When I found this video of an octopus frolicking gleefully across the ocean floor on two of its legs, I said to my well-meaning colleague, “could anything be better than a video of an octopus frolicking gleefully across the ocean floor on two of its legs?” “Yes,” my colleague replied, “a video of two octopi frolicking gleefully across the ocean floor on four of their collective legs would be better.” “No,” my more demanding colleague chimed in, noting “the video should contain three octopuses and six gleeful, frolicking legs or none at all.” At this point my grouchiest colleague added his unsolicited response, insisting that “best yet would be no octopodes frolicking on any gleeful legs anywhere at all.” Octopi? Octopuses? Octopodes? Which colleague was the best grammarian of the sea?
As it turns out, both my demanding and my grouchy colleagues were correct. Although “octopi” is often used as the plural form of “octopus,” this usage is incorrect. The mistake stems from the assumption that the term “octopus” has a Latin origin when, in fact, its origin is Greek. For this reason, the classic plural is “octopodes” (pronounced ok-TOP-uh-deez), though the more widely used form is “octopuses.” Fowler’s Modern English Usage goes so far as to say that “the only acceptable plural in English is octopuses,” since using the original Greek “would lead to a pedantic English plural form octopodes.” We at Academic Approach have a collective soft spot for pedantic English plural forms, so we’re opting for office-wide adoption of “octopodes,” though we understand it is not for everyone. Kudos to our Chicago neighbor, The Shedd Aquarium, for not only using a correct plural form, “octopuses,” when describing the Great Pacific Octopus, but also for likening this nimble footman to Spiderman, Athena, Elastigirl, Mercury, and Wonder Woman in one fell swoop!
2 Comments
Dearest Grammarian of the Sea:
It seems to me that even the grouchiest of your colleagues has rather kindly let you off the hook- if I may use a somewhat barbed and crude, sea-related metaphor. As a fussy grammarian who, on occasion, likes to throw an octopus or two on a hot grill (first brush with an easily prepared olive oil, garlic, lemon zest, lemon juice, and pepper grilling sauce; turn once after about three minutes, brush again with grilling sauce, and grill for another three minutes; serve immediately), I am well aware of the octopodes’ fascinating and somewhat messy ink sacks and buccal masses; but I must question the accuracy of your ascription of legs to my savory mollusks- alive or grilled. With all due respect, I would be most grateful were you to answer- while standing upon the sturdy legs of both grammatical and anatomical authority- my ocean-bottom query: does an octopus have legs? I beg you to be patient with my tedious interrogation; indeed in even raising this point I feel more than ever my affinity with that great figure of modernist despondency, J. Alfred Prufrock, who expresses his own profound understanding of both the mysteries and figurative possibilities of the ocean depths when, at an impasse and unable to find the right word, he resignedly proffers: “I should have been a pair of ragged claws/Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.”
Dear Reader,
Your query is appreciated. Octopodes, in fact, do not have “legs.” My reference to the “legs” of the octopus was a misguided attempt at poetry and expediency. In fact, the terminology used to describe the body parts upon which the octopus in the video is frolicking is highly debated. The American Heritage Dictionary calls these parts “tentacles,” while both the Oxford English Dictionary and the Merriam-Webster Dictionary refer to them as “arms.” No dictionary that I referenced called the items in question “ragged claws” as you hoped. I trust that you will recover from this disappointment.
As true grammarians of the sea, we should throw away the legs, arms, claws, and tentacles that divide us and rely upon the unifying force of etymology instead. The word “octopus” is, after all, a simple fusion of the Greek word “okto,” meaning eight, and “pous,” meaning “foot.” So, there you have it: the videotaped frolicking was technically taking place on two of the octopus’s eight gleeful feet.
Thank you for the opportunity to clarify this issue, and best of luck in the kitchen with all of your octopoid adventures!
One Trackback
[...] last week’s extensive discussion of octopoid conjugation and etymology, we at Academic Approach could not have been more intrigued to see today’s breaking news on [...]