Showing posts with label Lexicography. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lexicography. Show all posts

Wednesday, February 12, 2014

The Great Gadsby: A Rare Book Written The Hard Way, No "E"s

by Stephen J. Gertz


Today is Lipogram Day on Booktryst, and because it is Lipogram Day we celebrate Gadsby, a novel from 1939 whose sole claim to fame is that of its 50,110 words not a single one contains the letter "E." 

Lipograms, which have nothing to do with liposuction unless you're vacuuming avoirdupois letters from a composition that could use a little less around the middle, are simply forms of writing from which the author has omitted a certain letter or letters from the alphabet.


The form dates to the ancient world. The Greek poets Nestor of Laranda and Tryphiodorus wrote lipogrammatic adaptations of Homer, with Nestor composing an Iliad, followed by an Odyssey by Tryphiodorus.

If you're a writer composing in English the most challenging lipogram will involve leaving out our most common vowel, "E." Gadsby novelist Ernest Vincent Wright gave himself a rigorous task: no common English words such as "the" and "he"; plurals in "-es"; past tenses in "-ed"; and even abbreviations like "Mr." (for "Mister") or "Bob" (for "Robert"). In short, he deliberately gave himself a pain in the ass to work through. To ease his E-burden and avoid mistakes he tied down the "E" on his typewriter's keyboard.

Personally, I consider that cheating but shiftless scribe that I am, I once wrote an entire novel without using any letters from the alphabet. It was harder than you think. I had to jerry-rig a shield over my keyboard to prevent all twenty-six letters from being accidentally depressed. It was grueling. The prose was pristine (as well as the paper when printed-out) but the story pointless, as well as invisible. It was an ordeal. I had to take days off to recover and got nothing written at all.


Lipograms are just about the silliest form of writing endeavor I can imagine, the writer held hostage to a form that is more puzzle than novel, an intellectual game of dubious literary value where form trumps content and quality goes down for the count. So it was something of a miracle that Wright not only pulled it off but did so with aplomb. He tells the story well, the necessary substitution of words without "E" flowing smoothly off the page rather than causing the pain associated with a dentist pulling "E"s out of your gums without anesthesia.

An anonymous narrator relates the tale, which begins c. 1906 and continues through World War I, Prohibition, and the presidency of Warren G. Harding. The narrator introduces us to the city of Branton Hills, its history, and sterling citizen John Gadsby's place in it. Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts abound, as if a Jamboree hit town and afterward left the scouts behind with sticks, string, and kindling fluff that ignite a political career when middle-aged churchman John Gadsby wakes up his sleepy, isolated community with the help of these youngsters, and soon becomes its Mayor in the process. 


Ernest Vincent Wright was a graduate of M.I.T. and served in the First World War. A warehouse fire shortly after the book's publication accounts for its rarity. With dust jacket it is absolutely scarce. According to the jacket blurb it took Wright 150 days to complete the work, but, apparently it was years in the making; hamstringing your keyboard will only go so far - you have to plan ahead. The novel, such as it is, has become legend in word circles, admired by lexicographers, lipogrammatists, puzzlers, and language freaks.

Gadsby has its own Wikipedia page which notes: "The book's scarcity and oddness has seen original copies priced at $4,000 by book dealers."

Wikipedia needs to update its entry. There is only one copy with dust jacket currently being offered in the marketplace. The asking price is $7,500.

"E"gad.
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NB: In further honor of Lipogram Day this post was written without "X" being the first letter of a word. This, despite my best efforts to work Xanthans, Xanthate, Xanthein, Xanthene, Xanthine, Xanthins, Xanthoma, Xanthone, Xanthous, Xenogamy, Xenogeny, Xenolith, Xerosere, Xerox, Xiphoid, Xylidine, Xylidins, Xylitols, Xylocarp, Xylotomy, Xanthan, Xanthic, Xanthin, Xenopus, Xerarch, Xeroses, Xerosis, Xerotic, Xeruses, Xiphoid, Xylenes, Xylidin, Xylitol, Xyloses, Xysters, Xebecs, Xenial, Xenias, Xenons, Xylans, Xylems, Xylene, Xyloid, Xylols, Xylose, Xylyls, Xyster, Xystoi, Xystos, Xystus, Xebec, Xenia, Xenic, Xenon, Xeric, Xerus, Xylan, Xylem, Xylol, Xylyl, Xysti, Xyst, Xerostomia, or Xylophone into the narrative. 

No excuse.
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WRIGHT, Ernest Vincent. Gadsby. A Story of Over 50,000 Words Without Using the Letter "E." Los Angeles, Wetzel Publishing Co., (1939). First edition. Octavo. 267 pp. Original red cloth stamped in black on upper cover and spine. Dust jacket.
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Image courtesy of Rulon-Miller Books, currently offering this title, with our thanks.
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Friday, January 20, 2012

Vivid Criminal Slang on the City Streets of France

by Stephen J. Gertz


L'Argot de "Milieu" was a groundbreaking and influential dictionary of criminal and low-life French slang, born of the fascination with crime and criminals that had swept early 20th century France in the wake of modern advances in forensics  that had allowed, for the first time, the tracking, apprehension, and prosecution of criminals using scientific methods.


Author Jean Lacassagne (1886-1960), who also wrote under the pseudonym, François Seringard,  was the son of the great Lyon forensic criminologist, Alexandre Lacassagne (1843-1924), was head of the Lyon prison medical service, and took a lifelong interest in the darker side of human nature, conducting many studies of French criminal subculture. This book was reprinted and revised several times but the first edition, with its striking color illustration by French painter, illustrator, and engraver André Dignimont (1891-1965, and known for his stylish erotica), is scarce.


Lacassagne fils became the doctor of a regiment during the First World War, and received his Ph.D. in 1916. He was also one of founders of l'Association républicaine pour favoriser les études médicales 1923-1924, becoming one of the most active members.  He became a knight in the Legion of Honor in 1925.

As Clinical Director at Antiquaille he was a specialist in venereal diseases, treating prostitutes and detainees. In 1945 he received a medal from the prison for twenty five years of service.


Like his father, he was extremely interested in criminal anthropology.  He published articles and books inspired by his meetings and correspondence with criminals. He observed their tattoos, studied their slang, investigated their history, psychology, and collected their reminiscences.

Writer of the Preface, Francis Carco, fantaisiste poet, novelist, and art critic, published several works in Parisian argot depicting the street life of Montmartre. 
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 LACASSAGNE. Docteur Jean. L'Argot du "Milieu." Préface de Francis Carco. Paris: Albin Michel, n.d. [1928]. First edition. Octavo (186 x 119 mm), xxii, 293, [1] pp. Pictorial wrappers, illustrated by André Dignimont.

Reprinted in 1935, 1948, 1951, and 1955. The edition of 1935 reproduces the original wrapper illustration but with the title text design revised.
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Images from L'Argot du "Milieu" courtesy of Justin Croft Antiquarian Books, with our thanks.
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Friday, November 5, 2010

Adopt an Obsolete Word, Save It From Extinction!

by Stephen J. Gertz



An archaic word is a terrible thing to waste and the Oxford English Dictionary is doing something about it, seeking foster homes for the abandoned senior-word set.

Each year hundreds of words are dropped from the English language, cruelly kicked to the curb for no other reason than they’ve fallen out of fashion and are considered old codgers unfit to roll off trendy tongues or keyboards. They become as rare as the books we talk about here on Booktryst.

Old words, wise words, working-stiff words, words to live by, words to die for, words that "once led meaningful lives but now lie unused, unloved and unwanted." Victims of modern vocabulary, they wander the streets, homeless, derelicts in a twisted world that prefers its words in the lexicographical now, not the way back when. They don’t get enough exercise, have lost their strength and are losing their lease on life if they haven’t already succumbed to senescence to haunt the imaginations of the guilty for not doing enough to keep ‘em alive.


According to the good folks at the OED, everything we write is communicated by only 7,000 words. We’ve all read examples where the writer seemed to have only fifty of them at their command (apologies to Kayne West), and listened to people who said the same thing over and over again in two words, often monosyllables (“That’s hot!”).


We need all the good words we can get. In language, nuance is everything and why waste ten vague words when one perfect one will do; avoid parisology at all or some costs. Not only do the good ones die young, they die old, their souls wandering aimlessly through the big dictionary in the sky, suicides that could not bear the loneliness of disuse, that were driven to despair and then drove themselves off the road and into eternal darkness. They are the over-the-hill symbolic salesmen of concepts, the Willy Lomans of Logosville.

Attention must be paid!


To prevent further tragedy, the OED has initiated an Adopt-a-Word program, Save The Words. Unlike Save the Children, no monthly stipend is necessary to keep them fed, off the streets, in school, and out of trouble, just your awareness and verbal and written support. You may even opt for a customized T-shirt to show the world you care, that this word – your word – is worthy of pride and slipping into everyday conversation or casual email.


The only downside is that you will never receive a letter from your word with news and thanks for all your help, accompanied by a photo of your word, doe-eyed and all smiles due to  your assistance.

You are not, apparently, limited to how many words you can adopt. If you so desire you can become the Mia Farrow or Angelina Jolie of word adoption and continue adopting them until you run out of room in the house, don’t have enough to say or write to keep them occupied and feeling as wanted and valuable as your other adoptees, or they outnumber the paparazzi that follow your every move and hang on every word, obsolete or otherwise.

Parenthood has never been so painless, logolepsy so pleasant. Don't perendinate, adopt now!

Three cheers for logoresurrection.

P.S.: Same-sex couples can adopt, no problem.
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All images courtesy of Save the Words, with our thanks.

Thanks to LISNews for the lead.

A Booktryst bow at the waist to Luciferous Logolepsy.
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Tuesday, June 8, 2010

Twelve Weird Words Every Bibliophile Should Know


When bibliomaniacs meet Lexima, the goddess of words, they often, like the present writer, become leximaniacs as well, always on the prowl for strange and curious words to fertilize conversation, season prose, or just delight with their weirdness. And if the word is book-related, heaven.


Biblioclasm: Destruction of books.

Biblioclast: One who mutilates or destroys books.

Bibliogony: The art of producing and publishing books.

Biblioklept: One who steals books.

Bibliolatry: Extravagant devotion to or dependence upon books.

Bibliomancy: Fortunetelling by random Bible-passage picking.

Bibliopegy: Bookbinding.

Bibliophage: An ardent reader; a bookworm.

Bibliopolist: A rare book dealer. Also: Bibliopole.

Bibliotaph: One who hoards or hides books.

Bibiotherapy: The use of reading as an ameliorative adjunct to therapy.

Bibliotics: The analysis of handwriting and documents, esp. to authenticate authorship.

•••

And the same words defined by Booktryst:

Biblioclasm: A book catastrophe, i.e. any book written by worst film director of all time, Ed Wood.

Biblioclast: One who reads books that attack established beliefs or institutions.

Bibliogony: The pain associated with free time and no book to read.

Biblioklept: A person named after a book, i.e. Jay Gatsby Lipschitz. From: biblio + yclept (named).

Bibliolatry: Worship of Biblios, the God of Reading.

Bibliomancy: A light romance and/or fancy for a particular book.

Bibliopegy: The highest point in a book's sales arc.

Bibliophage: One who eats books for breakfast while reading the cereal box.

Bibliopolist: A dealer trying to corner the market for a particular rare book.

Bibliopole: Stage prop used by nude dancers who read books while performing.

Bibliotaph: Tombstone inscription for book lovers, i.e. "He died with his books on."

Bibliotherapy: What bibliophiles have been engaging in since birth into a depressing world.

Bibliotics: The art of reading with your ears.
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Of related interest:
New Book On Weird Words Is An Enchiridion.
New Online Dictionary For Word Mavens.
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We invite readers to post their own weird book-related words with standard definitions and, if so inclined, their own.
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Thursday, September 10, 2009

New Book on Weird Words is an Enchiridion

Those with an attraction to the ostrobogulous, who are sometimes plagued by onomatomania, offended by blatteroons, and aim to be a deipnosophist, will be pleased to learn that a new book is an exennium that won’t have to wait for the New Year.

To those who suspect me a jobbernowl with a kangaroo loose in the top paddock, I can only aver in my defense, “dymsassenach!"

Or, that I’ve been pouring through The Wonder of Whiffling And Other Extraordinary Words in the English Language, a new addition to the canon of books on wild, weird and wow-inspiring words, presented as a gift to us by Adam Jacot de Boinod, whose earlier trek into the wilds of vocabulary is The Meaning of Tingo, a tour through the strangest words in the languages of the world.

Having treasured Mrs. Byrne’s Dictionary of Unusual, Obscure, and Preposterous Words (1974) upon its publication, as well as J.N. Hook’s The Grand Panjandrum And 1,999 Other Rare, Useful, and Delightful Words and Expressions (1980), Peter Bowler’s The Superior Person’s Book of Weird and Wondrous Words (1985) and its sequels, The Wonder of Whiffling now elbows its way onto my Top Shelf.

This book is an absolute necessity. Invited to dinner by a “vice admiral of the narrow seas,” you’ll want to know that such a person is a drunkard who vomits over his neighbor. For some reason, I’ve had more than my share of such companionship. Would that I’d had this book a long time ago. I could have saved myself a lot of sinsorg.

The Wonder of Whiffling is a delightful and eye-opening schlep through Old and Middle English, Tudor-Stuart, rural dialects collected by Victorian lexicographers, the argot of 19th century criminals (those who know me well note my resemblance to a aurium – a wandering beggar posing as some sort of priest), and slang from the world wars right up to the present and trailer park trash-talk.

This book is a supernaculum and I’m cherubimical on it, just besotted. Forgive me if, when we meet on the street, I address you as "Shaggledick!" I mean no insult. You're familiar but your name escapes me; I'm a slubberdegullion and a goostrumnoodle.

Don't be "two wafers short of a communion!" G'wan, get outta here, and get The Wonder of Whiffling. 
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