Wednesday, November 6, 2024

Insipid & Sapid

Insipid (pronounced in-sip-id)

(1) Without distinctive, interesting, or stimulating qualities; vapid.

(2) Something or someone dull or uninteresting; lacking character or definition.

(3) Food or drink lacking sufficient taste to be pleasing; bland, unappetizingly flavorless.

1610–1620: From the sixteenth century French insipid (without taste or perceptible flavor), from the Late Latin insipidus (tasteless), the construct being in- (in the sense of negation) + -sipidus (savory; tasty), a form of sapidus (sapid) from sapere (have a taste (and used also to mean “be wise”)).  The figurative (ie not of food or drink) meaning (uninteresting, dull) emerged in English in the 1640s and it’s believed this was under the influence of Medieval Latin or the Romance languages, where it was a secondary sense.  The noun insipidity was in use by the early seventeenth century.  The choice of synonym can depend on whether what is being described is food & drink or something (or someone) else and the options include banal, bland, ho-hum, innocuous, trite, vapid, tasteless, bland, wearish, boring, vacuous, dull, bland, characterless & colourless.  In English, in some senses the use has been influenced by insipient (unwise, foolish, stupid; lacking wisdom).  Insipient was from the Middle English insipient & incipient, from the Old French insipient, ultimately from the Latin īnsipiēns.  For the fastidious, the comparative is “more insipient”, the superlative “most insipient”).  Insipid is an adjective, insipidity & insipidness are nouns and insipidly is an adverb.

Sapid (pronounced sap-id)

(1) Having taste or flavor (and used specifically to mean “savory”).

(2) Agreeable to the taste; palatable.

(3) Agreeable, as to the mind; to one's liking.

1625-1635: From the Latin sapidus (tasty), from sapere or sapiō (to taste).  The original meaning in English was “having the power of affecting the organs of taste (when used of food & drink or other substances)” while the figurative sense suggested something “gratifying to the mind or its tastes”.  The adjective sipid has the same meaning as sapid and was a mid-nineteenth century back-formation from insipid (on the model of “gruntled” from “disgruntled”) whereas sapid was a direct borrowing from Latin.  Both sapid & sipid can be used to mean “having a taste or flavor; savoury” but unlike insipid which remains in wide use (both in the original context of food & drink and figuratively), neither have ever attained much currency and it’s not unreasonable for both to be listed as obsolete.  Sapid is an adjective, sapidity & sapidness are nouns.

The infamously insipid Koryo Burger, the in-flight delicacy offered by Air Koryo, national carrier of Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (DPRK; North Korea).

In a sense, what words flourish (or at least endure) in English is because of the operation of something of a popularity contest.  While there are style guides, text books and grammar Nazis to tell us which words to use and in what manner, English has no body such as the French government’s Académie Française (council for matters pertaining to the French language) which publishes the a variety of documents which may be said collectively to define what is “official French”.  The Académie had an interesting political history, beginning as a private venture it received the imprimatur of both church & state when in 1635 it was granted a royal charter by Cardinal Richelieu (1585-1642; chief minister (chancellor or prime-minister) to the King of France 1624-1642) during the reign of Louis XIII (1601–1643; King of France 1610-1643) but was dissolved 1793 during the French Revolution (1789), partly because of the mob’s anti-royalist feelings but also because there was some resentment among the peasantry (an in the provinces generally) to the notion of a Parisian elite deciding whose dialect was “right” and whose was “wrong”.  That’s exactly the same dispute which now bubbles in US universities between (1) those who insist there is “correct” standard English while other forms are dialectal variations (ethnic, regional, class etc) and (2) those who argue for a cultural equivalency between all forms, most notably AAVE (African-American Vernacular English) and its many forks.  In 1795 the new regime in France created the Institut de France (Institute of France) as a kind of clearing house for all matters relating to what was “acceptable” French culture, absorbing some pre-existing scientific, literary and artistic bodies and it was to the institute that Napoleon Bonaparte (1769–1821; leader of the French Republic 1799-1804 & Emperor of the French from 1804-1814 & 1815) in 1803 restored the Académie Française as a division.

Portrait of Goethe, oil on paper by Italian artist Elia Bonetti (b 1983).

Spain’s Real Academia Española (Royal Academy of Spain) is a similar body but perhaps surprisingly (given all the stereotypes of the Prussians) there is in Germany no central authority defining the German language, several organizations and institutions working (cooperatively and not) together standardize and update things.  The most authoritative body for German orthography is the Rat für deutsche Rechtschreibung (Council for German Orthography), the membership of which includes representatives from other German-speaking countries (Austria, Switzerland et al) and its mandate extends to overseeing spelling and orthographic rules, something not without controversy, especially since the great spelling “reform” of 1996.  In the spirit of the post-1945 spirit of avoiding where possible the creation of all-powerful single institutions, it’s the Duden dictionary and Institut für Deutsche Sprache (Institute for the German Language) which exert great influence in in maintaining and documenting German vocabulary, grammar and usage, but both tend to be observational, recording changes in the language rather than seeking to enforce rules (ie they are descriptive rather than prescriptive).  German thus evolves through the combined influence of these institutions, public usage, and scholarly input, rather than through a single authoritative academy and internationally it’s probably the Goethe-Institut (Goethe Institute, named after the German author & philosopher Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749–1832)) which most promotes the study of German language & culture through its worldwide network of some 160 centres.

English is more democratic still, the survival of words and grammatical forms dependent on the users and even before the British Empire saw the tongue spread around the world the foreign influences were profound, the Latin, Greek, French & Germanic threads the most obvious and even to speak of the “Old English” is misleading to all but those in the field because to most, the “Old English” really isn’t recognizable as “English”.  Not only does modern English thus evolve but so do the other blends such as “Spanglish” (a hybrid of Spanish & English), Hinglish (Hindi & English) and its absurd to speak of “pure English”, even the way BBC announcers used to speak (in the so-called “RP” (received pronunciation) often including fragments picked up from the Raj and around the world.  While the Académie Française may try to keep French as pure as possible, English shamelessly is linguistically slutty.

Lindsay Lohan (with body-double) during filming of Irish Wish (Netflix, 2024) which the Daily Beast concluded wasn't exactly “insipid”.  The car is a Triumph TR4 (1961-1967), one of the early versions with a live rear axle, a detail probably of no significance in the plot-line.

In this democratic way, insipid has endured because it fills a niche that sapid & sipid never found, in both usage & meaning.  Vividly, insipid conveys the notion of something lacking flavor, excitement, or interest, whether literally (vapid food or drink) or figuratively (dull conversation or ideas).  This negative association has a broad and (regrettably) frequent application in everyday language, there so often being a need to decry things or people as uninteresting or failing to make an impact.  By contrast, although sapid & sipid both mean “food having flavour”, there’s less need because that’s expected and what’s usually sought is a way to say the quality is lacking and terms of emphasis came to be preferred: “flavoursome” “tasty” and such taking over although none were as precise as the practical & versatile “insipid” which proved the perfect one-word descriptor whether literally or figuratively.  Insipid is useful too because it’s nuanced in that it although used usually as negative, it’s also a “neutral word” in the sense of “bland”.  When the Daily Beast was searching for similes & metaphors in their review of Irish Wish (released in 2024 as the second edition of Lindsay Lohan’s three film Netflix deal), they opted also to “damn with faint praise” observing because the Netflix’s target audience “merely want to watch something that isn’t insipid and horribly made”, maybe the film (sort of) succeeded.  So insipid has survived because it fulfils needs while sapid & sipid are now little more than linguistic curiosities.

Insipid, sipid & sapid: The votes are in.

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.

Tuesday, November 5, 2024

Apricate

Apricate (pronounced ap-roh-keyt)

(1) To sunbathe, to bask in the sun.

(2) To disinfect and freshen by exposing to the sun; to sun.

(3) Figuratively, to uncover secrets (based on the idea of “exposing them to the light”.

1620s: The construct was the Latin aprīc(us) (sunny; exposed to the sun; having lots of sunshine; warmed by the sun) +‎ -ate.  Aprīcus was from aperiō (to open; to uncover), from the primitive Indo-European hepo (off, from) & hwer- (to cover, shut) + -cus (the suffix forming relational adjectives from nouns).  The Latin verb was apricari (to bask in the sun; to warm oneself by sitting in the sunlight).  The suffix -ate was a word-forming element used in forming nouns from Latin words ending in -ātus, -āta, & -ātum (such as estate, primate & senate).  Those that came to English via French often began with -at, but an -e was added in the fifteenth century or later to indicate the long vowel.  It can also mark adjectives formed from Latin perfect passive participle suffixes of first conjugation verbs -ātus, -āta, & -ātum (such as desolate, moderate & separate).  Again, often they were adopted in Middle English with an –at suffix, the -e appended after circa 1400; a doublet of –ee.  The forms were not cognate with “apricot”, although the latter was influenced by aprīcus.  The English verb apricate became rare in the twentieth century and use spiked only in the last decade but this is thought a statistical quirk because of the proliferation of instances on the internet explaining the rarity.  When actually used functionally, it’s mostly as a poetic or literary device, often to capture the simple pleasure and peacefulness of “sitting in the sun” although in politics and journalism there is the figurative sense of “to uncover secrets” (based on the idea of “exposing them to the light (of publicity)”.  Apricate, apricating & apricated are verbs and apricity & aprication are nouns; the noun plural is aprications.

The noun apricity (“the light or warmth of the Sun” and in its occasional use often use to impart the idea of “the warmth of the Sun in winter”) was from the Latin aprīcitās (the noun of quality from aprīcus) is said by more than one source to be the most commonly used variant (in the sense of “least rare”) but the numbers are distorted by the gathered data including the internet’s many lists of rare, obscure or weird words.  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.

Snowbird: An apricating Lindsay Lohan on the Greek island of Mykonos in the Aegean, May. 2024.  Lindsay Lohan is a “snowbird” (in the sense of one who in winter travels to warmer, sunnier places).

Among those who long for apricity are the so-called “snowbirds” (those who avoid the cold by travelling to warmer climate).  Surprisingly perhaps, the use to describe those who flee the chill for the warmth of Florida or the Greek Islands, isn’t documented until the 1950s and for more than half a century before that, a “snowbird” was a cocaine dealer, the use extending by the 1970s to those with the habit of the odd line.  Only a few lexicographers acknowledge the (debatable) existence of “apricitie” (the Oxford English Dictionary (OED) including it though it doesn’t appear in the concise version (COED) and all appear to cite the entry in Henry Cockeram’s English Dictionarie or An Interpreter of Hard English Words (1623): “The warmenes of the Sunne in winter”.  Even among rare words, “apricitie” is a rarity but give the rhythmic possibilities and the obvious nostalgic value, it surprising it’s not more used as a literary device.  The lexicographers are probably sceptical because of the suggestion Mr Cockeram’s entry was either (1) a spelling mistake or (2) his own invention based on the better credentialed “apricity” (both not uncommon phenomenon in the early dictionaries).

Signature Claw Clip Petite in Dark Havana by Apricité Studios.

Maybe apricitie got tared with the brush of association with other obscure words because in his Letters to Squire Pedant (1856) Lorenzo Altisonant (Samuel Klinefelter Hoshour, (1803-1883 and described as “an emigrant to the West”) wrote: “These humicubations [the act or practice of lying on the ground], the nocturnal irrorations [a sprinkling or wetting with dew], and the dankishness [the quality of being dankish (dark, damp & humid)] of the atmosphere, generated by a want of apricity, were extremely febrifacients [tending to induce fever].  So maybe it got a bad name but apricate, apricite, apricity and the other forms are (1) easy to spell, (2) easy to pronounce and (3) can be used to describe something often described so it’s surprising there’s never been much of a revival; in English there is no discernible pattern about why some words are resuscitated and flourish and some remain moribund.  Actually, because the politics of climate change have made what used to be a “safe, go-to” topic of conversation now at least potentially dangerous, it may be there’s a revival of interest in ways to discuss the subject and not just the sunshine.  A “vacuum-cleaner” language, shamelessly English has for centuries adopted words for any number of tongues, retaining some (modified and not) while discarding others.  So it’s profligate in its forms and if one tires of describing the colder months as “chilly” or “wintery”, there’s “hibernal”, “brumal” or “hiemal”.  Then there’s snow and for that there’s “subnivean” (situated or occurring under the snow) or “niveous” (of or relating to snow; resembling snow (as in whiteness); snowy).  There are organisms (they’re probably not best described as “creatures”) which inhabit a niche in which things are subnivean and they are known as “psychrophilic” (thriving at a relatively low temperature), as opposed to “thermophiles” (which like it hot) and “mesophiles” (which insist on living in a “goldilocks zone”).  All of these can be used figuratively so women shivering in offices where men set the thermostat (more than one study has confirmed this really is a thing) can call their tormenters thermophiles.

Monday, November 4, 2024

Establishment

Establishment (pronounced ih-stab-lish-muhnt)

(1) The act or an instance of establishing.

(2) The state or fact of being established.

(3) Something established; a constituted order or system.

(4) The existing power structure in society; the dominant groups in society and their customs or institutions; institutional authority (ie “the Establishment” in the popular imagination which in this context should be used with an initial capital).  “The Establishment” is a nuanced synecdoche for “ruling class” with the emphasis on a dedication to the preservation of the status quo.

(5) As a modifier, belonging to or characteristic of “the Establishment” (the dominant or hegemonic “power elite” in a field of endeavor, organization etc (“the political establishment”, “the literary establishment” etc) or their “world view” (the “establishment interpretation of history”).

(6) A household; place of residence including its furnishings, grounds etc; a body of employees or servants

(7) A place of business together with its employees, merchandise, plant, equipment etc.

(8) A permanent civil, military, or other force or organization (often used to describe the defined number of personnel, in aggregate or sectionally, the “establishment” being the approved size, composition, and equipment of a unit.  In the military, the word is often modified (peacetime-establisnment, war-establishment, overseas-establishment etc).

(9) Any institution (university, hospital, library etc).

(10) The recognition by a state of a church as the state church.  In Christianity, the church so recognized, the term most associated with the Church of England (and historically the Church of Wales and Church of Ireland).

(11) A fixed or settled income (archaic).

1475–1485: A compound word, the construct being establish + -ment, from the Middle English establishment, stablishment & stablisshement, from the Old French establissement (which endures in Modern French as établissement), from the verb establir.  The noun establishment was from the late fourteenth century verb establish, from the Old French establiss-, the present participle stem of the twelfth century establir (cause to stand still, establish, stipulate, set up, erect, build), (which endures in Modern French as établir), from the Latin stabilire (make stable), from stabilis (stable).  The -ment suffix was from the Middle English -ment, from the Late Latin -amentum, from -mentum which came via Old French -ment.  It was used to form nouns from verbs, the nouns having the sense of "the action or result of what is denoted by the verb".  The suffix is most often attached to the stem without change, except when the stem ends in -dge, where the -e is sometimes dropped (abridgment, acknowledgment, judgment, lodgment et al), with the forms without -e preferred in American English.  The most widely known example of the spelling variation is probably judgment vs judgement.  In modern use, judgement is said to be a "free variation" word where either spelling is considered acceptable as long as use is consistent.  Like enquiry vs inquiry, this can be a handy where a convention of use can be structured to impart great clarity: judgment used when referring to judicial rulings and judgement for all other purposes although the approach is not without disadvantage given one might write of the judgement a judge exercised before delivering their judgment.  To those not aware of the convention, it could look just like a typo.  Establishment is a noun; the noun plural is establishments.

The noun establishmentarian describes “an adherent of the principle of an established church” dates from 1839 which of course begat the noun establishmentarianism (the doctrine of the establishmentarians).  What came first however was antidisestablishmentarianism, every schoolboy’s favorite long word although in scientific English there are constructions longer still and even the most alphabetically prolifically forms in English are short compared to those in languages such as Welsh, German and Maori.  It’s not clear who coined antidisestablishmentarianism but William Ewart Gladstone (1809–1898; prime-minister 1868–1874, 1880–1885, Feb-July 1886 & 1892–1894) used the word in his two volume work The state in its relations with the church (1841), a critique of “the ecclesiastical system established by law” and specifically the status of Church of England; it was a discussion of the implications of disestablishment (the act of withdrawing the church from its privileged relation to the state).  As words, neither establishmentarianism nor antidisestablishmentarianism now much disturb the thoughts of many in England and the only role for the latter has long been as a entry in the internet’s many lists of long, obscure or weird words.  In the narrow technical sense, the curious beast that is the Church of England became “an established church” only after the Act of Settlement (1701) and the subsequent Acts of Union (1707) which formalized the status of the institution, first in England and later Great Britain.  Functionally however, the English church can be considered “established” since the Act of Supremacy (1534) which abolished papal authority in England and declared Henry VIII (1491–1547; King of England (and Ireland after 1541) 1509-1547) Supreme Head of the Church of England, the culmination of a process the king had triggered in 1527 when Clement VII (1478–1534; pope 1523-1534) proved tiresome in the matter of divorce law.  Although other sixteenth century statutes (notably the Act of Supremacy (1558) & Act of Uniformity (1558) which usually are referred to collectively as the “Elizabethan Religious Settlement”) added to the framework, the changes were mechanistic and procedural rather than substantive and simply built upon what had since 1534 been the established “state church” while the eighteenth century acts were essentially codifications which formalized the position in constitutional law.  Legally, little since has changed and 26 Church of England bishops (all appointed by the prime-minister (on the recommendation of the Archbishop of Canterbury)) continue (as the “Lords Spiritual”, their lay colleagues being the “Lords Temporal”) to sit in the House of Lords.

In English, establishment's original fifteenth century meaning was “a finalized and settled arrangement” (ie of income or property) while the sense of “the established church” entered the language in 1731, reflecting what had been the legal position since 1534.  The sense of “a place of business” emerged in the early 1830s while the idea of “a social matrix of ruling people and institutions” was in use as early as the mid 1920s although the phrase “the Establishment” (in the socio-political sense) didn’t enter popular use until the late 1950s, influenced by the publication in 1956 of The Power Elite by US sociologist Charles Wright Mills (1916–1962 and usually styled C Wright Mills).  Mills took a structuralist approach and explored the clusters of elites and how their relationships and interactions work to enable them to exert (whether overtly or organically) an essentially dictatorial control over US society and its economy.  Mills, while acknowledging some overlap between the groups, identified six clusters of elites: (1) those who ran the large corporations, (2) those who owned the corporations, (3) popular culture celebrities including the news media, (4) the upper-strata of wealth-owning families, (5) the military establishment (centred on the Pentagon’s Joint Chiefs of Staff) and (6), the upper echelons of government (the executives, the legislatures the judges, the senior bureaucracy and the duopoly of the two established political parties.  The overlaps he noted did not in any way diminish the value of his description, instead illustrating its operation.

When the establishment fractured: Republican (for Goldwater, left) & Democratic (against Goldwater, right), 1964 presidential campaign buttons, 1964.  This was before the color coding (Republican red, Democratic blue) was standardized in 2000 by the arbitrary choice of the TV networks.

The term “Establishment Republican” (a “moderate” or “liberal” member of the US Republican Party (as opposed to the right-wing fanatics who staged a hostile take-over) emerged in the 1980s to replace “Rockefeller Republican”.  Nelson Rockefeller (1908–1979; US vice president 1974-1977) was the archetype of the “liberal republican” in the decade between crazy old Barry Goldwater (1909–1998) losing the 1964 presidential election and crooked old Richard Nixon (1913-1994; US president 1969-1974) in 1974 resigning from office in the wake of the Watergate scandal.  It was in those years the right-wing began their “march through the party establishment”, a process accelerated during the Reagan (Ronald Reagan (1911-2004; US president 1981-1989) years and the moderates came to prefer the term “Establishment Republican” because Rockefeller was tainted by his association with the north-east, something with less appeal as the party’s centre of gravity shifted to the Mid-West and south of the Mason-Dixon Line.  The few surviving Establishment Republicans are now derided by the right wing fanatics as RINOs (Republicans in name only) and in 2024 the more useful descriptors are probably “pre-Trump Republican” & “post-Trump Republican”.  That linguistic moment may pass but the party at this time shows little inclination of seeking to find the centre ground, a wisdom advocated even by Richard Nixon.  In the pre-Thatcher (Margaret Thatcher (1925–2013; UK prime-minister 1979-1990)) UK, where the existence of “the Establishment” was quite obvious, it was the journalist Henry Fairlie (1924-1990) who popularized the term, explaining the concept as a kind of individual & institutional symbiosis by which “the right chaps” came to control the country’s “levers of power, influence and social authority”, exercised through social connections established between families or at the elite schools such men attended: “By the 'Establishment' I do not mean only the centers of official power—though they are certainly part of it—but rather the whole matrix of official and social relations within which power is exercised. The exercise of power in Britain (more specifically, in England) cannot be understood unless it is recognised that it is exercised socially.

The Rover P5B, the car of the Establishment

In the UK, the Establishment had survived two world wars, the Great Depression, an abdication and even a couple of Labour governments but, by the 1960s, the acceptance of its once effortless hegemony was being challenged, not because people were becoming convinced by the writings of political theorists but as a consequence of the antics of those from the very heart of the Establishment (the Profumo scandal, the “Cambridge Five” spies et al).  In retrospect, it was the ten-odd years prior to 1973 that were the last halcyon days of the “old Establishment” for after that the UK’s anyway troubled “old” economy stagnated, triggering a series of events, notably the assault on the system from within by the improbable anti-Establishment figure of Margaret Thatcher.  The changes wrought in the last five decades shouldn’t be overstated because what happened was one Establishment was replaced by another and there was a substantial overlap in institutional and individual membership but it’s a very different apparatus from that of the 1960s.

Rover 3.5 Coupé.  Establishment figures preferred the saloon, the (four door) coupé more what used to be called a “co-respondent's” car (ie the sort of rakish design which would appeal to the sort of chap who slept with other men’s wives, later to be named as “co-respondent” in divorce proceedings).

One charming Establishment symbol from those years which are for most not in living memory was the ultimate “Establishment car”, one which while not the biggest, fastest, or most expensive available, possessed the qualities to appeal to the “right chaps”.  The Rover P5 was in production between 1958-1973, running from around the time that old patrician Harold Macmillan (1894–1986; UK prime-minister 1957-1963) told the working class “…most of you have never had it so good” to the last days before the first oil shock ended the West’s long, post-war economic prosperity (although the British experience of that was patchy).  The P5’s presence throughout was somehow reassuring because from its debut it embodied the virtues for which Rovers had during the 1950s come to be valued: solidity, quality, comfort and an indifference to fashions and fads.  The P5 was a presence also in parts of the old British Empire and it enjoyed a following in both Australia & New Zealand, valued because it had an “Establishment air” yet was not flashy like a Pontiac or Jaguar (the mostly badge-engineered Daimlers a remarkably effective piece of product differentiation) or a statement of wealth like a Mercedes-Benz would by the mid-1960s become.

Rover 3 Litre engine schematic.

The P5 was sold originally as the 3 Litre in three releases (Mark 1, 1958-1962; Mark II, 1962-1965 & Mark III 1965-1967), using a 3.0 litre (183 cubic inch) straight-six with an implementation of the “F-head” design in which the inlet valve sat at the top of the combustion chamber with a side-mounted exhaust valve, an arrangement which offered some advantages when designing combustion chambers suited to the lower octane fuel then used in many markets and allowed the use of larger valves than would have been possible with a conventional OHV (overhead valve) arrangement).  The latter was a matter of some significance because the Rover six came from a time when the taxation regime was based on bore diameter, something which resulted in generations of British small bore, long-stroke engines and the 3 litre six was a famously smooth device, the advertising sometimes showing a circular coin sitting (on its edge) on the air-cleaner with the engine running, the coin not even vibrating.  Technologically though, for passenger vehicles, it was a cul-de-sac and more modern power-plants from the US, Europe (and even the UK) were out-performing the old F-Head.

What transformed the P5 was the adoption of the 3.5 litre (215 cid) V8 which Rover had purchased from General Motors (GM) which, in versions made by Buick, Oldsmobile & Pontiac (BOP), had been used for the new compact lines between 1961-1963.  The UK’s industry made many mistakes in the post-war years but what became the Rover V8 was an inspired purchase, remaining in production in displacements between 3.5 litres (215 cubic inch) and 5.0 (305) from 1967 until 2006, powering everything from the original Range Rovers to executive sedans and sports cars  It was related also to the Oldsmobile version (Rover used Buick’s variant) on which Repco in Australia based the 3.0 litre (193 cubic inch) SOHC (single overhead camshaft) V8 the Brabham team would use to secure the Formula One drivers & constructors championships in 1966 & 1967.

Look of the past; glimpse of the future: 1967 Rover 3.5 Saloon (left) and 1967 NSU Ro80 (right).

It was in late 1967 the Rover 3.5 was released and the press reception was generally favourable, the improvements in performance and fuel consumption (not something often achieved when adding cylinders and displacement) attributed to a combination of greater mechanical efficiency and reduced weight, the all-aluminum V8 some 200 lb (90 kg) lighter than the hefty old six although some did note the new engine couldn’t quite match the smoothness of the old.  By 1967 however the testers seemed to be aware that whatever its charms, it was a design from the mid-1950s and the world had moved on although to be fair Rover had too, it’s P6 (2000), released in 1963 was very much a modernist take (and one which would in 1968 also be transformed by the V8, becoming the 3500 (1968-1976)).  Between 1967 and the end of production in 1967, the flavor of the press commentary about the 3.5 was very much: “outmoded but satisfying”.

Released in September 1967: Rover 3.5 saloon (left) and NSU Ro80 (right), partially exposed at the Earls Court Motor Show in October.

Like the 3.5, the NSU Ro80 had been released in September that year and the contrast was obviously between the past and the future, the German car influencing design for more than a generation (with the obvious exception of the ill-fated Wankel engine) while what the Rover represented was already almost extinct, few of the others in its market segment (the Vanden Plas Farinas, the Humber Super Snipe, the Vauxhall Viscount, the Daimler Majestic Major and the Austin 3 Litre) to see the 1970s.  Nor did other manufacturers make much effort to compete for buyers who clearly wanted something lighter and more modern although, after taking over Rootes Group, to replace the defunct Super Snipe and Imperial, Chrysler did embark on a quixotic venture to prove demand still existed by taking advantage of the old Commonwealth tariff preference scheme by importing the Australian-built Valiant (built on the US A-Body) in both straight-six & V8 form.  It registered barely a blip on the sales charts although, remarkably, both remained available until 1976 by which time the writing was on the wall for Chrysler’s entire European operation.

A UK government 3.5 waiting outside No 10 Downing Street (left) and Harold Wilson about to enter his (right).

For many however, the Rover’s reassuring presence was more appealing than modernity (although the rakish Rostyle wheels may have been a shock for some).  It certainly appealed to those at the heart of the establishment and the first prime minister to have been driven in one was the pipe-smoking Harold Wilson (1916–1995; UK prime minister 1964-1970 & 1974-1976) who, although he’d once promised to revitalize the economy with the “white heat of technological change”, was a cautious and conservative character; the car suited him and he appreciated the custom-built ashtray which held his pipe.  Edward "Ted" Heath (1916-2005; UK prime-minister 1970-1974), James "Jim" Callaghan (1912–2005; prime minister of the UK 1979-1979) and Mrs Thatcher followed him into the backseat, something made possible because the Ministry of Supply (advised production was ending in 1973), purchased a batch from the final run, stockpiling them for future VIP use, the same tactic some police forces would later adopt to secure warehouses full of Rover SD1s (another recipient of the ex-Buick V8), the front wheel drive (FWD) replacements they knew were in the pipeline not a compelling choice for the highway patrol.  Not until 1981 was Mrs Thatcher's Rover retired and replaced with a Daimler.

A tale of two rooflines: the “Establishment” 3.5 Saloon (left) and the rakish 3.5 Coupé (right).

In automobiles, by the 1960s, the English-speaking world had (more or less) agreed a coupé was a two door car with a fixed roof and (if based on a sedan), often a shorter wheelbase, designed put a premium on style over utility.  There were hold-outs among a few UK manufacturers who insisted there were fixed head coupés (FHC) and drop head coupés (DHC), the latter described by most others as convertibles or cabriolets but mostly the term had come to be well-understood.  It was thus a surprise when Rover in 1962 displayed a “four-door coupé”, essentially their 3 Litre sedan with a lower roof-line and a few “sporty” touches such as a tachometer and a full set of gauges.  One intriguing part of the tale was why, defying the conventions of the time, the low-roof variation of the four-door was called a coupé (and Rover did use the l'accent aigu (the acute accent: “é”) to ensure the “traditional pronunciation” was imposed although the Americans and others sensibly abandoned the practice).  The rakish lines, including more steeply sloped front and rear glass were much admired although the original vision had been more ambitious still, the intention being a four-door hardtop with no central pillar.  Strangely, although the Americans and Germans had managed this satisfactorily, a solution eluded Rover which had to be content with a more slender B-pillar.

Lindsay Lohan with Porsche Panamera 4S four-door coupe (the factory doesn't use the designation but most others seem to), Los Angeles, 2012.

The etymology of coupé is that it’s from couper (to cut off) but the original use in the context of horse-drawn coaches referred to the platform being shortened, not lowered.  Others too have been inventive, Cadillac for decades offering the Coupe De Ville (they used also Coupe DeVille) and usually it was built to exactly the same dimensions as the Sedan De Ville, differing on in the door count.  So Rover probably felt entitled to cut where they preferred; in their case it was the roof and in the early twentieth century, the four-door coupe became a thing, the debut in 2004 of the Mercedes-Benz CLS influencing other including BMW, Porsche, Volkswagen and Audi.  The moment for the style clearly hasn’t passed because when CLS production ended in August 2023, the lines were carried over to the new E-Class (W214, 2023-) but there are no longer references to a “four-door coupé.

One of Elizabeth II’s P5B Saloons outside the gates of Windsor castle (left) and Her Majesty at the wheel (right), leaving the castle, reputedly on the way to church so while one of her 3.5s won’t quite be “only driven to church on Sunday by little old lady”, being in the Royal mews, it would have been well-maintained.

Although for almost 20 years a fixture outside No 10 Downing Street, the most famous P5B owner was Elizabeth II (1926-2022; Queen of the UK and other places, 1952-2022) who upgraded from a 3 Litre in 1968 and, although not noted for being sentimental about machinery, until 1987 ran one of the several maintained in the Royal Mews during her reign.

Rover P5B headrests (left & right) and the mounting assembly for the reading lamps in the front units (centre).

Most of the focus on the Rover 3.5 has always been about the engine and the illustrious passengers but one detail of note is the bulk of the headrests, optional fittings in most markets.  Quite why they were so big isn’t clear although the shape of the rear units presumably made for an easier mounting on the parcel shelf, meaning the seat's frames & covers needed no modification, but it’s apparently not an urban myth some used by the British government had a bullet-proof panel inserted; there was certainly the space to accommodate even a thick metal plate.  The front headrests were used also to house the optional reading lamps, the wiring harness well concealed within.

Sunday, November 3, 2024

Anonymuncule

Anonymuncule (pronounced uh-non-uh-monk-u-elle)

An insignificant, anonymous writer

1859: A portmanueau word, the construct being anony(mous) + (ho)muncule.  Homnuncle was from the Latin homunculus (a little man), a diminutive of homō (man).  Anonymous entered English circa 1600 and was from the Late Latin anonymus, from the Ancient Greek ᾰ̓νώνῠμος (annumos) (without name), the construct being ᾰ̓ν- (an-) (“not; without; lacking” in the sense of the negating “un-”) + ὄνῠμᾰ (ónuma), an Aeolic & Doric dialectal form of ὄνομᾰ (ónoma) (name).  The construct of the English form was an- +‎ -onym +‎ -ous.  The an- prefix was an alternative form of on-, from the Middle English an-, from the Old English an- & on- (on-), from the Proto-Germanic ana- (on).   It was used to create words having the sense opposite to the word (or stem) to which the prefix is attached; it was used with stems beginning either with vowels or "h".  The element -onym (word; name) came from the international scientific vocabulary, reflecting a New Latin combining form, from Ancient Greek ὄνυμα (ónuma).  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 (1) possession of (2) presence of a quality in any degree, commonly in abundance or (3) relation or pertinence to.  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).  The Latin homunculus (plural homunculi) enjoyed an interesting history.  In medieval medicine, it was used in the sense of “a miniature man”, a creature once claimed by the spermists (once a genuine medical speciality) to be present in human sperm while in modern medicine the word was resurrected for the cortical homunculus, an image of a person with the size of the body parts distorted to represent how much area of the cerebral cortex of the brain is devoted to it (ie a “nerve map” of the human body that exists on the parietal lobe of the human brain).  Anonymuncule is a noun; the noun plural is anonymuncules.

Preformationism: Homunculi in sperm (1695) illustrated by Nicolaas Hartsoeker who is remembered also as the inventor in 1694 of the screw-barrel simple microscope.

Like astrology, alchemy once enjoyed a position of orthodoxy among scientists and it was the alchemists who first popularized homunculus, the miniature, fully formed human, a concept with roots in both folklore and preformationism (in biology. the theory that all organisms start their existence already in a predetermined form upon conception and this form does not change in the course of their lifetime (as opposed to epigenesis (the theory that an organism develops by differentiation from an unstructured egg rather than by simple enlarging of something preformed)).  It was Paracelsus (the Swiss physician, alchemist, lay theologian, and philosopher of the German Renaissance Theophrastus von Hohenheim (circa 1493-1541)) who seems to have been the first to use the word in a scientific paper, it appearing in his De homunculis (circa 1529–1532), and De natura rerum (1537).  As the alchemists explained, a homunculus (an artificial humanlike being) could be created through alchemy and in De natura rerum Paracelsus detailed his method.

A writer disparaged as an anonymuncule differs from one who publishes their work anonymously or under a pseudonym, the Chicago Tribune in 1871 explaining the true anonymuncule was a “little creature who must not be confounded with the anonymous writers, who supply narratives or current events, and discuss public measures with freedom, but deal largely in generalities, and very little in personalities.  That was harsh but captures the place the species enjoy in the literary hierarchy (and it’s a most hierarchal place). Anonymuncules historically those writers who publish anonymously or under pseudonyms, without achieving renown or even recognition and there’s often the implication they are “mean & shifty types” who “hide behind their anonymity”.

Primary Colors: A Novel of Politics (1996), before and after the lifting of the veil.

Some however have good and even honourable reasons for hiding behind their anonymity although there is also sometime mere commercial opportunism.  When former Time columnist Joe Klein (born 1946) published Primary Colors: A Novel of Politics (1996), the author was listed as “anonymous”, a choice made to avoid the political and professional risks associated with openly critiquing a sitting president and his administration.  Primary Colors was a (very) thinly veiled satire of Bill Clinton’s (b 1946; US president 1993-2001) 1992 presidential campaign and offered an insider's view of campaign life, showing both the allure and moral compromises involved.  By remaining anonymous, Klein felt more able candidly to discuss the ethical dilemmas and personal shortcomings of his characters, something that would have been difficult has his identity been disclosed, the conflicts of interest as a working political journalist obvious.  Critically and commercially, the approach seems greatly to have helped the roman à clef (a work of fiction based on real people and events) gain immediate notoriety, the speculation about the author’s identity lying at the core of the book’s mystique.  Others have valued anonymity because their conflicts of interest are insoluble.  Remarkably, Alfred Deakin (1856-1919; prime minister of Australia 1903-1904, 1905-1908 & 1909-1910) even while serving as prime-minister, wrote political commentaries for London newspapers including the National Review & Morning Post and, more remarkably still, some of his pieces were not uncritical of both his administration and his own performance in office.  Modern politicians should be encouraged to pursue this side-gig; it might teach them truthfulness and encourage them more widely to practice it.

For others, it can be a form of pre-emptive self defense.  The French philosopher Voltaire (François-Marie Arouet; 1694–1778) wrote under a nom de plume because he held (and expressed) views which often didn’t please kings, bishops and others in power and this at a time when such conduct was likely to attract persecution worse than censorship or disapprobation.  Mary Ann Evans (1819–1880) adopted the pseudonym George Eliot in an attempt to ensure her works would be taken seriously, avoiding the stigma associated with female authorship at the time.  George Eliot’s style of writing was however that of a certain sort of novelist and those women who wrote in a different manner were an accepted part of the literary scene and although Jane Austen’s name never appeared on her published works, when Sense and Sensibility (1811) appeared its author was listed as “A Lady”.  Although a success, all her subsequent novels were billed as: “By the author of Sense and Sensibility”, Austen's name never appearing on her books during her lifetime.  Ted Kaczynski (1942-2023), the terrorist and author of the Unabomber Manifesto (1995) had his own reasons (wholly logical but evil) for wanting his test to be read but his identity as the writer to remain secret.

Nazi poetry circle at the Berghof: Left to right, Adolf Hitler (1889-1945; Führer (leader) and German head of government 1933-1945 & head of state 1934-1945), Martin Bormann (1900–1945), Hermann Göring (1893–1946; leading Nazi 1922-1945, Hitler's designated successor & Reichsmarschall 1940-1945), and Baldur von Schirach (1907-1974; head of the Hitlerjugend (Hitler Youth) 1931-1940 & Gauleiter (district party leader) and Reichsstatthalter (Governor) of Vienna (1940-1945)), Berchtesgaden, Bavaria, Germany, 1936.  Of much, all were guilty as sin but von Schirach would survive to die in his bed at 67.

The "poet manqué" is a somewhat related term.  A poet manqué is an aspiring poet who never produced a single book of verse (although it’s used also of an oeuvre so awful it should never have been published and the poetry of someone Baldur von Schirach comes to mind.  The adjective manqué entered English in the 1770s and was used originally in the sense of “unfulfilled due to the vagary of circumstance, some inherent flaw or a constitutional lack”.  Because it’s so often a literary device, in English, the adjective does often retain many grammatical features from French, used postpositively and taking the forms manquée when modifying a feminine noun, manqués for a plural noun, and manquées for a feminine plural noun.  That’s because when used in a literary context (“poet manqué”, “novelist manqué” et all) users like it to remain inherently and obviously “French” and thus it’s spelled often with its diacritic (the accent aigu (acute accent): “é”) although when used casually (to suggest “having failed, missed, or fallen short, especially because of circumstances or a defect of character”) as “fly-half manqué”, “racing driver manqué” etc), the spelling manque” is sometimes used.

Manqué (that might have been but is not) was from the French manqué, past participle form of the sixteenth century manquer (to lack, to be lacking in; to miss), from the Italian mancare, from manco, from the Latin mancus (maimed, defective), from the primitive Indo-European man-ko- (maimed in the hand), from the root man- (hand).  Although it’s not certain, the modern slang adjective “manky” (bad, inferior, defective (the comparative mankier, the superlative mankiest)), in use since the late 1950s, may be related.  Since the 1950s, the use in the English-speaking world (outside of North America) has extended to “unpleasantly dirty and disgusting” with a specific use by those stationed in Antarctica where it means “being or having bad weather”.  The related forms are the noun mankiness and the adverb mankily.  Although it’s not an official part of avian taxonomy, bird-watchers (birders) in the UK decided “manky mallard” was perfect to describe a mallard bred from wild mallards and domestic ducks (they are distinguished by variable and uneven plumage patterns).  However, it’s more likely manky is from the UK slang mank which was originally from Polari mank and used to mean “disgusting, repulsive”.

No poet manqué:  In January 2017, Lindsay Lohan posted to Instagram a poem for her 5.2 million followers, the verse a lament of the excesses of IS (the Islamic State), whetting the appetite for the memoir which might one day appear (hopefully "naming names").  The critical reaction to the poem was mixed but the iambic pentameter in the second stanza attracted favorable comment:

sometimes i hear the voice of the one i loved the most
but in this world we live in of terror
who i am to be the girl who is scared and hurt
when most things that happen i cannot explain
i try to understand
when i'm sitting in bed alone at 3am
so i can't sleep, i roll over
i can't think and my body becomes cold
i immediately feel older.....
 
than i realise, at least i am in a bed,
i am still alive,
so what can really be said?
just go to bed and close the blinds,
still and so on, i cannot help but want to fix all of these idle isis
minds
because,
there has to be something i can figure out
rather than living in a world of fear and doubt
they now shoot, we used to shout.
 
if only i can keep trying to fix it all
i would keep the world living loving and small
i would share my smiles
and give too Many kisses