1226. This week, we look at why so many people say "try and" instead of "try to," including why it may be the older form, why it turns up more in speech than in writing, and why it bothers Americans more than Brits. Then we look at what an epilogue actually does, whether one can belong to a single essay in a collection, and how it differs from an afterword, a postscript, and a coda.
1226. This week, we look at why so many people say "try and" instead of "try to," including why it may be the older form, why it turns up more in speech than in writing, and why it bothers Americans more than Brits. Then we look at what an epilogue actually does, whether one can belong to a single essay in a collection, and how it differs from an afterword, a postscript, and a coda.
The epilogue segment was written by Karen Lunde. Find her on igofirst.org.
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Grammar Girl here. I'm Mignon Fogarty. This week, we'll talk about whether it's "try and" or "try to," and then we'll look at what an epilogue is for.
by Mignon Fogarty
A long-time listener named Brian asked, "Why do we often use the phrase 'try and' when we mean 'try to?'"
Good question, Brian, and it's something that comes up a lot when I do radio interviews that take callers.
Let's start with some background: Surprisingly, Merriam-Webster says "try and" is likely the slightly older way of saying it, and suggests the phrase comes from the "test" or "examine" meaning of the word "try," as in "to try your luck" at something. That same meaning shows up in the phrase "to try my patience," and when people say something is "tried and true," as in it was tested and found to be true.
It doesn't mean that anymore when people say they are going to "try and come to your party," but that may be how it started. For example, Merriam-Webster points to this early citation from 1574:
I will aduenture, or trie and seeke my fortune.
As for WHY people do it, if I had to guess why people say "try and" instead of "try to," I'd guess it's because it's easier to say. It just flows off your tongue better. "I'm going to try 'n get up earlier" versus "I'm going to try to get up earlier." Just a little easier. And studies have found that "try and" does show up more often in speech than in writing.
It's quite common to hear "try and" described as being or sounding more informal than "try to," something that would be supported by the idea that it shows up more in speech than writing, and there's also a study showing that people use "try and" before shorter simpler verbs and "try to" before more Latinate words — both in speech and especially in writing. For example, saying you're going to try and get something or go somewhere is more common than saying you're going to try and measure something or organize something. And that's independent of how often the verbs show up in writing, so it's not just that people use "get" and "go" more often than they use "measure" and "organize."
A similar "it just sounds better" theory comes from something linguists quite dramatically call "horror aequi," using the Latin phrase, which is spelled like "horror," which is just the tendency to avoid repetition and which leads people to avoid something like using the word "to" twice in a sentence like "I'm going to try to get up earlier."
Interestingly, there is also a regional difference here. Lynne Murphy says on her Separated by a Common Language blog that although a few older British style guides do recommend against it, "try and" isn't frowned upon these days in British English like it is in American English.
Past podcast guest Sali Tagliamonte also has a 2016 paper on the topic with Marisa Brook that says "try and" is more common in British English than it used to be. In their study, the phrase was especially common among British people who were 45 or younger at the time of the study.
And a couple of interesting tidbits from that paper are also that they found Canadian English is more like American English than British in this case, favoring "try to." And they identified one phrase that is similar: "be sure." We say both, "Be sure to lock the door when you leave," and "Be sure and lock the door when you leave."
So to sum up, "try and" can have an informal sound to it and will annoy some people, especially in the United States, but most authorities consider it acceptable at some level. And it's not something I'd worry about at all if I were in the U.K.
Thanks for the question, Brian.
This next segment is by Karen Lunde.
by Karen Lunde
Grammar Girl listener Mimi wrote in with this question:
I was wondering if you have addressed the use of prologues and epilogues. I'm specifically interested in the inclusion of an epilogue for a single essay in a collection of essays and poems. It does not appear to be a common practice, but is it a valid opportunity to tell the reader what came afterward?
Thanks for the question, Mimi!
An epilogue can absolutely belong to a single essay inside a collection — there are no hard-and-fast editorial rules. Merriam-Webster defines "epilogue" pretty broadly as "a concluding section that rounds out the design of a literary work." And the Chicago Manual of Style, in its list of divisions and parts of a book, names the "Epilogue or afterword" as a part of the main text rather than the "back matter," which includes things like acknowledgments, appendixes, and glossaries. It lists the epilogue as following the conclusion. So, a part of the story itself.
If you were an editor, your real question probably wouldn't be "Can I include this epilogue even if it belongs to only one essay in this collection?" but rather "Is this epilogue an important final piece that helps complete the essay?"
So, what does an epilogue do? Well, basically it tells the reader that the main piece has ended but the story still has a little more to say. It could be about things like later events, an aftermath, or maybe a final perspective the original essay didn't arrive at.
The word "epilogue" comes from Greek roots — it means "words attached (at the end)." And Merriam-Webster points us toward an older meaning: An epilogue could also be a speech at the end of a play. Think of Robin's words at the end of Shakespeare's "A Midsummer Night's Dream," which begin:
If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended,
That history gives "epilogue" its "in-between" quality. The main action is over, but the work itself isn't quite finished speaking.
And then there's author Ann Patchett. Her 2021 collection "These Precious Days" uses an epilogue in exactly the way Mimi suggested — it gives us later events and an ending for the title essay. That essay follows Patchett's friendship with Sooki Raphael during Raphael's cancer treatment in the early days of the pandemic. The epilogue, "A Day at the Beach," returns to Raphael's story after the events of the essay, recounts farewells and her death, and then closes the collection. The epilogue does two jobs without becoming confusing: It completes the essay's unfinished story and gives the collection an emotional ending.
So, that rare editorial unicorn is real! And it even has an ISBN.
Finally, it's worth looking at the different types of labels we see at the end of books. Once again, there are no strict rules and definitions can overlap, so think of them more as editorial signals.
Epilogues tend to tell us that a story continues after the apparent ending, with something satisfying to wrap it up, such as later events or a final scene.
And then there's the afterword. That's spelled A-F-T-E-R-W-O-R-D — literally the words that come after. It's different from the adverb "afterward," ending in W-A-R-D, which means "later." Afterwords tend to feature the writer stepping back to discuss the work and add some context, explanation, reflection, or some sort of later assessment.
The postscript or addendum is a sort of compact update that's appended to a work. Think corrections or a brief new factual development.
A coda — also used in music — is a closing movement that echoes the work. It's usually some kind of brief lyrical or resonant ending. And here's something fun: "coda" is Italian for "tail."
So, there you go, Mimi! Yes, an epilogue for one essay is a valid way to end a collection when it connects later events to the essay's story. It works best with a heading that makes it clear which essay it belongs to. It could go immediately after the essay, or at the end of the collection — that's a style choice. But if the new material comments on the essay instead of continuing the story, then "afterword" could be the clearer label. And a short factual update? That's a postscript or an addendum.
Thanks for the question.
That segment was by Karen Lunde, a career writer and editor. She writes I'll Go First, a newsletter where she shares her story, then hands you a writing prompt and a metaphorical pen. Find her on igofirst.org.
Finally, I have a familect from Sean.
"Hey Grammar Girl, my name is Sean, and I'm calling from Ventura, California. My family invented a phrase for things like coffee cake and pastries, etc., when we were watching a 'Simpsons' episode when Flanders was singing to his kids, 'God said to Noah to build him an arky arky.' So all pastries, coffee cakes, etc., are called 'arky arky' in our family. That's pretty much all it is, but kind of cute. Thank you. Love what you're doing, and keep up the good work."
Thanks, Sean!
If you want to share your familect, you can leave a message on the voicemail line or record it on your phone or computer using SpeakPipe. And the phone number for the voicemail and link for Speakpipe are in the show notes. Let's hear your stories!
Grammar Girl is a Quick and Dirty Tips podcast. Thanks to Nat Hoopes; Morgan Christianson; Rebekah Sebastian; Steven Schapansky; Holly Hutchings; Dan Feierabend; and Maram Elnagheeb, who has lived on three different continents.
And I'm Mignon Fogarty, better known as Grammar Girl.
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