Conquering the three R's

An excellent dancer makes each move appear natural and effortless. In fact, the dancer's secret is more than "natural ability." It is the result of years of study, untold hours of practice, and an understanding of which moves flow more easily together.

But, how about spelling? Or math? If you don't possess "natural ability" in these areas, is there hope? I didn't think so, at least not for a misspeller extraordinaire and mathophobic like me.

Two new books, The Art of Spelling: The Madness and the Method by Marilyn Vos Savant and The Math Gene: Why Everybody Has It, But Most People Don't Use It by Keith Devlin (due out in September), dispute the position that these two areas can be understood by only the most intelligent. I decided to put them both to the test. Could they help me?

REVIEWS BY JAMIE WHITFIELD

The first few chapters of The Art of Spelling give me just what I need: ammunition for why spelling seems so incomprehensible at times. Delving into the history of English and the formation of "speech communities," Savant describes the madness, the oxymoron, of our language. It is both immutable and changing.

Words flow into our language from other languages, they morph with each generation, and our language needs this. When I order pizza, assemble a tamale, or listen to my nephew "dis" someone, I appreciate that need. It means English is alive. This appreciation disappears when I try to decide whether to use "disc" or "disk."

Perfect spelling is invisible, only noticed when it's missing, and while Savant acknowledges the spell-checker function on computers makes it harder to tell the good spellers from the bad (it certainly helps me), she maintains it is not an equalizer. That's where her Method comes into play.

Frequent spelling patterns can be reduced to rhymes (remember "I before E except after C . . . "?) and rules (spelling never changes when a prefix is added: unnecessary).

Savant's rules -- and their explanations -- combined with lists of easily confused words (and sentences to help clarify them) and charts of prefixes, suffixes, and roots are all helpful. Most helpful are her suggestions to do a self-examination of weak areas (diagnostic tests are included) and correct your own mispronunciations.

All of this helped me understand my major problem areas. Now, aided by my silent partner, the dictionary, and practice in my weakest areas, I am on the road to relying more on self-confidence and less on spell-check. But what about my math phobia? Is there hope for a cure?



Keith Devlin caught my attention in the prologue of The Math Gene when he said the first moon landing was not just a triumph for mathematics; it was a triumph for language. As someone who is verbally astute (except for the spelling problem), I had long suspected as much.

He goes on to say the "math gene" is no more than the innate predisposition for language. What helps you acquire language skills is precisely what you require to do mathematics. If I can manipulate the language, is it possible I can understand math? Even higher level math? Could I possibly enjoy it, too?

Well, much as I hate to admit it, the answers are yes, yes, and yes.

Devlin begins with the evolution of math from numbers to theory. Then he explains that our ability to count above the number three (I can do that) and to use arbitrary symbols to denote numbers (that, too) thus manipulating the numbers by manipulating the symbols (ditto) is a skill possessed by our species alone.

Okay, but why do I have such a hard time with multiplication? Devlin addresses this, stressing the 18 facts needed to master multiplication. Relating the laws of geometry to wallpaper, he makes math not only seem easy but interesting as well, even giving permission to skip any confusing sections.

It is something I seldom did. I was intrigued once again, and this time by an in-depth explanation of math.

I am hooked once again. Mathematics is understandable. While I will never be a math professor, I can now appreciate what Devlin calls "mathematical beauty" -- quite a step for a mathophobic.


Jamie Whitfield, spells, adds, subtracts, and now multiplies from her homes in Tennessee and North Carolina.



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