It's good to see that The New Oxford Dictionary of English has no time for the nonsense foisted on us for centuries about the split infinitive.
Like everyone else who cares about language, I'm all for scrupulous adherence to the rules of grammar and syntax (and I deplore the howlers that nowadays constantly find their way unnoticed into every newspaper in the world - yes, even The Irish Times), but I've never understood the ludicrous pedantry which decrees that infinitives can't be split.
So how did this daft rule come about? Simply because early grammarians, mindful of the fact that it's not possible to split an infinitive in Latin, insisted that in English it shouldn't be possible, either. And the fact that such authorities as Fowler, Gowers, Partridge and Burchfield have no problems with the split infinitive doesn't deter the pedants from their deadening crusade.
Anyway, here's the New Oxford on the subject: "The dislike of split infinitives is long-standing but is not well founded, being based on an analogy with Latin . . . But English is not the same as Latin. In particular, the placing of an adverb in English is extremely important in giving the appropriate emphasis: `you really have to watch him' and `to go boldly where no man has gone before,' examples where the infinitive is not split, convey a different emphasis or sound awkward. In the modern context, some traditionalists may continue to hold up the split infinitive as an error in English. However, in standard English the principle of allowing split infinitives is broadly accepted as both normal and useful."
It's cheering that the Oxford people are prepared to boldly go where some other lexicographers have always feared to tread.
Up to now my favourite one-volume dictionary has been the Collins (also good on the split infinitive), but this new Oxford, edited by Judy Pearsall and costing Stg £29.99, is so clear and sensible in its definitions and so user-friendly (now there's a phrase worthy of banning) that it's taken pride of place on my shelves.
Amoral murderer Tom Ripley, one of 20th-century fiction's most disturbing anti-heroes, is being played by both Matt Damon and Rupert Everett in two films currently under production.
This isn't the first time Patricia Highsmith's Ripley books have been screened - Rene Clement's 1960 movie, Plein Soleil, with Alain Delon in the main role, was a striking version of The Talented Mr Ripley, while Wim Wenders's The American Friend, with Dennis Hopper, was an intriguing reworking of Ripley's Game - but nonetheless it's a tribute to a writer who, since her death three years ago, has seemed in danger of being forgotten by all except long-standing admirers.
One such was Graham Greene, who described her as "the poet of apprehension", a phrase whose truth will be appreciated by anyone who has read her. She really is an unsettling writer, not least in her obvious fondness for her murderers - she makes you complicit with them, willing them to escape detection and retribution (though my favourite among all her books, the haunting Found in the Street, is unusual in its tenderness to the young girl victim).
Rupert Everett could be an interesting Ripley in Mike Newell's new version of Ripley's Game, but it's hard to envisage the baby-faced Damon as the cool psychopath in Anthony Minghella's reshaping of The Talented Mr Ripley. However, if either movie encourages people to discover Highsmith's remarkable books, they'll have served a good purpose.
If you're a poet who hasn't yet had a volume published and would like to try out your lyrical musings on a live audience, Poetry Ireland are starting a new series of Introductions in Dublin's Winding Stair bookshop next February.
Submit not more than ten poems to Niamh Morris, Poetry Ireland, Bermingham Tower, Upper Yard, Dublin Castle, Dublin 2.
Sarah Kavanagh, whose first novel, Wired to the Moon, has just been published (Hodder & Stoughton), is a daughter of Val Doonican and, if one can judge from her list of acknowledgments, she has inherited his passion for music.
The list runs to four pages and refers to thirty-two songs quoted or mentioned in the book - everything from Elvis to the Saw Doctors, and Phil Lynott to Paul Anka.
Brought up in England, she's a frequent visitor to Ireland, which is the setting for her novel, described by her publisher as "a quirky, warm-hearted, gently black comedy" about a Wexford Elvis impersonator.
Brendan Kennelly launched James Lydon's The Making of Ireland: From Ancient Times to the Present (Routledge) in Trinity College on Tuesday night, and next Thursday the author, who is Professor of Modern History in TCD, will cochair a discussion with UCC's Professor Joe Lee in Hodges Figgis of Dawson Street.
Together they'll debate with the audience the role of the historian, the proper use of historical evidence and the lessons history can teach. The discussion begins at 6.30pm.