Wordenfreude

When Ted Kennedy died last year, I marvelled at the wonderful, comprehensive obituary written by John M. Broder in the New York Times. One passage in particular stood out: “He was a Rabelaisian figure in the Senate and in life, instantly recognizable by his shock of white hair, his florid, oversize face, his booming Boston brogue, his powerful but pained stride.” It was evocative and elegant, the kind of sentence I would hope to write one day, except that I didn’t know what Rabelaisian meant. I had a vague idea that Rabelais was a Very Important French Writer, but since I hadn’t actually read anything he had written, I was left with the rather tautological idea that being Rabelaisian meant being a lot like Ten Kennedy. So I double-clicked on the word and a magical little question mark appeared, which in turn led me to a definition: 1. Of or relating to Rabelais or his works (not particularly helpful) or 2. Characterized by coarse humor or bold caricature (Eureka!). For people like me, who are both curious and a bit lazy, the Internet is a wonderful place.

Later that day, I was delighted to discover that “Rabelaisian” was one of the hottest “trending searches” on Google. If you’re unfamiliar with Google Trends, it’s a fascinating—though frequently depressing—glimpse into the collective curiosity of the nation at any given moment. Some recent hot terms include “Oprah removes sixth toe” and “Justin Bieber pregnant,” which should give you a pretty good idea of what people want to read about on most days (answer: celebrity gossip and medical curiosities, preferably some combination thereof). So when “Rabelaisian” made the list, I was encouraged to know that there were enough people out there who cared enough about politics and language—though, apparently, not French Renaissance literature—to not only read Kennedy’s obituary, but to even look up an unfamiliar word within it. At least I wasn’t the only one who hadn’t read Rabelais, right?

See the rest of the story at newyorker.com