An aria out of tune
Kirsten Flagstad was a diva. Lily Pons was a diva. The tempestuous Maria Callas was a divine diva. But pop singer Mariah Carey? Whitney Houston? Are they divas, too? Time magazine says they are. USA Today concurs. The new Oxford American Dictionary provides eminent affirmation. Oxford says a diva is not necessarily a famous female opera singer; Oxford also defines a diva as "a female singer who has enjoyed great popular success; a full-blown pop diva".
It is immaterial, I fear, that in this regard the lexicographers of Encarta, New World, Merriam-Webster, Random House and American Heritage all stick by the old ways. In their pages, a diva is a prima donna, an opera star. A diva is Gilda in "Rigoletto", Mimi in "La Boheme", Violetta in "La Traviata". She is Tosca, Cho-Cho-San, Brunn-hilde, Isolde! In popular legend, she is the fat lady with the spear. Until she sings, it ain't over.
Alas, it is over. Thomas Gresham, the English economist, long ago posited that inferior coins inevitably will drive out more valuable coins. Gresham's Law also governs English usage: Loose definitions drive out tight ones. After a while, a "replica" becomes any old copy, "to transpire" means "to happen", "anxious" and "eager" lose their edges, and Mariah Carey is a diva. Aaargh!
Words die of old age. I will give you another example: anniversary. Thus far, all my dictionaries are of one accord. An anniversary is still a recurring annual event. The noun is rooted in Latin - "annus", year, and the past participle of "vertere", to turn. Strictly speaking, there can be no such thing as a "four-month anniversary". Realistically speaking, there is indeed such a thing. After 30 days, "anniversaries" now come along as randomly as taxis.
Old distinctions fade like cheap socks. When the Supreme Court last year decided an immigration case, a critic said, "This is a case of the court flaunting Congress." In a letter to Harper's magazine, Jack Sirica charged that Renata Adler "flaunts the most basic rules of journalism". No, sir. Neither the court nor Adler was flaunting. They were flouting. To flaunt is to boast about. To flout is to beat up on. At least this is what flaunt and flout meant a week ago.
Until last month I had never thought much about "collide" and "collision". Then I read John Means' commentary for January on usage in the San Antonio (Texas) Express-News. A state functionary had blamed the collapse of a causeway on a "collision" between a barge and a bridge. "That would really have been something to see," said my brother critic. "To have a 'collision,' it is required that the two opposing bodies both be moving."
This was a sockdolager. Must a "collision" be so narrowly defined? In his authoritative "Words on Words", professor John Bremner confirms that understanding: A moving object cannot "collide" with a stationary object. Such masters of the craft as Theodore Bernstein and Bill Bryson are to the same effect.
Barbarians are at the gate. In "The New Fowler's", editor R.W. Burchfield says flatly that there is "no basis" for believing that "collide" and "collision" demand at least two moving bodies. A car, he says, can collide with a tree or a bollard or any other fixed object. The Harper Dictionary of Contemporary Usage concurs: To say that a car "collided" with a stone wall is "entirely acceptable as standard English". In the Merriam-Webster Dictionary of English Usage, the editors tell us not to worry. In their view, "'collide' is standard, even when only one body is in motion".
I have a melancholy notion that my San Antonio colleague will lose this one. It is such a lovely little refinement, that a barge may run into a bridge, or ram into it, or steam into it, or even slam into it, but it cannot properly collide with the thing. It is a pretty conceit, like distinguishing a reprise from an encore, or reticence from reluctance, or something that is unique from something that is merely rare.
As faithful readers know, I have been preaching the old-time religion for 20 years in this column. Let us savor the vintage wines of English words! Let us keep them rich, full-bodied, smelling faintly of the oaken casks in which they age. Meaning no disrespect, Ms. Carey, you ain't a "diva". Not many female singers ever will be. (MyInky.com) Many thanks to Eran Eden.
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