Leap

Leap (pronounced leep)

(1) To spring through the air from one point or position to another; to jump.

(2) Quickly or suddenly to move or act.

(3) To cause to leap.

(4) A spring, jump, or bound; a light, springing movement.

(5) The distance covered in a leap; distance jumped.

(6) A place leaped or to be leaped over or from.

(7) A sudden or abrupt transition.

(8) A sudden and decisive increase.

(8) In folk mythology, to copulate with or coverture of (a female beast) (archaic).

(9) In slang, to copulate with (a human) (archaic).

(10) A group of leopards.

(11) In figurative use, a significant move forward.

(12) In figurative use, a large step in reasoning (often one that is not justified by the facts, hence the sceptical phrase “a bit of a leap” & “quite a leap”).

(13) In mining (also used in geology), a fault.

(14) In aquatic management, a salmon ladder; a trap or snare for fish, historically constructed with fallen from twigs; a “weely”.

(15) In music, a passing from one note to another by an interval, especially by a long one, or by one including several other intermediate intervals.

(16) An intercalary measure, best-known as “leap year”, “leap second” et al.

(17) In pre-modern measures of weight, half a bushel.

Pre 900: From the Middle English lepen, from the Old English hlēapan, from the Proto-West Germanic hlaupan, from the Proto-Germanic hlaupaną (a doublet of lope, lowp, elope, gallop, galop, interlope and loop).  It was cognate with the German laufen (to run; to walk), the Old Norse hlaupa the Gothic hlaupan, the West Frisian ljeppe (to jump), the Dutch lopen (to run; to walk), the Danish løbe and the Norwegian Bokmål løpe, from the primitive Indo-European klewb- (to spring; stumble) (and may be compared with the Lithuanian šlùbti (to become lame) & klùbti (to stumble).  The verb forms are tangled things.  The third-person singular simple present tense is leaps, the present participle leaping, the simple past leaped or leapt (lept & lope the archaic forms) and the past participle is leaped or leapt or (lept & lopen the archaic forms).  That leapt and leaped remain in concurrent use is another of those annoy things in English which are hangovers from their ancient entrenchments in regional use and, as a general principle leapt tends to be is preferred educated British English while leaped is seen more frequently in North America (although leapt is in those places not uncommon, especially in areas with historical ties to England).  The transitive sense as in “pass over by leaping” was in use by the early fifteenth century and there are references to the children’s game “leap-frog” documented in the 1590s, and so obvious was the use of that figuratively it probably quickly was adopted but the first attested entry dates from 1704.  The familiar “to leap tall buildings in a single bound” comes from the Superman comics of the 1940s although in idiomatic use, “leaps” has been paired with “bounds” since at least since 1720.  Leap is a noun, verb & adjective, leaper & leapling are nouns and leaping and leapt & leaped are verbs; the noun plural is leaps.

The leap year is “a year containing 366 days” and use dates from late fourteenth century Middle English lepe gere, a genuine innovation because no equivalent term existed in the Old English. The origin is thought to come from the effect of fixed festival days, which normally advance one weekday per year, to “leap” ahead one day in the week.  The Medieval Latin was saltus lunae (omission of one day in the lunar calendar every 19 years), the Old English form being monan hlyp.  The adjustments happened in the calendars of many cultures, always with the purpose of ensuring the man-made devices for tracking dates (and therefore time) remained consistent with the sun; summer needed always to feel like summer and winter like winter.  Different methods of handling the intercalary were adopted and in England the bissextile was the device.  The noun & adjective bissextile (plural bissextiles) dates from the early 1580s and was from the Latin bisextilis annus (bissextile year), the construct being bisextus + -ilis, deconstructed as bis- (two; twice; doubled) + sextus (sixth) + dies (day) and was a reference to the Julian calendar's original reckoning of its quadrennial intercalary day as a 48-hour 24 February (subsequently distinguished as the two separate days of the sixth day before the March calends (sexto Kalendas Martii) and the “doubled sixth day”.  In modern use, 24 February is now understood as “five days before 1 March” but in Roman use it was called “the sixth” because the counting of dates was then inclusive.

Trace element of Leap Year: Lindsay Lohan in Irish Wish.

For those who understand the reference, Lindsay Lohan's new Netflix movie Irish Wish (2024) is said by Irish reviewers to be "a mix of Leap Year meets Just My Luck meets Freaky Friday in which Lohan stars as quiet book editor Maddie Kelly, who embarks on a journey to find love by learning to love herself first."  Like Irish Wish, Leap Year (2010) was filmed in Ireland.

The replacement of the bissextile by the then novel 29 February every four years-odd appears such an obviously good idea it seems strange it took centuries universally to be adopted in England although the documents reveal the shift was certainly well in progress by the mid-fifteenth century and in an echo of later practices, the more curmudgeonly the institution, the slower the intrusion of the new ways, the Admiralty and houses of parliament ignoring 29 February until well into the 1500s.  It wasn’t until the Calendar (New Style) Act (1750) passed into law that 29 February received formal recognition in UK law.  The reform worked well from the start but in some jurisdictions, government lawyers took no chances and for the handful of souls born on a 29 February, their birth dates were deemed to be 28 February or 1 March for all legal purposes (eligibility for drivers licenses or pensions, age of consent etc).  One born on 29 February is a “leapling” and there are said to be a few as five million of these lonely souls on the whole planet.  In many countries hospitals and midwives note the frequency with which expectant mothers approaching March request staff do whatever is required to avoid them giving birth to a leapling, fearing the child will feel deprived by having fewer birthdays than their siblings of friends.  The math of the leap year is it is one (1) evenly divisible by 4, (2) except for years are evenly divisible by 100 except that (3) years evenly divisible by 400 are leap years.  So, 2000 was while 1900 was not; 2100 will not be a leap year, but 2400 will be.  However, because the rotation of the Earth is changing (and thus the length of days), as is its distance from the Sun, even a 29 February now and then is not enough to keep everything in sync.  So, there are also leap seconds, spliced in as needed and unlike 29 February, only those dealing with atomic clocks and such notice addition.

Leap is common in idiomatic use:  To do something in “leaps and bounds” suggests commendably quick progress.  A “leap in the dark” is to take some action while being uncertain of consequences and the related “leap of faith” is trusting in something that cannot be seen or proven so in a sense they’re two ways of saying much the same thing although “leap of faith” does also imply some trust in something or someone.  To have one’s heart “leap into one’s throat” is an allusion to the sensation felt sometimes in the throat when something scary happens.  To “leap for joy” is much the same as “jump for joy” and describes joyous happiness.  To “leap at” something is enthusiastically to take up an offer, avail one’s self of an opportunity etc.  When doing so, one might be said to “leap into action”.  To be cautioned to “look before you leap” is to suggest one should be sure of things before doing something; if one ignores the advice then it’s a “leap of faith” or a “leap into the dark”.  To “leapfrog” is to skip a step in some process, the connotation almost always positive.  To suggest someone “take a flying leap” is much the same as telling them to “go jump in the lake” or, as is now more common: “fuck off”.  The concept of the "quantum leap" was in 1913 introduced (as the "quantum jump") by Danish physicist Niels Bohr (1885–1962) in his "Bohr model" of the atom.  In the strange world of quantum mechanics it describes the discontinuous change of the state of an electron in an atom or molecule from one energy level to another and was adopted figuratively to refer to an "abrupt, extreme change".  In modern use, it has come to mean a large or transformative change, a use to which pedants sometimes object but this is how the English language works.  The “leap year bug” is jargon rather than a idiom and describes the growing number of instances of problems caused by computers (and related machines) for whatever reason not correctly handling the existence of leap years.  Most are caused by human error and some are not being rectified because the original error has been built upon to such an extent that it’s easier to handle the bugs as they occur.  If something is said to be “a bit of a leap” or “quite a leap” it means there's some scepticism about the relationship one thing and another (often cause & effect). 

Jaguar's Leaper

Leaper on 1960 Jaguar Mark 2.

The “Leaper” was the factory’s name for the leaping feline figure which for decades adorned the space atop or behind the grill on many Jaguars.  These embellishments were originally mere functional devices because they were literally the external radiator caps so the most important part of the design was that easily they could be unscrewed to allow coolant to be added.  Inevitably, the possibilities occurred to stylists (as such designers used to be called) and the once modest radiator cap became miniature (though many were anything but small) works of art to covey the image the manufacturer wished.  Jaguar’s founder, Sir William Lyons (1901–1985), had a eye for style and was appalled at some of the after-market ornaments being sold to some of the buyers of his SS (Standard Swallow) Jaguars in the pre-war years so commissioned his own, the company legend being there was an amateur sculptor on the staff who got the job.  Beginning in 1938, this became the Jaguar standard and it adorned the cars until 1951 although it didn’t appear on the XK120 which caused such a sensation at the 1948 London Motor Show, apparently because that car was such a flourish of modernity the inclination was to abandon such antiquated relics.  So, when the Jaguar Mark V was retired in 1951, so was the leaper.

The Jaguar leaper had teeth which sounds ominous for pedestrians but some of the hood emblems looked more lethal still.  Left to right (top row): Buick, Packard & Pierce-Arrow; (centre row): Rolls-Royce, Bentley & Mercury; (bottom row): Duesenberg, Mercedes-Benz & Nash.

Whether nostalgia overtook the factory or there was popular demand seems not to have been recorded but in 1955 the leaper leapt back onto the Jaguar saloons (though not the sports cars) and it was sleeker still, the back legs now outstretched and because radiators were now hidden behind grills, the leaper was fixed to the bonnet (hood) and this shape would be used until 1969, offered even as an option on the XK150.  A smaller version was fashioned for the long, low & wide Mark X in 1961 and it was in use until 1970 when the 420G was retired.  That seemed to be the end of the line for the leaper because one wasn’t included when the new XJ range was released in 1968.

Leaper on a US market 1999 Jaguar Vanden Plas (X308).  The US market Vanden Plas were the only Jaguars on which the leaper was used in conjunction with the fluted grill fitted to the home market (and some RoW (rest of the world)) Daimlers.  Because it was Mercedes-Benz and not Jaguar which held the US rights to the Daimler brand, Daimlers sold in the US were badged as Jaguar Vanden Plas although they were otherwise identical to Daimlers including the fluted fittings.  The supercharged Daimler Vanden Plas was the most exclusive of the X308s and was noted for details such as the rear picnic tables being crafted from solid burl walnut timber rather than the veneer over plastic used on cheaper models.

However, while Jaguar’s designers were convinced, the buyers were not and the leaper remained a popular after-market fitting on both the XJs (where it looked OK because of the car’s resemblance to the earlier generations) and the XJ-S (where frankly, it looked absurd).  Notably, demand for the return of the leaper was strong in the US and in response, the factory relented and a “safe” version was developed to please the safety-conscious American regulators, using a spring-loaded mechanism similar to the one Mercedes-Benz used for its three-pointed star, a variation later perfected to conform with European legislation governing “the external projections of motor vehicles”.  The end for the leaper finally came in 2005 although the profile lives on in a boot (trunk) badge used on modern Jaguars (including the ones which look like big Hyundais).

Crossbody

Crossbody (pronounced kraws-bod-ee or kros‐bod-ee)

(1) Of or noting a type of bag, distinguished by a long shoulder strap intended to be worn diagonally across the body.  A crossbody purse or crossbody wallet is a variation on the theme.

(2) In professional (ie choreographed) wrestling, a term covering several aerial moves in which one competitor launches themselves from a height (sometimes using the ring’s ropes or corner-posts to gain altitude) landing horizontally or diagonally across their (often already) prostrate opponent's torso, forcing them to the mat if they were standing.

Early 1950s: The construct was cross + body.  As a prefix, cross was from the Middle English cros- & crosse- (relating to a cross, forming a cross, in the shape of a cross or “X”), developed from the noun and influenced by “across”.  Body (the spelling bodie is long obsolete) was from the Middle English bodi & bodiȝ, from the Old English bodiġ (body, trunk, chest, torso, height, stature), from the Proto-West Germanic bodag (body, trunk), from the primitive Indo-European bhewd (to be awake, observe).  It was cognate with the Old High German botah from which the Swabian gained Bottich (body, torso).  Although as late as the sixteenth century, “body” was used in the now archaic sense of the “section of a dress or gown extending from the neck to the waist but excluding the arms” the idea of the crossbody was a reference always to “the body” in the sense of the physical structure of a human form, in this case the torso, the line extending from a shoulder to around the opposite hip.  The alternative spelling is cross–body.  Crossbody is a noun & adjective; the noun plural is crossbodies.

The cross-prefix has widely been used for similar or analogous purposes such as the crossbow, (an early, mechanized version of the bow and arrow), the cross-bolt (a means of adding additional structural rigidity to the main bearings in an internal combustion engine by adding locating bolts at a 90^o angle to those mounted vertically) and cross-purposes (a conversation in which two or more are talking while misunderstanding each other's plans, intentions or meanings) and the cross-stitch (in needlework or embroidery, a double-stitch which forms a cross.  Many other uses such as cross-country, cross-dresser, cross-cultural et al, are different in that they don’t involve the “X” shape or (of necessity) anything in a diagonal.

Bill Clinton & Monica Lewinsky, the White House, February 1997, one of the photographs of the 1990s.

Monica Lewinsky (1973) was the young intern of whom in 1998 Bill Clinton (b 1946; US president 1993-2001) infamously remarked “I did not have sexual relations with that woman… Miss Lewinsky.”  Had that been something said in a county court in a remote flyover state of a consensual encounter between two obscure private citizens, defense counsel may have succeeded in arguing that for there to be “sexual relations” one must have “sex” and what transpired had not crossed the accepted definitional threshold.  In 1998, there probably were still places where such distinctions were maintained but because what happened happened in the White House between the chief magistrate of the United States and an intern a quarter century younger, Monicagate played out.  As presidential scandals go there have certainly been worse and as Harold Macmillan (1894–1986; UK prime-minister 1957-1963) replied when woken in the middle of the night to be told a member of his cabinet was in the midst of an affair with a young lady “with both a present and a past” who was also enjoying the affections of a Soviet spy: “Well at least it was with a woman.”  That the liaisons with the Russian were arranged at the behest of MI5 (the UK's internal security organization) is one of the many details which made the Profumo Affair (John Profumo (1915–2006)) one of the century's juiciest scandals although, some of the files containing "sensitive" information about members of the English establishment remain embargoed until 2046. Even then, few expect to see unredacted papers. 

Bill Clinton and crooked Hillary Clinton, the Hamptons, 2021.

A youthful indiscretion is one thing but an indiscretion with a youth is something else and whether crooked Hillary Clinton (b 1947; US secretary of state 2009-2013) ever forgave her husband only she knows but she didn’t leave him so there was that.  She had her own reasons to stay which may or may not have involved forgiveness but the conventional political wisdom remains that had the US constitution allowed it, Bill Clinton would probably have enjoyed a comfortable victory in the 2000 presidential election so enough of the US population either forgave him or were indifferent in the matter.  Monica Lewinsky fared not as well, being as unprepared for what ensued as just about anyone in her position would have been and it’s remarkable she coped as well as she did.  However, now 50, Ms Lewinsky has survived and in February 2024 emerged as the face of women’s fashion label Reformation’s latest campaign, one focused on corporate workwear and, in concert with vote.org, encouraging women to “use their voice” in the upcoming election and given the extent to which recent court decisions have encouraged an influential faction in the Republican Party to mount further assaults on the rights of women, their vote has the potential to be decisive in contests for both houses of Congress.

Monica Lewinsky's photoshoot for Reformation’s You’ve Got the Power campaign. 

The “You’ve Got the Power” campaign slogan thus has a dual meaning, referencing both the exercise of the franchise and the “power dressing” of the wardrobe (good taste prevailed and no electric blue dresses were featured) although big shoulder pads didn’t make a return which would have disappointed some but the corporate staples red (here described as “scarlet”) and black were prominent.  The range was conservative as befits the target market but seems to have been well-received and serious students of such things especially appreciated the inclusion of an irregular polka-dot in black & white.  Ms Lewinsky certainly looked good and while photographers have tricks to play with lighting and angles, there’s little to suggest much post-production editing was done; she looked a youthful, elegant 50.  One piece which attracted attention was the “Monica” bag which came with both a fitted top-handle and a longer strap, allowing it to be carried on the shoulder or as a crossbody.

Reformation’s "Monica" crossbody bag in black (left) and topo (right).

The Monica crossbody bag is available in topo or black.  Topo is a Spanish word meaning “mole” (both (1) in zoology as the small mammal and (2) in the jargon of espionage a “sleeper agent” who infiltrates an organization, usually to spy) and as a dark brownish-grey colour (ie an approximation of the colour of a mole's skin (hence the familiar "moleskin"), it’s the equivalent of the English taupe, from the French taupe, from the Latin talpa (mole).  In the circumstances, “talpa” presumably was more appealing to the marketing department than “moleskin” although “black” was refreshingly simple.  Reformation’s Monica (as in the crossbody bag) web page recommended the topo hue worked well paired with their “Lysander” dress, available in “selene” (the rather fetching polka-dot) or “midnight” (a dark blue close to navy and far enough removed from the shade of dress Ms Lewinsky made famous not to attract comment).  How fashion houses come up with product names is often mysterious.  Lysander was from the Ancient Greek Λῠ́σᾰνδρος (Lúsandros) and is a (now rare) male given name although in the US there has in the twenty-first century been a modest resurgence.  In the Greek, the name was used to denote “liberator” and it became entrenched in English probably because William Shakespeare (1564–1616) used it in the comedy, A Midsummer Night's Dream (1596), a romp in which Lysander found himself under Puck's spell after running away with his beloved Hermia, enduring a half-dozen cases of mistaken identity before being reunited, marrying in a triple ceremony (all of which sounds curiously modern in a Netflix sort of way).  What Reformation may have had in mind was Lysander (circa 454-395 BC), the Spartan admiral who liberated his people from the hegemony of Athens, his most famous victory being the sinking of the Athenian fleet at the Battle of Aegospotami (405 BC), the engagement which ended the Peloponnesian War.  Presumably, the thinking at Reformation was the name of an admiral from Antiquity was enough of a connection with navy blue although that tradition of use in navies began many centuries later.  There was also the Westland Lysander, a World War II (1939-1945) era communications & support aircraft used by the British Army and best remembered for (1) its role in smuggling spies and saboteurs into occupied Europe and (2) the unusual use of the wheel spats as mounting points for machine guns and ordnance such as 250lb (115 KG) bombs.  In production in the UK & Canada between 1936-1943, it was an uncelebrated but versatile platform which provided invaluable service in the clandestine operations run by the UK’s remarkably large number of agencies concerned with dirty tricks and other murky business.  It’s not likely Reformation thought much about the aircraft.

The Monicagate (1998) effect: The decline of the use of the name Monica in the US

Monica is a female given name and the variants in other European languages include Monique (French & Dutch), Mónica (Spanish Portuguese & Italian), Mônica (Brazilian Portuguese), Monika (Polish, Slovak, Slovine, Lithuanian, Croatian, Finnish, German & Indian, Czech, Bulgarian, Latvian, Finnish, Swedish, Norwegian & Danish), Moonika (Estonia), Mónika (Hungarian) and Mònica (Catalan).  The origin is obscure but may be from a Phoenician, Punic or Berber dialect, the oldest known instance being as the name of the mother of Saint Augustine of Hippo (354–430) although it has also been associated with the Ancient Greek μόνος (monos) (alone, only, sole, single).  It was Monica who converted Augustine to Christianity and in gratitude the Church also canonized her.  The Latin name Monica was from monere (to advise), an inflection of moneō, from the Proto-Italic moneō, from the primitive Indo-European monéyeti, causative from men- (to think); it was etymologically unrelated to later forms.  As an English name, it has been in use since the mid-eighteenth century while in the US, popularity peaked in the mid-1970s before beginning a gradual decline which became a precipitous plummet after 1999, something it seems reasonable to attribute to “the Monicagate effect”.

Lindsay Lohan with crossbody bags: At the LLohan Nightclub pop-up event, Playboy Club, New York, October 2019 (David Koma crystal-embellished cady midi dress with asymmetric hem, Valentino Rockstud 110mm pumps and Chanel mini tweed bag with crossbody strap from the Spring/Summer 2015 runway collection) (left) and with Louis Vuitton Louis Vuitton Le Coussin BB Bag (with a detachable crossbody strap), arriving at JFK Airport, August 2022 (right).

Creature of habit: Audrey Hepburn carrying her crossbody purse, Rome, 1971.

The crossbody bag in one form or another would have existed about as long as there have been bag-like creations for holding stuff because the design offers the advantage of transferring the weight to the shoulders (alternating if required) and leaving the user inherently "hands free".  Although for centuries a feature of military webbing, as a packaged piece of fashion, the industry usually credits the "design" of the product to Robert Sakowitz and later refinements to his daughter Bunny (she added the game-changing zipper!), the latter acknowledging a debt to the eighteenth century cross-body "strap bags".   The mix of thoughtful detailing, practicality and high prices meant that in the 1950s it soon became a a fashion staple and Audrey Hepburn (1929–1993) using one in her portrayal of the modern young spinster Holly Golightly in Breakfast at Tiffany's (1961) cemented it's place.  It's never left and a crossbody bag is merely one worn across the body with the strap extending diagonally from one shoulder to the opposite hip but the utility come from (1) hands-free convenience, (2) security & stability while affording ease of access to multiple compartments and (3) the ability to optimize weight distribution.  The crossbody method can be applied to bags of various sizes and there are even crossbody wallets and small purses and while such things might sound merely decorative, men tend often forget it's not uncommon for a woman's entire outfit to include not one pocket and in an era when it's become possible to carry only one's phone, a lipstick and a small can of mace; practicality need no longer be big.

The Monica 560

France's finest ever: 1963 Facel Vega Facel II.

In the fashion business there have been a number of products named “Monica” and it’s likely this often was for no reason other than it was thought appropriately feminine and pleasing to use.  There is also an automotive footnote, the Monica 560 a French-built luxury car which was the last of what often are referred to as the "first generation" of trans-Atlantic hybrids which, combining elegant European coachwork with robust, powerful, very cheap (and very thirsty) US-sourced drive-trains, flourished between the mid-1950s and the first oil shock two decades later.  They weren't really the "first generation" because there were manufacturers of such things during the 1930s but the sales volumes were tiny.  It’s often said the Monica was an attempt to resurrect the much lamented Facel Vega (1954-1964) but the founder was more nostalgic still, the industrialist Jean Tastevin (1919-2016) recalling the pre-war Delahayes, Bugattis Delages & Buccialis, French cars which ranked with the world’s finest.  However, when in the late 1960s Monsieur Tastevin surveyed the scene, even the more expensive French cars, whatever their other virtues (some of which were admittedly well concealed), were under-powered and although in many ways sophisticated, lacked the power and refinement of the British, US & European competition.  His core business was the large conglomerate Compagnie française de produits métallurgiques (CFPM) which specialized in building freight rail wagons, his imaginative business model including leasing them, a form of vertical integration which provided a stable revenue stream during periods of diminished demand.  

One of the valve cover castings for a Martin V8 installed in a prototype Monica.

With this industrial capacity and financial infrastructure, he reasoned building a car to compete with the other speciality builders (and he included in that the upper-range Mercedes-Benz, Jaguars and such) was within CFPM’s capacity and in that he may have been correct but a combination of bad decisions, bad luck and bad timing doomed the project.  The first mistake was to try to match Maserati & Ferrari in the use of a bespoke engine rather than the US V8s pragmatically adopted by Jensen, Bristol, Iso, Monteverdi and others; Tastevin wanted a thoroughbred, not a bastard.  What was available was a V8 designed by the gifted English engineer Ted Martin (1922-2010) and it was in many ways outstanding being robust, compact, powerful and light.  Convinced, Tastevin bought the rights along with the collateral contract under which Rolls-Royce agreed to handle the production, the prestige of a “Rolls-Royce-built engine” another thing which appealed.  Unfortunately, Monsieur Tastevin subsequently demanded of Rolls-Royce they guarantee the power output of each unit, an underwriting the company declined on the basis that as a manufacturing and assembly contractor of something they’d not designed and tested, they were not prepared to guarantee someone else’s work.  His contract well-written, Ted Martin kept the money and Tastevin had to find another engine.

The first (left) and second (centre) Monica prototypes and the Amiot 143M (1931-1944), a French five-seat reconnaissance bomber (right).

By early 1968, that was still to happen and prototypes were built with the Martin V8.  There was progress in that the chassis and most of the underpinnings were in close to their final form but the all-important styling was still a work in progress although that is being charitable, the appearance of the early prototypes in the tradition of some of the inter-war bombers built for the French Air Force which to this day remain among the ugliest aircraft ever to fly.  The English were involved in the appearance of the early cars so blame can be shared and it wasn’t until the Italian carrozzeria Vignale became involved, something like the final, sleek form emerged although the work would be brought to fruition by others because Vignale subsequently was shuttered.  One thing which was deemed right as soon as the decision was made was the car’s name: Madam Tastevin’s name was Monique.

The Monica stand, Paris Motor Show, 1972.

The Monica made its debut at the Paris Motor Show, late in 1972 and impressed many with the look of its jewel-like V8 and sumptuous interior although the price raised a few eyebrows, costing as much as two Citroën SMs, then the most expensive car produced in France.  In the way of such things, the sales projections were optimistic, suggesting as many as 500 Monicas annually even though the market for big, expensive four-door saloons had become crowded; not only were specialists like Iso, Monteverdi and De Tomaso offering fully-developed and well-established models with reliable US V8s, Jaguar’s V12-powered XJ12 had set a dynamic benchmark at an extraordinarily low price and Mercedes-Benz were rumoured to be preparing a 7.4 litre (452 cubic inch) version of their epoch making S-Class (W116) (post-oil shock, eventually it would in 1975 surface as the 450 SEL 6.9).  Still, in 1972, generally, there was faith in the future.

1973 Monica 560 interior.  The engine was from the US, the leather & burl walnut was English, it was styled in Italy and the gearbox was German (or from the US if automatic).  It had a "French flavor". 

There optimism was still in the air in 1973 (the oil wouldn’t stop flowing until October) but by then the hunt was on for a new engine.  The contractual squabble with Rolls-Royce was one thing but by then, it had anyway finally occurred to Tastevin’s inexperienced team that the Martin V8, an enlarged racing engine, was never going to possess the characteristics needed in a luxury car.  It was noisy, at its best with a manual gearbox and at anything but high revs (where it needed to operate to produce the required power), somewhat rough.  In the early 1960s the Maserati Quattroporte had been much the same and it sold well but then there were few alternatives and the world had moved on; what buyers now wanted was the turbine-like smoothness of the XJ12 or the effortless torque of the big-displacement V8 hybrids.  The 3.4 litre (209 cubic inch) Martin V8 was a vibrant thing which would have been entertaining in a sports car but it wasn't what the target market now expected in a luxury saloon.  Tastevin’s original plan had been to build a high-performance sports car and the switch to four-door coachwork came early in the development process.  Of all the hybrids built in the era, the Monica was the only one never offered as a coupé. 

One of the few: 1974 Monica 560 Berlina.

Surrendering to the inevitable, Tastevin phoned Detroit and arranged to purchase a batch of Chrysler’s 340 cubic inch (5.6 litre) (LA) V8s, one of the best of the small-block engines of the era and equally adaptable either to the company’s TorqueFlite automatic transmission or the ZF five-speed manual which still had real appeal for some.  Although by then somewhat detuned from its peak during the muscle car years, the 340 could be run in Europe without most of the power-sapping anti-pollution gear insisted on by US regulators (things were different then) and the performance was sparkling; in deference to Europeans for whom cubic inches were mysterious, the car was named the Monica 560 (an allusion to the V8's 5.6 litre displacement).  In 1974, the finished product was ready for sale although inflation meant the already high price had risen by over 50% since 1972 and the four-fold increase in the price of oil in the wake of the embargo had punished demand for fast, thirsty, cars, especially those from a previously unknown manufacturer.  By late 1974, many of the makers of the trans-Atlantic hybrids were either closed or in the throes of what would for most be a not long-protracted demise.  After 17 Monicas were sold in a few months, it was obvious the math was wrong and in February 1975, the company’s closure was announced, one of many such press-releases that year and while a handful of uncompleted chassis were brought to a finished state by a contracted third party, it’s never been clear how many.  Had the Monica 560 been brought to market in 1968 or 1969, it might have enjoyed some years of modest suggest although there’s no reason to believe it would have weathered the winds of change brought by the 1970s any better that the others which fell victim.

Sepia

Sepia (pronounced see-pee-uh)

(1) A dark brown pigment obtained from the ink-like secretion of various cuttlefish, often used with brush or pen in drawing.

(2) A drawing made with this pigment.

(3) A photograph or digital image in the tone recognized as “sepia”.

(4) A specific range of shades of brown, which tend to a reddish tincture.

(5) In photography, a print or photograph rendered within this color range, associated especially with early types such as calotype.  Now easily replicated in software, when using physical film stock it can be produced by first bleaching a print (after fixing), then immersing it for a short time in a solution of sodium sulphide or of alkaline thiourea.

(6) Any of several cuttlefish of the genus Sepia, producing a dark fluid used naturally for defense and, by humans, in various mixes of ink (mostly archaic but still used in technical literature).

1821: From the Italian seppia (cuttlefish), from the Latin sēpia, from the Ancient Greek σηπία (sēpía) (cuttlefish (and its secretion)), the origin of which is uncertain, the orthodox explanation being it was from the Ancient Greek σήπειν (sḗpein) (to make rotten) but there are etymologists who suggest while that’s “semantically possible” (on the basis of the “rotten:” smelling ink), it’s may be from a pre-Greek source.  The Greek sḗpein was related to σήψ (sḗps) (a kind of lizard; also a serpent, the bite of which was alleged to cause putrefaction”).  The Greek sēpía was akin to sepsis.  Sepia & sepian are nouns & adjectives and sepialike (also as sepia-like) is an adjectives; the noun plural is sepias.

The use of the word to describe the brown pigment extracted from the secretions of cuttlefish dates from the 1820s and the “brownish” meaning as applied to drawings was first recorded in English in 1863 (originally as “sepia drawing”); it was extended later to photography and film and it remains a motif in “retro” art and verisimilitude in film & television.  Reflecting the influence of Classical & Medieval Latin in the formation of zoological taxonomy, sepia had been used of the cuttlefish as early as the late-fourteenth century but today such use is rare.  The Latin was also the source of words in a number of languages including the Bulgarian се́пия (sépija), the Catalan sèpia, the Esperanto sepio, the Finnish seepia, the French sépia, the Galician sepia, the German Sepia, the Hungarian szépia, the Japanese: セピア色 (sepiairo), the Portuguese sépia, the Romanian sepia, the Russian се́пия (sépija), the Spanish sepia, the Swedish sepia, the Tagalog sepia and the Turkish sepia.  

The noun sepiolite (in mineralogy, a hydrated magnesium silicate, clay mineral used for carving into decorative articles and smoking pipes (known also as meerschaum), from the same etymological origin as sepia, picked up the name because of the resemblance to cuttlebone.  The -lite suffix (when used formally) was a representation of the Ancient Greek λίθος (líthos) (stone) and was appended to form the names of rocks and minerals.  In informal use (in commerce or humorously (and in politics often disparagingly)) it's a phonetic version of “light” in the sense of “smaller, lesser, reduced in weight”; it's used often for cut-down (sometimes free) versions of software, diet drinks etc.

Montage of Lindsay Lohan red-carpet stills, rendered in vintage calotype sepia.

As an adjective sepian (the comparative more sepian, the superlative most sepian) began life meaning (1) of or pertaining to the sepia (in the sense of the cuttlefish or its dark pigment) and (2) of the color (not of necessity produced with the derived ink).  In the post-war Unites States, sepia was adopted to refer to some of those with darker pigmentation of the skin, specifically applied to black Americans or African Americans.  The emergence was because in many parts of the US, use of most offensive of the N-words had become socially less acceptable in many circles and as this disapprobation trickled down the social spectrum, new slurs were created, sepian presumably attractive because of the history as a description of colors of paint, fabrics etc.  It was thus separated from ethnic identity and could thus be defended as wholly neutral in use.  As a term, it was neither sufficiently widely adopted nor endured in use for long enough for any pejorative association to become attached so it never became part of the linguistic treadmill.

Bridget Bardot (b 1934) in sepia, on set in Viva Maria! (1965).

As an artistic device, sepia is sometimes used in film.  In The Wizard of Oz (1939), one of the most famous uses was to contrast the bleak, sepia-toned scenes in Kansas with the vibrant (techni-) color in the Land of Oz.  A different effect was achieved in The Shape of Water (2017) (which is either a fantasy or science fiction (SF) film depending on who is writing the review), the sepia-toned sequences depicting the protagonist's memories and dreams.  Presumably, directors find sepia a useful device because black & white (the other obvious alternative) has through use become vested with connotations, gained not only from of the association with film noir.

Felicitous

Felicitous (pronounced fi-lis-i-tuhs)

(1) Characterized by felicity; causing happiness or pleasure.

(2) Well-suited to the occasion (of actions, manners, speech, expression etc); something apt or appropriate in the circumstances.

(3) Possessing a particular aptitude to display a suitable manner or expression; possessing an agreeable style.

(4) In structural linguistics (of a sentence or other fragment), semantically and pragmatically coherent; fitting in the context.

(5) In astrology, a planet or other heavenly body in an influential position.

1720s: The construct was felicit(y) + -ous.  Felicity was from the Middle English felicite (bliss, happiness, joy; delight, pleasure; a source of happiness; good fortune; prosperity; well-being; a heavenly body in an influential position (used in astrology), from the Old French felicité (source of the modern French félicité (bliss, happiness; felicity)), from the Latin fēlīcitātem, the accusative singular of fēlīcitās (fertility, fruitfulness; happiness, felicity; good fortune; success), from fēlix (happy; blessed, fortunate, lucky; fertile, fruitful; prosperous; auspicious, favorable) (ultimately from the primitive Indo-European dheh & dhehy (to nurse, suckle)) + -itās (a variant of -tās (the suffix used to form nouns indicating a state of being)).  The -itas suffix was from the Proto-Italic -itāts & -otāts (-tās added to i-stems or o-stems, later used freely) and ultimately from the primitive Indo-European -tehats.  The –ous suffix was from the Middle English -ous, from the Old French –ous & -eux, from the Latin -ōsus (full, full of); a doublet of -ose in an unstressed position.  It was used to form adjectives from nouns, to denote possession or presence of a quality in any degree, commonly in abundance.  In chemistry, it has a specific technical application, used in the nomenclature to name chemical compounds in which a specified chemical element has a lower oxidation number than in the equivalent compound whose name ends in the suffix -ic.  For example sulphuric acid (H₂SO₄) has more oxygen atoms per molecule than sulphurous acid (H₂SO₃).  There are degrees of felicitousness; the comparative is more felicitous, the superlative most felicitous.  Felicitous is an adjective, felicitousness is a noun and felicitously is an adverb.

In structural linguistics felicitous is a technical term used to indicate a sentence is semantically and pragmatically coherent (in the context of use).  It is not a synonym for “correct” in every situation because a sentence can be grammatical yet not be felicitous, analogous with law where a contract to undertake a murder can be found to be a valid (legal) contract because it conforms to the rules for such things yet be held to be “void for illegality” because the act of murder is unlawful.

In use, "felicitation", (complimentary expression of belief in another's happiness or good fortune), the noun of action from felicitate, is often used in the plural as “please extend my felicitations” although it’s now rare and probably something of an affectation by those for whom Noël Coward’s (1899–1973) drawing room scenes remain models of good manners; it may be the ultimate middle-class phrase.  In English drawing rooms and other places, felicitation was in use by the early eighteenth century.  Some style guides note the occasional error of use in which felicitation is used as a synonym for “congratulations” and caution it should instead be though a companion term.  Like the verb congratulate, congratulation implies one’s feeling of pleasure in another's happiness or good fortune while felicitation refers to an expression of belief the other is fortunate; what felicitations should suggest to the recipient is their pleasure is well deserved and should be enjoyed.  Expressions of both congratulations and felicitations can be sincere or wholly fake and those skilled in the art of such things deliberately can, with exactly the same text, convey either meaning through nuances such as intonation or non-verbal clues.  The guides’ distinction seems helpful (at least at the margins) but not arbiters of English agreed.  One of the most consistently severe of these was Henry Fowler (1858–1933) who in his authoritative A Dictionary of Modern English Usage (1926) included “felicitate” in his list of “formal words” as a merely decorative alternative to “congratulate”, lumping it in with other needlessly ornate forms (adumbrate vs outline; endeavour vs try; desist vs cease (layers can prove those two are distinct); extend vs send; proceed vs go et al).  No fan of “genteelisms” in language, Henry Fowler thought there were few exceptions to his rule that the common or vernacular form is better than the formal.

Intriguingly, etymologists note a single verified use of “felicitously” in the 1530s but it's thought probably an error and the form wasn’t to emerge for more than a century.  The now obsolete verb felicitate (to render happy) was in use in the early seventeenth century, during which it picked up the sense of “to reckon happy”.  It was from the Late felicitatus, past participle of felicitare (to make happy), from felicitas (fruitfulness, happiness), again from fēlix.  The meaning “congratulate, compliment upon a happy event” seems to have emerged in the 1630s and the related forms were the verbs felicitated & felicitating; the rare alternative verb form felicify was documented in the 1690s and by the late nineteenth century this yielded adjective felicific and the companion antonym infelicific, neither now in common use but being shorter, seem more convenient than the alternative adjective infelicitous (unhappy, unlucky), in use by the late 1740s, supplanting the late sixteenth century form infelicious.  In most cases, there will anyway probably be better words to use but infelicific, infelicitously & infelicitousness seem more elegant that the alternatives (nonfelicitous, nonfelicitously & nonfelicitousness and unfelicitous, unfelicitously & unfelicitousness).

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 of sometime dubious legibility (a process AI 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.  So, all the ngrams reveal only what's in the particular sub-set Google’s grabbers extract from their catchments and that indicates the use of “felicitous” & “infelicitous” was most common in the mid-nineteenth century and although the former seems to have been used more than the latter, no conclusions should be drawn about the changes in the state of human happiness.  One clear finding however is that the double-negative form (that favorite of lawyers, politicians and Foreign Office mandarins) never found favor; if people wished to convey felicitousness they bothered not with “not infelicitous”.

Lindsay Lohan and her lawyer in court, Los Angeles, December 2011.

The double negative is though handy to add nuance; whatever would be the surface analysis on the combination, “not bad” is understood to mean something different than “good” and it may be that like “I’m not unhappy”, “not infelicitous” can be useful in that it can be used to convey the sense that although one might not be all that happy, one is not despairingly miserable.  Given the nature of the human condition, it’s surprisingly it’s not heard more often.

Donald Trump (b 1946; US president 2017-2021) and Nikki Haley (b 1972; US ambassador to the United Nations (UN) 2017-2018): Feeling respectively "felicitous" and "not infelicitous" after the South Carolina Republican Primary, February 2024.