Book Review: Reading the OED by Ammon Shea

2009 at 7pm     Posted by Rebecca Joines Schinsky

readingtheoed

Recently published August 5, 2008

Reading the OED: One Many, One Year, 21,730 Pages is Ammon Shea’s memoir of the year he spent reading the Oxford English Dictionary.  But it is also a lot more than that. Reading the OED is a paean to words, a love song to language, and an ode to the world’s greatest dictionary. Shea reminds us from the outset that what he has done is no small feat.

It is roughly the equivalent of reading the King James Bible in its entirety every day for two and a half months or reading a whole John Grisham novel every day for more than a year. One would have to be made to seriously consider such an undertaking. I took on the project with great excitement.

That enthusiasm and genuine passion for his project are what make Shea’s book so great. He did not set out to impress his friends (having worked for many years as a furniture mover in New York, the words he learned “would be, to put it mildly, singularly inapplicable in that milieu”) or to have a great story to tell at dinner parties. Ammon Shea is an avid lover of words and collector of dictionaries. “As far as hobbies go,” he says, “it is as most of them are—largely useless.” And though he knows he will remember relatively few of the words he learns and will have occasion to use even fewer in conversation, he carries on. He tells us that he has read the OED (for upwards of eight hours a day for a whole year) so we won’t have to. He hopes that his book will be “the thinking person’s CliffNotes to the greatest dictionary in the world.”

While most of us imagine dictionary reading to be a rather boring task, Shea finds it exciting and irresistible. Dictionaries are his favorite books to read because

All of the human emotions and experiences are right there in this dictionary, just as they would be in any fine work of literature. They just happen to be alphabetized.

Of course, it doesn’t hurt that the OED often cites great works of literature to provide examples within their definitions, but still. Shea’s is an unusual passion, and he harnesses it to good use by highlighting a handful of his favorite (and occasionally most hated) words from each letter of the alphabet and, I imagine, resisting the temptation to list out every word he enjoys (and some of those he loathes). Reading the OED is a pleasant, humorous, informative read that is light enough to be entertaining but is most certainly not fluffy.

In the course of reading Reading the OED, I recognized very few of the words Shea mentioned (he notes that this is bound to happen when one considers that the English language is incredibly vast and our memories relatively limited), but I did know two of them without having to read the definitions (iatrogenic and impedimenta, if you must know), and I picked up a few new favorites along the way.

In the very first chapter I discovered a word I’ve already put to use several times this week: acnestis (n.) On an animal, the point of the back that lies between the shoulders and the lower back, which cannot be reached to be scratched. Isn’t it just great that there’s a word for that? Now I know what to call that spot that, when scratched just right, makes my dog thump her hindlegs. Reading the OED is full of these delightful findings, and it doesn’t take long to understand why Shea considers one of the best outcomes of his project to be the fact that he “learned as well about the ineffable joy that can be had in pursuing the absurd.”

Being a fan of the word “asinine,” I was particularly excited about disasinate (v.) to deprive of stupidity and flingee (n.) a person at whom something is flung. The next time I encounter someone engaging in gross social inappropriateness, I will attempt to disasinate them, and if that doesn’t work, they will quickly find themselves to be flingees. Disasinating an obnoxious stranger is a great way to happify (to make happy) your fellow human beings.

Under the category of “words I never knew existed/things I never felt I needed a word for” comes jentacular (adj.) Of or pertaining to breakfast. Here’s what Shea has to say about it:

Some of you reading this are no doubt thinking, “Why do I need this silly little word that describes ‘of or relating to breakfast’?” The answer is you don’t need it. But it is also true that you don’t need the overwhelming majority of words you use throughout the day, either, and jentacular is far more charming than most of them.

The man has a point. As he sits in a quiet room of the library or in an inviting chair at home, he tells us that he feels he is “losing minutes and hours and gaining the world.”  Shea opens each chapter with a brief narrative, sometimes discussing his feelings about the particular letter, sometimes sharing random bits of his year-long journey, and always giving us a glimpse of his personality and sense of humor. In the introduction to O, he tells us he is afraid he has become one of the Library People.

When the library opens in the morning I am already there waiting. The clerks and librarians are also already there, and what do they think every morning when they see me go straightaway to the reference desk, add a volume of the OED to all the other books and papers that I’m carrying around, and scurry furtively down to the basement, leaking bits of scribbled paper?

Shea’s girlfriend Alix, a form lexicographer with her own penchant for words, confirms his fears and informs him that she thinks the library staff not only think of him as one of the Library People but that they probably have a nickname for him as well. If the library is anything like the bookstore, Alix is definitely correct.

A few more of my favorites: obdormition (n.) the falling asleep of a limb and pandiculation (n.) the act of stretching and extending the limbs, in tiredness or waking. About the latter, Shea says “Everyone does it, and no one knows what to call it.”

Also funny, mostly because of Shea’s commentary, is tacenda (n.) things not to be mentioned; matters that are passed over in silence. “The incident with the broccoli. Your Aunt Tilly’s first husband. Where that scar really came from.”

Near the end of the book, Shea reveals the true depth of his feelings about the OED:

Reading the dictionary reminds me of the first time I read Gabriel Garcia Marquez—I was astounded that any writer could capture my interest so unrelentingly.

I suppose it is possible that many readers will consider me touched in the head for suggesting this.

The beauty of Reading the OED is that it convinces us of quite the opposite. 4.75 out of 5.