Reviewed by Ambrea
“It
is known as one of the greatest literary achievements in the history of English
letters. The creation of the Oxford English Dictionary began in 1857,
took seventy years to complete, drew from tens of thousands of brilliant minds,
and organized the sprawling language into 414,825 precise definitions. But hidden within the rituals of its creation
is a fascinating and mysterious story—a story of two remarkable men whose
strange twenty-year relationship lies at the core of this history undertaking,”
reads the book jacket of The Professor
and the Madman by Simon Winchester.
And
it is the story of two men: Professor
James Murray, an educator at Oxford and editor at the OED project, and Dr. William Chester Minor, a military surgeon who
served in the American Civil War and became a prolific contributor to the
dictionary. Minor submitted thousands of
neat, handwritten quotations for use by the Oxford
English Dictionary (or OED) and
offered hundreds of etymology slips to track the origins of words; however, he
wasn’t a traditional contributor.
Minor
was a patient at Broadmoor in Crowthorne, a mental institution in the English
countryside for the criminally insane.
He was incarcerated until “Her Majesty’s Pleasure be known” after he
murdered George Merritt, an Irish day laborer, in a delusional haze. Despite his indefinite imprisonment, he and
Murray, who was head editor of the OED
at the time, struck up an unusual and rather unconventional relationship—and
kindled a shared obsession—that helped make the dictionary an incredibly
prolific and vast repository of the English language.
I
was pleasantly surprised by The Professor
and the Madman. I’d seen it in
passing once when I was collecting a stack of books and, of course, the
subtitle caught my attention almost immediately: A Tale
of Murder, Insanity, and the Making of the Oxford English Dictionary. I mean, how could I not be intrigued? What did murder have to do with the creation
of the OED—and who was the madman
supposedly involved?
I
certainly had to find out, and I was quickly enchanted by the story of
Professor Murray and Dr. Minor.
Professor
James Murray and Dr. William Chester Minor were both brilliant
individuals. Intelligent and bright and
astonishingly innovative, they were the backbone of the Oxford English Dictionary for a number of years, but they walked
two very different paths. Minor was a
man of means, a gentlemen of substantial wealth who spent his childhood on
Ceylon (what is known today as Sri Lanka), before traveling to the United
States and enrolling at Yale. He earned
his degree as a doctor and joined the Army as a medical surgeon, participating
in American Civil War, which left an indelible mark on him, possibly spurring
his bout of madness that eventually landed him in Broadmoor.
Professor
Murray, on the other hand, had a far more humble upbringing. Born in Denholm, Scotland, Murray received
only a rudimentary education, before he was forced to leave school to help
support his family; however, his voracious appetite for learning encouraged him
to continue his education and he learned several languages, including German,
French, Dutch, Hebrew, Aramaic, and Latin, among others. He worked as a teacher, an administrator at
the Chartered Bank of India, a curator at the British Museum, before he became
one of the most notable scholars at Oxford and editor for the OED.
(As an interesting aside, he trained local cattle to respond to him when
he spoke to them in Latin—a curious trick that made him an intriguing
individual in my book.)
Part
narrative and part biography, The
Professor and the Madman describes how these two individuals, who grew up
in very different worlds, eventually became acquainted when Minor discovered
the dictionary project and struck up a correspondence that lasted more than
twenty years. Simon Winchester’s book is
an interesting creation, reminiscent of Erik Larson’s works in that it manages to
make history sparkle, so to speak. It
makes history accessible and, sometimes, amusing, taking something that’s
sometimes dry and stale, making it into a fascinating and informative epic. Personally, I loved every bit of it. It appealed to my love of language and my
love of history, offering glimpses into both the creation and the history of
the English language and the motivation behind one of the language’s most
comprehensive books.
Yes,
I found it was sometimes slow going.
(I’m very prone to distraction, I’m afraid, and I had a lot of books on
my mind at the time.) However, I was
intrigued and enchanted by The Professor
and the Madman. It borders on light
reading, meaning it isn’t dense and overwrought; moreover, it didn’t bog me
down with unnecessary details or overwhelming passages of history. It gives you all the best parts and, best of
all, it reads like a novel. More to the
point, I found Winchester’s book wasn’t very grim. Yes, Dr. Minor was entirely mad; yes, he was
put in an asylum for the criminally insane; and, yes, his psychosis was
alarming and sometimes violent (i.e. the murder of George Merritt), but I found
it wasn’t particularly graphic or stomach-churning. The bit about “self-abuse” and self-mutilation
did make me feel a bit squeamish, but it’s only a short, violent section in an
otherwise delightful book.
Overall,
I enjoyed reading The Professor and the
Madman. Wonderfully detailed and
remarkably crafted—and incredibly precise—Winchester’s book is a fantastic
read. It appealed to me on so many
levels as a reader by making the English language and its history accessible
and, more importantly, telling a richly woven story about Murray and Minor that
opened my eyes to a new aspect of history.
While others might not find it as amusing or interesting as I did, I
think all readers will be able to appreciate the effort and skill Winchester
puts into this incredible book.
No comments:
Post a Comment