The Dictionary of Lost Words

by Pip Williams

Some words are more important than others—I learned this, growing up in the Scriptorium. But it took me a long time to understand why.

“What happens to the words that are left out?” “They go back in the pigeon-holes. If there isn’t enough information about them, they’re discarded.” “But they might be forgotten if they’re not in the Dictionary.” He’d tilted his head to one side and looked at me, as if I’d said something important. “Yes, they might.” I knew what happened when a word was discarded. I folded bondmaid carefully and put it in the pocket of my pinny.

“But when we talk about her, she comes to life.” “Never forget that, Esme. Words are our tools of resurrection.”

“Words change over time, you see. The way they look, the way they sound; sometimes even their meaning changes. They have their own history.”

“Me needlework will always be here,” she said. “I see this and I feel…well, I don’t know the word. Like I’ll always be here.” “Permanent,” I said. “And the rest of the time?” “I feel like a dandelion just before the wind blows.”

The trunk was still open, and I looked at the words carved into it. Then I looked at the pin, so fine against Lizzie’s rough hand, despite its bandy leg. We both needed proof of who we were.

Our thinking was limited by convention (the most subtle but oppressive dictator). Please forgive our lack of imagination.

“Some words are more than letters on a page, don’t you think?” she said, tying the sash around my belly as best she could. “They have shape and texture. They are like bullets, full of energy, and when you give one breath you can feel its sharp edge against your lip. It can be quite cathartic in the right context.”

“Dr. Murray has already anticipated that the English language will evolve faster than we can define it,”

Of some experiences, the Dictionary would only ever provide an approximation. Sorrow, I already knew, was one of them.

“It took a year, Es. And every day that I held a slip with your handwriting, I came to know you better. I fell in love with you word by word. I’ve always loved the shape and feel of them, the infinite pairings. But you showed me their limitations, and their potential.”

He enveloped me, the volume of words between us. Then he sat me on Lizzie’s bed and kneeled in front of me. The dictionary was on my lap. “I am on every page, Es, same as you.” He wove his fingers through mine. “This is us. And it will still be here long after we’re gone.”

“You are not the arbiter of knowledge, sir. You are its librarian.” I pushed Women’s Words across his desk. “It is not for you to judge the importance of these words, simply to allow others to do so.”

BONDMAID Bonded for life by love, devotion or obligation.