Edmund Spenser

braggadocio

If you ever watch the news, ‘braggadocio’ might sound familiar. During the 2016 US election, Donald Trump famously used the adjective ‘braggadocious’. At the time, most of us assumed he was talking rubbish as per usual – see ‘panican’ (used during his second term to describe those panicking over his economic tariffs), ‘bigly’ (often interpreted as ‘big league’) and ‘I’ve stopped eight wars’. But ‘braggadocious’ is actually rooted in a word that’s been around for over 400 years (although I doubt DT knows that). And ironically, both the word and its history describe him perfectly.

‘Braggadocio’ is an uncountable or mass noun (exactly what it says on the tin – examples include ‘bravery’, ‘nonsense’ or ‘happiness’) that describes empty, arrogant boasting or a swaggering manner that isn’t backed up by much substance. Despite its Italian looks, ‘braggadocio’ wasn’t born in the olive oil-drenched streets of Florence or Rome – its origins are actually a lot closer to home. It was cooked up in 1590 by the English poet Edmund Spenser for his epic poem, The Faerie Queene, one of the longest poems in the English language at a bum-numbing 36,000 lines and over 4,000 stanzas.

In the poem, Spenser created a character named Braggadocchio – a ‘knight’ who was all mouth and no trousers. He first appears in Book II, Canto iii when he steals the horse and spear of the hero, Sir Guyon. He then spends the rest of the book riding around on his fell-off-the-back-of-a-lorry warhorse, pretending to be a legendary warrior while actually being terrified of his own shadow. Why Braggadocio? To give the character an air of pretension (and perhaps to make him sound like the vainglorious characters found in Italian comedy), Spenser took the very English word ‘brag’ and slapped a pseudo-Italian suffix on the end of it. It’s the linguistic equivalent of putting a spoiler on a 2005 Vauxhall Corsa.

Eventually, ‘braggadocio’ escaped the poem and became shorthand for anyone whose mouth is (to quote that literary giant, Limp Bizkit) writing cheques that their ass can’t cash. Whether it’s a stolen horse in an epic poem or a stolen election narrative on social media, ‘braggadocio’ remains the ultimate red flag for a man with a massive ego who’s all wrapping paper and no present.

sarcasm

You know what sarcasm is – snarky comments which are either the lowest form of wit or the highest form of intelligence, depending on which side of them you’re on. But do you know where the word itself comes from? Yes? Well, aren’t you clever? (That’s sarcastic, by the way.) If you don’t, then read on…

The word ‘sarcasm’ has its roots in the Greek sarkazein, which means ‘to tear flesh like a dog’ or ‘to bite the lips in rage’. So basically, it’s a verbal savaging. This same root, sark-, meaning ‘flesh’, also turns up in sarcophagus – AKA a stone coffin beloved of mummies (and former word of the week). Why? Because the original sarcophagi were made from limestone that was believed to consume flesh. Yum.

An intelligent response to a sarcastic comment

Sarcasm (the word, not the concept) first appeared in English in 1579, in an annotation to ‘The Shepheardes Calender’, Edmund Spenser’s first major poetic work (his most famous one was ‘The Faerie Queene’, an epic allegorical poem about the Tudor Dynasty and Elizabeth I that you might have struggled through at school). The annotation reads ‘Tom piper, an ironicall Sarcasmus, spoken in derision of these rude wits’. (‘Ironicall Sarcasmus’ would be a great name for a band.) ‘Sarcastic’ took a bit longer to appear in print, not turning up until 1695 in a work by Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey. Nope, me neither.

(Edmund Spenser’s first wife was called Machabyas Childe. This isn’t relevant – I just think it’s a fantastic name.)

Sarcasm can be hard to show in writing, so loads of people have tried to come up with a punctuation mark to denote it. This includes the percontation point (which I’ve previously written about here), and the excellently named SarcMark™.