We say things. Use words. Casually, in conversation. In jest. As expletives. But have you ever stopped to think: 1) What the devil does that mean, anyway? and 2) Where on Earth did it come from?
I generally think about the origin of words only when watching the annual Scripps National Spelling Bee, when every kid approaches the microphone fully intending to inquire as to the specified word's language of origin, definition, and usage in a sentence, in large part, as a stall tactic.
However, I have been reading a book based in Europe during the mid 1700s, chronicling the exploits -- military, familial, and otherwise -- of a British Major and Lord, a member of highly respected aristocracy and secretly, as they tend to put it, a sodomite.
I know from where that term arises. (A good bit of eye-rolling inserted here.) But several other words have leapt from the page at me, and I have examined them in a new light.
One example: How many of you out there have ever called your favorite young child, adored pet, or ornery companion a "little bugger." Sounds innocent and playful, don't you think? Did you know you're calling said individual quite the vulgar word in British (and several other forms of) English and insinuating that the person is, in fact, the heretofore mentioned sodomite? Which might continue to be a term of endearment to some of you out there, no doubt, but causes others a case of the vapors.
Another example: If I said "salon," you'd say hair. Right? Beauty shop. You might even mention the online magazine of the same name. A quick Wikipeek indicates that a salon actually is a gathering at the home of an important host or hostess, in part to entertain and amuse each other and partly to refine themselves through conversation and readings. Although the term had its heyday in the 17th and 18th centuries, it seems the "practice continues today in cities around the world." Which shows not only my ignorance, but my incredible lack of social standing.
Another example: Viscount. I have never in my life used this word. I do not think I ever had occasion to. But this book prompted me to ask a rather undignified, HUH? I learned that a viscount (pronounced VY-count) is a member of the European nobility whose title usually ranks above a baron, below an earl (in Britain) or a count (his continental equivalent). Lah. Dee. Dah.
I fear that I am becoming unduly affected by this book. I hope it is not too noticeable an affliction. If you care to pontificate over such questions and oddities of language (as well as to fall completely head over heels in love with a cast of quirky characters), I'd invite you to read Lord John and the Brotherhood of the Blade by Diana Gabaldon.
Be thankful I've already read the previous books in her epic Outlander series, which follows the life and legacy of Jamie Fraser, a Scottish highlander with a brogue that had me, for months upon end now, curlin' me ars and rollin' me tongue in throat like I dinna ken possible. Or who knows what sort of unreadable blog posts to which you might be summarily subjected.
I'm just blown away by the fact that all of this history, creativity and linguistical magic comes from an author who holds a master's degree in -- all seriousness -- marine biology.
Flummoxed, indeed.
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