Editorial
Stylized illustration of a person with short hair and sunglasses sitting indoors, looking out a window at a house in a golden field under a starry sky.
Letter from the Editor
I

realize intellectually that there are many words in English that I don’t know. Nonetheless, I’m always somewhat surprised when I learn of a new one. Here are two of my favorite recent acquisitions.

Synesthesia: This spring I was reading a spy novel named “Red Sparrow,” in which the main character was a synesthete or had synesthesia. Quickly I sought out the experts for help.

Synesthesia is a perceptual phenomenon in which stimulation of one sensory or cognitive pathway leads to involuntary experiences in a second sensory or cognitive pathway.

Or…Synesthesia is a fancy name for when you experience one of your senses through another. For example, you hear the name “Alex” and see green. Or you read the word “street’ and taste citrus fruit.

I realized immediately that synesthesia is an especially useful characteristic if you are in counterintelligence – but then, aren’t we all! Alas, the experts also agreed that synesthesia usually develops in childhood, so an adult cannot learn or acquire this trait and become a synesthete.

Louche: Sometime this winter, I heard the word louche in casual conversation with British man. Although he didn’t flinch or blink, I had the sense he was referring to someone whom he very much liked but who was a bit undesirable.

So back to the experts, I found this.

Louche comes from the Latin word luscus, meaning “blind in one eye” or “having poor sight.” The Latin term gave rise to the French louche, meaning “squinting” or “cross-eyed.” The French then added a figurative sense, taking a “squinty look” to mean “shady” or “devious.”

In the 19th century, English speakers curtailed the French meaning even more, keeping only the figurative definition. The English version now describes people or things that are disreputable or sordid — in a rakish or appealing way.

Like synesthesia, louche is a rather desirable characteristic. And, better yet, you can learn to be louche at any age!

Aurora borealis: I can’t remember when I first heard Aurora Borealis, but it was frequently used at family reunions. It was one of those words that you were assumed to know, and it would have been a generational embarrassment if you had to ask what it meant.

Over the years, I made up many definitions of what it could mean. So please read “Aurora Borealis — A non-expert opinions.”

For more attempts at poetry, see “Aurora — An acrostic” and “Borealis — A limerick”.

This issue concludes with three submissions from Friends of Judy. Thanks to:

Please enjoy the September issue of Olive: a journal devoted to clarity.

Judy Green
editor and contributor
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