiden (Are There Any More at Home Like You?),” was performed by a sextet of identically gowned, parasol-wielding young ladies accompanied by six identically suited, top-hatted gentlemen.

  According to theatrical legend (this one, rara avis,*15 seems to check out as accurate), all the original Florodora Girls married millionaires. One of the replacement Florodoras, Evelyn Nesbit,*16 not only bagged a millionaire, the unstable, to say the least, Harry Kendall Thaw, but achieved lasting notoriety when Thaw shot to death Nesbit’s lover, the architect Stanford White, in a rooftop theater at Madison Square Garden in 1906. Thus ensued the Trial of the Century, not to be confused with the 1921 Trial of the Century of Sacco and Vanzetti, the 1924 Trial of the Century of Leopold and Loeb, the 1935 Trial of the Century of Bruno Hauptmann, or the 1995 Trial of the Century of O. J. Simpson, shortly after which, thankfully, the century decided to call it quits.*17

  FRANKENSTEIN

  The title of the novel by Mary Shelley (in full: Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus). Also the title of (among other adaptations) the 1931 Universal film directed by James Whale and starring Boris Karloff.

  Though confusion between the two commenced almost immediately upon the novel’s publication, Frankenstein is not the name of the manmade man concocted and brought to life by scientist Victor Frankenstein (Henry Frankenstein in the Karloff film and its immediate sequels) from dead tissue secured in “charnel-houses…the dissecting room and the slaughter-house.” Shelley calls him, among other things, “creature,” “monster,” “vile insect” (that’s a good one), and “daemon.” The 1931 film bills him, simply, as “The Monster.”

  It’s not OK to call Frankenstein’s monster “Frankenstein,” and people who willfully advocate for this make me cross.

  GUNS N’ ROSES

  That the name of this band is not Guns ’n’ Roses is vexing, but so, I suppose, is being named Axl, much less Slash.

  IMMACULATE CONCEPTION

  The issue here is not of spelling but of definition. The Immaculate Conception is the doctrine that Mary, the future mother of Jesus, was conceived in her mother’s womb (by the standard biological means) without the taint of original sin.

  The belief in the virgin birth*18 of Jesus is the belief that Jesus was conceived through the Holy Spirit, without a human father, and while his mother was, indeed, still a virgin.

  The former is not the latter. In the words of Christopher Durang’s homicidal nun Sister Mary Ignatius: “Everyone makes this error; it makes me lose my patience.”

  JEOPARDY!

  With an exclamation point!

  JESUS CHRIST SUPERSTAR

  No exclamation point. Or comma, for that matter.

  THE JUILLIARD SCHOOL

  You learn to spell it correctly the same way you get to nearby Carnegie Hall: Practice.

  LADY CHATTERLEY’S LOVER

  Smutty D. H. Lawrence novel.

  Note the second e in “Chatterley.”

  LICENCE TO KILL

  The 1989 James Bond film. Universally spelled, Brit-style, with two c’s.

  LOVE’S LABOUR’S LOST

  Americanizing out the u in Labour’s is impudent; omitting either apostrophe is just plain wrong.

  MOBY-DICK; OR, THE WHALE

  Much confusion swirls around that hyphen, which in the original 1851 publication of Herman Melville’s novel appeared on the title page but now
here else. If you hyphenate the novel’s title and otherwise leave the whale’s name open as Moby Dick, you’ll be safe. That said, just about every film adaptation I can track drops the hyphen entirely.

 

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