Please note this is an extract from my book ‘The Alternative Wordbook’ which features my original attempts at new words, tied together within a weird and subtle meta-narrative amongst the definitions (not very important). I’ll be sharing the chapters of the book, including essays on every letter in the alphabet, in consumable chunks or ‘chapters’ throughout the months and weeks that follow this, while I busy myself working on the next book which I definitely won’t be giving away for free eventually one day
The letter “a” is one of the most interesting of all the letters. Despite former protestations, it is indisputable that “a” has links to permanence, beginnings, and introductions – the alpha, in the original Greek alphabet, itself the original collection of letters at the very beginning of linguistic theory. Many have asked why it is that the letter “a” was chosen for this fascinating role in human language. The answer: we just don’t know. One suggested reason is that “a” is simply a basic letter. Using the same scientific analysis that we would use for chemicals in a table of elements, the atomic number of “a” is one. Thus, when the original order was being established, “a” was deemed as the basic unit by which other letters were measured.
Far more suggestive is the suggestion that suggests the event was merely a coincidental suggegate. Let me set the scene: we are at the initial meeting, the air is pregnant with intrigue as representatives from every clan are sat around a pot, brimming with some generic molten metal. Each is equally passionate about that which they represent. The powerful “p” tribe, for example, were an outspoken bunch who would have refused to sit down, dressed in nothing but loincloths (idiotically placed on the head, leaving the genitals entirely unencumbered, erect and attached to various weaponry). Elsewhere, leaders from teams “d” and “g” were greased up beyond their means, their hands poised as fists, glaring at each other, desperate not to blink – and each wearing the tattoo of their respective letters inscribed deep into every available inch of unsweaty skin. In fact, each clan’s lust for violence would only have been equalled by the passion of their foes. To avoid this event boiling over, mediators asked that the threat of war be avoided through the casting of lots of lots. If this was the case, then lady luck truly had a soft spot for the mischievous little bastard “a” that day. The rest, we can assume, is history.
It would be bizarre not to mention here the indefinite article, as in “a” or “an”. An “a” or an “an” are used today as a way to keep words nicely spaced out, but originally this practice formed part of an oral tradition by which lowly peasants, and others less linguistically educated, struggled to work out what it was they needed to say. While searching for the word they should utter, these plebeians would say “a” or “an” to fill the gap. Soon, playwrights and artists adopted this practice as a tool for ridicule, employing the letter “a” as a symbol of stupidity and ignorance – from where we get the term “anus” (quite literally, that which is of us, and spouts shit). This nuance of meaning has since been lost, with “a” and “an” prevalent in almost every sentence, without irony or context. It is estimated that “a” and “an” are used between a million and a zillion times a day globally – in the UK alone.
Another use of “a” is in the printing industry. Here, the largest sheet is known as A0, which when halved becomes A1, and when halved again becomes A2 – and so on all the way until A117 (incidentally the same applies to roads, the M1 being the twice the size of the M2 etc.). The size and shape of these first pieces of paper relate, probably, to original bookmakers. Back in the day, fashion dictated that the larger the book, the more truthful it was – and so patrons ordered massive books. However, libraries started to complain about accidental deaths, as academics were crushed by gigantic books falling from giant-sized shelves. As a response, the maximum size of a text was restricted in the 1453 dangerous book act to “no more than twice t’length of kieng’s arme, nae thickness a’for 3 scor eygs” – which today is A0. This spawned the popular 90s band A1 and their equally successful quarter-sized children’s equivalent A4.
