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.

benignant

EF Benson, who looks like he was pretty benignant

If you’re thinking that ‘benignant’ sounds like it’s just stepped off the set of a Victorian drama wearing a waistcoat and holding a pocket watch, then you’d be right. I read it in a ghost story by one EF Benson, who was born in 1867. You might have already guessed that it’s the opposite of ‘malignant’ – it means kind, gentle or benevolent.

Benignant comes from the Latin word ‘benignus’, which is a mash-up (or compound) of ‘bene’ meaning ‘well’ or ‘good’, and ‘gignere’ meaning ‘to beget’ or ‘to produce’. So it’s basically about creating goodness, generating kindness or radiating a beneficent glow. Which makes a change in today’s shitty world, doesn’t it?

Interestingly (to me, at least), ‘benignus’ didn’t just mean ‘nice’ in Latin. It also carried a sense of generosity and nobility, so it was often applied to rulers, gods or generally all-round nice guys. It arrived in English via Old French in the early 17th century, alongside its more popular sibling, ‘benign’.

So why did ‘benign’ stick around while ‘benignant’ got assigned to obscure Victorian ghost stories? Well, ‘benignant’ generally leaned towards describing people, actions or attitudes, while ‘benign’ became the go-to for describing things that aren’t out to kill you (think moles and weather). Not to be cynical, but maybe there just aren’t enough nice people around to make ‘benignant’ more popular…?

Margaret – all that Egyptology sadly didn’t raise a smile

I referred to EF Benson as an obscure writer above, which is a little unfair. Well a lot unfair, actually – he was a prolific English author whose literary output included over 90 works, ranging from sharp social comedies to chilling ghost stories (the one I read was called ‘The Room in the Tower and Other Stories’). Benson was born into a pretty well-to-do family (his dad was the fricking Archbishop of Canterbury), and studied archaeology at Cambridge before turning to writing. He was a keen sportsman and also gay (a combination which sadly still isn’t accepted today), and his books are famed for their dry wit and camp humour. He was also the mayor of Rye in Sussex, which inspired the fictional town of Tilling in his most famous novels. His siblings were pretty cool too – Robert Hugh was another prolific author and Arthur Christopher wrote the words to ‘Land of Hope and Glory’. Let’s take a moment to appreciate his sister, Margaret (who apparently only got one name, unlike her brothers #patriarchy) though. She was one of the first women to be admitted to Oxford University and went on to become a keen amateur Egyptologist, excavating lots of super-cool stuff, and later writing about it. In fact, her writing and lectures are credited with making Egyptology much more accessible to the general public.