lemma

A lemma is a term or phrase that’s being defined or explained. Huh? Here it is in action – when you look up a word in a dictionary or, more likely these days, type a word into a dictionary search bar, the word you’re typing is called a lemma.

Lemma has its origins in ancient Greek. It’s derived from the Greek word ‘λῆμμα’ which means ‘something taken’, ‘an assumption’ or ‘a proposition’. It’s the noun (person, place or thing) form of the verb (doing word) ‘λαμβάνω’, or ‘lambanō’, which means ‘to take’.

The plural of lemma is either ‘lemmas’ or, if you’re feeling a bit arcane, ‘lemmata’. And it’s also where we get the word ‘dilemma’ from – which is ‘lemma’ in the sense of a proposition, with ‘di’ meaning ‘two’ at the start – two propositions.

All of this emma-based etymology caused me to ask ChatGPT what my name means. He told me it comes from the Germanic word ‘ermen’ or ‘irmin’, which means ‘whole’ or ‘universal’. He went on to say that Emma is ‘a classic name that carries a sense of timelessness and elegance’. Fingers crossed he wasn’t just buttering me up before he steals my job and brings about Judgement Day.

If you’re not a fan of ‘lemma’, another word for a term being defined is a ‘definiendum’. It’s fun to say, and will deffo make you sound like a smarty pants. You’re welcome.

retronym

A retronym is a word for something that’s been named or renamed to differentiate it from a newer or modified version. They’re usually created by adding an adjective or qualifier to the original term. If you’re currently saying ‘Huh?’ and losing the will to live, let’s have a look at some examples which should hopefully make it clear:

• ‘acoustic guitar’ is a retronym which appeared after electric guitars – before they were just called ‘guitars’

• ‘film camera’ turned up after digital cameras were invented – before they were just ‘cameras’

• ‘landline phone’ is a retronym that appeared after we all got mobiles – before they were just, well, I’m sure you get it now.

As you’ve probably realised from the above, retronyms usually appear when an advancement or change in technology or society means the original term becomes ambiguous.

‘Retronym’ is a relatively young term, and was coined by American linguist Frank Mankiewicz in a magazine article in the early 1980s. It’s made up of two parts:

• ‘retro’ – you know what retro means, and

• ‘nym’ which comes from the Greek word ‘onoma’, meaning ‘name’ or ‘word’.

So it basically means ‘a name or word that looks back’.

The word ‘retronym’ follows the same style as other linguistic terms which you may or may not remember from school – like ‘synonym’ (a word that means the same as another word, like ‘big’ and ‘large’ – ‘syn’ being a Greek word for ‘together’ or ‘with’), or antonym (the opposite of a synonym, with the ‘ant’ bit coming from ‘anti’, which is Greek for ‘opposite’ or ‘against’).

vocable

A vocable is a form of non-lexical utterance. Got it? Nope? Okay, in normal-person speak, they’re word-like sounds that aren’t actually words. Their meaning can change depending on the context, and they often show the speaker’s emotional reaction to something. If you’re still thinking ‘WHAT?’, here are some English examples of vocables and their translations:

I think this is definitely ‘um….?’

• uh-huh: yes

• mm-hmm: also yes

• uh-uh: nope

• hmmm: I’m not sure, maybe

• uh-oh: crap, this isn’t good

• awww: thanks or that’s super-cute

• um…?: what the f*ck

• ewwww: yuck yuck and more yuck.

Filler words like ‘er’ and ‘um’ (i.e. words we use to buy more time when we’re thinking and talking at the same time) also count as vocables. And they turn up in music a lot, as in ‘lalala’ or ‘dumdedum’ (in fact, there are lots of Native American songs that consist entirely of vocables). Every language on earth has its own vocables.

There are lots of other types of words that aren’t actually words. These are called pseudowords, and they include the following…

Nonsense words

Beloved of Lewis Carroll, nonsense words sound like they could be words, but aren’t. Have a read of The Jabberwocky to see them in action.

Nonce (!) words

Nothing to do with Prince Andrew (allegedly), nonce words are words coined for a single occasion only. They’re often used to study the development of language in children, because they let researchers test how kids treat words they don’t already know.

The name comes from ‘for the nonce’ which is an old English idiom meaning ‘for the time being’ or ‘for now’ (thank god).

Ghost words

Words published in a dictionary or reference book by mistake, which are often taken as gospel by readers. A great example is ‘dord’, which was accidentally created by the staff of G. and C. Merriam Company (now part of Merriam-Webster) in the 1934 edition of the New International Dictionary. It was defined as follows:

dord (dôrd), n. Physics & Chem. Abbreviation for density.

So how did this happen? Well, on 31 July 1931, Austin M Patterson, the dictionary’s chemistry editor, sent in a slip reading ‘D or d, cont./density’, which was supposed to add ‘density’ to the list of words that the letter ‘D’ can abbreviate. But whoever was doing the dictionary misread this as one word: Dord. It then appeared on page 771 of the dictionary between the entries for ‘Dorcopsis’ (a type of small kangaroo) and ‘doré’ (golden in colour). It wasn’t until 1939 that an eagle-eyed editor realised ‘dord’ didn’t have any etymology and investigated, then flagged the error. Books being what they are though, it took until 1947 before ‘dord’ was completely removed.

prosody

Image courtesy of Tshirt Superstar - Music

Prosody is a linguistic term – wait, don’t stop reading! – concerned with the way we say things. So basically it’s not interested in the actual words we use, but in the way we deliver them. To put it rather more romantically, it’s all about the music of speech – its rhythm (spelled that right first time, well done me), stresses and intonation (called suprasegmentals, fact-fans).

Prosody plays a really important role in communication because it gives us humans information beyond what the words in a sentence literally mean. In case you’re thinking WTF, let’s have a look at it in action.

Imagine someone says this to you:

Wow, this is a really great post about words, isn’t it?

Depending on the intonation and rhythm (nailed it again) this person uses, they could be saying that this really is an excellent post about words that’s packed with useful information. Or they might mean that actually it’s incredibly boring, and they wish they’d never come to this godforsaken website. It all depends on the delivery.

As you’ve probably gathered, prosody is particularly important when it comes to picking up on nuance, like if someone’s being sarcastic or not. It can also change the meaning of simple one-syllable utterances like ‘Ah!’ or ‘Ooh!’ to give them loads of entirely different meanings depending on how you say them. Don’t be smutty.

According to Charles Darwin, prosody probably predates the evolution of human language. That’s because even animals use it. For example, monkeys express their feelings using different tones: low ones for anger and impatience, and high ones for fear and pain.

Wow, this is a really great post about words, isn’t it?

geminate

I’ve been doing some geminating this morning, with my socks, which I hate (the geminating, not the socks. I’m fine with socks in general).

Not to be confused with germinating, ‘geminate’ as a verb means to put something into pairs. Although it’s usually used in this way by linguists to describe sounds that are doubled, you can also use it to be fancy-dancy when you’re doing laundry (and who doesn’t need to add a bit of fancy-dancy when they’re sorting out washing?).

Geminate is also an adjective (AKA a describing word). So when you’ve finished sorting those goddamn socks, you can says that they’re geminate (sadly I still can’t say this about mine as many of them are still lounging in the laundry basket).

It’s not just about socks of course – you can use ‘geminate’ for anything that comes in a pair, like headlights, eyes or the twins from The Shining (other twins are available).

So, where does the word come from? Well, if you were born between 21 May and 20 June then you’re probably well ahead of me – like the star sign gemini, it comes from the Latin word ‘geminatus’ which itself comes from ‘geminus’, meaning ‘twin’.

The constellation Gemini is named for the twins Castor and Pollux from Greek mythology. The story goes that their mother, Leda, was seduced by Zeus in the form of a swan (the logistics of this always bother me). She later laid four eggs (because, swan) out of which hatched the aforementioned twins, as well as two others – Helen (later to become ‘of Troy’ and launch a bunch of boats) and Clytemnestra (which I always think sounds like an STD). Because Leda had also had relations with her husband (not a bird) on the same night, it seems that Castor and Clytemnestra were his kids, while Pollux and Helen were Zeus’, which therefore gave them demigod status, and immortality. When Castor was later killed in battle, Pollux was so upset that he begged his dad to let him give up half his immortality to give to his bro. Zeus agreed, and Castor and Pollux were transformed into the Gemini constellation.

Woman impregnated by swan? Sounds like a load of old Pollux to me.

The geminate twins from ‘The Shining’. I used to work with the grown-up version of one of these actresses. Yes, really. Dunno which one though.

pleonasm

As a copywriter, this is something I have to deal with Every. Single. Day. No, it’s not a nasty disease – a pleonasm is a redundant word or phrase. So it’s basically when people use more words than they need to. Here are some examples:

• future prospects (because prospects are always in the future)

• a true fact (facts are, by definition, true)

• free gift (because you never pay for a gift).

One of my pet hates is ‘in order to’ – you can just say ‘to’. Always. Go on, try it.

The word ‘pleonasm’ has been around for four centuries, and it comes from the Greek pleonazein, which means ‘to be excessive’ (from pleiōn or pleōn, meaning ‘more’).

Pleonasms are similar to tautologies, which is when you repeat the same thing in a slightly different way. Like ‘In my opinion, I think’ and ‘please RSVP’. In fact, it’s so similar that I’m not entirely sure what the difference is… From what I can work out by reading things on the internet, all tautologies are pleonasms but not all pleonasms are tautologies. But then my head exploded so I stopped looking.

Here are some other words for being overly wordy, almost all of which sound like they could also be medical conditions and/or STIs: garrulous, verbose, logorrhea, prolix and periphrasis.

contronym

This is a bit of a scary grammar term (wait! Come back!). It describes single words that have two contradictory meanings. Here are some examples:

• bolt: to stick something together, or to run the hell away

• dust: to put dust on something, or take it off

• peer: someone who’s super-posh, or someone who’s equal

• sanction: to approve something, or to boycott it

• bound: tied up, or bouncing about

• oversight: to watch over something, or to miss or omit it.

(I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – ENGLISH IS A VERY STUPID LANGUAGE.)

Janus – his name has ‘anus’ in it, tee hee.

The word itself was coined by one Jack Herring in 1962. I’m afraid I don’t know who Jack Herring is, sorry. Although I do enjoy a fish-based name, which is why I’ve included this bit of info here.

The prefix ‘contra’ means ‘against’ or ‘opposite’, which is why ‘contronym’ is also sometimes spelled ‘contranym’ (I think either is fine TBH). Contronyms are also called auto-antonyms, which is boring, and Janus words, which is a bit more interesting. This is after the Roman two-faced god (he literally had two faces – he wasn’t talking behind the other gods’ backs). Janus was the god of (deep breath) beginnings, gates, transitions, time, duality, doorways, passages, frames and endings. He’s got two faces because one is looking towards the past, and the other towards the future apparently (dunno what happens if he turns round). Presumably it’s the two-faced bit which applies to contronyms.

eggcorn

(Photo by Caleb Lucas on Unsplash.)

An eggcorn is when you mistakenly use a word or phrase for another word or phrase that sounds similar. But the end result still makes a weird kind of sense. Wow, that explanation sucked all the fun out of it, didn’t it? Sorry. Eggcorns are things like:

• ‘it’s a bit of a damp squid’ (should be squib, but it still make sense cos squids are wet)

• ‘for all intensive purposes’ (should be ‘intents and purposes’, but ‘intensive purposes’ sound like very important things)

• ‘he’s a card shark’ (it’s a sharp, not a shark, but still makes sense because we use shark to mean someone who’s really good at stuff, like a pool shark).

The name ‘eggcorn’ was coined by a linguistics professor called Geoffrey Pullum. He read an article by a linguist called Mark Liberman about a woman who used the word ‘egg corn’ instead of ‘acorn’ (because acorns look like eggs in egg cups), and pointed out that there was no name for this. Pullum suggested that we all just call them ‘eggcorns’. So now we do. I think I love Geoffrey Pullum.

Because the internet is a wonderful thing, there’s a whole website devoted to eggcorns. 648 and counting…

Bonus word: malapropism

A malapropism is the same as an eggcorn in that it’s when you use the wrong word in place of one which sounds similar. The difference is that the end result doesn’t make sense and you end up with something humorous (another super-fun explanation there, sorry). A couple of famous examples of malapropisms include ‘And then he’ll have only channel vision’ (Frank Bruno talking about Mike Tyson) and ‘Don’t upset the apple tart’ (Bertie Ahearn, former Taoiseach of Ireland).

The word malapropism comes from Mrs Malaprop, a character in a play called ‘The Rivals’ (1775, by Richard Brinsley Sheridan), who often mixes up her words. Her name’s probably based on the French phrase ‘mal à propos’, which means ‘poorly placed’.

According to the New Scientist, an office worker described a colleague as ‘a vast suppository of information’ (presumably they meant ‘repository’). They then apparently apologised for their ‘Miss-Marple-ism’, which is a malapropism for the word malapropism. HEAD EXPLODES.

Bonus, bonus word: malaphor

Wow, I’m really spoiling you this week, aren’t I? A malaphor is an informal term (which means it’s not really a proper word, hence it being a buy-one-get-one-free type of deal) for when you mix your metaphors, idioms, clichés or aphorisms. So that’s when you mash two phrases together like ‘we’ll burn that bridge when we come to it’, ‘you hit the nail on the nose’ or ‘stop winding my leg’ (© my sister, 1986).

Read the other words of the week.

tmesis

This is a linguistic term (don’t fall asleep) for when you stick a word in the middle of another word or phrase. Like ‘fan-bloody-tastic’ or ‘abso-fucking-lutely’. It doesn’t have to be a swearword, but obviously swearing’s funny (and big and clever, regardless of what your parents might tell you).

George Bernard Shaw was one of the first writers to bring tmesis to the masses in Pygmalion, published in 1912, when Eliza Doolittle says ‘abso-blooming-lutely’. And in English we mainly use tmesis like this, for comic effect. But as a rhetorical device, it’s been around for a really long time. It started out in classic literature (although not with swearwords sadly). Homer (of Iliad/Odyssey fame) was a big fan of whacking some tmesis in an epic poem, as was Ovid who used it in Metamorphoses (an 11,995-line narrative poem in Latin – woop woop). Shakepeare also jumped on the tmesis bandwagon and used it in Romeo and Juliet (‘This is not Romeo, he’s some other where,’) and Richard II (this one’s a bit harder to spot, but he’s splitting ye old version of ‘however’:  ‘how heinous e’er it be’).

The word itself first turned up in the 1550s, and is Greek (although you probably guessed that from the weird-ass spelling). It means, unimaginatively, ‘to cut’.

In Australian English, tmesis is called ‘tumba rumba’, which is obviously a much better name, and one I’ll be shoehorning into every conversation I have from now on. No one knows exactly why it’s called this, but it’s probably down to a poem called Tumba-bloody-rumba (1959) by Aussie writer John O’Grady (about the small town of Tumbarumba in New South Wales). It has loads of tmeses in it, which I’m pleased to say almost all involve swearing. Here’s an extract:

This is a kangaroo I met a few weeks ago when I was in Australia.

“And the other bloke says ‘Seen’ im? Owed ’im half a bloody quid.
Forgot to give it back to him, but now I bloody did –
Could’ve used the thing me bloody self. Been off the bloody booze,
Up at Tumba-bloody-rumba shootin’ kanga-bloody-roos.”

You can read the whole thing here.

Read the other words of the week.