Eats, Shoots & Leaves - Lynne Truss [44]
Brackets come in various shapes, types and names:
1 round brackets (which we call brackets, and the Americans call parentheses)
2 square brackets [which we call square brackets, and the Americans call brackets]
3 brace brackets {which are shaped thus and derive from maths}
4 angle brackets < used in palaeography, linguistics and other technical specialisms >
The angle shape was the earliest to appear, but in the 16th century Erasmus gave the attractive name “lunulae” to round brackets, in reference to their moon-like profile. The word “bracket” – one of the few English punctuation words not to derive from Greek or Latin – comes from the same German root as “brace” and “breeches”, and originally referred (deep down you knew this) to the kind of bracket that holds up a bookshelf! The idea that, in writing, brackets lift up a section of a sentence, holding it a foot or two above the rest, is rather satisfying. For the reader, however, the important thing is that this lift-and-hold business doesn’t last too long, because there is a certain amount of anxiety created once a bracket has been opened that is not dissipated until it’s bloody well closed again. As Oliver Wendell Holmes remarked so beautifully, “One has to dismount from an idea, and get into the saddle again, at every parenthesis.” Writers who place whole substantive passages in brackets can’t possibly appreciate the existential suffering they inflict. When a bracket opens halfway down a left-hand page and the closing bracket is, giddyingly, nowhere in sight, it’s like being in a play by Jean-Paul Sartre.
However, there are plenty of legitimate uses of brackets. First, to add information, to clarify, to explain, to illustrate:
Tom Jones (1749) was considered such a lewd book that, when two earthquakes occurred in London in 1750, Fielding’s book was blamed for them.
Starburst (formerly known as Opal Fruits) are available in all corner shops.
Robert Maxwell wasn’t dead yet (he was still suing people).
Second, brackets are perfect for authorial asides of various kinds:
The exclamation mark is sometimes called (really!) a dog’s cock.
Tom Jones was blamed for some earthquakes (isn’t that interesting?).
Square brackets are quite another thing. They are an editor’s way of clarifying the meaning of a direct quote without actually changing any of the words:
She had used it [Tom Jones] for quite a number of examples now.
Obviously, the text only says “it” at this point, but the editor needs to be more specific, so inserts the information inside square brackets. It is quite all right to replace the “it”, actually:
She had used [Tom Jones] for far too many examples by this stage.
Square brackets are most commonly used around the word sic (from the Latin sicut, meaning “just as”), to explain the status of an apparent mistake. Generally, sic means the foregoing mistake (or apparent mistake) was made by the writer/speaker I am quoting; I am but the faithful messenger; in fact I never get anything wrong myself:
She asked for “a packet of Starbust [sic]”.
Book reviewers in particular adore to use sic. It makes them feel terrific, because what it means is that they’ve spotted this apparent mistake, thank you, so there is no point writing in. However, there are distinctions within sic: it can signify two different things:
1 This isn’t a mistake, actually; it just looks like one to the casual eye.
I am grateful to Mrs Bollock [sic] for the following examples.
2 Tee hee, what a dreadful error! But it would be dishonest of me to correct it.
“Please send a copy of The Time’s [sic],” he wrote.
Square brackets also (sometimes) enclose the ellipsis, when words are left out. Thus:
But a more lucky circumstance happened to poor Sophia: another noise broke forth, which almost drowned her cries [. . .] the door flew open, and in came Squire Western, with his parson, and a set of myrmidons at his heels.