Tag Archives: hubbub

hubbub

“What’s the hubbub, Bub?” said Bugs Bunny. But, buddy, what is a hubbub? Is it the murmuring rhubarb and babble of a rubbernecking rabble, or the bawdy hubba-hubba of bad boys eyeballing a bobbysoxer, or the blubbering and bawling some lub who’s been robbed? Is it simply general hullaballoo? Or is it something more threatening? A band of barbarians? A howling, perhaps as of a haboob?

If you look in Visual Thesaurus, you see only one node: “loud confused noise from many sources”; synonyms are brouhaha, uproar, and katzenjammer. But the Oxford English Dictionary, with its historical perspective, gives a small set of definitions, at the softer end of which is the rumbling murmur I remember from the mobs in the Banff Hot Springs, where I often bathed as a child, but at the louder end of which is a general hue and cry, even the shouting of a war cry. Spenser, in The Faerie Queene, used it thus: “They heard a noyse of many bagpipes shrill, And shrieking Hububs them approching nere.” Shrieking hubbubs! They sound almost like banshees.

Well, hubbub does appear to have something in common with banshee: an Irish origin. It is, by old accounts, an Irish outcry, cognate perhaps with the Scots Gaelic interjection of aversion or contempt, ub! ub! ubub! This is not to say we know its source ab ovo, but earliest citations lead me to think this purported source is no booboo.

But does hubbub sound threatening enough? There’s a reason it has shifted to a more general crowd sound, and I’m inclined to think it has to do with its greater resemblance to muddled incoherent speech sounds. After all, our word barbarian comes from the Greeks’ impression of the speech sounds of foreign rabble: barbarbarbar.

Still, for the Celts, ubub was not simple urban rumble, nor even some exuberance. Indeed, the war cry of the ancient Irish was abu! (Compare this to the war cry of the juvenile Anglophone, leaping out from behind a piece of furniture: Boo!)

It’s not the noise of a thousand tongues, though, not if they’re all saying hubbub, because this is one of those few words one can say entirely without the use of the tongue. Orthographically it’s at least as odd: almost a palindrome, except the h is an incomplete or burst b; its repeating sequences look a bit like one of those 3-D smudgeeos that used to feature in newspaper funny pages. Rotate it 180˚ and you get something spelling about as opposite a sound sequence as you could want: qnqqny.

But it hasn’t always been spelled exactly that way, as the Spenser quote hints. Other forms the OED lists through its history are hooboube, hooboobe, hoeboube, whobub, hubub, hobub, whoo-bub, whoopubb, hoobub, howbub, how-bub, and hub hub. Put them together and they make a regular whoop-up, more like a frat-boy noise than some hot pool conversation. And you thought word tasting was a subdued hobby!

Thanks to Carolyn Bishop for suggesting hubbub.

hubbub

As I watched the retreating form of Wen Raey, off to roll her eyes at another unsuspecting paronomast, Jess came up holding a parfait glass of something that looked creamy. She looked off towards Wen. “What’s all the hubbub, bub?” (Jess is a good one for Bugs Bunny quotes.)

Hurly-burly might be a better term,” I said, “for our new persona Fwendy-Wendy, who does not dilly-dally.”

“Well, I don’t know,” Jess said. “Raey is a Dutch name, and hurly-burly comes from a Scottish play by an Englishman.”

“Jess!” I said, genuinely surprised. “You didn’t know Shakespeare didn’t invent it? It’s attested from nearly a century before him. Reduplication formed on hurling, I believe.”

“One can’t know everything,” she said, and ate a spoon of her dessert. “There would be nothing left to learn, and one would have to sit and weep, like Alexander when he ran out of worlds to conquer. But anyway, at this party there seems not to be the kind of mêlée one calls hurly-burly; I like the luck of the Irish: hubbub may come from a Celtic hue and cry, but now it simply means the roar of a confused multitude.”

“That makes me think of the Banff Hot Springs,” I said. “I remember the general hum and rumble of conversation – it was one of the noteworthy features to me when I went there regularly as a child.”

“And was there a bubbling hub?”

“Of water? No, nothing like the thalassotherapy pool in the spa on the Queen Mary 2, or even a simple whirlpool tub.”

“But hubbub does have a good onomatopoeic effect, doesn’t it? One imagines that the Irish who used Ub! Ub! Ubub! as an expression of contempt were conscious of it as imitative of babbling, just as the Greeks formed barbaroi, for ‘barbarian,’ by imitation of the speech of foreigners: ‘barbarbarbar…'”

“I think of it,” I said, “as the sound of a battle in Ubu Roi. Jarry’s great vulgarian, leading the bumbling lubs with his toilet brush…”

Jess started to snicker. “Now you’ve got me thinking of them chanting that ‘Hug-a-mug-a Maxwell House’ ad from how long ago was that? ‘Hug-a-mug-a, hugamug-a…'”

“Well,” I said, “that would be hugger-mugger, now wouldn’t it?”

“Only if you mean the muddling sense of it. Mainly it means ‘in secrecy.’ Nothing much secret about a hubbub. Or a huddle of muggles!” She started to bubble with giggles. “Maybe hubbub is the mechanic who adjusts the Hubble!”

“Maybe it’s really Wen Raey’s redneck cousin, backwards of course: Bubbuh.” I chortled a bit; Jess was exceptionally snickerish, in spite of the absence of a beverage.

Or what was that she was eating? I began to suspect it was spiked. She caught my glance at it. “You’d lub this grub,” she said, ostending it. “I’ve had two or so.”

“What is it?”

She gave me a don’t-you-know look. “Don’t be silly, bub!” She gave the parfait glass as good a lick as she could and delivered the punch line: “It’s syllabub!”

Thanks to Jens Wiechers for suggesting hubbub.