Persia

serendipity

Despite being the title of a frankly terrible film starring Kate Beckinsale (sorry Kate, I love you and your Instagram feed), serendipity is a lovely word. It’s a noun (i.e. a person, place or thing) used to describe unexpectedly finding something nice (or John Cusack) when you weren’t looking for it. Serendipity as a word hasn’t actually been around all that long – it was coined in the middle of the 18th century by English writer and politician Horace Walpole (1717–1797) – his most famous work is probably The Castle of Otranto, the OG Gothic novel. Walpole used ‘serendipity’ in a letter to another Horace (Mann) to describe an unexpected discovery he’d made of a lost painting. He took the word from a Persian fairy tale called ‘The Three Princes of Serendip’ (Serendip is an ancient name for Sri Lanka). In the story, our three princes are sent on a journey by their father to get some wisdom and experience before they inherit his throne. Along the way they encounter various challenges, lots of which they overcome with a knack for making fortunate discoveries through chance occurrences – AKA serendipity.

There are lots of famous examples of serendipity throughout history, many of which have had a pretty major effect on us humans. Here are a few of them:

  • in 1928, Scottish biologist and pharmacologist Alexander Fleming discovered penicillin after noticing that a particular mould stopped the growth of bacteria in a petri dish – without that we wouldn’t have one of the world’s most widely used antibiotics

  • 3M employee Spencer Silver tried to create a strong adhesive in 1968 but failed, ending up with a barely sticky one instead. A few years later, his colleague Arthur Fry used it to create Post-it Notes, now the bane of many an office worker’s life

  • in the 1930s, a chef called Ruth Wakefield was making chocolate cookies and ran out of baker’s chocolate. She added broken pieces of Nestle chocolate instead, thinking it would melt and spread. Instead, she created the world’s first chocolate chip cookies. Well done, Ruth

  • in 1945 an engineer called Percy Spencer was working on radar equipment when he noticed that the emissions from it melted a chocolate bar in his pocket. This discovery eventually led to the invention of the microwave oven

  • in the 90s, Pfizer developed a new medication for angina. But researchers noticed it had an unexpected side effect… erections! Men (and women) all over the world rejoiced as this serendipitous event led to Viagra.

There have been a couple of attempts to come up with an antonym (i.e. an opposite) for serendipity. A Scottish novelist called William Boyd coined the term ‘zemblanity’ in the late 20th century to mean ‘making unhappy, unlucky and expected discoveries occurring by design’. No one’s entirely sure what the etymology was, but it’s possibly from Nova Zembla, a corruption of ‘Novaya Zemlya’, a barren archipelago that was once the site of Russian nuclear testing. So that’s cheery. I should’ve stopped at Viagra.

bletting

Some fruits, particularly sloes and medlars (more on those later), can be a bit sour to eat, even when they’re ripe (due to high levels of tannins). And that’s where our word of the week comes in – to make them more edible, we blet them. This basically means letting them go past fully ripe to the point where they’re just starting to break down, but aren’t quite rotting yet. Yum.

There seems to be quite an art to bletting – let it go too long and obviously the fruit’s too minging to eat. Don’t do it enough and it’ll be too bitter to enjoy. Having said that, it’s a fairly hands-off process, and mainly involves storing fruit at room temperature then looking at it every now and again. There seems to be some poking involved as well.

Etymology-wise, we can trace ‘blet’ back to the Old English word ‘blætt’ or ‘blǣtt’, that was used to describe anything a bit squishy or soft.

Four medlars, in all their bummy glory (photo © Andrew Dunn, 1 October 2005).

One fruit that’s inedible before bletting is the medlar, which you possibly haven’t heard of. Medlars were actually very popular here in Blighty a few hundred years ago. They go back even further than that as well – the medlar tree comes from Persia, and ye olde Greeks and Romans grew them too. They possibly fell out of favour because a perfectly bletted medlar is brown and squishy to the point that you might think it’s going to collapse in your hand. Doesn’t sound terribly appetising, does it?

Medlars also aren’t the most attractive of fruits – in fact, in France they’re called ‘cul de chien’ which translates as ‘dog’s arse’. Shakespeare called them ‘open-arse’ in Romeo and Juliet (which paints a lovely picture), and DH Lawrence referred to them as ‘autumnal excrementa’ (‘autumn shit’) in his poem ‘Medlars and Sorb-Apples’. That ode starts with these delightful lines:

‘I love you, rotten,

Delicious rottenness.’

Despite all this bad press, the much-maligned medlar is making a bit of a comeback. Medlar jelly is apparently lovely with a bit of cheese, and you can buy it online. Go on, treat yourself to some autumnal poop. You know you want to.

algebra

SHUDDER. I was terrible at maths at school, and even the thought of algebra still fills me with horror. But, I’m all for feeling the fear and doing it anyway (except when it comes to sharks, which I’m also very scared of), which is why algebra is my word of the week. Also, it has an interesting backstory which isn’t, as you might assume, anything to do with Greek.

Before we get into that though, let’s have a quick refresher for anyone who, like me, can only vaguely remember their school days. Algebra is a branch of maths that focuses on studying mathematical symbols and the rules for manipulating those symbols to solve equations (that just sent another shiver down my spine), which apparently makes it easier to solve complex problems. Here’s a super-simple algebraic equation:

2x + 5 = 11

And here’s a really not simple explanation for how to solve it (thanks to my robot overlord, sorry ChatGPT, for doing the maths for me. Also, feel free to skip to the next paragraph if you just don’t care):

In this equation, ‘x’ is the variable, and the objective is to find the value of ‘x’. First, we isolate the variable ‘x’ by subtracting 5 from both sides of the equation:

2x + 5 - 5 = 11 - 5

This simplifies to:

2x = 6

Next, to isolate the variable ‘x’, we divide both sides of the equation by 2:

(2x)/2 = 6/2

This simplifies to:

x = 3

So, the solution to the equation is x = 3.

For anyone who’s still here, here’s why algebra is called algebra. The word comes from the Arabic phrase ‘al-jabr wa'l-muqabala’, which means ‘reunion of broken parts’ or ‘restoration and balancing’, referring to the process of restoring balance by transferring terms from one side of an equation to the other. Nice, right?

This rather romantic-sounding term was coined by the Persian mathematician Muhammad ibn Musa al-Khwarizmi in the 9th century. I have mixed feelings about Al-Khwarizmi because he came up with this lovely phrase (like), but he also pretty much invented algebra in his book ‘Kitab al-Jabr wa'l-Muqabala’ (don’t like). Just to make things even more complicated, his book was translated into Latin in the 12th century, which is when the west adopted the term (and discipline) ‘algebra’ and ruined many school children’s lives for centuries to come.

(Muhammad ibn Musa al-Khwarizmi also gets a prize for best job title ever: ‘astronomer and head of the library of the House of Wisdom’. Tough to fit on a business card though.)