Daily Archives: October 13, 2012

xyst

This is an eye-catching word, a word you probably didn’t know to exist. It has a certain zest – one might even think it sexy. Some people might think it has no vowels, but of course you can hear the vowel when you say it: /zɪst/. The y is used to spell the vowel sound. And the x is used to spell /z/ for no other reason than that English does not currently permit a /ks/ onset (or a /gz/ one).

Does its form give any clue as to its meaning? Perhaps it got mixed up trying to cross the Styx? Or is it a particularly male (xy) street (st) (or does that seem sexyst)? The latter might seem closer to what it is. The source is ultimately Greek ξυστός xustos “polished”, which in this case refers to a polished marble floor in a porch or portico of a gymnasium, and thus to the porch or portico itself, where exercises (such as wrestling) would take place during poor weather. By extension it also came to refer to the whole gymnasium building.

The Romans took up the word as xystus, but used it to refer to a promenade in front of a portico, or an open colonnade or a walk flanked by trees. But they also took the Greek word for “polished” as a name – however, finding the /ks/ onset lacking in polish, they metathesized it to Sixtus, which was used as a name for six popes, the first of which was the sixth pope after Peter… and yet there is no link to the word six. (On the other hand, while John Paul II may have been the first Polish pope, there were six “polished” popes before him.)

This polished root has produced other words too: xyston, straight from the Greek, which, by reference to the polished shaft of a spear, referred to the spear itself; and xystum, an architectural term that can refer to any of several different things: a wall, a promenade, an alley, a path… seems kinda mixtup.

We brought the word xystus into English in the 1600s, and it’s still available as such; however, word collectors and Scrabble players will delight in having this clipped version available as well, just one of the little extra things English does for its players. If you’re going to wrestle with words, you might as well have good equipment to use – and a nice, polished place to do it, of course.

Do you have a vague feeling that there’s another word for “porch” or something similar that also has an x? There is: narthex, a vestibule in a church where (at least formerly) catechumens would stand. Perhaps if you put the two together, you would have a narthexyst. Oh dear, that rather looks like it’s had a collapse at the end, doesn’t it? Perhaps it’s what you get from wrestlers taking down the catechumens.

biannual

To the eyes, this word brings a repeated duality expressed in multiple ways: there are two each of two letters; it is bookended by two vertical lines coming from two different characters; the u is a rotation of the n before it; and the one letter not part of any other duality is made of two detached parts: i, with its stroke and its dot – a point and an extent.

In saying the word, you make four syllables; the middle two are attached to their preceders with a high front glide, while the first and last start with the lips – as a stop or as releasing from rounding. The vowels are low and forward first, but then in the back half of the word move to high back and then to a neutral step into a held “dark” /l/ with the tongue high at back. The word starts towards the front of the mouth but ends pulled back.

The central consonant is written with two letters but is at most a quick touch with an off-glide, and for many speakers in many instances is really just a nasalization of the glide it releases – the tongue may or may not fully touch. And yet it is heard as the same sound whether it is made with the tip of the tongue curling up and touching or with the blade of the tongue simply pressing up and forward while the tip stays down.

That curvy, contorting /bajænjuwəl/ pronunciation has come about because of how English vowels have shifted over the centuries and how we’ve come to pronounce Latin words generally. Were the word said the Latin way, it would be /biannual/ – just as it’s spelled, but to English ears more like “be on new wall.”

Except that the Latin word wouldn’t be biannual at all. This word may be made from Latin parts, but it wasn’t assembled from them until the later 1800s. The Latin word for a period of two years was (is) biennium, which lends to the word biennial, “every two years”. One might imagine that something that happens every half a year is semiennial (and every year and a half sesquiennial), but those words aren’t to be found.

The sense of this word is, as we all know too well, also dual. Its use to mean “every two years” dates from 1884 or earlier. Its used to mean “half-yearly” (every six months) dates from 1870 or earlier. Dictionaries list the two senses next to each other. So which is the correct meaning? It seems that there is no reliable verdict, and the court of common usage is divided. It’s just the same with other words, such as bimonthly and the perhaps even more bothersome biweeklyall these bi- usages appear to have come forth in the latter half of the 1800s. I recommend avoiding using these words, preferring clearer phrases such as every two years and every six months – unless you want to be ambiguous.