The current definition of languor generally includes:

A state of feeling tired or relaxed – usually in a pleasant or dreamy way. This sense emphasizes calm, ease, or a gentle indolence, often without any urgency.

I am completely torn about this! I don’t know if I should use it or not. The bold side of me says, “Fuck them, do you!” but the reasonable side of me says, “you’re not as cool as you think you are.” Here is where I am going with this:

Someday, I hope that someone reads my books. And in one of those books, they will encounter the word “languor.” Now, the law of probability says that a portion of the readers will read it, pick the meaning up from context clues and move on. Another portion will say, “Oh that’s weird to use that word there.” and, still others will judge me harshly for pseudointellectual grandstanding and maybe they’re right. Who knows. But my heart bleeds with the hope that there is someone, maybe one in ten million that says, oh holy shit!

Here’s why.

In an effort to get Lionwood as accurate to the cultures represented as possible, I did a deep dive into each person I wrote. For the Irish, it was easy, I have easy access to that culture. As for the inbred, inebriate imbued with ignorance imperceptible to them? Unfortunately, I have a ton of access to that personality also. But for Jonathan Lionwood, I had to rely on historic documents, literature, an exegetical dictionary, and a thesaurus of obsolete phrases. It was something I struggled with the entire time I was writing because a 300 year old ghost might not be able to speak to someone alive today at all! Irrespective of the fact that we have perhaps more than double the words in our dictionary as he would have, the words he would consider vernacular, would be all but unspoken today. And those we have in common might not mean the same thing.

Ultimately, I chose to use it because I think it was accurate, despite the fact that the large majority of my readership encountering the word for the first time will Google the word, read the modern definition stated above and conclude that I am mistaken to use it in the given context.

But my love is reserved for the reader that digs a little deeper. Take this excerpt from an old exegesis I found in the public domain.

“Test. 4. From tom. 3. lib. 14 de Trinitate, cap. 1.; and from tom. 4. lib. de Continentia, cap. 7. Bellarmine produces two passages, which may be united, because they have entirely the same meaning; for in both places Augustine calls concupiscence remaining in the regenerate, not fault, or sin, but languor.”

 “He uses this word languor, not as denying to concupiscence the nature of sin, but to signify that the hurt and guilt of sin was removed from it by the grace of remission. For what prevents that which he calls languor from being reckoned original sin? The grace of God indeed has remitted the original fault, by which the person of the regenerate is absolved from the guilt; but it has not abolished the taint of corruption, by which the nature of the regenerate is molested and infected with this corrupt languor. Peter Lombard shows that original sin is usually designated by many synonymous terms, expressing the same thing under various considerations. In lib. 2 distinct. 30. tit. G. original sin is called fault, concupiscence, the law of the members, the languor of nature, the tyrant which is in the members, the law of the flesh.”

Davenant, John. A Treatise on Justification. Translated by Josiah Allport, Henry G. Bohn, 1877, pp.87

If you read this carefully, it seems to describe languor as ‘a result of sin’ or ’spiritual tendency to sin’. Either way, it is most certainly not describing a ‘pleasant or dreamy state.’ Furthermore, the word itself just sounds like a cross between languish and stupor which I think should be taken into account in this instance. For example, sand is the thing between the sea and land, smog is smoke and fog… Portmanteau words are defined by the word on either side of them but everyone eventually forgets the parent words. Not randomly do I invoke portmanteau, but very specifically to add weight to the notion that there is connotative and semantic depth to the word which has been lost to time. Who’s to say it didn’t mean more? I feel like the word found perfectly between languish and stupor should have at least one interpretation that similarly falls between them. Shouldn’t it?

 Now, I am by no means a qualified etymologist, and don’t even pretend to be one on TV. But, I feel like it used to be that word which described the state of wallowing in sin with a negative connotation. Something like moping around because life can be a bitch sometimes. But then, as the world got more hedonistic and piety became that stuffy thing monks and old people cared about, the negative connotation slowly reversed to mean the good feeling you get when you sin.

 I know it was a bit of a risk and might have pushed the boundaries a smidge but remember, the reader was supposed to be reading across time. They didn’t say the same things we do or even the same way. If he just used big modern words, that wouldn’t have been genuine and, I think, would have fallen into the uncanny valley. However, as I am all too keenly aware, the interpretation of my work is out of my hands. That is up to you dear reader. I can only pray my words alight in someone’s heart and kindle within it a passion sufficient to drive that heart to explore the written word more. The meaning of my, or any artist work, is eternally and irrevocably, in the hands of each person that enjoys the art.

Once you’ve read Lionwood (which by the way, will be available on Kindle on Sunday if not sooner) come back here and tell me your interpretation of languor. Did I get it right or wrong? Was it worth the risk?  

Federico Zandomeneghi, Languor, c. 1895.
Oil on canvas. Public domain image. Available from wikiart.