Adventures in Logophilia Day 38: chimera (jillian)

Today's word is...

chimera

From steampunkwines.com.

A chimera (noun and sometimes capitalized) is a fire-breathing she-monster from Greek mythology with a lion's head, a goat's body and a serpent's tail.  Chimera has come to describe any imaginary hybrid monster.  Chimera is also one of my favorite metaphors describing a illusion, vision or an unfathomable, soul-shaking nightmare.  In biology and genetics, the term refers to an individual made of unmatching genetic material; in theory what might happen if an embryo sometime in the early stages of division absorbs another "sibling" embryo. One also thinks of chimeras in regards to conjoined human twins or a cat born with two heads - phenomena stranger than fiction.  If that's not an image for Halloween, I don't know what is.

Adventures in Logophilia Day 37: Lycanthropia (jillian)

Today's word is...

lycanthropia

Lycanthropia (an archaic noun) refers to "a variety of melancholy in which the person believes himself to be changed into a wolf." (From Jeffrey Kacirk's Forgotten English) Therefore a lycanthrope is a werewolf - not someone who likes lichens.  That would be "lichenthrope."  According to Oxford Dictionaries lycanthrope is a 17th century term.  So... not medieval but a decidedly early modern paranoia.  It makes me wonder how the werewolf myth began in the first place.

As it is so close to Halloween, I should have put this word into spooky calligraphy, but alas, I ran out of time this morning. 

Whimsy on Wednesday (Jillian)

A little literary news reel for you:

• On the Telegraph, British author Hilary Mantel has won the Man Booker Prize for her novel Bring Up the Bodies, a sequel to Wolf Hall, which follows Thomas Cromwell at the court of Henry VIII.  Bring Up the Bodies details the Anne Boleyn scandal and her unhappy end.  Ms. Mantel is one of two authors to have won the Man Booker Prize twice and the only woman to do so.  This is a great testament to the power of fiction written well... and historical fiction at that.  Hers is the only Tudor-esque novel out of the hundreds that exist that I want very badly to read. 
• Ian McEwan, also a Booker Prize winner, has said recently that the novella is the perfect literary form.  He might be right but that's quite a difficult thing to accomplish.
• NPR has a lovely article on the 60th anniversary of E.B. White's Charlotte's Web.
• National Novel Writing Month is coming up in November.  Writer Unboxed has several posts on preparing for the project.  I am considering participating in it this year, if only to maintain my sanity during this time of the Sisyphean synopsis.  I think it would be a good way to churn out a first draft of a novel, intense though it may be. 
• Publishers Marketplace had an article on Ann Patchett interviewing JK Rowling.  One tidbit I found interesting: "I find that discussing an idea out loud is often the way to kill it stone dead.  They all sound rubbish," she said. I find this to be particularly true.  My ideas for stories or little nuances in my novel must be kept inside - let out too soon, even in private dialogue with oneself, and the idea evaporates or turns to dust. 

Adventures in Logophilia Day 36: St. Luke's Summer (Jillian)

Today's word/phrase is...

Saint Luke's summer

According to Oxford Dictionaries, Saint Luke's summer (a British term) is a period of fine weather around the 18th of October, which is Saint Luke's feast day.  I honestly don't remember how I came across this phrase, but it fascinates me... an older version of what we'd call "Indian summer."  Especially in England and Europe where the days of the year were marked by saints' days and sundry feasts, this makes particular sense.  It puts a new spin on the word lukewarm, as well. 

It makes for an interesting metaphor - a little pocket of summer come to rest inside another season.  For the last several days we've had a glorious St. Luke's summer: the leaves are golden, red, orange and purple, beautiful autumn, and yet temperatures climbed into the 80s.  It was summer.  I tend to enjoy these bizarre weather-fronts: the odd January days that reach the 60s or 70s and melt a month's worth of snow; the chilly, blustery fronts in July when we suddenly wonder where the oven of summer has gone.  They're rogue summers and winters - visiting out of season but welcome guests nonetheless.  I don't think it's as significant as climate change, but weather-change and weather-mood. 

There is another version of Saint Luke's summer which is Saint Martin's summer, basically nice, warm weather around the 11th of November, the feast day of St. Martin of Tours. 

Adventures in Logophilia Day 35: Niobe (jillian)

Today's word is...

In Greek mythology, Niobe (noun) was the daughter of Tantalus and the wife of Amphion, of whom Homer refers to in the Iliad.  The gods punished her for an over abundance of pride (or hubris, which means "excessive self-pride or confidence" either in honor or in defiance of the gods... leading to a smack-down) with the deaths of her children.While weeping for her slain children she was turned into a stone from which her tears continue to flow. 

Niobe turns up in metaphor the way that Sisyphus and Oedipus do, and we just can't remember where we've heard the name before.  Homer did, of course, pack on the characters.  Well, now we both know that any reference to Niobe implies sorrowful, eternal weeping. 

Adventures in Logophilia Day 34: juvenescence (jillian)

Today's word is...

Juvenescence (noun) is the state of being youthful or of growing young.  My goal/resolution/mantra every birthday. 

Adventures in Logophilia Day 33: brackish

The word for Day 33 is...

Something brackish (adjective) is described as either somewhat salty; or not appealing to the taste and therefore repulsive.  This is the perfect word to describe the bread I made yesterday - 'twas brackish and wouldn't rise for the life of me, even though I followed the recipe in the bread-machine booklet.  Naturally, the loaf went into the bin, and I was thirsty the rest of the evening.

Adventures in Logophilia Day 32: pomaceous (Jillian)

The word for Day 32 on our logophiliac journey is...

Something pomaceous (adjective) is of or relates to apples... or resembling a pome (an apple).   We've entered into a time of apples, all right.  The only apple I can really stand these days is a Jonathan, perhaps because they are sweet in a way I don't find disgusting like a Gala or a Braeburn.  Unfortunately, I've noticed, the worms like Jonathans, too.

Adventures in Logophilia Day 31: katzenjammer (Jillian)

The word for Day 31 is...

Katzenjammer (noun) is distress, depression or confusion resembling that caused by a hangover; a discordant clamor.  It is a German word constructed of "cats" and "distress", so it could conceivably refer to the mess left behind by an overly curious cat longing for attention, as well as a pounding headache or a panic attack.  Perhaps all three at once.

Adventures in Logophilia Day 30: Anthropomorphic (jillian)

Today's word is...

anthropomorphic

Try saying that three times fast!  Anthropomorphic (an adjective and proof that if you force yourself to write it out several times you will eventually learn to spell it properly) simply is an act of attributing human qualities to non-humans. 

No one was better at this than Beatrix Potter.  I grew up with tales of Tom Kitten, Peter Rabbit and Squirrel Nutkin - speaking, getting into trouble, trying to run away from home (and sometimes winding up victim to a family of kitten-hungry rats... roly poly roly...).  It filled me with such joy when I heard Emma Thompson, actress and writer, came to write the further adventures of Peter Rabbit.  On NPR today, there is an excerpt with illustrations of the new book, and it seems to be as charming as its predecessors.  Please take a look!

Adventures in Logophilia Day 27, 28, 29 (Jillian)

It has been a crazy handful of days, so we're playing catch-up here at Daedalus Notes.  So... here are three words for today to fill in the days:

cabal

Day 27.  A cabal (noun, pronounced ka-BAL) is a secret clique or faction (sometimes political) trying to overturn something or have their own way.  I attribute this word to Michelle, as she used it several times during our visit.  Beware cabals for those in them may not be aware they are cabalists (which is now a word, sort-of-rhyming with "catalysts", and therefore can also be spelled "cabalysts.").  They may be lurking in unsuspecting places.  They may be the reason for your inexplicable stomach aches or back pains.

pluvial

Day 28.  Something pluvial (an adjective) relates to or is characterized by rainfall; it is ultimately from the Latin word "pluvia" for rain.  Yes, we had our rainy days aplenty in New England this last week.  Michelle and I spent a few afternoons huddled by the light-box, drinking tea. 

mackerel sky

Day 29. A mackerel sky (noun) occurs when the sky is dappled with rows of small, white fleecy clouds (cirrocumulus), a pattern which resembles the spots on a mackerel's back.  I saw such a sky when Michelle and I were on the boat after seeing whales, heading back into Gloucester, a testament to the near-perfect weather we experienced that day.  Whales, mackerel-clouds, water painted silver in the sunwash.  What more could one ask for?

 ***

And a whimsy for today.  The great Salman Rushdie, whose autobiographical work Joseph Anton was published recently, was quoted commenting on Fifty Shades of Grey in the Telegraph: "It made Twilight look like War and Peace." I laughed.

Adventures in Logophilia Day 25: Frisson

Today's word is:

I am currently experiencing a frisson (noun, pronounced FREE-zon), which is a French term for a sudden strong feeling of excitement or fear, a thrill.  We are going on a whale watch today.  That's pretty thrilling, I'd say, for a girl from the prairie, who has seen more buffalo than whales in her lifetime.  Coming to the ocean itself is always a new experience, like being on the edge of the world and knowing there is an entirely new environment with new creatures out there to discover by catamaran, kayak or tourist boat.  I've seen dolphins off the Gulf Coast of Florida and patted sting rays in Boston.  There is nothing like this new-world thrill. 

Adventures in Logophilia Day 24: Watershed

Today's word is:

watershed

 

A watershed (noun) is a divide or, more specifically, a region or area bounded peripherally by a divide and draining ultimately into a particular watercourse or body of water.  This is used to describe a crucial dividing point, line or factor; a turning point.  A watershed moment.

 

Always, I've found, that coming to see Michelle divides little epochs in my life.  The last time I was here, I had the spark of inspiration for a novel.  This time, I am learning to test the waters of a writer-in-the-world.  This is the point where things have come into total clarity (or near-total clarity), and I cannot go back to the former way of thinking about graduate school or how it relates to my worth as a writer.  I am in watershed days now, and I am excited to see what pool these waters eventually fill.

Adventures in Logophilia Days 21, 22, 23 (Jillian)

I've been travelling this week, so the logophilia had to be pushed aside for a few days.  Nonetheless, here are a few snippets for your enjoyment:

Day 21:

maladroit

 

 

One who is maladroit (adjective) is clumsy and tactless.  I thought this was especially appropriate considering episodes that happened Monday, as I wore contact lenses for the first time in ages and as I adapted to the sudden change in depth perception, I found myself tripping over things and running into walls.  Classic, unrehearshed, unintended slapstick.

 

 

Day 22:

 

 

A marplot (noun) is one who frustrates or ruins a plan or undertaking through his or her conscious or unconscious meddling.  According to Oxford Dictionaries, this word is indicative of a 17th century tendency to add "mar-" to nouns to create a term for someone who "mars" or "spoils" something, like "marjoy" or our version of it "killjoy." 

I've thought about this word and I couldn't help but envision it as a tactless person who inadvertantly spoils the major plot details and ending of a movie his or her friend hasn't seen yet.  In other words: spoilers.  I was a kid when the original Star Wars trilogy was re-released into theatres.  I went to see The Empire Strikes Back with a friend from school, and I remember her saying, "You do know that Luke and Leia are brother and sister, right?" I was both stunned and dubious.  Then, I went home and asked my parents at dinner, thereby spoiling it for my sister who hadn't known either.

Day 23:

 A quinquennium, simply put, is a period of five years.

 

This is one of those "there's a word for that?" terms.  It makes the word "decade" almost boring - so you could say instead "Two quinquennia ago, I was in high school." It will make you sound cool and learned.  It is one of those long words normal people would not use, and probably shouldn't use in everyday life, but I firmly believe that even big words can be used in our writing if done so with great care. 

 

 

Until tomorrow...

Adventures in Logophilia Day 19: Michaelmas

Today's word is Michaelmas (noun, of course), the feast day of St. Michael, otherwise known as the Archangel Michael. 

I chose Michaelmas because I'd meant to write about it on September 29th and subsequently forgot.  Michaelmas is a milestone date in the medieval calendar: harvest-time, formerly a holy day of obligation, and recognized as the fall quarterly when accounts were settled between peasants and their overlords.  One of my favorite, oft-read books as a child was Catherine Called Birdy by Karen Cushman, depicting life from the point of view of a thirteen year old girl in England in1290 .  It's brilliant.  I still read it to this day actually, because it paints a vivid picture of the feast days, the uncertainty of life and the wonder that inhabited the world in those days.  Michaelmas was one such feature and showed the peasants "settling accounts" with (and trying to cheat) Catherine's father, and the entire community feasting and carousing.  Lammas (first of August, marking harvest) and Michaelmas marked the passing of time, the days before All Hallows and the coming on of winter, like our own Labor Day or even this rash of football Saturdays that spread across town.  (Even more appropriate as this football team's color is an unmistakable shade of red.)  I remember being absolutely fascinated with celebrations long-gone that sounded like Christmas.  That was before I understand what the "mass" implied and some of the mystery went out of it, but still... curiosity is and always has been fuel for me.

Michaelmas, I came to learn some years ago, is how Oxford and other British universities mark the beginning of the autumn term, called Michaelmas Term.  The first week of classes (called North Week) begins the first week of October.  The spring term is Hilary, the summer term is Trinity. 

Adventures in Logophilia Day 18: Knackered

Today's word is...

"Knackered" is a British expression (an adjective) meaning tired and exhausted. 

This is how one is when one spends the day preparing for a long-distance trip for the sort-of-annual "conference" for the Daedalus Notes moderators.  So much to do, in fact, that one blogger forgot to blog today.  I love British expressions like these, not just because I'm an unabashed Anglophile, but because they sound right... just like those British nonsense words codswallop and tommyrot, chuffed (meaning very excited), whinge (to whine - was it any coincidence that Harry Potter's muggle relatives the Dursley's lived in Little Whingeing?), swot (to "cram" for a test) and twee (meaning quaint).  In this case, knackered is the best way to describe my current physical state: wiped out, shutting down, ready for BED!

Adventures in Logophilia Day 17: Amanuensis

Today's word is...

An amanuensis (noun) is a person employed to write from dictation or to copy manuscript - from the 17th century, referring to a scrivener, scribe or secretary.  Pronounced: "ah-man-yuh-WEN-sis."

This sounds like a very important job title.  Imagine if we secretaries and copyists went by such a title these days?  I love the way it looks.  Copy-work isn't exciting.  If you've ever read Melville's "Bartleby the Scrivener", you know what I mean: three men were employed in the narrator's office to keep track of documents and duplicate them.  Margaret Lea, the narrator in The Thirteenth Tale, describes herself as an amanuensis to a famous writer telling her last scintillating tale.  Amanuensises (is that right?) are the first listeners of a story, becoming the silent narrators upon its retelling.  It is a role we inhabit when we're constructing our stories: the story/novel comes out of us, it is our job to obey and see where it wants us to go instead of the other way around.  The story dictates.  We do our best to copy.  Writing is humble, but it can indeed be glorious work.

***

You may have noticed I located a manual typewriter.  All I had to do was inquire of my roommate.  As this was her grandparents' house, I am surrounded by hidden treasures waiting to be used.

Adventures in Logophilia Day 15: Quidnunc

Today's word is...

A quidnunc (noun) is a person who seeks to know all the latest gossip or news, in other words a busybody.  In Latin, it is literally "what now?"

I think we all have quidnunc moments (it can be a verb - I've decided), and I don't mean this in a bad way.  Not every is "up" on celebrity gossip, but when events sweep the nation or the world, we can't help but chatter about it - turn around to our neighbor in the next cubicle or inquire of a roommate if they "heard" about that thing the president said or what the weather looks like: "Man, if we don't get rain soon..." It's only human nature to twitter about these things... which is why something like, well, Twitter exists.  We were tweeting long before it required an email address and a password, long before ampersands and hashtags.  We do it everyday, whether it's from a blog like Daedalus or over morning coffee.  News spreads like wildfire, and we've become very good at producing a faster, more intense burn.

I just love how Latin works its way into our era.  See?  Whoever said Latin was dead obviously didn't like words like this gem!

Whimsical Wednesday: From Rowling to Rebecca

Here is the mid-week whimsy report:

• The New York Daily News got hold of a copy of J. K. Rowling's The Casual Vacancy in advance of its release.  They've gone ahead and called it dull, but judging from how the release of this book is a highly anticipated event, I'd imagine others will have their own opinions.
• NPR has an article on a Broadway musical-that-could-be based on Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca.  A Broadway musical of Rebecca?  I'm in. 
• The Telegraph has a lovely article compiling reflections of authors and their first jobs.  It makes me feel like my beginnings, humble as they are, are in good company and not to be regretted.  Among the stories: Hilary Mantel was a social worker in a geriatric hospital; Attica Locke worked in her father's law office; Joe Dunthorne was an incompetant barman. 
• The Emmys were Sunday night.  I was disappointed, of course, that none of the gentlemen from Sherlock (Cumberbatch, Moffat and Freeman) won anything.  I suppose they have a few BAFTAs anyhow, though.  There was a lot of talent in the room, I must say.  And it was a big room.
•  Jillian is now on Twitter.  She still hasn't quite figured out how to use it.  Details to come!

Adventures in Logophilia Day 14: Tommyrot

Today's word is...

Tommyrot (noun) is a British term for nonsense - tommy meaning "fool".  Other words with similar meanings are codswallop, balderdash, poppycock and blatherskite.  All with a distinctly Victorian, Dickensian, nonsensical music to them.  I fell in love with the word in the third episode of Doctor Who Series 1, when the Doctor is explaining the existence of ghosts which haunt a funeral home and Charles Dickens himself snorts the word.   

I love these words that invent themselves, make little sense, but having so much meaning nonetheless.