Are print dictionaries dying? And should we care?
Image: The complete Oxford English Dictionary via Oxford University Press
In 2010, the Oxford English Dictionary announced that its next edition would probably never be printed, but would instead only be available online. The 20-volume dictionary is the most comprehensive in the world, but that much data can now be stored on a device the size of a pencil case. Sales of the print edition are dropping by tens of percentage points a year, according to Oxford University Press.
Not only that, the online version is guaranteed to be more up-to-date. While the online version of the OED is updated several times a year, the next full edition won't be completed until 2034.
Lastly, there’s convenience. If you use the Chrome or Firefox browsers, you can look up a word just by right-clicking on it (try it: rantipole, tenebrific, spoffish).
But the (in my view sensible) move to digital has been met with disdain by many. The comments below are in response to MacMillan Dictionary’s 2012 decision to follow the OED’s lead.
“Nice if you are at a computer or have a phone signal or if your internet connection is working” says one commenter, to which the obvious retort is “print dictionaries: nice if you can carry a book the size of a hubcap everywhere you go.”
“The battery doesn't die on a dead-tree book – you can use it in a powercut.” Not at night, buddy.
One person cited concerns that, in the event of an apocalypse, the lack of dictionaries would make it difficult to rebuild civilisation. (I’m more concerned that you can’t burn iphones for warmth.)
The one argument I can get on board with is that online searches rob you of the joy of browsing, of the words that spring out at you on the way to the one you were looking for. At the Red Pony offices we use the gold-standard Australian dictionary, the Macquarie (6th Edition). While both print and online editions will tell you whether to hyphenate ‘fruitfly’ (don’t), only one will also distract you with ‘frosty face – an occasional defect of merino sheep consisting of chalky harsh white hairs covering the face’ (Australian dictionaries are big on diseases of the sheep).
It’s rare that people object to a company ceasing to sell a product which they had no intention of purchasing. It seems like people view dictionaries not so much as a commercial product but as a public good.
And that’s quite sweet, despite the sneering with which the sentiment is often conveyed. I, too, value and respect dictionaries. I love discovering new words, some charming (crinkum-crankum: something full of intricate twists and turns), some useful (velleity: a wish that isn't strong enough to lead to action).
But a dictionary is primarily a tool for aiding understanding. As a tool, I want to see it in people’s pockets, in the palm of their hands, a right-click away. People who see the move to digital as a cultural dumbing-down really overestimate the number of 20th-century teens who were forking out two grand for a set of the OED.
