Dictionaries are biased toward words they can find in print. When a word is in use, but mostly spoken rather than printed, it can fly under the dictionary radar. One such word is blatherskite, an “informal” word (in dictionary-speak that means it’s mostly spoken) that’s a regional Americanism.
“Blatherskite” means both nonsense and a person who talks nonsense, and its most common use is in regard to politics (where there are plenty of both). It’s a compound word put together out of “blather” (long-winded talk) and “skite”, a Scottish insult that comes from the Old Norse word for, um, excrement.
How is it that the word is used in the US, but is formed from a Scottish term? It all goes back to a song: “Maggie Lauder”. It was originally a Scottish song, and it includes the verse “jog on your gate, ye blether skyte”. The song was popular during the War of Independence, and the phrase caught on and persisted in some regions. It’s been used in print as recently as 1943 in “New Republic”, where it was part of a quote in a news report. In 1930 John Dos Passos used it in his novel “42nd Parallel.” It’s still in use today, and was recently added to the MacMillan Open Dictionary — they have a “dictionary blog”, which is where this all blatherskite originated.
Speaking of the MacMillan Dictionary Blog, there’s another entry all about the word “very.” Nowadays “very” is an intensifier; being “very interested in blatherskite” means you’re even more interested than normal (hard to believe, I know). But originally “very” simply meant “true”, as it still does in “verisimilitude”. Of course, you could also get away with using “truly” as an intensifier, as in “he was truly excited.” It’s a little bit archaic at this point, but that’s because we’ve switched over to “very” instead. It makes a certain amount of sense, even though English has plenty of alternatives.
He may not have originated the usage, but Shakespeare probably popularized “very” as an intensifier; he used it a number of times. In “Romeo and Juliet” he even points out that the more conservative grammarians of his day were already turning up their noses at the evolving meaning. He has Mercutio pretend to be an old man and complain:
“The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting
phantasimes; these new tuners of accents! ‘By Jesu,
a very good blade! a very tall man! a very good whore!’”
The “new tuners of accents” were those 16th-century hipsters who pride themselves on using the very latest slang — and Mercutio is joking that complaining about them is just more blatherskite.
