By Paul Carrier
I’ve never read about anyone who answers a stranger's “what do you do for a living” query by saying, bluntly: “I write dictionaries.” Until now.
Kory Stamper is just such a person, a lexicographer at the venerable Merriam-Webster Inc., the Springfield, Mass., company that publishes the oldest dictionary in America. Now she can add a little something extra to that job description. She doesn’t just write dictionaries, she also writes books about them. Or, more precisely, a book: Word by Word.
Equipped with plenty of linguistic and historical knowledge, an insider’s grasp of the underappreciated dictionary biz and more than a dash of barbed wit, Stamper sets out to explore what the subtitle of Word by Word describes as The Secret Life of Dictionaries, in part by dropping entertaining memoir-like bits of her professional life into her chronicle.
“The process of creating a dictionary is magical, frustrating, brain wrenching, mundane, transcendent,” Stamper writes. “It is ultimately a show of love for a language that has been called unlovely and unlovable.”
In the course of explaining how Merriam-Webster goes about its work — a never-ending process because dictionaries must be updated over and over again — Stamper sheds light on all sorts of things that even literate people may not realize.
For example, she notes that Merriam-Webster routinely hears from purists who complain about words they believe should not be in the dictionary, such as irregardless (which merriam-webster.com lists as a “nonstandard” version of regardless). What these grumps don’t understand is that dictionaries do not dictate usage, by omitting dubious or insulting words. Rather, they describe how English is being used in the real world, whether we like the result or not. A lot of people like irregardless, so it made the cut. The N-word is in there too, defined and listed as "offensive," with an accompanying "usage discussion."
Lexicographers, who tend to be a reserved bunch, sometimes find themselves thrust into the limelight when readers — or hot-headed activists — complain that Merriam-Webster has taken sides on a contentious issue. That’s just what happened in 2009, several years after the company had added a new definition of “marriage” that acknowledged the struggle to legalize same-sex marriage.
Merriam-Webster was deluged with e-mail from apoplectic conservatives who couldn’t grasp that the company included the definition simply because same-sex marriage had become a commonly used term. The definition was about the word, not about the thing itself. Since then, definitions have continued to evolve with the times. The current definitions of “marriage” posted on merriam-webster.com make no reference to gender.
Politics aside, Stamper explains that the nature of dictionaries has changed over the years. Early English-language dictionaries from the 17th century focused on “hard words for the educated,” omitting “simple, ordinary words,” in the belief that “those were already common enough that no scholar needed to know them.” Lexicographers broadened their mission in the 18th century, and by the time Noah Webster got into the act in the 1800s they were trying to be all-inclusive.
But Stamper lets us in on a secret. “No dictionary in the world records all the words in any given language.”
I’d never given too much thought to how a dictionary is crafted; it turns out it’s no easy task. The editors who prepare the entries exhaustively research the written word to decide what gets in and which existing definitions need to be revised, as old words develop new meanings. (Until quite recently, one Merriam-Webster definition of "nude" read “having the color of a white person’s skin.” Not anymore.) Lexicographers decipher the parts of speech to which words belong, and go through the often arduous process of writing precise definitions devoid of editorializing. Not to mention sorting through pronunciations, tracking down the year in which a word is first known to have been used in print, adapting lexicography to our digital world, and generally “rassling with the language,” as Stamper puts it.
Every entry —there are about 170,000 entries with about 230,000 definitions in Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary — is reviewed for each edition, starting with a “definer.” A new or revised definition then goes to a copy editor, several specialty editors, back to a copy editor, then to a “final reader” for late modifications, if needed, and a proofreader.
All of this plays out within a hidden subculture populated by logophiles (word lovers), lexicographers (dictionary writers) and etymologists (experts on the history and origin of words). “If logophiles want to be lexicographers when they grow up,” Stamper writes, “then lexicographers want to be etymologists.” Who knew?
“Everyone who works there (at Merriam-Webster) — and everyone who does lexicography — really does it because it's this beautiful puzzle,” Stamper said earlier this year in an interview posted at wbur.org. “Otherwise it would just drive you insane, because it's so tedious and so detail-oriented.”
Kory Stamper is just such a person, a lexicographer at the venerable Merriam-Webster Inc., the Springfield, Mass., company that publishes the oldest dictionary in America. Now she can add a little something extra to that job description. She doesn’t just write dictionaries, she also writes books about them. Or, more precisely, a book: Word by Word.
Equipped with plenty of linguistic and historical knowledge, an insider’s grasp of the underappreciated dictionary biz and more than a dash of barbed wit, Stamper sets out to explore what the subtitle of Word by Word describes as The Secret Life of Dictionaries, in part by dropping entertaining memoir-like bits of her professional life into her chronicle.
“The process of creating a dictionary is magical, frustrating, brain wrenching, mundane, transcendent,” Stamper writes. “It is ultimately a show of love for a language that has been called unlovely and unlovable.”
In the course of explaining how Merriam-Webster goes about its work — a never-ending process because dictionaries must be updated over and over again — Stamper sheds light on all sorts of things that even literate people may not realize.
For example, she notes that Merriam-Webster routinely hears from purists who complain about words they believe should not be in the dictionary, such as irregardless (which merriam-webster.com lists as a “nonstandard” version of regardless). What these grumps don’t understand is that dictionaries do not dictate usage, by omitting dubious or insulting words. Rather, they describe how English is being used in the real world, whether we like the result or not. A lot of people like irregardless, so it made the cut. The N-word is in there too, defined and listed as "offensive," with an accompanying "usage discussion."
Lexicographers, who tend to be a reserved bunch, sometimes find themselves thrust into the limelight when readers — or hot-headed activists — complain that Merriam-Webster has taken sides on a contentious issue. That’s just what happened in 2009, several years after the company had added a new definition of “marriage” that acknowledged the struggle to legalize same-sex marriage.
Merriam-Webster was deluged with e-mail from apoplectic conservatives who couldn’t grasp that the company included the definition simply because same-sex marriage had become a commonly used term. The definition was about the word, not about the thing itself. Since then, definitions have continued to evolve with the times. The current definitions of “marriage” posted on merriam-webster.com make no reference to gender.
Politics aside, Stamper explains that the nature of dictionaries has changed over the years. Early English-language dictionaries from the 17th century focused on “hard words for the educated,” omitting “simple, ordinary words,” in the belief that “those were already common enough that no scholar needed to know them.” Lexicographers broadened their mission in the 18th century, and by the time Noah Webster got into the act in the 1800s they were trying to be all-inclusive.
But Stamper lets us in on a secret. “No dictionary in the world records all the words in any given language.”
I’d never given too much thought to how a dictionary is crafted; it turns out it’s no easy task. The editors who prepare the entries exhaustively research the written word to decide what gets in and which existing definitions need to be revised, as old words develop new meanings. (Until quite recently, one Merriam-Webster definition of "nude" read “having the color of a white person’s skin.” Not anymore.) Lexicographers decipher the parts of speech to which words belong, and go through the often arduous process of writing precise definitions devoid of editorializing. Not to mention sorting through pronunciations, tracking down the year in which a word is first known to have been used in print, adapting lexicography to our digital world, and generally “rassling with the language,” as Stamper puts it.
Every entry —there are about 170,000 entries with about 230,000 definitions in Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary — is reviewed for each edition, starting with a “definer.” A new or revised definition then goes to a copy editor, several specialty editors, back to a copy editor, then to a “final reader” for late modifications, if needed, and a proofreader.
All of this plays out within a hidden subculture populated by logophiles (word lovers), lexicographers (dictionary writers) and etymologists (experts on the history and origin of words). “If logophiles want to be lexicographers when they grow up,” Stamper writes, “then lexicographers want to be etymologists.” Who knew?
“Everyone who works there (at Merriam-Webster) — and everyone who does lexicography — really does it because it's this beautiful puzzle,” Stamper said earlier this year in an interview posted at wbur.org. “Otherwise it would just drive you insane, because it's so tedious and so detail-oriented.”
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