McPhee taught us to revere language, to care about every word, and to abjure the loose synonym. He told us that words have subtle and distinct meanings, textures, implications, intonations, flavors. (McPhee might say: \u201cNuances\u201d\u009d alone could have done the trick there.) Use a dictionary, he implored. He proselytized on behalf of the gigantic, unabridged Webster\u2019s Second Edition, a tank of a dictionary that not only would give a definition, but also would explore the possible synonyms and describe how each is slightly different in meaning. If you treat these words interchangeably, it\u2019s like taping together adjacent keys on a piano, he said.<\/p>\n
Robert Wright \u201979, an acclaimed author and these days a frequent cycling companion of McPhee, tells me by email, \u201cI\u2019d be surprised if there have been many or even any Ferris professors who care about words as much as John \u201d\u201d I don\u2019t mean their proper use so much as their creative, deft use, sometimes in a way that exploits their multiple meanings; he also pays attention to the rhythm of words. All this explains why some of his prose reads kind of like poetry.\u201d\u009d<\/p>\n
Just to write a simple description clearly can take you days, he taught us (once again I\u2019m citing Amanda\u2019s class notes): \u201cIf you do it right, it\u2019ll slide by unnoticed. If you blow it, it\u2019s obvious.\u201d\u009d<\/p>\n