In this recent comment by ktschwarz, the word quandary struck me, not only because it had undergone a change of stress but because I realized I didn’t know where it was from. Turns out nobody else does either, and the OED’s etymology section (entry revised 2007) is so interesting I thought I’d share it:
Origin unknown. Various etymologies have been suggested, all of them implausible. Perhaps compare conundrum n.
Notes
A recurrent suggestion is that the word is an alteration of some post-classical Latin term, arising (perhaps humorously) in scholastic or university use. This is not impossible (compare conundrum n., which also appears to show Latin influence, although both its etymology and its relationship with quandary n. are unclear), but no convincing concrete Latin etymons have yet been suggested. However, the following quot. shows that the word was at least apprehended as Latin at an early date:1582 In Latin words, or of a Latin form, where theie be vsed English like, as, certiorare, quandare, where e, soundeth full and brode after the originall Latin.
R. Mulcaster, 1st Part of Elementarie xvii. 111Some of the more fanciful suggestions are: that the word derives < French qu’en dirai-je ‘what shall I say of it?’; that it is an alteration of wandreth n. [‘Misery, distress, hardship; adversity, poverty’] or its Scandinavian etymon [Old Norse vandrǽði neuter ‘difficulty, trouble’]; or that it is shortened < hypochondry at hypochondria n. α forms. All of these present obvious difficulties, whether semantically, phonologically, or chronologically, not the least of which is the fact that that the word was originally stressed on the second syllable (see below).
A further ingenious suggestion was made by L. Spitzer in various articles, notably in Jrnl. Eng. & Germanic Philol. (1948) vol. 42 405–9 and Mod. Lang. Notes (1949) vol. 64 502–4, where he argued for a French origin of the word, proposing an (unattested) earlier form of calambredaine (colloquial) nonsense, twaddle, balderdash (1798; of uncertain origin) as common etymon of both quandary n. and conundrum n., and perhaps even of kankedort n. [‘? A state of suspense; a critical position; an awkward affair’] (which is attested much earlier [c1374 “Was Troylus nought in a kankedort”]).
New English Dictionary (OED first edition) (1908) also indicates a former pronunciation (kwǫ̆·ndări) /kwənˈdɛərɪ/ with stress on the second syllable. This pronunciation is illustrated by quots. 1652 and a1720, and is also recommended by such late 18th-cent. and early 19th-cent. lexicographers as Sheridan, Walker, Perry, and Smart. However, the stress gradually shifted to the first syllable of the word (it has been suggested that the stress shift took place in the 18th cent., though the existence of the spelling quandery as early as the 17th cent. perhaps suggests earlier currency of this stress pattern). ˈQuandary is given as the usual pronunciation of the word by as early a source as Johnson (1755). Subsequently, many 19th-cent. and early 20th-cent. dictionaries record both possibilities; it is only in the later 20th cent. that the first-syllable stress came to predominate (the shift in attitudes is clearly seen in the various editions of H. W. Fowler Mod. Eng. Usage). The nonstandard spelling quandry shows elision of the unstressed vowel.
As for the “ingenious suggestion” made by Leo Spitzer, I’ll quote the lively version of it in his Linguistics and Literary History (Princeton Univ. Press, 1948), pp. 5-6:
Since my coming to America, I have been curious about the etymology of two English words, characterized by the same “flavor”: conundrum “a riddle the answer to which involves a pun; a puzzling question,’ and quandary “a puzzling situation.” […]
The extraordinary instability (reflecting the playfulness of the concept involved) of the phonetic structure: conundrum – conimbrum – quadrundrum, points to a foreign source, to a word which must have been (playfully) adapted in various ways. Since the English variants include among them a -b- and a -d- which are not easily reducible to any one basic sound, I propose to submit a French word-family which, in its different forms, contains both -b- and -d-: the French calembour is exactly synonymous with conundrum “pun.” This calembour is evidently related to calembredaine “nonsensical or odd speech,” and we can assume that calembour, too, had originally this same general reference. This word-family goes back probably to Fr. bourde “tall story” to which has been added the fanciful, semipejorative prefix cali-, that can be found in à califourchon “straddling” (from Latin quadrifurcus, French carrefour “crossroads”: the qu- of the English variants points to this Latin etymon). The French ending -aine of calembredaine developed to -um: n becomes m as in ransom from French rançon; ai becomes o as in mitten (older mitton) from French mitaine. Thus calembourdane, as a result of various assimilations and shortenings which I will spare you, becomes *colundrum, *columbrum and then conundrum, conimbrum, etc. Unfortunately, the French word-family is attested rather late, occurring for the first time in a comic opera of Vadé in 1754. We do find, however, an équilbourdie “whim” as early as 1658 in the Muse normande, a dialectal text. The fact is that popular words of this sort have, as a rule, little chance of turning up in the (predominantly idealistic) literature of the Middle Ages; it is, therefore, a mere accident that English conundrum is attested in 1596 and French calembour only in 1757; at least, the chance appearance of équilbourdie in the dialectal text of 1658 gives us an earlier attestation of the French word-family. That the evidently popular medieval words emerge so late in literature is a fact explainable by the currents prevalent in literature; the linguist must take his chances with what literature offers him in the way of attestation. In view of the absolute evidence of the equation conundrum = calembredaine we need not be intimidated by chronological divergencies — which the older school of etymologists (as represented by the editors of the NED) seem to have overrated.
After conundrum had ceased to be a riddle to me, I was emboldened to ask myself whether I could not now solve the etymology of the word quandary — which also suggested to me a French origin. And, lo and behold: this word, of unknown origin, which is attested from about 1580 on, revealed itself etymologically identical with conundrum! There are English dialect forms such as quándorum quóndorum which serve to establish an uninterrupted chain: calembredaine becomes conimbrum conundrum quonundrum quandorum and these give us quandary.
Now what can be the humanistic, the spiritual value of this (as it may have seemed to you) juggling with word forms? The particular etymology of conundrum is an inconsequential fact; that an etymology can be found by man is a miracle. An etymology introduces meaning into the meaningless: in our case, the evolution of two words in time — that is, a piece of linguistic history — has been cleared up.
I’m not as convinced as he was by his clever chains of evidence (too many “must have,” “we can assume,” “probably,” etc.), but it’s enjoyable reading, and I like his conclusion.
I am puzzled by the puzzlement. Are there still people who pronounce “quandary” with three distinct syllables? If three get historically mushed into two, where the stress ends up falling doesn’t seem particularly surprising or counterintuitive to me?
There’s at least one such person. I also pronounce “veteran” with three syllables, though not “interest”, “camera”, and many others. ETA: Even “boundary” has two syllables for me.
The OED discussion Hat quoted suggests that the stress shifted before people started mushing the syllables, but these are the vagaries of English pronunciation.
Are there still people who pronounce “quandary” with three distinct syllables?
Yes, also me. Indeed I don’t think I’ve heard it pronounced with fewer than three — not that I’ve very often heard it at all (as opposed to reading it).
Furthermore ‘quandry’ sounds ill-educated/jokey to me.
Wiktionary gives the three-syllable version first as both RP and American and Australian.
I mentally pigeon-hole ‘quandary’ in the same register with ‘quondam’,
Would there be a legal or proverbial phrase with “quam dare”?
—
Seneca, Dialogi 2.8.8
Et sapienti nihil deest quod acipere possit loco muneris, et malus nihil potest dignum tribuere sapiente; habere enim prius debet quam dare, nihil autem habet quod ad se transferri sapiens gauisurus sit.
—
In the above, you could say the evil person is in a quandary, because nothing he has to give to the wise person will be gratefully accepted.
The “quam dare” interpretation feels plausible. I imagine even a mangled “quod dare” would fit the bill.
The anachronism of Spitzer’s suggestion of calembour doesn’t seem to have improved in 77 years. The Trésor de la Langue Française (1971–1994) didn’t include any antecedent references for calembour.
Yes, also me. Indeed I don’t think I’ve heard it pronounced with fewer than three
Same here.
I say it with two syllables. At least, I think I do (Heisenberg.) The shift of stress must surely have preceded the reduction to two syllables.
It doesn’t have either a humorous or an elevated vibe for me. Just neutral.
Maybe I should add that I have noticed two-syllable pronunciations, especially in the last few years. (Maybe the reason for that “especially” is that I’ve forgotten earlier examples.)
Both LPD and CEPD mark the schwa in quandary as optional (according to Wells’ notation, foreign learners are advised to pronounce the schwa). The LPD also says that leaving out optional vowels does not change the number of syllables (i.e. in this case, that the r becomes syllabic); but I have always found Wells’ views on English syllabification not very intuitive.
Huh. Does Wells say that “tawdry” has the same number of syllables as a schwa-less pronunciation of “boundary”, or one less? I’d have trouble with a claim that “tawdry” has three syllables.
Consider the magnificent syllable-shrinkage of VulgLat lavandaria to OldFr lavanderie to MidEng lavandrie to current laundry. Which doesn’t rhyme with quandary for me, but I don’t have the caught/cot merger.
I feel like there was another thread within the last year or so where I speculated whether the notion of the https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Minor_syllable found in discussion of Austroasiatic might be useful in English. I might be open to “quandary” having 2.5 syllables.
laundry. Which doesn’t rhyme with quandary for me
For me, [‘lɑːndʒɹi] vs. [‘kwɑndəɹi]/[‘kwɑndɹ̩i] differ not just in the number of syllables, but in the allophone of /d/. If that’s even the phoneme that it’s an allophone of any more: it’s not unusual for young kids to write things like “jra” for “draw”.
The “jra” for “draw” substitution is not, I think, found with any frequency near where I live (nor is Lameen’s pronunciation of “laundry”) but of course it’s a big and varied world. Vowel differences are so striking that they’re the usual focus of dialectology in Englsh, but there can of course be consonant differences as well.
I recall a teacher once telling us that he had encountered the spelling “pechasis” from one of his students, which turned out to refer to a common item of clothing.
No. There is no optional vowel in tawdry. What he says is that (at least according to the principles of English syllabification he applies), the number of syllables of boundary stays the same, even if you do not pronounce the optional schwa, because the r becomes syllabic. As I said, his syllabification can be non-intuitive (and he has been criticised for that).
Ah, so quandary and conundrum originated as wordplay like discombobulate? That makes sense…
Well, a stressed syllable dropping out would be a rather unusual affair. (It is known – in special cases – from Sanskrit and Rather Modern Greek, but not from anywhere closer to Standard Average European.)
I’ve seen it spelled boundry so often (on teh intarwebz) that I figured it can’t just be a strangely common typo.
/tɹ dɹ/ > /tʃ(ɹ) dʒ(ɹ)/ is pretty far along in England-or-so. Last time it showed up on the LLog, there was an Adrian who said he couldn’t believe it when he learned to read and found out there was supposed to be a D in his name.
Even so…
…I don’t get it.
“ pechasis
…I don’t get it.”
Ditto.
The best I could guess was ‘purchases” but that’s
not a common article of clothing.
(A) pair (of) trousers. (/pɛ’t͡ʃɑ:zɪz/)
I’m impressed.
Oof.
for me, “laundry”, “boundary”, “tawdry”, and “quandary” all have the same unstressed second syllable. i’m not certain i’ve heard the three-syllable version of the last, and certainly never encountered a stressed second syllable.
my “veteran”, on the other hand, has three syllables when it’s an adjective, but generally two when a noun (or in ambiguous compounds like “veteran’s day”), except in extremely careful registers.
David Marjanović: “Last time it showed up on the LLog, there was an Adrian who said he couldn’t believe it when he learned to read and found out there was supposed to be a D in his name.”
Are you sure that was on Language Log and involved the name Adrian? I can’t find it.
(This is a cursed question for Google’s AI Overview, sending it frantic trying to summarize nonexistent posts: Adrian may be “a former member of the Los Angeles gang MS-13… discussed on a 2011 Language Log blog post by Mark Liberman”, or “a fictional character cited in a 2003 post on the Language Log linguistics blog”, or else there is no d in the “modern spelling” of Adrian, depending on exactly what words are in the query.)
Here is one of the longer discussions of such affrication at Language Log. (No Adrian.) It includes a link to a John Wells blog about what to do when students put tʃreɪn and dʒrɪŋk down for in a phonetics transcription class.
jraw and chry are, while not universal, pretty unremarkable to me in American. I do a bit of it myself.
Sure, it’s come around now and then, I just don’t think the Adrian story was on the Log. (I see that Wells says “I don’t believe there is any such phonological change in progress”, but rather it’s a neutralization of the difference between /t/ and /tʃ/ before /r/ — which I guess means it isn’t changing in one direction or the other, it’s just always been that way.)
I have more than once encountered people who affricated t and d before r without knowing they were doing it – including at least one theoretically oriented phonologist. I can’t be sure that it’s universal in modern English, but it’s certainly very widespread on both sides of the Atlantic.
@J.W.: Here’s an affricated “try” from someone who, I believe, lives fairly close to you. It’s at about 1:11. If you start at 1:00, you get a classic “because” with final [s].
And here are two instances of “dry” in quick succession. Start at 6:50 with a classic “sauce”. I’d say the first “dry” is affricated and the second isn’t. I had not been aware of the sandwich called chopped cheese.
The LLog thread that MMcM linked contains my very brief story about Trombino’s in Albuquerque (still there, and I still haven’t tried the key lime pie) and my description of my pronunciation.
Cruttenden does not equate /t, d/ before /r/ with /tʃ, dʒ/, but says that “the contact may be post-alveolar /t̠, d̠/ (although, alternatively, the /r/ may accommodate to the /t, d/ and become alveolar)”.
I can’t find it either, so quite possibly it wasn’t on the LLog. I’m also pretty sure now it wasn’t first-hand, but a quote. Thanks for the links in any case.
I didn’t even recognize the word… And I still haven’t figured out what the immediately preceding word is!
Agreed on the second; the first is said with the mouth too wide open for me to tell. But there’s a long, heavy affricate in traditional just before 7:00.
(Also, YouTube has been insisting on speaking German to me in the last few weeks. “Mutually chopped cheese” indeed.)
@ulr: Thanks. I’ve read a little more on Wells’s ideas about syllabification, and I think “counterintuitive” is enough of an understatement that I don’t need to know any more.
@DM: And I still haven’t figured out what the immediately preceding word is!
“Survived”.
Oops, they copied the wrong one of the OED1’s pronunciations: the one with stress on the second syllable was written (kwǫ̆ndēᵊ·ri), i.e. second syllable like the word “dare”. The mid dot after a vowel indicated primary stress in that system.
The 1908 entry gave the pronunciation as quan-DAR-y first and QUAN-da-ry second, but noted “Recent dicts. favour qua·ndary, given by Johnson (who calls it ‘a low word’)”. (The quan-DAR-y pronunciation was demoted to “formerly” in the 1989 edition.) The Farmer-Henley slang dictionary of 1902 also included quandary, labeled “colloquial”, and cites Grose’s Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue, which gives the definition: “QUANDARY, to be in a quandary, to be puzzled; also one so overgorged as to be doubtful which he should do first, sh—e or spew.”
I had no idea anyone ever considered it “low” — and it wasn’t too low for Jowett to use in a translation of Plato!
Well, a stressed syllable dropping out would be a rather unusual affair. (It is known – in special cases – from Sanskrit and Rather Modern Greek, but not from anywhere closer to Standard Average European.)
Shrooms?
Good point. But in some phonologies that’s actually a stressed /ə/ dropping out (and then taking the /m/ with it), which makes a little more sense; this also leads to syllabic /l/ from stressed -ul- in some American accents.
I should’ve thought to check whether Green includes quandary as slang. He does, but only until 1800: it’s respectable after that. He has a couple of quotations that definitely have second-syllable stress:
And one that appears to be an early example of first-syllable stress with the second syllable elided:
But actually, that’s Green’s typo; it’s spelled “quandaries” in the 1748 original as well as in the 1979 reprint that he cites.
Good catch — better let him know!
Shrooms?
I will always treasure the memory of a college friend ordering a za with roni and shrooms.
Would Drew for Andrew and his cousin Dré for André count? And I’m sure I’m forgetting some from ’80s slang.
Dapf “potatoe(s)”.
(coined by my sister when she was little; still spreading)
This word list, which starts with words that start with apostrophes, reminded me of (su)burb, (a)fro, (neighbor)hood, (pa)rents (maybe partly from “pay-rents”, and we used to say “rental units”), (ste)roid, and (atti)tude.
There’s also (re)tard.
Cutting off the other end, there’s “rookie” for “recruit”.
quandary in the wild at 9:00: spoken by an American, three syllables, stress on the first.
quandary in the wild around 13:20: spoken by a Brit, three syllables, stress on the first.