Even millionaires can get it wrong

Someday, if you keep reading this column regularly, if you continue

to diligently pursue the goal of speaking and writing perfect

English, you too can be like millionaire wordsmiths who never make a

grammar or usage mistake. Right?

Wrong.

You can never be perfect, but that’s OK because neither are the

big-name, millionaire writers.

For example, you need only read to page 10 of the latest “Harry

Potter” book to spot a serious flub. Here, author J.K. Rowling

writes, “The site, therefore, of Fudge stepping out of the fire once

more, looking disheveled and fretful and sternly surprised ... “

The author was not referring to the location of the Fudge

character, which would have been the “site.” She was talking about

the image -- the visual -- of the deliciously named character as he

stepped out of a fireplace. And that word is “sight.” As in, “a sight

for sore eyes,” or, “you’re out of sight.” It’s easier to get

confused using the expression, “set your sights.” But remember that

this refers to the “sights” of a gun, and you’re off to a good start.

In J.K. Rowling’s defense, I should point out that such boo-boos

are really the fault of the proofreader or copy editor. Everyone

who’s written a couple of college papers knows that, in the writing

process, you’re susceptible to mistakes you know better than to make.

For example, I have no confusion on the difference between “their,”

“there” and “they’re.” But sometimes when I’m typing, my hands take

charge and my brain checks out. Lo and behold, I pick the wrong one.

So goes the writing process.

While reading someone else’s stuff, it’s easier to catch careless

mistakes. But it’s nearly impossible to be sure you caught them all.

For another example, turn to page 175 of your copy of “The Da

Vinci Code.” (And don’t try to pretend that you don’t own one. There

are more copies of that book floating around than there are copies of

Paris Hilton’s illicit videotape.) On that page, author Dan Brown

writes, “His Holiness can disperse monies however he sees fit.” Ever

seen the pope chucking silver dollars out a window of the Vatican?

Neither have I, which is why I’m sure that Brown meant -- and his

copy editor meant to change to -- “disburse.”

An Associated Press photo in the Los Angeles Times once made the

opposite mistake, reporting that police had told demonstrators to

“disburse.”

However, it is unclear whether they were ordered to make out the

checks to individual police officers or simply to “cash.”

By the time I got to page 224 of “Harry Potter and the Half-Blood

Prince,” I discovered a different kind of mistake -- the kind made

not in haste but in sincere confusion.

“The second group was comprised of ten of the silliest girls Harry

had ever encountered.”

If the mistake isn’t clear to you, don’t feel bad. Seems like

about 90% of people don’t get the difference between “composed” and

“comprised.”

Parts compose a whole. The whole comprises the parts. Rowling,

Brown and Seuss titles compose my collection. But my collection

comprises Rowling, Brown and Seuss titles.

But it’s in the past tense, next to a pesky little “of,” that

these words pose the most trouble. A whole is composed of parts. Not

“comprised of.” In fact, “of,” never goes with “comprised.” And

that’s the easiest way to remember the whole business.

So now that you know that the bookstore giants suffer from the

same word confusion you do, I have even more good news.

If you limit your reading to only the most lowbrow titles on the

bestseller lists, it doesn’t preclude you from becoming a wildly

successful language columnist.

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

[email protected].