Fantastic

Fantastic (pronounced fan-tas-tik)

(1) Conceived or appearing as if conceived by an unrestrained imagination; odd and remarkable; bizarre; grotesque; strange, weird or fanciful in conception or appearance (reflecting the original idea of fantasy +‎ -tic (the adjectival suffix)).

(2) A person who dresses or behaves eccentrically (obsolete, but still used in the sense “a fanciful or whimsical person” as a literary or poetic device on the model of “an exquisite”).

(3) Extraordinarily good; excellent.

(4) Something extreme or acute (now rare).

(5) Fanciful, whimsical or capricious (of people, ideas or concepts).

(6) Imaginary or groundless in not being based on reality; foolish or irrational.

(7) Extravagantly fanciful; marvelous.

(8) Great to an incredible extent; extreme; exorbitant.

(9) In architecture and design, extravagantly decorated or detailed; excessive ornamentation.

(10) Highly unrealistic or impractical; probably impossible; preposterous; absurd.

(11) Created in the mind; illusory; a flight of fancy.

1350–1400: From the Middle English fantastik (pertaining to the imaginative faculty), from the Middle French fantastique, from the Medieval Latin fantasticus, a variant of the Late Latin phantasticus, from the Ancient Greek φᾰντᾰστῐκός (phăntăstĭkós) (imaginary, fantastic; fictional; able to present the appearance (of something)), a derivative of phantázein (to make present to the eye or mind), the construct on the conceptual model of phānós (light, bright) or phaínein (to bring to light, cause to appear) + -tikos .  The –tikos suffix was commonly used to form adjectives.  The Greek τικός (-tikos) was derived from the noun τι (-tis) (“one who does” or “related to”).  Typically, when –tikos was appended to a word, it conveyed the sense of “being related to, characterized by, or pertaining to the base word”.  It was used also (n various contexts) to create adjectives that describe qualities or characteristics associated with the base word.  The ultimate source was the primitive Indo-European beh- (to shine).  The alternative forms fantastick, phantastic, phantastick & phantastique are all obsolete.  Fantastic & fantastical are nouns & adjectives, fantastication, fantasticness, fantasticity, fantasticalness & fantasticism are nouns, fantasticate & fantasticize are verbs, fantastically, fantasticly & fantastically are adverbs; the noun plural is fantastics.

Google Ngram: Fantasticly.

Google Ngram (a quantitative and not qualitative measure): Because of the way Google harvests data for their Ngrams, they’re not literally a tracking of the use of a word in society but can be usefully indicative of certain trends, (although one is never quite sure which trend(s)), especially over decades.  As a record of actual aggregate use, Ngrams are not wholly reliable because: (1) the sub-set of texts Google uses is slanted towards the scientific & academic and (2) the technical limitations imposed by the use of OCR (optical character recognition) when handling older texts (typically a scanner might misread an “f” for a long “s” or a “u” for an “n”) of sometime dubious legibility (a process AI (artificial intelligence) should improve).  Where numbers bounce around, this may reflect either: (1) peaks and troughs in use for some reason or (2) some quirk in the data harvested.

Olivia Hussey (1951–2024) as Juliet in Romeo and Juliet (1968).

Most dictionaries seem now to list the once fashionable adverb fantasticly as “archaic” although none seem yet to have declared it extinct.  The statistics indicating a late twentieth century revival of use are a product of the proliferation of internet sites dealing with such words (dictionaries, thesauruses, style guides, lists of the rare or unusual etc).  Still, it’s there to be used and would add distinctiveness to a text but authors should be cautioned those having an AI (artificial intelligence) agent do the “proof reading” might find it flagged and it may not impress many flesh & blood editors there to render drafts “accessible”.  In the Old French there was the different adjectival form fantasieus meaning “weird; insane; make-believe” while in Medieval Latin fantasticus was used as a noun meaning “a lunatic; a madman”, adopted by William Shakespeare (1564–1616) in the Italian form fantastico (one who acts ridiculously).  That had an interesting history, the plural form (fantasticoes) appearing in Act 2, Scene 4 of Romeo and Juliet (1597), spoken by Mercutio: “The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting fantasticoes, these new tuners of accents!”.  That definitely was the noun being used in the sense of “a person full of wild, extravagant fancies or absurd ideas”, rather than as the modern adjective meaning “wonderful”.  What Shakespeare had Mercutio do was mock Tybalt and young, fashionable men who adopt affected Italian manners, fencing styles, and pretentious speech.  It was printed as “fantasticoes” in the early (1597) first Quarto printing of the play while editors of some later editions (including the widely-distributed 1623 First Folio) used the spelling phantacies (fantasies), though most versions have restored fantasticoes, not merely as a respect for the original but because the form better fits Mercutio's insult.    The “trivial” sense of “wonderful, marvellous” was in use by at least 1938.

In the creation of slang forms, elements of fantastic have contributed to portmanteau words including “fabtastic”, the construct a blend of fab(ulous) + (fan)tastic, “fantabulous”, the construct a blend of fanta(stic) + (fa)bulous, “fantasterrific”, the construct a blend of fantast(ic) + (t)errific, “funtastic”, the construct a blend of fun + (fan)tastic and “fantascience” (a now rare genre of fiction combining orthodox or speculative science with fantastical elements), the construct a blend of fanta(stic) + science.  Fabtastsic, fantabulous, fantasterrific and funtastic (there are others, some quite specific to circumstances) all are used in the sense of “wonderful, marvelous, outstanding (ie simultaneously both fantastic and fabulous) and often as a superlative (eg “a most fantabulous event”).  These coinings appear mostly a post-war phenomenon.

Fantastic magazine covers. Top row: January-February 1953, March 1953, August 1954; Middle row: August 1956, October 1956; November 1959; Bottom row: February 1960, May 1961, November 1963.

Fantastic was a US SF (Science Fiction) and fantasy magazine published between 1952 and 1980.  Founded as a fantasy companion to Amazing Stories (launched in 1926), so successful was Fantastic that the publisher soon closed their other titles serving the genre, merging all content.  Thematically, Fantastic tended to respond to the construct of the scientific zeitgeist in the popular imagination (ie what was appearing in film and on television) so subjects at times embraced included space travel, global thermo-nuclear war, visiting flying saucers and pandemics from other planets although, despite the range, there seemed often a justification for the covers to feature at least one scantily-clad young woman.  Fantastic published work by writers who would become well-known in the SF community but, rather improbably, pieces by Truman Capote (1924–1984) and Evelyn Waugh (1903-1966) also appeared.

A cleverly composed photograph by AP (Associated Press) photojournalist Tom Brenner (b 1994) with Donald Trump reflected in the lens of Susie Wiles' sunglasses, South Lawn of the White House, Washington DC, October 2026.

In the aftermath of the 2026 US congressional elections at which (for the Republican Party), things went either “as badly as expected” or “worse than expected”, it’s not known if Pete Hegseth (b 1980; US Secretary of Defense (and War) since 2025) was much assured by Donald Trump (b 1946; POTUS 2017-2021 and since 2025) saying of him he had done a “fantastic job” but if so, he might have considered that apparent endorsement in the light of the POTUS having just sacked his chief of staff (Susan Wiles (b 1957, chief of staff to the POTUS 2025-2026) despite a fortnight earlier, in response to a question asking if her was considering replacing her answering: “Zero chance, zero.  She’s phenomenal.”  The election results however seemed to focus Mr Trump’s mind and, after announcing her departure, he told the press Ms Wiles had done “a great job… but I just wanted to make a change”, later adding “We’ve got to make moves.  Sometimes in life, you have to make moves.”  Commentators in a number of places have taken some glee is tracking the large numbers of women dismissed from positions during the second Trump administration, contrasting that toll with the remarkable survival rate among the men, even those whose conduct in office has been less than stellar, one even subsequently appointed US ambassador to the UN (United Nations), an institution for which the POTUS has no fondness.  He probably thought of the job rather as Richard Nixon (1913-1994; VPOTUS 1953-1961 and POTUS 1969-1974) regarded the embassy in Upper Volta.

Pete Hegseth (in brown shoes, left) and Donald Trump (right) beneath flags, Marine Corps Base, Quantico, Virginia, October 2025.

Certainly, Mr Trump would have understood the point made by Winston Churchill (1875-1965; UK prime-minister 1940-1945 & 1951-1955) who, in Their Finest Hour (The Second World War, Volume II, (1949)), writing of political leadership, observed: “If he trips he must be sustained.  If he makes mistakes they must be covered.  If he sleeps he must not be wantonly disturbed.  If he is no good he must be pole-axed.”  The historian Professor John Ramsden (1947–2009) summed up Churchill’s explanation of the mechanics of the process as “autocracy tempered by assassination”.  Even if not familiar with those passages, presumably Mr Hegseth is wondering if in the POTUS’s mind he’s being “sustained” or about to be “pole-axed” but anyway seems in no mood to admit making mistakes that would benefit from a “covering up”.  Addressing a rare press conference, when responding to a motion of impeachment introduced in the house by disaffected Republican Thomas Massie (b 1971, US Representative for Kentucky 4th congressional district since 2012) who’d been “primaried” by Mr Trump and was thus serving in his last congress, Mr Hegseth was combative, conceding nothing and comparing the unfairness of him being impeached with no such action being taken against Lloyd Austin (b 1953; US Secretary of Defense 2021-2025), despite the several grounds Mr Hegseth cited as a reasonable basis for Congress to take such a step.

In his address, Mr Hegseth managed also to use a phrase suggesting General Austin (an African-American) had been a “DEI” (diversity, equity & inclusion) appointment; Mr Massie’s motion was voted down in the (still) Republican-controlled chamber.  It was a set-piece performance by Mr Hegseth who has been criticized as appearing to be “a method actor auditioning for the part ‘strong, confident and decisive secretary of defense’”, the consensus being he’d likely not be offered the role because of a tendency to “over-act”.  In that, he was unlike the deliciously wicked Donald Rumsfeld (1932–2021: US Secretary of Defense 1975-1977 & 2001-2006) who was strong, confident and decisive, conveying exactly that with a clipped, precise, yet seemingly effortless delivery.  His predecessor’s political fate will however not much encourage Mr Hegseth, Mr Rumsfeld sacked by George W Bush (George XLIII, b 1946; POTUS 2001-2009) immediately after the Republicans were routed in the 2006 mid-term elections.  Most POTUSes have not found the attitude of Harry S. Truman (1884–1972; POTUS 1945-1953) helpful, preferring to have the buck stop somewhere lower down the chain of command. 

Doing a “fabulous job” of looking fabulous: Sydney Sweeney (b 1997) on the cover of Fabulous magazine, August 2025.

As a one-time employee of Fox News (with all that implies), Mr Hegseth will have noticed the similarity in personnel management practices between Mr Trump and Rupert Murdoch (b 1931), both very much of the “hire ‘em and fire ‘em” school and if dwelling on the POTUS saying he’d done a “fantastic job” while in charge of the Pentagon, he may recall it was President Bush minor who had sacked Colin Powell (1937–2021; US Secretary of State 2001-2005) a few months after telling the press at a gathering at his ranch in Crawford, Texas that general had done a “fabulous job” as his “vicar of foreign policy”.  Even at the time, nobody in the White House press corps could recall anyone in Texas ever being dubbed “fabulous” (except maybe in Oil Can Harry’s in Austin) so the conclusion was General Powell's political career prospects were not good.  So it proved.  How Mr Hegseth will determine whether it augers better if one’s boss says one is doing a “fantastic job” rather than a “fabulous job” isn’t known but what won’t be reassuring is that Mr Trump also doubtlessly agrees with Churchill about the circumstances when a swift pole-axing is demanded.

Donald Trump endorses Mr Hegseth's continuation in office, says he has done a “fantastic job” and explains why the “state of armed conflict” in the Persian Gulf is not a “war”.  Had it not been for certain recent events, he might have styled the venture a “special military operation”.

In February 1953, the prime minister had explained to his personal physician (Lord Moran, Charles Wilson, 1882-1977; president of the RCP (Royal College of Physicians) 1941-1949, personal physician to Winston Churchill 1940-1965) why he needed a referral to another eye specialist, Moran noting in his diary: “The P.M. asked me today if he could see another eye specialist.  ‘I have stuck to Juler [Dr Frank Anderson Juler (1888-1962), Ophthalmic Surgeon, St. Mary’s Hospital, London] for so long,’ he told me, ‘because he did discover the in-growing eyelashes when no one else did.  At that time my eyes were so bad I could not read, even official documents.  But he is stumped now, and we must change the bowling.’”  Other than polo and big game hunting (the latter still then thought by many a “sport”), Churchill took little interest in sport so may be forgiven for mixing his metaphors; in cricket it’s a batsman (the gender-neutral “batter” now preferred) who is “stumped” (ie the bails atop the wicket dislodged with the ball by the wicket keeper or other fieldsman (fielder) while the batter is “out of their crease”), the correct idiomatic phrase to describe an ineffective bowler being something like “hit out of the attack”.  It's doubtful Mr Hegseth knows much of the jargon of cricket but he'd get the idea.

Looking fantastic: Lindsay Lohan in skin-tight teal wetsuit during the filming of Freakier Friday (2025), Malibu Beach, California, August 2024.

Mr Hegseth has been a reformer within the US military and the POTUS has praised him as a “great warrior” who has re-oriented the military away from becoming a “woke institution”, pointing out it had become top-heavy and administratively bloated, more generals reputedly on the establishment than during World War II (1939-1945) when the largest conflict in human history was being prosecuted.  It seems the Pentagon proved as vulnerable as any to the phenomenon of “bureaucratic inertia” and other militaries have similarly been affected.  When in 1952 a delegation from the newly elected British government visited the embassy in Washington DC, instead of the expected handful of military liaison officers, there were over a hundred, nobody in London having ever reduced the establishment created during the war, by then over for more than six years.  Still, Mr Hegseth’s well-publicized assault on the “woke agenda” (ending DEI programmes and banning transgender soldiers from service, conducting testosterone tests on serving personnel etc) has acted like a lightning rod for the Democratic Party and his stance on these matters, combined with the “Iran war” that hasn’t gone as intended, mean impeachment may be re-visited when the new (Democrat controlled) congress assembles in January.  At that point, the word “fantastic” may start to be used of Mr Hegseth in one of its more ancient senses.

Vanity

Vanity (pronounced van-i-tee)

(1) An excessive pride in one's appearance, qualities, abilities, achievements, etc; character or quality of being vain; conceit.

(2) An instance or display of this quality or feeling.

(3) Something about which one is vain or excessively proud.

(4) Lack of real value; hollowness; worthlessness.

(5) Something worthless, trivial, or pointless.

(6) A small case, usually used for make-up items.

(7) A usually small dressing table used to apply makeup, preen, and coif hair. Normally quite low and similar to a desk, with drawers and one or more mirrors on top; often paired with a bench or stool to sit upon.

(8) A type of bathroom fitting, usually a permanently-fixed storage unit including one or more washbasins.

(9) An alternative name for a portfolio maintained as a showcase for one's own talents, especially as a writer, actor, singer, composer or model.

(10) Any idea, theory or statement entirely without foundation (UK only, now obsolete).

1200-1250: From Middle English vanite, borrowed from Old French vanité (self-conceit; futility; lack of resolve) derived from the Classical Latin vānitās (emptiness, aimlessness; falsity (and when used figuratively "vainglory, foolish pride”), root of which was vānus (empty, void (and when used figuratively "idle, fruitless”).  A more precise equivalent in Latin was probably vanitatem (emptiness, foolish pride).  Root was the primitive Indo-European wano-, the suffixed form of the root eue- (to leave, abandon, give out).  English also absorbed many synonyms and related words: egotism, complacency, vainglory, ostentation, pride, emptiness, sham, unreality, folly, triviality, futility.  Except in religious texts, the old meaning (that which is vain, futile, or worthless) faded from general use, the modern meaning (self-conceited), which endures to this day, is attested from the mid-fourteenth century.  The first reference to furniture was the vanity table, dating from 1936, a use adopted by manufacturers of bathroom fittings in the later post-war period.  The first vanity table seem to have been advertised in 1936.  Vanity is a noun, vanitize is a verb and vanityless is an adjective; the noun plural is vanities.

Art Deco walnut veneer vanity table, circa 1935, with a large, triptych mirror apparatus.

Vanity tables were well suited to the motifs of art deco because the aspect ratio often was similar to the representational public architecture most associated with the style.  This one, believed to have been built in northern Italy is a classic example of art deco, featuring perfect symmetry and a mix of austere straight lines and curves, the proportions elegantly balanced.  Although it's structures like buildings and bridges or the memorable cars of the 1930s that are most often used to illustrate art deco, the niche of the vanity table was in some was more interesting because the size lay between the tiny (such as a vanity case) where the detailing could achieve its effect through intricacy and something on a grand scale like the Chrysler Building (1930), one of New York City's landmark skyscrapers.  

The Old Testament, Savonarola, and the Bonfire of the Vanities

Vanity of vanities, said the preacher, vanity of vanities; all is vanity. (Ecclesiastes 1:2, King James Version of the Bible (KJV, 1611)).  The word translated as "vanity" appears 37 times in Ecclesiastes, more than in the entirety of the rest of the Old Testament so is clearly a theme of the text.  The meaning of vanity is used here in its original form of something that is transitory and quickly passes away.  In that it’s a literal translation of the Hebrew hebel, best understood in this context as meaning breath of wind, something which, whatever its immediate effects, is soon gone.  Unfortunately for nihilists, emos and other depressives trawling texts for anything confirming the pointlessness of life, biblical scholars agree the phrase is not an assertion that life is meaningless or that our labors in this fallen world are ultimately useless.  Instead, it’s a saying to help people put their lives in the proper perspective.  Ecclesiastes is not saying all our efforts are worthless, just observing that all we do in our three score and ten years upon this earth is but a brief prelude to our eternal existence and much of life escapes our understanding, for we cannot comprehend how everything fits into the grand story of creation.  All very poetic but, perhaps sadly, improbable.  It’s more likely the universe is a violent, doomed, swirl of matter and energy, life is pointless, right and wrong are just variable constructs, everything is meaningless and all any can hope for is a fleeting false consciousness that might make us feel briefly happy.

Nascita di Venere (the Birth of Venus, circa 1485), tempera on canvas, by Sandro Botticelli (1444-1510), Uffizi Gallery, Florence.  The work was painted on a commission from the Medicis; this one was not tossed onto the flames.

What historians came to call the “The Bonfire of the Vanities” was an event in Florence on 7 February, 1497, orchestrated by the fundamentalist Dominican friar Girolamo Savonarola (1452–1498).  The Church was at the time riddled with priests who disapproved of just about everything but Savonarola was a true radical who thought direct action more pleasing to God than mere pious words so directed his followers (including many enthusiastic children) to scour Florence for “sinful objects”, including looking glasses (mirrors), musical instruments, books not the Bible or other religious texts, cosmetics, fine clothing, pagan artworks and such.  These objects he ordered gathered and tossed onto a huge, multi-tiered pyre erected in the Piazza della Signoria (the city’s public square), the pile topped by an image of Satan (a nice touch).  Savonarola’s interpretation of scripture demanded people living lives of extreme austerity and, given mankind’s state of constant sin, a constant state of repentance, his aim to purge Florence of secular corruption, his mood much encouraged by the recent expulsion of the Medici family.  Part of the legend of the Bonfire of the Vanities is that Sandro Botticelli was so moved by Savonarola’s apocalyptic sermons he threw some of his own pagan-themed paintings into the fire but there is no contemporary evidence supporting that although, it’s not impossible the artist, sniffing the political wind, decided it wise publicly to sacrifice a few lesser works.  The myth however has always appealed to writers lamenting that barbarians are always with us and in Civilisation (1969) Lord Clark (Sir Kenneth Clark (1903–1983)) wrote the loss of even a few Botticellis seemed “…a heavy price to pay for religious conviction.”

The Florentines Renouncing The Vanities By Order of Savonarola (1890), engraving by an unknown artist.  For fundamentalists, book-burning has never lost its appeal although in places like Florida, Texas, and Tennessee, the process is now virtualized.

Kenneth Clark was a cultural elitist of a kind now perhaps either extinct or rendered silent by a less deferential culture, and, to avoid offending those prone to being offended, some editions of Civilisation subsequently appeared with the title Western Civilisation.  Whether Botticelli really had a “road to Damascus” moment or was just making a “good career move” will never be known but, after the bonfire, a stylistic shift in his art towards the deeply spiritual was obvious but not too much should be read into this: a good artist knows his market.  The Dominican order to which Savonarola belonged had been formed to “combat heresy in the Christian church” and in places in France and Italy where the order had a presence, between the thirteenth & fifteenth centuries there were quite a few such bonfires but what made the one in 1497 most remembered is the historic significance.  Savonarola had for years been preaching about an “end of times” moment, predicting the Apocalypse would come in around 1500 and while in Christendom such messaging was hardly novel, Savonarola was better at it than most and he found audiences more receptive as the corruption in Church and state under the Medicis (Florence’s ruling family of Florence) became more blatantly extractive.  Inflamed by his incendiary words, in 1494 a mob burned down the Medicis' bank and, taking the hint, the family fled the city.  Inspired, Savonarola took power and turned his attention to other un-Godly symbols, notably vanities such as what would now be called “contemporary art” and indulgences such as extravagant clothing and the powders & potions people (including men) used to “beautify themselves”.  Especially offensive were deemed the female Biblical figures in paintings of the time.

Girolamo Savonarola, gemalt von Langenmantel (Girolamo Savonarola Preaching Against Prodigality, 1879), oil on canvas by Ludwig von Langenmantel (1839–1904), Saint Bonaventure University (a Franciscan institution), western New York State.

So, the proto-Talib had his moment of triumph as a particularly practical art critic but among more thoughtful Florentians his reputation suffered because they were appalled their heritage and culture was being threatened just to satisfy one friar’s obsessions; while many were glad to see the end of the Medicis they were not pleased by the loss of the art.  As it was, although Savonarola got to watch the glory of the incineration, his victory over vice proved pyrrhic because he over-reached by dabbling in politics, opposing Alexander VI’s (circa 1431-1503; pope 1492 1503) Holy League against the French; summoned to Rome, Savonarola ignore the order and further defied the Holy See by preaching under a ban, demanding reform of the Church and more bonfires.  The pope in 1497 excommunicated Savonarola and with this most of his popular support evaporated.  On 23 May, 1498, after typically brisk legal proceedings in both civil and ecclesiastical courts had condemned Savonarola and two other Dominican friars who had remained loyal, the trio were hanged and their bodies cremated at the same spot in Piazza della Signoria were the Botticellis had burned; his “end of times” came a couple of years early.  There the matter may have ended but Savonarola's devotees (the Piagnoni (the lamenting ones)) went “underground” and maintained into the next century the cause of religious reform and republicanism, the sect not suppressed until Rome in 1512 engineered the return to power of the Medici.  Seizing the moment, the Medici arranged their own “re-insurance” by securing the throne of Saint Peter for “the Medici Pope” (Leo X (1475–1521; pope 1513-1521)) who may never have uttered the famous phrase” “God has given us the papacy, let us enjoy it” but it certainly summed up the way things were being done “under new management”.  Although damned by many as a barbarian or philistine, some early Protestants (including Martin Luther (1483–1546) himself), regarded Savonarola as a vital precursor to the Protestant Reformation.

Vanity Fair

Published in 1678, John Bunyan’s (1628–1688) The Pilgrim's Progress is an allegory of the Christian’s spiritual journey through the sins and temptations of earthly existence to the salvation of the Kingdom of Heaven; a symbolic vision of an English worthy’s pilgrimage through life.  In the village of Vanity is a perpetual fair, selling all things to satisfy all desires and Vanity Fair represents the sin of man’s attachment to and lust for transient worldly goods, a critique echoed later in secular criticisms of materialism.  Novelist William Makepeace Thackeray (1811–1863), although making no mention of Bunyan or his work when he published Vanity Fair in 1847-1848, could rely on his readers being well acquainted with the symbolism of the earlier allegory.  By the mid-nineteenth century when Thackeray’s portrait of British society was published, the term had become laden too with secular and class-conscious meanings, suggesting the imagery both of self-indulgent playground and the sense of that stratum of society where the only habitué are the idle and undeserving rich.  Memorably, Thackeray explored both although the work obviously is dated and structurally not without error (published originally as a 19-part monthly serial, it does seem the author may have written the latter volumes without having re-read the earlier parts, meaning inconsistencies do exist).

Lindsay Lohan. Vanity Fair Italia, August 2011.

Over the years, on both sides of the Atlantic, a number of periodicals have used the masthead Vanity Fair.  The current one has its roots in Condé Montrose Nast's (1873–1942) purchase in 1913 of (1) a men's fashion journal called Dress and (2) Vanity Fair, a magazine devoted to the performing arts with an emphasis on theatre.  After a brief, unsatisfactory foray as the combined title Dress and Vanity Fair, in 1914 there was a re-launch of Vanity Fair and success was immediate, continuing even until well into the troubled 1930s.  For magazines, the conditions of the Great Depression were curiously different to the vicissitudes of the digital age of the twenty-first century.  Then (as now) revenue from advertising had collapsed by by the Condé Nast in 1936 folded Vanity Fair into his companion title Vogue, circulation had reached an all-time high.  The problem was the cover price of an issue wasn’t enough profitably to cover production and distribution costs; advertising was essential.  In a situation familiar to newspaper publishers in their halcyon days, it wasn’t always financially advantageous to achieve higher sales; unless one's title has the right readers (the prized "A", "B" (and maybe "C1") demographics), the more copies that were sold, the higher the losses.

Condé Nast Publications revived the title with the first issue appearing in February 1983.  Like most print publications, its advertising revenue has declined but, critically in this market, so have newsstand sales.  The subscriber base is said to be stable but Condé Nast doesn’t release data detailing the breakdown and it’s thus unknown how much of this is made up from less lucrative bundled packages.  Newsstand sales of single-issue copies are a vital metric in this market, editors judged by monthly sales, a school of analysis now focused on deconstructing the relationship between the photograph on an issue’s cover and copies sold; editorial content, while not ignored, seems less relevant.  The magazine’s future is thus uncertain as are the options were it not to continue as a distinct, stand-alone entity with a print version.  It’s a different environment from 1936 when it was absorbed into Vogue and different even that things at the turn of the century when Mirabella, a similar publication facing similar problems, closed; the now well-practiced path of ceasing print production and going wholly digital may become attractive if circulation continues to suffer.  While it true Condé Nast already has digital titles that would seem to overlap with Vanity Fair, that’s less of a concern than cannibalization in print where the relationship of production and distribution costs to individual sales is different; both are marginal in gaining additional digital subscriptions.

Congreve's vanity

The Comedies of William Congreve (Penguin edition of four plays, 1986).  Congreve would prefer to have been remembered as another Voltaire.

Except among the dwindling number of souls still studying English literature, the name of Restoration playwright William Congreve (1670–1729) will be at least obscure and probably unknown.  However, two of his most memorable phrases remain part of the language, albeit usually misquoted and attributed to William Shakespeare (1564–1616).  So, many will be familiar with: “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.” (Congreves’s original text being “Heav'n has no rage, like love to hatred turn'd, nor Hell a fury like a woman scorn'd.” and “Music has charms to soothe a savage beast.” (originally “Music has charms to soothe a savage breast.”), both from the play The Mourning Bride (1697) although the protagonist, despite becoming a bit unhinged by the cruel path of doomed love, doesn’t resort to leporidaecide (bunny boiling) so Hell’s fury plays out in different ways.  There’s a tendency to attribute both to Shakespeare because they “sound Shakespearian”, a construct created by words like “hath” rarely being seen other than in some fragment from the bard’s goose-feathered quill.  Congreve was in his lifetime for some time one of England’s most popular authors but there’s much to suggest he was not exactly ashamed at having written such “popular entertainments” but would certainly have preferred to be thought a serious writer and, after retiring to live on his royalty stream, he switched to translating the classics from Antiquity.  He seems to have made no secret of his semi-shame, the French philosopher Voltaire (François-Marie Arouet; 1694–1778) in Letters Concerning the English Nation (1733) recounting one meeting with him: “He spoke of his works as trifles that were beneath him, and hinted to me at our first conversation that I should visit him upon no other foot than that of a gentleman who led a life of plainness and simplicity.  I answered that had he been so unfortunate as to be a mere gentleman, I should never have come to visit him, and I was very much disgusted at so unseasonable a piece of vanity.”

Vanity Cases 

Enamel vanity case by Gérard Sandoz, Paris, circa 1927 (left) and cigarette case by Cartier, Paris, circa 1925 (right).

It was during the 1920s, the small vanity case's shape and size evolved into what remains the familiar modern form.  Most exquisite were the art-deco creations designed as companion pieces to the cigarette cases newly fashionable with women as the social acceptability of young ladies smoking spread.  As a concept, the vanity case is an ancient accessory, one 3,000-odd years old and made from inlaid cedar containing ointment, face-paint, perfume and a mirror of polished metal, discovered during one of Howard Carter’s (1874–1939) archaeological digs.  Well known in something recognizably modern from the fourteenth century in France and Italy, they became fashionable in England only during the 1700s and then for men, as a small box called a “dressing case”, designed to fit into larger “dressing case”.  The shift to small, portable devices for women came in the late-eighteenth century, just as the handbag (in the modern sense) was becoming a fashion item as well as a functional receptacle.  The essence of the vanity case became its role as a "portable beauty parlour", the inside of the lid fitted with a small mirror while the case contained what was required for "touch-ups" (of eyes, hair, lips, cheeks etc) while on the move or away from one's boudoir.    

Prosaic

Prosaic (pronounced proh-zey-ik)

(1) Of writing or speaking, straightforward; matter-of-fact; lacking the feeling or elegance of poetry.

(2) Something commonplace or dull; matter-of-fact or unimaginative; overly plain, simple or commonplace, to the point of being boring.

(3) Of or having the character or form of prose, the ordinary form of spoken or written language, rather than of poetry (now of technical use only).

1650-1660: From the fifteenth century Middle French prosaïque and directly from the sixteenth century Medieval Latin prōsaicus (in prose), from the Classical Latin prōsa (prose), from prorsus (straightforward, in prose), from the Old Latin provorus (straight ahead), the construct being pro- (forward) + vorsus (turned), from vertō (to turn), from the primitive Indo-European wer- (to turn, to bend).  The original meaning was technical, distinguishing text as prose rather than poetry and in this sense was usually written as prosaicus (in prose).  The first hints of literary hierarchy were first noted in French in 1746 when used to contrast the “character” of prose in contrast to the “feeling” of poetry.  The sense of describing something ordinary or mundane first seen in French in 1813, a meaning soon adopted in English.  Prosaic & prosaical are adjectives, prosify is a verb, prosified & prosifying are verbs & adjectives, prosaicness is a noun and prosaically is an adverb.

Figurative use of poetic & prosaic:  Jaguar E-Type (XK-E, 1961-1974) (left) & Jaguar XJ-S (1975-1996) (right).  "Poetry in motion" is a cliché but when the E-Type first was seen, that was the phrase some journalists chose.

Whether Enzo Ferrari (1898-1988) ever called the E-Type "the most beautiful car in the world" remains uncertain (though he certainly never issued a denial) but over the decades plenty have echoed the sentiment, sometimes using the phrase "poetry in motion".  By 1975, the world had changed and there were now rules with which to comply and although the XJ-S (later XJS) wasn't really a replacement for the E-Type, because of the timing, that was the basis on may of the early reports based at least some of their critique.  Dynamically, on about any objective measure, it was a better car than the E-Type but nobody is known to have claimed it was better looking and in some contemporary reviews, the styling was described as "prosaic".  It might have been more accurate to use the word "pragmatic" and the lines perhaps aged better than many at the time anticipated, the car in (almost) continuous production for over twenty years and the platform endured until 2006, providing the underpinnings for the first generation of Jaguar's XK8 (1996-2005) and the Aston Martin DB7 (1997-2004), both of which looked better than the XJ-S although neither matched the timeless E-Type.  Upon release, there was much comment about the styling lacking the appeal of the E-Type but the XJ-S was less a replacement than an entry into a new market segment, the anyway declining sports car segment abandoned.  Regarding its capabilities, the press were fair, one publication noting it was smooth, quiet and luxurious yet "capable of speeds that would have won a grand prix not 15 years ago".  That comparison was admittedly with Formula One's voiturette (1.5 litre, naturally aspirated) era but it was an indication that even in the troubled 1970s, there had been progress.   

1983 Jaguar XJ-S Lynx Eventer shooting brake.

What many regard as the best-looking XJS version were the "shooting brakes" (a kind of station wagon) made by specialist coach-builders, the best-known of which was the Lynx Eventer, 67 of which were made.  Critics at the time noted the rear treatment rendered a better balanced shape and much the same observation was made of the convertible (1988-1996) version (less so the SC "cabriolet" (1983-1988)).  Although the pre-war shooting brakes often were built for the HFS (hunting, fishing & shooting) set who needed space for shotguns, fishing rods, hunting hounds and such, in the 1980s they emerged in the niche of the "horsey" set although there was obviously appeal for those who liked the image even if they never sat in a saddle.  In naming the Eventer, Lynx may have had in mind the sport of "eventing", an equestrian sport in which a single horse & rider compete against others across the three disciplines of dressage, cross-country, and show jumping, the roots in the drills European armies conducted to ensure officers seeking a commission in the cavalry possessed the requisite skills.  Eventing has a reasonably impressive death toll of both riders and beasts but it continues to exert a pull with women especially drawn; that's not surprising because some girls fall in love with horses at pony club and never quite recover.

1986 "Daimler S Design Study".

The shooting brake coachwork eliminated the buttresses that were the design's most distinctive feature and interestingly, they were sacrificed also when the factory in 1986 undertook a “design-study” for a proposed "luxury version", to be sold as the “Daimler S”.  The shape was judged most pleasing, unlike the “Coupé” version of the Jensen Interceptor (1966-1976), a reputed 60 of which were built in 1975-1976.  Without the dramatically expansive rear window (nicknamed "the fishbowl"), the design didn't please many and it was later revealed that, struggling to recover from the mid-1970s recession and collapse in demand for big, thirsty cars (both a consequence of the first oil shock), the company had exhausted their supply of closed body shells so "cobbled together" a top to be attached to some of remaining convertible (1974-1976) bodies awaiting completion.  That's may account for why it looked like something of a design college project that may (generously) have been graded a "C-" but, approaching bankruptcy, Jensen was in its death throes.

The original Jensen Interceptor (1966-1976, left) "saloon" and the hastily improvised Coupé (1975-1976, right).  The vinyl glued to the roof didn't help and it was a difficult time for the dying company but Jaguar's execution of the same concept (add a roof to a convertible) on the one-off Daimler S was more accomplished.  Verging on the brutish, nobody ever called the Interceptor's lines "poetic" but the appeal has endured and even today there are companies offering "refurbishment packages" including modern power-trains and electronics.

One thing the Daimler S had in common with the unfortunate Interceptor Coupé was the project being relatively cheap to execute because much of the engineering work had already been done in creating open versions (a full convertible by Jensen; the “SC” version of the XJS with a Triumph Stag-like fixture atop).  Sales of the XJ-S SC were sufficiently encouraging for a team to be formed to produce a conventional convertible, one aspect of the project a removable hard-top (always a factory option for the smaller E-Type).  Because of the sheer size (and consequently weight) of such a structure, that proved unviable but, the styling done, the idea of a “notchback coupé” was explored, the “Daimler” brand available to enable the thing to be sold at a higher price.  The prototype Daimler S required more than welding on the aborted hard-top but not much more, the main differences the different rear-side windows and fluted fittings on the grill & trunk (boot) lid trim.  The planned interior fit-out (a more lavish use of timber veneers, carpet & leather) was never fitted to the prototype and wilder thoughts in the engineering office included AWD (all-wheel drive) but none of the speculation ever even reached the drawing boards.  The one-off Daimler S did get as far as US focus groups for "market reaction" to be assessed but it had the misfortune of being displayed with a prototype XJ-S convertible and while the response to the coupé was polite, the convertible was received with an enthusiasm matched by the US dealer network, none of whom needed a focus group to tell them where demand lay.  While the lines of neither the Lynx Eventer or Daimler S would be likely to attract the epithet "poetic", both shapes improved on the original.  

Prosaic is an example of the figurative adoption of a word with a precise technical meaning assuming such popularity that the original sense became relegated to specialists.  Once, any text not poetic was “prosaic” (ie “written in prose”), and this description denoted nothing negative; it was just a way of distinguishing between written forms, reflecting prosaic’s origins in the Latin prosa (prose).  However, by the seventeen century, poetry had come to be regarded as a most superior form of expression, considered more beautiful, imaginative, and emotional, prose relegated to the status of the mundane and procedural.  The figurative use evolved from this and prosaic came to be used to refer to anything thought ordinary or unimaginative including music, ideas, architecture, Jaguars etc.  The adjective thus transformed into a synonym for "colorless, drab, lifeless, lacklustre, humdrum, dull, pedestrian, unimaginative" etc and this resulted in phrases which once would have been thought bizarre or tautological: “prosaic poetry” & “prosaic prose”.  In its original technical sense (distinguishing the style of writing used for poetry from other literature), the word is now rarely used other than by those somewhere in the "literature business" and, even there, use can be challenging because of the implications of the modern sense(s).  Still, for those who wish to emphasise certain bad texts are worse even than others, the comparative is "more prosaic" and the superlative, "most prosaic".

Dylan Thomas (1914–1953, left) and his wife Caitlin Thomas (née Macnamara; 1913-1994, right) in the bar of Brown’s Hotel, Laugharne, Wales, 1938.

As the origin in the Latin prosa or pronersa oratio (straightforward discourse) suggests, “prose” is the language in its direct, unadorned form, flowing in the way of style(s) written or spoken in everyday life.  It differs from poetry or verse in not being restricted in rhythm, measure or rhyme although, in literary theory, there exists also “poetic prose” and the “prose poem”.  Literary theory however has, in the last sixty years-odd, constructed a large and sometimes bewildering array of technical terms and categories and the possible number of distinct prose forms may be close to limitless.  Poetic prose is prose which approximates to verse in the use of rhythm (perhaps even a kind of meter) in the elaborate and ornate use of language, and especially in the use of figurative devices like onomatopoeia, assonance and metaphor.  Except in experimental form, poetic prose usually is deployed only as a literary device, appearing in short works or in brief passages in longer pieces in order to achieve a (not always entirely clear) specific effect although the common element seems to be something like “an elevation of the emotional temperature”.  Authors interpolating passages of poetic prose have included Thomas De Quincey (1785–1859, best known for his Confessions of an English Opium-Eater (1821)), Herman Melville (1819–1891), Arthur Rimbaud (1854–1891), James Joyce (1882–1941, whose use of poetic prose wasn’t always immediately accessible), Virginia Woolf (1882–1941) and William Faulkner (1897–1962).  Classic examples of the “hybrid form” are sectionsof the narrator’s narrative in the radio play Under Milk Wood (1952) by Dylan Thomas (1914–1953).

The Collected Prose of T.S. Eliot (2024), in four volumes, edited by Archie Burnett.

A prose poem is a composition printed as prose but distinguished by elements common in poetry, such as often elaborately contrived rhythms, figures of speech, rhyme, internal rhyme, assonance, consonance and startling imagery.  In academic use, it’s the tragic and only posthumously recognized French proto-symbolist Aloysius Bertrand (pen name of Louis Jacques Napoléon Bertrand, 1807-1841) who is acknowledged as having introduced prose poetry to French writing and, more that others, it was him who (retrospectively) made it a fashionable sub-genre among the avant-garde, the seminal work being Gaspard de la Nuit-Fantaisies à la manière de Rembrandt et de Callot (Gaspard of the Night-Fantasies in the Manner of Rembrandt and Callot, 1842), a collection of fantasies in the manner of the Dutch painter Rembrandt (Rembrandt Harmenszoon van Rijn; 1606-1669) and Jacques Callot (circa 1592–1635, a printmaker in the baroque style, born in the then independent Duchy of Lorraine).  Although it was the intricacy of the ornate and rhythmical language that contributed to the recognition of the prose poem as a literary form, upon publication, it made little impact and only later became influential though for more than a century it remained neglected in English.  When French critics finally took notice, the initial spread of the work owed much to the dazzling images, a number of which were, by the standards of the age, monumentally grotesque.  The influence on the French poet, essayist, translator and art critic Charles Baudelaire (1821–1867) was obvious in his Le Spleen de Paris (Paris Spleen, 1869 and better known by its subsequent title Petits Poèmes en prose (Little Poems in Prose)), a collection of 50 short prose poems and one of the building blocks of literary modernism.  The symbolist poets and surrealists also acknowledged a debt, as did T. S. Eliot (1888–1965) although his fork of modernism was so striking it seems almost unfair much to dwell on the precursors.

Lindsay Lohan, a poem by Amber Tambling, from the collection Dark Sparkler (2015).

Actress and author Amber Tamblyn (b 1983) solved the writer's dilemma about whether to handle the subject of Lindsay Lohan in prose or poetry by using no text at all.  The publisher HarperCollins described her third collection Dark Sparkler (2015) as a “…hybrid of poetry and art exploring the lives and deaths of actresses who began their careers as child stars.”  The book, which included original artwork by a number of artists, was well received, critically and commercially.  The title was well-chosen because Dark Sparkler was a catalogue of murder and suicide but what attracted much comment was the inclusion of one living soul: Lindsay Lohan, her entry (on page 47) blank but for her name as the title.  An author’s relationship ultimately is with their readers but first it’s with their critics and the response to that one proved it’s possible to deconstruct text even when it doesn’t appear.  As the postmodernists explained, even a blank page is "text" to be deconstructed to find meaning and should the conclusion be there is "no meaning", that too is "a meaning".  Whether fashionable or not, postmodernism made a contribution to literary criticism and remains available for readers to take from it what they will.  Some of the critical reaction to Ms Tambling's Lindsay Lohan was something in vein of those who approached John Cage’s (1912–1992) 4:33 (1952) in that, without much with which to work, the only obvious question seemed to be “What did you mean?”  Ms Tamblyn did say she found it “upsetting” when, after reading several of the poems dedicated to starlets who died young, she spoke the words “Lindsay Lohan” and the audience laughed; perhaps, in the age of the TikTokers she’d not now be surprised.  The poet claimed the inclusion of the piece in its unusual form was not to say “you’re next” but explicitly to avoid writing anything about a life in progress, the idea being Ms Lohan’s life was her own story to write.  Like any work of prose or poetry, page 47 was there for people to take from it what they found but presumably, the interpretative range might be wider than for those reading something like John Keats’ (1795-1821) ode To Autumn (1820).

Prose & poetry: shifting sensibilities

Products in the marketplace, prose and poetry are as subject to the whims of fashion as cars or frocks.  Some products fail while others succeed and that success may be fleeting or endure for generations but “success” is also nuanced, some items receiving critical acclaim but few sales while other are derided by the critics yet achieve either a brief or sustained popularity.  More intriguingly, some fade into obscurity for a century or more, only to be “re-discovered” by a new generation, often to enjoy a brief revival (as happens in fashion) or even enter the canon (as happened with the music of the Italian composer of the Baroque Antonio Vivaldi (1678–1741) who, neglected for centuries, gained recognition in the 1920s).  The trend of “coming and going” from favour is a feature of literature, partly explained by the use of language shifting, making something once accessible seem to new generations stilted and clumsy.  A handful of authors have benefited from this, William Shakespeare’s (1564–1616) texts in many places needing explanatory notes yet valued as “period pieces”, the works surviving by virtue of timeless thematic power.  Similarly, were a modern author to adopt the style of Jane Austen (1775–1817) it would seem absurd but her writings remain valued because they’re imagined as “capturing the moment of their time” (although the evidence suggests even the subset of society she documented were likely in speech not often so precise).

Frontpiece for first edition of The Faerie Queene (1590).  It's an example of one of those works essential in the study of English literature yet now hardly read (at least by choice, students may find it imposed).

Even among professional critics, opinions will be divided, the English poet & satirist Alexander Pope (1688-1744) in his last days noting approvingly of Edmund Spenser’s (circa 1552-1599) Epic poem The Faerie Queene (1590-1596; some 35,000 lines in stanzas): “…there is something Spenser that pleases one as strongly in one’s old age as it did in one’s youth. I read the Faerie Queene when I was about twelve with a vast deal of delight; and I think it gave me as much when I read it over about a year or two ago.”  Although dutifully still acknowledged as Spenser’s magnum opus, it’s now read only by students of literary history or linguistics; it’s unlikely many of them go much beyond what they need for their purposes to extract because it’s so tiresomely archaic.  Even in the nineteenth century it was thought “hard work with not enough reward”, the Whig historian Thomas Babington “T.B.” Macaulay (1800–1859) in 1831 summing up: “Spenser, though assuredly one of the greatest poets that ever lived, could not succeed in the attempt to make allegory interesting.  It was in vain that he lavished the riches of his mind on the House of Pride and the House of Temperance.  One unpardonable fault, the fault of tediousness, pervades the whole of The Faerie Queene.  We become sick of cardinal virtues and deadly sins, and long for the society of plain men and women.”  His call for modernism would within decades be answered and his view of the poem’s fate in the hands of readers would not differ greatly if written today:  Of the persons who read the first canto one in ten reaches the end of the first book, and not one in a hundred perseveres to the end of the poem.  Very few and very weary are those who are in at the death of the Blatant Beast.”  Even before TikTok, attention spans had shortened.

By the twentieth century, tastes certainly had shifted to prose that was punchier and conveyed meaning with less of the author’s display of erudition.  Writing of Gertrude Stein (1874–1946), the author and critic (Percy) Wyndham Lewis (1882-1957; best remembered for his seminal contribution to short-lived Vorticist movement that was extinguished by the blast of World War I (1914-1918)) dismissed her prose as “…a cold, black suet-pudding.  We can represent it as a cold suet roll of fabulously reptilian length.  Cut it at any point, it is the heavy, sticky, opaque mass all through and all along . . . it is mournful and monstrous composed of dead and inanimate material.”  As Vorticism demonstrated, even in artful form, Lewis knew how to make meaning clear, but Stein may have had the last laugh, he mostly forgotten while she often still is referenced although that’s more for her place in the LGBTQQIAAOP pantheon than any literary contribution.

Portrait of Virginia Woolf (circa 1917), oil on canvas by Roger Fry (1866-1934).

Still, Gertrude Stein is at least remembered for something.  In the rich field of novelists with diminished reputations there’s no example better than the Scottish author Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832), among the most widely read (to the bafflement of some critics) of the nineteenth century.  His legacy endures curiously in those he inspired (notably Jane Austen) but the wordy style didn’t survive the onset of modernity, E. M. Forster (1879–1970) in Aspects of the Novel (1927) finding him prolific yet slight, saying: “He is seen to have a heavy mind and a trivial style.  He cannot construct.  He has neither artistic detachment nor passion, only a temperate heart, gentlemanly feelings and an intelligent affection for the countryside; this is not basis enough for great novels.”  The English vicar John Skinner (1772–1839) made scant contribution to theology but is remembered as one of the amateur antiquarians and archaeologists England produced in the days of empire and his writings make clear he had the qualities of patience of perseverance demanded by all his callings.  He’d have needed both to plod through Scott’s The Black Dwarf (1816 and one of the “Waverley Novels”), Skinner noting in his diary in 1830: “…strive to amuse myself by reading novels and have finished that of the Black Dwarf by Sir Walter Scott.  I must be reduced to a sad state when I feel obliged to read such nonsense for a pastime.”  While unfair to suggest any connection, some years later, Skinner committed suicide, blowing his brains out with a shotgun.  Although still sometimes the subject of academic study (it transpired Scott’s texts were rich pickings for the deconstructionists of postmodernism), Scott is now little read although, counterintuitively, Virginia Woolf (1882–1941) was a fan, in 1932 lamenting him as among the last to echo the Shakespearean style in dialogues: “We have lost the art of the poetic speech” she concluded.  When madness overtook her, Woolf chose a more romantic form of suicide.

The Tay Bridge Disaster

William Topaz McGonagall (circa 1825–1902) was a Scottish poet of Irish ancestry, now acknowledged as perhaps the worst poet ever to have been published in English, a fair achievement given the wealth of modern competition.  His best known work remains The Tay Bridge Disaster (1880), lamenting the disaster of 28 December, 1879 when, during a severe gale, the central section of Dundee's Tay Rail Bridge collapsed, sending to their deaths in the freezing water the 80-odd souls aboard the Wormit-Dundee train passing at the time.  Regarded during its brief existence as a triumph of Victorian (1837-1901) engineering, the Tay Rail Bridge was nearly two miles (3.2 km) long and then the longest in the world but it had been built with an insufficient allowance for lateral wind-load, the structure that night succumbing to the gale-force winds estimated at 80 mph (130 km/h, 70 knots).  An enquiry was conducted and the designer, Sir Thomas Bouch (1822-1880) (dubbed a Knight Bachelor at Windsor Castle on 26 June, 1879 by Victoria (1819–1901; Queen of the UK 1837-1901) in recognition of the quick and economic construction of the bridge) was found for primarily responsible for the disaster.  His health suffered as a consequence of the event and within a year of the collapse, he was dead.

The Tay Bridge after the collapse (National Library of Scotland image).

Whether the The Tay Bridge Disaster can be said to be prosaic is debatable because there are probably better adjectives but critics have long been united that it's a very bad piece of poetry and it's doubtful a re-rendering in prose would be much of an improvement, one writing of it that McGonagall was “deaf to poetic metaphor, employing inappropriate rhythms that resulted in unintentionally amusing poetry.”  Said to be wholly oblivious to the invective almost universally directed to his oeuvre of over two-hundred pieces of verse, his sheer awfulness and tenacity caused him to be remembered to this day for at least something while countless poets who were merely earnest and competent are long forgotten.  Whether The Tay Bridge Disaster is the "worst ever" poem is up to readers but the problem with poetry is that its appreciation is a specific skill-set and not all possess the skill.  Were the critics to have praised the piece as a work or rare genius and pronounced it a masterpiece, many of us would have taken their word for it.

The Tay Bridge Disaster by William McGonagall

Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay!
Alas! I am very sorry to say
That ninety lives have been taken away
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
 
’Twas about seven o’clock at night,
And the wind it blew with all its might,
And the rain came pouring down,
And the dark clouds seem’d to frown,
And the Demon of the air seem’d to say-
“I’ll blow down the Bridge of Tay.”
 
When the train left Edinburgh
The passengers’ hearts were light and felt no sorrow,
But Boreas blew a terrific gale,
Which made their hearts for to quail,
And many of the passengers with fear did say-
“I hope God will send us safe across the Bridge of Tay.”
 
But when the train came near to Wormit Bay,
Boreas he did loud and angry bray,
And shook the central girders of the Bridge of Tay
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
 
So the train sped on with all its might,
And Bonnie Dundee soon hove in sight,
And the passengers’ hearts felt light,
Thinking they would enjoy themselves on the New Year,
With their friends at home they lov’d most dear,
And wish them all a happy New Year.
 
So the train mov’d slowly along the Bridge of Tay,
Until it was about midway,
Then the central girders with a crash gave way,
And down went the train and passengers into the Tay!
The Storm Fiend did loudly bray,
Because ninety lives had been taken away,
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
 
As soon as the catastrophe came to be known
The alarm from mouth to mouth was blown,
And the cry rang out all o’er the town,
Good Heavens! the Tay Bridge is blown down,
And a passenger train from Edinburgh,
Which fill’d all the peoples hearts with sorrow,
And made them for to turn pale,
Because none of the passengers were sav’d to tell the tale
How the disaster happen’d on the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
 
It must have been an awful sight,
To witness in the dusky moonlight,
While the Storm Fiend did laugh, and angry did bray,
Along the Railway Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay,
Oh! ill-fated Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay,
I must now conclude my lay
By telling the world fearlessly without the least dismay,
That your central girders would not have given way,
At least many sensible men do say,
Had they been supported on each side with buttresses,
At least many sensible men confesses,
For the stronger we our houses do build,
The less chance we have of being killed.