If there's one date in history that every American can cite, it's the day that the Continental Congress gave its nod to the Declaration of Independence: July 4, 1776. In an eerie punctuation to that great occasion, two of our most prominent Founding Fathers -- John Adams (the most outspoken advocate for the Declaration) and Thomas Jefferson (the principal writer of the Declaration) -- died on the same day exactly 50 years later: July 4, 1826. The last of the Founding Fathers to become president, James Monroe, died five years after that, on July 4, 1831.
It's interesting to note that on a date inextricably linked to American independence from Great Britain, there is a milestone event connected to a certain body of beloved literature, and it brings us right back to Jolly Old England. On July 4, 1862, English mathematician Charles Lutwidge Dodgson invented the storyline for what would eventually be published as "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland" (1865) under the pen name Lewis Carroll. An exceptional piece of fantasy fiction, it was followed by the sequel "Through the Looking-Glass" in 1871.
These two novels are considered by many to be the apex of "nonsense literature," a genre that defies orthodox language and challenges logical thinking. It's one thing to be as clever with language and logic as Carroll was, but it's even more remarkable to weave the linguistically unique results into timelessly cherished tales. Carroll's uncommon talent is further evidenced by the contributions his fantastic language made to our conventional language. In the New Oxford American Dictionary, there are no fewer than seven entries for which the origin is a word "coined by Lewis Carroll." (Just try to invent a word that makes it into the dictionary. Good luck. But seven words? That's astonishing!)
Although all seven of these Carroll coinages passed the rigorous tests of time and real-usage research that qualified them for dictionary status, three of them are woefully underused: boojum ("an imaginary dangerous animal"), frabjous ("delightful; joyous") and snark ("an imaginary animal"-- used to refer to someone or something that is difficult to track down). I enthusiastically encourage you to use these wonderful words as often as you possibly can!
Chances are you're no stranger to the word chortle ("laugh in a breathy, gleeful way; chuckle"), which first appeared in "Through the Looking-Glass," presumably as a blend of "chuckle" and "snort." The term galumph is fairly familiar as well, as in "our golden retriever galumphed up the hill to greet us." As introduced in "Through the Looking-Glass," the word galumph implied "prance triumphantly" and was apparently a blend of "gallop" and "triumph."
Lewis Carroll was a master at blending old terms to create new terms, so it is only fitting that he himself came up with the term portmanteau word, which we now use to mean any word that blends the sounds and combines the meanings of two others -- for example, motel (from "motor" and "hotel") or brunch (from "breakfast" and "lunch").
Another of Carroll's coinages to find a home in the dictionary is a word popularized by the 1951 Disney film Alice in Wonderland, in which an unbirthday party is celebrated to the music of "The Unbirthday Song." (The word unbirthday is from the book "Through the Looking-Glass," but in the Disney movie, the unbirthday theme is written into the Mad Hatter's Tea Party, an event from the book "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland.")
As Alice learned, everyone has 364 unbirthdays a year, but this weekend we'll forgo the "un-" and light up the skies for America's favorite anniversary: Happy birthday, USA!
Edmeston resident Christine A. Lindberg, senior U.S. lexicographer for Oxford University Press, is the principal content editor of Oxford's American English dictionaries and thesauruses. Opinions expressed by Lindberg in this column are done so independently, and do not necessarily reflect the policies and practices of Oxford University Press. Have a question or comment relating to the English language? E-mail languagewithlindberg@gmail.com. Selected submissions will be answered here periodically.
Let's Look At The Language
A frabjous Fourth of July to everyone!
- Let's Look At The Language
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'We'll take a cup o' kindness yet, for auld lang syne'
By Christine A. Lindberg A song that "owns" a particular day of the year is rare.
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Here comes Santa Claus ... where'd he get that snazzy red suit?
Years ago, I had a book of letters written to Santa Claus, and I remember that, among all the messages of "bring me this," "bring me that," and "I'll leave you a plate of cookies," one little boy had written, "Dear Santa, Where did you get your snazzy red suit?" I wouldn't be surprised if the author of that question grew up to be either a reporter or a fashion consultant, but in any event, I hope he got an answer to his question.
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Where do I plug in these Electric Prunes?
Those of us who make the family feasts of Thanksgiving and Christmas magically appear on the table know there's nothing magic about it.
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The sometimes-cryptic language of company names
Cream cheese originated in 1872 as the result of William Lawrence's failure to duplicate the French cheese Neufchatel. By 1880, he knew his "accidental cheese" was good enough for distribution, so he packaged it in foil wrappers and called it Philadelphia Cream Cheese.
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Humorist Will Rogers: One of the crown jewels in American language
Defined as "a humorous writer, performer or artist," a humorist could technically be anyone who makes you laugh, but my concept of a humorist is not nearly so broad
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Not quite an 'Ode to Pepé Le Pew' after gross, stinky encounter
My previous column ended with the words "sweet dreams," which are nice if you can get 'em, but sometimes the occasion of slumber time is a few degrees short of sweet.
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What will my dream-doctor say about this orgledream in my head?
I just read a snippet of folklore that tells me "a dream of grasshoppers means that something is confusing you."
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Names of hurricanes don't match reality
When the storm named Irene barreled up into Edmeston four weeks ago, I didn't think I'd still be looking down upon the vestiges of her destruction from my upstairs windows.
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Sometimes an unremarkable day is the one we should cherish the most
Ten years ago today, it was a summery Sept. 10 here in Central New York. The temperature hovered in the 80s and there was an occasional drizzle here and there.
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'Don't miss it, don't even be late' The Great New York State Fair is here
"Our state fair is a great state fair! Don't miss it, don't even be late. It's dollars to doughnuts that our state fair is the best state fair in our state!"
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Some of it's all Greek to me, but mostly it's just herbaceously aromatic
For the past five years, I've been a container gardener (having given up the backyard to my dogs).
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Like gods on the heptagram, so are the days of our week
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'Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio?' just not the same
When the Baltimore Orioles' third baseman took the field on May 30, 1982, not even Nostradamus could have foreseen that one of the most celebrated streaks in baseball was beginning at that very moment. The player was Cal Ripken Jr., whose 2,131st consecutive game on Sept. 6, 1995, surpassed Lou Gehrig's "unsurpassable" record.
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I wonder if ancient Romans ever put sanctions on that two-faced Janus
Someone recently asked me if I could explain the meaning of the word "sanction.
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June is bustin' out all over!
When "Carousel," the second stage musical by Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II, opened on Broadway on April 19, 1945, the audience left the theater in buoyant spirits.
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Go ahead and have a rat on a stick, but please don't call it a lollipop
I recent read that this Tuesday is National Escargot Day. I was unable to find any compelling evidence that this is an official national day for any nation in particular, but it does seem that throughout the U.K. and North America, French restaurants have happily adopted the day as a time to celebrate their garlicky little mollusks.
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Onomatopoeic power of wheatgrass souffle
“The formation of a word from a sound associated with what is named” is the New Oxford American Dictionary’s definition of “onomatopoeia” (Ah-Nuh-mah-tuh-PEE-uh).
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The language of Benjamin Franklin, in whatever name he used
When Benjamin Franklin died 221 years ago this month, the entire Western world mourned, yet his gravestone reads (in full), “Benjamin and Deborah Franklin 1790.”
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There's nothing like a good spoonerism to tickle a bunny phone
The English economist Sir Roy Forbes Harrod (1900"1978) once said that, compared to all the scholars he had known at Oxford and Cambridge, the Reverend William Archibald Spooner (1844"1930) was the most exceptional in "scholarship, devotion to duty, and wisdom." There is no reason to question Harrod's assessment, but that's not exactly the imprint by which Spooner is best remembered.
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'We'll take a cup o' kindness yet, for auld lang syne'
