Word Fugitives: In Pursuit of Wanted Words
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by Barbara Wallraff
Let's suppose for a moment that your eighth-grade English teacher was wrong: infinitives may be split, prepositions may be final. And those vocabulary lists you memorized—picture them, then tear them up. What if the language were yours to play with? What if you could invent the words you needed?
"Word fugitives" is a term for the "empty mental spaces waiting to be filled" by newly coined words. This was the definition set out by Barbara Wallraff in her first installment of Word Fugitives—a column that originated as a feature on this Web site. Beginning in February 2001, readers were invited to submit meanings that lacked words and words that could fill the gaps. What do you call the act of trying to introduce two people when you've forgotten one of their names? Perhaps mumbleduction, ain'troduction, or introducking. What about the fear of running over squirrels? Flattenfaunaphobia, roadentaphobia, dentarodentaphobia, skiouroktonophobia, or swervousness.
What would the language experts say to this? Turns out, they think it's fun. "I use words that aren't in dictionaries all the time," writes Erin McKean, the editor in chief of U.S. dictionaries for the Oxford University Press. "If people restricted themselves to using only what the dictionary-makers have already caught and tagged, I'd soon be out of work, and English would stagnate." McKean and other professional word gatherers join enthusiastic amateurs in Wallraff's new book Word Fugitives, which reassures us that taking language seriously needn't always mean being serious about language.
Barbara Wallraff is a senior editor of The Atlantic Monthly. In addition to Word Fugitives, she writes a column called Word Court in which she settles readers' linguistic disputes. She worked as a copy editor at The Atlantic from 1983 until 2003, and she is the former editor of the trade newsletter Copy Editor. She also writes a weekly Word Court column for King Features Syndicate. She has written two previous books about language: Word Court (2000) and Your Own Words (2004).
I spoke with Wallraff by telephone on March 1.
—Joshua J. Friedman
I have coined a new word that I am certain is going to catch on. The word is floodite, and it's what you call an old-fashioned person who just discovered e-mail and is making up for lost time by filling your inbox with ancient jokes and dubious petitions. What is standing between floodite and an entry in the dictionary?
I am sorry to tell you this, but the major problem is that it's clever. If you want a new word to become an entry in the dictionary, it needs to be as low-key and normal as possible. A lot of words like floodite—and it is clever—cycle through the language in a temporary way, but they're more like little jokes that we're telling each other than permanent parts of the language. There are counterexamples, but they are very, very few.
Should we hold out hope that any of the new coinages suggested in Word Fugitives will eventually enter the language?
The thing is, Word Fugitives is a game. The words that people invent, they are not going to get into the dictionary. Recreational coining and actual coining are quite different. Coining words is instinctual. As little children we don't hear every single version of every word we are able to generate; patterns of language make themselves known to us—the way a past tense is formed, the way singular nouns are converted to plurals. Word Fugitives is something sophisticated for us to do with that instinct as adults—to put bits of existing words together to create new words for meanings that are more relevant to our lives than many of the old words in dictionaries. A hauberk and greaves, for example, are parts of the armor knights wore in the Middle Ages. Those are words in dictionaries, and they just never come up. So why can't we have new words that create more efficient ways of talking about contemporary life? We can, but the ones we're working on in Word Fugitives are more for the mental process of coining words and just the sheer fun of it than for creating new entries in the dictionary.
The idea that we can set aside the dictionary and allow our imaginations to invent new words for needs that we find in the world strikes me as a liberating one. Do you think people are sometimes intimidated by the dictionary—by its immense authority? Do they sense it looking over their shoulder?
Let's unpack that a bit. Is the dictionary an immense authority looking over people's shoulder? I wouldn't say so. Dictionaries have abdicated that authority. The editors of all of them will tell you that they are trying to describe language as it is used and not prescribe how it ought to be used. They may have usage notes that say, This usage of impact is frowned upon by many, and The American Heritage Dictionary will even explain why, but dictionaries don't think of themselves as authorities. They think of themselves as reporters of the language. Now, because I spent twenty years carefully reading every word that was going to appear in The Atlantic, and because, time was, I remember being as much as told that if a grammatical mistake appeared in the magazine, it wasn't the author's fault, it was mine, I do find it liberating to be working on types of writing that don't have that long tradition behind them. And I know readers enjoy it, too, because I get plenty of enthusiastic responses.