I’ve been thinking a lot about style guides lately, and I decided that what the world really needs right now is the definitive style guide alignment chart. I posted a version on Twitter the other day, but I wanted to do a slightly expanded version here. (Quotes are taken from easydamus.com.)
Lawful Good: The Chicago Manual of Style
A lawful good character “combines a commitment to oppose evil with the discipline to fight relentlessly.” And boy howdy, is Chicago relentless—the thing is over 1,100 pages! Even if you use it every day in your job as an editor, there are probably entire chapters that you’ve never looked at. But it’s there with its recommendations just in case.
Neutral Good: The MLA Handbook
“A neutral good character does the best that a good person can do.” Look, the MLA Handbook certainly tries to do what’s right, even if it can’t make up its mind sometimes. Remember when it said you should specify whether a source was print or web, as if that wasn’t obvious from context, and then it took that rule out in the next edition? Enough said.
Chaotic Good: The Buzzfeed Style Guide
“A chaotic good character acts as his conscience directs him with little regard for what others expect of him.” Buzzfeed style is guided by a strong moral compass but doesn’t feel beholden to a lot of traditional rules. It has great entries on gender, race, and disability and would probably recommend singular “they” in that last sentence. It also has entries on celebricat (a celebrity cat), dadbod, and milkshake duck, because that’s the internet for you.
Lawful Neutral: The Elements of Style
“A lawful neutral character acts as law, tradition, or a personal code directs her.” The Elements of Style, a.k.a. Strunk & White, certainly upholds a lot of laws and traditions. Are they good laws? Look, I don’t see how that’s relevant. The point is that if you follow its diktats by omitting needless words and going which hunting, your writing will supposedly be just like E. B. White’s.
True Neutral: The Wikipedia Style Guide
A true neutral character “doesn’t feel strongly one way or the other when it comes to good vs. evil or law vs. chaos.” Wikipedia doesn’t care for your edit wars. There are lots of acceptable style choices, whether you prefer American or British English. Just pick a style and stick with it.
Chaotic Neutral: Wired Style
A chaotic neutral character “avoids authority, resents restrictions, and challenges traditions.” Wired Style has a chapter called “Be Elite” and another called “Screw the Rules.” The first edition is also printed on day-glow yellow paper, because screw your eyes too. It also has a chapter called “Anticipate the Future” but probably didn’t anticipate that it would go out of print twenty years ago.
Lawful Evil: The New Yorker
A lawful evil character “plays by the rules but without mercy or compassion.” The New Yorker uses jarring diereses to prevent misreading of words that no one has trouble reading, and it doubles consonants in words like focussed because it said so, that’s why. It also unnecessarily sets off certain phrases with commas based on a hyperliteral idea of what restrictive and nonrestrictive mean. Tell me that’s not mercilessly evil.
Neutral Evil: The Associated Press Stylebook
“A neutral evil villain does whatever she can get away with.” The AP Stylebook used to say that two things couldn’t collide unless they were both in motion, and it also used to recommend against not only split infinitives but also adverbs placed in the middle of verb phrases, which is the normal place to put them. They only abandoned those rules when John McIntyre finally called them on that BS.
Chaotic Evil: Publication Manual of the American Psychological Association
A chaotic evil character is “arbitrarily violent” and “unpredictable.” Have you ever seen APA-style references? Some titles are in title case, while others are in sentence case. And, for reasons I can’t understand, volume numbers are italicized but issues numbers aren’t, even though there’s no space between them. “Arbitrarily violent” is the best description of that mess that I’ve seen.
Naturally, there will be some disagreement over the placement of some entries. I’ve also had a lot of calls to include Bluebook, with most people wanting to put it somewhere on the evil axis, while others have wanted to include The Yahoo! Style Guide, The Microsoft Manual of Style, or AMA Manual of Style. I’ve decided that I’m probably going to have to do a yearly update to add new entries or move some to more fitting spots. In the meantime, if you’ve got opinions—and I’m sure you do—feel free to chime in below.
A friend of mine recently posted on Facebook that you could take the second space after a period away from him when you pry it from his cold, dead fingers. I responded with this image of Ben Wyatt from Parks and Recreation.
But I said I’d refrain from sharing my thoughts unless he really wanted to hear them. He said he did, so here goes.
Even though the extra space has its defenders, using two spaces between sentences is wrong by today’s standards, but nearly everybody is wrong about why.
The usual argument goes that it’s a holdover from the days of typewriters. Typewriters use monospaced fonts (meaning that each character takes up the same amount of horizontal space, whether it’s an i or a W), which look spacey compared to proportional fonts (where characters have different widths according to the size and shape of the actual character). Since monospaced text looks spacey already, it was decided that an extra space was needed between sentences to make things readable. But since we’re now all writing on computers with proportional fonts, we should all ditch the two-space habit. Case closed!
But not so fast.
You may have been taught in typing class to type two spaces at the end of a sentence, but the practice has nothing to do with typewriters. It’s actually just an attempt to replicate the look of typeset text of the era. There are other blog posts out there that give a much more thorough account of the history of sentence spacing than I’ll give here (and I’ll link to them at the end), but I’ll use some of the same sources.
But before we dive in, some definitions. Spacing in typography is usually based on the em, a relative unit of measurement that’s as wide as a line of type is tall. That is, if type is set at 12 points, then an em is also 12 points. The name derives from the fact that a capital M in many typefaces is about as wide as it is tall. The em dash (—) is so named because it’s 1 em wide. A space the width of an em is called an em space, an em quad, or just an em or a quad.
An en space or en quad is about the width of a capital N, which is half the width of an em space. An en dash, as you guessed it, is 1 en wide.
A three-em space is not three ems wide but one-third of an em (that is, it’s a three-to-an-em space). Also called a thick space, this is the standard space used between words. There are also smaller spaces like four-em and five-em spaces (known as thin spaces) and hair spaces, but we don’t need to worry about them.
Modern typesetting practice is to use a thick space everywhere, but professional practice even just a hundred years ago was surprisingly different. Just take a look at this guide to spacing from the first edition of what would later be known as The Chicago Manual of Style (published in 1906):
Space evenly. A standard line should have a 3-em space between all words not separated by other punctuation points than commas, and after commas; an en-quad after semicolons, and colons followed by a lower-case letter; two 3-em spaces after colons followed by a capital; an em-quad after periods, and exclamation and interrogation points, concluding a sentence.
In other words, the standard spacing was a thick space (one-third of an em) between words (the same as it is today), a little bit more than that (half an em) after semicolons or colons that were followed by a lowercase letter, two thick spaces after a colon followed by a capital, and the equivalent of three thick spaces between sentences. Typesetters weren’t just double-spacing between sentences—they were triple spacing. You can see this extra spacing in the manual itself:
Remember that typewriters were generally monospaced, meaning that the carriage advanced the same amount for every character, including spaces. On a typewriter, there’s no such thing as a thin space, en space, or em space. Consequently, the rules for spacing were simplified a bit: a thick space between words and following semicolons or colons followed by a lowercase letter, and two thick spaces between sentences or after a colon followed by a capital letter.
At this point the two-spacers may be cheering. History is on your side! The extra space is good! But, again, not so fast.
Around the middle of the last century, typesetting practice began to change. That complicated system of spacing takes extra time to implement, and financial and technological pressures eventually pushed typesetters to adopt the current practice of using a single thick space everywhere. Chicago began using a single space between sentences in 1949, when the 11th edition of the manual was published. But this wasn’t necessarily an innovation. English and Americans typesetters may have used extra space, but French typesetters did not—they used just one space between sentences. Clearly not everyone thought that the extra space was necessary.
And as someone who has done a fair amount of typesetting, I have to say that I’m thankful for the current standard. It’s easy to ensure that there’s only a single space everywhere, but trying to ensure that there’s extra space between sentences—and only between sentences—would be a nightmare even with the help of find-and-replace queries or regular expressions. (I’ve seen some suggestions that typesetting software automatically adds space between sentences, but this isn’t true of any of the typesetting software I’ve ever used, which includes FrameMaker, QuarkXPress, and InDesign. Maybe LaTeX does it, but I’d be curious to see how well it really does.)
My wife has done a fair amount of editing for doctoral students whose committees seem to think that the APA style requires two spaces between sentences, so she’s spent a lot of time putting all those extra spaces in. (Luckily for her, she charges by the hour.) In its section on spacing following punctuation, the Publication Manual of the American Psychological Association says that “spacing twice after punctuation marks at the end of a sentence aids readers of draft manuscripts.” (APA doesn’t require the extra space in published work, though, meaning that authors are asked to put the spaces in and then editors or typesetters take them right back out.)
Unfortunately, there’s no evidence to back up the claim that the extra space aids readability by providing a little more visual separation between sentences; what few studies have been done have been inconclusive. Inserting extra spacing means extra time for the editor, typesetter, and proofreader, and it’s extra time that doesn’t appear to add any value. (Conversely, there’s also no evidence that the extra space hurts.) I suspect that the readability argument is just a post hoc rationalization for a habit that some find hard to break.
After all, most people alive today grew up in the era of single spacing in professionally set text, so it’s what most people are familiar with. You never see the extra space unless you’re looking at an older text, a typewritten text, or a text that hasn’t been professionally edited and typeset. But most people who use the extra space do so not because of allegedly improved readability but because it’s simply what they were taught or because they say it’s impossible to break the habit of hitting the spacebar twice after a sentence.
And I’m skeptical when people claim that double-spacing is hardwired into their brains. Maybe I just have an easier time breaking bad habits than some people, but when I was taught to type in eighth grade (on typewriters, even—my school didn’t have enough money to stock the typing lab with computers), I was taught the two-space rule. And almost as soon as I was out of that class, I stopped. It took maybe two weeks to break the habit. But I already knew that it was an outdated practice, so I was motivated to abandon it as soon as my grade no longer depended on it.
If you’ve been typing this way for decades, though, or if you were never informed that the practice was outdated, you may be less motivated to try to change. Even if you write for publication, you can rely on your editor or typesetter to remove those extra spaces for you with a quick find-and-replace. You may not even be aware that they’re doing it.
Of course, even some people who should know better seem to be unaware that using two spaces is no longer the standard. When my oldest son was taught to type in school a couple of years ago, his teacher—who is probably younger than me—taught the class to use two spaces after a sentence. Even though typesetters switched to using a single space over fifty years ago, and typewriters have gone the way of the rotary phone, the two-space practice just won’t die.
So the real question is, what should you do? If you’re still using two spaces, either out of habit or because you like how it looks, should you make the switch? Or, put another way, is it really wrong to keep using two spaces after half a century after the publishing world has moved on?
Part of me really wants to say that yes, it really is that wrong, and you need to get over yourself and just break the stupid habit already. But the truth is that unless you’re writing for publication, it doesn’t actually matter all that much. If your work is going to be edited and typeset, then you should know that the extra space is going to be taken out anyway, so you might as well save a step by not putting it in in the first place.
But if you’re just writing a text or posting on Facebook or something like that, it’s not that big a deal. At worst, you’re showing your age and maybe showing your inability or unwillingness to break a habit that annoys some people. But the fact that it annoys some people is on us, not you. After all, it’s not like you’re committing a serious crime, like not using a serial comma.
Sources and Further Reading
This post on Creative Pro is fairly exhaustive and rather sensible, but it still concludes that using two spaces is the right thing to do when using monospaced fonts. If the rationale behind using two spaces on a typewriter was to look like typeset text of the era, then there’s no reason to continue doing it.
On a blog called the World’s Greatest Book, Dave Bricker also has a very well-researched and even-handed post on the history of sentence spacing. He concludes, “Though writers are encouraged to unlearn the double-space typing habit, they may be heartened to learn that intellectual arguments against the old style are mostly contrived. At worst, the wide space after a period is a victim of fashion.”
In my work as a copyeditor, one of the most common style errors I see is the overuse of quotation marks. Of course quotation marks should be used to set off quotations, but some writers have a rather expansive notion of what quotation marks should be used for, sprinkling them liberally throughout a document on all kinds of words that aren’t quotations. In the editing world, these are known as scare quotes, and some days it seems like I need a machete to hack through them all.
On one such day, I decide to channel my frustration into a snarky flowchart, which I posted on Twitter. It was apparently a hit, and I thought it might be helpful to expand it into a post.
For the most part, quotation marks are pretty straightforward: they’re used to signal that the text within them is a quote. There are some gray areas, though, that cause an awful lot of consternation. Sometimes the rules vary according to what style guide you follow.
This rule is the most clear-cut: use quotation marks for direct quotations, whether the original was spoken or written. Indirect quotations or paraphrases should not be put in quotation marks.
Titles of Works
The second box (which I didn’t think to include in the chart that I posted on Twitter) asks whether you’re referring to the title of a short work. But what exactly is a short work? Here’s what The Chicago Manual of Style says:
Chicago prefers italics to set off the titles of major or freestanding works such as books, journals, movies, and paintings. This practice extends to cover the names of ships and other craft, species names, and legal cases. Quotation marks are usually reserved for the titles of subsections of larger works—including chapter and article titles and the titles of poems in a collection. Some titles—for example, of a book series or a website, under which any number of works or documents may be collected—are neither italicized nor placed in quotation marks.
The MLA and APA style guides give similar rules. So if the title of the work is part of a larger work (such as a song in an album or an article in a magazine), then it goes in quotation marks. Most other titles get italicized. However, there’s an exception in Chicago and MLA: titles of unpublished works (for example, speeches, manuscripts, or unpublished theses or dissertations) get quotation marks regardless of length. AP style, on the other hand, does not use italics—all titles are put in quotation marks. This comes from a limitation of news wire services, which could not transmit italic formatting.
Words Used as Words
This is a bit of a gray area. For words used as words—for example, “A lot of people hate the word moist”—Chicago says that you can use either italics or quotation marks, but italics are the traditional choice. However, it adds that quotation marks may be more appropriate when the word is an actual quotation or when it’s necessary to distinguish between a word and its translation or meaning. Chicago provides these examples:
The Spanish verbs ser and estar are both rendered by “to be.”
Many people say “I” even when “me” would be more correct.
Both APA and MLA prescribe italics for key terms and words used as words.
Most abuses of quotation marks fall under the broad, nebulous label of scare quotes. Many writers put terms in quotation marks to indicate that they’re nonstandard, colloquial, or slang or that the term is being used ironically or under some sort of duress. MLA allows the use of quotation marks for “a word or phrase given in someone else’s sense of in a special sense or purposefully misused” (postmodernists in particular seem to love scare quotes), but Chicago and APA discourage or limit their use.
APA says that you should use quotation marks for the first instance of a term “used as an ironic comment, as slang, or as an invented or coined expression” and leave them off thereafter. After describing their use, Chicago says that “like any such device, scare quotes lose their force and irritate readers if overused.”
But even allowing for limited use of scare quotes, I have a hard time seeing what’s ironic, slang, or special about the senses of the terms in scare quotes below. All of these came from a text I recently edited, and these examples are fairly representative of how many writers use scare quotes.
A note to “skim” a chapter
selections that don’t give a “whole picture”
additional dialogue “beyond the text.”
topics from the supplemental material are not “fair game”
a helpful “tool” for understanding
It’s hard to even make a generalization about what all these uses have in common. Some are a little colloquial (which is not the same thing as slang), some are idioms or other fixed expressions, and some are simply nonliteral. But what about “skim”? There’s nothing scare-quote-worthy about that. It’s just a normal word being used the normal way.
And even though major style guides allow for the use of scare quotes, it’s important to ask yourself if you really need them. Just because you can use them doesn’t mean you should. It’s usually clear from the context whether a word is being used ironically or in some special sense, and slang is similarly obvious. And along those lines, both MLA and Chicago say that you don’t need quotation marks when you introduce a term with the phrase so-called. (APA doesn’t say anything one way or the other.) That phrase does the work for you. Scare quotes are often thus a sort of belt-and-suspenders approach.
Scare quotes quickly shade into more emphatic uses, where the purpose is not to signal irony or special use but to simply draw attention to the word or phrase. But if you misuse scare quotes this way, not only do you risk irritating the reader, but you risk sending the wrong message altogether, as in this example spotted by Bill Walsh:
There’s an entire blog dedicated to such unintentionally ironic uses of quotation marks. They’ve even been mocked by no less than Strong Bad himself. But most importantly, if you’re writing for publication, no major style guides allow this sort of use. In short: don’t use quotation marks for emphasis.
Sometimes it’s really not clear what quotation marks are being used for. In this example from the “Blog” of “Unnecessary” Quotation Marks, how are the quotation marks being used? Literally? Ironically? Emphatically?
Whatever the intent may have been, it’s clear that they’re not needed here. They’re just adding visual clutter and distracting from the real message.
When it comes to uses beyond signaling direct quotations, you’ll probably want to refer to whatever style guide is appropriate in your field. But keep in mind that their other uses are limited outside of quotations and certain kinds of titles. Even though most style guides allow for some use of scare quotes, in my opinion as a writer and editor, it’s best to use them sparingly if they’re to be used at all. Keep the hand-holding to a minimum and let your words speak for themselves.