Words of the Day

Dictionary Day! It's back by popular demand. (Not really, but I've had some words lying around waiting for me to look them up and I figured now was as good a time as any.) Well, leave it to Edith Wharton to come up with another handful of words I don't know. The first three are all from Madame de Treymes:

1. Escutcheon. "There must be no scandal, no retentissement, nothing which her boy, necessarily brought up in the French tradition of scrupulously preserved appearances, could afterward regard as the faintest blur on his much-quartered escutcheon." It kind of makes me think of "listen" in Spanish, but that doesn't make sense. Maybe it means reputation. Webster says: A defined area on which armorial bearings are displayed and which usually consists of a shield. Um, I was wrong. No points.

2. Propinquity. "Propinquity had not been lacking: he had known Miss Frisbee since his college days." Opportunity? Later, the same word is used again: "Mr. Boykin, at this point, advanced across the wide expanse of Aubusson on which his wife and Durham were islanded in a state of propinquity without privacy." That sounds more like proximity. Webster says: Nearness of blood: kinship; nearness in place or time: proximity. One great big fat shiny point for me!

3. Redoubtable. "Durham identified the slender dark lady loitering negligently in the background, and introduced in a comprehensive murmur to the American group, as the redoubtable sister-in-law to whom he had declared himself ready to throw down his challenge. There was nothing very redoubtable about Madame de Treymes, except perhaps the kindly yet critical observation which she bestowed on her sister-in-law's visitors." Formidable? Webster says: Causing fear or alarm: formidable. Would you look at that. Two in a row!

These last two are from Lucrezia Borgia:

4. Inimical. "'It does not seem to me to be apt to tell him absolutely that we do not wish it: because such a hostile response would make him most inimical towards us . . . '" At first I was thinking "inimitable" (matchless), but this is different. It must mean something similar to hostile. Webster says: Being adverse often by reason of hostility or malevolence. I'm on a roll! That makes three.

5. Tergiversation "But the time for tergiversation was over: by early July, Ercole had lain down his arms and accepted his--and Alfonso's--fate." OK, is it just me or does that word sound totally made up? By context, I think it's like rebellion. Webster says: Evasion of straightforward action or clear-cut statement; equivocation; desertion of a cause, party, or faith. Hm, more subtle than outright rebellion. I would normally try to sneak a fraction of a point here but I already have three good ones and that's enough for today.

Words of the Day

I really am almost at the end of my List of Words to Look Up, but who am I kidding? As long as I am still reading living I will continue finding enough new words to do a Dictionary Day post occasionally.

Not my dad

1. Tonsure. From The Tooth Fairy. "Was that unfair of me, laddie? Not warning you about that, I mean. Not telling you not to buy a hairnet for your uncle's tonsure?" It must mean "bald head," but my dad has one of those and I've never heard it called a "tonsure." Webster says: The Roman Catholic or Eastern rite of admission to the clerical state by the clipping or shaving of a portion of the head; the shaven crown or patch worn by monks and other clerics; a bald spot resembling a tonsure. OK, so my dad doesn't have a tonsure; he's more like a cue ball. But I still get a point.

2. Specious. From One Day. "But in the years since leaving college this line of argument had come to seem so abstract and specious that she had finally succumbed to Dexter's nagging and got the damn things, realizing only too late that what she had really been avoiding all those years was that moment in the movies: the librarian removes her spectacles and shakes out her hair." Could it have anything to do with "species"? But how could something be abstract and specific? Webster says: Showy; having deceptive attraction or allure; having a false look of truth or genuineness; sophistic. I was way off! No points.

3. Bespoke. Also from One Day. "Something of an amateur DJ, Dexter had a wallful of CDs and rare vinyl in bespoke pine racks, two turntables and a microphone, all tax-deductible, and could often be spotted in record shops in Soho, wearing an immense pair of headphones like halved coconuts." The only other descriptor for pine I can think of is knotty, but I don't think that's right. Webster says: Custom-made. Well, I was right that I wasn't right, but that's not right enough for any points.

Picaresque?

4. Picaresque. Sorry, I don't remember where I found this one. My mind wants it to be the same as "picturesqe." But . . . it can't be, because why would it be so similar but not exactly the same? Webster says: Of or relating to rogues or rascals; a type of fiction dealing with the episodic adventures of a roguish protagonist. Yeah, not exactly the same. Once again, no points.

5. Metafiction. This wasn't actually in a book--I think I saw it on a book blog. I have the idea that it refers to a book within a book, but since I'm not sure, I'll look it up. Webster says: Nothing. I guess that's what I get for using a dictionary that is more than twenty years old. Google to the rescue: Any work of fiction that takes either itself or some other work of fiction as its subject matter. Yay! I get another point, but I'll take a piece of chocolate instead.  That makes one point out of five, plus a piece of chocolate. I win!

Want to hear something sad? I almost put "fulminating" (from The Tooth Fairy) in this post, until I realized I'd already used that as a Word of the Day here. Obviously it didn't stick with me. I ought to subtract a point for that. But I won't.

Words of the Day

I am coming to the end of my List of Words to Look Up. After these five, I still have three to go. But never fear . . . this is the sort of list that will never truly end. At least until I learn all the words.

1. Deliquescing. Charlie St. Cloud. "Soon, when they were ready to go on to the next level, they would fade away, deliquescing like mist in the sun." It must mean melting or burning off. Seems tediously obvious, just like the rest of that book. Webster says: Becoming liquid by absorbing moisture from the air, as certain salts; melting away. Mmmmhmmm! One point.

2. Coruscated (not corrugated). I didn't write down where I found this word, but I did write down "sounds like scolding." I don't know if this was a guess according to context, or if that guess was really just based on the sound of the word. But it does sound kind of harsh and abrasive. And since I really have no clue what the word might mean, especially with no context, I'll go with harsh, abrasive scolding. Webster says: Gave off or reflected light in bright beams or flashes; sparkled. I don't think I could have been more wrong! No points for this one.

3. Adumbrates. I actually marked down where I found this word! It was in Lolita, on page 36 . . . but I didn't keep the book. OK, I'm going out on a limb here, but I think the prefix ad- means drawing towards, and an "umbra" is kind of like a shadow . . . and I still have no idea what this word might mean. A shadow going towards something? Webster says: Foreshadows vaguely; suggests, discloses, or outlines partially; overshadows, obscures. One tenth of  a point for saying "shadow," which is kind of like "foreshadow" . . .

4. Obdurate. The Age of Innocence. (Can you believe I still have two more Words to Look Up from that book? Go Edith!) "It was the note the family had taken to sounding on the mention of the Countess Olenska's name, since she had surprised and inconvenienced them by remaining obdurate to her husband's advances." Stubborn? I think I am mixing it up with obstinate. Resistant or opposed to? Webster says: stubbornly persistent in wrongdoing; hardened in feelings; resistant to persuasion or softening influences. I say I get a whole point for that one.

5. Probity. The Age of Innocence. "So far there had been no exception to its tacit rule that those who broke the law of probity must pay." Solvency? Webster says: Adherence to the highest principles and ideals. I'm taking a half a point, because someone who adheres to the highest principles and ideals would be solvent, right? Yeah, maybe it's a stretch, but hey--stretching is good for you.

Looks like I got 2.6 out of five. How did you do?

Words of the Day: Special Edition

Today's words are some of those which sound nothing like they should. Mandy will just have to live with the fact that I am not giving myself points for these, mainly because I already knew the definitions for most of them.

1. Pulchritude. Might as well mean ugliness instead of beauty. Or at least something like a bad attitude.

2. Bucolic. Sounds like some sort of disease that causes gassy indigestion rather than relating to a rural countryside.

3. Flummery. Should be an adjective used to describe a woman who wears flowing, ankle-length skirts, grows her hair really long, and flings her arms around a lot when she talks. Or maybe it should just describe Stevie Nicks. She seems very flummery. But flummery is actually a noun, and it is a soft jelly or porridge made with flour or meal. Ew. I like my version better.

4. Lacunae. Ought to be a synonym for chrysalis. Don't ask me why. It seems I am coming across it everywhere, and I still don't know what it means. It's the plural of lacuna, which is the title of Barbara Kingsolver's newest novel (I haven't read it). Grushin used it in The Dream Life of Sukhanov. "She had never been easy to understand, and he had long since learned to allow her small pockets of privacy by not dwelling on her manifold silences and not pursuing to its hidden origin her every expression or gesture or even absence, habitually interpreting these mysterious lacunae as evidence of her unique brand of feminine mystique." I am also re-reading The Amnesiac, and in it the main character, James, is trying to recall a song. He can only think of two of its lines, which are followed by, "Ellipsis. Lacuna. And then . . . the chorus." My guess would be something like "empty space." Webster says: Well, would you look at that. Of course it doesn't mean chrysalis, but it does mean a blank space or missing part; gap; a small cavity, pit, or discontinuity in an anatomical structure. 

5. Gred. My first college roommate and I wondered how people began using words like "cool" and "rad" to mean, well, "cool" and "rad." We figured it had to start somewhere, so we decided to make up our own word: Gred. It didn't catch on.

What would you add to the list?

Words of the Day

Here I am squeezing just a few more words out of The Age of Innocence. I've had plenty of fiber today, so I'm ready to go!

1. Adipose. "She gave an adipose chuckle and patted his knee with her puff-ball hand." Doesn't "adipose" mean "fat"? As in, "adipose tissue"? Sure, Mrs. Manson Mingott (the owner of the "puff-ball hand") is impressively obese, but who knew even her chuckles could be chunky? Webster says: FAT. One portly point! 

2. Fulminated. "When he fulminated against fashionable society he always spoke of its 'trend'; and to Mrs. Archer it was terrifying and yet fascinating to feel herself part of a community that was trending." My guess is that "fulminate" means "preach" or "rail" (the verb, not the noun). Webster says: Uttered or sent out with denunciation; caused to explode (I'm guessing Wharton wasn't going for this denotation); sent forth censures or invectives; hurled denunciations or menaces. One point for "rail," minus a quarter because "preach" wasn't potent enough and because I didn't think to use "vituperate."

3. Vaticinations. "Archer had been wont to smile at these annual vaticinations of his mother's; but this year even he was obliged to acknowledge, as he listened to an enumeration of the changes, that the 'trend' was visible." Maybe a synonym could be pronouncements? At least I'm pretty sure this doesn't have anything to do with the Vatican, or vaccinations. Webster says: Prophecies or predictions. That's probably worth 85% of a point, even though I didn't grasp the idea that the future was involved.

4. Unwonted. "She looked paler than usual, but sparkling with an unwonted animation." I've often read the phrase "as s/he was wont to do" (see number three!), meaning something a character does regularly or is accustomed to, so I would assume "unwonted" would be the opposite. In other words, going against tendency or acting out of character. Webster says: Being out of the ordinary; rare, unusual; not accustomed by experience. How nice! Another full point. One might even say that was unwonted.

5. Impecunious. "Archer looked with a sort of vicarious envy at this eager impecunious young man who had fared so richly in his poverty." This might mean "poor," but somehow I don't think that's right. Webster says: Having very little or no money; penniless. Ha! Another point. Just ignore the part where I said I didn't think my guess was right. And I believe that makes about 4.6 points out of 5! That's a good Dictionary Day.

Hey Tracy, guess what? Wharton used "valetudinarian" in The Age of Innocence! "His eminence as a valetudinarian now made him an object of engrossing interest, and Mrs. Mingott issued an imperial summons to him to come and compare diets as soon as his temperature permitted." One point for Edith. (If you want, you can have another one too, Tracy.) Plus, Wharton used "sedulously" and "importunate" not once, but twice each in this book! I'm not giving her any more points, though. She should have gone for a little more variety.

Would you believe there are still a few more Age of Innocence Words of the Day words to come? I'm going to make you wait for them, though.

Words of the Day

I've only read a third of The Age of Innocence, and our book club meeting is Friday night. I'm not too worried (yet), but in the meantime I've found a wealth of words to look up.

1. Dilettante. "He had dawdled over his cigar because he was at heart a dilettante, and thinking over a pleasure to come often gave him a subtler satisfaction than its realisation." Maybe a "dilettante" is something like a minor hedonist. Webster says: An admirer or lover of the arts; a person having a superficial interest in an art or a branch of knowledge; a dabbler; an amateur. Word Nazi says: No points for you!

2. Vicegerent. "Few things seemed to Newland Archer more awful than an offense against 'Taste,' that far-off divinity of whom 'Form' was the mere visible representative and vicegerent." Vicegerent? I can't help but wonder if that's a misspelling for "vice-regent." Webster says: Vicegerent actually is a real word. It's an administrative deputy of a king or magistrate, whereas a "vice-regent" is a regent's deputy. So close . . . and yet so far away.

3. Fatuities. "The stockings were one of Beaufort's few fatuities" (referring to the silk stockings his footmen wore). I'm sure this is related to the word "fatuous," but I'm not sure what that means either. Though I'm pretty sure it has nothing to do with the word "fat." Webster says: something foolish or stupid. (Fatuous means complacently or inanely foolish; silly; simple.) Zero for three.

4. Apotheosis. "She disappeared in a kind of sulphurous apotheosis, and when a few years later Medora again came back to New York, subdued, impoverished, mourning a third husband, and in quest of a still smaller house, people wondered that her rich niece had not been able to do something for her." Maybe an "apotheosis" is a mystery. Or a cloud. Webster says: elevation to divine status; deification; the perfect example; quintessence. I should have guessed from the root "theos" that it might have something to do with God. Oh well.

5. Sedulously. "In this view they were sedulously abetted by their mothers, aunts and other elderly female relatives, who all shared Mrs. Archer's belief that when 'such things happened' it was undoubtedly foolish of the man, but somehow always criminal of the woman." I can't decide if it means "firmly" or "secretively." Webster says: accomplishing with careful perseverance; diligent in application or pursuit; busily. SO if I had guessed "assiduously" I might have earned one measly little point. But alas, it was not to be.

I have reached a new low, with zero points for this edition of Words of the Day. I hope you did better than I did! I would make myself feel better with the idea that at least I'm learning the words, but I have a confession to make. I came across one of my previous Words of the Day in this book. "He had been somewhat languidly drifting with events for the last fortnight, and letting May's fair looks and radiant nature obliterate the rather importunate pressure of the Mingott claims." The depressing thing? I had to look it up again. In case you need a refresher too, "importunate" means troublesomely urgent.

Words of the Day

1. Valetudinarian. It's like cheating to include this word in my Dictionary Day post, because 1) I didn't come across it while reading a book, and 2) it was defined for me. I read it here. But I'm using it anyway, because I have read Emma before (though it's been years), and I wouldn't have remembered what it meant if Tracy hadn't told me--in fact, I don't remember even seeing it in the book. But here it is: a whining hypochondriac. Webster says: a person of a weak or sickly constitution; esp: one whose chief concern is his invalidism. I can't count this one for me, but Tracy gets one point.

2. Exigent. From Tom Wright's fourth book, which I hope to tell you about soon. "The killing clearly was not exigent, nor did it strike effectively at the illegitimate occupation forces of Washington, either of which might have justified the effort and risk of such an undertaking." I gotta tell you, I've got nothing. Unless "exigent" is related to "exiguous" which was one of my previous Words of the Day, meaning excessively scanty or inadequate, though that really doesn't fit the context. Webster says: requiring immediate aid or action; requiring or calling for much; demanding. So, basically, my kids. And nothing like exiguous (other than the first four letters). Dang. Zero points.

3. Parlous. From Anna Karenina. "Oblonsky's financial affairs were in a parlous state." Sounds to me like the redneck pronunciation of "perilous." And--would you believe it?--it kind of is. Webster says: full of danger or risk; hazardous. One point for me!

4. Concatenation. From What I Was. "The sea was oddly flat. There was always at least a gentle swell and fall, though more usually little white riffles and uneven waves. It looked eerie out there now, unnatural. Dead flat and motionless. A concatenation of signs." As much as I want that to be something about a country of felines, judging by the context I am sure it is more of a confluence or a "coming together." Webster says: Linked together. Yeah, I was close enough to get point number two.

5. Exeat. Also from What I Was. I'm a little annoyed at myself for not writing down the sentence, but I remember it referred to a note signed by a teacher allowing a student to leave the boarding school campus and make a trip to town. Webster doesn't know this word (so I should get two points for it, right?) but wikipedia tells me that "exeat" is used in Britain to describe weekend leave from a boarding school. Another interesting tidbit: the word is Latin for "he/she may leave." I guess I'll just take one point. Three points for me and at least one for Tracy.

I've got a bonus phrase for you today. It's not one we need to define, but it's one I was surprised to find in Anna Karenina. Oblonsky "was kept cooling his heels for two hours" in a waiting room. I would have guessed that people started cooling their heels in the 60s (and by this of course I am referring to the twentieth century, not the era of Tolstoy).  I can't help but wonder if this is an anachronistic idiom or if the same phrase is found in the original Russian version. My brief search for the origin of "cool your heels" was unsuccessful, so if you have any information on this, please tell me. Otherwise, I will just content myself with this fact: at least Oblonsky didn't cool his jets instead.

Speaking of the era of Tolstoy, here's a fun parallel. Anna Karenina (written between 1873 and 1877) is a contemporary of Laura Ingalls Wilder (born in 1867). So the childhood we read about in the Little House series was taking place in America during the same time that Tolstoy was writing in Russia.

Words of the Day

In today's list, the first word is the only one that comes with its original sentence. Without much to go on, I'm pretty clueless about the other four, so you are welcome to sit at home and singger about me. Especially you Australians, when you get to number five.

1. Imbricated. Another one from We Were the Mulvaneys. "Nothing progresses in a straight line, it's more--well, imbricated. The way a roofer lays tiles, shingles, overlapping one another, for strength." That's my guess right there. Webster says: Overlapping of edges. A good visual: fish scales! Which brings me to another interesting word: Squamatology. That is the study of scales. I felt bad taking a point for "imbricated" since the definition was right there in the sentence, but because I also learned "squamatology," I don't feel bad anymore. One point!

2. Trenchant. I want to say this means stubborn, but maybe I am getting it mixed up with intractable. Don't ask me how. Webster says: I was definitely getting it mixed up because "trenchant" has absolutely nothing to do with "stubborn." It means keen, sharp, vigorously effective and articulate, caustic, sharply perceptive, penetrating, clear-cut, distinct. Gosh, I feel like I was so far off that I ought to get negative points for that one. But I won't. 

3. Peripatetic. I don't recall where I saw this word, but it was used to describe the life of a halftime show emcee. I have no clue what sort of life that might be. I know "peri" means "around" or "near," and I know what pathetic means, but not -patetic. Maybe halftime show emcees like to hang around craft services and eat the pâté. Somehow I don't think that's a very close guess. Webster says: pedestrian, itinerant; movement or journeys hither and thither. A peripatetic is given to traveling from place to place by walking. So, perhaps kind of like a nomad with a schedule? Not surprisingly, it has nothing to do with pâté. Zero points. 

But this one comes with a bonus definition too. If it's capitalized, Peripateticism refers to Aristotelianism, which applies to those who followed the teachings of Aristotle. The word comes from the peripatoi (colonnades) of the Lyceum where the followers met, though later legend suggests it was related to Aristotle's "alleged habit of walking while lecturing." 

4. Eidetic. When I wrote this down, I thought maybe it meant amazing or detailed. Or amazingly detailed? Looking at it now, it could be anything, though it is probably not related to eiderdown. Webster says: Marked by or involving extraordinarily accurate and vivid recall, especially of visual images. In other words, my memory would not be described as eidetic. But I think my guess was pretty close, which brings me up to two points. 

5. Bollocky. My original, context-related guess was that this meant "naked." But isn't bollocky more like "gutsy" or "ballsy"? Of course, in certain situations you'd have to be pretty gutsy to be naked. Webster says: Nothing. What a prude. Off to the internet in search of a definition. Slang-dictionary.com says it's a variation of bollock-naked, so it would appear that my original guess was correct. Sure would like to know which book I found that one in. But I'd say this gives me a third point, anyway. To sort of paraphrase the immortal words of Meatloaf, three out of five ain't bad. 

A final word-thought for the day: wouldn't it be cool if the word "palindrome" could actually be one?

Words of the Day

I only have about a dozen words left on my original List of Words to Look Up, but I seem to be coming across new ones at such a rate that I have no worries about ever coming to the end of my Dictionary Days. Or maybe I should say I am worried that I will never come to the end of them.

1. Expatiate. I am reading The Wind in the Willows to the kids at bedtime, about ten pages every night. In chapter five, Rat and Mole return to Mole's cozy little home, where Mole finds himself so happy to be. "His spirits finally quite restored, he must needs go and caress his possessions, and take a lamp and show off their points to his visitor and expatiate on them, quite forgetful of the supper they both so much needed." I guess this word probably means something like "to talk about," and a synonym might be "expound."

But guess what? I could have sworn this word was used in the audio version of Anna Karenina too! It sounded like it said, "That now, having expatiated his sin against the husband, he was bound to renounce her, and never in future to stand between her, with her repentance, and her husband." However, my print translation uses the phrase "atoned for" instead, which makes me think the word was not expatiated, but expiated. We will leave it up to the jury to decide whether I misheard or the reader misspoke. Either way, I got what I paid for. But back to expatiated--Webster says: To move about freely or at will; wander; to speak or write at length or in detail. Score one point for me!

2. Osiers. Also from The Wind in the Willows. Who would have thought there would be so many obscure words in this book? When Rat is enticed by Pan's flute-playing, Mole says, "I hear nothing myself . . . but the wind playing in the reeds and rushes and osiers." I am guessing an osier would be yet another plant that grows near water. Webster says: Any of various willows (esp. Salix viminalis) whose pliable twigs are used for furniture or basketry. Sounds just like the trees we used to swing on at the Duck Pond! Near water! Two for two. That's a good start.

3. Ossian. From Anna Karenina. Oblonsky the philanderer says, "You see, I suppose you must know the Ossian type of woman . . . the sort of woman one only sees in dreams." OK, so I'm assuming this type of woman is super hot and sexy, but thinking of an "ossuary" throws me off. Maybe he's talking about a nightmare. Perhaps there's a female skeleton who stalks him in his sleep. But . . . probably not. I am going to go with the guess that an "Ossian" woman is like Garth's Dreamwoman who always walks in slow motion with a wind machine and the song "Dream Weaver" in the background. Although I can't help but wonder, since it's capitalized, if maybe an Ossian woman comes from a certain part of the world. Is Ossian like Oriental and Occidental? Webster says: Ohhhh, Ossian was a person! Should I have known that? He was apparently a legendary Irish bard, authenticity debatable. Um, no points on this one. Especially since I still don't know what sort of woman would be described as Ossian. If you know, will you please tell me? I'll give you one point if you do.

4. Intransigent. From We Were The Mulvaneys. Corinne is comparing her boys, stubborn and strong-willed since birth, to her sweet and amiable baby girl. When the boys were babies "their intransigent male selves [were] assertive as their tiny, floppy penises." My guess: unassailable, indelible, unchangeable, undeniable. Webster says: Refusing to compromise or to abandon an extreme position or attitude; uncompromising; irreconcilable. So I guess it's more like obstinate than constant, but there are only shades of meaning between the two, so I'm taking the point.

5. Importunate. Also from Mulvaneys. "Dozens of geese and even killer swans honking, hissing, flapping their wings as these importunate strangers invaded their territory." I want it to mean "unfortunate," since you can make it into that word by changing only the first three letters, but I will guess it means someone or something that does not belong. Webster says: Troublesomely urgent; overly persistent in request or demand. Nope, I don't get any points for this one either. But I did manage to eke out a total of three points this time.

I will now treat you to a freebie of a historical nugget. In Anna Karenina, as he is totting up his debts, we learn that Vronsky has a sister-in-law who is "the daughter of a penniless Decembrist." I didn't bother trying to guess on this one, but I was curious as to the definition. Webster says: One taking part in the unsuccessful uprising against the Russian emperor Nicholas I in December 1825. Now, isn't that interesting! I never would have heard of that term without reading this book. But I really just wanted to mention it so I could tell you about a band called The Decemberists who have at least one really good song (you should check out "Here I Dreamt I Was An Architect." Thanks, Kugs!) Not surprisingly, though I didn't know this until just now, the band was named after The Decembrist revolt. TWELVE HUNDRED BONUS POINTS. No, not really. But don't you feel a little bit smarter?

Words of the Day

1. Alacrity. I think it's kind of funny that this word is on my list twice. The first time I wrote it down, it was in FM-266 (don't ask me what book that was), and my guess was that it meant "quickly." The second time I similarly assumed it meant "with haste," and I didn't make any note of the book where I found it. It seems that I most often hear this word associated with the way a character speaks. Webster says: Promptness in response; cheerful readiness. Here's a great synonym that could have been one of my Words of the Day: celerity. We're off to a good start! One point.

2. Punctilious. From Anna Karenina. Yes, I am still creeping through that book with all the alacrity of a hemorrhoidal gastropod. (See what I did there, with that brand new Word of the Day? Can I get extra points for that?) "Like all fathers, the old prince was particularly punctilious where his daughters' unsullied reputation and honor were concerned." From the context, it sounds like it means persnickety or particular. I'm guessing it is not related to punctuality. Webster says: Marked by or concerned with the details of codes or conventions; careful. I may not have gotten the precise connotation, but don't you think my guess is close enough to be worth a point anyway? Especially since I used alacrity correctly in a sentence.

3. Guipure. Also from Anna Karenina. Anna's black velvet ball dress was "trimmed all over with Venetian guipure." Glass beads? Webster says: A heavy large-patterned decorative lace. Dang it! I should have known that! In the very next paragraph the dress is described as "her black dress with its rich lace." Besides, it's not like Anna was a flapper. Zero points!

4. Elegiac. This was in one of Anita Shreve's books--apparently one with a character named Linda, whose writing style is described this way. A quick google search shows that it must have been in The Last Time They Met, which is my favorite out of the three of hers that I've read. I assume "elegiac" has something to do with the word elegy, but I don't (though I feel I should) know that definition either. All I know is it's different from a eulogy. Webster says: An elegy is a poem in elegiac couplets; it is also a song or poem expressing sorrow or lamentation, especially for one who is dead. So an "elegy" is more like a "eulogy" than I thought. A poem that is "elegiac" consists of two dactylic hexameter lines, the second of which lacks the arses in the third and sixth feet.

Wait a minute. Arses? I am hearing Inigo Montoya whisper, "I do not think that word means what you think it means." And, I have to do it: "arses" . . . is not in my dictionary. "Arse" is, and Inigo Montoya was wrong. But wait: here is "arsis," which is the singular of "arses." It is the lighter or shorter part of a poetic foot in quantitative verse, or the accented or longer part of a poetic foot in accentual verse. I ought to take a point just for all that hard work. But I won't, because I know I'm only going to remember that "elegiac" has something to do with arses.

5. Sable. I thought this was reddish, similar to the color of a red fox. I thought there was an animal called a sable that was kind of like a red weasel. No clue what book it was in, but I did mark down that, from the context, I would have guessed "sable" meant black. Webster says: Your ignorance is showing. Yes, a sable is an animal related to the weasel, in the same genus as the marten, but it is dark brown. Sable can mean "a grayish yellowish brown" . . . not foxy red. It also means black or dark. I will take a half a point since my contextual guess of "black" was correct. And because I need it.

So, after a promising start, I only ended up with 2.5 points out of five. I guess it could have been worse (and it has been worse in the past). I will take this to mean I need to continue in my quest.

Words of the Day

I have a confession to make. Although I did start Anna Karenina and made it all the way to page 26, I haven't picked it up since Monday. Did you know it takes a really long time to read a really long book if you never actually read it? I do have the excuse of a side project which I hope to tell you about someday soon, but meanwhile I think it's time to whittle away at my "List of Words to Look Up" once again.

1. Fuliginous. I'm so excited to tell you that I figured out where I found this word. I had it marked with "HJ 14," and the most likely match I could think of for that abbreviation is "Henry James." Knowing that five or six years ago when I wrote my list I was probably reading The Ambassadors, I pulled that book out and read page fourteen and there sat fuliginous. It appears in a quite long sentence during which James is describing Waymarsh through Strether's eyes. "He had a large handsome head and a large sallow seamed face--a striking significant physiognomic total, the upper range of which, the great political brow, the thick loose hair, the dark fuliginous eyes, recalled even to a generation whose standard had dreadfully deviated the impressive image, familiar by engravings and busts, of some great national worthy of the earlier part of the mid-century." Gosh, couldn't he have just said, "He looked like Abraham Lincoln"? Anyway, even in context, I still don't know what "fuliginous" means, but I can guess that it does not mean "full of genius," even if I can make it sound like it might. Webster says: Sooty, obscure, murky, having a dark or dusky color. OK, so what James was saying was that Waymarsh's eyes were dark and . . . dark. Got it. I ought to throw this one out on principle, but I won't. Zero points.

2. Saleratus. This one is from the same book, on page 35 (even though I had written down page 36 and stressed out slightly when it wasn't there) in which Miss Gostrey is trying to pry from Strether what vulgar objects are made in the workshop by which Mrs. Newsome has made her fortune. "It made between them a pause, which she, however, still fascinated by the mystery of the production at Wollett, presently broke. ' "Rather ridiculous"? Clothes-pins? Saleratus? Shoe polish?' " What fit in between clothes-pins and shoe polish back in 1903? Maybe saleratus is a variant of snake oil. Webster says: A leavening agent consisting of potassium or sodium bicarbonate. So it's baking soda, not snake oil. Still no points, even though I am having to resist giving myself partial points because I think that was an especially good guess.

3. Laudanum. I kind of know what this is but I suppose I put it on my list because I'm not exactly sure. I don't have a reference sentence for you, but you can surely imagine Agatha Christie directing the doctor to give laudanum to an elderly matron who has just experienced the shock of a murder in her family. I think it's a opiate given to calm or to aid in sleeping. Webster says: Any of various formerly used preparations of opium; a tincture of opium. Since it doesn't say what it was used for, I'm heading to wikipedia. Here I find that laudanum was used to relieve pain, to produce sleep, to allay irritation, to check excessive secretions, and to, um, "support the system"? OK, then! Even though I feel like I cheated by including such an easy one, I finally get a point!

4. High dudgeon. I don't know where I heard this phrase, but the word "dudgeon" makes me think of a combination of "dungeon" and "drudgery." So, maybe it's a really boring prison. And I have to wonder . . . is there also "low dudgeon"? Webster says: Dudgeon is a fit or state of indignation or offense. Zero points for this one too (as if we didn't already know that).

5. Laconic. Yet again I have no context for you other than that I'm sure this word can be used to describe a manner of speaking. I think it means lazy or slow. Webster says: Using or involving the use of a minimum of words. Concise to the point of seeming rude or mysterious. I'm going to have to take a quarter of a point for knowing that it refers to speech.

1.25 points out of five? Let's do a bonus round, in case I haven't embarrassed myself enough for one day. I first read the word git in one of the Harry Potter books. It was pretty clear that it meant something of a cross between "dimwit" and "stupid jerk," but I wasn't sure of the pronunciation. Does it sound the way it would in the sentence, "What did you git at the store?" (which may be the only way of using the phrase you git without giving offense). The other option, of course, is the sound in the second half of the word "idjit."

If you go here you can hear the pronunciation of git for yourself. Or if you are British and laughing at my ignorance, go here and laugh harder when you see my favorite pronunciation suggestion:

Gee-HAAAA-ga-BLOOOO-mup-mup-mup-PAH-TANG-pickle. (And remember, the third one is an acute "mup.")

Consider this a community service announcement to help you avoid sounding like a git the next time you get a pint at the pub.

Words of the Day

Instead of getting anything important accomplished, once again I find myself sitting amidst relative filth and squalor while communing with my dictionary. It's okay, because I had brownies for breakfast, so I might as well continue the irresponsibility for the remainder of the day. I'll do better tomorrow.

1. Pendulous. This word was found on page 99 of some book whose title I did not mark down. I wish I knew which book it was, because I wonder why this word is on my list. Pendulous means heavy and swinging, right? It must have been used in some unexpected way, and it sure would be interesting to recall how. Oh well. As it is, I am embarrassed to admit that the only noun I can think of to use in relation to this adjective is "breasts" (and not mine, unfortunately). Webster says: Poised without visible support; suspended so as to swing freely; inclined or hanging downward; marked by vascillation, indecision or uncertainty. That last part of the definition is new to me, and I'm guessing that's the way it was used on page 99. Also, it sounds like breasts are only pendulous when they're unfettered, which would be why mine aren't. (Too much information? Let's move on. After I take my 0.62 of a point: one for swinging, minus 1/4 for not knowing it could be used to refer to indecision, then taking away another 0.13 for throwing in "heavy.")

2. Gracile. My note alongside this word is "Nefertiti's skeleton," which means I must have gotten it from National Geographic. (Come to think of it--you never know--word #1 might have come from that magazine too.) I am pretty sure this word means delicate and graceful, perhaps even elegant. Webster says: Slender, slight, graceful. Kind of makes you wonder . . . have you ever seen a fat skeleton? Anyway, that's worth a full point.

3. Excoriating. Once again I have a page number but no title. (It's from page 144, if that helps you, but it obviously does not help me). The sound of the word makes me think of something that is harsh and grating. But maybe I am mixing it up with "exfoliating." Webster says: To wear off the skin of; abrade; to censure scathingly. Wow, so it is like exfoliating, except in a really harsh and grating way. I'm good! Glad I didn't guess the definition was "to remove the core of an apple." One point!

4. Swarthy. I always thought this meant dark-complected, or perhaps even a dark facial expression, but in my vague memory it seems I've also seen it used to describe a man who is thick-set or strongly built. We shall see. Webster says: being of a dark color, complexion or cast. So, I will throw out the strongly-built thing and give myself another point.

5. Lachrymose. I am almost certain I got this word from Lemony Snicket. Have you read his Series of Unfortunate Events? I read the first few (until I got bored with the repetition of the Baudelaire siblings continually finding themselves in danger from Count Olaf). In the third book the children find themselves with their Aunt Josephine, hanging precariously over Lake Lachrymose. I am surprised that Snicket did not define lachrymose for his readers, as he is generally in the habit of doing. This leaves me having to guess at the definition. The word makes me think of a languid sadness. Webster says: given to tears or weeping; tearful; mournful. Sad, right? Another point!

The words must have been too easy this week (or I was too easy on myself in my grading scale). 4.62 out of 5!

Words of the Day

All of today's words are from The Sparrow.

1. Arrogate. "'During these months and for all time,' he told Sandoz, 'you will cease to arrogate to yourself responsibility that lies elsewhere.'" Clearly "arrogate" must mean "apply" or "assign," but I'd never heard the word before. I have, however, heard of the word "abrogate," though I don't know what that means either, so apparently I'll have to look that one up too. Webster says: To claim or seize without justification; to make undue claims to having; to assume or ascribe. I'm taking the point, but subtracting 0.15 because I didn't get the connotation that it's without justification. Moving on: to abrogate is to abolish by authoritative action; annul; to do away with. And, just for funsies, to abnegate is to surrender, relinquish, deny or renounce. So now you're all set for the next time you're doing a crossword puzzle and you need an eight-letter word that starts with "a" and ends in "gate."

2. Beatific. "But George was starting to laugh and Emilio looked positively beatific." I'm not sure of its exact meaning, but I'm fairly certain it's a facial expression used to describe the way the Virgin Mary smiles. And evidently people only look this way when they're pretty happy. Webster says: Having a blissful or benign appearance; saintly, angelic. Ha! Just like the Virgin Mary. One point.

3. Charism. "It was easy to believe that to live as a celibate was a charism--a special kind of grace." Did the book just define the word for me? I would have thought "charism" was derived from the word "charisma," meaning a magnetic personality, though I've never heard it used without an "a" on the end. Webster says: Charisma and charism are the same thing. The definition I knew is "a special magnetic charm or appeal," but I think the one implied in The Sparrow is one I didn't know: an extraordinary power (as of healing) given a Christian by the Holy Spirit for the good of the church. So, half a point for knowing the common meaning of "charisma" but not knowing the rest of it.

4. Soutane. "Barelegged and barefoot, Sandoz was tanned to the color of cinnamon, wearing the loose khaki shorts and oversized black T-shirt that had replaced the soutane, impossibly hot in this climate." Obviously some article of clothing worn by a priest, and something that doesn't allow much of a breeze through it. I will guess that a "soutane" is a heavy priestly robe. More specifically, one of those that looks like a brown burlap bag with a hood, like what I picture Friar Tuck wearing. Webster says: Cassock. An ankle-length garment with close-fitting sleeves worn especially in Roman Catholic and Anglican churches by the clergy and by laymen assisting in services. That does not tell me about the color, texture or hoodedness, but in perusing google images, it appears that a cassock more closely resembles something Severus Snape would wear as opposed to Friar Tuck. Three quarters of a point.

5. Immanent. "God is not everywhere. God is not immanent." This is not to be confused with "imminent," which is the same as "impending" (if less likely to be followed by "doom") and obviously doesn't fit the context. Judging by its use, I'm guessing that "immanent" means "everywhere at once." Perhaps "immanent" and "omnipresent" are synonyms. Webster says: Remaining or operating within a domain of reality or realm of discourse; inherent; having existence or effect only within the mind or consciousness. No points! In fact, I should probably get negative points for being so completely wrong, but I don't want to.

A hard-earned 3.1 points out of five. I'm going outside to play.

Words of the Day

Once again, it's time to tell you about the new words I've learned!

1. Sybaritic. From The Know-It-All. "The Britannica gives an elegant description of Anna's brother Stiva, who is 'genial and sybaritic'." I've heard this word before. I just have no idea what it means. If only it started with a "c," I might guess the definition was computer-related, although I suppose this would be quite anachronistic (as the above-referenced Anna and Stiva are characters in the book Anna Karenina, first published in the 19th century) and slightly misspelled. As it is, I can only guess that the term is complimentary. Webster says: A native or resident of the ancient city of Sybaris. Well, that doesn't help me. Good thing Webster also says these residents were voluptuaries and sensualists. So I guess whether that's complimentary is a matter of perspective. I'm not claiming points for this one. Even though I would like to.

2. Abseiling. From Notes From a Big Country. Somewhere, once upon a time, I possessed a scrap of paper with this word scratched on it, along with the page number where I could find its use in the book. If that scrap of paper still existed I could quote to you the sentence where I found this word. As it is, I will have to be content with telling you that, by context, I assumed that abseiling and rappelling are synonyms. Webster says: I am an American book, not a British one. Webster online says: Your guess is correct. One point!

3. Furgle. Here, and for the following two words, we return to Catch-22. If I couldn't refer to the context of its use, I would think Joseph Heller may have made this word up by combining something like froth and gurgle. But it's pretty easy to tell what Heller meant when he wrote, "[Hungry Joe] could never decide whether to furgle them or photograph them, for he had found it impossible to do both simultaneously." Obviously it's a stand-in for a slightly less polite f-word. Webster is strangely silent on the matter, but I think I'll take the point anyway.

4. Paroxysms. "[Milo Minderbinder] was capable of paroxysms of righteous indignation." I'm pretty sure that paroxysms are convulsions, frequently associated with coughing or laughter, though I never would have guessed that based on its use alongside "indignation." Webster says: A fit, attack, or sudden increase or recurrence of symptoms (as of a disease). A sudden violent emotion or action. Hey, look at this: Convulsion (a ~ of coughing). I get a point for being right about convulsions, but now the use (mainly due to the part about violent emotion) makes more sense.

5. Pernicious. "Just about all [Yossarian] could find in [war's] favor was that it paid well and liberated children from the pernicious influence of their parents." My guess is something along the lines of extensively, insidiously invasive. Which is what I imagine the "pernicious" in "pernicious anemia" to mean. Webster says: Highly injurious or destructive; deadly; wicked. Hmmm, I just don't see how I can wrangle a point out of that one.

Three out of five. Good thing my life doesn't depend on knowing the definition to these words.

Words of the Day and Miscellaneous Good Things

I found another new word this week in my current read, The Sparrow by Mary Doria Russell. Which, by the way, I am having a surprisingly difficult time of getting into and caring about, even though I have already read 69 pages. But I will persevere, because I have been promised excellence. And you will be happy to know I actually remember where I came across all but one of today's words!

1. Threnody. (As I said above, from The Sparrow.) "At dinner that first night with Emilio at the Edwardses' place, Jimmy kept them laughing with a comic threnody, listing the hazards life held for a regular guy in a world built by and for midgets." Maybe this is as simple as a "routine," as in "comedy routine? Whatever it is, I am sure it's something one uses with which to regale one's audience. Webster says: A song of lamentation for the dead; elegy. That has just about the complete opposite connotation from what I was thinking. Goose egg for me.

2. Benignant. This is the orphan word for the day, since I can't remember where I found it. But I am sure it has something to do with harmlessness. Webster says: Serenely mild and kindly; favorable, beneficial, benign. Yup, I get a point for this one, but I can't help but wonder why the author (whoever it was) didn't just use the word benign. Seems a little pretentious to turn it into a fancy word that I may or may not know the meaning of.

3. Prolix. From Joseph Heller's Catch-22. I marked "prolix" down on my list when I first read this book, which would have been during the First Saturday Book Club's heyday more than four years ago, but I'm kind of cheating by including this word because I'm pretty sure I looked it up when I re-read the book last summer. Anway, "He's the one who tipped me off that our prose was too prolix." It means verbose. Webster says: Unduly prolonged or drawn out; too long; marked by or using an excess of words; wordy. I'm up to two points!

4. Cantilevered. Also from Catch-22. I'm going to modify this quote somewhat, if you don't mind. "That was where he wanted to be if he had to be there at all, instead of hung out there in front like some [danged ol'] cantilevered goldfish in some [danged ol'] cantilevered goldfish bowl while the [danged ol'] foul black tiers of flak were bursting and booming and billowing all around and above and below him in a climbing, cracking, staggered, banging, phantasmagorical, cosmological wickedness that jarred and tossed and shivered, clattered and pierced, and threatened to annihilate them all in one splinter of a second in one vast flash of fire." If that's not a vivid sentence I don't know what is. OK, from bicycle brakes and pergola plans I have the idea that if something is "cantilevered" it sort of sticks out as if unsupported, but it really is supported because it's balanced just right, but I'm sure Webster can say it much more efficiently than I can. Webster says: A projecting beam or member supported at only one end. That's three points.

5. Phantasmagorical. Same quote as above. I think this means amazing, fantastic, and phantom-related. Webster says: An optical effect by which figures on a screen appear to dwindle into the distance or to rush toward the observer with enormous increase of size; a constantly shifting complex succession of things seen or imagined; a scene that constantly changes. Kathy says: Oops. Apparently "phantasm" and "phantasmagorical" aren't as similar as you would think.

6. We get a bonus word today: Cosmological (yes, again from the same quote). The study of the universe? Webster says: Finally I got one right! That makes four out of six.

On to the Miscellaneous Good Things. If you've had the chance to read many of my other posts, you would probably have the idea that one of my favorite authors is Sam Taylor (and you would be right). I left a comment on his blog a few days ago, and he was kind enough to reply to me with an email which pretty much just made my day.

The other Good Thing of the day is also Sam-Taylor-related. He lives in the south of France (the lucky dog!) and is hosting creative writing workshops! As much as I would love to go, I think my husband is still mad at me for my last trip to Europe, so I'm pretty sure Hud would not look too kindly on me taking a trip to the south of France, especially since I'm not exactly a writer. SO: your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to go to the south of France and then tell me all about it so that I can live vicariously through you!

Words of the Day (with a few additional random tidbits)

Time for more Dictionary Fun! I picked up a couple of weird words in my current read, The Island at the End of the World by Sam Taylor. At first I thought they were just misspellings (on purpose, of course), but my foray into the dictionary showed otherwise. The other three words are yet more orphans, as I can not recall where I found them. Starting with Taylor's two words first:

1. Diktats. "But, disobeying the diktats of my mind, my fingers creep to the mouse and click on the camera icon." I always thought this was spelled "dictates" (the noun form, not the verb), which basically refers to a thing that someone in charge has told you to do. Could these be two alternate spellings of the same word? Webster says: Not exactly, but close enough. (No, Webster didn't actually come out and say that, but it is.) Webster defines a diktat as a harsh settlement unilaterally imposed; a decree or . . . dictate! Surprisingly (to me), diktat is pronounced differently from dictate. The emphasis is on the second syllable, which rhymes with "hot" instead of "hate." Pretty interesting, but I have a feeling I won't be using that one much in every day conversations. Chalk up a point for me anyway.

2. Tocsin. Same book as above. In the chapters narrated by Finn, Taylor uses some sort of weird dialect with lots of misspellings, and though this word was found in one of the father's chapters, I thought some of that dialect had slipped in on him unawares when he meant to say "toxin." On the other hand, "poison" doesn't fit the context. "I stare at the dark mark with my heart clanging like a tocsin." Toxins don't clang. A tocsin must be some sort of bell. But would your heart really clang like a bell? Anyway, Webster says: An alarm bell; a warning signal. Ding! I'm up to two points.

3. Derogated. I am guessing this is related to "derogatory," which brings to mind slander or defamation of character. Sorry, no context clues for you on this one, as they are long-lost. Webster says: Detracted; taken away so as to impair; acted beneath one's position or character. So, yes, definitely related to derogatory, but it sounds like something you do to yourself instead of to someone else. Half a point, I guess.

4. Infundibuliform. What the heck? It has to have something to do with some sort of body part. (Yeah, you know, the infundibulum. Which is . . . ) Well, I know it's not shaped like the appendix, because that would be "vermiform," right? I'm sure it's probably some special little lump on some sort of bone. Webster says: Having the form of a funnel or a cone. Oops. Well, cone rhymes with bone . . . no? Well, at least bodily organs do come up: the part of the brain that attaches the pituitary gland, the calyx of a kidney, and the abdominal opening of a Fallopian tube are all infundibuliform. Again, not something I think I can work into casual conversation, and I sure would like to know where I found it in a book. A quarter of a point for knowing it was somehow related to anatomy.

5. Unctuous. I think I know this one. Doesn't it kind of describe a greasy suck-up? Like your typical used car salesman? Webster says: Fatty, oily, smooth and greasy in texture or appearance; smug, ingratiating, with false earnestness or spirituality; used car salesman. (OK, I added that last bit, but you know it belongs there). That's another point.

Let's see how I did. 3.75 out of 5? Maybe I'll do better next time.

Now I'm going to slip in a couple of little off-topic tidbits instead of making a whole new post for them. First of all, today is what I've been hearing people call a "blogiversary"! My very first post was exactly one year ago. Well . . . I didn't actually start this blog until June 2009, because at the end of May I was here, but when I got back I wanted to write about the five books I'd read while I was gone. I just changed the post dates to reflect the day I finished each of those books. So I guess today is really just a faux-versary, but I'm still proud that I've blogged about all of the books I've read for a whole year! (I have spared you most of the bedtime stories, though.)

Second of all, here are the "following" poll results, in case you haven't looked at them yet. I'm not sure how long I'll leave the poll up there on the sidebar now that voting is closed, but for now you can still see what the six options were. I am amazed (and relieved!) that 100% of the 9 voters are just like me and only follow the blogs they're most interested in! That, and the thread on the Ning Book Blogs site, did much to assuage my guilt. Speaking of that site, you should check it out here.

Words of the Day

I really should be going to bed, since even if I fell asleep rightthisminute I wouldn't have time to sleep much more than six hours tonight, but I would much rather play another round of Dictionary Fun and finish my wine instead.

I didn't come across any excellent words during my reading this week, so the five below are all from my original list that has been waiting on me for years. Of course, what this means is that I have no idea where I found these words, nor do I know the context. But I can still have fun with definition-guessing!

1. Pathos. One of the Three Musketeers, right? (Yeah, I can see you rolling your eyes). This is one of those words that I'm sure everyone knows except for me. Does it have something to do with passion? Or angst? Or angsty passion? Webster says: An element in experience or in artistic representation evoking pity or compassion; an emotion of sympathetic pity. Looks like I'm not off to a good start. No points for me. (By the way, just for good measure, I looked up Athos, Porthos and Aramis. None of them are in my dictionary. And as a bonus, here is a related word: Bathos. Insincere or overdone pathos; sentimentalism. Exceptionally trite, commonplace, and anticlimactic.)

2. Cystologist. Why is this word on my list? I am almost 99.9% sure it would refer to someone (namely, a doctor) who studies the bladder. Wouldn't you just love to know what the heck kind of book I read that used this word? (I assure you it wasn't a medical textbook). Webster says: Nothing. This word is not in my dictionary. Obviously it's not unabridged. Google says: Specialist of the bladder. Ding ding ding!

3. Cetologist. For some reason I have the idea that this is someone who studies whales. Aren't whales cetaceans? Webster says: A branch of zoology dealing with the whales. w00t!

4. Shanghaied. Taken advantage of by trickery? Webster says: Put aboard a ship by force often with the help of liquor or a drug; to put by force or threat of force into a place of detention; to put by trickery into an undesirable position. Full points. Even though I probably don't deserve them because my guess wasn't quite specific enough.

5. Pedantic. I'm thinking that someone who preaches in a condescending manner could be described with this word. Webster says: Narrowly, stodgily, and often ostentatiously learned; unimaginative, pedestrian; being a pedant (who would parade his learning and unduly emphasize minutiae in the presentation or use of knowledge). A pedant wouldn't give me a whole point for my guess but I'm taking it anyway.

Four out of five points for me tonight. How did you do?

Words of the Day

Ready for more Dictionary Fun? I was going to continue through my original list from top to bottom, but I came across two new words just this week, and I was eager to get to them first, with the added benefit that I actually remember where I heard them and can even share with you the sentence where I found them.

1. Gallimaufry. From my most recent read, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. "Every family had a few skeletons in their cupboards, but the Vanger family had an entire gallimaufry of them." So I'm guessing it's a pretty big place to store skeletons. I mean, I have no clue. I'm going to go out on a limb here and say it's a French tomb at the top of a tower. (I really do have reasons behind this: Galli- as in Gallic, -mau- as in mausoleum, and -fry as in belfry . . . hey, I tried!!) Webster says: Hodgepodge (which, in turn, is defined as a mixture or jumble). Yup, I couldn't have been more wrong. Zero points. Boo hiss! But there's an option for a bonus half-point if I'm pronouncing the word correctly (accent on the "mau" syllable). Let's check in with Webster again: Oooh, yes! 0.5 for me.

2. Exiguous. Another from Dragon Tattoo. "She had a rudimentary knowledge of the law--it was a subject she had never had occasion to explore--and her faith in the police was generally exiguous." Lacking? Theoretical? Along the lines of thinking "it works for other people but not for me"? Webster says: Excessively scanty; inadequate. So, "lacking" works, right? I'm claiming the point.

3. Anabaptist. I totally remember learning this word in a religion class in college, but that was, like, a long time ago. Funny that I don't remember the definition, but I do remember that my roommate knew the definition. Or maybe I'm thinking about the word "gnostic" . . . OK, I guess I have 2 words to look up now. And honestly I don't even have a guess on either one. Webster says: An Anabaptist is a Protestant sectarian of a radical movement arising in the 16th century and advocating the baptism and church membership of adult believers only, nonresistance, and the separation of church and state. A Gnostic belongs to a cult of late pre-Christian and early Christian centuries distinguished by the conviction that matter is evil and that emancipation comes through gnosis. Ugh, will this never end? What is gnosis? Esoteric (private or confidential information limited to a small group) knowledge of spiritual truth which is essential to salvation. MY GOSH that was convoluted but boring. I get a point just for looking all that up. And YOU get a point just for reading it. Maybe #4 will be more fun.

4. Glutinous. Is this like gelatinous, only wheat-based? (Nah, "gluten" ends in -en, not -in.) Webster says: Having the quality of glue; gummy. So if something is glutinous it is like glue, and a gelatinous substance is like jelly. I get 3/4 of a point, since "gelatin" is defined as "a glutinous material." They're definitely related.

5. Gorgeous. I've always thought gorgeous meant super-pretty, but that definition must not have matched the context wherever I found it. I sure wish I remembered where this one came from, because it's a little disappointing to wonder but not know why I was unsure of the definition. Webster says: Splendidly or showily brilliant or magnificent. I say I get a point for this one too, don't you?

So now I have to do some math. Looks like 4.25 out of 5, but I'm subtracting a point since this wasn't near as fun as last week. Well, the first two words were fun, but the other three, not so much. You can have the point that I deleted from my score as a reward, if you actually read this far.

Now here is my Dictionary Day disclaimer. Not that I thought I was the first person to have ever looked up the definitions of words I don't know, but the day after I posted my first Words of the Day last week, I found there is already a well-established blogger meme called "Wondrous Words" that basically does just the same thing that I'm doing here. I guess I just want to say I'm not trying to be an idea thief, thunder-stealer or copy-cat with my definitions posts. 'Sokay, though. Dictionary Fun can be for everyone.

Words of the Day

Several years ago I started keeping a list of "Words to Look Up." These were words I came across while reading that met one of three criteria: #1, I had never heard of them before; #2, I thought I knew the definition but wanted to confirm it; or #3, the definition in my mind didn't match with the context in the book. I think I may have first started doing this while reading Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray (excellent book, by the way--I highly recommend it if you've never read it), or perhaps it was during The Lost World by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (another decent one).

I fully intended to look up the definition of these words, and then reread how each was used in context, but I didn't do a very good job in keeping track of which book I found them in. Oops. For about half of the words I didn't even list a page number; a bunch more have a page number without a notation about a title (how does that help??); then there are a few for which I marked down title initials but I still have no idea what book it might be! For instance, what book uses the word "fuliginous" and could be denoted by the initials HJ? Or where would I find the word "alacrity" in a book with the initials FM?

Anyway, since I am obviously never going to take the time to look up all the definitions in one sitting, I have decided to look them up in groups of five with a nice break in between. I call this "Words of the Day" mainly in homage to Joey Tribbiani's toilet paper, but I don't plan to do this daily. I guess I just hope to do it often enough that I finally come to the end of my list someday.

So, here are today's five entries:

1. Sere. On my list, this word is followed by "fields" in parentheses. I assume this is because, in the book I was reading, "sere" was an adjective used to describe "fields." My guess: Sere means dry. Webster says: Being dried and withered. Score!

2. Sine qua non. I assume this is a latin term. I bet my nephew David could tell me the definition, being one of the only people to have taken Latin classes in this century. (For all I know, he *is* the only one). He could also probably tell me how to pronounce it, because I have no clue. For my purposes, I'm calling it "see-nay kwa non." On my list, this phrase is followed by "necessary?" in parentheses. I am guessing that was my guess for the definition. Webster says: An absolutely indispensible or essential thing. Actual translation is "without which not." It is used as a noun. Anyway, that's two points for me!

3. Nacre-colored. On my list, this term is followed by "pearl material?" so I am guessing that was my guess as to the definition. Webster says: "nacre" is mother-of-pearl. Hey, I'm doing pretty well! This is fun!

4. Doge's barge. I'm almost sure this was from Dorian Gray. No qualifiers on my list. I have a vague idea that this refers to Venetian gondolas, and I used to think it was something dark and solemn and perhaps even funereal, but in one of the two books I recently read about Venice, I seem to recall learning that a Doge is some sort of government official. Webster says: a "doge" is the chief magistrate in the republics of Venice and Genoa. I don't feel like I can give myself full points for this one, because (though I know what a Doge is and I know what a barge is) I still don't get what the phrase "Doge's barge" connotes. I mean, is it just fancy?

5. Pygmy. I'm pretty sure this word came from Conan Doyle's aforementioned book. I always thought "pygmy" referred to a small version of something. In order for this to have made my list, my definition must not have fit the context. Webster says: Any of a race of dwarfs described by ancient Greek authors. Any of a small people of equatorial Africa ranging under five feet in height. A short, insignificant (really, Webster? that's a little rude!) person; Dwarf. I'm sure this word can apply to little rabbits, and, um, hippos too? So I say I get full points for this one.

Look at that! 4.5 out of 5. I win!