Lovely, soft-sounding letter “l” is found in many of the “most beautiful” words in the English language.
In 1932, Wilfred Funk (son of the founder of Funk & Wagnalls) published his top 10 list of the most beautiful words in regard to both sound and meaning. Half of them contain an “l” – “lullaby, tranquil, luminous, golden, melody.”
Funk would add to his list
over time, including “chalice, marigold, jonquil, oriole, tendril, oleander,
amaryllis.”
Other literary titans suggested yet more “l” words, such as “lissome, lithe, leisure, lulu, plethora, lavender, mellifluous.”
American poet Louis Untermeyer once commented: “The most musical words seem to be those containing the letter ‘l’. I think, offhand, of such words as ‘violet, lake, laughter, willow, lovely’ and other such limpid and liquid syllables.”
There were even “two
votes” for the word “library.” The first came from Englishman Christopher
Hitchens, a journalist and author. His motion was seconded by Arthur Plotnik,
former editor of American Libraries magazine, the official publication of the
American Library Association, based in Chicago.
“When someone as keenly literate as Hitchens calls ‘library’ the most beautiful English utterance, one wants to stop and think about it, to roll the term around on the tongue, to consider what constitutes beauty in a word and how ‘library’ measures up,” Plotnick wrote.
Yet, in the end, Plotnick
acknowledges that “library” is just another “wallflower at the beauty ball.”
In search of the origin of “library,” Plotnick said: “We find ourselves worming into, of all places, a tree’s inner bark. Early Romans called such bark ‘liber,’ and they processed it to be used as a writing material. ‘Liber’ thus became the Latin’ word for paper and book.”
It seems logical that a collection of books would be called a “liberium?” “‘Liberry’ is a bonny little word, easy to say, without rupturing a lip muscle,” Plotnick asserted.
When encountered with a “br” combination as in “February,” the “r” is silent. It doesn’t work that way for some reason with “library.” You sound it out as “LIE-brair-ee.”
While we are stuck with the word “library,” librarians feel compelled to seek ever more terms to augment or displace it, Plotnick said.
“Unfortunately, most such terms are even clunkier, however aspirational,” he said. “Try putting one of these in a sonnet: Information center, media center, community collaboration space.”
The Greek word “biblio”
(for book), has gained some new traction in the modern library world, forming
“biblioteca” in both the Italian and Spanish languages. Librarians working
there are known as “bibliotecarios.”
“Imagine singing out a term with operatic possibilities,” Plotnick said. “‘Figaro, Figaro, bibliotecario!’ I would sing it all day.” “Bibliotecario” qualifies as an “l” word, with five syllables to boot.
Alas, many literary
scholars have sided with English fantasy writer J. R. R. Tolkien to deem
“cellar door” as the “most beautiful word,” merely because of euphony. One is
James Paradiso, who was a high school sophomore at Saint Peter’s Preparatory
School in Jersey City, N.J., in 2016, when he cited Tolkien’s work:
“Most English-speaking people, for instance, will admit that cellar door is ‘beautiful,’ especially if dissociated from its sense…more beautiful than, say, ‘sky’, and far more beautiful than ‘beautiful.’”
Plotnick responded: “‘Cellar door’ is lovely enough to the ear, and I would gladly use it as a name for a pet canary. But for bottom-line beautiful, I’m still voting, with Hitchens, for ‘library’ rather than the dank smell of a basement.”
Besides, two words against
one isn’t a fair fight.
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