“I’m reading the OED so you don’t have to. If you are interested in vocabulary that is both spectacularly useful and beautifully useless, read on...”

So reports Ammon Shea, the tireless, word-obsessed, and more than slightly masochistic author of Reading the OED. The word lover’s Mount Everest, the OED has enthralled logophiles since its initial publication 80 years ago. Weighing in at 137 pounds, it is the dictionary to end all dictionaries.

In 26 chapters (For each letter of the alphabet) filled with sharp wit, sheer delight, and a documentarian’s keen eye, Shea shares his year inside the OED. He provides a handful of his favorite words and his own humorous glosses, along with musings on the history of the OED, dictionaries in general, and his reading life. (He does most of his OED reading at the Hunter College Library and finds himself turning into one of those “Library People” as the year goes by.) He shares a number of words that, though they have fallen out of the common vocabulary, could be put to excellent use today: empleomania: “a manic compulsion to hold public office”; zabernism: “a misuse of military authority.” The book will happify (“make happy”) word and dictionary lovers, who will be able to read it in an hour or two, much less time than it takes to read the OED.

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I originally offered my copy at the BookObsessed's Book Swap, knowing that it's on my dear friend's wishlist. Sadly it got stolen from her just before the game ends. Imagine my joy when I find this copy at the library book sale! Yay!

I totally love this book! At first I thought it may be a little boring, reading a list of word definitions, but the author's humor makes it more fun. Not to mention that I share a kinship with the author, because as a kid, I read dictionary. It wasn't by choice but rather because that's the only non text book in my whole family collection. I would spend time sitting on the couch with the student version of OED in my lap, until the day a classmate's mom took me to a place called library. I haven't seriously read a dictionary since, but I always feel like they are a treasure chest, and whenever I open one up, I always end up reading more than one entry.

Some of my favorite entries from the book:

Elucubration (n.) Studying or writing by candlelight.
- From the Latin elucubrare (to compose by candlelight), elucubration is the word to describe staying up late while engaged in putatively productive endeavors, as opposed to just staying up late and watching TV.

Fard (v.) To paint the face with cosmetics, so as to hide blemishes.
- I suspect there is a reason no one ever gets up from the table and says, “Excuse me while I go to the ladies’ room and fard.” It seems to be very difficult to make a four-letter word that begins with f sound like an activity that is polite to discuss at the dinner table.

Gymnologize (v.) To dispute naked, like an Indian philosopher.
- There are only several plausible reasons I can think of for having an argument while naked, and none of them happens to involve Indian philosophers.

Introuvable (adj.) Not capable of being found, specifically of books.
Me thinking: No kidding, there IS a word for this? And does it mean it’s the books’ problem, not mine? I don’t have too many books, just some that happen to be sneaky and introuvable.

Unbepissed (adj.) Not having been urinated on; unwet with urine.
- Who ever thought there was an actual need for such a word? Is it possible that at some time there was such a profusion of things that had been urinated on that there was a pressing need to distinguish those that had not?

Wow, nice find at a library book sale! Thank you for the nice surprise, azuki.

I enjoyed this book, and picked up some new words that will be useful. Released now for someone else to enjoy.