This is a fun compendium. It’s great for flipping through to a random page and letting the facts of an entry tantalize one’s imagination or deepen one’s understanding. Some of the words are exotic and incite me to want to use them in everyday speech. For example: “frobly-mobly: indifferently well… is the nineteenth-century equivalent of ‘meh’… it joins similar formulations of the time, including ‘atweesh-and-atween’ and ‘crawly-mawly.” (There are many other words like this in the book).
Other words are exotic, and don’t appear fun or meaningful to re-introduce in everyday life, but like a good pop song, can make one feel vindicated or connected to many other people in light of the fact that there has been a basic word that captures something felt but previously inchoate. For example (also an example that is representative of how Dent often goes off in amusing tangents): “curglaff: the shock of cold water… Scots has a knack of filling gaps in English that you either never quite knew existed, or that would otherwise take an entire sentence to describe. Take ‘dreich’, for example - the one-word evocation of a day that is miserable and wet… A ‘bumble’, meanwhile, is an unsightly bulge in your clothing (perhaps best concealed by a ‘cover-slut’ - seventeenth-century speak for something worn over the top of a garment that is no longer presentable). And so it is with ‘curglaff’… it is made up of the prefix ‘cur-‘, often applied with something or someone goes awry (think curmudgeonly).”
Other times, words are familiar, and learning the etymology is poetic and meaningful. For example: “Crush: a crowd of people pressed closely together; an intense feeling of love…. ‘Crush’ has moved quite nearly from destruction to love in the course of its six centuries… its roots are just as fervent: the Old French cruisser, to ‘gnash one’s teeth’.” Or, words are made up of familiar parts, and it’s surprising that they aren’t so commonly used. For example,
“Mislove: to love the wrong person” and “misdelight: delight in something wrong.” Or, “lickspitte: a parasite or sycophant… namely one that would lick a master’s spittle from the ground if it proved advantageous”
In general, something interesting happens when one encounters an alien term that picks out something that goes on in us deep down. It can be delightful to use such terms, when the synonyms in literal speech, using familiar terms, would be uncomfortable to express (e.g., because it reveals a disturbing part of us; because pointing it out would be a matter of self-pitying). Moreover, it’s touching to think of how people over the centuries and across cultures must’ve dealt with the same everyday experiences, with regards to underlying narrative form, as to explain how they have words to pick out states so familiar to us.
For prospective readers interested in etymology, I'd also highly recommend Mark Forsyth's work. Unlike this book by Dent, his books take one through many narratives, strung together in a stream-of-consciousness sort of manner; and it is absorbing to read through his books, like novels. Dent's work can't be read in one sitting like this, and every entry is a self-standing, like an ordinary reference book.