I Missed Mellinkoff
Somewhere along the way — probably back in high school (highschool? high-school?) ((Russell Smith, “Bye-bye (or is it byebye?) to 16,000 silly hyphens,” Globe and Mail)) when the rôles of jock and outlaw were foreclosed to me and I needed a way, any way, to get attention if I couldn’t get dates — I seem to have picked up the aim of becoming a polymath, a.k.a. knowitall. Some would tell you that I’m irritatingly close to my goal. Shows how much they know: I’m woefully short of the sort of omniscience I had hoped for, and I’ve largely given up the quest. (Which is all right because getting dates has thankfully ceased to be a problem.)
Occasionally, though, it rankles that an obvious fact, phenomenon or person has slipped past my ken. Today was one such day, because I came across a reference to David Mellinkoff in the blog Language Log, and his apparently classic book, first published in 1963, The Language of the Law. For me, then in the States, 1963 was the year of The Great Train Robbery, the Mekong Delta, Christine Keeler, The Beatles’ “She Loves You”, a wretched course in Macro-economics, and the death of President Kennedy, so I had lots of other things to occupy my mind. Still, I don’t think I ever heard the book mentioned later on in law school. And even though language in all its perms and combs has always fascinated me, I managed to miss any reference to it until today.
Judging only by the excerpt used in the Language Log entry, in which Mellinkoff tackles the legal use of “manifest,” I know I have to get the book (which, fortunately, was reprinted in 2004). I’ve been able to find a few more excerpts, mainly in an article by Holly Mikkelson ((Awareness of the Language of the Law and the Preservation of Register in the Training of Legal Translators and Interpreters 
)):
The language of the law is often unclear — plain “muddy.” This is not to say that the language is devoid of meaning. Simply that if there is any meaning, it is hard to find. It is puzzling not merely to the untutored non-lawyer. Puzzlement extends to bar and bench…
There are only two cures for the long sentence:
(1) Say less;
(2) Put a period in the middle.
Neither expedient has taken hold in the law.The most effective way of shortening law language is for judges and lawyers to stop writing.
This is acerbic the way I like it. I’ll let you know how I feel, though, when I’ve read the whole book. And thought about my own writing.
I’ll stop now.
Alas, Old Man – I was one-year old (one-year-old?) in 1963. Your post raised with me the notion that SLAW (and its contributors and readers) need to create a list of “must read” books in all areas in the scope of SLAW’s interests (legal research, knowledge management, technology, and so on). It is too hard too keep up on one’s own, so a list from colleagues would be useful. For example, colleague Brian Bawden made mention of a new book with a wonderful title called “Everything is Miscellaneous: The Power of the New Digital Disorder” (http://www.everythingismiscellaneous.com). I recently came across an older book on web design with a wonderful title called “Don’t Make Me Think”. How about it?
Some people build structures with clear-in-meaing sentences which are rarely, if ever, too long. Lewis Klar’s text and articles are a good example. (I have a pet pun for that ability. I call it “klarifying” the subject. Pace, Lewis.) Our John Swan also has that ability.
Others – I put myself in the category of others – probably can, and usually try to, do what I’ve mentioned in the first paragraph. However, we also like to build structures in sentences, just because we can. I suppose one reason for using the ability is the inherent boredom, at least for me, in writing about law. So, you see what you can layer into the content of sentences – particularly “in-jokes” that only you or the very knowledgeable would get – in ways that aren’t necessarily obvious and don’t change the main point you wish to make. That’s when a good editor, or at least a good second reader, becomes essential. I have, on the whole, been very fortunate that way.
Appellate judges sitting on panels have the other members of the panel to fill the editorial role. Those of us who write for legal journals have trusted colleagues. Who does that for the trial judge?
“…woefully short of the sort of omniscience I had hoped for…” You read my memory almost full mind. Thank you for the manifestly entertaining post.
My favourite, recent, thought provoking read is Blink by Malcome Gladwell.