The vocabulary cupboard

An original commentary about collecting unfamiliar words.

For years I treated unfamiliar words like ornaments in a locked cupboard. I wrote them neatly, admired their complicated shapes and felt better educated whenever the door opened. Very few escaped into a sentence.

There was a particular satisfaction in finding a word nobody at lunch recognised. I could place it on the table and wait for somebody to ask. The explanation was always ready. An ordinary conversation had briefly become a small exhibition of me.

Then I began keeping the sentences in which I found the words. A bare definition had made each one look obedient and portable. In company, the word developed preferences. It could sound solemn, impatient or faintly ridiculous in a place where its dictionary neighbour seemed comfortable. I had collected labels and forgotten the things they were attached to.

Now the notebook is untidier. An elegant entry may have a question beneath it, and a sentence I tried may be crossed out. The cupboard has become a workbench, with several things waiting to be repaired.

I still enjoy a new word. I enjoy it more when it helps me say something I had been unable to say, and less when it merely ensures that somebody notices I own it.

Examine the methods the writer uses to present a changing attitude towards unfamiliar words.