by Ammon Shea
Later in C I discover that Colubriad is defined simply as “the epic of a snake.” I had no idea that snakes were so advanced that they had gotten around to composing epics, and wonder if they will soon move on to doggerel poetry. Looking further in the entry I can see that this is the title of a work by Cowper in 1782, but no further information is available. I want to put the book down and go look at Cowper, but I feel I don’t have the time.
Several letters pass and I discover what is perhaps my favorite definition of all in the OED: disghibelline (“To distinguish, as a Guelph from a Ghibelline”). When I first read this I was convinced one of the editors had brought his children to work one day, and they amused themselves by creating nonsense definitions for the dictionary, and this one somehow slipped in. This time I could not resist, and went off in search of what Guelphs and Ghibellines are. It turns out they were competing political parties in Italy, a very long time ago, and disghibelline is in fact a real definition. When I read it and say it out loud a few times I have the same feeling I get when I discover that the library book I’ve just taken home has not been checked out in eighty years.
In the OED editors’ defense, they have set out to accomplish something that is inherently impossible—to record the entirety of a language. It is only natural they should occasionally come across words that are virtually indefinable, or that have meanings that have been lost to the ages. Whatever failings or inconsistencies the editors may exhibit are certainly not for lack of effort. James Murray in particular was renowned for attempting to ferret out knowledge, writing letters to every authority he could think of and posting queries in newspapers begging for information on a word. When I read the definition of lege de moy (“App. the name of some dance”) I cannot help but imagine that they must have spent a tremendous amount of time looking for the meaning and roots of this word before one of the editors finally threw his hands up in disgust and exclaimed, “What the hell—just say it’s some kind of dance or something, and let’s get to the pub.”
As a reader I never begrudge the OED its moments of error or inexplicable oddness. The only thing shocking to me is how infrequently they occur. Quite honestly, I’m relieved when I see the OED do silly things on occasion. It humanizes the dictionary, and makes more apparent that this creation is the work of people, not machines. It is fallible, and all the more impressive for it.
Mafflard (n.) A stuttering or blundering fool.
Stutterers have been getting the short end of the stick for thousands of years now, the unfortunate recipients of more misguided attempts at “curing” them than almost any other group, with the possible exception of the left-handed. In the Middle Ages, one theory was that the tongue itself was the problem, and so the logical course of action was, of course, to torture the offending organ with pins and hot irons. So the next time you are faced with a tedious and irritating mafflard, give a thought to the injustice suffered over the ages by stutterers.
Malesuete (adj.) Accustomed to poor habits or customs.
A nice, middle-of-the-road word for describing the common
flaws that afflict us all. Malesuete does not refer to the catastrophic,
hair-pulling, Greek tragedy kinds of flaws, such
as being the kind of person who sacrifices his own children.
It is more apt for describing things like clipping your
toenails in public: the minor flaws that annoy everyone
around you.
also see: foiblesse, hamartia
Mammothrept (adj.) A spoiled child or infant.
Equipped with a delightful etymology (from the Greek mammothreptos , a child brought up by his grandmother), mammothrept is a word with a touch of mystery. Its first recorded use is by Saint Augustine, which the OED finds puzzling, as Augustine did not know Greek, and in fact had written about his difficulty with the language. It is possible that he took the word from its use in postclassical Latin, a language he was comfortable with.
Maritality (n.) Excessive or undue affection on the part of a wife for her husband.
Maritality is used much less than its cognate uxoriousness
(undue affection for one’s wife), although neither one is heard
much these days. The adjectival form of the word is the almost
familiar maritorious.
also see: levament
Mataeotechny (n.) An unprofitable or useless science or skill.
That I am able to read dictionaries cover to cover and remember
words such as mataeotechny is something that everyone I
know would agree is unprofitable, most would say is useless,
but none would refer to as a skill.
also see: chrestomathic
Materteral (adj.) Having the characteristics or qualities of an aunt.
I do not know why avuncular (of or pertaining to an uncle) has had such success as a word, and materteral has had such a lack of it. In any event, it’s probably too late for materteral to get into the game now, it’s stuck with consobrinal (having the relationship of a cousin) on the slag heap of unlucky familial words that no one knows or cares about anymore.
Matrisate (v.) To imitate a mother.
Unlike most of the other words in the OED having to do with resembling
or imitating a mother, matrisate is entirely judgment-free,
allowing you to utilize it as you see fit, and without fear of
reprisal.
also see: novercal, patrizate
Matutinal (adj.) Active or wide awake in the morning hours.
Perhaps the only thing more annoying than someone who does well with mornings is the person who wants to tell you what the word for this is.
Mawworm (n.) A hypocrite with pretensions of sanctity.
Mawworm was the name of a character in a 1768 play by Isaac Bickerstaffe.
Mediocrist (n.) A person of mediocre talents.
Nobody wants to be mediocre, but someone has to be. In fact, by definition, most people are.
Microphily (n.) The friendship between people who are not equals in intelligence or status.
Even though this looks like it should be a happy word I can’t help but think of it otherwise. The example that always comes to my mind is in John Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men, and we all know how that turned out.
Micturient (adj.) Having a strong desire to urinate.
I rarely think this, but I am firmly of the opinion that the
OED dropped the ball—not with this word, which is admirably
defined, but with its cousin: cacaturient. In the
quote provided for micturient both words are used, yet cacaturient
is not defined in the dictionary. Although it is easy
enough to deduce its meaning in this context, I still think it
was robbed.
also see: pissupprest
Midlenting (n.) The custom of visiting parents on the fourth Sunday of Lent and giving them presents.
An old custom that died long ago, midlenting has not been in common use as a word for quite some time. I have included it simply as a means of scolding people to visit their parents more often, and to bring presents when they do. also see: storge
Minimifidian (n.) A person who has the bare minimum of faith (in something).
To the minimifidian the secret to happiness lies in the doctrine of lowered expectations. Which is not the worst way to go through life; it’s hard to be disappointed when you never expect anything.
Minionette (adj.) Small and attractive.
It is a good thing I don’t much believe our vocabulary is a representation of who we are, else I might have become alarmed at the fact that we have a much greater number of words for large and ugly things, and so few for small and pretty ones.
Misandry (n.) Hatred of men.
Although it is not a terribly uncommon word, misandry certainly enjoys far less currency today than its partner, misogyny . As part of my contribution to rectifying this inequality I propose that we all s
tart using misandry whenever the occasion arises.
Misclad (adj.) Inappropriately dressed.
After the definition, the OED adds that this word is “also in extended use,” a designation I’ve never been entirely sure about. In this case I choose to interpret it as meaning that misclad refers not only to people who dress poorly, but also to those people who dress in a way that is somehow so wrong that one automatically avoids them, such as children who insist on wearing rain gear on sunny days or men under the age of fifty who insist on wearing fedoras. also see: sansculottic
Misdelight (n.) Pleasure in something wrong.
Like many people, I am occasionally struck by the fact that there is a lack of common words in our language for some terribly common thing, such as the habit of taking delight in something that one shouldn’t. We all do this; even the saints among us will feel a quiver of excitement and satisfaction when a hated neighbor’s house burns down. The OED does include schadenfreude, a word borrowed from German, which means “to take pleasure in the misfortune of another.” But it left out one of my personal favorites, epicharicacy, which means the same thing as schadenfreude, and was in English dictionaries until the early nineteenth century.
Misdevout (adj.) Devout in an inappropriate way.
A word that is easy to describe loosely, but difficult to define with any great degree of specificity. After all, what is wrongly devout to one man may be perfectly appropriate to another. also see: antinomian
Miskissing (n.) Kissing that is wrong.
There are so many things to kiss improperly and so many ways to do so that I find it impractical that we should have to make do with but a single word to convey all of them.
Mislove (v.) To hate; to love in a sinful manner.
Mislove manages the neat trick of having two meanings that are almost opposite each other. While this is not an uncommon phenomenon (for example, left can refer to both having departed and remaining), words in this category are usually significantly more boring than mislove.
Monodynamic (adj.) Having only a single talent.
The technical word to describe a one-trick pony.
Moreish (adj.) Encouraging continued indulgence (said of food or drink).
Judging by the way it was used in the citations, moreish means
both wanting to have more because there was not enough in the
first place, and wanting more because the first serving was so
tasty.
also see: bouffage, gramaungere
Mothersome (adj.) Anxious or nervous in the way a mother is.
A cynic might notice that there is only one letter difference between mothersome and bothersome. I, of course, would never draw any parallel between the two. also see: novercal
Mumpish (adj.) “Sullenly angry.” (OED)
The OED notes in its citation for this word that Nathan Bailey
defined it slightly differently in his dictionary of 1721—“angry,
and silent withal.” I am one of those people who sinks into a
snittish and quiet funk when I am angry. And as always, I find it
distressing when I find an unlovely word that describes me so
well.
also see: obmutescence
Mumpsimus (n.) A stubborn refusal to give up an archaism, especially in speech or language.
I’m not averse to stubbornly clinging to an outdated notion or custom on occasion, and I do not think I would make the argument that our language is improving. But neither would I make the case that things used to be much better back in the time of Shakespeare and Dryden, and I find it puzzling when people insist that our language is under attack by the ravening hordes of ignorance, and will succumb any day now. Why do these people always point to the eras when the majority of the population was illiterate as illustrations of our lost eloquence?
It is as if they are saying, “Ah, we were so much more eloquent
before universal education.”
also see: palaeolatry
Mysophobia (n.) An irrational fear of dirt, or being dirty.
Cleanliness may very well be next to godliness and all that, but
when it is taken to extremes it becomes just another terribly
annoying trait. Sometimes there’s nothing wrong with a little
old-fashioned filth.
also see: fomes
Mythistory (n.) A mythologized account of history.
In other words: history.
N
ONE OF THE THINGS that has been painfully apparent as I read through the enormity of the English language is just how very little of it I know. I’ll often go through pages and pages without recognizing a single word. Other times I am repeatedly confronted with words I’ve always felt confident in my knowledge of, only to find that I’ve been misusing them for years, or that they have other meanings far more interesting than the ones I’ve been using.
Some days I feel as if I do not actually speak the English language, or understand it with any degree of real comprehension. It is as if I am visiting a foreign country, armed with some silly little tourist phrase book that I’ve perused for the few weeks before arrival. I may know enough to order a cup of coffee or inquire where the bathroom is, but not much more than that.
These feelings of incomprehension can be traced to several causes. The first is that when you read through a dictionary, and find that you have no idea what a great number of the words mean, it skews your perspective on your own grip on the language. How in the world can I claim to speak English when I’m ignorant of such an enormous amount of its vocabulary? Granted, English is significantly larger than any other language in the world, but still, it would be nice to at least know half of the words in it, and there is no possible way for that to happen.
Also, when I read the dictionary there is no way to keep in order all the words coming through my head. It is like trying to remember all the trees one sees through the window of a train. I lose all sense of what is and what is not a normal word. I’m surprised the OED does not list adoxography (good writing on a trivial subject), as I remember reading it elsewhere and was looking forward to seeing it here. Then I remember this is not a word that was ever really used by anyone outside of a small handful of lexicographers, and that must be the reason the editors chose to not include it. Although they did decide to include a number of other words that they specify were never in general use, and I regret the absence of adoxography.
In a similar fashion I’m both alarmed and amused when I get to glove—it seems a strange-looking word, and I find myself wondering why I’ve never seen this odd term that describes such a common article of clothing, and why the dictionary has devoted such a great amount of space to it. Then I remember what a glove is.
Sometimes I’ll go for pages and pages without reading the headwords, only the definitions. Time and again I will read fascinating definitions that turn out to belong to words I had always thought to be pedestrian and boring. The phrase “loyalty to, or partiality for, one’s comrades” made me think that the word it defined would be something fairly odd and special, and it of course turned out to be simply camaraderie, a word I would never have looked at twice if I happened by it in the street. To be so often intrigued and amazed by the meanings of words that are quite common is something I find both delightful and unsettling. How often in the rest of my life do I fail to pay attention to what words mean?
I’m constantly finding that the former meaning of a word differs significantly from how I know it today. When I learned that secretary meant “one privy to a secret” during the fourteenth century I was utterly delighted. And then almost immediately I began scolding myself for not having already realized such an obvious precedent, and thought that I should feel no excitement at discovering something that in hindsight seems so obvious. But it is exciting to make these little discoveries about the language, and it shouldn’t matter at all if they are obvious to someone else.
For a work that was born out of an era of, a
nd a desire for, scientific exactness, the OED has a surprising number of definitions that are poetic in their eloquence. It defines shut-purse as “the demon of miserliness,” which to my mind reads more like an indication of an editor’s grim distaste for misers than it does a strictly accurate definition. This bothers me not at all; I’m happy to see an occasional prejudice injected into the OED.
Nastify (v.) To render nasty; to spoil.
There is nothing terribly unusual about the meaning of nastify ; I have included it in this list simply because it looks like a word that would be fun to have rolling off your tongue. also see: insordescent
Natiform (adj.) Buttock-shaped.
An obsolete medical term, and one I was surprised to find had never (at least in the citations) been recorded as having been used as an insult.
Naturesse (n.) A generous act.
The thing you do for someone when you really, really want
something from them in return.
also see: storge
Nauseant (n.) That which nauseates you.
Some people consider certain foods to be nauseants. For others
it is things such as travel on a boat or in a bumpy car. For
me it is people.
also see: vomiturient
Need-sweat (n.) Sweat from nervousness or anxiety.
At exactly the moment when you neither need nor want to have sweat dripping and revealing your anxiety (such as when you find your boss standing in your doorway with arms crossed and brow furrowed), need-sweat is there for you.
Nefandous (adj.) Too odious to be spoken of.
From the classical Latin word nefandus (wicked or impious).
Some things really are too odious to be spoken of, and so I will
not mention them.
also see: tacenda
Neighbourize (v.) To be or act neighborly.
To some folk, this word may mean stopping by in the evening to share a cup of tea or dropping off a freshly baked apple pie for a new neighbor. To others, it will perhaps mean joining the local school board or the Rotary Club. To me, it reminds me of when my brother and I were young, and “Bananas” Brannick, who lived down the street, overheard my brother speak rudely to our mother. Bananas hoisted him over his shoulder, carried him up to his apartment on the fourth floor, and held him upside down out the window by his ankles, while spanking him and lecturing him on the importance of respect for one’s parents. Some people might consider this felonious assault on a minor; I think that in his own way Bananas was just neighbourizing.
