Unique

A remarkable, uncommon, quite unique word

Don’t you hate it when people talk about something being very unique? I mean, either something’s unique or it isn’t, right?

Even the word’s etymology tells us this is so. It comes from the Latin unicus, “only, single, sole, alone of its kind”. You don’t get much more definitive than that.

In English, unique dates back to the 17th century when we nicked it off the French. Originally little used, it began appearing in a meaningful way in the late 1800s, and really took off between 1940 and 1960, the era of my birth, make of that what you will (and trust me, I already have).

In fact, so neglected in the early days was this decidedly useful word that when the Reverend Henry Todd was preparing the 1818 edition of Johnson’s Dictionary, he described it as a foreign word that was both affected and useless.

Between sermons and ministering to his flock, Todd was a prolific scholar, publishing at least 24 notable works between 1793 and 1839. He also contributed to a four-volume work on the history of Kent and wrote regularly for the Gentleman’s Magazine, another endeavour in which he followed in Johnson’s footsteps.

If you’ll forgive me a second digression, the Gentleman’s Magazine, launched in 1731, was the first publication to dub itself a magazine. Its motto, E pluribus unum (Out of many, one) is believed to have inspired the citizens of the United States to adopt it as their nation’s unofficial motto. It was first proposed there in 1776 as the Great Seal was being developed and began appearing on New Jersey coins in 1786 and US currency in 1795. In 2007, one-dollar coins were printed without the inscription and quickly became collectibles.

The Great Seal of the United States and the offending one-dollar coin, sans motto on its edge.

As for what unique means, etymonline.com speaks for many people when it describes the modern sense of “remarkable, uncommon” (which first showed up in the mid 1800s) as “erroneous”. Bill Bryson, in his 1984 Penguin Dictionary of Troublesome Words declared “unique means the only one of its kind. It is incomparable. One thing cannot be more unique than another.”

A mere five years later, however, Webster’s Dictionary of English Usage took the opposite view, stating: “Those who insist that unique cannot be modified by such adverbs as more, most, and very are clearly wrong: our evidence shows that it can be and frequently is modified by such adverbs.”

I’m with Webster’s, for a couple of reasons. First, usage always wins out over logic. If enough people use unique as a relative rather than absolute term, then that’s what it is – a relative term. It’s like what one of my favourite sports writers, the late Terry McLean, said of a try in a rugby test match that the replays showed probably hadn’t been scored. Was it really a try then? asked McLean. Of course, he continued, the referee awarded it. His point was simple: a try isn’t a try unless the referee says so, and the referee’s saying so is what makes it a try.

Likewise, how people use words is what determines what those words mean.

Here’s my second reason for siding with Webster’s: language isn’t maths. I get the binary logic that Bryson’s appealing to. Either you’re pregnant or you’re not; there are no in-between states. Unless, of course, you’re heavily pregnant.

We use language all the time (oops, I mean frequently) in this “illogical” way for emphasis, humour and probably other reasons too. Like the mum who says to her in-trouble teen, “You are soooooo grounded, buddy”, or the rebellious dieter who says “I am so eating that cake!” In neither case is the teen more grounded than they would have been, or the cake about to get more eaten. And only someone with no ear for the language would say that either speaker is “really” saying either of those things.

Calling common usages “wrong” is futile in my mind. What may be useful, though, is to make a distinction between formal and informal usage, or what linguists call register. There’s a time to mind your linguistic p’s and q’s, and there’s a time to dress down a little. You’re free to choose when to do which, and – if you’re grown up about it – accept the consequences each time.

That’s my opinion. And I think I’m fairly unique in holding it.

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Bits and specious

RIP Cormac McCarthy, the bleakest most beautiful writer I’ve ever read since William Faulkner. His postapocalyptic novels are my antidote to cheerful optimism about the future of humanity, and if No Country for Old Men isn’t one of the greatest movie interpretations of a stunning story ever, I don’t know what is.

Javier Bardem, who played the relentless killer Anton Chigurh in that movie, wasn’t a fan of the naff haircut he was forced to sport. “I’m not going to get laid for two months,” he quipped.

James Baldwin was one of the most important writers of the 20th century and a powerful voice in the US civil rights movement. He also had great taste in music. Here’s a playlist of the records found in his home the year of his death in 1987.

Reader Max Johns wrote in after last week’s newsletter on commonly abused words, “I really hope that you already know the story of Giraffedata. He is 910th on Wikipedia's list of people who have made the most edits. Current total: 91,877. Almost the only thing he has done is remove the phrase “comprised of”. Thanks for the pointer, Max.

In that vein, I trust that Giraffedata is neither a meatpuppet nor a sockpuppet.

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Quote of the week

Even if you learn to speak correct English, to whom are you going to speak it?
Clarence Darrow