passementerie and parthenogenesis and parthenocide and passivate and pastes and pavane and pathography

This essay will complete my treatment of the "pa's." Not all of the words that follow pullulate with difficulties, but most of them have interesting stories.

1. Parthenogenesis. There are several words beginnning with the word "parthenos" (virgin) which I would love to explore, even though the Collegiate only lists two words which use this root--parthenogensis and parthenocarpy (develpment of a fruit without prior fertilization). Parthenogenesis, by the way, is "reproduction without fertilization" or "asexual reproduction." The OED has a bundle of words beginning with "parthen", ranging from partheniad (a poem or song in honor of a virgin--don't laugh, these were quite common in the reign of the "virgin" queen Elizabeth I of England in the 16th century) to the seemingly impossible "parthenosperm" (what the heck is sperm doing in the virgin, so to speak?), but I like parthenology (the branch of gynecology dealing with virginity) and parthenolatry (worship of virgins or the Virgin Mary especially). I wonder why no one has invented the term parthenocide, since it seems to me virgins are always getting themselves killed in various myths...

2. Passementerie. Passament, in Old French, is a kind of lace or edging for clothes, and so passementerie are "edgings and trimmings, especially those made of gimp, braid, or the like." Pictures of these various trimmings--braids and tufts of thread, etc. can be found here (you have to click on the word "passementerie" at the bottom of the page). This is a difficult word but the only problem is that I think it was used last year or in 2004 and therefore is unlikely to be used in 2006. This is only a problem if you have a completely utilitarian view of learning.

3. Passivate. This is a terribly interesting word, even if the scientists seem to "own" it. It has a similar meaning in metallurgy and electronics, with its definition in the latter being "to coat (a semiconducting material) with relatively inert material in order to provide protection from contamination. In other words the concept is that by coating it, you are making it "passive" and thus "protecting" it. In this regard the concept of being passive is a positive notion, a notion of strength. Here is the leading online article on "How to Passivate Stainless Steel Parts," and it, too, stresses that passivation maximizes the corrosion resistance of the stainless steel. Again, something passive is something worth a lot. And, now that I think of it even more, the concept of "passive grace" in theology connotes something very positive, too. A passive grace is something received or suffered without resistance (e.g., turning the other cheek). Anglican theologian Jeremy Taylor could say: "Half the duty of the Christian in this life consists in the exercise of passive graces." Thus, maybe what our culture and we need is a good dose of passivity! Then we could take the verb passivate out of its scientific context and inject a humanistic tone to it. "The trials of life passivated him but did so by developing a sweetness of spirit and depth of human understanding that no 'success' could ever have brought." The word has possibilities, don't you think?

4. Pastis. This is a two syllable word, with "i" pronounced like long "e," and means a kind of French liquor. A 1992 quotation from Gourmet Magazine shows us where the word finds itself most comfortable: "I remember..murés (blackberries) that had been macerated in pastis and were served with creamy yogurt and a sprig of mint." Hold the fries, please.

5. Pavane. Another delightful word. It is a slow, stately dance originating in Italy or Spain in the 16th century. But it has been used most prominently in our day by science fiction writer Keith Roberts (admittedly not an author on my "to read" list) who wrote a book entitled Pavane. His novel presents what is known as "alternative history," that is, a kind of "what if?" history. What if Queen Elizabeth I had been assassinated in 1588 and rather than emerging victorious over the Spanish Armada in that year, England had lost to Spain? Well, as you might expect, we all would be speaking Spanish now, we would all be Catholics and, in Roberts' judgment, we would be living in technological backwardness because the Roman Catholic Church would have impeded progress. Ah, but why does he call his work Pavane, when a pavane is a dance? Because the series of stories he tells in his book are "linked" stories, and the pavane is a slow and stately dance from the sixteenth century where every step is prescribed and patterns move and return. Interlocking steps; interlocking stories. That, at least, explains the title. This explanation should not lead you to sell your real estate holdings and buy up the rights to Pavane; but you should know how to spell the word now.

6. Pathography, patten, patulous and paynim fill out our list. Time doesn't allow a detailed exposition of each, even though each clamors for recognition. Pathography represents a method of medical reporting going back to Hippocrates--the case report. A pathography is a narrative of one's illness or suffering, put together by the doctor. Though the word goes back in English usage to the early 20th century, a more modern variant of the word is autopathography, where the patient, as it were, takes over his or her own illness and describes it. Anatole Broyard's Intoxicated by My Illness is probably the premier example of this genre. A patten is a clog or sandal. Sorry I don't have time to tell you more about it. Paynim are pagans which, in antiquity, simply meant that they were not either Jews or Christians. Finally, something that is patulous is something open or stretched out. Usually used to describe flowers or plants, I love the most recent quotation cited in the OED (from 2001), even though it uses the term patulousness: "Perkins sways effortlessly from Marvin Gaye-type panache to Bob Marley-like patulousness." I wonder whether Marley's ghost would approve...

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