I wake up with the word pastiche rattling round my head and I have no idea why. I try to ignore it. The more I try, the more it’s there. Pastiche, pastiche, pastiche.
Sometimes it’s just the sound of it in my head. Other times I see the word floating cloud-like against a black background, the letters fluffy and white.
I get a new coffee filter, measure out coffee, and wonder if I even know what pastiche means. I think it’s something collagey – something made up from different parts of other things.
For a few hours I forget pastiche. Then it pops up again and I look it up.
The online etymology dictionary defines pastiche as: a medley made up of fragments from different works,” 1878, from Fr. pastiche, from It. pasticcio “medley, pastry cake,” from V.L. *pasticium “composed of paste,” from L.L. pasta “paste, pastry cake” (see pasta). Borrowed earlier (1752) in the It. form.he French version of the greco-Roman dish pastitsio or pasticcio, which designated a kind of pie made of many different ingredients.
There it is. Pie. My fixation with the word pastiche is not random but a [Jungian] example of my desire for security, comfort, pleasure. Pastiche = pie = Mr. Darcy bringing me one.
Still I wait.