I recently wrote about the ambiguity of one term having two definitions that are opposites (see my blog post called Peruse This).

Here’s another, opposite conundrum of the English language: there are cases where two opposite phrases or clauses have the same meaning. Consider these two sentences:

1. There is a slim chance that I will win the lottery.
2. Me, win the lottery? Fat chance!

Both examples mean that me winning the lottery is unlikely. But how can it be that slim chance and fat chance mean the same thing?

The answer is . . . sarcasm. (The English language is so straightforward.)

Here’s another example for all ye grammar geeks and usage yuppies:

1. I could not care less.
2. I could care less.

Oddly enough, these sentences are used interchangeably in colloquial speech. How can it be that two sentences that are identical, except for the presence or absence of not, mean the same thing?

Sarcasm isn’t the culprit this time. Here, it’s a lazy tendency for speakers to omit words. The second example above should technically have a not (or a n’t), which has been omitted for brevity (and also probably due to confusion about a statement that contains something akin to a double negative).

However, don’t try getting away with omitting not in other instances. For example, say a bully comes up to you and says this:

“Hey, bookface!! I’ve got brass knuckles on!”

Try responding like this:

“I really do give a shit about your brass knuckles!”

Next, try confusing the bully by explaining how simultaneously slim and fat your chances of winning a fistfight are.

Then hop on the “Conjunction Junction” train and speed outta there, humming a farewell ditty to Bob Dorough.

While writing my last blog post, I looked up the word peruse to make sure I was using it correctly in this sentence:

“(The inquisitive one wasn’t sure which, having spent the previous few hours perusing poetry instead of store ads.)”

According to dictionary.com, peruse has several definitions:

1. to read through with thoroughness or care
2. to scan or browse
3. to read

The site also provides these British definitions:

1. to read or examine with care; study
2. to browse or read through in a leisurely way

Hmm. So peruse can mean “study a text thoroughly” or “skim through a text lightheartedly.” Aren’t those opposites? And, just to keep the waters as muddy as possible, the term can also mean simply “read”—so it can mean either extreme, or no extreme at all. No wonder I was having trouble keeping the word’s definition straight in my mind!

Now that I think about it, though, the ambiguity of peruse makes it ideal for its particular use in my tale. Surely the inquisitive one would’ve perused poetry in the “study closely” sense, but would’ve perused store ads in the “scan leisurely” sense. But I needed only the one word. (How economical!)

Another interesting fact: the “read carefully” sense (first usage in the 1530s) is much older than the “read casually” sense (first usage in the 1800s). So the next time you’re reading a text written in the 1700s or earlier and encounter the word peruse, you will know which sense is meant without having to rely on context.

For more fun with ambiguity, look up comprise on dictionary.com and read the Usage note.

Can you think of other words that are ambiguous in having opposite definitions? I would love to hear of more examples.

So what’s that big book about, anyway?

That fat book you’ve been reading for months on end—the one with a blue sky and white cloud on the cover—what’s the deal with that? Is it about the sky?

I’ve heard of it, Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace, but before I commit to such an undertaking as to actually attempt to read the thing, can you please, please, please give me a hint as to what it’s about?

Um . . .

Tennis? Drugs? America? Life itself? Yeah, one could say it’s about the sky. . . .

However, one of the many joys of IJ is discovering for yourself what it’s about. It may take a hundred or more pages of reading to even begin to put the picture together. But clarity does come . . . phenomenal clarity . . . along with a big dose of ambiguity. That’s my kind of book.

What’s yours?