The Etymology of Greatness

10 July 2000
Jamie wants to say something about words. Using words. And Word™.

Words. Not everyone's cup of tea. Barry Gibb and his siblings squeaked "It's only words!" at us in disdain. But Tracy Chapman - bless her manly voice - counters with the old chestnut "Years go by and still / Words don't come easily", so make the most of them while they're there (OK, so she actually continued "Like 'sorry'", but only so it scanned). Then Boyzone went and covered both of them. Inconsistent Irish bastards.

My point is, words are great. They let you say things that you want to say, and you can cheat and lie with them too. But some words are far, far greater than others. Let's go deeper.

Take 'thong', for example. It's not just great because of its associations with scantily clad lovelies in 'rap' videos, it's a genuinely good word. Say it a few times. Let the thong roll over your tongue. Tasty. My mate Steve's a big advocate of 'bungalow', which can be enjoyed by everyone, but is particularly fragrant doused in Scouse (any northern speak will do, but try scouse if you get the chance). And why is Eddie Izzard so fond of saying 'jam'? It's not just because of his affection for preserved fruit or Chris Morris' twisted brainchild; no one can hear the word without its phonetic beauty possessing their being and sending warm, strawberry emotions coursing through their veins. Which makes them laugh.

And it's not only comedy which reaps the benefits. A well-crafted word can evoke the whole gamut of emotions, from arousal (moist, gusset) to arousal mixed with disgust (dank, crevice) back to arousal again (nipple, stroking). My gamut, at any rate.

Unfortunately, despite all the research that goes into etymology - people rooting through old Indo-Swahili comic books on the off chance that they'll find out where the word "lozenge" comes from - no one seems to have bothered to consider the importance of word quality, not just as an end in itself, but as a key to the mysteries of the world. Here's an example.

There's a bit at the start of the Bible where God tells Adam to go out and name all the animals in the park. Now either that's balls, or Adam was a serious schizophrenic. There is no way that the guy who named the monkeys and the fish was the same one who came up with such prosaic names as 'cow', 'sheep' or 'cat'. The primate world contains such luminaries as the gibbon (funky and common varieties), the baboon, and the orang-utan (by which point he was just showing off); the pisceans can boast the mullet, the haddock, the carp, the trout - every one a linguistic delight. (Just remember that too much vinegar is not good for the sexy life, as a wise chip shop owner once said.) Even the humble cod, staple diet of the inhabitants of Grimsby, exudes effortless grace from its meagre three phonemes, putting slack monosyllabic creations like the horse to shame.

There's also some evidence in all this for God - or the majority of his minions at least - being of English (possibly British or Australian) origin. Why? Because we've got the best words for everything. Granted, the French come up with the occasional good effort - the fragile papillon, the creamy onctueuse - and any language which can put three e's in a row (créée) and keep a straight face can't be all bad, while the Spanish created cerveza and the Germans provide entertaining directions to the Bahnhof. But the silk purses are lost in a sea of pigswill compared to our glistening tongue (arousal again).

Foreigners also have a little trouble swearing. Whereas your average Tommy could produce five minutes of non-stop expletives without repetition if shot in the stomach, his allies and his axis would be lucky to manage a minute between them if he returned the favour with cold steel. And half of them would be eligible for reproduction in Boy's Own ("Gott in Himmel!" and "Die, Englischer Schweinhund!" being among the more frequent utterances from the stereotypically presented Hun).

So there you have it. Words should not be underestimated: they can play with your mind, they can settle theological debates about the Creation, and they can even support a bit of mindless jingoism (as if there were other kind). If we've learnt anything this week, it's never to trust the hasty maxims of a bearded Antipodean. Who sounds like a chipmunk.