King Edward the Eighth

King Edward the eighth peers plaintively through a tiny oval window at the bottom right hand corner of page 415 in my beloved American Heritage dictionary.  Exactly opposite him, on the bottom left hand corner of page 414 from an identical oval frame(so that, when the book is closed, the two must be in painfully close proximity there, face to face, in the darkness), looks Sir Anthony Eden.  Mr. Eden wears a firm, forthright expression which he must have cultivated in his pursuit of the power and prestige attendant the office of Prime Minister—Edward, a pained frightened look above the rigid sartorial pageantry of a ceremonial military uniform. Such a sad, frightened face held locked in position by the high collar and gold braid!  One is tempted to wonder if he was contemplating the abdication or, having abdicated, wondering if it had been worth it.

In any event, there they are, locked in awkward intimacy for as long as the 1550 pages (not counting thirty or so sundry title pages etc. including a “Table of Indo-European Sound Correspondences”)  of this handsome volume survive.

Being unable to remember how to spell embarrass, I’ve looked at the two of them many times on my way to page 425 where there is a wonderful picture in illustration of  Ulmus Americana (American elm).  It is a tiny picture of a magnificent Elm which, along with another, unidentified tree, frames the sharp gable of an old American farmhouse.  There too, can be found embarrass with two “r’s” and two “s’s”.

Because the list of words which I can’t remember how to spell is almost endless, I have hundreds of favorite (or some not so favorite) little thumbnail illustrations which I regularly stop to admire.  Page 735 has a hideous close up photo of the mouth of a lamprey eel but at the bottom of the page is a photo of the British Royal family in a landau.  (I used to have a very fancy car with a faux landau top.)  In fact, I’m struck by how many distinguished English figures boast little pictures in the margins of the American Heritage Dictionary in comparison to say, the Germans.  There is a portrait of Martin Luther high in the corner of 777 and Joe Louis shares 771 with Louis the fourteenth but, by and large, (I wonder what that really means), the English are significantly over represented, particularly from the late nineteenth century on, and I’m comfortable with that.

Actually I don’t get to the “L”s much (maybe I’m better at spelling “L” words) but, on page 762  I’m fond of the picture of Joseph Lister who always reminds me of Listerine, which is doubtless named after him, and always stop to marvel at how ugly Franz Liszt was.  Perhaps it was a picture of him late in life, but it is hard to imagine that visage inspiring swoons in the female audiences of that, or any other day.

I don’t dare wonder how many hours of my life I’ve spent in the enchanting land between aardvark (and who would have thought there was an aardwolf?) and the zucchini suspended under, and imperiled by the grotesque drawing of the Zygodactyl foot of a parrot just above it, on page1491, the proximity of which may have given Emile Zola the terrible headache he seems to have on 1490.  I don’t care how many hours there were because they were hours well spent and I’m grateful to the folks who created this treasure.

It has been at least five plus years since I wrote the above.  I have not used my dictionary in almost that many years.  The obvious, the inevitable, the “oh so human” happened and I gradually began to rely on the dictionary in my computer.  In fact, unlike my O.E.D. the American Heritage dictionary no longer has a place on the window sill next to my chair and, truth be told, that OED with its charming, rectangular magnifying glass (my OED is one of the miniaturized single volume affairs that require a magnifying glass) hasn’t been opened in a couple of years.

Such a loss in both cases!  I haven’t visited a single one of my illustrated friends in years.  Not once has an well crafted drawing of, say, a singletree or a crossbow or a miniature photo of a female contortionist resting on her forearms on a chair while glancing nonchalantly through her ankles which dangle backwards over her back beguiled me into turning just one page to see what’s on the other side.  So many quiet strolls I took through our culture and others as we see them, one more page, followed by just one more page.  The “onboard” dictionary or Wikipedia are so convenient, particularly when one types, as I do, on a lap board, and saves time.  I wonder what I did with the time I saved and if it was worth the loss of those strolls.  I doubt it.

Final post script.

It’s a few months later. The familiar red dictionary is back beside me and I am the richer for it.