2 1/2 stars, really. There’s a reason I’ve taken at least a week to get to this summary. It’s been hard to bring myself to find something to say about it beyond a resounding ‘meh.’ It’s sad that this book hasn’t much to recommend itself as a standalone history of the Oxford English Dictionary or as a complement to Winchester’s earlier The Professor and the Madman, parts of which this book reuses and the whole of which it takes a short seven pages to recap. But then, this is a short book. I got the sense that Winchester’s heart just wasn’t in the writing, notwithstanding his clear admiration for the OED itself.
For example, the relationship between the Professor (the OED’s principal senior editor and this book’s protagonist, James Murray) and the vitally-contributing Madman (W.C. Minor, a paranoid schizophrenic institutionalized in England) is retold here as part of a chapter (One. Single. Chapter.) devoted to bringing to light the lives of important OED contributors, those whose names are cited somewhere in the Preface or acknowledgements pages. Minor’s tale follows a bit on Fitzedward Hall, another important early American contributor, albeit in his case a recluse lexicographer. So far, so good. Then the next half of the chapter then treats the histories of others who added to the OED a bit by skiffling through a table of apathetic highlights: “And there were many others besides,” Winchester yawns at page 201, “men and women who were in their own ways just as eccentric, their stories just as strange…,” though Winchester can’t be bothered to recount them. It’s possible his research efforts were frustrated by their obscurity. On page 213 the author italicizes in mild exasperation, “just who were these people?” Simon, you’ve written two books on this subject. Why are you asking me?
The Meaning of Everything begins and, save for the briefest of epilogues, largely ends with Oxford University’s celebration of the OED’s ongoing publication and the Queen’s dedication. However, this affair, yet more fully covered in Professor, takes place about 40 years before the OED itself has been completed and some 20-30 before the death of Murray. Kind of an odd choice for a book “telling the story” (not even “stories”?) of the OED’s origin and creation. Somewhere in the middle of a bit about Sir Murray’s struggles with a meddlesome Oxford don, I was briefly reminded of David McCullough’s far superior book about the Brooklyn Bridge. Both works cover the trials and tribulations that attended bringing Victorian era monuments of stunning ambition and authority to existence, both outlived their principal authors (Murray for the OED, John Roebling for the bridge), and had to be completed by others.
But then, the bridge placed lives at stake and McCullough cared to tell us about the lives of those involved, their biographies, their times. We had a stake in the story of the bridge’s ultimate success not least through those laboring in the sunken caissons, always a hairs’ breadth away from an underwater grave. The worst the OED ever managed was a headache and a slight squint. Possibly someone once threw a back out climbing a library ladder or suffered a series of nasty papercuts. Hardly much of an equivalent. Perhaps that helps explain why this book is so much shorter. But I doubt it.
The OED editors are hard at work on a third edition, all of which can be found online. There are other, better books out there on the book’s history and origins (including the aforementioned one by Winchester). For those curious about the contents of the OED and the uses of language, I’m now reading Ammon Shea’s fabulous book Reading the OED. (Briefly, it’s hysterical; I’m looking forward to jotting down a few cherce quotes.) At any rate, if the story of English compilers and language at all intrigues you, go read those better books. Let this passionless, inconsistent, and annoyingly incomplete account moulder on the shelves.