The Dictionary of Lost Words

by Pip Williams

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

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

“Words are like stories, don’t you think, Mr. Sweatman? They change as they are passed from mouth to mouth; their meanings stretch or truncate to fit what needs to be said.

A vulgar word, well placed and said with just enough vigour, can express far more than its polite equivalent.

It judged me, that crucifix, and I hated it.

“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.”

“It’s not about forgiveness, Essymay. We can’t always make the choices we’d like, but we can try to make the best of what we must settle for. Take care not to dwell.”

“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.”