Sesquipedality
Or, foot-and-a-half long words.
In writing, the use of big words can be tremendous fun for the writer but not necessarily for the reader. Just make sure you give context.
Always there is this question for writers: do I cleave to simple language (atticism), or do I enrich my word choice with lesser known words (assiaticism) I know or discover and want to use? Examples are noted below. I’ve referred to Bryan Garner’s insight on this topic, in his book on usage at 818. He points out the values for care in the decision: you don’t want to sound pompous or pretentious, but you do want to be precise. And sometimes the nuance in the meaning you want to convey requires a lesser known word that may be a bit long or unusual.
Beware though. The lesser known word is intended to be more precise and not there just for the writer’s delight. The highly readable editor June Casagrande gives an example in her book about line editing at 58 where a writer uses the rare verb ‘shirr’ to describe the action of an already vague noun ‘monotone’ in the phrase an indifferent monotone shirred. Granted, the word isn’t long and it is unusual but is it precise? Strictly speaking, this verb describes the sound of pleats being pulled together (I did not know that). It also means to bake until set (I did not know that either). But apart from the euphony; ‘shirr’ does have a beautiful sound, is it appropriate in context? Not really. She writes: ‘[I]n a passage composed almost exclusively of vague words . . . some of them had do go’. Unless the reader has a tremendous lexis, the meaning, and perhaps the onamatopoeic significance, would probably be lost on them. So she rewrites.
Returning to big words. The wordsmith has to balance word choice with meaning. Contemporary writing favours brevity. But that shouldn’t be at the expense of precision. Bryan Garner asks, would a mathematician say 24/48s? Obviously 1/2 is better. But then he asks, what to do with 15/16s? Do you round up, or do you choose a more nuanced word which for the reader could cause a miscue but would precisely convey 15/16s? The options are there. The Oxford English Dictionary contains about 600,000 words. So, do you stick to common words or get a bit edge. Garner suggests the latter. Why not? It’s a matter of how you write it. So if the writer wants to push the envelope a little, sure. But clarify in context.
In his entry on sesquipedality he gives a few examples; below are the words he selects, with definitions, and further down some others I’ve placed in context for shits and giggles.
Don’t be afraid to try something different. Again, it’s all about providing context . . .
- Cathexis: investment of mental or emotional energy in a person, object, or idea. (Greek: kathexis ‘retention’).
- Eirenicon: from eirenic (also irenic) a noun meaning a principal that aims at causing peace (Greek: eirenikos ‘peace’).
- Gravamen: the material or significant part of a grievance or complaint (Latin: gravare ‘to burden’).
- Obelize: to annotate with an obelus (ancient Greek pointed pillar) and draw attention to a questionable piece of text. Also the act of quoting a passage of dubious authenticity.
- Oriflamme: a banner, symbol, or ideal inspiring devotion or courage.
- Protreptic: to turn forward (v); also an utterance designed to urge on or persuade (Greek: protreptikos ‘persuasive’).
- Asthenic: an adjective meaning abnormal physical weakness or lack of energy (Greek: astheneia ‘sickness’).
- Galere: a group of people having an attribute in common.
- Coterie: an exclusive and often intimate group of people with a unifying common interest or purpose.
Here, some other lesser known phrases in fun contexts:
They met in the narthex of the cathedral. Tina shuddered, tilting her head and listening to the bell ringers. She said, ‘Phillippa, I assure you, the campanologists’ tintanabulations are ominous. Geoffrey is up to something.’
No doubt about the noisome odour. Geoffrey tried to kiss her, but Phillippa held back. Alliaceous halitosis. Céline must have popped by. Phillippa looked at Geoffrey, her eyes glinting, and asked, ‘How was the garlic comfit?’
‘Really?’ Phillippa was askance.
Tina continued, sighing blissfully. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘After the pernoctative nepotation, I was exhausted and finally drifted off around sunrise.’
‘Crickey,’ Phillippa said.
‘Meaning?’ Nial asked.
Geoffrey blushed, his heart thumping (he thought, audibly). Nial stood beside the changing room and smiled the way he did, then glanced at his watch and whispered, ‘We’ve forty-seven minutes before the cleaner turns up,’ and opened the door.
Geoffrey’s nostrils were suddenly assailed by the bromidrotic fug. ‘I can’t do this,’ he said.
References:
Bryan A. Garner, Garner’s Modern English Usage. 4th ed. (2016).
June Casagrande, It Was the Best of Sentences, It Was the Worst of Sentences (2010).
