travel writing (2)

Minding the gap, I pull myself aboard, struggle through sliding doors as they close, and shimmy onto the platform. I ping-pong from wall to wall toward the next seat. Boarding trains with a forty-five pound pack is like playing human pinball. The advantage to train travel may be its ease—the conductors and crew appear to do all the work—but for a novice traveler, things are never as easy as they seem.

To my credit, I maneuver clear of fellow passengers—or they from me—flop my pack onto an empty seat, and slide across to the adjacent bench. With considerably less exertion, other riders take their seats too: scruffy olive-skinned men in slacks and open-chested flannels, women cradling the fixings for tonight’s pesto surprise, and a couple of intellectuals with noses buried in books. Everyone looks tired. It could be the weather; I’ve never known somewhere so humid. Where else can one make small talk like: ‘looks like another sweaty day.’ I’m melting, and maybe everyone else is too. Or perhaps everyone is aggravated at this American and his bulky pack—he’s certainly tired of it—filling an entire seat and muttering to himself in some foreign dialect.

Unfortunately, a foreign dialect is all I know, and—where’s my rail pass? As inconspicuously as possible, I frantically leaf through the many pockets of my Lowe Alpine Sirroco Classic® pack, ruing the day that I appraised an abundance of pockets as a convenience. The pleasant Seattle salesman said nothing about the inconvenience of something so convenient. A giant oversight if you ask me. I could be lost somewhere in the Tibetan highlands, mind a bit fuzzy from the altitude, wasting my last breaths in futile pursuit of an oxygen mask locked far away in some forgotten pocket, or, worse yet, I could be missing my rail pass! Where is it?

I’ve been riding the rails in Europe for a few months now. I first arrived in London with a group of university students from a small liberal arts college in Washington State. We toured Great Britain together, sharing our meals, lives, and love/hate relationships with Arthurian lit. And now I find myself prancing about Italy like a suddenly self-aware Don Quixote, a foolish spectacle for all to see. If my rail pass is lost, it might finally be time to doff the cap of traveler extraordinaire and face the facts. The carefree young man who left Seattle planned to embrace every little cultural unpleasantry with easygoing acceptance. No complaining, and most certainly no whining. I obviously didn’t anticipate this. Really, it’s unfathomable that a middle-class, white boy from the suburbs could expect to seamlessly blend into his surroundings and float effortlessly from place to place.

“Tickets please! Tickets,” hollers a voice in my mind. I’m convinced that any minute a train conductor will burst through the doors of our car with armed guards in tow. On the morning train from Switzerland, the train staff even searched some bags and checked our passports. Tossing shorts, socks, and underwear out of the way, I dig deeper. Hopefully, every Italian city is equipped with a friendly neighborhood US embassy. Although…I could probably write a darn good travel essay from a dank prison cell in Timbuktu, Italy.

[to be continued in a later post]

continued on the17pointscale

man of law

(i like this essay, but if i were to write it today, i would trim a good 200 words)

Andrew David

Professor L. Reinsma

English 4225 Literature Capstone: Chaucer

June 6, 2003

A Quest to Free the Man of Law

Imagine John Grisham “in a medlee cote, / Girt with a ceint of silk, with barres smale” (GP 328-329) and you have Chaucer’s Man of Law. After all, the General Prologue of the Canterbury Tales leads us to believe that the Man of Law is more than our ordinary Canterbury storyteller. In the space of only twenty-two lines, the Prologue catalogues at least twelve virtues that identify the Man of Law as a master of courtroom fiction. Generally speaking, this medieval Matlock seems (a term I borrow from Chaucer’s description of the Man of Law) to be “ful riche of excellence,” for he “seemed swich, [and] his wordes weren so wise” (311, 313). But more importantly, the Man of Law knows his stuff. Although “he semed bisier than he was,” his extensive legal experience can be deduced by a “patente” he receives from the king (322, 315). The vast amounts of wealth on which he dotes offer yet another sign of his exceptional legal service (319-20). As for literary craft, he is infallible: “he koude endite and make a thyng, / Ther koude no wight pynche at his writying” (325-26). Finally, just in case we’re afraid that the Man of Law might launch into an enthralling tale of courtroom intrigue and suddenly lose his place, the General Prologue assures us that he has a sharp memory (327).

But somewhere between the General Prologue and the Man of Law’s Introduction and Tale our Canterbury-bound John Grisham sets sail for the twenty-first century and leaves us alone with an enigma. Rather than courtroom brawls, landmark cases, or behind the bench exposés, readers are treated to a moving saint’s life. In the transition from the Man of Law’s Introduction to the Man of Law’s Tale we abruptly shift from a worldly exhortation against poverty—entirely appropriate for a man of “fee symple”—to the reverent glorification of Custance, a remarkable heroine who quietly endures agonizing sea voyages and hellish mother-in-laws (319). Furthermore, not content to simply provide readers with an explicitly Christian message of constancy in faith, the Man of Law continually interrupts his narrative to remind us of this spiritual message. Indeed, the tale related by the Man of Law seems absurdly incompatible with the character readers have come to expect.

The incongruity between the Prologue portrait of the Man of Law and his actual tale may represent more than a temporary memory lapse on the part of Chaucer. Other Canterbury pilgrims share similar fates. For instance, while the Pardoner’s Tale paints a clear picture of its protagonist’s hypocrisy, the Pardoner’s motives for telling a self-incriminating tale remain inexplicable (Lawton 17). Likewise, while the Second Nun’s Tale offers no perplexing contradictions between teller and tale, it also offers no meaningful connection with the Second Nun. Thus, critics like Lawton insist that many tales find their place in the Canterbury Tales out of convenience. In the case of the Second Nun’s Tale, “the legend of St. Cecilia […] was probably incorporated from matter already at hand and was not designed for the Second Nun” (97).

Over the past century, literary criticism has approached such issues of narrative presence from two vastly different perspectives. In the early twentieth century, George Lyman Kittredge’s groundbreaking book Chaucer and His Poetry sent long-lasting ripples through the academic community by suggesting that “the pilgrims [of the Canterbury Tales] do not exist for the sake of their stories, but vice versa” (155). Grafting this proposition into their ideologies, ensuing generations evaluated the tales in terms of their connections to their narrators rather than the isolated plot that nestled within the tales. However, recent scholarship seeks to overturn Kittredge’s assumption. Writers like A.C. Spearing insist that many Pilgrims narrate tales that offer little if any insight into their own nature. Furthermore, such critics accuse modern readers of using Pilgrim narrators to shield Chaucer from any criticism concerning his tales, whether it be in terms of accuracy, writing quality, or modern moral issues (Spearing 725). These critics hope to return the primary focus of the structure and content of the Canterbury Tales to Chaucer rather than his narrators.

At the forefront of this debate is the Man of Law. Following the General Prologue, our first encounter with the Man of Law occurs in the Man of Law’s Introduction. As one might expect from a lawyer of his caliber, the Man of Law prefaces his tale with more rhetoric than his fellow travelers; rather than exchanging repartee with other pilgrims, he advances assertions about time, literature, and poverty. However, contrary to his Prologue credentials, the Man of Law makes a number of key intellectual mistakes. As he compares his forthcoming tale to other writers, his “Introduction […] and Tale are quietly networked with an interstitial pattern of errors about things literary […]” that betray a marked lack of wisdom and memory, the very traits for which he is heralded in the Prologue (Delasanta 291). For instance, at one point the Man of Law erroneously refers to a rape scene that is mentioned in Gower’s Confessio Amantis. He claims that Gower’s Antiochus “hir threw upon the pavement” and “birafte his doghter of hir maydenhede” (MLT 85, 83), but the Man of Law actually depicts a far more graphic scene than Gower’s tale—the very tale he is attempting to sanitize (Delasanta 292). Elsewhere he also makes mistakes with Ovid’s texts and some Biblical references.

At some level it seems that Chaucer must be at fault: either a character he earlier described in terms of wisdom and memory can’t keep a story straight, or Chaucer himself is in error. Such scenarios lead A.C. Spearing to warn readers against the slippery slope of assuming “that when Chaucer ‘misquotes’ or ‘misuses’ any text, it is a sign of his narrator’s fallibility rather than of the fact that (possessing a library much smaller than that available to any modern medievalist) he is quoting from memory” (720-21). Nonetheless, while Kittredge may put too much faith in Chaucer by proclaiming that “Chaucer always knew what he was about,” the literary competency of the poet’s other works make it equally presumptive to assume that Chaucer simply confused his literature.

Ultimately, the General Prologue portrayal of the Man of Law and the Man of Law’s Introduction leave us with more questions than answers. To what degree did Chaucer intend for the Man of Law to be inconsistent? And, what purposes do these inconsistencies serve? First, by returning to the General Prologue, one can argue that Chaucer erected the scaffolding for the Man of Law’s inconsistencies from the very outset of the Canterbury Tales. The flattering descriptions we read of the Man of Law are balanced with precise ambiguities: “He semed swich, his wordes weren so wise,” and again, “Nowher so bisy a man as he ther nas, / And yet he semed bisier than he was” (GP 313, 321-22). The repeated use of the term “semed” offers an implicit challenge to the very compliments that the Man of Law receives. Indeed, it is not difficult to imagine Chaucer stooped over his manuscript smirking mischievously as he subtly pokes fun of narrators like the Man of Law.

But the most menacing challenge to this view still awaits. The discordant shift from the worldly matters of the Man of Law’s Introduction to the spiritually laden tale of Custance presents a disjointed effect that is hard to reconcile. Those who reject the image of Chaucer carefully managing his Pilgrims’ every word, insist that the lawyer that is so “officious, pompous, [and] full of self-importance and legal jargon” in the Prologue “has no significance in the Tale’s narration” (Lawton 97). To such critics, the Man of Law’s Tale might be more appropriately referred to as The Tale of Custance, or even Chaucer’s Tale.

However, by highlighting the Man of Law’s suprisingly active role in telling this tale—albeit a strangely inappropriate tale—other critics make a masterful start to rescuing the Kittredgeian view in light of the Man of Law’s Tale. While most scholars acknowledge this contradiction, there are varying approaches to its explanation. Drawing upon the Tale’s excessive use of apostrophe and narrative interruption, critics have painted a picture of the Man of Law as “more than just another story teller among the Canterbury pilgrims: he is an interpreter, an interpreter of both his story and the world around him” (Wood 194). Indeed, if the many didactic interludes that fill the Man of Law’s tale are truly his, which is certainly up for debate, then he is among the most active of Chaucer’s narrators. The Man of Law’s digressions range from discussions of astrology and the treachery of fate to proclamations of God’s ability (and perhaps obligation) to save us from life’s calamities. It is commonly suggested that the Man of Law uses these monologues to impress his fellow pilgrims.

Moreover, in pairing the Man of Law with such a tale, Chaucer may be subverting the pilgrim’s intentions by bringing his hypocritical posturing to light and setting the Man of Law in direct contrast with his protagonist, Custance. To this end, Ann Astell offers a characteristic summary of how critics attempt to redeem the disparity between the Man of Law and his tale: “Chaucer’s satire, with its disparate voices, […] call[s] for reform […] by permitting Custance herself to speak despite the windiness of her self-appointed spokesman. And that quiet voice, articulating a practical belief in divine providence, manages to be heard” (97). In fact, according to such critics, it is the “windiness” of the Man of Law that highlights the quiet message of devotion, which underlies the tale.

While this may be the standard rendering of the Man of Law by the progeny of Kittredge, other portraits of the lawyer muddy this seemingly straightforward interpretation. In fact, Joseph Grennen swings wildly in the opposite direction. He asserts that “it is hard to believe that it [the tale of Custance] is meant to reflect badly on the lawyer” (501). Instead, Grennen praises him as a “devotee of justice in some ideal order […] rather than a legal technician grown wealthy through sharp practices” (501). Likewise, Walter Scheps characterizes the Man of Law as Custance’s “advocate,” protecting her by “lamenting the treatment accorded her, anticipating objections, and vilifying enemies” (qtd. in Harty 368).

To the company of this learned Man of Law and the more lawyer-like Man of Law, other critics add a third Man of Law who is ultimately transformed in the storytelling process. In the most moving of interpretations, Robert Finnegan suggests that the Man of Law begins the tale with pompous “self-promotion” but is so humbled by Custance’s unshakable faith that he is converted (227, 240). As evidence for this surprising twist, Finnegan suggests that the aforementioned abundance of narratorial digressions experiences an importance shift in the latter half of the tale. Rather than showing off his rhetorical skills, the Man of Law’s asides seek an escape from telling his tale as he pleads with the pilgrims: “I pray yow alle my labour to relesse; […] I am so wery for to speke of sorowe” (MLT 1069, 1071). Finnegan suggests that the Man of Law ultimately loses control of his narrative; he attempts to write a happy ending, but the facts keep getting in the way (237-38). Thus, the final lines in which the Man of Law cries out to God, “Jhesu Crist, that of his myght may sende / Joye after wo, governe us in his grace / And kepe us alle that been in this place!” can be read as sincere (1160-1162).

In effect, these explanations for the disjunction between the Man of Law and his tale serve the role that one might expect from the Man of Law: they launch convincing, textually based arguments worthy of the finest of courtrooms. Nevertheless, they can’t quite get their stories straight. Like the New Testament apostles, the various literary critics read the same story but arrive at something slightly different. To this end, A.C. Spearing refers to such interpretations as “absurd” (725). He suggests that such interpretations can be construed as creative but not necessarily accurate. Moreover, he prods readers to take a more historical view that recognizes that “in the medieval period […] the normal assumption seems to have been not that every story expresses an individual human consciousness but that stories have a kind of autonomous existence in a realm of their own (728). Therefore, according to Spearing, by creating such elaborate interrelations between tales and tellers, we unconsciously impose modern sensibilities upon medieval literature. In fact, the diversity of interpretations concerning the Man of Law and his relation to his tale may be sufficient evidence that creativity has taken the place of legitimate historical criticism.

Unfortunately, the star-witness to the narratorial debate is unavailable. Chaucer did not leave behind any explanation on the role of his narrators in their tales. Thus, it may be impossible to distinguish his actual design for such pilgrims as the Man of Law. Furthermore, despite medieval literature’s unfamiliarity with relating tellers to tales, even Spearing accepts that Chaucer was on the cutting edge of such techniques. Still, this process was only in its infancy. Thus, without a word from Chaucer, we cannot fit his work into particular interpretive frames. As Derek Pearsall suggests, “to suppose that the Tales are always or never dramatically conceived would be to restore Chaucer to the straitjacket he struggled so hard to escape” (45).

But then, practically speaking, how can we as readers prevent ourselves from becoming caught in a head-scratching flux between these two points? Chaucer’s text speaks for itself: the reason for the vast array of opinions concerning narratorial role, or lack thereof, is Chaucer’s characteristic ambiguity. He bequeaths us characters with enough maneuvering room that we as readers can develop our own understanding of the text. Historical context is important, but unlike the spoken word, literature grows beyond its original form. Thus, while a back-from-the-dead interview with Chaucer might fit most snugly with Spearing’s conservative view of tales and tellers, interpretation is forevermore out of Chaucer’s hands. Instead, it resides in the capable hands of his characters, his critics, and, ultimately, his readers.

Works Cited

Astell, Ann W. “Apostrophe, Prayer, and the Structure of Satire in The Man of Law’s

Tale.” Studies in the Age of Chaucer. Ed. Thomas J. Heffernan. Vol. 13.

Knoxville: University of Tennessee, 1991. 81-97.

Chaucer, Geoffrey. The Riverside Chaucer. Ed. Larry Benson. 3^rd edn. New York:

Houghton Mifflin, 1987.

Delasanta, Rodney. “And of Great Reverence: Chaucer’s Man of Law.” The Chaucer

Review 5 (1971): 288-310.

Finnegan, Robert Emmett. “The Man of Law, His Tale, and the Pilgrims.”

Neuphilologische Mitteilungen 77 (1976): 227-40.

Grennen, Joseph E. “Chaucer’s Man of Law and the Constancy of Justice.” Journal of

English and Germanic Philology 84.4 (1985): 498-514.

Harty, Kevin J. “The Tale and Its Teller: The Case of Chaucer’s Man of Law.” The

American Benedictine Review 34.4 (1983): 361-71.

Kittredge, George Lyman. Chaucer and His Poetry. Cambridge: Harvard University

Press, 1915.

Lawton, David. Chaucer’s Narrators. Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 1985.

Pearsall, Derek. The Canterbury Tales. Ed. Claude Rawson. London: George Allen &

Unwin, 1985.

Spearing, A.C. “Narrative Voice: The Case of Chaucer’s Man of Law’s Tale.” New

Literary History 32 (2001): 715-746.

Wood, Chauncey. Chaucer and the Country of the Stars: Poetic Uses of Astrological

Imagery. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1970.

Because

I. Because answers the questions Why? and How?

Because is a subordinating conjunction; it is used to introduce a dependent clause (Allen; Lunsford). More particularly, because tends to introduce adverbial dependent clauses that answer the question why? When because answers the question why, it relates directly to the original statement, as in I came [why did you come?] because I wanted to see you (Allen).

Non-because adverbial clauses may answer questions like where? when? to what degree? and in what manner? Of course, these questions are not usually explicitly stated in the sentence. Dependent clauses that begin with that, which, who, and whom are not adverbial clauses (Siegel).

Because sometimes behaves a bit like the coordinating conjunction for (see Section IV-B). In this role, it may introduce a dependent clause by answering the question how? For example, I know he committed suicide,[how did you know that he committed suicide?] because his wife told me (Allen). Notice that you could probably swap a for for the because and still be fine.

II. Because at the beginning

Mrs. Harrison and your other junior high teachers were wrong. Prepositions fit fine at the end of sentences, because makes a swell first word (Allen; The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition), and there is one space after a period, not two. It’s also acceptable to use because after an introductory it’s, that’s, that is, etc: It’s because these socialist values are apparently being incorporated into the party doctrine that many fascists are changing their political allegiance (Allen). It’s not a great sentence, but it follows the rules.

By the way, the reason that Mrs. Harrison decried the use of because at the beginning of a sentence may have been that she wanted you to avoid separating a main clause and a subordinate clause into two separate sentences (e.g., I don’t want to go to work. Because I’d rather sleep) (Louisa). See the end of section IV.

Mrs. Harrison may have been thwarting the unholy communion of because and a noun clause (i.e., any clause or part of a sentence that stands in place of a noun(Bowles)). Grammarians argue that because should only introduce adverbial clauses (The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition), and naïve students may be tempted to write sentences like: Because the man is guilty (,) does not mean that he should be executed (Bowles), Because we don’t explicitly ask these questions doesn’t mean they aren’t answered (Allen), or Just because he thinks it a good idea doesn’t mean it’s a good idea (The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition). This form is fine for colloquial speech, but in addition to breaking some obscure rule of grammar, this kind of construction is impractical: it uncomfortably delays the main clause (Allen). Therefore, in formal writing do not use a clause beginning with because as the subject of the sentence (The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition).

III. Commas

Note the position of the commas in the section I examples. A comma should rarely be used when because answers the question why? It may be appropriate to precede a sentence-ending why?/because-clause with a comma if (a) the reason that follows the because is parenthetical (Siegel), (b) the writer is engineering an artificial or dialectical pause between the main statement and the reason, or (c) because is joined with of to form some kind of mutant prepositional phrase (this is probably wrong). I made those last two up. Here’s an example of a parenthetical (or prepositional phrase?) because: He’d have to watch his step…not to make a hash of things, because of over-anxiety. Notice that if you read the sentence aloud, it is natural to pause before “because of over-anxiety” (Allen), thus the comma.

Another instance when a comma may precede because is when it is used to answer the question how? For instance, in the last example of section I, the comma helps readers understand that because is not answering the question “Why did he commit suicide?”

And what about when because begins the sentence? There seems to be a nearly universal trend toward separating sentence-beginning adverbial clauses (especially ones that begin with because) from independent clauses with a comma (Rozakis; Siegel). However, occasionally you stumble across sentences like this: Because of the deterioration of the sugar in the blood it was decided, after consultation, to carry out an exchange blood transfusion (Allen). Notice there’s no comma. I suspect that the lack of a comma may be the author’s attempt to avoid a clunky comma party (Elisabetta).

Commas may also be necessary in sentences where the initial statement is negative. Please see Section VI for more information.

IV. Confusion with other words

A. Because versus As and Since

Because introduces a direct reason: I was sleeping because I was tired. (Notice that there’s no comma—it’s answering the question why?) In contrast, causal since (which has been a part of the English language since before Chaucer wrote in the fourteenth century) is useful as a slightly milder way of expressing causation than because. That is, since is appropriate when the first event in a sequence leads logically to the second event but was not its direct cause (Goldstein; The Chicago Manual of Style). The usage for as appears to be the same as since: As/Since I was tired, I was sleeping (The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition; Dictionary.Com Unabridged (V 1.0.1). Based on the Random House Unabridged Dictionary)—that is, it reads more like: Because I was tired, I happened to be sleeping.

As should be avoided when it could be construed to mean while.

Bad: She couldn’t answer her page as she was examining a critically ill patient.

Less bad: She couldn’t answer her page, as she was examining a critically ill patient.

Good: She couldn’t answer her page because she was examining a critically ill patient (Iverson et al.).

Since should be avoided when it could be construed to mean from the time of or from the time that (Goldstein; Iverson et al.; The Chicago Manual of Style; Publication Manual of the American Psychological Association).

Bad: She had not been able to answer her page since she was in the clinic.

Good: She had not been able to answer her page because she was in the clinic (Iverson et al.).

All three terms (because, as, and since) can be used at the beginning of a sentence. However, when these words are used to start a sentence, as/since tend to emphasize the main statement whereas because emphasizes the reason (Allen). See Section II.

B. Because versus For

Because and for may be interchangeable. However, it’s helpful to understand which attributes of because are the most amplified by for. In the sentence I know he committed suicide, for/because his wife told me, for/because answer the question How? (Allen). In this sentence, I was sleeping, for I was tired, for introduces the reason, proof, or justification like an afterthought or a parenthetical statement (Dictionary.Com Unabridged (V 1.0.1). Based on the Random House Unabridged Dictionary). (Notice that there’s a comma in both examples; for is a subordinate conjunction (i.e., for, or, so, nor, and, yet, but), so the comma preceding the reason is essential.

C. Because versus Inasmuch as

This phrase implies concession; the main statement is true in view of the circumstances introduced by this conjunction: Inasmuch as I was tired, it seemed best to sleep (Dictionary.Com Unabridged (V 1.0.1). Based on the Random House Unabridged Dictionary). Inasmuch as is a rather formal and awkward expression—avoid it! It means “to the extent that,” “in so far as,” or more simply, “in view of the fact that,” and “since.” The preferred style is two words, not four (Allen).

D. Because (of) versus Due to

Use due to when the main statement or effect is (1) stated as a noun and (2) appears before the verb be. Use because when the main statement or effect is stated as a phrase (Allen; The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition; Iverson et al.; Lunsford).

For example, due to is preferred in this sentence: His paranoia was due to the marshmallow candies that he was eating. The due to needs a noun or pronoun as its antecedent and, in this case, that noun is his paranoia. But because of is preferred in this sentence: The turtle-man was sweating profusely because of the shell on his back (Lunsford).

Other examples of due to:

Pay Caesar what is due to Caesar, and pay God what is due to God.

Incorrect speed is generally due to a word idler wheel.

It was due to start at four o’clock.

Part of her happiness, her unaltered sense of her own superiority, was due to…(Allen).

This can get confusing:

There was a delay due to bad weather – it’s an inverted version of The delay was due to bad weather, so it’s fine. However, if you change the sentence a bit more—The train was delayed due to bad weather—you’re in trouble. The due is no longer grammatically attached and is therefore unacceptable (Allen).

E. Because (of) versus Due to the fact that

Due to the fact that is long, confusing, and a grammatical mess. Therefore, always consider because (of) before using this awkward phrase.

That this slippage is so slight is due to the fact that because the other staff have worked a great deal of extra time.

*In cases where there is a strong link between due and an antecedent noun, due to the fact that may be preferred: The success of the tampon is partly due to the fact that it is hidden (Allen).

V. The reason is … because

Avoid this construction; it is redundant (The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition; Allen). The definition of because is “for the reason that” (The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition), so the sentence The reason for this was because I was the coolest man in the world literally means The reason for this was for the reason that I was really redundant (Allen). Another reason to avoid the reason/because construction is that because can only introduce adverbial clauses and that reason is requires completion by a noun clause (see last paragraph of Section II) (Bowles). Writers should also avoid the phrase the reason why. In both cases the sentences can easily be rewritten using that instead of because (The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition).

VI. Because and negatives

The last tricky characteristic of because is its use in negative sentences. For instance, what does this sentence mean: I do not eat chicken because of the feathers? Given the content of the sentence, we might assume that the speaker chooses not to eat chicken and that the reason he or she avoids chicken is because of poultry feathers. After all, who would want to eat feathers? However, without a comma between chicken and because, the sentence technically means something entirely different; the current sentence should technically be interpreted to mean I do eat chicken but I don’t eat it because of the feathers.

If it’s a negative statement with a valid reason for that negative statement, use a comma:

I do not eat chicken [negative statement], and the reason is the feathers [valid reason]

I do not eat chicken, because of the feathers. Notice the pause between chicken and because.

If it’s a positive statement with an invalid reason for that positive statement, don’t use a comma: I do not eat chicken [positive statement], but the reason that I eat it is not feathers [invalid reason]. I do not eat chicken because of the feathers. Notice that there’s no pause in this version; in fact, it almost sounds like there should be more to the sentence like I do not eat chicken because of the feathers, I eat it because of the tasty strips of beak.

Again, the context will often make the meaning clear (e.g., this sentence technically requires a comma but still meets Fowler’s approval even without a comma: Many people do not attend church because they are bored by ritualistic services), but a comma certainly helps oust ambiguity: The toy is not for every customer, because it does require some patience.

VII. Other subordinating conjunctions (see Lunsford)

VIII. Other compound prepositions (see Lunsford)

IX. References

Allen, Robert, ed. Pocket Fowler's Modern English Usage. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999.

The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition: Houghton Mifflin Company, 2004.

Bowles, Richard. "Don't Use "Because" To Start a Noun Clause". November 30, 2006 2006. <http://richardbowles.tripod.com/gmat/sc/sc_type6.htm>.

The Chicago Manual of Style. 15th ed. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2003.

Dictionary.Com Unabridged (V 1.0.1). Based on the Random House Unabridged Dictionary. Random House, Inc, 2006.

Elisabetta. "Beginning Sentences With "Because" ". Ed. Andrew David, 2006.

Goldstein, Norm, ed. The Associated Press Stylebook and Briefing on Media Law. Cambridge: Perseus Publishing, 2000.

Iverson, Cheryl, et al., eds. American Medical Association Manual of Style: A Guide for Authors and Editors. 9th ed. Philadelphia: Lippincott Williams & Wilkins, 1998.

Louisa. "Beginning Sentences With "Because"." Ed. Andrew David, 2006.

Lunsford, Andrewa A. The Everday Writer. Second ed. Boston: Bedford, 2001.

Publication Manual of the American Psychological Association. 5th ed. Washington, DC: American Psychological Association, 2001.

Rozakis, Laurie E. The Complete Idiot's Guide to Grammar and Style Penguin Group, 2003.

Siegel, Kevin A. "Writing: Commas, Commas, Commas." I Came, I Saw, I Learned... IconLogic, 2006. Vol. 2006.