Guest review by Graeme Fife: THE ETYMOLOGICON - A Circular Stroll through the Hidden Connections of the English Language, by Mark Forsyth

 

 "a fascinating study, replete with stories of how a word came to be ... essential pursuit of any writer interested in nuance and the flex of the material which is our stock in trade."

Graeme Fife is a regular reviewer here. He has written many plays, stories, features and talks for radio, stage plays and articles for newspapers and magazines, and is a regular contributor to BBC Radio 4's From Our Own Correspondent. He's the author of a string of books - children's stories, biography, works of history and fiction. His novel of the French Revolution, No Common Assassin, tells the story of Charlotte Corday. His new novel, Memory's Ransom, a compelling wartime story, is published by Conrad Press. 

The word etymology itself makes a bold claim from the outset: etumos which is Greek for ‘true’ so that the word etymology points us to the origin of the word, the roots it has struck deep in the tilth of the language before it arrived full grown. Not only is this a fascinating study, replete with stories of how a word came to be but, in my view, cicerone to an essential pursuit of any writer interested in nuance and the flex of the material which is our stock in trade.

Fascinating, for example … not a word which appears in Forsyth. However, a story there. Think of the rabbit mesmerised by the ferret, the cobra frozen into immobility by the mongoose, the owl in the road caught helpless in the headlights of a car – I witnessed that one time on a country road in Norfolk and had to drive round the bird which had no power to move, it seemed. The Latin fascinari means ‘cast the evil eye on, bewitch …’

I was, initially, cautious: Forsyth’s disquisition on biscuit troubled me, in that he speaks of it as bi-cuit; the word bis does, indeed, derive from Greek bi but is, in fact French and what they call out at a concert, for example, to ask for a repeat - not encore, which is our stolen word. Bis means twice so that biscuit is fully Gallic and means 'twice cooked'. As a result, bicuit doesn't properly mean anything. Let's not get into why the Americans call their scone a biscuit. On aqua vitae (p 107) that is a misreading of the original which was aqua vitis 'water of the vine'.

However, these are mere quibbles though it does no harm to query detail because that is a writer’s business.

One word which does not appear here gives insight into the wider importance of the study of word origins: lucubration is made of two Latin words lux - light - and laborare – to work. The light was formerly provided by an oil lamp which only the more wealthy could afford to use at a time when for most people the day ended with nightfall and began at dawn. Pliny the naturalist was famous for working constantly, even in the litter as he was carried around by his slaves. Thus lucubration – working or studying hard – derives from a particular social circumstance, luckily no longer troubling to us. I think, thereto, of the later time when candles supplied the artificial light and the expressions arising: ‘the game is not worth the candle…burning the candle at both ends’ and I do not need to explain them, I hope.

Forsyth gives us some old friends, familiar from our own delving. ‘Grog’ whence ‘groggy’ one of a number of expressions which come out of our long maritime tradition. Pipe down, taken aback, by the board, leeway, long shot, tide over, bitter end, knowing the ropes, the devil to pay, splice the main brace, cut and run, in the doldrums spring to mind. And with what cheery delight Forsyth explodes the nonsense of the so-called origin of some acronyms: Store High In Transit as an instruction for stowing baggage on a boat; Wily Oriental Gentleman for those of a different coloured skin from thos using the term. He skips past POSH discrediting it, though without explanation, the usual source relating to women avoiding a tan during the ocean passage to India. Such obviously fanciful confections have that brass on the tongue taste of urban myth alternative facts, and ignorance.

Why do we speak of scooping the pool … taking a crap or talking it … talking turkey … eating a frankfurter, a hot dog?

I was recently taken aback by the pontification of a so-called expert in matters cultural who said that the Greeks had no word for blue. Colours can indeed be difficult to pin down in the ancient language; however, the lexicon supplies the answer here and it’s important because such a patently erroneous statement needs to be challenged. In writing to refute I refrained from saying pipe down.

The Greek word for blue is kuanos and there are several references in the Iliad and Odyssey, of enamel adornment on a shield or the folds of a garment - not definitive, of course. However, elsewhere Greek authors use it of a cornflower, lapis lazuli and blue carbonate which pins the colour. Add to this the fact that the word cyanide, which is blue, comes directly from the Greek. Moreover, the blue sea is sometimes referred to as cyan.

I leave you to discover the story Forsyth tells behind why we boot up a computer, but it’s intriguing for sure.

And some delicious touches: On WE Henley who wrote Invictus Forsyth comments ‘And not much else…thank God.’ Amen to that.

The Etymologicon is published by Icon Books.

RIDDLEY WALKER by Russell Hoban, reviewed by Adele Geras

"I opened Riddley Walker and almost closed it straight away. But I persisted because I was a Hoban fan ... "

(This post first appeared on The History Girls blog)

Bloomsbury are to be congratulated on keeping in print one of Hoban's most interesting books: Riddley Walker. This edition, from 2012, has a good introduction by Will Self and glancing through the many enthusiastic reviews on Amazon, I can see that it's mainly the science fiction fans and fantasy buffs who love it. I read it, as I say, long ago and in 1986, I saw a production of it at Manchester's Royal Exchange Theatre with David Threlfall as Riddley which was completely brilliant. It seemed then to be the kind of book which could never be adapted, but I suspect that nowadays, people are more likely to have seen Riddley Walker as a play.



On a visit to Canterbury Cathedral I saw this painting of St Eustace (whose legend is a very strange tale indeed) and that reminded me of Hoban's amazing novel.



Here is a detail of the painting above. I thought at once of Riddley Walker because the novel is deeply connected with the story of St Eustace.




Here is a page from the book, taken at random. When I saw this weird hybrid language, my heart sank. I'd known Hoban as the author of such novels as Turtle Diary and Kleinzeit. The latter was odd but marvellous and though it was surreal, I managed to read it with no difficulty and loved it. It was written in English, which was a great plus as far as I was concerned.

I must admit straight away that I am not a fantasy or science fiction fan. I do not like books about what happens after nuclear apocalypses. In general, I don't like books I have to decipher. I opened Riddley Walker and almost closed it straight away. But I persisted because I was a Hoban fan and I felt that there must be something there. Plus, of course, it was being reviewed and fêted all over the place, back in the day and when I was young, I liked being up to speed with what was new. I'm much less of a follower of fashion now that I'm older. So I deciphered the first page. Then I deciphered the second and on and on I went, drawn into Riddley's strange language, and his even stranger world. After a few pages, I was reading Riddley's tale with ease.

How to describe this book? How to persuade new readers to try it? It's a bit like The Road, by Cormac McCarthy in that it's post-Apocalyptic. It's set in a world which is very different from ours but in which certain things from our world (Punch and Judy shows, most importantly) have acquired a significance we never gave them. It's set in what is recognisably Kent (there's even a map in the front of the novel) and the Cathedral and St Eustace and his legend are of great importance. It's a book that's very hard to describe and it's not one that everyone will like, but it's full of humour and some of the sayings like "TRUBBA NOT" (don't worry) have become part of my personal vocabulary. I also like PRY MINCER for Prime Minister. It's a book which a certain kind of teenager would adore, and did adore when it first appeared. I've written this post in order to draw some attention to it so that hopefully a whole new audience can share Riddley's adventures. And if anyone else out there is a fan, I'd be very happy to read your opinion of this dazzling novel in the comments.