Okay, so I've been a freelance copy editor. I'm sure that makes me more sensitive to grammatical errors, misspellings, bad punctuation, and typos than most readers. But I'm really not a complete Nazi about this stuff. I hold myself to high standards, and I think professionally published work ought to shine, but I don't expect most blogs to be readable, or interesting, for that matter. And the comments left after online articles and so forth? Forget about it.

But something's obviously in my craw, so what the hell is it? I'll tell you. I recently purchased a graphic novel that was so poorly copyedited, if at all, that it's impossible to make it through a page without stumbling over at least one colossal flub. This would irritate me no matter who was putting the thing out, but we're talking major names here. Names I have enormous respect for and therefore won't be revealing in this little diatribe. The conception, writing, and artwork of this thing are all outstanding. The terrible (or non-existent) copyediting doesn't alter that. But I'll tell you what it almost did. It almost prevented me from reading the damn comic. Here's why.

The very first sentence of the book is so hopelessly mangled that no meaning whatsoever can be derived from it. Honestly, people, I spent five minutes on that sucker before finally putting the book down for the night in favor of something eminently more readable. Several nights later I returned to the graphic novel and am now enjoying it enormously, but I think my point is clear. If you insist on littering your work with writing mistakes, at least have the sense to wait until page two to introduce them. Get the first sentence right, at any rate. The names attached to this particular work are impressive enough to where there should be no lasting harm done. But what if it had been more of an unknown project and I simply had picked it up off the shelf at the bookstore out of curiosity? I'm not sure I would have made it past that first sentence. The comic book shops I frequent tend to have a lot of inventory. It's pretty dang easy to put something down and pick something else up. There are also less expensive comics than the one in question.

I guess it just seems counterintuitive to me that with the economy where it's at, and the publishing industry in such a transitional state, publishers would risk putting out material that's subpar in any way. Good copy editors don't work for free, of course. But we're talking about art here. Literature, really. This stuff is supposed to have a crack at standing the test of time. I don't know if people will still know how to read in a hundred years, but if they can, do we want them to pick up our work and laugh at how poorly it's presented, or do we want them to consider it seriously, maybe even discuss it with others ... or write about it?

It would have been nice to dedicate this space to a review of the graphic novel that has me so riled. Its merits would be hard to exaggerate. But the number of typos has proven such a distraction that I really can't bring myself to look beyond them just yet. I have no choice but to swallow every manner of grammatical offense from the subliterate advertising that dominates our lives. From the literary arts I demand more. The folks involved with this graphic novel don't need the pittance of publicity I might have been able to generate with a glowing review, but my words might be taken as a cautionary tale for independent comic book writers and artists: Get things as right as you can, because someone out there gives a damn. I promise.

[I give you the final installment of the philosophical exchange that resulted from a Facebook reunion between my old schoolmate Mitch and me. The discussion wasn't originally intended to be blog fodder. Nor was it designed to comprise six neat segments. But life and its priorities have intervened, and the discourse has meandered into what Dr. Seuss would call The Waiting Place. So I'm glad I decided to provide this venue for the opening chapter of our debate. If we pick it up again, that's one thing. If we don't, at least this much has been documented. I like to think that's worthwhile. Maybe I'm fooling myself. It wouldn't be the first time.]

Mitch: Let me ask a few questions and give you an answer to one you asked me. First of all, you wrote, “You seem to be saying there is one universal truth. I'm saying there might be (we just don't have the tools to know for sure).” This seems to be a pretty constant theme here. Are you “sure” about your view that “we cannot know for sure?” Also, is your view true only for you, or is it universally true? If it is true, what “tools” (test for truth) did you use to know for sure that we cannot know for sure?

Then you wrote, “there's no way of knowing whether one way is more valid than another. This is why I think it's important to draw knowledge from more than one well.” Is your way of knowing what is true “more valid” than my way? Also, how many wells did you draw from and where are they to conclude that your view is more valid? If you are not saying that your way is more valid than my way, then why do you keep trying to defend it? If it is, then there is a way to “test” the validity of truth claims.

You also gave the example from your comparative religions class about covering an infinite number of midpoints and so you asked the question, “how do we ever get where we are going?” This is the same thing as Zeno’s Paradox. I may not have explained this sufficiently in my last post, so let me try again. In philosophy, this is what is known as a category mistake. There is confusion here between what is mathematically possible and what is actual. They don’t belong in the same category just like the finite and infinite don’t belong in the same category. So while it is mathematically possible to have an infinite universe and infinite amount of time, the concept fails to meet the material (observational) test for truth. Like I said, even the 2nd law of thermodynamics alone is enough to negate the possibility of an infinite universe. It reminded me of a quote from Sir Arthur Eddington, a contemporary of Einstein and one-time professor of astronomy at the University of Cambridge. He said, “But if your theory is found to be against the 2nd law of thermodynamics I can give you no hope; there is nothing for it but to collapse in deepest humiliation.”

Then you asked me, “What existed before the beginning of time?” You assumed my answer would be nothing. Then you went on to say, “But it's impossible for me to imagine nothing existing before the spontaneous birth of time.” I actually totally agree with that conclusion. Something must be the foundation for everything else. That is why we start with the things we do know from philosophy and science and so on. If the universe had a beginning, it can’t come from nothing. That again defies all observational evidence. If it was caused by another universe, then what caused that universe? That only pushes the original cause back a step, which doesn’t seem to clarify anything.

Finally, you asked me a question about “my view” of truth. You asked, “Now, if truth, for you, is that which corresponds to reality, aren't you saying, in fact, that there are two types of truth—physical and metaphysical?” My first question back to that question is, does your view of truth correspond to what is actually real, or not? If yes, then you believe in the correspondence view of truth. If not, then what does it correspond to? By definition, there can only be one “kind” or “type” of truth – it applies to many dimensions of reality through which we test for it in different ways (science, philosophy, history, etc.). There is unity of truth in diversity of life issues. This is the concept that universities were based on, unity in diversity. It is also known as coherence of truth. So if we find truth in one discipline, say science, it should be coherent with truth in philosophy. We cannot embrace the truth of one academic discipline but ignore the truth of another. They should all fit together to make one harmonious whole.

Me: Obviously, you're leaning on a body of philosophical literature that I only touched on as an undergrad, so you have me at a bit of a disadvantage when it comes to terminology, but I keep coming back to the fact that we only have five senses and the capacity of our brains to decipher this stuff. I can easily imagine that this is insufficient for discerning all facets of truth (why our imaginations allow us to see things our actual senses deny us is perhaps a matter for another time; do we imagine truth more accurately than we perceive it through our senses?). I don't feel that I'm defending a position as much as I'm trying to explain one as clearly as possible. And it's difficult to explain a position you don't hold onto with religious fervor. I'm open to other possibilities, but the points I've brought up in this conversation are my attempt to describe the world view I've developed over the years. At the end of the day, is one person's version of truth more defensible than another's? I don't think we can answer that in terms of truth alone. We also need to weigh such things as morality. Otherwise we're in danger of seeing the rationale of people like Hitler. Truth is a large umbrella, and maybe concepts like morality exist in its shadow, but you can't always look only at the big picture. Sometimes it's important to examine the minutiae as well.

The philosophical approach to seeking truth begins to lose my interest, frankly, when it becomes tautological, and I think we've nearly reached that point. Every statement or claim that I make is going to be questioned in terms of how its veracity can be established if I can't be sure I have adequate tools for knowing truth. That's not a cycle I want to get caught up in. For one thing, it's the kind of thinking that can clog the creative process. When I'm concocting plots for my fiction, I enjoy playing with philosophical notions, but there comes a time to nudge them out of the way and let my characters do what they need to do, or the work will fail in its prime objective: to entertain. One of the instructors at a writing workshop I recently attended made the comment that fiction "makes a symmetry of chaos." I like that a good deal. He also said that writers are like priests. I like that too. But we've got to entertain first, or else no one will bother to look for the deeper layers.

Part of me wishes I could keep rolling with you on this stuff, but it does take me away from my fiction, and I can't afford to do that. It has been enormous fun though.

[I don't think I need to make any excuses for giving myself the last word here. It's my damn blog, after all. But I meant it when I told Mitch I'd had fun chatting with him on these topics. I hope he continues to find satisfying answers to life's most impenetrable questions.

As for me, am I a relativist? In one sense of the word, yes. I believe the realites of the world are processed by brains (human and animal) that may or may not be up to the challenge of accurate deduction. As a result, I also believe truth is kind of like statistics. It can be manipulated to the advantage of this or that group. But the choices we make every day can take us closer to the truth or farther from it. Of this I have no doubt. We waste our time at our own peril, and it's not a trick candle. When it's out, it's out. We might continue on after death, but then, we might not. And that's the truth.

Cheerio.]