Precision and enchantment

The devil is in the details

Dear reader,

What do the words ‘grammar’ and ‘glamour’ have to do with each other and why did their etymologies make me think of a statue of a Greek enchantress? For ‘grammar’ and ‘glamour’ are etymologically intertwined, and once had meanings that may surprise you.

Let’s start with ‘grammar’, a word with which most of us associate stodgy and dry rules pertaining to language. Actually, this was a meaning attached to it when it arrived in English in the 14th century. However, it had links to an Old French word meaning learning in general, including in subjects such as the occult and astrology:

“... late 14c., “Latin grammar, rules of Latin,” from Old French gramaire “grammar; learning,” especially Latin and philology, also “(magic) incantation, spells, mumbo-jumbo” (12c., Modern French grammaire)...” - etymonline.com

During the renaissance, alchemy, astrology, and the practice of magic were seen as respectable fields of knowledge. The etymonline.com website notes that ‘grammar’ could mean:

“... ‘learning in general, knowledge peculiar to the learned classes’, which included astrology and magic; hence the secondary meaning of “occult knowledge” (late 15c. in English), which evolved in Scottish into glamour”

(Notable figures in the history of science such as Tycho Brahe, Francis Bacon, and Isaac Newton all included the serious study of alchemy in their portfolios of expertise; Johannes Kepler was a skilled astrologer as well as astronomer).

Tacked on to the end of the sentence above is that word ‘glamour’ which originally meant ‘enchantment’ or ‘charm’. Over time the meaning of this word shifted into something meaning alluring, and we still call attractive people charming or enchanting even today - they cast a spell over us.

The Magic Circle, John William Waterhouse.

It’s not surprising, then, that when reading about the etymology of the word ‘glamour’ and thinking of enchanting enchantresses that I was reminded of the statue Circe by Bertram Mackennal, displayed in the National Gallery of Victoria.

Circe, Bertram Mackennal, 1893, Image sourced from National Gallery of Victoria.

While acknowledging the skill of the sculptor, I thought this statue was hilarious the first time I saw it twenty-something years ago. The NGV website notes that

“This life-size femme fatale was Mackennal’s largest work to date, and was clearly meant to make a daring proclamation.”

I still agree with my younger self that this ‘proclamation’ was a reflection on the confused feelings Bertram felt in his undies while he constructed this erotically powerful figure - was he terrified or titillated by the idea of a powerful nude working her glamour?

The sweaty palms and fevered imaginings of Victorian-era blokes aside, Circe is a beautifully rendered sculpture, detailed with precision. And it is perhaps this precision that reminded me of this:

“You have precision. Precision is not prissy, precision is the foundation of passion. Passion without precision: Chaos.” - One of the Devil’s lines from The Witches of Eastwick, screenplay by Michael Cristofer, based on the novel by John Updike.

As I wrestle with my own purple prose, replete with bad grammar and punctuation, I often think of that sentence from The Witches of Eastwick. If I want to convey something passionate, or inspiring, or enchanting, or charming, then I need to pay attention to the precision with which I use my words. And, for me, this means fixing up my own damned grammar. Because the devil - and the magic - is in the detail.

Thank you for reading.

In keeping with the occult theme of this post, I am going to give a shout-out to an earlier piece I posted about the magic of creativity. You can read it HERE.