The only languages which do not change are those, like Latin, which nobody speaks. Languages change their pronunciations through time. Five hundred years ago, all English speakers used to pronounce the 'k' in 'knee' – now nobody does. Grammatical structures also change. English speakers used to say 'Saw you my son?' Now everybody says 'Did you see my son?' But perhaps the most obvious way in which languages change is in the usage and meaning of words. Linguist Peter Trudgill Language Myths (1998)

English is not static but there's plenty of static over style, which sways as unstoppably as an old TV antenna in the wind.

A century ago about 1,000 new words were added to our language every year. The figure is now estimated at more than 1,000 a month, with plenty of input from computer jargon and other technical terms.

Of course we also lose gems, including dight — which once meant either "to write" or "to be clothed". This now archaic connection between words and wardrobe seems fitting in any discussion of style.

Many grammarians have observed that the line between good and bad English moves around over time, a bit like the length of skirts and the width of ties.

Suitable writing style, then, depends a great deal on whether the suit is in fashion. If it's not, one risks a dressing down by critics who are passionate, if not always diplomatic, about correcting mistakes.

The naked truth is that some people love rules, others hate them, and that the language itself is indifferent, constantly changing appearance as we snip here and stitch there.

CASUAL ATTIRE (SNEAKERS)

CBC News gets letters every so often about alterations to our wardrobe of words, including this e-mail about snuck:

Nov. 27, 2000

I would like to ask, is 'snuck' a word? I was taught that 'sneaked' is the past tense of sneak, but lately I have heard radio and television announcers using snuck.

Kathryn Flynn
Madison, Wisconsin

Snuck didn't exactly sneak up on us. It first emerged in the American South in the late 1800s. Although the word appears in most major dictionaries today, purists still refuse to accept it as a legitimate synonym for sneaked.

Style guides at some of the biggest newspapers in Canada and the United States — including the Globe and Mail (1998) and the New York Times (1999) — ban snuck. Canadian Press also rejects it.

But the word is now very common in speech and informal writing throughout North America, according to the 1997 Oxford Guide to Canadian English Usage, and may tiptoe into formal writing in the next few years.

PRESTIGIOUS LOOK

If you had worked in a CBC Radio or TV newsroom back in the 1960s, you would have been given some advice about writing that doesn't hold true one generation later. Consider prestige.

While few people think misusing language is prestigious, many have argued that the word prestigious is misused. Several old CBC Style Guides emphatically stated: "prestigious has nothing to do with prestige. It means 'deceptive, illusory'."

So reporters were urged to find other ways to describe something that had prestige. Robertson Davies was probably glad, because he considered misuse of prestigious extremely painful, "as though a rusty sword had been thrust into . . . some sensitive party of my body."

In truth the "rust" was on the old definition. Back in the 17th century prestigious and prestige both meant trickery and conjuring. They come from a Latin term for "juggler's tricks" (praestigiae).

During the 19th century, prestige took on the new meaning of respect and influence based on a good reputation. Prestigious began down the same path, but the journey took far longer and critics did their best to set up impediments along the way.

Virtually all authorities now tie prestigious and prestige together again. Webster's lists the old meaning as archaic. The 1998 Canadian Oxford Dictionary doesn't even include it.

NOTORIOUS MISTAKES

Since language is at the heart of libel suits, journalists can pay dearly for a poor choice of words.

One of the more notorious slips is misuse of the term notorious.

About 500 years ago it meant "famous" — adapted from the Latin term notoria, which stood for "notice" or "news." But by 1579 the word was used in a much more specific and negative way, to label someone or something as "well known for being bad."

This is the opposite of what happened to nice, which in the late 13th century meant stupid or foolish. By 1769, however, this four-letter word had turned into a compliment.

If journalists today described a person as nice they might be accused of being too kind. But if they used the word notorious they could wind up in court, which is why a CBC Newsworld producer sent out a warning a few months ago about its misuse on air.

My mother . . . pointed out that one could not say 'a green great dragon', but had to say 'a great green dragon'. I wondered why, and still do. J.R.R. Tolkien, 1955 Recalling his first story (written when he was seven)

IT'S A SHAMBLES

Some English conventions are confusing — for example, the difference between lie and lay, or when to use that and which. A few are virtually inexplicable, including the proper order of adjectives to describe the dragon that Tolkien wondered about as a boy. Many are debatable, especially since usage changes over time.

For years sticklers insisted transpire could refer only to something leaking out or becoming known, rather than as a synonym for "occur," because it originally meant "to breathe" — an objection the 1998 Canadian Oxford Dictionary now calls "unjustified."

Aggravate has been viewed by many writers as a cousin to "worsen" but not to "annoy" because its Latin roots refer to "making heavier" — even though increasing one's burden might easily and logically cause exasperation. Back in 1942 Eric Partridge advised "hurried journalists" and anyone else worried about ignoring this distinction to take heart, since aggravate has been weighed down with both meanings since the early 17th century.

Until a few decades ago, using shambles to describe anything other than a butcher's slaughterhouse was considered a bloody mistake. But the word has come to mean "disorder," and the Oxford Guide to Canadian English Usage points out that "a writer trying to preserve the older sense of shambles would almost certainly be misunderstood" today.

PROTESTS AGAINST PEDANTRY

As people have protested against what they see as misuse of language, or protested against what they consider pedantic rules or bizarre preferences, even the term "protest against" has been questioned.

Some have argued that the preposition against is unnecessary in sentences such as "the students protested against recent budget cuts." But the Canadian Oxford says the construction is "long established" and "unobjectionable."

Indeed the 1998 Globe & Mail Style Book prefers putting a preposition (such as "against" or "over") after protest to describe active disapproval. It suggests dropping the extra word only when protest refers to a solemn and formal declaration, as in "protest one's innocence."

GRUMBLING GRAMMARIANS

In even more esoteric complaints, respected authorities like H.W. Fowler have attacked words because they combine Latin with some other language. For instance, in the 1930s he rejected racial because it was an Italian word (razza) that used a Latin suffix (al).

Fowler also argued that the word coastal was wrong because of how it was spelled. (The original word costa was Latin for flank or side, and so seemed to be a natural choice for an al ending. But he was upset because the modern "oa" version of coast has its roots in Middle English.)

Some considered petroleum a barrel of laughs when it surfaced because it's an impure mix of Latin and Greek. But in his book The Mother Tongue, U.S. writer Bill Bryson points out that the very word grammarian is a hybrid of the same two languages — a term used by scholars and ignoramuses alike.

Words strain, Crack and sometimes break, under the burden Under the tension, slip, slide, perish Decay with imprecision, will not stay in place, Will not stay still. T.S. Eliot, 1936

YAHOO! MOB RULE

Diction is often a matter of taste. Not that long ago some editors opposed the word movies because they considered it a vulgar version of moving pictures. In the 1920s the verb chair caused a few people to fall off theirs. ("She chaired the meeting.")

Centuries earlier Jonathan Swift was quick to attack many popular words as barbaric, including mob — an abbreviated version of the Latin expression mobile vulgus ("the inconstant common people.")

But the mob ignored him, and decided to hang on to sham, banter, bubble, bully, cutting, shuffling, palming, and scores of other scorned neologisms that enrich our vocabulary today.

By the way Swift might be more than a little miffed logging on the Internet today. The author of Gulliver's Travels gave the world yahoo in the 1720s.

But his term to describe crude, brutish people is now synonymous with excitement, triumph, and, oh yes, a well known way to find other words on the Web. Hardly a welcome development for a man who passionately wanted English to remain rigid.

(Although the Internet browser Yahoo! is supposed to be an acronym for "Yet Another Hierarchical Officious Oracle," it's difficult to believe the two engineering students who founded the company weren't inspired by Swift — especially since the organization's Web site says both men "selected the name because they considered themselves yahoos.")

AGONY OVER AGONIZE

Some lovers of language keep their eyes out for ize they think should be left out of sentences. Entire essays have been written on the suffix.

Decisions about which words to embrace or reject often seem arbitrary, reflecting personal prejudice more than anything else. Some writers who don't mind publicize, for instance, will avoid typing privatize at all costs — as though the very key strokes could paralyze.

Grammarian Sir Ernest Gowers made fun of prayerize in 1965, although baptize (which has been around for more than half a millennium) didn't make him cross.

In their now classic The Elements of Style, professor William Strunk and his much more famous student E.B. White acknowledge that "many good and useful verbs do end in 'ize': summarize, temporize, fraternize, harmonize, fertilize."

But in the next sentence they criticize "a growing list of abominations" including finalize, which they call "a peculiarly fuzzy and silly word" that could mean either "terminate" or "put into final form."

Less than a century after it first appeared, however, finalize is probably more common and understood today than temporize.

FLAGELLATE AND HOSPITALIZE

At least one recent CBC training manual dismisses hospitalize as "an ugly word" and advises writers to avoid it. Yet the term is still heard in radio and television news reports, and appears without comment on page 683 of the Canadian Oxford English Dictionary — for those who want to familiarize themselves with it, or perhaps even memorize the entry.

In the Penguin Dictionary of Troublesome Words, Bill Bryson points out that "the arguments brought against many of these formations have a somewhat hollow ring because what is elsewhere welcomed as a virtue — brevity — is suddenly considered not so important."

For instance, he argues that hospitalize "is less cumbersome than 'admit to a hospital'. The only honest objection to many such words is that they are jarring or faddish; that the authority just doesn't like them."

It doesn't take long to realize that Bryson has his own bias, however. Moisturize rubs him the wrong way because we already have the shorter and better moisten, and finalize is rejected on the grounds that "complete, conclude, and finish" already exist.

But the Oxford Guide to Canadian English Usage thinks it's wrong to be demoralized by finalize, which can be found in writing as diverse as Maclean's magazine and Margaret Atwood novels.

Although we've been tacking ize on the end of English words for well over five centuries, the practice really took off in the late 1500s. Thomas Nashe took credit, and a lot of criticism, after arguing that the language needed more variety.

Almost any noun and adjective can be bastardized into a verb this way. In the words of British lexicographer Robert Burchfield, ize is now "regarded by the general public as a kind of flagellation of the language," with incentivize and condomize among the latest to tenderize that robust corpus known as Good English.

There's probably no need to emphasize that the flogging is fierce. But while we might have to cauterize the wounds it doesn't appear we are in any danger of killing the beast.

It is well to remember that grammar is common speech formulated. Usage is the only test. I would prefer a phrase that was easy and unaffected to a phrase that was grammatical. W. Somerset Maugham

IT'S NOT UNCLEAR

Over the years some sweeping rules have been rejected by many authorities for being far too restrictive, including "never use a double negative."

Objections against constructions like "I didn't do nothing" were first raised in the 18th century. Priggish grammarians argued that two negatives automatically constitute a positive, even though that's not the case in other languages, such as French and German.

The Oxford Guide to Canadian English Usage defends the "double negative" as a legitimate way to add emphasis, sarcastically pointing out that if two negatives make a positive, then three must make a negative again.

While the book's editors conclude that the rule is not sensible, they also warn that in English "the prejudice against the emphatic double negative is very real, and people who use it are perceived as uneducated or ignorant."

In a 1946 essay, George Orwell railed against another type of double negative: not un-, as in not unpromising and not unconnected.

Half a century later, Kingsley Amis argued that Orwell had gone too far because there's a subtle but important difference between "the guard spoke to him not unkindly" and "the guard spoke to him kindly." Writers, Amis suggested, should use not un sparingly, "but there is no point in mechanically abolishing it, even if one could."

In broadcasting, of course, complex constructions like double negatives are often dismal failures because the ear can easily miss a syllable and, therefore, the writer's entire point. So there's a good argument against keeping the spoken word simpler. Writers posting stories on Web sites, on the other hand, have a tad more latitude.

EXCEPTIONAL WRITING

Old edicts are sometimes rejected outright, as in the case of "never end a sentence with a preposition". But even if we cling to rules, room is made for exceptions.

One need only consider figures of speech that rely on breaking convention for effect. "You takes your chances" and "We was robbed" are examples of how elastic the language really is.

Enallage involves substituting one grammatical form for another, such as past tense for present, or singular for plural. ("I takes my man Friday with me" is an example from Defoe.) Anthimeria involves replacing one form of speech with another, such as a noun or conjunction for a verb. ("But me no buts" comes to us from Shakespeare.)

The finest writers have flouted with pride. And they've probably done it knowing that flout, which means to disobey, is not the same as flaunt, which means to show off — even though the latter may be the motive for the former.

It's worth noting that Webster's now offers flout as one definition of flaunt. The Canadian Oxford, however, maintains the words "should not be confused." While the distinction seems useful, there's no guarantee it will last much longer.

All I can say is that even if language is a living, evolving organism, it doesn't mean we have to embrace all the changes that occur during our lifetimes. Anyway, if language is so alive, it stands to reason it can get sick. Christopher Lehmann-Haupt

LAYING IT ON THE LINE

Many of us accept that errors in English, from a badly chosen word to a poorly composed sentence, can slip by even careful writers and vigilant editors. But other people challenge the very existence of many "mistakes" – including a few scholars who think most of the folks trying to enforce rules are bumptious and uninformed.

The philosophies are clearly outlined in two radically different books published in 1999: "Sleeping Dogs Don't Lay – Practical Advice for the Grammatically Challenged," and "Proper English – Myths and Misunderstandings about Language."

The first guide, written by Richard Lederer and Richard Dowis, offers tips about how to speak and write English properly, beginning with confusion over the transitive verb lay and the intransitive verb lie.

Sleeping dogs, they point out, never "lay," although ones that are wide awake can (laying newspapers at the feet of their owners, who are undoubtedly too engrossed reading a public broadcaster's Web site to go to the door themselves.)

The second book, written by Ronald Wardhaugh, a former linguistics professor at the University of Toronto, challenges the need to enforce such distinctions at all.

"Fido is certainly quite indifferent" whether we say lay down or lie down, he points out. "We should not deceive ourselves into believing that an important linguistic issue is at stake."

Lederer and Dowis argue that "most of us, most of the time, need to respect the rules and conventions of grammar," partly out of a desire to communicate clearly, to avoid appearing careless, and to affirm our love for language.

But Wardhaugh takes a far different tack. For instance, after coming across a series of TV ads and newspaper headlines pimpled with what appear to be the contraction it's where the possessive form of its should be ("Canadian Sports Fishing at It's Best"), he reacts with curiosity rather than carping:

"What should I makes of this?" he asks. "What does it tell me? Is it a sign that our language is in a state of rapid decline with disorder everywhere? Or is it a sign that 'editorial standards' are declining? Or am I witnessing an artificial and inconsistent distinction that happens to be in the written language in the process of disappearing?"

People have defeated all efforts to build fences around their language, to defer to an academy on what was permissible English and what was not. They'll decide for themselves, thanks just the same . . . Our language is not the special private property of the language police, or grammarians, or teachers, or even great writers. The genius of English is that it has always been the tongue of the common people. Robert MacNeil Wordstruck, 1989

JUDGMENT AND JUDGEMENT

Despite inevitable change, 'tis worth nothing it's important to many people that English maintains at least some of its confounding and charming character. Why else would we continue to park in driveways and drive along parkways?

For the moment at least, many "rules" are obvious and rarely disputed, such as avoiding centred around (which is illogical) and irregardless (which is usually considered illiterate, although some people have questioned how one can ignore the union of "irrespective" and "regardless" – especially since the term is becoming more common every year, and now appears in several dictionaries.)

Other conventions have been hotly contested, including whether it's all right to split infinitives, and if it's OK (or is that okay?) to spell all right as one word (alright).

Who makes decisions? Sometimes it's a case of what linguist Steven Pinker calls "language mavens" enforcing rules that "originated for screwball reasons several hundred years ago" and which make "no sense on any level." (A lot of our grammar is based on Latin, and has been likened to using baseball rules for a hockey game.)

At other times it's a matter of style imposed by editors who want consistency. For instance, the Canadian Oxford Dictionary lists both protester and protestor as acceptable, but most of the country's media outlets (including CBC News Online) have decided to stick with protester. Many journalists have also ruled that judgment is better than judgement.

In the long term, however, we all provide direction. Everyday speech is a formidable force, gradually steering "proper English" along an unpredictable course.

As Fowler conceded during a rather lengthy review of the difference between that and which years ago: "What grammarians say should be has perhaps less influence on what shall be than even the most modest of them realize; usage evolves itself little disturbed by their likes and dislikes."

It is, as Swift discovered, mob rule. For those who celebrate such changes in style, there's a fashionable word to express approval: yahoo.

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