As an introvert who loves books and words, I'm intrigued by The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows. In my younger days we played a game called Sniglets, which consisted of guessing and making up words for concepts that might have needed a word but didn't have one.
Examples include
mustgo, any item of food that has been sitting in the refrigerator so long it has become a science project.
profanitype, the special symbols and stars used by cartoonists to replace swear words (points, asterisks, stars, and so on).
You get the idea. Sniglet itself is a word of this sort, and the concept was coined by comedian Rich Hall. It reeks of Shakespeare, who I consider the original English wordsmith.
Enter The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows, by John Koenig.
I love this book, because it's a form of poetry. The first time I picked it up I didn't get the sniglet aspect of it, because like the whole book, the concepts it introduces aren't humorous; they're beautiful.
Take the simple looseleft, feeling a sense of loss upon finishing a good book, sensing the weight ofthe backcover locking away the lives of the characters you've gotten to know so well.
Here the derivation is obvious. That's not always the case, and finding the derivation isn't the point. The beauty of the book is in the descriptions of the words the author uses:
kairosclerosis, the moment you look around and realize that you're currently happy, –consequently trying to savor that feeling– which prompts your intellect to identify it, pick it apart, and put it in context, where it will slowly dissolve until it's little more than an aftertaste.
There's melancholy here. I found Koenig's book, appropriately, at the library. But it's on my list to pick up at my local, physical, bookstore.
It strikes me that there should be a word for this: the thrill you get being alone, in the quiet, surrounded by shelves of silent, beckoning books.
Have any of you read any books pertaining to books? How did you come across them?
by donquixote2000