TO ERR IS INHUMANE

(My brother Stuart is an educated wit. He wrote the following in response to me complaining to him that I had found a couple of annoying typos upon rereading my recently published paperback.)

To Err is Inhumane… Neil’s Corrs To Jesus for the Layman

“To the confusion of our enemies” – J Robert Oppenheimer, father of the atomic bomb.

Neil,

To the Confusion of our Enemas

I see you report with rueful exasperation finding more typographical infelicities in Jesus for the Layman. “As usual,” you say, “spotted another couple of minuscule typos.” I agree the indefinite article is definitely missing in “nailed to wooden cross”, and if I might quote you accurately: “Aaaargh!”

Well, at least you got away with “minuscule” here free of mishap, an unusual deliverance from “minisucle” in the hazardous field of slyly confused homophones and the insistent incursions of vile geekery through predictive text. There is, I concur, a great inhibitor of essaying thoughts in this constant fight for righting wrongs, what with the anagrammatic inversions of touch-typing, a raw war of attrition, indeed. There appears to be no satisfactory word for this cognitive inhibition, and “Aaaargh!” is about as good as it gets.

I mean ter say, amateur proof reading, the meticulous detective work of the pedant and perfectionist, is a sore test for the untrained eye and practised penman alike. A thing of beauty is rarely a joy for ever: there’s always something else, but we can find solace in others – even that old literary windbag Scott, that auld North Briton Tory bore who couldn’t write to save himself, love him dearly though we might, got most of his words right despite his fondness for the word “rebuke” as though anticipating error, a moral imperative of language, it seems, in his day of idiot compositors and his own crap handwriting. So, ‘twas ever thus.

Even in the brutal world of warfare and, worse, of entertainment, sleight of hand and bluff diversion often settle the balance of profit and doom – purposeful distraction is a tool of generals and conjurors alike; The minute detail spells fate as an unchancy four-letter word of duty or dust, of deliverance or severity. Just ask, if you could, Napoleon. Or, even better, Robert the Bruce.

So you worry about a typo, the typographical solecism in the sleekit service of imperfection, the stuff of ire and irony, a barb, a reproof, a rebuke (thank you, Sir Walter, enough) and a ruddy pain in the neck. Perhaps you have forgotten the late Harry Lorayne and his book, one of Dad’s inexaustible [sic] improving works, How to Develop a Super-Power Memory? (A. Thomas & Co. Preston). This most popular book was in its ninth printing in August 1961 (alas, I had to look that up, of course), and his Contents commence with “How Keen Is Your Observation? Does what you see register in your mind?”

You might recall he advocated a system of ludicrous association to aid recall, the more absurd, the better – a real face or event united in the imagination to an exaggerated, nonsensical or grotesque image and thus easily brought to mind. He offered other systems of numerical and sequential retention, peg-words and the like, but it would take a Super-Power Memory to adopt them. The common factor, though, is having an active curiosity, an interest, in the first instance.

I digress, but: observation is the key. Lorayne, a popular stage entertainer in America, gives an example:

PARIS

IN

THE THE

SPRING

X

“Have you looked at the phrase [in the box on the top of this page]?” asks this presumptuous pest. “If you have, read it again to make sure you know what it says.... Does it say “Paris in the spring”?

Point is, we see often what we expect rather than what is there, and that, I reckon is the universal bugbear that befouls our pursuit of perfection in print (Enough alliteration! – Sir Walter). It is the enabling vehicle of swift comprehension at the price of missing detail. We repent at leisure. Rebuked, aye, rebuked. The veritable victim of prestidigitation in print again, as if by magic. A conjuring trick is to blame, alas and alack. Just ask, if you could, Paul Daniels.

Yet, worse things happen at sea. The confusion of comprehension among friends, never mind to enemies is salutary. Consider, at least if the anecdotal evidence of the Reader’s Digest is to be believed, the case of a fraternal naval manoeuvre [maneuver, to you, mate] which involved the following exchange. Royal Navy Admiral’s signal to American Admiral: Sail Forthwith. American Admiral’s signal to Royal Navy Admiral: Sail Forth With What. Or the lack of a single space that cost The South China Morning Post business section money and reputation, “Bloggsco shares worthless” instead of “Bloggsco shares worth less”. Kingdoms have foundered for less. Just ask, if you could, Wm Shakespeare, or whatever his name was.

So you fret about elusive typos emerging to betray and mock the meticulous author? It is the very printer’s devil of a job. To err is humid. We all stand to be corrected. Just ask, if you could, my pal Sir Walter. Or, even better, Tom Weir, whom as a Chief Sub-editor, I phoned to ask what a “wol” might be.

“An owl,” he said.

Stuart

PS. I think I managed to slam the phone down on its nervous cradle before Tom answered my call. I’m unsure. I recall chatting to him about this and other inconsequential things at a presentation later, but he merely looked at me as though he were trapped.