Bunburying

Because I is well high-brow, last night I went to see the filmed version of the National Theatre’s ‘The Importance of Being Earnest’ (the handbag one) by Oscar Wilde. It was very funny, and also brought this word to my attention. If you’ve ever made up a friend as an excuse to dodge plans or just because you needed to disappear for a bit of peace and quiet, then congratulations – you’ve been Bunburying.

In the play, Algernon Moncrieff (Ncuti Gatwa in the National Theatre show) invents an ill friend called Bunbury. Poor old Bunbury’s terrible health means he needs constant attention – usually whenever Algy fancies a weekend in the country or wants to get out of a dull engagement. Genius, right? Here’s a quote when he introduces the concept to his friend Jack:

‘You have invented a very useful younger brother called Ernest, in order that you may be able to come up to town as often as you like. I have invented an invaluable permanent invalid called Bunbury, in order that I may be able to go down into the country whenever I choose.’

Wilde, of course, uses the idea of Bunburying to skewer the hypocrisy of Victorian society. But for the rest of us, it could be the perfect way to stay home and watch Netflix in our PJs instead of having to go out and actually talk to people. Also, if you do decide to Bunbury someone, don’t feel guilty – you’re simply carrying on a proud literary tradition.

Why Bunbury? No one really knows, but there are of course some theories, many of which lean into the idea that Wilde used it imply a secretive double life due to his homosexuality. (In case you’re not as high brow as me, many linguistic aspects of ‘The Importance of Being Earnest’ have been interpreted as allusions to gay culture and stereotypes.) For example, one put forward by none other than occultist and self-proclaimed prophet Aleister Crowley – who knew Wilde – was that Bunbury was a portmanteau word (i.e. two words smushed together), coined after Wilde took a train to Banbury, met a man there, then arranged a second liaison at Sunbury. Or it might just be named after the village in Cheshire.

The opening night of ‘The Importance of Being Earnest’ marked the peak of Wilde's popularity. But it was followed shortly afterwards by his downfall – he was convicted and imprisoned for ‘homosexual acts’ only a few months later. Due to this, the play closed after only 86 performances, and would be the last comic or dramatic work Wilde would produce. Despite that, it’s now regarded as one of the greatest comedies in the English language, and has been performed continuously since its debut.

gamut

You’ve probably heard the phrase ‘run the gamut’, which sounds like something torturous in The Hunger Games. Don’t worry though, a thing that runs the gamut is actually just something that covers every possible point in a range. So if you’re feeling all the feelings, you can be described as having ‘run the gamut of emotions’.

But WTF is a gamut?

Guido of Arezzo laying down some phat beats

Allow me to take you back to the 11th century to meet a monk called Guido of Arezzo. Guido’s favourite thing to do was to organise sounds (obviously – well, I guess he didn’t have Netflix). He also spent a lot of time teaching Gregorian chant to young monks, and as part of this he developed a way to teach his singers to remember the musical scale more easily. He named the very lowest note in his scale ‘gamma-ut’. This was from ‘gamma’, the Greek letter used for that low note, and ‘ut’, the first syllable of an ancient hymn Guido loved. Over time, ‘gamma-ut’ was shortened to, you’ve guessed it, ‘gamut’, and people began using it to refer to the entire musical range of notes.

As musical theory evolved, so did ‘gamut’. It grew beyond music to mean a full scope or range of anything, which is why we get to run gamuts today in any arena we like.

I confess that I’ve done Guido a bit of a disservice above, as he wasn’t just a singing teacher. In fact, he’s known as the father of modern musical notation. Guido’s most significant contribution was to develop a musical notation system that allowed notes to be written down and read consistently. He also created the basis of the four-line staff, which positioned notes at fixed heights to show their pitch more clearly than earlier systems. This eventually led to the five-line staff we use today.

He didn’t stop there either. Guido also invented the solfège syllables, AKA ‘do-re-mi’. He originally used ‘ut-re-mi-fa-sol-la’ from a Latin hymn for St John the Baptist, and maybe just because he seemed to like an ‘ut’. This helped singers remember pitch relationships more effectively, and revolutionised teaching music by ear.

Guido’s inventions allowed people to share music in written form across Europe. So it’s pretty safe to say that without him, we wouldn’t have most of the music we have today. Or that song from The Sound of Music.