English, an epic stinker

For the last few weeks, I’ve been reading two books: “The Iliad,”

which makes me sound smart but feel dumb, and Stephen King’s “The

Stand,” which has the opposite effect. The former is a classic tale

of men who, for various reasons, want to kill men and attack and

enslave women. The latter is a less-respected work about men who, for

various reasons, want to kill men and attack and enslave women.

The former is readable to me mainly because Hollywood’s recent

popcorn epic “Troy” helps me to picture Brad Pitt as a barely clad

Achilles. (An added plus: In the future, every time I mention Homer,

people won’t be able to automatically assume I’m referring to a

cartoon character.)

“The Stand,” on the other hand, doesn’t conjure up any images of

male sex symbols, unless you think Stephen King was really hot in his

cameo in “Creepshow.” King’s “The Stand” isn’t the breezy read you

might think. It was so long -- 1,150 pages -- that the library

wouldn’t allow me to renew it anymore, and I had to cram until wee

hours of the night to avoid the dreaded 50-cent late fee.

Normally, I wouldn’t fess up to such psychologically unjustifiable

reading material, but I happened to notice a little something in

these books that I found interesting. In the span of just a few days,

I noticed that a character in “The Stand” was said to “speak his

piece.” In “The Iliad,” a group of soldiers “held their peace.”

There’s something I’d never noticed before. When you talk, they

think you’re speaking is your “piece.” But, when you stay quiet, what

you’re withholding is your “peace.”

Isn’t English a stinker?

None of my reference books discuss these expressions. Strangely,

when I looked it up in “Garner’s Modern American Usage,” I stumbled

upon a similarly evil language trap.

It’s “peace of mind,” but, “piece of (one’s) mind,” as in, “I’m

going to give you a piece of my mind and then I’ll have peace of

mind.”

Yes, English is a stinker. But it’s rare for me to find my own

examples in books. Most of the time I rely on readers to point these

things out. (Thank Zeus for you readers!)

And this week’s reader-observed example of why English is a

stinker comes from Tom in La Crescenta. He points out that a recent

Los Angeles Times article about travel in Mexico mentions “wooden

choir stalls,” yet later notes, “The gift shop has wood sculptures.”

Tom asks: “Since both things being described are made of wood, why

the different word?

“Is one description more correct than the other, or are they both

OK?”

And, like many who aspire to get a better grasp of the language,

Tom tacks on a little disclaimer, “Perhaps this is a naive question,

since I am definitely not a grammarian, just curious.”

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: Nine out of 10 times

we think our language questions are a result of our own inadequacy,

it turns out that not even the experts know the answers. Or if they

do, they’re not telling, leaving the rest of us as divided and

conquered as a group of Trojans just discovering the trap doors in

their new toy horse.

None of my usage books contain listings for “wood” versus

“wooden.” So I’ll form my own answer from the information in the

dictionary. “Wooden” is an adjective. “Wood” is a primarily a noun,

but is also an adjective meaning (brace yourself) “wooden.”

In fact, many nouns can be used as adjectives. For example,

“grass” is a noun, but in “grass hut,” it’s an adjective.

Therefore, Tom, the answer to your question is yes. Both “wood”

and “wooden” are OK. Sure, that’s sort of a stinker, in that having

two interchangeable words can lead to confusion. But at the same

time, it’s kind of a relief.

In fact, this stinker language can be pretty forgiving as long as

we remember there’s no such thing as a stupid question. Only stupid

reading habits.

* JUNE CASAGRANDE is a freelance writer. She can be reached at

[email protected].