Daily Archives: March 8, 2011

turpitude

Well, perhaps the sheen is coming off Charlie. He’s been dumped, Warner Brothers citing a clause that lets them off the hook if he commits “a felony offense involving moral turpitude.”

Ah, turpitude. This is not some mere dotting of the tease and crossing of the eyes (that would be Ben Turpin-tude); this is a high-toned vituperation, one that fairly spits from its three voiceless stops (though, from the charming side, it does sound like a tapdance at the Cotton Club). Turpitude is at the other end of the scale from a friend of mine who, when chastising herself for some oversight, says “Toopid, toopid, toopid!” (onset cluster reduction being an easy index of intellectual insufficiency). But turpitude is not per se undue stupidity, nor is it a sort of torpor. It is a rupture with prudity and piety, an impertinent attitude that may lead to pruritus and penitentiaries. It is a sort of moral turpentine, stripping the thin coating of respectability to show the true colours beneath.

Oh, yes, moral. You almost always see moral before turpitude, even though it’s quite redundant; turpitude comes from Latin turpis, “base” (as in “low”), and if baseness is not a moral character (or lack thereof), what is? Indeed, one may say those of base character, those who lie, are of the character of lye, a base, and are abased by the corrosion as they try to whitewash their dirty deeds. But that leaves us nowhere with turpentine, which is not acid or base, though it is corrosive, as of course (and of coarseness) is turpitude.

One may also, mind you, say that turpitude is wickedness (another moral judgment), and that will put us in mind of other things that are wicked, such as lamp oil and candles – oh, and to wax poetic, the great quatrain of that wonderful wanton poet of turpitude, Edna St. Vincent Millay:

My candle burns at both ends
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends –
It gives a lovely light.

Well, one doesn’t always want to make light of turpitude, even if it may involve a spectacular flame-out (and even if turpentine is flammable – oh, by the way, turpentine is not actually related to turpitude; it comes from terebinth, the Greek name for the kind of tree whose sap was originally distilled to make it). No, we must remember that it tends to take the sheen off things – and, if rests on your skin, you may experience excoriation.

rocococity

Imagine a cacophony of curves and curls, a kind of rocaille quincaillerie a-go-go, not so much baroque as going for broke… a rather cuckoo occurrence. Imagine a whole city, squirrelly with coquilles and asymmetrical curves, like a pile of wood shavings from a carpenter’s plane growing quickly into vines… look, and oh, see, oh, see, oh, see… an atrocity? Rocococity!

Ah, the ferocity of rocococity. For some people, “oc oc oc” might be the sound of gagging at the sight, but for others the curls (ocococ) will spur excited curiosity. Oh, the rococo – a late development of the baroque, just as rococo may also be playfully built on baroque and rocaille (shellwork, grotto-esque and perhaps grotesque) and coquille (a scallop shell) and no doubt something fun or diminutive about the repetition. The doubled /k/ gives a nice kick, with a wind-up from the /r/ and a slide into home with city.

Originally the term rococo was used dismissively to say the style was old-fashioned, but over time what was old can become, if not new, then at least charming again. There are rococo rooms in palaces, and even entire rococo churches, but your best bet is to look in the theme rooms in museums – try the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston or the Victoria and Albert in London, or the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. I think the Louvre has some too, though one might after all randomly bump into rocococity out and about in Paris.

If rococo rooms may daze your eyes, though, surely rocococity will too. How many c’s and o’s are there? Three of each, but it’s ro-co-co-city really. And though rococo puts the stress in the middle on the second syllable, rocococity puts the stress on the middle in the third syllable, to echo ferocity, precocity, and so on. This may be the only symmetrical thing about rococo and rocococity! The baroque was tidy and mannered, the rococo rather less so… it’s what happens to a decorative art when the gardener goes on vacation and doesn’t come back.

But of course rocococity can spread beyond the decorative arts. It infected painting. But more than that: the property of rocococity may be attributed to things not artificially contrived at all, just curly and wanton and asymmetrical: “electromagnetism behaves in essentially the same simple way on all scales, varying only in its general strength, whereas gravity becomes increasingly rococo as you zoom into microscopic scales – signaling that the theory eventually gives way to a deeper one such as string theory or loop quantum gravity. But ‘eventually’ is so far off that physicists can usually neglect the rocococity.” Gravity? And microscopic rocococity? Yes, indeed, and we are reminded of the infectiousness of rocococity: “The rocococity of gravity should infect the other forces.” And who said that? George Musser, in Scientific American (Forces to Reckon with: Does Gravity Muck Up Electromagnetism?).

So here we may have thought of rocococity as some mere frivolity, and we have failed to consider the gravity of the situation! But is it string theory or loop quantum gravity? Well, what do you see in rocococity… strings or loops?

Thanks to Stan Backs for mentioning rocococity and the Scientific American article.