Foyle's Philavery Reviewed by Roddy Lumsden

A word needs to be coined which means 'to cherish the search for unusual and rare words'. I nominate to 'kacirk', after Jeffrey Kacirk, the American word-lover whose books on the subject of old and unusual words are never far from the side of my bed (or toilet). We have many over here who also love to kacirk, and the latest is the bibliopolist and polymath Christopher Foyle, whose Foyle's Philavery has just been released by Chambers.

It is not often that I manage to attend the launches of the books I talk about here, but I was able to hear Mr Foyle himself (along with Chambers director Patrick White and Baron Baker of Dorking – the erstwhile Home Secretary) give speeches about this new book, while enjoying some fine wine and canapés at the famous Foyle's bookshop in central London, alongside an array of recognisable faces which had us mere punters rubbernecking ('Is that Gyles Brandreth? It wasn't. Is that Kate Adie? It was. Is that Peter Ustinov? I think he's dead!). Mind you, I was far more interested in meeting the editor of The Chambers Dictionary, a post which, in my world of poetry and puzzles, pretty much equates to Home Secretary!

Christopher Foyle began writing down unusual words in the early 1990s, when he heard US general Norman Schwarzkopf describe some military flannel as 'bovine scatology'. Having to look up the latter word, he went on to note every unfamiliar word he encountered in his daily trawl of the newspapers and in specialist publications involving his interest in politics, history, travel and so on. His secretary (or amanuensis as he has restyled her) recorded these words and looked up their meanings. Now he has collected them in a philavery, a word coined by the writer's Scrabble loving mother-in-law, and meaning a collection of favourite words.

It is my general contention that someone reviewing a book should read it to the end – I try my very best and nearly always stick to this rule (unlike a reviewer of one of my poetry books who stuck to saying how vehemently he disliked the first few pieces and ran out of space). However, a book like this does not bear reading in one or even a few sittings. It took Mr Foyle twenty years to collect these words, so the book is best enjoyed in small, reciprocal doses. I have read A-D so far, skimmed a little and will now content myself with dipping having checked ahead to see if he shares certain favourite words with myself (sadly, no sign of sarmassation, 'the amorous caressing of female flesh', of which I am very fond – erm, the word, I mean).

I was wary that the author might be a little confined by his passions, but was intrigued to see that the very first definition makes reference to the notorious thrash metal band Slayer, whose music I would perlustrate (sorry, kacirking is catching!) is not often heard in the ancient monastery where he lives. Thereafter, his choice of words is idiosyncratic but wide-ranging and he sometimes adds personal notes, etymological quirks and interesting facts to the definitions.

Do I have a quibble? Yes, it's that Foyle's pronunciations of the words are rather geared to the 'received pronunciation' which he speaks. Is didapper (a bird) pronounced 'dai-dap-uh'? Only if you drop your Rs! This is of course a moot point in lexicography. And in our house, sadly, where my partner and I once argued rather too heatedly about whether horse should be rendered as hors or haws by a reputable dictionary. I was waving my Chambers, she - a former OUP employee from the North (nawth?) of England - her OED. Thanks goodness we didn't start throwing them!

So far, I have found many surprises in the Philavery – I didn't know that alopecia literally means fox mange! Or that baldrick, as well as meaning a belt for a weapon, is an old name for the zodiac. I was somewhat fraught to find that barton is a farmyard (or something like a curtilage, another favourite word of mine), since I misused it in my last book of poems to mean a farmhouse. Mind you, the only people to notice my mistake would be fellow word-geeks who would deserve a prize. Perhaps I can send them my copy of the Philavery, once I have reached Z and it has gone, bethumbed, from the bedside cabinet.