Latin Root Word Origins of The Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote de la Manch: Post II

Welcome back fans of Latin roots as they relate to English vocabulary words, and great talks about life-changing books, with a focus on great literature! In this series that I'm offering, I am expounding upon books that have made an impression upon myself and many other readers, and the Latin root words inherent in their English titles. My last post saw a thorough explication of Eca's The Relic, a hugely entertaining work by an author who deserves to be much better known. Today I will write concerning The Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote de la Mancha, and focus on the etymology of the words "gentleman" and "ingenious," and related SAT vocabulary words:

Gentleman: Originally, if a boy was of gentle birth, he came from a good and wealthy ‘family;’ since he was therefore gentle, or a ‘gentleman,’ he treated others courteously, a meaning which later evolved into being ‘tender,’ which is a courteous way to treat others. 

Genteel: A "genteel" person is of "gentle" birth, and thus is supposed to act in a chivalrous fashion, although this certainly was and is not always the case!

Jaunty: Someone from a good ‘family,’ i.e., one of ‘noble’ birth, often acted with a ‘confident air’ due to her or his high social status. 

Ingenious: Ingenium—inherent talent, clever device Someone who is "ingenious" has an "inherent talent" in a certain aspect, or is able to "cleverly devise" "ingenious" solutions to thorny problems.

Ingenuous: don't confuse the word "ingenuous," which comes from the Latin Ingenuus—honest, generous, free-born, and "ingenious."  One who is "ingenuous" is an "honest, open, candid, or frank" soul, who is completely lacking in guile.

Disingenuous: the opposite of "ingenuous."  Especially don't trust the ingenious disingenuous ones...they can have you tied up in knots in no time at all.  I would have to say that Iago, Judge Holden (of Blood Meridian) and Satan (of Paradise Lost) fit into this category...and my seventh-grade, green-haired, "you have to do extra credit even if you have a 100% in my class to get an A, because A students all do extra credit" 7th-grade "teacher."  OK...I got a B+ in that class because I didn't do extra credit, but, for the record, I had a 100% average.   So you can keep on reading my blogs with confidence.

Note that all the above words ultimately stem from the Latin Gigno, gignere, genui, genitum—to bring forth, give birth, produce.  Can you see why??? 

Commentary on The Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote de la Mancha

     Don Quixote, as Harold Bloom says in Genius, “plays a deep game with reality.”  I’m not really sure if he actually believes that the barber’s basin is really the Helm of Mambrino, or if the “peerless” Dulcinea is enchanted (throughout the entire 940 Grossman translated novel, DQ never sees Dulcinea except in her “enchanted” state as a rough peasant girl, and then I was unsure if this was even Aldonza), or if the magical potion to cure all ills really would work, or if the windmills are actually giants, or if the puppets in the play are actually real and must be vanquished because if they aren’t, then the dastardly Moors will seize the Christians.  Has he been completely bamboozled by his books on knight errantry, so that he sees a different level of reality than everyone else does, or is he choosing to create his world, irrespective of what everyone else perceives, and thereby forcing them to adopt his world vision?  In the Duke’s castle, do he and all his cronies trick him, or does he trick them into playing within the confines of his world?  Is Altisidora fooling DQ, or is DQ inveigling her to play along in his world?  Does Sancho Panza finally come around to the “sanity” of his master as he becomes governor, playing at that position until he no longer can stand it, simply because he is unable to convince others to play his game, as his master can so easily do?  Is that why Sancho gets beat up so often, because DQ is so believable to the point that people are drawn into his madness so that they do indeed begin to see another reality?  Or is the Duke and company simply having a lot of fun along the way?  How can DQ be so lucid except with regards to knight errantry?  Does he not create the last and the greatest knight of them all, living within his own book instead of simply passively writing one, as all other authors would do?  And is not that much more effective?  Just what kind of a game is he playing?  This reminds me in a way of Quantum Mechanics, in the sense that the observer creates reality, and precedes the existence of that reality.  If DQ “observes” Dulcinea as peerless, does she not indeed become peerless?  If he performs strange acts for her in the mountains, such as doing handstands or cartwheels with no clothes on the lower half of his body, do those acts not justify her unquestionable beauty that is above all others?  When Carrasco comes after him twice, has he not transformed him into both the Knight of the Mirrors and the Knight of the White Moon, as has he not become better the second time, as he defeats the greatest knight in the world?  Does not the charisma of DQ indeed transmogrify reality, not only of his own vision, but of all others, especially, eventually, of Sancho Panza, who does get his governorship and his highly coveted insula, not to mention his ducados?  What else, indeed, could be going on?

     I have never laughed so hard as in the first part of this novel; I think that my family thought I was crazy as I was sitting on the porch, guffawing until the tears came, especially when SP is drinking the potion which is supposed to cure his cracked ribs, and only makes him violently throw up.  Does SP go through so much and suffer the worst punishments because he doesn’t believe as much as his master does? 

     This novel is uninterpretable, and is the best that I have ever read in terms of just what Don Quixote is doing with his life.  And that brings me to my own life.  Can I, too, quixotically, create my own life, and influence those around me in a positive way?  Absolutely!  Belief is a strong, strong phenomenon, and that which one believes is one’s world, irregardless of “reality,” which, Platonically, is but a shadow, whereas how the mind perceives that reality, how it noetically shapes it, lies at the foundation of one’s world and how one views it; I, also, think that that consciousness can also transform it, but, like Sancho Panza, we will take many knocks along the way until we become the best knight errant of them all, the master of transforming this malleable because perceivable thing called reality…which is the stuff whereby we not only live, but can live happily or sadly.  How about creating the former, and if the latter happens along the way, surely it can be interpreted positively, such as an evil enchanter who is hounding one that one cannot foil because they are legion?  DQ does make it through all of his trials, never wavering from the code of the knight errant, and survives nicely intact, even though he goes through so many improbable and potentially fatal encounters.  Why worry when one cannot control these evil enchanters?  Live, try your hardest, don’t take anything personally, endure pain and suffering, and live true to oneself, and one’s reality will be transformed into something glorious.

    I feel like I could continue writing about the Don forever, but alas! Evil enchanters pursue me…off to the fight!

     Looking for a great edition of Don Quixote?  Go no further than Edith Grossman.  Her prose is as lucid and as faithful to the Old Spanish as I've seen to date. 

Fascinated with English vocabulary words? Want to pick them apart into their constituent Greek and Latin roots? Want to know even more SAT and GRE words that come from the Latin root words Gigno, gignere—to bring forth, give birth, produce? Studying hard for the SAT or GRE verbal section, and just can't get a handle on all of those vocabulary words, which are truly legion? Check out www.wordempire.com, where you will find the most comprehensive Greek and Latin roots dictionary available today, and also the most beautiful...it's in full color, and artistically designed. There's even a Greek and Latin roots poster available, which nicely illustrates the full power of what Greek and Latin root words can do for you.

Latin roots of The Relic by Eca de Queiroz

Welcome back fans of Latin roots as they relate to English vocabulary words, and great talks about life-changing books, with a focus on great literature! In this series that I'm offering, I am expounding upon books that have made an impression upon myself and many other readers, and the Latin root words inherent in their English titles. Last week I took a look at the word origins of Leo Tolstoy's War and Peace. This week I shall expound upon Eca's The Relic, a hugely entertaining work by an author who deserves to be much better known. I will focus on the etymology of the word "relic," and then move on to some commentary about certainly one of the more satirically funny novels of all time. Taking a look at the Latin roots of the word relic, we come to the following two Latin roots:

Linquo, linquere, liqui—to leave, abandon, forsake {lic, lict, liqu}

relic: A "relic" is something "left behind" as an artifact for other people to cherish. Saint's relics, for instance, were huge items in the Middle Ages...many of which were fakes, like pig's bones.

relinquish: To "leave back" for someone else. When you "relinquish" an item, you abandon it to another.

delinquent: If you are delinquent in paying your taxes, you have forsaken paying them on time.

derelict : A derelict ship is one that has been "left or abandoned" because it is not longer of service.

reliquary: A reliquary is often a highly-decorated vessel for holding sacred objects, such as relics, or things that have been "left behind" in the past that now have great intrinsic and usually religious value.

The Relic

Eca de Queiroz

The Relic was, in parts, hilarious and filled with wry, ironic humor, especially concerning the hypocrisy of Teodorico as he proclaims his religious fervor and abstinence in the presence of his rich Aunt Patrocinio, while he secretly is a debauchee, having numerous affairs with women, the sexual act of which his aunt abhors. Aunt Patrocinio reminded me of a dried, rancid leek, kind of like Chaucer’s reeve tripled. Aunt P was also highly hypocritical, as she cared very little for people or the message of Christ, of love and forgiveness, but rather only loved the specious worshiping of images of Christ. Eca and Teodorico cannot stand this, and so T goes about during the day concocting delicious fabrications of how holy he is, which are completely outrageous in their unctuous exaggeration, but Aunt P swallows them whole because she so wants to delude herself. Anyway, T is doing this simply because he wants Auntie to make her his heir, and thus must appear as chaste and fervent as possible while she is alive, all so that he can inherit all that money and move to the brothels of Paris which is where is really wants to live. He accedes to his Aunt’s wish to bring back a holy relic from Palestine, so off he goes, landing first on his travels to Alexandria, where he promptly has an affair with Maria, and before he leaves she gives him her red nightdress, which T keeps wrapped up in a package as a remembrance or relic from her. At this point, the novel turns into a phantasmagoria of sorts, as T witnesses Jesus’s interrogation, incarceration, and crucifixion (with even a mention of the crurifragio of the other two victims who had not died). This went on for some time, was quite interesting, but did not have the verve and ironic, humorous flair of the parts with T and his diabolical Auntie. During this time he finds and has fashioned for him a Crown of Thorns, which magically "becomes" The Crown of Thorns, the major relic which he is going to hand to his Aunt which will secure his rightful place as spotless heir (he needs to become like her conception of the Church, a walking, allegorical Church, as it were, because Auntie wants to give all of her money to that!). He also gets almost every other conceivable relic, including nails from Noah’s Ark, potsherds from the jug that Mary Magdalene carried, etc. etc. He cannot believe that his scholarly companion Topsius says that he can claim the Crown of Thorns to be the legitimate one, to which Topsius replies: “The value of Relics, Dom Raposo, lies not in their authenticity but in the faith that they inspire. You can tell your Auntie that it was the Crown of Thorns.” On the return home he wishes to deflower a certain nun he sees that he saw previously, whom he then sees again as her boat crosses his on the way back to Lisbon, but he declines, telling himself that it is silly for him to even think about it. He gives what he believes to be the dress to a poor woman, and then arrives trimphantly home, having had a rather blustery case of nikhedonia during the boat ride. Everyone lauds him, but when the unveiling of the Great Relic occurs, T and Auntie are both horrified to discover that it is not, after all, the Crown of Thorns, but Mary’s red nightdress! Completely befuddled and horrified by the dress of a prostitute, Auntie throws T out of the house. T ends up marrying fairly well, but never gains that vast richness that he could have had; he does get by by selling all of his paraphernalia from his journeys, and then simply concocts with materials at hand, at one point having sold 75 nails from the crucifixion. At the end of the novel, T laments that he did not have, upon the unveiling of the scarlet dress and Mary’s note, that he had not possessed the courage to lie, lacked the “shameless heroism to lie.” A couple interesting notes. T begins telling the truth after he has a visit, in the form of a ghostly Christ, of his Conscience, who tells him that he is the progenitor of all religious faiths; believing this, he ruthlessly does not lie again, even when he thinks that that act will not allow him to get what he wants (despite the fact that he does rue the fact at the very end of the novel that he had not had the courage to do the very thing that he refused to do now.). In his new telling of truth, he does end up being wealthy via Crispim, who appreciates his honesty. Then, after saying that he had not had the “shameless heroism to lie,” which “is responsible for creating all sciences and religions (cf. Joseph Knecht), he realizes that if he had said that the dress was the dress of Mary Magdalene, no one would have doubted him, and that religious scholars and scientists would have researched and culled legions of information from that dress, inferring all incorrect information that nevertheless would have been stamped with irrefutable authority (with the implication that much of what we believe today has undergone a similar process of ballooning from an outright but rationalized lie). Indeed, T knows that he would have been celebrated by the Universities and beloved by the Church, and would have been fabulously wealthy into the bargain. It is interesting to know that T is reformed, even though he does regret his lack of heroism, but that reformation seems to have no lesson and T never discusses why this is a good thing, it just seems to happen because he promised that it would, and that ironically if he had lied, then he would have been certain of his place in the Celestial City.

     The Relic is hard to find.  At this point in time it is not in print.  Probably Eca's two best works, however, are Cousin Bazilio and The Maias.  Find links to them below.  These are both adult reads, as is The Relic. 

Fascinated with English vocabulary words? Want to pick them apart into their constituent Greek and Latin roots? Want to know even more words that come from the Latin root words Linquo, linquere, liqui—to leave, abandon, forsake? Studying hard for the SAT or GRE verbal section, and just can't get a handle on all of those vocabulary words, which are truly legion? Check out www.wordempire.com, where you will find the most comprehensive Greek and Latin roots dictionary available today, and also the most beautiful...it's in full color, and artistically designed. There's even a Greek and Latin roots poster available, which nicely illustrates the full power of what Greek and Latin root words can do for you.

Latin Root Word Origins of Tolstoy's War and Peace

Welcome back fans of Latin roots as they relate to English vocabulary words, and great talks about life-changing books, with a focus on great literature! In this series that I'm offering, I am expounding upon books that have made an impression upon myself and many other readers, and the Latin root words inherent in their English titles. Last week I took a look at the word origins of Italo Calvino's book The Nonexistent Knight, which, next to Don Quixote, is one of the funniest books I've ever read, and most certainly one of the strangest. This week I shall expound upon Leo Tolstoy's War and Peace, focusing on the etymology of the word "peace," and then moving on to some commentary about certainly one of the great novels of all time. Taking a look at the Latin roots of the word peace, we come to the following two Latin roots:

Pax, pacis—peace {pay, peac, peas}

Paciscor, pacisci, pactus sum—to agree, make a bargain

Let's look now at some of the general, SAT, and GRE vocabulary words that come from these roots:

pay: To pay is etymologically to make ‘peace’ with a merchant after receiving a product; we all know what happens when we do not pay our bills!

pacify: to "make peace" with someone is to "pacify" him

appease: to "appease" someone is also to "make peace" with her, or to calm or soothe her

pacifist: a "pacifist" is a "peacemaker," that is, someone who does not want to war with anyone. She or he is a proponent of "pacifism."

pact: a "pact" is an agreement between two people; when you agree with someone else, you etymologically "make peace" with them

compact: an "agreement with: another person; note the Latin-based prefix "com," root word of such SAT vocabulary items as commiserate, compassion, compliance, and commensurate. For more English vocabulary words that come from this prolific Latin prefix, check out www.wordempire.com, a site where you can find the most comprehensive Latin roots dictionary of English vocabulary words available today.

Now on to Leo Tolstoy's seminal work, War and Peace.

Immense. This novel cannot and should not really be termed a novel, at least not in today’s sense of the novel, which can be practically anything that publishers think can make money. Rather, is should be denominated a “trans” or “supra” novel, because it almost, in parts, seemed more real than life itself, almost as if nature herself wrote it. So many insights into human nature are bruited with great wisdom and perspicacity; such complexities of every sort of human conduct and interrelationship are untied in a true Gordian knot fashion. It’s almost as if Tolstoy somehow knew all the secrets of human nature, and was able to expound upon them, bringing them to light. I was particularly struck by the meaninglessness of it all; the senseless slaughter of war, the silliness of the young men who want to go to war, caught up in an isopraxis of startling dimensions, only realizing what war was really like when they ineluctably pay a visit to the hospital. During Manichaeanistic glimpses in the novel, one saw the meaning of life among the poshlost of war (quite Gogolian, really)—one soldier, Prince Andrew, I believe, was shot, and is lying on the field after Austerlitz (I think). He opens his eyes and perceives the clarity of the sky above him, melting, as it were, into it, and becoming one with it, and is truly surprised at himself that he has never noticed that before (a great example of yogic attention, nearing samadhi). Somehow the approach of eternity via leaving this bardo brings him towards the revelation. Peacetime pursuits are just as inane for the most part as the bellicose undertakings, although the maturation and change of Pierre is one very noticeable and encouraging part; he becomes human, being able to throw off the dross of society (as Percival lost his humanity with Gornemant de Goort, thereby failing at the Grail Castle). Kutuzov, the supreme commander of the Russian forces, is an island onto himself, is ridiculed as doing nothing, but then his wisdom is later apprehended—sometimes the noetic convictions of true geniuses are not cognizable by the masses, such as in the instant when Kutuzov realizes that he need do nothing at all to defeat the retreating French—they are auto-destructing, and yet the soldiers about him feel, or are coerced by that “je ne sais quois” into doing something, when the doing should have been nothing at all. Sometimes doing nothing is the best policy, although this is not readily cognizable by the mediocre mind. Napoleon, the buffoon, is a Hitler of sorts, a monster who is directly responsible for the deaths of hundreds of thousands—or, as Tolstoy argues, was he really? Or was the power that moved the French and the Russians alike unknown, and indeed beyond epistemological rigor, making Napoleon a mere puppet, thereby making him more foolish than ever, since he doesn’t even realize it? And in his heart of hearts feels guilty causelessly? Sometimes the force that moves nations is beyond even the most charismatic.

War and Peace was an event. It taught me that much will happen during one’s life, warlike and tranquil, and to be prepared for almost anything, such as Natasha losing Prince Andrew because of her momentary madness over the popinjay Anatole, which then precipitates the Prince’s weltschmerz, which causes him to be wounded, which later causes the grief of Natasha and Princess Mary, which then allows Pierre to marry Natasha, the only woman he has ever loved (how could one love Helene?).

The best scene in the novel was the fatuous Pierre “observing” the war, much as the American Civil War was attended by picnickers, although he does become seriously transformed by this, especially after he is wounded, so his silliness transmutes to wisdom (was this his purification from fatuousity?).

I don’t know how Tolstoy did it. This was a simply gripping novel—some of the characters were alive in their own right, and are still alive (like what Shakespeare could do, especially with Hamlet, Falstaff, and Rosalind).

Pierre, in a moment of fulgurous insight, realized that, no matter how hard one might try, one can never convince another person to change his thoughts or his conduct (except a child). Hence, whenever he spoke with people, he simply observed them, smilingly, without trying to expostulate with them. This seems to me an excellent and non-aggressive way to live—Ryle Hira, or Buddhistic acceptance of others, with an ironic smile, of course!!

Take a gander at War and Peace, but get a good translation. I find that David Magarshack and especially the dynamic duo of Larissa Volokhonsky and Richard Pevear are nonpareil.

Fascinated with English vocabulary words? Want to pick them apart into their constituent Greek and Latin roots? Want to know even more words that come from the Latin root words pax, pacis and paciscor, and most especially the prolific prefix cum? Studying hard for the SAT or GRE verbal section, and just can't get a handle on all of those vocabulary words, which are truly legion? Check out www.wordempire.com, where you will find the most comprehensive Greek and Latin roots dictionaryavailable today, and also the most beautiful...it's in full color, and artistically designed. There's even a Greek and Latin roots posteravailable, which nicely illustrates the full power of what Greek and Latin root words can do for you.

Latin Root Word Origins of Italo Calvino's The Nonexistent Knight

Welcome back fans of Latin roots as they relate to English vocabulary words, and great talks about life-changing books, with a focus on great literature! In this series that I'm offering, I am expounding upon books that have made an impression upon myself and many other readers, and the Latin root words inherent in their English titles. Let's look today at the great Italian writer Italo Calvino's book The Nonexistent Knight, which, next to Don Quixote, is one of the funniest books I've ever read, and most certainly one of the strangest.

The word nonexistent comes from the Latin verb existere: to come forth, be, come into being, a compound verb of the Latin verb sistere, stand firm, stand still, both of which are the source of the following SAT vocabulary words:

consistent: If one exhibits consistent excellence, one etymologically ‘thoroughly stands firm’ in that laudable behavior.

subsist: When one "subsists" on the bare minimum, she "stands firm under" a small amount of sustenance. Note the Latin prefix sub, which I chatted about in my last blog entry which discussed the word origins of Crime and Punishment. "Subsistent" is the related adjective.

irresistible: Etymologically "not capable of standing back," that is, something that one must have, and cannot "stand firm" against.

desist: As in "stand firm from," as in stopping oneself from doing something, from the common phrase "cease and desist."

coexist: When people can "coexist," they can live together peacefully, from the Latin prefix cum with, together, thoroughly, the spelling of which gives us the following SAT word list: coagulate, coerce, cohesive, cohort, coherent, coalesce, etc. For more English vocabulary words that come from this prolific Latin prefix, check out www.wordempire.com, a site where you can find the most comprehensive Latin roots dictionary of English vocabulary words available today.

consist: When something "consists" of a particular ingredient, like dark chocolate for instance (eat dark chocolate, my friends; not only does it taste great, but it's very good for you...try cacao content of at least 70% or above; Green and Black's makes an excellent organic variety!), it "thoroughly stands firm" in it. Note the Latin prefix "con," which is yet another spelling permutation of the Latin preposition, cum, giving us the following SAT vocabulary word list: concord, congregate, conglomeration, concomitant, contemptuous, etc. etc.: for more, check out where you can find the most extensive list of SAT vocabulary available.

Now, on to iItalo Calvino's rather unusual work, The Nonexistent Knight.

Agilulf is a knight who owns a beautiful white set of armor, with an iridescent plume, but does not exist; i.e., there is just a suit of armor walking around. Nevertheless, Agilulf does talk, think, fight, and strictly follow the code of chivalry of the paladins (douzepers) of Charlemagne, King of the Franks, to the great annoyance of all the other knights, who, once off the field of silliness called war (where, in a great comic scene, translators rush about from Infidel to Christian, making sure that insults are properly understood), are quite slovenly and lackadaisical. Despite the fact that Agilulf doesn’t exist, Bradamante, a knight with a periwinkle robe and superior puissance, who is also a woman because she was attracted by the ideals of knighthood, falls madly in love with him; she has become bored with the battle/bedding routine every night, and disillusioned by the glaring imperfection of all the existing knights. The narrator, a nun in a convent who is writing the story about Agilulf as a penance and as a path to perfection, says that Agilulf apparently came to life from sheer willpower on his part, or perhaps as the crystallization of the wills of all those people who exist who will themselves not to, i.e., spend meaningless lives of no renown whatsoever, and therefore melt away into nonexistence (a veiled allusion, perhaps, to the yogic notion of putting a carapace, or armor, over one's true self, and always and never not revealing the false self as a protective mechanism); Agilulf is therefore the decoction, as it were, of all the nebulousness of squandered wills and unlived lives. He does yearn to have a body, and does things, such as dine, even though he eats nothing; at one of Charlemagne’s great feasts, he spends hours upon hours cutting up his food and transferring it from dish to dish, all the while carrying on with captious remarks as the other paladins attempt to recount their glorious exploits in war (and failing utterly as Agilulf is there to remind them of what really happened, a glorious and highly comic scene). At one such banquet, his right to bear arms is questioned, as one squire named Torrismund indicates that indeed the woman Agilulf rescued from defilement was actually not a virgin, but his mother! Agilulf is incensed, and goes on a quest to find Sophronia, the woman he saved; Raimbaut, an enterprising young idealist who has joined the Frankish army, follows as well, as he is madly in love with Bradamante, who had already left to follow her beloved but nevertheless nonexistent Agilulf. Torrismund goes to find his father, the order of the Knights of the Grail, who are his “collective father;” i.e., one day Sophronia was out in the woods, came upon the knights, and came back pregnant. Agilulf clears his name, although when he returns a misunderstanding is bruited that is immediately cleared up, although not before Agilulf flees into the woods; later, after a knight has found him (Raimbaut), all that is left is his armor, so Raimbaut dons it, sees Bradamante, who thinks it is Agilulf returning at long last to her, and she gives herself to him, with her eyes closed, muttering all the time that she knew love was possible between them (even thought Agilulf is nonexistent); post coition, she opens her eyes, sees that her lover is really Raimbaut, and screams, telling him to leave at once. Agilulf is never seen again, although his squire, Gurduloo, whom everyone in the world seems to know of, except by different names, searches for him for evermore, looking in any container—the last scene of this was Gurduloo looking into an empty bottle, calling out Agilulf’s name. The nun, who has given us interesting anecdotes about her convent, is revealed at the end as Bradamante! Who, when she hears a horse’s hooves clattering upon the flagstones of the convent, looks out the window and sees her very own Raimbaut coming for her, and she gladly runs off to be with him once more (a rather startling turn of events, especially considering her former highly negative reaction to Raimbaut).

To only parade about in one's false self, and not even knowing what one's true self is, is more nonexistent than Agilulf himself,who seems much more real than most of the existent knights. If indeed one does but follow rules that society sets upon one, one indeed does not exist, but is merely a formulation of a code of societal conduct. 

     A fine edition of The Nonexistent Knight,which also includes The Cloven Viscount, is listed below. 

Fascinated with English vocabulary words? Want to pick them apart into their constituent Greek and Latin roots? Want to know even more words that come from the Latin root words existere and sistere, and most especially the prolific prefix cum? Studying hard for the SAT or GRE verbal section, and just can't get a handle on all of those vocabulary words? Check out www.wordempire.com, where you will find the most comprehensive Greek and Latin roots dictionary available today, and also the most beautiful...it's in full color, and artistically designed. There's even a Greek and Latin roots poster available, which nicely illustrates the full power of what Greek and Latin root words can do for you.

Latin Root Word Origins of Dostoyevksy's Crime and Punishment

Welcome back fans of Latin roots as they relate to English vocabulary words, and great talks about life-changing books! In this series that I'm offering, I am expounding upon books that have made an impression upon myself and many other readers, and the Latin root words inherent in their English titles. Let's look today at Crime and Punishment, a seminal novel with a very tricky ethical impasse.

The word punishment come from the Latin verb punire: to punish, which is the source of the following SAT vocabulary words:

subpoena: When one is "subpoenaed" to a court of law, one must show up under threat of punishment (if one doesn't go), via the Latin noun poena: punishment, penalty and the preposition sub: under, below, host of a legion of English vocabulary words, such as subterranean and subjugate.

impunity: When one does something with "impunity," one does not fear any "punishment" arising from one's actions.

punitive: A "punitive" action by a judge is one that "punishes" someone for doing something.

repentant: When one is "repentant" one is sorry for what one has done, and is etymologically being "punished" during this time of remorse. Via the Latin paenitens: regretting. One can also be unrepentant, penitent (undergoing penitence, or a punishment for an action), and penitential.

pine: The English word "pain" also comes from the Latin root word for "punish;" pain is a form of bodily punishment that one has to take when one has a malady. To "pine" for someone is to long greatly for them because they are not present; one feels "pain" in one's heart. To "repine" is also to yearn after something one does not have; this is a more difficult GRE vocabulary word.

Now, on to Fyodor Dostoyevksy's great novel, Crime and Punishment.

In this novel, Raskolnikov, a poor but brilliant medical student, has a relative, a fabulously wealthy old woman, who does no good for society at all, but simply hoards her wealth. Raskolnikov, whose potential to become an excellent doctor is vast, reasons to himself that if he had the old woman's money, he would be able to do better things with it because he would be able to become a doctor, and thereby heal many sick people. The old woman is parsimonious and will give him no financial aid, so he resolves to kill her, which he does eventually do, along with a witness that he did not count on having to kill as well. This ethical dilemma seems somewhat reasonable on the surface, that is, why have someone who is worthless to society have all that money who is doing no good at all with it, and have someone who could be immensely valuable to society and save many lives be thwarted because they have no means? At first blush this sounds very reasonable; however, the primary issue here is of identity. Yogic creeds teach us that we are not our mind, feelings, or body, but rather that we are something much vaster, and indeed are not separate from the rest of the people that surround one, and so, from a yogic perspective, Raskolnikov is mistaken in thinking that his obsessive focus on money forms his identity, and in doing away with the old woman he is actually doing away with himself, as he is not separate from her. So, although to our rational minds and maybe even to our humanitarian feelings Raskolnikov is justified in what he does, from a perspective of the "true self," that is, that which is, at essence, undifferentiated and nonindividuated from the rest of humanity, the doing away with the "useless" old woman is ethically wrong (ethical relativism aside here) because she is an incarnated soul just like the rest of us.
     Probably the best pair of translators into Russian these days is Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky.  Their translations of Russian literature are truly nonpareil.  Take a gander at their Crime and Punishment; even if you've already read this seminal work, it's well worth reading again by such an astounding pair. 

Fascinated with English vocabulary words? Want to pick them apart into their constituent Greek and Latin roots? Want to know even more words that come from the Latin root word punire, and most especially the prolific prefix sub? Studying hard for the SAT or GRE verbal section, and just can't get a handle on all of those vocabulary words? Check out www.wordempire.com, where you will find the most comprehensive Greek and Latin roots dictionary available today, and also the most beautiful...it's in full color, and artistically designed. There's even a Greek and Latin roots poster available, which nicely illustrates the full power of what Greek and Latin root words can do for you.

Latin roots of Don Quixote

Welcome back fans of Latin roots as they relate to English vocabulary words, and great talks about life-changing books! In this series that I'm offering, I am expounding upon books that have changed my life, and the Latin root words inherent in their English titles. Let's look today at Don Quixote, most likely the greatest novel ever written.

The word Don, or "lord" comes from the Latin root word dominus, which means "lord" or "master." A virtual bevy of great SAT and GRE words comes from this root, including the following English words:

domineering: when one is "domineering," one is trying to lord it over others, or trying to completely master them
demesne: a "demesne" is that land or property that a "master" owns, basically the same word as "domain," or that area of land over which one is a "master."
dominion: the "dominion" one holds is that control or power or sway or "mastery" one holds in a particular situation in which one dominates one's peers or opponents
predominant: a "predominant" soccer player is one that is "master before" all others, the creme de la creme; she or he exhibits predominance in their sport.

Related to this word "master" is the feminine version, domina, from which we get the following GRE vocabulary words in addition to words such as dame, damsel, madam, Donna, and Notre Dame:

beldam: a "beldam" is a fine old woman who commands our respect (although the meaning has morphed as well into an old woman who is particularly unattractive).
duenna: a go-between who is a mistress of a love affair between two younger aspirants. Much used in Chaucer.

Now, the word "quixotic." I believe that the word "Quixote" originally referred to armor worn on the thighs (Quixote of course was a "brave" knight). One who is "quixotic" today is rather fanciful in his or her imaginings, or has "ideals" that are highly unreachable, much like the Don possessed, and which Sancho Panza never quite understood: cf. the search for the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso.

So, what's so great about the book Don Quixote that I would dare label it the best novel ever written? Shouldn't I know better since I've read thousands of books myself? Considering it was written in the very early 17th century, how could nigh 400 years not produce a better, in any language? Let's put it this way: it's by far the funniest work I've ever read; as I was last reading the Edith Grossman translation (a perfectly fabulous translation, by the bye) on the porch, I would often guffaw out loud at the Don's crazy exploits, some of which actually brought tears to my eyes...he is so believable in his craziness that you just want to love the guy...do you remember the last time you laughed uncontrollably out loud while reading a book? The other absolutely wonderful thing about this predominant work by Miguel de Cervantes is that everyone who reads Don Quixote has a different opinion about who and what the Don actually is... I know who he is to me (note the present tense here), but I would be most interested in hearing who he was to the public at large. If one were to read any one book this year, this would be the one to read; highly accessible to the general reader (we're not talking Proust here, although that too is a worthy read) and the most literate alike, it's a book for the millennium. Or, if one were to read only one book in the next decade, and you wanted to take the decade to do it, this is the one for fiction...although paradoxically, it's also one most true to life (except for perhaps Hamlet or King Lear).  By the bye, there are many excellent translations of Don Quixote out there, and I've read a number of them.  However, I think that the best translation is the Don Quixote by Edith Grossman.  Pure, pure linguistic genius.  It had me guffawing out loud!

Fascinated with English vocabulary words? Want to pick them apart into their constituent Greek and Latin roots? Want to know even more words that come from the Latin root word dominus? Studying hard for the SAT or GRE verbal section, and just can't get a handle on all of those vocabulary words? Check out www.wordempire.com, where you will find the most comprehensive Greek and Latin roots dictionary available today, and also the most beautiful...it's in full color, and artistically designed. There's even a Greek and Latin roots poster available, which nicely illustrates the full power of what Greek and Latin root words can do for you.

Latin roots of the word VACATION!!!

Welcome back, fans of Greek and Latin root words as they pertain to the word origins of English vocabulary words! I'm about to head off on vacation, and thought it might be fruitful to know just what we mean when we talk about what we all love best. So...the root word of "vacation" is:

vaco, vacare, vacavi, vacatum: to be empty, to have leisure (void) and

vacuus: empty

When we are no longer responsible for our everyday, quotidian affairs, that of picking up the kids, going to work, doing the dishes, and all the pertinent minutiae that make up life every day, we empty ourselves of those duties, those offices, and are once again (supposedly) free to enjoy life. Thus, "emptied" of these everyday responsibilities, we move into a state where we can "have leisure" to enjoy what we would like to do. The most wisely planned vacations can do that; those that are not so wisely planned, however, can include a great deal of "travail," which can come during "travel" (a word whose origin is a medieval torture device that contained "three stakes" whose use remains unknown today); consider the torture one must go through as one misses plains, or is beleageured by traffic jams, etc.

So, let's begin with other SAT words that are related to the word "vacation" and have to do with emptying include:

vacuous: a "vacuous" stare is one devoid of any intelligence whatsoever, sort of like when a cow stares at you

vacate: to vacate an area is to go away from it, hence emptying yourself from it

void: a "void" is empty of anything whatsoever; of course, words like "avoid," "unavoidable," and "avoidable" all have to do with emptying from one's overall experience as well

devoid: is something is "devoid" of matter, there is nothing in it

vacuity: total absence of matter; a vacuum; nothing there (a vacuity of brains)

vacant: a "vacant" lot has nothing in it

evacuate: to "evacuate" an area because of a natural disaster is to "empty" it of all its citizens.

Some good biological terminology also comes from this root:

vacuole: a cavity, or empty area, in a cell's cytoplasm; note that "cytology" is the biological study of cells

vacuome: a system of vacuoles in a living cell, via the Greek suffix "-ome," which means "mass." Some good botanical terms use this suffix, including rhizome, leptome, and mestome.

Well, I'm off to the Green Mountains of Vermont for a couple days of hiking. I hope that you all have great vacations this summer, and are able to "empty" yourselves of life's tribulations at least for awhile.

vacuole: part of a cell's cytoplasm that contains a cavity