Daily Archives: August 19, 2013

chicest

She sashayed down the street wearing the nicest smile and the chicest clothes.

He saw her sneaking out the back with the cheekiest grin and the chicest hat.

She was so sleek and chic. In fact, she was the sleekest and chicest.

So tell me, now: how is chicest pronounced? And did you readily read it correctly the first time you saw it? Of the sentences above, does the second prime the pronunciation better than the first does? I presume the third does best…

Well, the world of fashions and the fashions of words produce some odd matches sometimes. We do like to borrow words from other languages, and for a long time French was the language to which we turned for words for fashion, food, and the hallmarks of high society. French had – to some extent still has – cachet. Of course we can say something is stylish, but when we say it’s chic, it has that flirty, insouciant air of the French fashion, and it also has a sense – no doubt thanks to the sound of the word – of being sleek, catchy, perhaps even a little cheeky, but in a chi-chi way.

So we imported this tidy little French dress, this coquettish fascinator of a word: chic. And we kept the spelling, because we do that, and because chic really does have a smart, chic look to it (with the smart curls of the c’s at start and end, and the ch that’s said “sh” – nonstandard pronunciations have more cachet – and it ends not in the blocky English k but in the cute coy curve of c). If we spelled it sheek, would it work? Gaaah. No, darling, no. (Never mind that chic may have been borrowed from German Schick ‘skill’. It also may not have been. And in its current form and meaning it’s French.)

But it’s an adjective susceptible to gradation. And therein lies the problem. We allow suffixation for comparatives and superlatives on short words: er and est. But English orthography can be rather obnoxious, especially when there’s a c involved. Chicest is easy to say – really no problem at all; it comes quite naturally to the tongue. It has a nice exchange of fricatives and stops, all voiceless: /ʃikɛst/ – it sounds like she kissed. It’s like a tap-shoe slide or a bit of snare brush and high-hat on the drum kit. But when you spell it out, it looks like a typo or repronunciation for choicest.

We appropriated a bit of foreign fashion, but when we tried to match it to our local accessories, well, it just didn’t give the chicest look… Edgy, maybe. And it sounds good. But hmm.

anagnorisis

There’s a popular “meme” going around on the internet lately, various phrases on the model of “That moment when [striking or unexpected thing X happens]” – often the striking or unexpected thing is a realization, such as “That moment when you realize that Trix are no longer for you,” or “That moment when you realize it was the voice of Darth Vader saying ‘This… is CNN,’” or “That moment when you realize that the guy you killed at the crossroads was your father, and the queen you married is your mother.”

Well, I guess not so much that last one, unless you’re Oedipus. But while tragic heroes often have sudden realizations that change everything, the rest of us have sudden realizations from time to time, too, and some of them can leave us pretty shaken up. There is something you can no longer ignore; you read the signs, and you face the facts with a groan. It’s recognition – or, to use the Greek word meaning the same thing, anagnorisis.

Should that be anignoresis? As in an ‘not’ plus ignore plus sis? No, it’s ana ‘back, again’ plus the gnor/gnos root referring to cognition plus isis, a nominalizing suffix. Re-cognition. It all comes back again – or something you had been trying not to see leaps before your eyes and you can ignore it no longer. You felt it in your organs and now you are all disorganized. You lose all your gains. It had a familiar ring, and that ring turns out to be around your finger, so to speak.

Anagnorisis. Two each of a, n, i, s, one each of g, o, r. Eleven letters, five syllables, tapping on the tip of the tongue except for that one /g/ that reaches back and disturbs the pattern. And then it ends deflating with hisses.

This word gains its currency from its use in Aristotle’s Poetics, where it names a moment in the agon such as Oedipus’s, the realization that leads to peripeteia (a turn of events) and catastrophe and, in short order, the end of the play. But it has extra effect because of its echoes of ignore and the various other words you can see circling in it when you look twice: signs, groan, again, organs, gains, ring, agon… All there if you were looking.