1장
The Art of Precision: Why Good Writing Matters
Benjamin Dreyer's "Dreyer's English" has become something of a cultural phenomenon since its publication, earning praise from Stephen King who called it "essential" and making regular appearances on the desks of professional writers nationwide. As Random House's copy chief with over three decades of experience, Dreyer has crafted what The New York Times describes as "utterly delightful" - a style guide that manages to be both authoritative and wickedly funny. The book's unexpected commercial success speaks to our collective hunger for guidance in an era when written communication has never been more important or more scrutinized. Whether you're crafting emails, social media posts, or the next great American novel, Dreyer's insights offer something invaluable: the confidence that comes from knowing the rules, when to follow them, and perhaps most importantly, when to break them with style.
2장
Breaking the Rules: The Freedom of Knowing Better
The English language developed without codification, absorbing new constructions and vocabulary with each foreigner who set foot on British soil-to say nothing of American mischief-and continues to evolve anarchically. It has no enforceable laws, much less someone to enforce the laws it doesn't have. This anarchic evolution is precisely what makes English both frustrating and beautiful.
Certain prose rules are essentially inarguable-a sentence's subject and verb should agree in number, and in a "not only x but y" construction, the x and y must be parallel. These rules are firmly entrenched because they help us communicate clearly with readers, following what Dreyer calls the Four C's: Convention, Consensus, Clarity, and Comprehension. A well-constructed sentence literally sounds better when read aloud.
But what about those supposed "rules" that have been drilled into our heads since grade school? Dreyer identifies several major nonrules you should feel free to ignore. First among these is the prohibition against beginning sentences with "And" or "But." Great writers do it all the time. However, habitually using these conjunctions can make your writing boring and lazy. You may find you don't need that "And" at all, or that your sentences can be connected with a comma or semicolon. Writing is about making conscious, careful choices.
Similarly, the prohibition against splitting infinitives (as in Star Trek's "to boldly go where no man has gone before") is a bogus rule. The unsplit alternatives-"boldly to go" or "to go boldly"-sound awkwardly translated from Vulcan. And ending a sentence with a preposition? This leads to Winston Churchill's apocryphal remark about "the kind of arrant pedantry up with which I will not put." While ending with prepositions isn't always ideal since sentences should aim for powerful finales rather than dribbling off, tying sentences into strangling knots to avoid prepositional conclusions is unhelpful and unnatural.
Other nonrules worth ignoring include the ban on contractions in formal writing (which produces prose that sounds like it was written by a Martian), the blanket avoidance of passive voice (which has legitimate uses when you want to emphasize what's being acted upon), and the idea that sentence fragments are always wrong (consider Dickens's magnificent opening to Bleak House-paragraphs of vivid fragments describing London's fog and mud).
The freedom to break these artificial constraints allows your writing to breathe naturally. The goal isn't rebellion for its own sake but developing an ear for what works. As Dreyer puts it, "Once you've learned the rules, you can break them." The key is knowing why you're breaking them.
3장
Punctuation: The Breath of Good Writing
If words are the flesh, muscle, and bone of prose, punctuation is the breath. Punctuation conveys to readers how you want your writing to be read and how it should sound-a comma sounds different than a semicolon; parentheses make a different noise than dashes. While some writers use punctuation with impressionistic flair, not all punctuation is a choice. Even a single comma can convey key information.
Take the series comma (also known as the Oxford comma), which separates the last two items in a list before the concluding conjunction. Whatever you call it: Use it. No sentence has ever been harmed by a series comma, and many have been improved by one. Consider the famous example from a book dedication: "To my parents, Ayn Rand and God." Without the series comma after "Rand," the writer appears to be claiming divine parentage.
Commas also help us avoid crashing proper nouns together. "In June Trump's personal lawyer spoke to representatives in Moscow" might momentarily confuse readers about who June Trump is. Similarly, "On arrival at Random House I was informed" could suggest the existence of Random House II and Random House III.
The placement of commas with dialogue follows specific rules. We use commas when dialogue is preceded or followed by attributions like "he said" or "she replied." However, this rule doesn't apply when dialogue is preceded or followed by forms of "to be"-no comma is needed in sentences like "Lloyd's last words were 'That tiger looks highly pettable'" because the quoted phrase functions as a noun rather than dialogue.
Semicolons, often maligned as pretentious, serve a crucial function in dividing items in a list when any individual element contains commas. Dreyer passionately defends semicolons against those who consider them "show-offy," quoting Lewis Thomas on their elegance in T.S. Eliot's poetry and showcasing Shirley Jackson's masterful use in "The Haunting of Hill House." Jackson's semicolons create a tightly woven, almost claustrophobic connection between ideas that separate sentences would lose.
Apostrophes cause endless confusion, particularly in possessives. Dreyer emphatically warns: "DO NOT EVER ATTEMPT TO USE AN APOSTROPHE TO PLURALIZE A WORD." The British call such errors "greengrocer's apostrophes" (from produce signs advertising "banana's"). For possessives, most people handle simple cases correctly (the dog's toy, Beyonce's Grammy). For common nouns ending in s, modern style favors adding 's (the boss's office, the princess's tiara) rather than just an apostrophe. The same applies to proper nouns ending in s (Charles Dickens's novels).
Dashes come in two varieties: em dashes (-) and en dashes (-). Em dashes interrupt dialogue, show external interruptions, or set off parenthetical text. Use no more than two per sentence to avoid creating breathless prose. En dashes, the "guild secret" of copyediting, connect multiword proper nouns ("New York-Chicago flight," "Pulitzer Prize-winning play") and indicate ranges (pp. 3-21) and scores (Yankees 14-2).
4장
Numbers: When to Spell Them Out
Generally, write out numbers from one through one hundred and easily expressed numbers beyond (two hundred, eighteen hundred), but use numerals for complex numbers (250, 1,823). While periodicals often limit written numbers to "nine" or "ten" to save space, words look friendlier and more natural on the page when space isn't an issue. This rule applies particularly to creative writing, novels, and narrative nonfiction where readability and flow take precedence over brevity.
When one number in a paragraph requires numerals, all related numbers should also use numerals for consistency. For example, not "seventy-five acres, twelve cows, thirty-seven mules, and 126 chickens" but rather "75 acres, 12 cows, 37 mules, and 126 chickens." This principle extends to any series of related quantities - whether describing distances, measurements, ages, or other numerical data within the same context.
Dialogue requires special consideration regarding numbers. Generally, spell out numbers as they would be spoken: "sixteen apples" rather than "16 apples," "twenty-three years old" instead of "23 years old." However, common sense should prevail - certain numbers naturally appear as numerals even in speech. For instance, addresses ("142 Maple Street"), years ("1999"), and phone numbers remain as numerals. Similarly, technical or specific references like "Route 66" or "Room 402" are acceptable in dialogue.
Starting sentences with numerals is universally discouraged in formal writing. Instead of "1967 dawned clear and bright," write "Nineteen sixty-seven dawned clear and bright" or "The year 1967 dawned clear and bright." For dates at the beginning of sentences, consider restructuring: "The summer of 1967 brought change" or "During 1967, the landscape changed dramatically."
Time expressions require careful attention to format and clarity. Use "five a.m." or "4:32 p.m." with small caps for a.m./p.m. (or AM/PM in some style guides). Avoid redundancies like "6 a.m. in the morning" or "9 p.m. at night" - choose either "6 a.m." or "six in the morning." For approximate times, spell them out: "around eleven o'clock," "just past midnight." When precision matters, use numerals: "The train departs at 3:45 p.m."
Date formatting varies by region and style guide. In U.S. style, place commas on both sides of the year: "November 6, 1988, in Scottsdale." International format omits these commas: "6 November 1988 in Scottsdale." Regardless of format, avoid ordinal numbers in dates - write "November 6," not "November 6th." When referring to decades, either spell them out ("the nineteen eighties") or use numerals ("the 1980s"), but avoid apostrophes ("the 1980's" is incorrect).
5장
Grammar Without the Jargon
Dreyer hates grammar jargon, not grammar itself. When he started as a copy editor, he knew instinctively how grammar worked without knowing the terminology. He doesn't know what a nominative absolute is, thinks "genitive" sounds vaguely smutty, and can't diagram a sentence. He learned just enough grammar to do his job, consulting stylebooks when puzzled. For writers, knowing how to do something correctly matters more than knowing what it's called.
Here's an infuriating grammar rule: "Here's one of those grammar rules that infuriate people" uses "infuriate," not "infuriates." Though "one" seems to demand a singular verb, the verb in a relative clause agrees with the antecedent of the relative pronoun-in this case "rules," which requires the plural form.
Reports of "whom" dying are greatly exaggerated. Think of "who" as cousin to subject pronouns (I, he, she, they) and "whom" as cousin to object pronouns (me, him, her, them). Use "whom" for the object being acted upon: "The man whom Shirley met" or "To whom did you give the shirt?" Avoid hypercorrections like "Sebastian, whom she believes has drowned" (incorrect) or "I gave candy to whomever wanted it" (should be "whoever").
In constructions like "not x but y," "either x or y," and "neither x nor y," ensure that x and y match structurally. Not "She achieved success not only through intelligence but perseverance" but "through intelligence but through perseverance." For "neither x nor y," the verb agrees with y: "Neither the president nor the representatives have..." but "Neither the representatives nor the president has..."
The singular "they" is no longer a grammatical flashpoint but the wave of the present. The proscription against it was a Victorian-era invention we should abandon. However, don't embrace it so vigorously you write absurdities like "Every girl should do what they like." Beyond grammatical considerations, using someone's preferred pronouns (including "they" for nonbinary people) is a matter of basic human respect.
Parallelism requires matching grammatical structures. Not "as real or realer than Des Moines" but "as real as or realer than Des Moines." Similarly, not "A mother's responsibilities are to cook, clean, and the raising of children" but "to cook, to clean, and to raise the children." Properly parallel constructions have a bracing attractiveness: "He was not beholden to, responsible for, or in any other way interested in the rule of law."
6장
Fiction: Creating Believable Worlds
Good writing transcends mere correctness, especially in fiction where a writer's voice is paramount. However, claiming "it's just my voice" doesn't excuse logical inconsistencies. Fiction requires internal logic and consistency, even while being fictional.
Characters must age consistently with the calendar and with each other. Someone born in May 1960 must be twenty-five in May 1985 and forty in May 2000. Two characters who meet at thirty-five and eighteen can't later be fifty and twenty-six. Time passage must be tracked carefully-I've seen many a Friday arriving two days after Tuesday. Physical characteristics like height, eye color, and handedness need to remain consistent. Stage management matters too-watch for characters who go upstairs only to step directly onto the driveway, or who remove their shoes twice in five minutes.
Real-world details must be honored-readers will notice errors. If setting a story on September 24, 1865, verify it was indeed a Sunday using online perpetual calendars. When researching historical events, remember to check newspapers from the following day. Travel times must be realistic-I once edited a novel where a journey that would take ten hours was completed in three. Geographic details like New York City's one-way streets and avenues matter. Don't forget that sunrise and sunset times vary throughout the year, and not all plants flourish everywhere. For historical accuracy, check when words came into use-"hangover" didn't appear until 1894; before that, people had a "katzenjammer."
Avoid pronoun confusion by using character names strategically. While repetition might seem excessive to you as the writer, readers need clarity about which "she" or "he" you're referring to. When distinguishing between unnamed characters, give them identifiable traits rather than calling them "the first girl" and "the second girl." Vary your quantifiers beyond just "a couple"-use "a few," "several," or "some." Watch for repetition of distinctive adjectives and be wary of thesaurus-derived replacements that don't match your character's voice. Repetition can be powerful when deliberate, as in L. Frank Baum's brilliant use of "gray" nine times in four paragraphs to establish Dorothy's dreary Kansas surroundings.
Keep dialogue natural by avoiding semicolons and characters constantly addressing each other by name. Limit overused actions like murmuring, whispering hoarsely, nodding heads, shrugging shoulders, pushing up glasses, and staring into the middle distance. Use italics for emphasis sparingly, and go extremely light on exclamation points. The "he said/she said" school has merit, but moderate use of other dialogue tags is acceptable-just avoid overwrought combinations like "objected Tom crossly" or "broke out Tom violently." Characters who "hiss" should only hiss words with sibilants. Place dialogue tags early in long speeches, and eliminate redundancies like "thought to herself." For internal thoughts, simple roman text works best, and please-characters rarely blurt out their thoughts and then clap their hands over their mouths.
7장
The Confusables: Words That Trip Us Up
Spellcheck can't save you when you use the wrong word that's still a legitimate word. These confusable pairs are the linguistic landmines waiting to embarrass even careful writers, and they frequently slip past editors because both words are technically correct - just not in the intended context.
The affect/effect pair causes endless confusion. To affect is to influence (verb); an effect is a result (noun). You can affect someone's mood, which may have the effect of changing their behavior. However, "affect" can be a noun describing emotional demeanor in psychology ("The patient showed a flat affect"), and "effect" can be a verb meaning "to cause to happen" as in "to effect change" or "to effect reforms in government."
"Discreet" people show discretion and tact, while "discrete" things are separate and distinct. Remember: if you're being secretive or tactful, you're being discreet. If you're describing separate elements - like discrete mathematical units or discrete components of a system - you want "discrete." A helpful memory aid: the separated "t's" in "discrete" represent separated things.
"Farther" is for physical distance you can measure: "The store is farther down the road." "Further" is for figurative distance, degree, or time: "Let's discuss this further" or "Nothing could be further from the truth." When in doubt, use "further," as the British do for nearly everything - it's becoming increasingly accepted as an all-purpose choice.
To "flaunt" is to show off ostentatiously: "She flaunted her new engagement ring." To "flout" is to defy or show contempt for rules or laws: "He flouted the dress code by wearing jeans." People often confuse these, writing about "flaunting the rules" when they mean "flouting" them. Think: you flaunt what you've got; you flout what you don't respect.
The lay/lie distinction trips up even professional writers. "Lay" is transitive - it needs an object. I lay a book down; chickens lay eggs. "Lie" is intransitive - I lie down, period. The trouble comes with conjugation: "lay" becomes "laying/laid/laid" while "lie" becomes "lying/lay/lain." That the past tense of "lie" is "lay" is maddening, but with practice, you'll get it. Pro tip: if you can replace the word with "place," use "lay."
"Prone" means lying on your stomach - think "prone position" in yoga or military training. "Supine" means lying on your back - imagine looking up at the sky. This confusion gets past writers, copy editors, and proofreaders more than almost any other error. Despite helpful mnemonics (supine = spine up to the sky), many writers need to consult the dictionary when faced with either word. In medical contexts, these terms are crucial for precise communication, making their correct usage particularly important.
8장
Pet Peeves: The Language Hills We Die On
All word people harbor language peeves - those words or usages that drive otherwise reasonable people to unreasonable outbursts. While everyone's pet peeves differ, we all believe our own reflect refined linguistic appreciation while others' reveal diseased minds. These linguistic irritants often reveal more about the complainers than the language itself, yet they persist as passionate points of contention among writers, editors, and language enthusiasts.
Using "literally" as an intensifier rather than to mean "actually, without exaggeration" drives many language lovers to distraction. No, you did not literally die laughing, and your friends are not literally rolling on the floor laughing either. The word's meaning has evolved through hyperbolic use, much to traditionalists' dismay. While dictionaries now include this intensifier meaning, many maintain that this dilutes the word's essential purpose of distinguishing actual events from figurative expressions.
The strict differentiation between "fewer" and "less" is another common battleground that ignites fierce debate. Use "fewer" for countable objects (fewer bottles, fewer people, fewer problems) and "less" for singular nouns (less happiness, less time) and mass nouns (less guacamole, less water). Exceptions include discussions of distance (less than five hundred miles), time (less than sixty minutes), money (less than fifty dollars), and weight (less than ten pounds), where "less than" is preferred because you're focusing on the quantity rather than the individual units. The "10 items or fewer" sign at grocery stores has become a rallying point for grammatical sticklers.
"Irregardless" stands as perhaps the most derided word in English - an unnecessary mash-up of "irrespective" and "regardless" that adds nothing to the language except confusion and contempt. Similarly, "could care less" logically means the opposite of what people intend (that they still have some caring left to do), though the phrase has taken on an idiomatic meaning through widespread use. Language traditionalists argue that "couldn't care less" remains the only logical choice.
The business world has spawned its own set of contentious usage patterns. Using "impact" as a verb when "affect" would suffice irritates many language purists, as does "gift" as a verb when perfectly good alternatives like "give," "present," or "bestow" exist. These business-speak terms often sound pretentious and unnecessary. Other corporate language offenders include "leverage" (instead of "use"), "utilize" (instead of "use"), and "actionable" (for anything that can be acted upon). The increasing prevalence of corporate jargon in everyday speech represents a particular source of frustration for those who value clear, straightforward communication.
9장
The Final Word: There Is No Final Word
Virginia Woolf's Lily Briscoe concludes To the Lighthouse by thinking, "It was done; it was finished. Yes, she thought, laying down her brush in extreme fatigue, I have had my vision." But unlike Lily, Dreyer lacks such certainty about finality, though he recognizes her exhaustion. There is no last word on language - only the next word, the continuous evolution of expression, and the endless possibilities that await on the blank page.
Language refuses to be permanently fixed. What was considered grammatically incorrect in the 18th century might be standard usage today - think of split infinitives, which were once literary sins but are now widely accepted. Even supposedly ironclad rules like "never end a sentence with a preposition" have proven themselves to be more flexible guidelines than unchangeable laws. There's no rule without an exception, no thought without an afterthought, always something you meant to say but forgot. The dictionary itself is a living document, annually adding new words and retiring obsolete ones.
Good writing emerges from understanding this fluidity while maintaining precision. It's about making conscious choices that serve your purpose and respect your readers - choosing "amble" instead of "walk" when you want to convey a particular pace, or breaking a grammatical rule because the resulting sentence carries more impact. Writing well requires balancing technical proficiency with artistic sensitivity, much like a musician who must master scales before improvising jazz.
The best writers approach their craft with both humility and confidence. They understand that clarity doesn't mean blandness - personality can shine through even in technical writing. They know that precision doesn't require pedantry - sometimes a conversational tone serves better than formal correctness. As Dreyer reminds us throughout his book, writing well isn't about showing off - it's about disappearing so your ideas can shine through unobstructed by clumsy constructions or distracting errors.
The journey of writing mirrors the journey of thought itself: recursive, sometimes contradictory, always seeking better expression. Each revision brings us closer to what we mean to say, though we may never quite arrive at perfection. And perhaps that's the point - the pleasure lies not in reaching a final destination but in the continuous refinement of our craft.
In the end, good writing is simply good thinking made visible. It's the bridge between minds, the vehicle for understanding, and the tool by which we make sense of our world. And that's worth every comma, semicolon, and carefully chosen word - even if we know tomorrow might bring new rules, new words, and new ways of expressing ourselves.
