Surreal

Surreal (pronounced suh-ree-uhl (U) or sur-reel (non-U))

(1) Of, relating to, or characteristic of surrealism, an artistic and literary style; surrealistic.

(2) Having the disorienting, hallucinatory quality of a dream; unreal; fantastic & and incongruous.

(3) As surrealism, an artistic movement and an aesthetic philosophy that, inter alia, explored the “liberation of the mind” by emphasizing the critical and imaginative powers of the subconscious.

(4) In mathematics as surreal numbers, a collection of numbers which includes both the real numbers and the infinite ordinal numbers, each real number surrounded by surreals, which are closer to it than any real number.

1936: A back formation from surrealism, the construct being ; sur- +‎ realism, from the French surréalisme, the construct being sur- (beyond) +‎ réalisme (realism).  Sur- ((over in the sense of “on top of” & over- in the sense of “excessive; excessively; too much”)) was from the Old French sur-, sour-, sor- & soure-, from a syncopation of the Latin super- (above, on top, over; upwards; moreover, in addition, besides) from the Proto-Italic super, from the primitive Indo-European upér (over, above (and cognate with the Ancient Greek ὑπέρ (hupér) (above) and the Proto-Germanic uber (which in English became “over”)).  The English sur- was from the Middle English sur-, from the Old French sur-, sour-, sor- & soure-, a syncopic form of the Latin super.  Sur is a doublet of super-, over- and hyper-.  Real was from the Middle English real, from the Old French reel, from the Late Latin reālis (actual), from the Latin rēs (matter, thing), from the primitive Indo-European rehís (wealth, goods).  Surreal is a noun & adjective, surreally is an adverb, surrealism & surreality are nouns and surrealistic is an adjective; the noun plural is surreals.

Lobster Telephone (1936) by Salvador Dali, one of a dozen-odd originals (in colors and shades of cream created by the artist).

In French, the noun surréalisme appeared first in the preface to Guillaume Apollinaire's (1880-1918) play Les Mamelles de Tirésias (1916-1917 and first performed in 1917).  The word was taken up in the 1920s by French intellectuals who created a number of (competing) Manifeste de Surréalisme (Surrealist manifesto) which were documents exploring the nature of human psychology and the way the radical imagination could produce transformative art.  Such was the nature of their texts, inspiration was offered to groups as diverse as landscape painters and anarchists and anyone else attracted to the idea (if not the business) of revolution.  The English form of the word appeared first in 1931, the French spelling having been in use since 1927.  Surrealist as an adjective and noun (from the 1917 French surréaliste) has been in use since 1925 while the adjective surrealistic dates from 1930.

La Trahison des Images (The Treachery of Images) (1929), oil on canvas, by Rene Magritte (1898-1967), Los Angeles County Museum of Art.

The French text Ceci n’est pas une pipe (This is not a pipe) is an act of deconstruction, a statement that a painting is a representation of something, not the object itself.  It’s a statement of the obvious but is both in the artistic tradition of opposition to oppressive rationalism and an influential strand in the history of Surrealism and Pop Art.

Mama, papa is wounded! (1927) by Yves Tanguy (1900-1955), oil on canvas, Museum of Modern Art, New York.

One of the motifs of surrealist painters was a deliberate disconnection between the title of a work and any immediately obvious meaning. Tanguy’s Mama, papa is wounded! was a painting in one of the recognized surrealist styles: a landscape of wide vista littered with abstract shapes, the title taken from a case-study in a psychiatry textbook.  Beyond mentioning he’d imagined the whole canvas before lifting a brush, Tangay gave no clue about the meaning, but coming so soon after Great War, many focused on a link with the many French causalities of the conflict, the depiction of their horrific injuries also part of an artistic movement in the post-war years.

Swans Reflecting Elephants (1937), oil on canvas by Salvador Dali (1904-1989)

Salvador Dali remains the best-known surrealist painter and Swans Reflecting Elephants is an example of his paranoiac-critical method, which attempted to use art to represent how subconscious thought might summon the irrational imagery when in a state of psychosis or paranoia.  The work is interesting too in that it’s the most perfect example of a double image, the trees and swans reflected in the mirror-like surface of the water as lake as elephants.  Dali himself would sometimes discuss the usefulness of the mirror as a device to explore the divergence between conscious reality and the world of the subconscious.

Jean-Martin Charcot, documentary photographs of hysteria patients at La Salpêtrière Asylum 1878, printed in Le Cinquantenaire de L’hystérie (La Révolution Surréaliste (1928)) by André Breton (1896–1966) & Louis Aragon (1897–1982).  Breton & Aragon lamented that hysteria (which they called "the greatest poetic discovery of the late nineteenth century") was being redefined by the new discipline of psychiatry as merely a symptom of mental illness which could be eliminated by suggestion alone.

The link between surrealist art and madness long intrigued the medical community and the interest later extended to the relationship with modernism in general.  Remarkably, it wasn’t until 1980 with the publication of the third edition (DSM-III) that the diagnosis “hysteria” was removed from the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders.  Hysteria had for centuries been a kind of omnibus diagnosis, applied to those (almost always women) displaying an extraordinary array of mental and physical symptoms, the gendered hysteria derived from the Ancient Greek word for uterus.  To many Surrealists, hysteria was the state in which a poetic expression of the mind’s wilder impulses could be unleashed, meaning that instead of being silenced, this fundamental condition of being female could usefully be objectified.  History and art met in the decade of the surrealists because the 1930s was a time to be hysterical, less about what was happening than the fear of what was to come but the reaction to the Exposition Internationale du Surréalisme, an exhibition by surrealist artists held in Paris in January-February 1938 was not despair or shock but indifference, the novelty of the form having passed, the claim the exhibition needed to be understood as a single installation convincing few.  In the history of the movement, the peak had actually passed and although surrealist works would continue to be produced (and actually mass-produced as wildly popular prints) in the post-war world, the output was repetitive.  The avant-garde having plundered from surrealism what could be carried off, explored other directions.

Woman’s Dinner Dress (February 1937) by Elsa Schiaparelli (1890-1973), printed silk organza and synthetic horsehair, Philadelphia Museum of Art.

The fragments however endure.  Elsa Schiaparelli was an Italian fashion designer who took the objects made famous by the Futurists, Dadaists, & Surrealists and integrated them into clothing, her most memorable piece a white evening gown adorned with a large Daliesque lobster.  A design which would now attract little attention, at the time it was a sensation, its audacity a contrast with the solid pastels and other subdued hues with which Coco Chanel (1883-1971) had defined Parisian sophistication.  The playful designs she adopted (a telephone-shaped handbag, buttons in the shape of lollipops, fingernail gloves and hats in shapes borrowed from industry and agriculture) were not always original but she lent them a respectability in the world of high-fashion. 

In the surreal style: Salvador Dali (2021) by Javier Peña and Lindsay Lohan by Mohamad Helmi on Displate.

Svelte

Svelte (pronounced svelt or sfelt)

(1) Slender, especially gracefully slender in figure; lithe.

(2) Suave, urbane elegant, sophisticated.

1817: Originally (and briefly) spelled svelt, from the seventeen century French svelte (slim, slender), from the Italian svelto (slim, slender (originally "pulled out, lengthened)), past participle of svellere (to pluck out or root out), from the Vulgar Latin exvellere (exvellitus), the construct being from ex + vellere (to pluck, stretch) + -tus (the past participle suffix).  The ex- prefix was from the Middle English, from words borrowed from the Middle French, from the Latin ex (out of, from), from the primitive Indo-European eǵ- & eǵs- (out).  It was cognate with the Ancient Greek ἐξ (ex) (out of, from), the Transalpine Gaulish ex- (out), the Old Irish ess- (out), the Old Church Slavonic изъ (izŭ) (out) & the Russian из (iz) (from, out of).  The “x” in “ex-“, sometimes is elided before certain constants, reduced to e- (eg ejaculate).  The Latin vellere (which English picked up as a learned borrowing) was the present active infinitive of vellō (I pluck out; I depilate; I pull or tear down), from the Proto-Italic welnō, from the primitive Indo-European wel-no-, a suffixed form of uelh- (to strike), source also of the Hittite ualh- (to hit, strike) and the Greek aliskomai (to be caught).  The Latin suffix –tus was from the Proto-Italic -tos, from the primitive Indo-European -tós (the suffix creating verbal adjectives) and may be compared to the Proto-Slavic –tъ and Proto-Germanic –daz & -taz.  It was used to form the past participle of verbs and adjectives having the sense "provided with".  Latin scholars caution the correct use of the –tus suffix is technically demanding with a myriad of rules to be followed and, in use, even the pronunciation used in Ecclesiastical Latin could vary.  Svelte is an adjective and svelteness is a noun; the comparative is svelter and the superlative sveltest although in practice both are rare and constructions (however unhappy) such as very svelte, most svelte are more common.  Thankfully, sveltesque & sveltish seem not to exist and if they do, they shouldn’t.

Svelte: Lindsay Lohan, Olympus Fashion Week, Bryant Park, Manhattan, February 2006.

Because svelte is intended as a compliment to be extended in admiration, the true synonyms include refined, delicate, graceful, lithe, slender, lean, lissom, slinky, slim, elegant, willowy, waif & sylph-like.  Although can equally (and technically correctly) apply to the same image, words like thin, scrawny and skinny can be used with a negative connotation.  Interestingly, in some Nordic languages, the word has the sense of variations of “thin, hunger, starvation” and is used of a two player card game in which the goal is to "starve" the opponent of all their cards.  Svelte is a word usually applied to people, most often women; while men can be called svelte, most would probably prefer another label.  However, it’s a descriptor which references the slender and the elegant so can be used anthropomorphically and there have been cars which have gone from frumpy to svelte:

The Pontiac Grand Prix: The first generation (1962–1964) (left), the second generation (1965–1968) (centre) and the third generation (1969–1972) (right).

The first Pontiac Grand Prix was among the outstanding designs which emerged from the General Motors (GM) styling studios in the 1960s, truly the corporation's golden era.  The first was built on a full-sized platform and was thus undeniably large but such was the competence of the styling team that the bulk was well-disguised and unless the are other objects in the frame to provide a point of reference, at first glance the sheer size of the thing is not obvious.  Its rather bulbous replacement fares not so well but Pontiac were aware the universe was shifting, their own smaller GTO and the emerging ecosystem of pony cars attracting the buyers wanting high performance while the full-size machines were beginning their path towards increasingly cosseted luxury.  Other full-sized machines however looked better while doing what the Grand Prix did and sales of the second generation weren’t encouraging.  Pontiac changed tack for 1969 and in the third generation produced another classic, a smaller car which relied not on gimmicks or embellishments but simple lines, the long hood working because it was the sole extravagance and one perfectly balanced by what would otherwise have seemed an excessively large C pillar.  It was a high-water mark for Pontiac.

Continentals: the Mark II (1956-1957) (left) and the Lincolns, the Mark III-V (1958-1960) (centre) and the fourth generation (1961-1969) (right).

Wanting to create a landmark in style which was as much a reaction to the excesses of the era as it was a homage to mid-century modernism, Ford actually created a separate division to produce the Continental Mark II and in its very sparseness the look succeeded but the realities of production-line economics doomed the project which lasted only two years.  Seemingly having decided that good taste didn’t sell, the Continental nameplate returned to the Lincoln line in 1958 and the Mark III-V models were big, some 227 inches (5.8 m) in length and weighing in at 2 ½ tons (2540 kg) or more.  Indisputably flamboyant with an intricate grille atop chrome dagmars, canted headlights partially encapsulated in semi-closed ovoid apertures and embellished with chrome spears & sweeping cove embossments, the only restraint seemed to be the surprisingly demure fins but with those Ford never succumbed to the lure of the macropterous which made so distinctive the cars from Chrysler and GM during the era.  Even at the time criticized as too big, too heavy and too bloated, the styling nevertheless represented one of the (several) logical conclusions of the trends which had for a decade been evolving but it too was a failure, lasting only three seasons.  After this there was nowhere to go but somewhere else.  In 1961 Lincoln went there, creating a classic shape which would remain in production, substantially unchanged until 1969.  Remembered now for being the car in which President Kennedy was shot, for the suicide doors, and the soon to be unique four-door convertible coachwork, it was a masterpiece of modern industrial design which managed to combine severe lines without any harshness in the shape and was influential, other manufacturers essentially borrowing the motif although none did it better than the original.  Managing the almost impossible, to be big yet svelte, Lincoln in the six decades since produced nothing as good and much that was worse.

The Mark IX was the final iteration of a decade-long line (the Mark VII, VIII & IX, 1951-1961) with a competition history which belied the stately appearance (left) while the Jaguar Mark X (1961-1970 and named 420G after 1967) never realized its potential because the factory refused to fit the Daimler V8 and its own V12 wasn’t ready until after production ended (centre) and the XJ (1968-1986) which, especially when fitted with the V12, may have been the best car in the world (right).

Svelte can be a relative term.  Although the Jaguar Mark X was soon criticized as being too big and bloated, upon release in 1961 it was thought sleek and modern because the car it replaced was stylistically something of an upright relic with its lines so obviously owing much to the pre-war era.  That warmth of feeling soon passed and it was too big (especially the width) for the home market while in the US where it could have been a great success if fitted with a V8 and air-conditioning as good as a Cadillac, it was neglected because the superior quality of the brakes and suspension meant little under US conditions.  The styling however did however provide a model for the slimmed-down XJ, released to acclaim in 1968 and greater adulation still when the V12 arrived in 1972.  The svelte lines aged well, especially on the short-lived two-door, and looked elegant still in 1986 when replaced.  However, the shape meant the hunter became captured by the game, Jaguar reprising the lines until 2009 although none matched the purity of the original.  The 420G was the last of the "big" Jags.

Dodge Chargers: 1966 (left) and 1968 (right).

The 1966 Charger featured one of the best interiors of the era, including a full-length centre console and rear-seats with a thoughtful design which folded flat, providing a usefully large storage area.  The highlight however was probably the dashboard featuring Chrysler’s intriguing electroluminescent instruments which, rather than being lit with bulbs, deployed a phenomenon in which a material emits light in response to an electric field; the ethereal glow much admired.  Inside was however the best place to be because it meant one didn’t have to look at the thing; it was chunky and slab-sided and while it could be said another fastback of the time (the truly ghastly Rambler (later AMC) Marlin) was worse, that really was damming with faint praise.  Still, on the NASCAR ovals the shape proved surprisingly slippery and when paired with Chrysler’s Hemi V8, it proved a trophy winner.  The welcome restyle of 1968 was transformative and seldom has there been such an overnight improvement.  Ironically though, the svelte lines proved not especially aerodynamic and on the racetrack, the sleek-looking Charger suffered in a way its frumpy predecessor had not, the stylishly recessed grill and the tunnel-effect used around the rear window compromising the aerodynamics and therefore the speed.  It took Dodge two attempts to solve the problem: The Charger 500 flattened both the grill and the rear windows but the instability remained so engineers (conveniently available from Chrysler’s recently shuttered missile division) fashioned a radical nosecone and a high rear wing which served well for the two seasons the modifications were permitted to be homologated for use on the Dodge Daytona in competition.  Ford suffered a similar fate in 1970: the new Torino looked better but the 1969 shape proved more efficient so the racers stuck with last year’s model until a solution was found.

Faction

Faction (pronounced fak-shun)

(1) A group or clique forming a minority within a larger body, especially a dissentious group within a political party, government or organization.  The terms “splinter group”, “breakaway”, “reform group”, “ginger group” et al are sometimes used as factional descriptors depending on the circumstances but the more familiar (and sometimes formally institutionalized) are forms like “right”, “left”, “wet”, “dry” “moderate”, “conservative” et al.

(2) Internal organizational strife and intrigue; discord or dissension (applied mostly to political parties but used also to describe the internal workings of many institutions).

(3) As a portmanteau word, the construct being fact + (fict)on), in literature, film etc, a form of writing which blends fact and fiction (though distinct from the literary form “magic realism); in journalism, elements of faction are seen in variations of the technique sometimes called “new” or “gonzo” journalism.  In reportage, it should not be confused with “making stuff up” and it’s distinct from the “alternative facts” model associated with some staff employed in the Trump White House.

1500-1510: From the fourteenth century Middle French faction, from the Latin factionem (nominative factiō) (a group of people acting together, a political grouping (literally “a making or doing”)), a noun of process from the perfect passive participle factus, from faciō (do, make), from facere (to make, to do), from the primitive Indo-European root dhe- (to set; put; to place or adjust).  The adjective factious (given to faction, turbulently partisan, dissentious) dates from the 1530s and was from either the French factieux or the Latin factiosus (partisan, seditious, inclined to form parties) again from factionem; the related forms were the noun factiousness and the adverb factiously.  In ancient Rome, the factions were the four teams which contested the chariot racing events in the circus, the members distinguished by the colors used for their clothing and to adorn their horses and equipment.  Because politics and the sport soon intertwined the meaning of faction shifted to include “an oligarchy, usurping faction, party seeking by irregular means to bring about a change in government”.  Even after the fall of Rome, the traditional Roman factions remained prominent in the Byzantine Empire and chariot racing went into decline only after the factions fought during the Nika riots in 532 which saw some thirty-thousand dead and half of Constantinople razed.  Faction, factioneer, factionist & factionalism are nouns, factionalize is a verb, factional & factionless are adjectives, factionally is an adverb, factionary is a noun & adjective, factionate is a verb & adjective; the noun plural is factions.

The use of the word to describe the literary device which blends facts with fiction faction is said to date from the late 1960s although some sources suggest it had earlier been used in discussions held in conferences and meetings but the most usual descriptor of such works was the earlier “non-fiction novel” which by the mid century (especially in the US) had become a popular (and in literary circles a fashionable) form although, as such, it was not originally directly related to post-modernism.  Critics trace the origins of the form to the years immediately after World War I (1914-1918) and distinguish the works produced then from earlier texts where there was some use of dubious material presented as “fact” in that in the twentieth century the author’s made their intent deliberate.

William Shakespeare (1564–1616) was well acquainted with the earthly lusts and frailties of men and in Coriolanus (1605-1608) act 5, scene 2, at the Volscian camp when Menenius is halted by sentries who refuse to allow him to see their generals he knew what to say though it did him little good.

First sentry: Faith, sir, if you had told as many lies in his behalf as you have uttered words in your own, you should not pass here; no, though it were as virtuous to lie as to live chastely. Therefore, go back.

Menenius: Prithee, fellow, remember my name is Menenius, always factionary on the party of your general.

Second sentry: Howsoever you have been his liar, as you say you have, I am one that, telling true under him, must say, you cannot pass.  Therefore, go back.

Menenius: Hath he dined, canst thou tell? for I would not speak with him till after dinner.

The Baader-Meinhof faction

Founded in 1970, the Rote Armee Fraktion (Red Army Faction (RAF)) was a left-wing, armed militant revolutionary group based in the Federal Republic of Germany (The FRG or West Germany (1949-1990)) which, for almost thirty years, undertook assassinations, kidnappings, robberies and bombings and although actually less active than some other terrorist cells, the RAF was better known and most influential in the early-mid 1970s.  The RAF was dissolved in 1998 although, in the nature of such things, some members continued to use their skills in criminal ventures including drug-trafficing as a form of revenue generation.  The RAF always used the word Fraktion, translated into English as faction.  The linguistic implications never pleased RAF members who thought themselves the embedded, military wing of the wider communist workers' movement, not a faction or splinter-group.  In this context the German doesn’t lend well to translation but closest single-word reflecting the RAF’s view is probably “section” or “squad”.  German journalist Stefan Aust (b 1946) also avoided the word, choosing Der Baader Meinhof Komplex (the  Baader-Meinhof Complex) as the title of his 2008 book because it better described how the organization operated.

Andreas Baader & Ulrike Meinhof

In the era they were active, a common descriptor in the English-speaking word was the Baader-Meinhof Group or Gang, named after two of its members Andreas Baader (1943–1977) and Ulrike Meinhof (1934-1976) and the media’s choice of “gang” or “group” may have reflected the desire of governments for the RAF to be depicted more as violent criminals and less as revolutionaries.  The popular press however certainly preferred Baader-Meinhof to RAF because of the drama of the story, Meinhof having been part of the gang which freed Baader from prison.  Both later killed themselves and, although they were never the star-cross'd lovers some journalists liked to suggest, it added to the romance and the Baader-Meinhof name survived their deaths and although the media, politicians and security agencies adopted the eponymous title, it was never used by the RAF.  In the tradition of Marxist collectives, the members regarded the RAF as a co-founded group of many members and not one either defined by or identified with two figureheads, apart from which, the dominant female of the group was actually Gudrun Ensslin (1940-1977).

Factionalism

Factionalism is probably inherent to the nature of organizations and it really needs only for a structure to have two members for a faction to form.  Factions can be based on ideology, geography, theology, personalities (and factions have been formed purely as vehicles of hatred for another) or just about basis and the names they adopt can be designed to denigrate (redneck faction), operate euphemistically (centre-left (just right wingers who didn’t want to admit it)) or indicate a place on the spectrum (left vs right, liberal vs conservative et al).  They can also be modified by those wishing to demonize (lunar-right, hard-right, religious right etc).  The labelling can also be linguistically productive  In the UK during the 1980s, “the wets” was an epithet applied within the Conservative Party to those who opposed the government’s hard line policies, on the model of the slang “a bit wet” to describe those though effete or lacking resolve.  The wets responded by labelling their detractors “the dries” to which they responded with “warm and dry”, words with positive associations in a cold and damp country.  The names constantly evolve because fissiparousness is in the nature of organizations.

Of human nature

Cady's Map by Janis Ian.

The human race does seem inherently fissiparousness and wherever cultures have formed, history suggests divisions will form and folk will tend to coalesce (or be allocated or otherwise forced) into factions.  Usually, this is attributed to some defined or discernible difference (ethnicity, skin color, language, tribal affiliation, religion et al) but even among homogeneous groups, it's rare to identify one without sub-groups.  It does seem human nature and has long since become institutionalized and labelling theory practitioners can probably now build minor academic careers just by tracking the segregation as it evolves (boomers, gen-X, millennials etc).  The faction names of the cliques at North Shore High School (Mean Girls, Paramount Pictures 2004)) were Actual Human Beings, Anti-Plastics, The Art Freaks, Asexual Band Geeks, Asian Nerds, Burnouts, Cheerleaders, Cool Asians, Desperate Wannabes, Freshmen, Girls Who Eat Their Feelings, J.V. Cheerleaders, J.V. Jocks, Junior Plastics, Preps, ROTC Guys, Sexually Active Band Geeks, The Plastics, Unfriendly Black Hotties, Unnamed Girls Who Don't Eat Anything, and Varsity Jocks.  Given the way sensitivities have evolved, it’s predictable some of those names wouldn’t today be used; the factions' membership rosters would be much the same but some terms are now proscribed in this context, the threshold test for racism now its mere mention, racialism banished to places like epidemiological research papers tracking the distribution of morbidity. 

The factions of the Anglican Church

Fissiparousness is much associated with the modern Church of England, factions of which some time ago mostly abandoned any interest in God or the message of Christ for the more important matters of championing or decrying gay clergy, getting women into or keeping them out of the priesthood, and talking to or ignoring Rome.  Among those resistant to anything beyond the medieval, there's even an institutional forum, the Global Anglican Future Conference (GAFCON) which holds meetings at which there is much intrigue and plotting; it's sort of an anti-Lambeth Conference though the cucumber sandwiches are said to be much the same.  Under the stresses inherent in the late twentieth-century, fissiparousness saw the Anglicans coalesce into three factions, the low & lazy, the broad & hazy and the high & crazy.

Overlaps in the Anglican Church factions

The Low & Lazy

Like the high churchers, the low lot still believe in God but, their time not absorbed plotting and scheming or running campaigns to stamp out gay clergy and opposing the ordination of women, they actually have time to pray, which they do, often.  The evangelical types come from among the low and don’t approve of fancy rituals, Romish ways or anything smelling of popery.  Instead, they like services where there’s clapping, dancing and what sounds like country & western music with sermons telling them it’s Godly to buy things like big TVs and surf-skis.

The Broad & Hazy

The broad church is more a club than a church, something like the Tory Party at prayer.  The parishioners will choose the church they (occasionally) attend on the same basis as their golf club, driving miles if need be to find a congregation acceptably free of racial and cultural DEI (diversity, equity and inclusion).  They’re interested not at all in theology or anything too abstract so sermons need to be brief and sufficiently vague to please the bourgeoisie.  The broad church stands for most things in general and nothing in particular; finding most disputes in Anglicanism baffling, they just can't see what all the fuss is about.

The High & Crazy

The high church has clergy who love dressing up like the Spice Girls, burning incense and chanting the medieval liturgy in Latin.  They disapprove of about everything that’s happened since the 1662 edition of the Book of Common Prayer and believe there’d be less sin were there still burnings at the stake.  Most high church clergy wish Pius IX (1792–1878; pope 1846-1878) still sat on the throne of Saint Peter and some act as though he does.

Obliterate

Obliterate (pronounced uh-blit-uh-reyt (U) or oh-blit-uh-reyt (non-U))

(1) To remove or destroy all traces of something; do away with; destroy completely.

(2) In printing or graphic design, to blot out or render undecipherable (writing, marks, etc.); fully to efface.

(3) In medicine, to remove an organ or another body part completely, as by surgery, disease, or radiation.

1590–1600: From the Latin oblitterātus, perfect passive participle of oblitterō (blot out), from oblinō (smear over) and past participle of oblitterāre (to efface; cause to disappear, blot out (a writing) & (figuratively) cause to be forgotten, blot out a remembrance), the construct being ob- (a prefixation of the preposition ob (in the sense of “towards; against”)) + litter(a) (also litera) (letter; script) + -ātus (-ate).  The suffix -ate was a word-forming element used in forming nouns from Latin words ending in -ātus, -āta, & -ātum (such as estate, primate & senate).  Those that came to English via French often began with -at, but an -e was added in the fifteenth century or later to indicate the long vowel.  It can also mark adjectives formed from Latin perfect passive participle suffixes of first conjugation verbs -ātus, -āta, & -ātum (such as desolate, moderate & separate).  Again, often they were adopted in Middle English with an –at suffix, the -e appended after circa 1400; a doublet of –ee.  True synonyms include black out, eliminate, exterminate, annihilate, eradicate, delete, erase & expunge because to obliterate something is to remove all traces.  Other words often used as synonyms don’t of necessity exactly convey that sense; they include obscure, ravage, smash, wash out, wipe out, ax, cancel and cut.  Obliterate & obliterated are verds & adjetives, obliteration & obliterator are nouns, obliterature & obliterating are nouns, verb & adjective, obliterable & obliterative are adjectives and obliteratingly is an adverb; the noun plural is obliterations.

Social anxiety can be "obliterated".  Who knew?

The verb obliterate was abstracted from the phrase literas scribere (write across letters, strike out letters).  The noun obliteration (act of obliterating or effacing, a blotting out or wearing out, fact of being obliterated, extinction) dates from the 1650s, from the Late Latin obliterationem (nominative obliteratio), the noun of action from the past-participle stem of oblitterāre (to efface; cause to disappear, blot out (a writing) & (figuratively) cause to be forgotten, blot out a remembrance).  The related late fourteenth century noun oblivion (state or fact of forgetting, forgetfulness, loss of memory) was from the thirteenth century Old French oblivion and directly from the Latin oblivionem (nominative oblivio) (forgetfulness; a being forgotten) from oblivisci, the past participle of oblitus (forget) of uncertain origin.  Oblivion is if interest to etymologists because of speculation about a semantic shift from “to be smooth” to “to forget”, the theory based on the construct being ob- (using ob in the sense of “over”) + the root of lēvis (smooth).  For this there apparently exists no documentary evidence either to prove or disprove the notion.  The Latin lēvis (rubbed smooth, ground down) was from the primitive Indo-European lehiu-, from the root (s)lei- (slime, slimy, sticky).

Obliterature

The noun obliterature is a special derived form used in literary criticism, the construct being oblit(erate) + (lit)erature.  It describes works of literature in some way "obliterated or mad void", the most celebrated (or notorious according to many) being those which "interpreted" things in a manner not intended by the original author but the words is applied also to texts deliberately destroyed, erased or rendered unreadable, either as an artistic statement or as a result of censorship, neglect, or decay.  La biblioteca de Babel" (The Library of Babel (1941)) by Jorge Luis Borges (1899-1986) was a short story which imagined a universe consisting of an infinite library containing every possible book but all volumes are some way corrupted or comprise only random strings of characters; all works wholly unintelligible and thus useless.  The chaotic library was symbolic of the most extreme example of obliterature in that all works had been rendered unreadable and devoid of internal meaning.

Nazis burning books, Berlin, 1933.

Probably for a long as writing has existed, there has been censorship (and its companion: self-censorship).  Some censorship is official government policy while countless other instances exist at institutional level, sometimes as a political imperative, some time because of base commercial motives.  The most infamous examples are literary works banned or destroyed as political or religious repression including occasions when the process was one of public spectacle such as the burning of books in Nazi Germany, aimed at Jewish, communist and other “degenerate or undesirable” authors.   The critique: “They burn the books they cannot write” is often attributed German-Jewish poet, writer and literary critic Heinrich Heine (1797–1856) whose work was among the thousands of volumes placed on a bonfire in Berlin in 1933 but it’s a paraphrase of a passage from his play Almansor (1821-1822), spoken by a Muslim after Christian had burned piles of the holy Quran: “Das war ein Vorspiel nur, dort wo man Bücher verbrennt, verbrennt man auch am Ende Menschen.”  (That was but a prelude; where they burn books, they will ultimately burn people as well.")

The Address Book (1983) by French conceptual artist Sophie Calle (b 1953) was based on an address book the author found in the street which, (after photocopying the contents) she returned to the owner.  She then contacted those in the book and used the information they provided to create a narrative about the owner, a man she had never met.  This she had published in a newspaper and the man promptly threatened to sue on the grounds of a breach of his right to privacy, demanding all examples of the work in its published form be destroyed.  Duly, the obliterature was performed.  Thomas Phillips' (1937–2022) A Humument: A treated Victorian novel (in various editions 1970-2016) is regarded by most critics as an “altered” book, a class of literature in which novel media forms (often graphical artwork) are interpolated to change the appearance and sometimes elements of meaning.  Phillips use as his base a Victorian-era novel (William (WH) Mallock's (1849–1923) A Human Document (1892)) and painted over its pages, leaving only select words visible to create new narratives, many of which were surreal.  This was obliterature as artistic device and it’s of historic interest because it anticipated many of the techniques of post modernism, multi-media productions and even meme-making.

Erasure Poetry takes an existing text and either erases or blacks-out (the modern redaction technique) words or passages to create a new poem from the remaining words; in the most extreme examples almost all the original is obliterated, with only fragments left to form a new work.  Ronald Johnson (1935–1998) was a US poet who in 1977 published the book-length RADI OS (1977), based on John Milton's (1608–1674) Paradise Lost (1667-1674) and used the redactive mechanism as an artistic device, space once used by the obliterated left deliberately blank, surrounding the surviving words.

Some critics and literary theorists include unfinished and fragmentary work under the rubric of obliterature and while that may seem a bit of a definitional stretch, the point may be that such texts in many ways can resemble what post modern (and post-post modern) obliterature practitioners publish as completed work.  There are many unfinished works by the famous which have been “brought to conclusion” by contracted authors, the critical response tending to vary from the polite to the dismissive although, in fairness, it may be that some things were left unfinished for good reasons.  The Portuguese author Fernando Pessoa (1888-1935) was extraordinarily prolific and apparently never discarded a single page, leaving a vast archive of unfinished, fragmented, and often unreadable manuscripts, the volume so vast many have never been deciphered.  It’s interesting to speculate that had Pessoa had access to word processors and the cloud whether he would have saved as much; if he’d lived in the age of the floppy diskette, maybe he’d have culled a bit.

The obliteration of animal carcasses with explosives

Strictly speaking, “to obliterate something” means “to remove or destroy all traces” which usually isn’t the case when explosives are used, the result more a wide dispersal of whatever isn’t actually vaporized but there’s something about the word which attracts those who blow-up stuff and they seem often to prefer obliteration to terms which might be more accurate.  As long as the explosion is sufficiently destructive, one can see their point and obliteration does memorably convey the implications of blowing-up stuff.  The word clearly enchanted the US Forest Service which in 1995 issued their classic document Obliterating Animal Carcasses with Explosives, helpfully including a step-by-step guide to the process.  Given it’s probably not a matter about which many have given much thought, the service explained obliterating large animal carcasses was an important safety measure in wilderness recreation areas where the remains might attract bears, or near picnic areas where people obviously wouldn’t want rotting flesh nearby.  A practical aspect also is that in many cases there is no way conveniently to move or otherwise dispose of a large carcass (such as a horse or moose which can weigh in excess of 500 kg (1100 lb) which might be found below a steep cut slope or somewhere remote.  So, where physical transportation is not practical, the chemistry and physics of explosives are the obvious alternative, the guide recommending fireline devices (specially developed coils containing explosive powder), used also to clear combustible materials in the path of a wildfire. 

Interestingly, the guide notes there will be cases in which the goal might not be obliteration.  In some ecosystems, what is most desirable is to disperse the carcass locally into the small chunks suited to the eating habits of predators in the area and when properly dispersed, smaller scavenging animals will break down the left-overs, usually within a week.  To effect a satisfactory dispersal, the guide recommends placing 20 lb (9 kg) of explosives on the carcass in key locations, then using a detonator cord to tie the charges together, the idea being to locate them on the major bones, along the spine.  However, in areas where there’s much human traffic, obliteration is required and the guide recommends placing 20 lb (9 kg) pounds of explosives on top and a similar load underneath although it’s noted this may be impossible if the carcass is too heavy, frozen into the ground, floating in water or simply smells too ghastly for anyone to linger long enough to do the job.  In that case, 55 lb (25 kg) of fireline should be draped over the remains although the actual amount used will depend on the size of the carcass, the general principle being the more explosives used, the greater the chance obliteration will be achieved.  Dispersal and obliteration are obviously violent business but it’s really just an acceleration of nature’s decomposition process.  Whereas a big beast like a horse can sit for months without entirely degrading, if explosives are used, in most cases after little more than a week it’d not be obvious an animal was ever there.  With regard to horses however, the guide does include the warning that prior to detonation, “horseshoes should be removed to minimize dangerous flying debris.”  Who knew?

It’s important enough explosives are used to achieve the desired result but in carcass disposal it's important also not to use too much.  In November 1970, the Oregon Highway Division was tasked with blowing up a 45-foot (14 m) eight-ton (8100 kg) decaying whale which lay on the shores near the town of Florence and they calculated it would need a half-ton (510 kg) of dynamite, the presumption being any small pieces would be left for seagulls and other scavengers.  Unfortunately, things didn’t go according to plan.  The viewing crowds had been kept a quarter-mile (400 m) from the blast-site but they were forced to run for cover as large chunks of whale blubber started falling on them and the roof of a car parked even further away was crushed.  Fortunately there were no injuries although most in the area were splattered with small pieces of dead whale.  Fifty years on, Florence residents voted to name a new recreation ground Exploding Whale Memorial Park in honor of the event.

Baroque

Baroque (pronounced buh-rohk or ba-rawk (French)).

(1) Of or relating to a style of architecture and art originating in Italy in the early seventeenth century and variously prevalent in Europe and the New World for a century and a half, characterized by free and sculptural use of the classical orders and ornament, by forms in elevation and plan suggesting movement, and by dramatic effect in which architecture, painting, sculpture, and the decorative arts often worked to combined effect (often used with an initial capital letter).

(2) In music, of or relating to the period following the Renaissance, extending (circa 1600-1750) which tended to be characterized by extensive use of the thorough bass and of ornamentation to create dramatic effects. Johann Sebastian Bach, George Frederick Handel, and Antonio Vivaldi were great composers of the baroque era.

(3) In literature, a style of prose thought extravagantly ornate, florid, and convoluted in character or style.

(4) An irregularly shaped pearl (rare except in technical use).

(5) In pre-modern twentieth century design or engineering, objects intricately or ornately detailed in a way no longer financially viable.

(6) Descriptively (of any object where the technical definitions don’t apply), variously (1) ornate, intricate, decorated, laden with detail & (2) complex and beautiful, despite an outward irregularity.

(7) In stonemasonry & woodworking, chiselled from stone, or shaped from wood, in a garish, crooked, twisted, or slanted sort of way, grotesque or embellished with figures and forms such that every level of relief gives way to more details and contrasts.

(8) Figuratively, something overly or needlessly complicated, applied especially to bureaucracy or instances like accounting systems which either are or appear to be designed to conceal or confuse.

1765: From the French baroque (originally “pearl of irregular shape”), from the Portuguese barroco or barroca (irregularly shaped pearl) which was in some way influenced by either or both the Spanish berrueco or barrueco (granitic crag, irregular pearl, spherical nodule) and the Italian barocco, of uncertain ultimate origin but which may be from the Latin verrūca (wart).  The etymology is however murky and some suggest the Portuguese words may directly have come from the Spanish berruca (a wart) also from the Latin verrūca (a steep place, a height (and thus “a wart” or “an excrescence on a precious stone”).  Most scholars think at some point it probably conflated with Medieval Latin baroco, an invented word for a kind of obfuscating syllogism although one speculative alternative is the word was derived from the work of the Italian painter Federigo Barocci (1528-1612), a founder of the style, but most think this mere coincidence.  The comparative is baroque and the superlative baroquest, both thankfully rare.  Baroque is a noun & adjective, baroqueness is a noun and baroquely is an adverb, the noun plural is baroques.

Marble Court, Palace of Versailles.  Commissioned in the 1660s by Louis XIV (1638–1715; le Roi Soleil (the Sun King), King of France 1643-1715), the Palace of Versailles is thought one of the the finest example of secular Baroque architecture.

Baroque is one of those strange words in English which has evolved to have several layers of meaning including (1) a term which defines epochs in music & architecture, (2) a term referencing the characteristics in the music & architecture most associated with those periods, (3) a term which is a negative criticism of those characteristics, (4) a term which is (by extension) a negative criticism of the excessively ornate in any field (especially in literature) and (5) a term applied admiringly to things intricately or elaborately detailed.  In English, baroque began as an expression of contempt for the style of architecture which most historians believe began in early seventeenth century Rome and which shocked many with its audacious departure from the traditions of the Renaissance which paid such homage to (what was at least imagined to be) the Classical lines from Antiquity.  In architecture, baroque has never been exactly defined, something some explain by analogy with Clement Attlee’s (1883–1967; UK prime-minister 1945-1951) observation that it was as pointless to define socialism as it was an elephant for “...if an elephant ever walked into the room, all would know what it was”.

Karlskirche, Vienna.The Vatican's Saint Peter’s Square is often used to illustrate Baroque architecture and all those colonnades do make quite a statement but Vienna's Karlskirche better represents the way church architects took to the form.  It was commissioned in 1713 by Charles VI (1685–1740; Holy Roman Emperor 1711-1740) after the end of the last great epidemic of Plague as an act of memorial to Cardinal Carlo Borromeo (1538-1584; Archbishop of Milan 1564-1584), revered as a healer of those suffering from Plague.

Actually, although etymologists would say that's true, that’s not how the word is actually often applied because the terms baroque and rococo are often used interchangeably by non-specialists when speaking of just about any building adorned with the elaborate details not seen since modernism, functionalism & brutalism prevailed.  What distinguishes things is less the actual shapes than the feeling imparted, baroque and rococo both noted for asymmetry, luxuriant detailing, extravagant, unexpected curves & lines and a polychromatic richness but where baroque’s language is of grandeur, weight & monumentalism, rococo’s implementations summon thoughts of lightness, playfulness and frivolity.  Tellingly, rococo, when used as a critique is applied almost always in the negative, suggesting something fussy, pointlessly elaborate and overstated whereas baroque is often used admiringly, literature about the only field in which use is universally negative.  The other common use of baroque in the negative applies to bureaucracy or tangled administrative systems when it’s used as a synonym of byzantine.  For those seeking a rule of thumb, except in literature, baroque tends not to be used negatively and when describing objects which contain ornate or intricate detailing, it’s adopted usually to suggest something complex and beautiful, despite an outward irregularity.  Baroque suggests restraint and good taste (there are many other words with which to describe the garish, crooked, twisted or grotesque) and to damn something as silly, over detailed and laden with decorations with no functional or aesthetic purpose, there’s rococo.

Winter Palace, Saint Petersberg.  Some do find the Winter Palace a bit rococo and there are elements of that in the interior but architecturally, it's an example of early baroque, albeit much modified by later renovations.  It was built as a residence of Peter the Great (Peter I, 1672-1725; Tsar of Russia 1682-1725) and remain an official palace of the Romanov Tsars between 1732 and the 1917 revolutions.  The present appearance reflects both the restorative work of the late 1830s when it was rebuilt after a severe fire and the restoration after the damage suffered during the Siege of Leningrad (1941-1944).

The use in the language of literary criticism is, like any application of “baroque” in the non-visual arts, inherently imprecise.  Even in music, it’s understood as a period and many of the compositions which emerged from the era do have a style which is recognisably “baroque” but there was also much which was anything but.  The same can of course be said of the European buildings of the same period, the overwhelming majority of which were neither “baroque”, nor memorable, the adjective in what is now called the “built environment” making sense only when used of representational architecture.  That’s a well-understood distinction in architecture and even painting but more contentious in music, something made murkier still by musicologists having divided the baroque into the “early”, “middle” and late”, mapped onto a range of styles which were sometimes particular to one country and sometimes popular in many.  Interestingly, although as a generalized descriptor it needs still to be thought of as something which began as a term of derision in architecture (and it is from there it gained its parameters), there is an earlier, anonymous piece of (not especially serious) opera criticism which labelled a work as du barocque (in the sense of the original meaning “pearl or irregular shape”), damning the music as un-melodic, discordant and a roll-call of just about every known compositional device; something more like a student’s assignment than a opera.  It’s a critique not greatly different from that made some three centuries later by comrade Stalin (1878–1953; leader of the USSR, 1924-1953) who’d been displeased by one of comrade Dmitri Shostakovich’s (1906-1975) operas, calling it формализм (formalism), "chaos instead of music", a self-indulgence of technique by a composer interested only in the admiration of other composers.

L'Estasi di Santa Teresa (The Ecstasy of Saint Teresa) by Gianlorenzo Bernini (1598–1680) is a sculptural group rendered in white marble, set in an elevated aedicule in the Cornaro Chapel of the church of Santa Maria della Vittoria in Rome.  It’s thought one of the sculptural masterpieces of the High Roman Baroque and depicts Teresa of Ávila, a Spanish Carmelite nun and saint, in a state of religious ecstasy, a spear-holding angel watching over her.  The installation in 2007 (briefly one supposes) gained baroque sculpture a new audience when it was used in a popular meme which noted some similarity with an early morning photograph of Lindsay Lohan resting in a Cadillac.

The last days of baroque: 1967 Mercedes–Benz 600 Pullman Laudaulet (left & rght) and 1971 Mercedes-Benz 280 SE 3.5 Cabriolet (centre).  There was intricate detailing on the W111 and W100s, the last truly coach-built Mercedes-Benz.  Most were produced between 1963-1971 although the W100s continued in a trickle, substantially hand-built, until 1981.

Jean-Jacques Rousseau (1712–1778), remembered as the philosopher who loomed over the French revolution, was also a composer and in his Dictionnaire de la musique (Dictionary of Music, 1767) declared baroque music to be that “...in which the harmony is confused, and loaded with modulations and dissonances. The singing is harsh and unnatural, the intonation difficult, and the movement limited...”, noting the term was a re-purposing of baroco (an alternative spelling of baroko (from a mediaeval mnemonic chant and a mode of syllogism used whenever some point seemed to be exist only pointlessly to obfuscate), used since the thirteenth century by philosophers discussing the tendency by some of their peers (usually those in the Church or university) needlessly to complicate simple concepts and arguments, just for the sake of grandiose academic gloss; formalism as it were.  Etymologists however remain unconvinced by Rousseau’s speculation and cite earlier evidence which suggests it was from architecture that the use in painting and music was derived, pondering that had Rousseau’s musicology been influenced by him being an architect rather than a philosopher, he too may have identified the source in brick and stone.  Anyway, baroque music as it’s now understood is a surprisingly recent construct, discussed as a thing only in the twentieth century, the term widely used only after the 1950s when the advent of long-playing (LP) records made the packaging and distribution of long-form composition practical and the industry became interested in categorizations, the Baroque something different from the Renaissance and the Classical despite the popular association of them all as one.