Ammon Shea of New York City has accomplished a feat I find as herculean as I do mystifying: he has read the entire print version of the Oxford English Dictionary. To the reader who may not know of this behemoth reference work, we are not discussing even a run-of-the-mill, six-inch-thick unabridged tome. The Oxford English Dictionary covers over twenty volumes and spans over 21,000 pages.
Shea is a quintessential vocabularian, a noun defined on page 194 of his book as "one who pays too much attention to words"--the title of his journey through the English language's flagship dictionary is Reading the OED: One Man, One Year, 21,730 Pages (Penguin, July 2008).
As soon as this title was brought to the library's main floor from the technical services department, I was keen on learning all about the author's journey. From the outset, Shea showers a word-enthusiast with the varied riches the OED offers: the introduction is labeled "Exordium", one of thousands of new terms the author collected during his perusal. Every chapter commences with a brief description of his reading adventure: apparently his eyesight all but disintegrated as he relentlessly absorbed the OED's rather merciless, small print. He also details the library basement where he spent most of his reading time, replete with visiting mice and occasionally-irksome undergraduate students (I was secretly empathetic as Shea described his inward battle to refrain from shushing them soundly).
But the crux of each chapter is a list of words starting with each letter of the alphabet which the author found noteworthy. Shea often comments on the astonishing array of words in the English language that exist for specific objects, conditions, sentiments, etc., which are virtually unknown for whatever reason.
I would be remiss not to share at least a few such entries which I found truly wonderful:
1) acnestis: the point of the lower back on an animal which cannot be scratched with the limbs (everyone's suffered through the cruelty of an itchy acnestis, but who knew the word to describe it?)
2) epizeuxis: the vehement repetition of a word (i.e., "No no no no NO!": the grammarian in me nearly swooned with joy, as I'd never known there is a term for such a construct)
3) materteral: pertaining to an aunt; aunt-like (my reaction to this word was neatly mirrored by the author's own; the word avuncular, meaning like an uncle, is widely known; why did the adjective for aunt fall into oblivion? If there's one word I learned from this book that I will be certain to use in the future, it's materteral)
4) opsigamy: marriage occurring late in life (!)
5) sialoquent: describing one who spits while speaking (honestly, we've all been subjected to this horrible practice--the next time I encounter it, I shall employ this deliciously obscure adjective to request the speaker to cease and desist)
Shea is a quintessential vocabularian, a noun defined on page 194 of his book as "one who pays too much attention to words"--the title of his journey through the English language's flagship dictionary is Reading the OED: One Man, One Year, 21,730 Pages (Penguin, July 2008).
As soon as this title was brought to the library's main floor from the technical services department, I was keen on learning all about the author's journey. From the outset, Shea showers a word-enthusiast with the varied riches the OED offers: the introduction is labeled "Exordium", one of thousands of new terms the author collected during his perusal. Every chapter commences with a brief description of his reading adventure: apparently his eyesight all but disintegrated as he relentlessly absorbed the OED's rather merciless, small print. He also details the library basement where he spent most of his reading time, replete with visiting mice and occasionally-irksome undergraduate students (I was secretly empathetic as Shea described his inward battle to refrain from shushing them soundly).
But the crux of each chapter is a list of words starting with each letter of the alphabet which the author found noteworthy. Shea often comments on the astonishing array of words in the English language that exist for specific objects, conditions, sentiments, etc., which are virtually unknown for whatever reason.
I would be remiss not to share at least a few such entries which I found truly wonderful:
1) acnestis: the point of the lower back on an animal which cannot be scratched with the limbs (everyone's suffered through the cruelty of an itchy acnestis, but who knew the word to describe it?)
2) epizeuxis: the vehement repetition of a word (i.e., "No no no no NO!": the grammarian in me nearly swooned with joy, as I'd never known there is a term for such a construct)
3) materteral: pertaining to an aunt; aunt-like (my reaction to this word was neatly mirrored by the author's own; the word avuncular, meaning like an uncle, is widely known; why did the adjective for aunt fall into oblivion? If there's one word I learned from this book that I will be certain to use in the future, it's materteral)
4) opsigamy: marriage occurring late in life (!)
5) sialoquent: describing one who spits while speaking (honestly, we've all been subjected to this horrible practice--the next time I encounter it, I shall employ this deliciously obscure adjective to request the speaker to cease and desist)
I was very happy when I was able to recognize at least two entries before reading their definitions (hamartia and pandiculation)--others I tried hazarding a guess by looking at their roots before reading the descriptions (with very limited success).
Any lover of the English language will be caught up in the lexicographical exploits Mr. Shea details in this amazing little book, and certainly come away with more than one new word to embellish even the most advanced of vocabularies.
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