Compose or comprise?

“Comprise” is a frequently misused word, a common accessory to the sin of pretentiousness. People want to sound high class, so they write “is comprised of” when they mean “is composed of” or even plain old “composes.”

I ran into an article in The New York Times online that presented them with a wonderful opportunity to be pretentious, and they didn’t take it! Hooray (for once) for The New York Times! here’s what they said, and it’s correct:

The project follows the successful effort by a group at the museum to replicate a far less complicated Babbage invention: the Difference Engine No. 2, a calculating machine composed of roughly 8,000 mechanical components assembled with a watchmaker’s precision.

The machine is composed of parts! Yesss!

Now that is a construction in the passive voice. What if they had wanted to use the active voice? Then they would have written:

The project follows the successful effort by a group at the museum to replicate a far less complicated Babbage invention: the Difference Engine No. 2, a calculating machine comprising roughly 8,000 mechanical components assembled with a watchmaker’s precision.

Now “comprise” is appropriate.

Never ever say “…is comprised of…” Ever! Unless you’re showing someone what not to do. Harrumpf.

Here’s a picture of the difference engine.

The machine is about eight feet tall. That's a picture of Charles Babbage on the wall.

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Redundancy and fluff are common mistakes, and I mention these errors in this humble site rather often. Here’s another good example. It’s from the fascinating book, Shock of Gray by Ted. C. Fishman. The book is about the sociology of aging. Here’s the subtitle: The aging of the world’s population and how it pits young against old, child against parent, worker against boss, company against rival, and nation against nation. Quite a mouthful. Here’s a comment about Tokyo.

Tokyo has become the one city in the world where one’s youth lasts longest, while at the same time it is a city where time passes so quickly that Tokyoites are near middle age before they know it.

I found this picture on a page titled "Tokyo with kids - things to do"

All the words in this sentence are grammatically correct. But if you reflect, you might notice some unnecessary content. I call this sort of thing the hard part of writing, because on a superficial level, the writing is perfectly correct. What it says isn’t quite right.

It has to do with what you mean when you use the superlative, in this case “longest.” When you compare the lengths of pieces of string, how many can be the longest? Presumably one. Which mountain is highest? Only one. The point of the superlative is to point out the one thing that is at the top of whatever heap you’re measuring. In this case it’s the city where one’s youth lasts longest, and that is Toyko. You don’t need that fifth word in the sentence, “one.” Take it out, and the sentence means exactly the same thing, and it’s a little tighter, less wordy.

You might object that my complaint here is hardly earth-shaking, and you would be right. I’ll even grant that the “one” was put in the sentence to add emotional impact to the statistic. I hope, however, you see the benefit of reflecting on your writing, and thinking about what you say. Chop out what you don’t need. Your readers will thank you.

Occasionally I harp on where you put “only” in your writing. With the right sentence, you can create a humorous (or disastrous) misunderstanding by inadvertently modifying the wrong word. Here’s a good example of the effect on meaning caused by where you place the modifier. I put the key phrases in italic to make them, um, obvious.

There are two ways of constructing a software design: One way is to make it so simple that there are obviously no deficiencies, and the other way is to make it so complicated that there are no obvious deficiencies. The first method is far more difficult. —C.A.R. Hoare

In this case, the writer wanted to say it both ways to make a point.  Using similar constructions like that calls attention to what he wants to say. Nice.

I try to discourage writers from using the passive. Here’s a cartoon about one reason why.

We have a couple dozen laying hens at our house, so we follow Doug Savage. His comics frequently feature chickens, even if they aren’t exactly about chickens. Here’s a link to a few more language comics on his website: Savage Chickens.

I often post about removing extra verbiage from your writing. No one has mentioned it, so I will: If you take everything out, you end up with plain, non-conversational, maybe boring prose.

That’s correct. I approve of writing that’s not awash with waves of superfluous locutions.

My goal is to teach you how to write prose that nobody pays attention to. You want them to think about the subject, not about you, not about the writing. Do not to distract your reader.

“But what fun is that?” you ask. “How will they identify with me as a fellow human?” “Don’t I want my reader to feel connected with me?”

You have a point. Under some circumstances you want your reader to think about you, to get a feeling of conversation, fellowship, company. Here is the philosophical question—When do you want these things? Unlike Plato, I’ll tell you straight out:

Plato in conversation

Think about your readership and the document you are writing. If it’s expository and all business, go for plain. If your writing is supposed to be entertaining, such as a blog, an editorial, a novel, a poem, a love letter, then those extra words that add atmosphere and flavor are appropriate. That’s why you occasionally see a conversational tone in this site. However, I make a conscious effort never to waste my words—I want to be a good example; you won’t find me breaking my own rules very often, and I always do it on purpose.

Be friendly when you need to be, but don’t go overboard.