Something I wrote in the preceding entry reminded me of a linguistic question for which I have no firm answer. Consider the following snippet:

“…maintains an (apparently) strict policy…”

My quarrel is with that indefinite article, “an”. You know as well, of course, its fraternal twin, “a”; these two split duties as escorts to singular nouns that are, well, indefinite in identity. Compare with the definite article, “the”, which introduces definitely identified nouns (singular or plural).

For example, I can talk about “the definite article” unambiguously in reference to the word “the”; but if, outside of any other context, I were to talk about a specific indefinite article, I’d might have to say “an indefinite article” rather than “the indefinite article”, because whether I was referring to “a” or “an” might not be clear. Yes? Good? Alright.

(Here my lack of any proper linguistic training fails me; there is no doubt vocabulary to clearly and concisely describe these things, but I lack it. But then, you’re probably not a linguist either, so we’ll just muddle through as best we can. Head over to Language Log if you’re looking for experts.)

Whether we use “an” or “a” in a given instance depends on the pronunciation of the word that follows the article. Roughly, we use “an” before words which start with vowel sounds, and “a” before all others:

• an orange
• an honest man
• a nostril
• a opossum

(Variations will of course exist across dialects of English, as some words gain or lose leading consonant or vowel sounds; my tendencies are expressed above.)

So. The Difficulty:

How do you resolve which indefinite article to use when writing a parenthetical interruption into an article-nounphrase construction, if the interruption does not have the same starting-sound character as the nounphrase it is interrupting? Look again at the example:

“…maintains an (apparently) strict policy…”

If that was uninterrupted, it would be “a strict policy” and there would be no question. If the interjecting modifier were not parenthetical, it would be “an apparently strict policy”, and there would be no question; and, in speaking, the issue would never arise, because the parentheses could be implied by intonation (perhaps a momentary conspiratory quieting of the voice, perhaps a flamboyant rise); they wouldn’t actually be there, clamped visually about the word.

But in writing, the parentheses are there, and they say, in essence, this: that which is within can be elided. But if one elides the parenthetical bit, all of a sudden there is the collapse of the phrase-as-written down to “an () strict policy”, and the world ends in chaos and madness.

So perhaps it’s a weird an impractical question, based on a strict and unfounded mechanical interpretation of parentheses. And perhaps the practical answer exists already: write it as you would speak it, and leave it at that.

But, damn it all, writing is not merely speaking-on-paper. It is not mere transcription; it has its own limitations and its own marvelous strengths and wonders that set it apart from spoken language. And so these questions of the occult mechanics of writing strike me as interesting even if they are not exactly pramgatic or essential to clear communication.