PARTISAN REVIEW
thing else--the extent to which one meaning of a word-if it has more
than one-prevails over others. In many cases the number of different
meanings is almost incredible. Those of
point,
for example, come to
55 and those of
run
to 109. The older dictionaries commonly list such
meanings in the order of their historical appearance in the language, but
Barnhart and his brethren, leaning on Thorndike and Lorge, give them
in the order of their frequency in current American speech.
This may seem to be a small matter, but it actually makes for
quick reference. Under
style,
for example, the inquirer first gets all the
definitions which have to do with fashions in clothing, modes of living,
and artistic matters before he hears that the word also means a pointed
instrument for etching, the gnomon of a sundial, and (to a botanist)
"a narrow, usually cylindrical and more or less filiform extension of the
ovary, which, when present, bears the stigma at its apex." Barnhart
seldom omits the lesser, more esoteric meanings, though his dictionary
does not pretend to be unabridged. In many cases, indeed, he 'gives more
meanings than Thorndike and Lorge seem to have encountered in their
texts, for he casts a far wider net than they used, and is especially strong
in scientific significances, many of them very recent.
In the case of nonce-words he is somewhat more cautious. When
they show signs of living for some time he lists them, e.g.,
jive
and
wise-crack,
but when they reveal an increasing pallor he rejects them,
e.g.,
goobledegook
and
globalony.
So with slang.
Sez you, lounge-lizard,
and
oh yeah
are
non est,
but
jam-session
and
to jaywalk
are both there,
and
sheik
is given in the apparently durable sense of "a masterful man
of irresistible romantic charm."
Charley-horse
is listed without apology,
though those learned in physic have a different name for it, and the
new medical terms are heavily represented, so that you will have to look
no further for
streptomycin, geriatrics, psychosomatic,
and
benadryl.
There is even some yielding to the reformed spelling with which the
resurrection men now entertain themselves, and you will find it in
sulfadiazine.
But
chlorine,
happily, is still
chlorine,
not
chlorin.
Barnhart gets rid of the difficulty presented by the ancient dirty
words by simply omitting them
en bloc-perhaps
a better plan, all things
considered, than the lame compromises attempted by other dictionary
editors. He even throws out the very mild one to be found in II Kings
18:27, lsa. 36: 12, and I Sam. 25:22, and the common Anglo-American
term for the gluteal cushion appears neither as
arse
nor as
ass.
However,
when he comes to
backside
and
behind
he prints
backside
and omits
behind,
though both were denounced as equally obscene by the Post Office
wowsers in the
Esquire
case. Here, I suppose, one may surmise that most
372
