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Codswallop, Crumpet and Caper by Edward Allhusen is a book about words. Printed like a dictionary it is wrapped up in a scholarly air. And yet, instead of drowning in the delights of insignificant idiosyncrasies and dull etymology, the book is actually quite fun.
In an attempt to place his chosen words in the context from which they were plucked Allhusen begins with a broad but brief introduction. Mapping the evolution of the English Language he plots the influences, transformations and drastic alterations of our native tongue.
Stampeding over British soil the Norman invaders might have bought about havoc but they also gave us the gentler gift of nuance tipped flicks and those soft elongated vowels. Sailing the seas the knights of the crusade returned with exotic treasures and intriguing new words. Pyjamas, satin, sugar and shampoo slipped subtly into speech.
Just like a patchwork, stitched and unpicked by multiple hands, Allhusen demonstrates how the English language became colourfully mismatched. Subject to faraway fashions and powerful people it holds echoes from all over the world.
It is the English language’s ability to beg, borrow and appropriate words, which Allhusen believes gives it strength. It remains so popular today because, unlike French, it is not held back by the L’Académie francaise seeking to drive away change for the sake of purity.
With its chameleon-like ways the English language has drifted into every corner of the earth. Indeed without English, Allhusen asks, ‘how else do Norwegians selling oil to Peruvians or Japanese buying pasta from Italians converse with each other?’
Though the introduction is interesting it is the main body of the book, littered with snippets of stories and tales long told, that really opens the eyes. Researching the roots of each particular word Allhusen has composed little narratives of hidden histories.
The word ‘pistol’, for example, apparently takes it name from Pistoia in Tuscany where the handheld gun was invented for use on horseback. The word ‘accumulate’, on the other hand, possesses much older Latin roots. Taken from the Latin ‘cumulus’ meaning a heap or pile the word has evolved to embody the making of a monetary pile~ the accumulation of fortune. Allhusen also reminds us that we have termed a large and billowing pile of cloud a ‘cumulus’, thus haphazardly connecting clouds with wealth.
Branching out into groups of words Allhusen unveils the significance behind the months of the year and the days of the week. Sunday, we learn, was the day of the Sun while Monday was the day of the Moon.
Sitting in the bookcase Codswallop, Crumpet and Caper has found a niche all of its own. Lighter than Brewer’s famous Phrase and Fable it offers the reader a chance to dip and dive between its pages, to delve beneath our everyday language and discover a myriad of meaning.
The Académie really doesn't hold French back - it's just a formalised version of your grandparents telling you to say "different from" not "different to" and suchlike. Also, English generally had longer vowels before the Norman conquest, and the change has almost nothing to do with the influence of French.
It really depresses me that as soon as you know anything about Linguistics, so many books like this turn from highly entertaining to plain misleading. Makes me wonder rather a lot about "facts" I've read concerning subjects I know nothing about.
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