Not long ago I ended one of my scholarly dissertations with an admonitory word: “Let us think upon these things, and go in peace.”

Remarkably, that gentle valedictory provoked a flood of letters. (Well, eight letters.) In a sense it was much adieu about nothing, for my correspondents were not appalled by the dissertation. They were appalled by the comma – that is, the little squiggle after “things.” “Absolutely wrong!” cried a teacher in North Carolina. A reader in Seattle was aghast: “You have torn asunder two independent clauses!”

Very well. That was my comma, I liked the friendly fellow. He added a necessary quarter-rest to the coda. It’s a matter of tempo. To end a mock-serious column I wanted a mock-solemn pause – largo, if you please, and not allegro.

Let us talk today of commas. Their employment is loosely governed by idiosyncratic publishers, crotchety editors and the writers of manuals of style. All of them agree that in the realm of punctuation, commas serve important aims of clarity and cadence. My own rule is drawn metaphorically from the practice of two Virginia ladies long ago. They had a firm guide for social occasions during Lent: They would have a drink only if they really needed one. So it is with commas. Throw in a comma only when you really need one.

A writer’s ear is essential to a writer’s art. We must hear the words we write. In many instances, the sound of a sentence read aloud will govern its punctuation. An introductory phrase, such as “in many instances,” generally will demand a comma. Other times it won’t. If the cadence is slow, the flag is red, white, and blue. If we’re marching briskly, it’s red, white and blue. Comma, in; comma out.

Kim Moore, an editor at Harvest House Publishers, asks about the punctuation in this hypothetical sentence: “I fed the dog, then the cat.” One school of thought looks at the comma after “dog” and teaches alternatives: “I fed the dog and then the cat,” or “I fed the dog; then I fed the cat.” Or, “I fed the dog, and then I fed the cat.” Obviously we’re talking about a remarkably patient cat, but no matter. I would go back to the hypothetical “I fed the dog, then the cat.” The sentence is unequivocally clear, and it falls more trippingly from the tongue. Keep it.

A year ago I heard from a Maryland attorney, Irwin R. Kramer. His rule – generally a good one – is to insert a comma “where the reader would naturally take a breath.” He liked the commas in this exemplar: “During the defendant’s testimony, we discovered that, in 1997, he was convicted of cocaine possession in the Circuit Court of Baltimore City.” I would recast the choppy sentence and leave at least two commas out: “During the defendant’s testimony, we discovered that in 1997 he had been convicted in the Circuit Court of Baltimore City of possession of cocaine.”

Constant Reader in Seattle also loves the surplus comma. A photo identified “the late Bob Hope, who for decades entertained U.S. troops overseas.” Constant Reader would have edited the caption to read, “the late Bob Hope, who, for decades, entertained U.S. troops …” Aaargh!

In “The Copyeditor’s Handbook” (University of California Press), editor Amy Einsohn offers sensible rules for the comma, but she cuts us some slack. After we have mastered the do’s and don’ts, she says, “we need to ask ourselves whether the presence or absence of a comma will best serve the writer’s purpose and the reader’s needs.” In my view, that says it all. Or: In my view that says it all. Your sentence, your comma, your call.

James Kilpatrick is a syndicated columnist.

Copy the Story Link