More Parsing Larsson: Querying the Great Beyond

Below is the first page of Stieg Larsson’s “The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest.” Below that is the same page with the copyedits and queries I would have made had it been my job to do so. Below that is a sample rewrite.

The edits are similar to what I do to some of the feature articles I work on. The difference is that, with a full-length novel, no one really has the time to do the detailed, extensive line-editing Larsson’s work requires. (I base that on the first two books in the Larsson’s “Milennium” series, “The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo” and “The Girl Who Played with Fire,” which I recently finished reading.) In the book world, most editors would simply reject the manuscript with a note like, “Good story. But the writing’s not quite there.”

Yet an editor acquired Larsson's three manuscripts, and the series became one of the biggest blockbusters in years. (This is where my explanation would go if I had one.) Here’s the page, the edited page, and the sample rewrite.

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Friday, April 8

Dr. Jonasson was woken by a nurse five minutes before the helicopter was expected to land. It was just before 1:30 in the morning.

“What? he said, confused.

“Rescue Service helicopter coming in. Two patients. An injured man and a younger woman. The woman has gunshot wounds.”

“All right,” Jonasson said wearily.

Although he had slept for only half an hour, he felt groggy. He was on the night shift in the ER at Sahlgrenska hospital in Gotegborg. It had been a strenuous evening.

By 12:30 the steady flow of emergency cases had eased off. He had made a round to check on the state of his patients and then gone back to the staff bedroom to try to rest for a while. He was on duty until 6:00, and seldom got the chance to sleep even if no emergency patients came in. But this time he had fallen asleep almost as soon as he turned out the light.

Jonasson saw lightning over the sea. He knew that the helicopter was coming in the nick of time. All of a sudden a heavy downpour lashed at the window. The storm had moved in over Goteborg.

He heard the sound of the chopper and watched as it banked through the storm squalls down towards the helipad. For a second he held his breath when the pilot seemed to have difficulty controlling the aircraft. Then it vanished from his field of vision and he heard the engine slowing to a land. He took a hasty swallow of tea and set down his cup.

Jonasson met the emergency team in the admissions area. The other doctor on duty took on the first patient who was wheeled in -- an elderly man with ….

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Friday, April 8

Dr. Jonasson was woken by a nurse five minutes before the helicopter was expected to land. (PROBABLY NOT A GOOD IDEA TO START WITH TWO PASSIVES IN THE VERY FIRST SENTENCE. PLS REVISE.) It was just before 1:30 in the morning.

“What? he said (ASKED?), confused. (IS THERE SOME SIMPLE WAY TO SHOW HIS CONFUSION?)

“Rescue Service helicopter coming in. Two patients. An injured man and a younger woman. The woman has gunshot wounds.”

“All right,” Jonasson said wearily. (HAVING HIM SAY “ALL RIGHT” SEEMS UNNECESSARY. WOULD IT BE MORE INTERESTING TO SAY WHAT HE DID RATHER THAN WHAT HE SAID AND HOW HE SAID IT?)

Although he had slept for only half an hour, he felt groggy. (ALTHOUGH? SEEMS TO ME THAT SLEEPING FOR JUST A HALF HOUR COULD BE WHAT MADE HIM GROGGY.) He was on the night shift in the ER at Sahlgrenska hospital in Gotegborg. It had been a strenuous evening. (VAGUE. SHOULD WE THROW IN A DETAIL OR TWO ABOUT THE EVENING AND PERHAPS ABOUT THE HOSPITAL, TOO?)

By 12:30 the steady flow of emergency cases (SEE NOTE ABOVE) had eased off. He had made a round to check on the state of his patients (DELETE “THE STATE OF”) and then gone back to the staff bedroom to try to (DELETE “TRY TO”) rest for a while. (I’VE NEVER HEARD OF A “STAFF BEDROOM.” ANY WAY TO MAKE THIS MORE VISUAL?) He was on duty until 6:00, (DELETE COMMA) and seldom got the chance to sleep even if no emergency patients came in. (WHY NOT? WHAT OTHER WORK WOULD KEEP HIM SO BUSY ON THE GRAVEYARD EMERGENCY ROOM SHIFT?) But this time he had fallen asleep almost as soon as he turned out the light. (“BUT THIS TIME” DOESN’T MAKE SENSE HERE. YOU’RE CONTRASTING A SENTENCE ABOUT NEVER HAVING THE CHANCE TO LIE DOWN WITH ANOTHER THAT SEEMS TO SUGGEST THAT LYING DOWN AND TURNING OUT THE LIGHT IS COMMON AND THE ONLY THING DIFFERENT IS HOW FAST HE FELL ASLEEP. PLS. FIX.)

Jonasson saw lightning over the sea. (YOU HAVEN’T GIVEN THE READER ANY SENSE OF PLACE – MUCH LESS ONE THAT INVOLVES A STAFF BEDROOM IN A HOSPITAL WITH AN OCEAN-VIEW WINDOW. ONCE YOU’VE EXPLAINED THE PHYSICAL LAYOUT THAT MAKES THIS POSSIBLE, PLEASE PLACE HIM AT THE WINDOW BEFORE SAYING WHAT HE SAW THROUGH IT.) He knew that (DELETE “HE KNEW THAT.”) the helicopter was coming in the nick of time. All of a sudden a heavy downpour lashed at the window. (1. SO MAYBE THE HELICOPTER ISN’T COMING IN THE NICK OF TIME? 2. “DOWNPOUR” USUALLY REFERS TO A WHOLE STORM AND NOT JUST A WAVE OF RAINDROPS HITTING A WINDOW. 3. “LASHED AT” SEEMS LIKE THE RAINDROPS CAME NEAR THE WINDOW BUT DIDN’T ACTUALLY TOUCH IT.) The storm had moved in over Goteborg.(DELETE WHOLE SENTENCE.)

He heard the sound of the chopper and watched as it banked (WHERE IS HE? SEEMS AWFULLY CONVENIENT THAT HE CAN SEE BOTH THE STORM ROLLING IN AND THE HELIPAD.) through the storm squalls(THAT WAS FAST) down towards the helipad. For a second he held his breath when the pilot seemed to have difficulty controlling the aircraft.(WHAT HAPPENED? WHAT DID HE SEE?) Then it vanished(UNCLEAR. EXPLAIN.) from his field of vision and he heard the engine slowing to a land. He took a hasty swallow of tea (KIND OF WEIRD THAT A JUST-SLEEPING MAN HAD SOME TEA HANDY. ALSO, SHOULDN’T HE BE SCRUBBING UP OR SOMETHING?) and set down his cup (ON WHAT?)

Jonasson met the emergency team in the admissions area.(DETAILS?) The other doctor on duty(DETAILS?) took on the first patient who was wheeled in(MIGHT BE BETTER IF WE DID THIS IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER: FIRST THE PATIENT WAS WHEELED IN, THEN THE DOCTOR “TOOK ON” THE PATIENT, BUT FIND A MORE SPECIFIC ALTERNATIVE TO “TOOK ON”—an elderly man with ….

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Here is a rough sketch of how I suspect other authors might have approached the page:
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April 8

Nurse Helga Olsson placed a firm hand on the sleeping doctor’s shoulder and shook him gently.

“Chopper coming in,” she said. “Two patients. An injured man and a woman with gunshot wounds. They’ll be here in five minutes.”

Dr. Sven Jonasson sat up and looked at the digital clock on the steel surgical tray that served as a nightstand. It was 1:28 a.m.

He felt groggy. He had only slept for half an hour on a cot in the small room next to the doctors’ lounge. It had been a rough night. Sahlgrenska Hospital’s ER had treated two stabbing victims, a couple of broken bones, and a peanut allergy reaction so severe Dr. Jonasson had to insert a breathing tube in the patient’s bloated neck to save her life.

By 12:30 a.m. the emergency cases had eased off. Dr. Jonasson made a round to check on his patients then went into the small room and lay down. He had fallen asleep almost as soon as he turned out the light.

He stood and watched nurse Olsson leave, then he walked to the window and looked out over Dorn Bay. A flash of lightning illuminated the water and he could see the torrents moving in. Within seconds, rain was lashing the window.

He heard a chopper and watched as it slowly came into view over the water. It banked through the storm squalls toward the helipad at the north end of the hospital grounds. Suddenly, the copter dropped about thirty feet, then it wobbled back and forth. Dr. Jonasson gasped and then held his breath as the chopper leveled and headed toward the helipad, where it landed safely.

He reached for the cup of tea he’d left on the makeshift nightstand and took a sip. It was cold and milky. He grimaced and set down the cup.

He arrived at the emergency room the same time as Dr. William Sorli, a skinny, wide-eyed intern who had been working the ER for about six months. They watched as a breathless EMT wheeled in the first patient—a crumpled old man who …

Copy Edit du Jour

At present, the university has 15 schools and 52 departments.

... changed to ...

The university has 15 schools and 52 departments.

Feels so good to do that ...

Question from a Reader About New Yorker Style

Abigail, commenting on this old post, asks: Does anybody know if The New Yorker has an editorial style guide that one could lay one's hands upon? As an editor myself-- known as The Comma Queen by some whose work I have put a pencil to-- I would be most interested in seeing it.

Me, too.

I Googled "New Yorker Style Guide" and found a third-party mention of it here


But I didn't look much further. Anyone know?

Copy Edit du Jour

Nurses are on hand to ensure patients stick to their treatment regimes.

Changed to "regimens."

I've never seen that mistake before. The word usually mistaken for "regimen" is "regiment."

From the front page of Los Angeles Times' Business section today

Oops.

Copy Edit du Jour

(As always, passage disguised to protect the innocent, by which I mean me.)

Here's the original passage:

Explorers on foot can view sea stars and hermit crabs, while snorkelers in the water can swim with moray eels and manta rays.

Though I applaud the writer's conscientious inclusion of land snorkelers, I went ahead and deleted "in the water."

And I Thought Writers Just Found Copy Editors Annoying ...

The Washington Post had a good piece a few days ago about an increasing number of typos in their paper -- a trend that corresponds with a decrease in the number of copy editors there.

The article cites a decade-old study that emphasizes how messy copy can hurt a newspaper's bottom line (that means money, to all you publisher types). The idea is that "each misspelled word, bad apostrophe, garbled grammatical construction, weird cutline and mislabeled map erodes public confidence in a newspaper's ability to get anything right."

In times of extreme austerity, I tend to think of quality control as a luxury. I figure it's better to have good reporting with a few typos than to have pristinely edited fluff -- or worse. So it never occurred to me that copy editing is so integral to a news agency's money-making ability.

Maybe if this idea catches on I could someday be emboldened to ask for help paying for health insurance.

Nah.

Moments in Copy Editing

A foreclosed home may be in need of major repairs.

... changed to ...

A foreclosed home may need major repairs.

This isn't a show-stopper by any means. It's certainly not like the "lump crap cocktail" I came across a while back.

But it's one of those little triumphs over wordiness and stiff language that give us copy editors a thrill. Aaah.

On Copy Editors

Copy editors and proofreaders are detail-oriented, meticulous, sometimes fussy people prone to neatness and precision in all things, right? I mean, everyone knows that, right?

Then how to explain me?

I'm a copy editor and proofreader not because of my true nature but in spite of it. I'm a mess. For example, I've never once opened a document containing some old resume or cover letter sent long ago without then discovering some glaring typo I had failed to catch before sending it out to prospective employers. I've lost more keys and even driver licenses than you can shake a bottle of Ritalin at (yes, this got a lot better when I stopped drinking, but not as much better as you'd think). I once went on a job interview not realizing I was wearing one white shoe and one black shoe. (Really. And, yes, I got the job — a waitress gig at a rather gritty oyster bar and pub.)

Then there was yesterday. Yesterday I arrived at the office where I do freelance proofreading and copy editing, walked into the cafeteria (where just a few weeks before I had somehow managed to lose my little insulated lunch bag thingy), opened my already half-opened purse to pay for my coffee, and realized my wallet was gone.

Actually, that's not quite true. The process of definitively "realizing" that something is not in my purse is not something that can be accomplished in a single 10-minute bout of spilling lipsticks and feminine hygiene products all around a cafeteria cash register. To ascertain with any degree of certainty whether something is or is not in my purse is actually five-step process that includes two more frantic rummagings-through, one full dumping-out and one use of a "lifeline," usually in the form of Ted saying, "For the last time, June, I'm looking at the whole pile of junk you poured out of your purse and I don't see your damn (laptop/hoagie/puppy/Toyota Corolla)!"

Still, since my panicked purse-rummaging at the front of a line of hungry co-workers almost counted as a full dumping-out, I was worried. I headed upstairs to alert my editors that I was going to have to drive home to look for it. I got in the elevator. Pressed the button for "5." Rode to about 3 when I heard a clunk, felt a jolt, and realized the elevator had chosen that moment to go on strike.

I pushed "5" and "door open" buttons frantically for a few moments, then I pushed emergency phone button. I heard a little voice.

"Security. Lt. Morgan speaking."
"I'm stuck in the elevator."
"Hello?"
"Yes, hello. I'm stuck in the elevator."
"Hello?"
"CAN YOU HEAR ME? I'M STUCK IN THE ELEVATOR?"
"I can hardly hear you. You're stuck in the elevator?"
"Yes, I'm stuck in the elevator!"
"Which elevator?"
"South entrance."
"What?"
"SOUTH ENTRANCE!"
"South entrance?"
"YES!"
"Okay, we'll ..."

Clunk. The elevator moved up the final floor or two, then opened the door to the fifth floor smooth as you please.

"Nevermind. It opened."
"What?"
"NEVERMIND. IT OPENED. I'M OUT."
"It opened?"
(sound of my footsteps walking away)

I arrived at my workspace and quickly surveyed the editors and designers who were counting on my help that day.

"I know you have pages for me to proof, but I lost my wallet, so I have to go home and look for it. BUT, my writer's group meets for lunch today. So I'll be gone about an hour then I'll be back for about an hour, then I'll be gone for about two and a half hours, then I'll be back for as long as you need me. Will that work with your deadlines?"

The designer, Joy, was the one I was worried about. She was on the tightest deadline and needed me to proofread some pages she was working on. But she said we had a little time. She wished me luck finding my wallet and blessed my mission.

In the parking lot, I checked my car. No luck. I checked around my car. No luck. I drove home (not very well, I might add), checked the place where I park at home. No luck. Checked nearby trash cans, figuring that if someone found it in the street they might take the cash and chuck the wallet. No luck. I went in the house, checked the kitchen and the bathroom and the dining room and the living room and everywhere my wallet might be. No luck.

Then I looked at the time. I had to cancel two credit cards and two debit cards then make an appointment at the DMV. No way was I going to make it back to the office before I had to leave for lunch.

So I e-mailed Joy to make sure it was okay if I came back even later than I had promised. In my e-mail, I almost — almost — asked her take a peek on and under my desk, just to make sure my wallet wasn't there. But I decided not to bother her with that.

I called the four banks, scheduled the DMV appointment, grabbed my passport for I.D. then went to my lunch meeting. These writers' lunches are usually a two-hour affair, but, with extreme apologies, I split after just 40 minutes, explaining that I had shot a whole morning's work driving across town to find my lost wallet.

I got back to the office ... I looked under the desk ...

... and that's where I saw plain as day my wallet, which contained $32 in cash, two utterly useless canceled credit cards and two equally useless canceled debit cards.

Then I proofread eight laid-out pages, catching typos that three editors before me had missed, and copy edited two stories with equal success and attention.

Copy editing, for me, is not a skill or strength in any traditional sense. It's more like a savant ability. I can't remember whether I brushed my teeth on any given morning, but I can catch "lead" in place of "led" in a story the way Rain Man counts toothpicks on the floor. It's weird.

Weirder yet: Remember that I said that I had been in line to pay for a cup of coffee when I noticed my wallet was gone? Well, I got the coffee. That's because, besides some money I knew I had in my wallet, I also had a $20 in my jeans pocket.

I often have random bills and change crammed into pants pockets from workdays gone by. But that's not why I had backup cash yesterday. That morning, as I was about to walk out the door, I knew I had plenty of money to pay for the lunch. I had had perhaps $30 or $40 in my purse when I bought lunch the day before, so I knew I'd have enough left over. Still, I hesitated. I turned to Ted. "Do you have any extra cash? Like $20?"

I felt a little guilty asking and then cramming his $20 into my pocket. I knew perfectly well I had enough to cover me. But some subconscious impulse had inspired the rare request.

And that's why any requests from the scientific community to study me in a clinical environment — be they from neurologists or psychologists or even parapsychologists — will be enthusiastically granted.