tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-341346152024-03-13T20:05:12.138-04:00The Language LadyA website for the sheer pleasure of wondering about language and those who use it.The Language Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02233859743504768092noreply@blogger.comBlogger73125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34134615.post-22520753253145608112015-10-24T14:39:00.003-04:002015-10-24T14:41:38.733-04:00Band of Brothers, Household Words, and the Immortal St Crispin's Day Speech<blockquote style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;" type="cite">
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“All things are ready if our minds are so.” — <i>Henry V</i>, Act 4, Scene 3, </div>
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Wm. Shakespeare</div>
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<span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1813862036" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">October 25, 2015</span></span> -- <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1813862037" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">tomorrow</span></span> -- marks the 600th anniversary of a battle between the English and the French over a territorial dispute in northern France at a place called Agincourt. It was there that the scrappy but loyal English army — crazily outnumbered by the French armored knights — managed to pull off one of the most unlikely military victories of the Hundred Years War. Some 200 years later, William Shakespeare took this moment as the basis of his play, <i>Henry V</i>, and wrote the St. Crispin’s Day speech, one of the most inspirational speeches of all time.</div>
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For me, all this might have been lost without the movie, <i>Henry V</i>, made in 1989, or almost 400 years after the play came out; it stars the English actor-writer-director Kenneth Branagh as the 27-year-old King Henry V. This was perhaps King Kenneth’s finest hour:</div>
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In the film, King Henry rallies his troops moments before battle. It is October 25, 1415 and the sick, disheartened English soldiers are well aware of the 5-1 strength of the French army; Henry overhears his cousin, a noble named Westmoreland, wishing for more men to help their cause. The king responds, turning this wish around in a speech that captures each man’s desire for honor, glory, espirit-de-corps, and the chance that their names (i.e., his and some nobles’s but, whatever) would go down in history:</div>
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“Then will our names, </div>
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Familiar in their mouths as household words*,</div>
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Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter, </div>
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Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester</div>
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Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb’red …</div>
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(*The phrase, “household words” originated with that line.)</div>
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The real Battle of Agincourt fell on the English holy day of St. Crispin/Crispian, which commemorates twin Christian martyrs who died on <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1813862038" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">October 25</span></span> circa 296. In his speech, Henry uses this coincidence, saying, “This day is call’d the feast of Crispian,” adding that whatever soldier outlived the day’s battle would thereafter “stand a-tiptoe” when the day was named; and that every year on St. Crispin’s Eve any veteran of this battle would feast his neighbors and roll up his sleeve to show his scars, saying, “These wounds I had on Crispin’s Day.”</div>
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As King Henry nears the end of his speech, he makes every soldier feel privileged to be there, to be part of this special corps, saying:</div>
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“We few, we happy few, we band of brothers …” </div>
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But before I say how the line “band of brothers” has been immortalized in books and film, let’s first focus on the word “happy:”</div>
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King Henry is hardly calling his soldiers “merry” or “lighthearted” at that moment. The word “happy” is, like many adjectives in English, formed from a noun with a “y” as a suffix. We see this in words like rainy, windy, salty, smelly, etc. Some words need a double-consonant before the y, like sunny, funny, skinny, etc., and “happy” falls into that bunch. </div>
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The noun form, “hap,” by way of Old Norse, means “luck,” just as someone without luck is “hapless.” Meanwhile, “happy” has evolved to mean “content,” and is associated more with feelings of pleasure than luck. Of course, happy and lucky are often related, but the two are distinct as well. In any case, I think Shakespeare’s King Henry meant that his band was “lucky” to be together that day — a subtlety that adds a little more meaning (and sense) to the moment. </div>
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As for “band of brothers,” this phrase has lived on — from Rear-Admiral Horatio Nelson’s Battle of the Nile in 1798 to the Steven Spielberg/Tom Hanks HBO series, “Band of Brothers,” based on the 1992 Stephen Ambrose book of the same name. Just as King Henry implied in his speech, a band of brothers today still means a close-knit group of fighting men.</div>
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And the speech works wonders on King Harry’s troops: Click on the link below, which starts just prior to the speech, to hear it for yourself — but don’t click off as the band of brothers cheer; instead, wait until after the messenger brings word of the advancing French army and the once-complaining cousin says he’s ready to single-handedly take them on. You just might find yourself a-tiptoe and bellowing a hearty, “Huzzah!”</div>
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What I really want to toast today, this 600th anniversary of Agincourt’s savagery and mayhem over land titles and kingly pride, is the silver lining: a speech whose heart and soul can give hope to any of us with heavy odds to fight and the guts to stay the course — and win.</div>
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The speech: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s1Ulz-Qwnx8" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank">https://www.youtube.com/watch?<wbr></wbr>v=s1Ulz-Qwnx8</a></div>
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#Stcrispinsday #shakespeare #bandofbrothers #henryV #battleofagincourt </div>
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The Language Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02233859743504768092noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34134615.post-73735647500940382912015-10-21T22:58:00.002-04:002015-10-21T22:58:38.231-04:00Pandering with Hillary’s God-Given Potential<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px;">
<span style="color: #282828; font-size: 12.5px;">At last week’s Democratic Debate Hillary finally showed herself as confident and natural, something the American media — and voters — waited for years to see. It may have been a performance, but it seemed real enough — except for a little linguistic crack in her veneer of confidence, and I want to give Hillary a tip: </span></div>
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Ditch the words, “God-given potential.” </div>
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What’s so wrong with those words? you might wonder. For one thing, no one says “God-given potential.” Usually “potential” is enough; if need be, we might add, “such potential,” or “enormous potential.” But “God-given potential” is just not natural — and thus, the crack in Hillary’s new natural persona. She’s pandering.</div>
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That pretentious word pair rang false each time Hillary said it, and she said it not just once, but three – three -- times, throughout the debate. It was excessive, shameless wording that targeted the religious, those wanting some sort of sign that Hillary is a woman of faith. What they heard sounded more like a golden calf.</div>
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In his “I Have A Dream” speech Martin Luther King ended with “God Almighty, we’re free at last!” And in that case, the usage was integral to his entire message. But that was over half a century ago. These days, it’s all about the polls and getting support from anywhere, any group. But I thought it was the Republicans who had the Super-Pac with the word, “God.”</div>
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Hearing Hillary go all-fake for a few (god-given) potential extra votes might be smart politics, but it’s cynical. Even the Bible doth protest (remember Matthew 6:5 about not blurting out prayers on street corners?) George W pandered and wooed — and look where that’s led! (#teaparty)</div>
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The offending words first surfaced in Hill’s opening statement when she said that each child should have the chance “to live up to his or her God-given potential.” Ditto the second time (re the criminal justice system) and again referring to children “living up to their God-given potential.”</div>
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Why did I keep thinking she was going to say, “goddam potential?” Was it the way she drew out her Midwestern twangy, “Gahd –“?</div>
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The third time, toward the end of the debate, she said, “And I want to make sure every single person in this country has the same opportunities that he (Bill) and I have had, to make the most of their God-given potential.” </div>
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That time, I laughed out loud. Again, I thought she was going to use the curse word. And I realized it’s because when we use (a lower-case) “god-given,” it’s actually in a negative way, as in: “Who says it’s your god-given right to …” or “She thinks she’s got this god-given ability to …” It’s an emphatic and strategic usage, deployed to strengthen an argument. </div>
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So, Hillary — if you are trying to use that word to name-drop your association with the Almighty to reach religious voters, please stop. Godfahbid you come off as false after all that practice sounding natural.</div>
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#Hillary #firstdemocraticdebate #godgiven #pander</div>
The Language Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02233859743504768092noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34134615.post-44926778768685768302014-06-01T12:02:00.001-04:002014-06-01T12:02:53.317-04:00Where Have You Been? vs. Where Were You? Explaining the Difference
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I’ve been
everywhere, man, looking for someone … searching for someone … Where have you
been all my life?<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">A
shout-out here to the pop singer, Rihanna, whose 2011 hit song, “Where Have You
Been,” has provided, perhaps, a key to explaining when to say, for example, “I
saw” vs “I have seen;” or, in Rihanna’s case, “Where have you been” vs “Where
were you.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Native
speakers of English might not be aware of the difficulty foreign learners of English
have in understanding the “have been” verb tense, grammatically known as the
present perfect. This is because that tense is either rarely used, or simply
does not exist in many languages, including French, Latin American Spanish and
Portuguese, and German. In those languages, the tense known as the “simple
past” (saw, had, played, did, etc.) usually does the job -- “Did you already
see that movie?” -- with another form of assist from the present tense that
translates as: “I wait for you since two hours!” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">When
Rihanna belts out the chorus, “Where HAVE YOU BEEN (caps mine) all my life?” she
should be asking a new-found love why he has not shown up until now. (Note: Do
not use this whole song as a good example – just the chorus.) The idea of “now”
is key in the present perfect: this tense expresses an idea rooted in the past
– in this case, why wasn’t Mr. Right around, say, five or ten years earlier –
and relates to the present. But the happy fact is, Mr. (or Ms.) Right is there
at last – now. Rihanna, born in 1988, is currently 26 years old; her man, let’s
say, is 29. “Where have you been all my life” is a happy question, because
there is still plenty of time for them to be together. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">On
the other hand, if Rihanna sang, “Where WERE YOU all my life?” the story would
suddenly change: the verb “were” is the simple past tense, meaning an action is
over, completed, finished. The simple past tense makes it sound like Rihanna’s
life is just about over, completed, finished; that maybe she’s now 99 years old
and has discovered her true love at the very last minute. “Where were you all
my life?” suggests that there is little or no time left to enjoy this
relationship.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">In
a less dramatic context, let’s say your company has transferred you to New York
from France for three years. At first you are so excited, thinking of all the
places you want to see while in the United States and that being here for three
years should give you plenty of time to explore. The reality is, work is
time-consuming, and for one reason or another, your first year flies by with
your never having left New York City. You go to a party and someone asks you,
“How do you like the United States?” You reply:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>WRONG: I like New York but I didn’t go anywhere
else.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>RIGHT: I like New York but I haven’t gone
anywhere else.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The
“right” response relates to now. Since you have only been in New York for one
year out of three, you still have two years left to see the Grand Canyon,
Washington, D.C., or lie on a beach in Miami. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The
“wrong” response would only be correct for when, after three years, you are
back in Paris and someone asks how you liked the United States. At that point,
your time in the States is over, completed, and finished.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The
“have done”/present perfect tense does not focus on when you do something – it
just cares whether you have done it or are still doing it. The simple past
tense is all about “when”: last week, a minute ago, the day you were born, and
so on. So the sentence, “I have seen that movie” is perfect for when you and a
friend are trying to pick a move to see. But “I have seen that movie last week”
is wrong, because “last week” is over, so the correct verb should be “saw,” or
“I saw that movie last week.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Native
English speakers never confuse their tenses in the above situation; however,
there are times when they do mix the two, such as in, “Did you eat lunch yet?”
(It will probably sound like “Djoo-weet lunch yet?”) That sentence, and similar
usages, are common enough to have become standard English – and yet technically
the question conflicts with the “rules” of each tense: “Did you eat” = some
point in the past, but “yet” = “up until now.” The truth is, native English
speakers typically do not know the rules behind these two tenses (and probably
wouldn't care if they did). The decisive factor here is that it’s quicker to
say “djoo-weet yet” than “have you eaten yet” and since speed and ease of
saying things often (and in other languages, too) trump being “correct,” the
two forms of past tense have found a certain amicable co-existence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Has
this helped you? If so, just ask Rihanna where she has been all your life!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->The Language Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02233859743504768092noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34134615.post-48014176560830775682013-11-10T15:33:00.002-05:002013-11-11T23:45:31.788-05:00Lie vs Lay vs #MileyCyrus<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; line-height: 19px;">Andrea, from Los Angeles, wrote recently to ask if I had seen the letter (posted on multiple media sites) from “rock Indie heartthrob” Sufjan Stevens to Miley Cyrus. I thought I could guess the topic, but, no, he was not taking Miley to task for her famously outlandish twerking at the VMA Awards. Instead, it turned out to be perhaps the first charmingly suggestive fan letter ever disguised as a grammar lesson.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Stevens opened by pointing to Miley’s use of “lay” instead of “lie” in her current song, “#Get It Right.” A quick reading of the lyrics revealed worse defects than grammar (lack of subtlety, for one). But Stevens’s concern was this:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“I been laying in this bed all night long</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Don’t you think it’s time to get it on”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Miley,” Stevens said in the letter, “technically speaking, you’ve been LYING, not LAYING; (laying is) an irregular verb form that should only be used when there’s an object, i.e., ‘I been laying my tired booty on this bed all night long.’”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Stevens, a forgiving guy, says, “But don’t worry, even Faulkner messed it up.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Now, I assume here that Stevens is referring to William Faulkner’s novel, “As I Lay Dying.” However, I think Stevens has this one wrong: Faulkner’s title suggests a past form verb tense, and since the past form of “lie” is “lay” then both the verb and tense are impeccable. Whatever.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Perhaps too much Miley on the brain got Stevens momentarily muddled, because he was soon grammatically back on track, pointing out that #Get It Right got the verb tense wrong: “Surely, you’ve heard of the Present Perfect Continuous Tense (I HAVE BEEN LYING in this bed all night long …)?” Here, Stevens is absolutely right, if a tad school-marmish given the context and nature of the song.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The present perfect continuous tense that Stevens cites is used when we want to convey an action started in the past that is still continuing. (“I’ve been waiting forever!”) What Stevens neglected to mention is that few Western languages have this tense – and English is unique among the Germanic languages it’s a part of to have it (thank you, 5<sup>th</sup> century Celts!)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Oddly, Stevens stays away from this wonderful bit of arcane linguistic history when describing the present perfect continuous. Instead, he uses the tense as a jumping-off point for combining verb tense knowledge, as well as what emerges as his own Miley-mania, all in one:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“It’s a weird, equivocal, almost purgatorial tense, not quite present, not quite past, not quite here, not quite there. Somewhere in between. I feel that way all the time. It kind of sucks.” (Go, Sufjan! You’re clearly taking this tense seriously.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Then he gets personal: “But I have a feeling your ‘present perfect continuous’ involves a lot more excitement than mine. Anyway, doesn’t that also sum up your career right now? Present. Perfect. Continuous. And Tense. Intense?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Honestly, if grammar were made this exciting in school, perhaps teachers might consider teaching it (first, most teachers would have to learn it, since English grammar stopped being taught in American public schools in the 1970s). But a Sufjan Stevens grammar class could clearly be a high school favorite.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">As Stevens brings his note to a heated close, he drops his grammar lesson but still manages to bring parsing and passion together:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Girl, you work it like Mike Tyson. Miley, I love you because you’re the Queen, grammatically and anatomically speaking. And you’re the hottest cake in the pan.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Don't ever grow old. Live brightly before your fire fades into total darkness. XXOO Sufjan”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Language Lady thanks this Indie rocker grammar-guy for bringing “lay,” “lie,” #Miley, verb tenses, and even personal tension to our attention; after all, attention to grammar is, ideally, Present. Perfect (well, rarely, even among those who try). And Continuous.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b>ADDENDUM</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">More than one reader responded to the “Such,” “As,” and “Such as by” article with thoughts that had occurred to me early on, but got ruled out the more I researched the exact meaning of “such,” “such as,” and “such as by.” </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">The feeling among these readers, who thoughtfully went through my post with a fine-toothed comb, was that “such as” and “such as by” are legitimate legal phrases and that in the given document, “such as by” implies that there are more out ways possible than the examples given, whereas “as by” implies only the given examples.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Their concern was that perhaps by tweaking the legalese the way I did, I might have also changed the meaning. Any opinions or considerations out there?</span></span></div>
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The Language Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02233859743504768092noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34134615.post-83037602676306768322013-11-09T20:47:00.005-05:002013-11-09T20:47:54.498-05:00Such As, By, and Such as by<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #000032; font-family: Arial;">The Language Lady has started going through her mail, and will address readers' questions in the next few entries. FIrst is one from </span><span style="color: #000032; font-family: Arial;">Daniel, a lawyer in California:</span><span style="color: #000032; font-family: Arial;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #000032; font-family: Arial;">Q. Hello Language Lady,</span></div>
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<span style="color: #000032; font-family: Arial;">The basic question is whether one must say “such as by,” or is it equally acceptable to say “as by”? That is, do you need the “such”? Consider this sentence: </span><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span></div>
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<span style="color: #000032; font-family: Arial;">“I</span><span style="font-family: Arial;">f the recipient of the disparaging communication cannot <i>act</i> on the injurious words, such as by reducing or withdrawing his bid on the property, then no tort occurs.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Would that sentence be just as good if I said “. . . injurious words, as by reducing ….”? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">A. Hi Daniel,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Good Point! It’s great to know there are grammatically aware lawyers out there who want to eliminate unnecessary words; and you’re right in detecting that there is something unhealthy about that sentence. But it’s not just “such.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Let’s start by paring the phrase down to its subject-verb-object essentials:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“If recipient cannot act on words, such as by reducing or withdrawing …”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The problem is with “such as.” Look what happens when we take "such as" away:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“If recipient cannot act on the injurious words by reducing or withdrawing his bid on the property, then no tort occurs.” Using only “by” shows the means by which the recipient might take action. “Such as” is extraneous because the phrase itself goes with things, not actions. For example:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“I eat fruit, such as apples and bananas.” Here, “such as” specifies what kind of fruit (apples and bananas). We don’t say, “I eat fruit, such as by peeling apples and bananas.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">That is basically what is going on in your document: “such as” is modifying “injurious words” while the little preposition “by” is showing how the required action should be taken; i.e., “reducing” or “withdrawing” the bid.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Sticking “such as” together with “by” is thus a bit like mixing oil and water – each has its special purpose but should not be used together.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Your suggestion to go with “as by,” deleting “such,” would render the pared-down version to: “If recipient cannot act on words, as by reducing or withdrawing his bid …” Does that sound natural to you?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">How about “as by” in a different context:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“She gets to work quickly, as by taking the subway or riding her bike.” It doesn’t work, does it? Right: we don’t need “as.” That sentence should be, “She gets to work quickly by taking the subway or riding her bike.” Just using “by,” is perfectly efficient in showing how she gets to work.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Language Lady will close “by” proposing another version for your document, “such as”: “If the recipient of the disparaging communication cannot act on the injurious words and neither reduces nor withdraws his bid on the property, then no tort occurs.”</span></div>
The Language Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02233859743504768092noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34134615.post-51955018654604759692013-09-07T12:24:00.002-04:002013-09-07T12:24:28.439-04:00“Me and My Friend” : Another Rule Bites the Dust<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">“It’s Sunday evening and me and my friend Ruth feel
like walking.” This was the first sentence in a front-page article I found in
this week’s “West Side Spirit,” a weekly neighborhood paper written about and
by generally educated and informed Upper West Siders in New York.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">As the article unfolded, it was clear that this
sentence was not intended to be dialect or deliberately slang-y; it was a
serious article, a thought piece about the fallen World Trade Center and the
Freedom Tower that is rising in its place. The author’s use of “me and my
friend Ruth” (yes, devoid of commas, too) was simply his natural language, the
same one my own 20-something children often use among their peers. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I’ve been hearing this kind of talk for years.
Between the late 1990s and well into the 2000s (and probably yesterday), I typically
corrected my young and later teenaged children when they said things like, “Me
and James are going uptown;” I forced them to say the standard English, “James
and I are going uptown,” before they actually did go uptown. I was not being a
grammar snob – just a mom who wanted her children to know how to speak the
language that would most help them get a good job and not be considered
illiterate at the interview. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Well, them days is over</span></i><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">: the writer of the
article and that sentence, a man named Adam Berlin, actually teaches writing at
John Jay College of Criminal Justice. Mr. Berlin’s use of that phrase stood out
to me as a sign that the language is changing. It was like hearing President Obama
say, “with Michelle and I” (as I noted in a February 2009 blog). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">When there is no more social stigma to a particular
grammar usage, the fight is pretty much gone; what remains is a certain lengthy
transition period – for instance, most Baby Boomers and I will be taking the
traditional standard to our graves. (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Me
and my friends just don’t talk like that!)<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">And though the writings of one teacher do not
immediately constitute an entire generational change, this seems like an
example of an established linguistic theory of language change -- like a verbal
stone dropped into a river that ripples outward. This particular change has
been coming for pretty much my whole life; yet, though baby boomers and Gen
Xers rebelled about certain things (the Vietnam War, civil rights, nukes, whales
etc.), we pretty much accepted being corrected on that particular grammatical
point.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Grammar changes are coming rapidly these days. Since
starting this blog seven years ago this month, I have modified my stance on two
other big grammar changes that I have come to accept, rather than struggle to
uphold: “lie vs lay,” (blog post Sept. 2012), for which there is now no real
distinction between the two; and then with the above-mentioned, standard grammarian’s
long-decried “with her and I (or other such combinations), which would
traditionally have been “with her and me.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Me and you are probably wondering what will be
next.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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The Language Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02233859743504768092noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34134615.post-50279193091396234262013-08-06T21:01:00.000-04:002013-08-06T21:28:49.697-04:00Accents & Dipthongs<!--StartFragment--><span style="font-family: Calibri, Verdana, Helvetica, Arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><i>Dear Language Lady,</i><i> </i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri, Verdana, Helvetica, Arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><i><br /></i></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Calibri, Verdana, Helvetica, Arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><i></i><i> I’m from Chicago and have a passion for languages and accents. I have a Polish friend who has an accent when she speaks English. Even her “hello” sounds different. Is this because she hasn’t mastered the diphthong sounds of our vowels? I’ve heard that the vowels in other languages are pure and ours are diphthong-y. Is this what gives her (and other foreign English speakers) an accent?</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri, Verdana, Helvetica, Arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><i><br /></i></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Calibri, Verdana, Helvetica, Arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><i></i><i>- Liz from the WIndy City<br />
</i><br /> Dear Windy City Liz,<br />
<br /> Interesting question! But the reason your friend has an accent is not because she is unfamiliar with diphthongs (i.e., elongated vowel sounds) – Polish has those too. The reason your Polish friend has an accent is because she is inserting her Polish vowels and consonants into American words. So before going into diphthongs, I will first explain about accents.<br />
<br />
ACCENTS <br />
<br /> Foreign accents – whether it’s Americans speaking another language or vice versa -- are the result of placing your tongue in the same position for a foreign word as you would for your own language. This goes for consonants as well as vowels. For example: when you’re at a bar and ask for a Dos Equis using your American alphabet sounds, see how gringo you sound? That’s because Spanish speakers pronounce the letter “d” with the “th” sound we use for “the.” So if you say “Dos” using the Spanish “d,” your tongue is then in position to produce their shorter, tighter “o;” add an “s” and – olé – you might even sound authentic (well, until you get to “Equis”).<br />
<br />
European, Asian, Uralic and many other languages tend to keep the tongue in the middle of their mouth to say their vowels – this gives the vowels a certain tension. Try this: while keeping your tongue between the roof of your mouth and your jaw, say ah-eh-eee-oh-oo. Now do the same using our vowel sounds, and notice how your tongue lies naturally in the lower jaw. This is what elongates our vowels and gives them that distinctly American sound. <br />
<br />
For a foreign-accented “hello,” you start with your h-sound + short “e” (heh) in the middle of your mouth, where it naturally produces a clipped “e” sound; this in turn leads to a light, clipped “l” sound tapped quickly on the roof of your mouth, and ends with a tense “o” in the middle of your mouth: Heh-Lohhh! An American, however, would start “hello” with the tongue in the lower jaw, tongue behind the teeth. The “h” + relaxed “e” produced from the lower jaw then leads the tongue to slightly flatten against the roof of the mouth for a heavier-sounding “l” and ends with the “o” elongating in the lower jaw. Hel-LO-o-hhh!<br />
<br />
THONGS (Monoph-, Diph-, and Triph-)<br />
<br />
Thong is an unusual word – not just because we now associate it with the smallest piece of lady’s underwear ever invented. It’s because it’s not only Anglo-Saxon, going all the way back, pre-950 A.D., to the Old Norse word, “thvengr,” meaning “strap,” or piece of material or animal hide to secure something (as the middle piece of a flip-flop or thong-style sandal holds your foot in place), but also a Greek word meaning “sound.” <br />
<br />
The “diphthongs” (pronounced either “dip”- or “dif”-thong) that the writer from Chicago referred to in the letter above literally means “two-sounds,” which many English vowels have, even in a word of only be one syllable, like “day” or “lie.” When you say the names of our English vowels – A, E, I, O, U – you are saying diphthongs, whose two-sounds can be heard in words like play, rear, fried, boat, and cute. “How” and “low” are diphthongs, too. What each of those vowel sounds has in common is that it forces your mouth and/or tongue to move to complete the sound:<br />
<br />
If you say, “boat,” “how,” and “cute,” notice how, after the initial vowel sound, your lips round together to complete it. After saying the initial sound in “play,” “fried,” and “rear,” your tongue arches upward to make a type of “y”- sound, making these vowels two-sounded. “Pure” vowel sounds, or monophthongs (“monof”thongs), on the other hand, do exist in English – in words like “pop,” “lend,” “please,” and “love.” They’re called “pure” sounds because there is no glide from one sound to another, but are relatively fixed from the beginning to the end of the word. (So, a monophthong is literally FUN!)<br />
<br />
But English hardly has a monopoly on diphthongs; they exist in all major Western languages and in tongues as varied as Estonian, Mandarin Chinese, and Zulu. For instance, diphthongs are why it’s so hard for us English-speakers to say “oeil” or “loi” or “soeur” (eye, law, sister) in French. “Rey,” (king) and “hoy” (today) are among the many diphthongs in Spanish, just as “meu” (my) “oi” (hi) and “muito” (very) are in Portuguese. Say “München” or any umlauted-u or o in German, and you have a diphthong. <br />
<br />
Finally, there’s the “triphthong” – as in the English words, “fire,” “iron,” and “hour” --where a vowel glides from one sound to the next and to another (3 times), all effortlessly with native speakers. You probably never even realized just how acrobatic and articulate your vowel sounds are – but that same speed and subtlety in someone else’s language is elusive to adult non-native speakers; and that will always, to one degree or another, keep the world swimming in foreign accents.<br />
<br /> </span></span>
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The Language Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02233859743504768092noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34134615.post-16223989531410269782013-07-21T23:18:00.002-04:002013-07-22T23:12:45.416-04:00Apropos of absolutely nothing<br />
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<!--StartFragment--><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> “Apropos of absolutely nothing” is an expression my dad used to say to bring up a subject unrelated to anything we had been talking about earlier, usually at dinner. Being Midwestern, he pronounced the first word, “APP-r’poh,” and made so little effort to connect the word to its French origin, that I remember as a little girl thinking he had said, “APPLE-poe” and I liked the sound of it. “APPLE-poe of absolutely nothing.” But I have never found a way to say it naturally, except within the family, and even then I would preface it with, “as Dad would say…”<br />
</span></span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, Verdana, Helvetica, Arial;"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: Arial;"> I am bringing up this subject a bit apropos of absolutely nothing itself; but it’s a lazy summer evening and I was reading a book just now when suddenly, the author used that very phrase. Since my father passed away many years ago, the words had an immediate Proustian effect: childhood dinners at home flashed before me, and since my place at the table was always next to Dad, I could hear him talking to me and smiling as he said it. (He always gave some facial cue when using a big phrase that could otherwise sound pretentious so as to share the joke – like when he would say the British “SHedule”, instead of our “SKedule”). Nor did he ever say “Apropos of nothing;” with him it, it was always “absolutely nothing,” with “absolutely” stretching out the phrase and further accentuating how irrelevant it was to the previous conversation chain. But until reading that line a few moments ago, I had never read it nor heard anyone else say it.<br />
</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, Verdana, Helvetica, Arial;"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: Arial;"> “Apropos” was adopted into English from the French “a propos” back in the 17th century and by now should surely not be a stranger. But its Latin roots do tend to relegate it to the back shelf of our linguistic cupboard because it’s just not as useful as other Anglo-Saxon-based, everyday turns of phrase, like, “Oh – you know what?” or in the more current, “This is sort of random but …” <br />
</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, Verdana, Helvetica, Arial;"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: Arial;"> But if you do decide to use the word “apropos” by itself, you should be aware that it is frequently confused with “appropriate,” according to Bee Dictionary’s “Common Errors in English.” A remark may be apropos (relevant) to a situation, but wearing a tuxedo to a formal event is “appropriate” -- not “apropos.” Or maybe some linguistically-minded chef will invent a new seasonal dessert: the Apple Poe.</span></span>
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The Language Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02233859743504768092noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34134615.post-29890180688724204822012-12-30T11:27:00.000-05:002012-12-30T12:05:45.316-05:00Au Jour de Hui and Yesterday: How Language Changes<!--StartFragment-->
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">Being
on the cusp of a new year, it seems somehow fitting to write about change –
namely, language change. But street change also provides a fitting metaphor:</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Like
yesterday - I got out of the subway at 86<sup>th</sup> St and Lexington and
headed toward the new Panera Bread café to meet a student. As I walked, I had a
sudden memory of 86<sup>th</sup> St in the mid-1980s, when there were still
some wooden storefronts and even a few German restaurants, which were then just
remnants of an earlier era when the whole neighborhood was filled with German stores
and families. Now 86<sup>th</sup> St is lined with the sleek, glassy
storefronts found in any mall in America. This change was slow but steady, but
now, from a sidewalk view, the street looks completely different from 25 years
ago.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Language,
as discussed by Guy Deutscher in his enthralling book, “The Unfolding of
Language,” is subject to similar forces of destruction and creation that keep
all living languages -- not just English – fresh and well, even despite heavy
resistance: preservationists support neighborhoods as well as language (where
they’re called “prescriptionists”), each group trying its best to maintain
tradition and standards – succeeding, at times, for a while.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">But
change usually finds its way in the end. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">In
“The Unfolding of Language,” Deutscher shows how all languages constantly seek
shorter and easier ways for speakers to express themselves; this is a principal
part of the “destructive” element of language, while the “creative” aspect
comes up with substitutes for old words as well as new words and expressions. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Grammatical
patterns and easy rules are also key to language. Grammar mistakes are usually
the result of something not fitting a pattern or having a rule not well
understood. Young children make natural mistakes, saying, for example, “I
writed you a letter,” following a past tense pattern they have perceived. My
blog, “Between you and I” (4/28/2009) is an example of people misunderstanding
the pattern (“You and I” as subjects vs objects) and grammatical rule (using
object pronouns after prepositions); my blog, Lie and Lay (9/3/2012) is another
case of people confusing patterns and rules, both persisting for decades until
they are finally reaching a critical mass of acceptance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">To
some, those changes above are still cringe-worthy. That’s because they’re new;
but the older changes are ones we don’t even realize were once cringe-worthy to
a different generation. Take regular English plurals: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the simple “s” or “es,” are standouts of
clear patterns and easy rules. But back in Old English, when such Germanic-rooted
counterparts as “men,” “women,” “children,” “mice,” and “geese” were normal
plurals, a simple “s” no doubt seemed barbaric to the older generation. The “s”
on plural nouns was not chosen in an alphabet lottery; rather, it is the
souvenir of the plural “a-s,” once reserved for certain types of masculine
nouns; gradually, new generations of English speakers began tweaking the rule
so it resembled the system we have today. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Then
there are case systems, where words have certain endings to show their function
in a sentence. Modern Russian, German, and Hungarian have case systems, as did
ancient Latin and Old English. Many Latin scholars have considered the case
system as the pinnacle of form and structure and its destruction as linguistic
doom. But linguist Deutscher points out that the case system itself was created
through the same forces of tearing-down and building-up to make things easier: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">For
example, a noun like “store” would once have been followed by words meaning “to
the” to express movement toward it; the “to the” words are called
“post-positions” because they came after the noun, as in “I’m going store to
the.” Gradually, the post-position words just became the ending to the original
noun, so that “store to the” became “storetothe” –<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>as in,“I’m going storetothe.” This so-called case ending was
simply linguistic evolution – but even that ultimately proved too confusing for
use in modern Latin languages: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">French,
Spanish, Italian, and Portuguese have all done away with case endings, putting
“to the” before the noun (as a prepositional phrase); even so, each of those languages
developed a new shortcut: “a + le” = “au” in French; “alla” in Italian; “al” in
Spanish, or “a” (with an accent) in Portuguese. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Another
example of word-shortening that Deutscher gave was the French word, “aujourd’hui,”
which means “today.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The “hui”
part of the word was abbreviated from what Deutscher assumes was the
pre-recorded Latin “hoc die,” which meant “on this day.” By the time Latin was
recorded, the word for today had been shortened to “hodie,” which Old French
gradually pared down to “hui.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">But
what happened to “hui” is like what happens when I write a thank-you note:
somehow, “thank you,” or “thanks” just seems too short, so I usually add a
heart-felt “so much” for emphasis. In the same way, “hui” felt a little short
to the Old French-speakers, who began adding a more emphatic “on the day of” to
“today,” creating, “au jour de hui” that eventually became the single (though
awkward, I think) “aujourd’hui.” But now even that consolidation has new layer<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=34134615" name="_GoBack"></a> – with the informal French term, “au jour d’aujourd’hui” or
literally, “to the day of to the day of today,” meaning “right now” -- instead
of the more general “now.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">The
point is, as we near January 1, time brings change – for better or worse, but
hopefully more often for the better. On today’s streamlined 86<sup>th</sup>
Street, there are perhaps many who wax nostalgic for the old German place over
Panera Bread (though the Heidelberg’s still there, on Second Avenue). But few
English speakers today would want to go back to the knotty boughs of Old
English. Rather, let us see English as a steady, flowing work in progress.
Cheers!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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The Language Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02233859743504768092noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34134615.post-83379443231397496022012-09-03T20:15:00.000-04:002013-11-09T12:38:15.896-05:00 Lie vs. Lay <span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><b>Lie vs. Lay: <br />
These verbs are now synonyms, though some grammarians may disagree.<br />
The big debate: According to the dictionary … <br />
<br />
</b>“Lie” means to be in a flat or horizontal position; or to be in a state of inactivity, concealment, or expectation (like “to lie in wait”). This verb is “intransitive,” or has no object: A person might lie down on a bed; a dog might lie outside on the grass; a book might lie on the shelf; a tiger might lie in ambush. When a person or thing is lying down, there is no other activity connected to the subject.<br />
<br />
“Lay,” is the “transitive” one – or the one that takes a direct object and is comparable to the word “set” or “put”: “I always lay my keys on the table near the door;” “I laid the baby down in the crib;” “the cat laid his ears back, ready to pounce.” In the phrase, “to lay down the law,” the meaning is “to apply.”<br />
<br />
<b>WHY THE LANGUAGE CHANGE<br />
</b><br />
See for yourself – and spot the confusion. Here are both words in base form, simple past tense, and past participle:<br />
<br />
LIE LAY LAIN<br />
<br />
Vs<br />
<br />
<br />
LAY LAID LAID<br />
<br />
<br />
In short, it's messy: the past tense of “lie” is the same as the base form of “lay.” To fuss over these verbs has proven too much for most people -- particularly when the meaning is clear whichever verb is used. Whether a lion is laying in a tree or lying in one, the mental image is the same.<br />
<br />
It is now decades since I first started hearing “lay” instead of “lie,” and people who now use “lay” instead of the traditional “lie” are educated, intelligent people<br />
-- so there is no social stigma. “Lie” and “lay” are either used interchangeably – or with a preference for “lay” – in movies and on TV, in books and magazines, digital and print, and in everyday conversation. Noted linguist John McWhorter validates the synonymous meaning of the two verbs himself in his book, “What Language Is” (2011). In effect, the distinction is now lost well enough so that both are correct and no cause for further debate.<br />
</span></span>
The Language Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02233859743504768092noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34134615.post-52758647743198475952012-08-19T19:55:00.000-04:002012-08-19T19:55:00.772-04:00The Letter ‘H’ vs. The French<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"></span></span></span><b><span style="font-family: Calibri, Verdana, Helvetica, Arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><br />
</span></span></b><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><i>Hi, hello, and how are you today? <br />
</i><br />
The “h” sound – so basic to English – is such a difficult sound for people whose language does not include it. The French, for instance, have a tough time with it. Though the letter “h” is included in their alphabet and appears in many words (heure, honneur, herbe, etc.), the breathy English “h” is simply silent in French.<br />
<br />
The letter H goes back to the ancient Egyptians and archaic Greeks (800-450 BC), with its symbol thought to represent a fence or posts. From there, it passed into Old Semitic, Phoenician, Etruscan, and Latin, where it had the “ha” sound we recognize in English. H was likewise originally pronounced in early Latin-based languages but then lost over time. In Spanish, however, other h-sounding letters emerged – like x, j, and sometimes g; in current Portuguese, “r” sounds like “h” – with Roberto becoming “Hoberto” and rock and roll, sounding like “hock and holl.” <br />
<br />
H is also found in Germanic languages, which includes English, and that’s where we get most of our h-words, like “house,” “here,” “how,” and “heart.” There are just a handful of h-words in English that have a silent h -- hour, honor, honest, heir, and herb – as a nod to their French ancestry. <br />
<br />
Of all the letters in the alphabet, the H stands out for being dropped and added and dropped and added again, or not, in such a wide variety of languages -- from dialects of Dutch, Norwegian, and Belorussian to cockney English and northern Irish. The standard English name of the letter itself (“eitch” – not “heitch”) reflects this ambivalence, since the H in its name is silent.<br />
<br />
When spoken, H is actually a sound called a “fricative,” a category including f, v, and z; fricatives are produced by partially blocking the flow of air from the vocal passage; this tends to limit the amount of air let out of the mouth, which is a good thing. Treating H as an exhalation -- a natural tendency among French speakers learning English -- can lead to trouble: for example, exhaling the H’s in the line, “In Hartford, Hereford, and Hampshire, hurricanes hardly ever happen” (from the musical “My Fair Lady”) could easily induce hyperventilation.<br />
<br />
Still, until I started teaching, I had never paid much attention to H. I hand it to my French students whose difficulty pronouncing h-words has highlighted the hidden havoc this particular sound can wreak. My longtime French friend, Helene (pronounced <i>sans</i> h, as “ay-len”) was the first to tip me off to this trouble when she would say, “I’ll see you in “alf an how’r” (not “half an hour”). <br />
<br />
That is, Helene could say the h-sound but tended to place it where it was not wanted and not say it where it was. Such difficulties have become more apparent the more I teach. A sentence like, “Amy will take her to the airport in half an hour,” often comes out as, “Haimy will take air to zee hairport in alf an how’r.” <br />
When a sentence starts with a vowel, such as in the “Amy” sentence above, adding the initial H seems instinctive; thus, a sentence like, “It’s nice to see you,” becomes, “Heets nice to see you.” But practice, focus, and a smidgen of breath-holding helps modify that particular tendency.<br />
<br />
On the other hand, when an English sentence is supposed to start with an h-sound, Francophones tend to drop it: with “How are you?” or “Here he is,” for example, typically come out as “Eere ‘e his” and “Ow har you?” (“How” is doubly tough for the French because not only does the “h” sound not exist in their language, neither does the “ow” sound -- not even to express pain: when we say “Ow!” they say “Ai!”) <br />
<br />
This “h-reversal” could be caused by the speaker’s attempting to make the h-sound by exhaling -- but who ends up <i>in</i>haling before the h-word and exhaling on the next word instead. Problems arise when equal weight is given to each word – thus, each word becomes its own special landmine, with all the arrhythmic English words and exhaling and inhaling. A sentence like, “I burned my arm on the oven the other night,” which does not even have an h-word in it, can still produce several: “Hi burned my harm on zee hoven zee hozzerh night.” <br />
<br />
One method I use for helping students suppress the unwanted “h” is to have them group the words as we say them – with some words and syllables stressed and others barely acknowledged, which sounds like: AMy’ll take’erto th’AIRportin HalfnOWr. To start, I begin with two-word combinations where the end-sound of the first word, when extended, can connect to the initial sound of the second: “how-w-are;” or “my-y-y-arm.” The long “e” sound, when extended, produces a “y” sound that is easily linked: “he is” becomes “hee-y-izz;” “the other” becomes “theee-y-other.”<br />
<br />
The same method helps with other word combinations where the second word starts with a vowel, such as: “looked at” which becomes “look-t-at;” or “tried it,” which becomes “try-d-it.” This is similar to the verbal liaisons that we are taught when learning French: “Comment-t-allez vous?” and “Vous-z-etes;” and when done in either language, the result is more natural-sounding and fluid.<br />
<br />
There are sounds in every language that confound non-native speakers. That’s partly what creates a foreign accent – and is also an eye-opener for the native speaker who takes the mother tongue for granted. Given that, I will end this piece with a question I found on Google that made me laff-f-out loud. To the French speaker who answered, I give a huge, heartfelt, high-fiving, “Hurray!” <br />
<br />
</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, Verdana, Helvetica, Arial;"><b>Why can't French people say the "h" sound?<br />
Q.</b> Apparently, the sound does not exist in their language? Why is this so? What the hell kind of language doesn't have the "h" sound? It's the sound that humans make when they inhale and exhale. They make that sound when they laugh. It's intrinsic to the human species, so how can anybody not be able to make that sound? Why do they say 'ockey and 'amburger?<br />
<b><br />
A.</b> French people CAN make the sound. You are very right, we make that sound when breathing and laughing. When you are writing a text in French and you want to write the laughing sound, you do use hahahahhhaha because that is how it sounds. <br />
<br />
However, French is a very flowing language. If they pronounced the 'h's French would sound terrible, all broken up like English. They simply do not say the 'h' because it sounds ugly with the beautiful flowing sound of French. <br />
<br />
If you know someone who speaks French, get them to say ''J'ai joué au hockey en mangeant un hamburger'' the way a normal French person would, without pronouncing the ''h''s of hockey and hamburger. Then get them to say the sentence again, pronouncing the ''h''s. You will see that it will sound like an ugly mixture of German and French if they do.<br />
<br />
So that is why they don't say the ''h'' sound.<br />
<br />
Source(s):<br />
Fluent French speaker with a good lot of common sense.<br />
2 years ago</span></span>
The Language Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02233859743504768092noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34134615.post-73437287154282478172012-05-07T20:56:00.000-04:002012-05-07T20:56:22.780-04:00All About VOUS<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">What right do you have to speak to me?!”</i>
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">The above
question, when spoken in French, and in France, and uttered with just the right
blend of arrogance and disgust, has the verbal power of a swift kick in the
Gallic family jewels, so it is said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">A French
student of mine told me that when she was a young girl and beginning to travel
about in Paris on her own, she was to demand that phrase (but in French, of
course) of any stranger who spoke to her: “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">De
quel droit m’adressez-vous la parole</i>?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Here in the
semi-egalitarian U.S., we generally feel everyone has “the right” to talk to
everyone else; it’s what comes out of the mouth that matters. And most of the
time, what comes out are benign comments about the weather; a request for
directions or to take one’s picture; or the inevitable shared eye-rolling and
related chit-chat when standing in line at the post office or grocery store. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Wherever
people go in the United States, we are constantly speaking and sharing off-the-cuff
opinions or remarks with people we don’t know and may never see again. Partly,
that’s the American culture – but the relative informality of our language helps
us: for instance, unlike in other languages, English has only one “you” and speakers
are not required to consider social status or age difference or even gender.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">The French
culture, by nature more formal and social-conscious than American, uses its
language to keep strangers at bay, beginning with the strategically loaded pronoun,
“you.” French has two forms of “you”: one informal, “tu,” for showing closeness
to friends, relatives, children, and pets; and one formal, “vous,” for showing
respect and formality to authority figures and elders; using “vous” also helps maintain
a certain social distance – between not-so-close friends, and of course, those
of a different class. The two “you”s help keep relationships clear, you could
say.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Meanwhile,
in our English “one-You” world, keeping such distinctions clear is not always
possible - or necessary – such as in post office lines, the grocery store,
asking for directions or offering help, etc. We are a people who love to
comment out loud, and having someone to share a complaint about the weather with
tends to give us a boost. And not having to think about what “you” to use gives
us freedom to have such random exchanges – what may sound personal to
foreigners are really just ways we connect in a light, non-personal way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Just the
other day, I was eating a banana while standing at a corner on Park Avenue (New
York being a capital of schmooze), waiting for the light to change. The man
next to me said, “A banana! Now you’re making me feel guilty – I just ate a hot
pretzel!” I just laughed and chided him on his nutritional habits before we
both went our merry ways.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Practically
speaking, this sort of exchange is impossible in French. To begin with, what
“you” could you pick? You couldn’t use “tu” – using “tu” with any stranger who
is not a child is insulting for the person being addressed; nor would “vous” be
any good for a casual, light-hearted remark when the pronoun is specifically designed
for formality and distance. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Between
French people, it’s a linguistic oxymoron to have an informal exchange with someone
(i.e., a stranger) you need to hold at a distance. A French friend agreed that
making casual remarks to strangers is extremely awkward – and if attempted at
all, would come off sounding like an emergency, or just simply weird.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">A French
airline pilot who often visits New York says he enjoys hearing Americans share
little remarks with each other when on the street or subway. “You are a country
made from pioneers,” he said. “Your culture was formed by helping each other,
and sharing. Ours was not.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">When a
person walks into a store in Paris, “bonjour” (“good day”) is exchanged between
customer and sales person. But in the US, sales people typical say, “Hello, how
are you today?” This greeting, according to several college-age French exchange
students in New York, both astonished and embarrassed them. “Why would a
stranger want to know how am I doing? Only people I know well ask me how I am,”
one of the students explained.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Of
course, there were times long ago when English was quite formal: in
Shakespeare’s time and earlier, there were two forms of “you” – “thou/thee” for
more poetic use as a single pronoun and spoken to family and close friends (as
in, “Wherefore art thou Romeo?”); the plural form, “you,” was the one used with
strangers and authority figures. Over time, though, it was the less formal
“thou” that got pushed out of everyday use, while the more formal “you” took
over as the sole dominant form. Constant use dropped the formality of “you,”
while “thou/thee” became perceived as formal, being used in only ceremonies,
the Bible,<a href="" name="_GoBack"></a> and theater.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">While
today’s French may be much more informal than two hundred years ago, the rules
regarding the use of “tu” and “vous” – and all the implications those rules
represent – seem still very much in place. Thus, “vous” retains a strong hold
in French manners – highlighting social distance and nuance in a way that
Americans visiting France are generally excused for not understanding. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">But see if
you can find the “French” attitude in this English translation of a French joke:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook"; font-size: 11.0pt;">A
kangaroo walks into a café and asks for an espresso. He sits down at the
counter, the barista gives him the espresso and the kangaroo pays 20 euros for
the drink. The man next to him speaks up:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Man: Hello. How are you? (Bonjour.
Comment allez-vous?)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Kangaroo: Fine … and you? (Bien...et
vous?) <br />
M: Pretty good. (Assez bien!) <br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">K: But why are you talking to me? We
don’t know each other. (Mais pourquoi m'adressez-vous la parole? On ne ce
connaît pas!) <br />
</b>M: Well, it’s not every day a kangaroo comes into the café! (Bah, c'est que
des kangourous comme vous on en voit pas souvent ici, dans ce bar!) <br />
K: With espresso for 20 euros, that doesn’t surprise me! (Avec le café à 20
euros ça m'étonne pas!!)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">If you caught the kangaroo’s line, “Why are you talking to
me? We don’t know each other,” then you have grasped the essence of this blog. But
just to make sure … <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">To fully test your new understanding of French street
spontaneity (or lack thereof), try translating the following real-life dialogue
between two random New Yorkers who don’t know each other. The setting is a chilly
fall day that came after three warm days. A woman is walking along Madison
Avenue, when a well-dressed man walking in the same direction speaks as he
passes her: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Man: The one day I don’t wear a
coat! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Woman (after turning to see that he is
not crazy – just in need of a coat - says): Why not get a $5 scarf from the
sidewalk vendor up the street?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Man: Good idea! Do you think beige
would go?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Woman: (Looking at his outfit) Perfect!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">(The man stops at the table; the
woman keeps walking.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Now an imagined English version of the French, according to
their cultural and linguistic parameters:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">French man: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">French woman:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">If you realized that such an exchange could not ever take
place, you are correct. The man is cold and under-dressed, but how could he
possibly share this with a woman he does not know (and is not even interested
in)? Words never even make it to his tongue.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">For argument’s sake, though, let’s say the man starts to
comment to the woman about the weather and how he should have worn a coat. The
woman, suspecting he is either lecherous or crazy or both, lashes out, “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">De quel droit m’addressez-vous la parole</i>?!”
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The man slinks off to a café to warm up and finds
himself sitting next to a kangaroo …</span><span style="color: red; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<!--EndFragment-->The Language Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02233859743504768092noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34134615.post-47356261669511314312011-08-28T18:10:00.004-04:002011-08-28T18:18:30.108-04:00The Penultimate <style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:Arial; panose-1:2 11 6 4 2 2 2 2 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --></style><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>There are some words in English that just don’t sound like what they really mean. Like the word, “enervate,” which means “to exhaust,” but which sounds more like “energize”; fortunately, few people say, “Oooh, I’m enervated!” when they’re exhausted – more like, “I’m pooped!” so confusion is not exactly rampant.
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<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>The word, “penultimate,” on the other hand, is used more often – and a good portion of the time is used wrong. “Penultimate” is a Latin-based word whose meaning has stuck close to its roots and means nothing more than “second to last” in a series or sequence. For example, Spanish students are taught that words in that language are usually stressed on the penúltima,” syllable “as in “sombRERo,” or “tequILa.” Law students know that their penultimate year is their last chance to beef up their academic resumes before their final year places them in the real world.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Arial;">
<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>Etymologically, the word comes from “paen,” meaning “almost,” and “ulimate” meaning “last” or “final.” In English, however, “penultimate” sounds like it should mean something like, “better than the best:”: When we say something is, “the ultimate,” it means that it’s the greatest; the Numero Uno; something close to divine – so saying something is the PENultimate, we (wrongly) reason, sounds like that particular something is even one little divine notch higher – the exclamation point on top of the icing on the cake, so to speak.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Arial;">
<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>The funny thing about “penultimate” is that it is a sort of fancy-sounding Latin word not normally used in everyday speech, and the person using it is often striving for some more graceful turn of phrase. So it is not misused by your average Joe, but rather by those supposedly well-educated ones. Thus, the remaining portion of literate ones who actually know what “penultimate” means feel just a tad (or more) smug for catching the mistake.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Arial;">
<br /><span style="mso-tab-count: 1"> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>I was reminded of this the other day while walking on the Upper East Side in front of two nattily dressed women, who were chatting away when I overheard one of them say to the other, “I mean, would you go to a concert run by people who don’t know what ‘penultimate’ means?” (The Language Lady antennae went straight up!)</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Arial;">
<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>Turns out, the San Francisco Symphony had used “penultimate” improperly in a recent program description of a certain Mozart symphony. With a little googling, I was later able to find the offending usage:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Arial;">
<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“All the otherworldly ability that Mozart possessed was brought to bear in the Jupiter Symphony, the final—and perhaps penultimate—symphony he produced.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Arial;">
<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>What the program meant, of course, was that Mozart’s final symphony was perhaps the “best of the best.” But given the actual definition of “penultimate,” the program unwittingly stated that Mozart’s final symphony was his second to last.
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<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>Personally, I feel two ways about this one word. Naturally, I applaud those who use words in the correct, standard usage. A British airline industry publication sticks with the standard definition with the headline, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">“Carlisle (Airport) clears penultimate expansion hurdle;” </i>the text explains that though development plans for the airport were endorsed, the “final decision” was expected later. (Leave it to the verbal-savvy Brits to do it right.)</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Arial;">
<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>Cheers also to a Portland, OR high school history teacher named “Mr. Carlisle;” his blog is dotted with “penultimate” titles, such as “Dec 16 - The Penultimate Day Before Break!”; “The Penultimate Weekend!” and “The Penultimate Week of School!!” Based on the calendar of exams he gives on the latter, Mr. Carlisle is clearly trying to get his students to remember that “penultimate” means “next to last” – not “final” and not “better than best.” (Hurray for American public high school!)</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Arial;">
<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>Even a recent headline of the online tabloid, Examiner.com got it right: “<span style="color:black;">Bob Dylan and Leon Russell – The Penultimate Show at Indiana’s Roberts Stadium,” with the first line stating that the two still-at-it rock stars played one of the stadium’s last concerts there that evening.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="color:black;">
<br /></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style=" ;font-family:Arial;color:red;" ><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span></span><span style="font-family:Arial;color:black;">But what I don’t like about the word itself is that it sounds so fancy but doesn’t mean anything fancy at all. It’s like putting on airs for a pair of muddy sneakers. If we refer to a “penultimate” performance, it would be more uplifting for readers if the word actually meant his performance was the very-very last word in excellence, the crème of all his crème-iest performances – rather than just his next to last.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Arial;color:black;">
<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style=";font-family:Arial;color:black;" ><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>Misusing “penultimate” is understandable – maybe even desirable – because we could use a word to break through the crowd of “ultimate” spas, movie experiences, designer blue jeans, or even trendy cupcakes. How do we convey some breakaway experience that tops all others?</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style=" ;font-family:Arial;color:black;" >
<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>Native speakers of English tend to avoid the multi-syllabic Latinate words when shorter Anglo-Saxon ones will do: Why say “quotidian” when you can say, “daily”; “reflect” when you can simply “think”? Latin-rooted words usually give a deeper and a certain elevated meaning – like “sustenance” or “nourishment” (both Latin) over the Anglo, “food.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Arial;">
<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>In a way, “penultimate” could step up to the plate: it sounds like what we want to say – and with enough misuse, “penultimate” could change meanings, the way countless words have before it.
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<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>For example, “nice,” a 13<sup>th</sup> century word that originally meant “ignorant,” morphed several times in meaning -- as wanton, extravagant, elegant, strange, modest, thin, and shy – until settling on “pleasant” or “agreeable” around 1750. Other common word changes include “girl,” (a young person of either sex), “quick,” (alive), and “sophisticated” (corrupt).
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<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>In his book, “The Unfolding of Language,” linguist Guy Deutscher sees the word, “wicked” as undergoing a bit of a sea change, with the word now used commonly among teenagers to mean “awesome,” or “cool:” as in “a wicked party;” or “a wicked new song.” That same meaning existed among teens from Boston back in the 60’s and 70’s - it was fairly local then and despite what Deutscher (who is British) says, local authorities (i.e. my kids) say “wicked” in the U.S. is still used only in the Northeast, not nationwide.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Arial;">
<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>The words “awesome” and “awful” are two other examples of word change. “Awe” itself means a feeling of amazement mixed with fear, often coupled with a feeling of personal insignificance or powerlessness: as in, the “awe” one feels when gazing at the Grand Canyon; or to be “in awe” of someone. Yet somehow, “awful” (the combination of “awe + full”) came to mean, “terrible;” and “awesome” has more recently come to be used as a synonym for “amazing.”
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<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>If enough people start using “penultimate” to mean “better than the best,” then that too could be a new standard meaning for the word. In a Google search, “penultimate” already has support for meaning “final” and “better than the best:”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Arial;">
<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>Australian TV reported a few months ago, “AMP clears penultimate hurdle to buy AXA AP,” which, the news presenter explained, meant that the corporation’s takeover bid had “cleared the final hurdles.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Here, the use of “penultimate” is as a synonym for “final”; I imagine the late-night editor not wanting to repeat “final” hurdle, and thinking “ultimate hurdle” was not right, thought “penultimate” was undoubtedly just the thing.
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<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>Curiously, the folks at iPad have developed a new application called “The Penultimate,” a play on words for an app that makes it look as though you’re drawing or taking notes by hand with a pen, though it’s actually your own finger.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The app’s name implies “better than the best”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>-- and as one reviewer confirmed, “Penultimate is the ultimate notes app for iPad.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Arial;">
<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>So the San Francisco Symphony is not alone in using and misusing “penultimate” in its program. And Language Lady hopes MORE such misuse of this word continues.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Ultimately, “penultimate” (as “second to last”) simply sounds pretentious; however, if the word’s meaning could change to “better than the best,” then calling a performance or experience “the penultimate” would be infinitely more fitting.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Arial;">
<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>All who agree can simply start wedging the word into their writing, and then casually into their speech, especially when coming back from Europe or the Hamptons. In this case, a little snob value might help push “penultimate” into linguistic radar among the rest of us, and thus deliver a new and improved “penultimate” to the next generation: The penultimate in linguistic contributions.<span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span></span></p> The Language Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02233859743504768092noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34134615.post-54206219754849507812011-04-17T23:54:00.003-04:002011-04-23T13:45:43.112-04:00Pronunciation Problems<span><span style="font-size:12pt"> Anyone who has ever studied a foreign language discovers not just different words, but different sounds in those words that can have us twisting our tongues and lips in ways that seem weird and embarrassing – and we still can’t say the word right. It takes practice, skill, nerve or luck – sometimes a lifetime of all those -- to overcome our own ears and tongues when it comes to mastering the sounds of another language.<br /></span><span style="font-size:11pt"><br /></span><span style="font-size:12pt"> For English speakers, this can mean trampling the delicate French dipthong (when two or more vowel sounds are next to each other in the same word) in “oeil” (“eye”) with a mere, “oy;” ditto for the spectacularly gutteral “chuchichästli” (“kitchen cupboard”) in Swiss German, which an American can squash to a humdrum “hooki-heshli”; while the famously trilled Spanish “r,” as in “perro” (“dog”), is often reduced to a simple “pair-o.”<br /></span><span style="font-size:11pt"><br /></span><span style="font-size:12pt"> As babies, we are wired to learn and say any sound in any language, be they Cockney glottal stops and French dipthongs or African clicks. But research shows that not long after age 9 or so, most children’s wiring simply conforms to the sounds of their own mother tongue; meanwhile, the brain’s language center puts all unused sounds in deep, deep storage, so they are much harder – and sometimes impossible -- to hear and produce later on.<br /></span><span style="font-size:11pt"><br /></span><span style="font-size:12pt"> This is how stereotypes of foreigners learning English are born – from the fact that some of our sounds in English do not exist in other languages and foreign speakers pick the easiest ways from their languages to approximate them. I remember receiving a birthday card (in pre-politically correct days) of a Japanese man in a straw hat wishing me a “velly, velly” nice birthday. At the time I was a regular follower of the Japanese crime-fighter cartoon, “Joe Jitsu,” on “Dick Tracy and Friends,” so I already knew (roughly) that the Japanese confused the “l” and “r” sounds. Joe Jitsu would say things like, “So solly!” and “One moment prease,” and, “Carring Dick Tracy!”<br /></span><span style="font-size:11pt"><br /></span><span style="font-size:12pt"> But what I have learned from working with Japanese students is that they do have an “r” sound in their language – as in “karaoke” – but it is produced by tapping the tongue on the upper palate, in much the same way the British Jeeves would say “veddy propah,” and not our flat American, “very proper.” When Americans say “very” our tongue is in the lower part of our mouth, and for Japanese, this position is closer to an “l”. When Japanese say words that start with an “r,” like “rice,” they sound fine – not because they’re saying the “r” the way we say it, but because in that position, our ears do not hear a big difference.<br /></span><span style="font-size:11pt"><br /></span><span style="font-size:12pt"> The “L” sound is not an easy one: Even native English-speaking children are not expected to say the “L” sound until age 4 or 5. This has been born out with my own name, with little children who call me “Weeze,” “Aweeze,” or “Bah-weeze” often up til kindergarten. And saying a consonant + “l” sound is also tricky; when my son was 4 years old, he and his best friend were pretending to play instruments and his friend stopped mid-play to exclaim, “I can say ‘FLUTE!’” Before that, it had always been “fWoot.”<br /></span><span style="font-size:11pt"><br /></span><span style="font-size:12pt"> For the Japanese, who do not have an “l” in their language at all, L-words are likewise a problem: Try saying, “Louise,” “close,” and “English,” and notice the slightly different position that the letter takes in each word, depending on the sound next to it.<br /></span><span style="font-size:11pt"><br /></span><span style="font-size:12pt"> In working with a Korean man, I was surprised to discover that they confuse the “f” and “p” sounds, which produces phrases like, “Ophen the door,” and “Would you like a cuff of coppee?”<br /></span><span style="font-size:11pt"><br /></span><span style="font-size:12pt"> Argentines (not all Spanish speakers have this difficulty) do not distinguish their “b” and “v” sounds; for either sound, their lips barely touch, rarely touch, or never touch at all. Their capital city is pronounced closer to “Wuenos Aires,” and a simple, “muy bien,” is said with the front teeth ever so lightly touching the inside of the lower lip, which is almost exactly the same spot used to say, “Viva Maradona!”<br /></span><span style="font-size:11pt"><br /></span><span style="font-size:12pt"> This is not a problem, of course, unless you are an Argentine working for an American food company in New York. An Argentine student of mine was the head of the Beverage Department of a major food and beverage corporation and could not say the word, “Beverage.” He could say, “beb-rich” or “vev-rich” but not the tricky combination using both sounds. One day, I walked into his office and he had post-it notes lined up all along his shelf with “B-words” and “V-words” and “BEV-erage” to help him practice what amounted to verbally patting his heading and rubbing his stomach at the same time.<br /></span><span style="font-size:11pt"><br /></span><span style="font-size:12pt"> The French have trouble with the “h” sound. A sentence like “Amy will take her to the airport in half an hour” can come out like, “Hamy will take ‘er to zee hairport in ‘alf an hower.” That is, they unconsciously reverse the appropriate h-word in every case. It’s very hard for them to switch from saying “h” to not saying it and then once they do, they apply it liberally. It seems generally easier to skip the first “h” in a phrase and then exhale, so that a phrase like “How old are you?” comes out “Ow hold har you?”<br /></span><span style="font-size:11pt"><br /></span><span style="font-size:12pt"> Of course, hands-down, the two most confounding sounds for foreign English speakers of almost any Asian, Latin, or Germanic origin are our two “TH” sounds: The soft “voiced” one, as in “this, mother, and breathe,” and the harder-sounding, “unvoiced” one in “thanks, nothing, and mouth.” (By “voiced,” I mean that to make the “th” as in “the,” requires using your voice, whereas the other “th” sound does not.) First, there’s the placement issue: No one wants to be seen sticking their tongue out of their mouths. Add to that the amount of times one or the other or both “th” sounds occur in a typical conversation, and it really seems cruel and unusual punishment -- especially the hard (“thanks”) “th” sound, perhaps because of the extra air required to push the sound through the front teeth.<br /></span><span style="font-size:11pt"><br /></span><span style="font-size:12pt"> And though I can live with a “z” being substituted for the “th” in say, “mother,” I do not like “f” being substituted for “th” in “something,” “nothing,” and “anything.” So I exert a little more pressure for students on that point, often with one forced viewing of 12-year-old Oliver in the 1969 movie “Oliver!” singing “I’d Do Anything” – a particularly painful rendition, even for this lover of American musicals.<br /></span><span style="font-size:11pt"><br /></span><span style="font-size:12pt"> For further practice of the hard (“thanks”) th sound, I have devised sentences like, “He is thin but he has thick skin” (and for the French, the sentence has that “h” problem too);” and “I think he thought about nothing,” which often prompts howls of protests. The thing is, it’s not that people can’t say these TH sounds – it’s more the effort and embarrassment of doing it -- it just feels so unnatural for non-native speakers.<br /></span><span style="font-size:11pt"><br /></span><span style="font-size:12pt"> Occasionally, I give students some well-appreciated, verbal relief: take the words, “clothes,” “months,” and “asked.” All of these have tricky consonant sounds next to a “z,” “s” or “t” sound. And I’ve realized that even we native speakers take certain shortcuts: For “clothes,” we skip the “th” all together and pronounce the word, “kloze;” for “months,” we say “munts,” and for the past tense of “ask” we say often just say “ast.” The reason is that the final sound is the important one, and not the deleted inner consonants.<br /></span><span style="font-size:11pt"><br /></span><span style="font-size:12pt"> So to everyone out there trying to speak a new language, just remember that those tongue-twisting sounds are universal – no one is spared. And for those of you with TH-troubles, you’ll just have to develop a sick skin – and some day you’ll sank me for zat.<br /></span><span style="font-size:11pt"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:11pt"><br /></span><span style="font-size:12pt"><b> </b></span></span><span><span style="font-size:11pt"><br /><br /></span></span> <!--EndFragment-->The Language Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02233859743504768092noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34134615.post-13610358893174111412010-12-11T11:26:00.005-05:002010-12-11T12:27:41.889-05:00Is Bad Language Good?Swearing, or using crude or bleep-worthy words, is rare for The Language Lady. So this afternoon, when I found myself happily singing the catchy chorus, “F--- You!” to hip-hopster Cee Lo Green’s amusing current hit song of the same name, I wondered if bad language in everyday English had reached a new phase.<br /><br />The current profusion of profanity heard and seen everywhere has acquired its own sort of WikiLeak transparency, where no feeling is held back, no vulgar word replaced by a neutral one. The rebellious Sixties seem to have been the starting point for knocking down the invective barriers – and now, here we are in the 21st century, with a woman of few expletives walking around singing the F-word.<br /><br />What’s going on here? Or in contemporary parlance: WTF*?<br /><br />*(Spoiler Alert: Due to the nature of this subject, The Language Lady will be using non-asterixed swear words – in the name of scholarship – in this article. Just so you know.)<br /><br />Bad Language – i.e., those naughty, generally four-letter, Anglo-Saxon words signifying some sort of religious curse or bodily function; and also words that are not curses per se, but coarse words for body parts and the like – has traditionally been discouraged in so-called polite society. But polite society these days seems to be aggressively lenient, with vulgarities leaching into the kitchen, carpool, schoolyard, store dressing rooms, office cubicles, and executive suites. Face it: Have you ever said, or has any child in the last 25 years heard the phrase, “Say that again and I’ll wash your mouth out with soap?” How very retro!<br /><br />So, is this a good thing – this openness? Have we won the Cause for Coarseness, or is it just an unimpeded lack of imagination?<br /><br /><div>Swear words now seemed to be used 1) for (The Traditional) quick, emotional reaction to pain, fright, or frustration; 2) to sound edgy and fun; 3) to add grit and emotion; 4) to describe something quickly, with sufficient disdain. All that means opportunity-aplenty.<br /><br />But where all that was once mostly just spoken (or with ironic bleeps on TV) it is appearing more and more in print: of course, books do it; blogs do it; and even the venerable literary magazine, The New Yorker, has been allowing expletives into its fiction for years.<br /><br />And now the word “ass” seems to be going mass-market – such as in recent billboard ads – ones up on high poles, looming over streets and highways, for Levis blue jeans: “Not all asses were created equal;” and the big, block-letter poster from K-Swiss sports that claims, “Tubes: So light they make your socks feel like a couple of fat asses.” I have no idea what socks have to do with my rear end, but it got my attention.<br /><br />Of course, the f-word usage award goes to the British clothes company, FCUK, which started out in 1972 as “French Connection”. In 2001, they started branding their clothes, “fcuk” -- or, “French Connection United Kingdom” (wink, wink) and played on the resulting controversy with a t-shirt line with all kinds of slogans like, "fcuk this", "hot as fcuk", "mile high fcuk", "too busy to fcuk", etc.<br /><br />Swear words have existed as long as language – the word “swear” has prehistoric, Indo-European roots; and a recent study has revealed that swearing actually relieves pain -- meaning that our evolution as humans includes outbursts of four-letter words.<br /><br />“People need special words to convey emotion,” according to author and linguistics professor Deborah Tannen. “For those who use them, swear words are linked to emotion in a visceral way.”<br /><br />The website, “How Stuff Works” explains that swear words came from the ancient belief that spoken words have power. “Some cultures,” the site says, “especially ones that have not developed a written language, believe that spoken words can curse or bless people or can otherwise affect the world. This leads to the idea that some words are either very good or very bad.”<br /><br />But without the social taboo that once limited the use of vulgar language, modern, everyday English just sounds filthy. Not that that’s a bad thing, according to linguist John McWhorter, who sees all this nasty language as the natural outcome of a progressively informal society -- one that’s intent on breaking taboos and showing real life in all its crass glory:<br /><br />“In a hatless America of T-shirts and visible underwear,” McWhorter says, “where what were once written speeches are now baggy ‘talks’ and we barely flinch to see nudity and simulated copulation in movies, what would be strange is if people weren’t increasingly comfortable using cuss words in public.”<br /><br />But is this fun, funny, or cool? Isn’t suggestion funnier or more interesting? Think about it: What is sexier – seeing a big-chested woman in a tight t-shirt with a hint of cleavage, or seeing that same lady topless? Ok, after the initial shock – THEN what? Same goes for words.<br /><br />Well, there is apparently still some ambivalence toward all this lax, earthy language. Witness the recent passing of two “sh*ts” in the proverbial night: that is, two industries (entertainment and financial) in opposing camps on the use of s-word usage – and it’s effect on business. Let’s take a look:<br /><br />This past fall CBS premiered a new show called, “$#*! My Dad Says,” a comedy about the relationship between a crotchety, foul-mouthed dad and his twenty-something son. The show is based on the best-selling book, “Shit My Dad Says,” which was based on the author’s real-life twitter feed of the same name. And most of the stuff the dad says includes the s-word; stuff like: 'You don't know shit, and you're not shit. Don't take that the wrong way, that was meant to cheer you up." Or, “Son, no one gives a shit about all the things your cell phone does. You didn't invent it, you just bought it. Anybody can do that."<br /><br />The popularity of the show, book, and Twitter feed clearly show mass acceptance of the s-word as “entertainment” – understandably, the s-word sounds edgier, more fun, and definitely more “real” than “STUFF My Dad Says” would have. And the TV show’s use of the symbols as substitutes for the s-word makes it look funny too – though the crassness of the original title is still there; however, since CBS is doing the show, no actual four-letter words have been used in the scripts. As for the show itself, film site Collider.com said, “Find out the real reason why $#*! is not only the title, but an apt description of the series …”<br /><br />All this visual-verbal crassness might have pleased George Carlin, the late comedian known for his sharp, black humor, and who back in 1972 delivered the famous monologue, “Seven Words You Can Never Say on TV.” Carlin might now take indirect credit for the TV show title.<br /><br />And Carlin might also take equal pride in the recent televised Senate investigation hearing into Goldman Sachs trades in the mortgage business, when the word “sh**ty” – not even bleeped out -- was read repeatedly by the Senate committee head grilling the traders:<br /><br />“Boy, that Timberwolf was one shitty deal,” Senator Carl Levin (D-Mich) said, reading from a Goldman internal memo from a head trader to a fellow colleague; “shitty” described a certain deal, one worth millions of dollars, that the big investment firm had just transacted for a client. Senator Levin read the line each time he took a trader to task. This phrase was then copied in all media forms in news stories about that day’s hearing. Today, googling the words, “goldman shitty deal” brings up 827,000 responses.<br /><br />It seems Goldman Sachs did not enjoy having its name tied to such a vulgar word: a July 29 article in the Wall Street Journal, titled, “George Carlin never would've cut it at the new Goldman Sachs,” reported that the firm had recently installed screening software to roust such vulgarities – even those with asterisks -- from all future company emails, calling that word, and others of that ilk, “unprofessional.” Let it be known, the WSJ added, “There will never be another s— deal at Goldman Sachs.”<br /><br />It’s noteworthy that this multi-billion dollar firm sees bad language as bad for business. (Or maybe Goldman just wanted bad words to sound more reprehensible than questionable deals.) Could this mean the pendulum is starting to swing the other way?<br /><br />I doubt it.<br /><br />Everyday expressions are ever more gritty: “It sucks” has replaced “that’s too bad;” and “crappy” is the new “lousy.” There is a website called “absofuckinlutely,” which is actually pretty funny (people write in about their bad days); and even a hamburger joint on the Upper West Side claims sports a sign out front claiming it has “the best effin burgers in the city.”</div><div>Effin A!<br /><br />Many people use the f-word as an adjective just to help describe some ordinary activity (“I can’t hang out now – got too much f**kin’ sh*t to do”), which they might think sounds tough, but actually seems lame. For some of those f-word users, it is a habit – like adding “like” or “y’know” -- they hardly seem aware they’re saying it. One of the crudest expressions, not in words so much as a visual turn of phrase, is used to express surprise at having accomplished something: “Boy, I really pulled that one out of my ass!” Yuck! Why not pour wet sewage all over the accomplishment.<br /><br />Ultimately, bad language is offensive and shows a certain verbal lack of control – like word farts, if you will. Bad language goes along with our impatient, stressed- out society, one that’s caffeinated and on the run; we’re a society that enjoys breaking rules and taboos, and being a little out of control; And we’re all about choice – so we can all make our own verbal choices out of annoyance, anger, or just because -- and few will stand in our way.<br /><br />When I was about ten and beginning to let slip a few nasty epithets in gym class, but well before my more linguistically coarse teen years, my dad gave me some advice: “Don’t swear unless you really mean it. When it’s not that important, just say ‘Beans!’” Beans?! No, Dad was not kidding. Though I never heard Dad say “Beans!” himself, he did seem to only swear once a year – the day he’d put our motorboat in the lake and try to start it up after the winter. And even then, he only swore at the motor, not at us kids.<br /><br />Mom was equally good about not swearing. In fact, to this day, the only time I’ve ever heard her swear was one morning in middle school when I dropped the bacon on the floor (not the plate – just the 8 pieces of bacon, which broke into bits) and a “Damn!” thudded out of her mouth. And it’s still ringing in my ears.<br /><br />So there is something to be said for holding back -- it makes the select moments more memorable and keeps ordinary air less verbally polluted. Besides, finding a way around swearing requires more ingenuity than letting it all hang out. Compare, for example, excerpts from Cole Porter’s 1928 hit, “Let’s Do It” and Cee Lo Green’s “Fuck You” (2010):<br /><br />“LET’S DO IT” (1928):<br /><br />And that's why birds do it, bees do it<br />Even educated fleas do it<br />Let's do it, let's fall in love;<br /><br />Cold Cape Cod clams, 'gainst their wish, do it<br />Even lazy jellyfish do it<br />Let's do it, let's fall in love<br /><br />I've heard that lizards and frogs do it<br />Lyin' on a rock;<br />They say that roosters do it<br />With a doodle and cock<br /><br />Some Argentines, without means do it<br />I hear even Boston beans do it<br />Let's do it, let's fall in love.<br /><br />VS.<br /><br />“FUCK YOU” (2010)<br />I see you driving 'round town<br />With the girl i love and i'm like,<br />Fuck you!</div><div>Oo, oo, ooo<br /><br />I guess the change in my pocket<br />Wasn't enough, i'm like,<br />Fuck you!<br />And fuck her too!<br /><br />I said, if i was richer, i'd still be witch-ya<br />Ha, now ain't that some shit? (ain't that some shit?)<br /><br /></div><div>And although there's pain in my chest<br />I still wish you the best with a...</div><div>Fuck you!<br />Oo, oo, ooo.<br /><br />Times change. Cole Porter’s “Let’s Do It” is still clever, and in alluding to the big thing that we all do, it was positively risqué -- back in 1928, not in 2010. Cee Lo’s song takes a lighthearted tune while keeping in the gritty reality of love, letting listeners sing expletively away --</div><div><br /></div><div> And George Carlin must be smiling down from his place in No Holds Barred Heaven, and singing with satisfaction, “F**k youuu!”<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>The Language Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02233859743504768092noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34134615.post-84581479954896146612010-09-04T16:09:00.000-04:002010-09-04T16:10:55.573-04:00Troubled in TranslationThere is a memorable bar scene (Note: Potential Spoiler Alert!) in Quentin Tarantino’s “Inglourious Basterds,” where a German SS major, seated at a table with some other soldiers, asks for three glasses of scotch; the fellow Nazi he’s sitting next to helpfully flashes three fingers to the bartender. But when the major sees the Nazi’s hand gesture, he is jarred: The soldier has just given himself away. “You,” the major says through his teeth, “are no more German than the scotch” -- <br /> <br />The tip off? The way the soldier made the number “3” with his fingers – the pointer, middle, and ring fingers standing tall, which is the American way; while a German or any European would have held up thumb, pointer, and middle fingers, ring and pinky folded down. <br /> <br />The English version of the current Swedish bestseller, “The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo” (the first book of the 3-book Millenium series) had many such jarring moments for me. “This sentence is not English,” I would think, as I read a random paragraph in the 600-plus page novel. The word choice or word order were either slightly off or waaay off, forcing me to reach for a pencil and wonder why the publishers had apparently hired a non-native speaker of English to translate.<br /> <br />The mystery-thriller’s sloppy punctuation and awkward phrasing started on Page 1, but I did not take that to mean the translator was foreign – just bad. It was not until Page 189 (of the small paperback edition) that the unintended mystery of the translator’s nationality became a leit-motif for me as I read: <br /> <br />“Did other people live at that time on the farm?” the text says. <br /> <br />Can you hear the mistake? Perhaps it’s subtle but the mistake is nonetheless non-English. It’s like saying, “He walked on Friday to work,” which is perfectly understandable and yet the natural way to say that is, “He walked to work on Friday.” English syntax, that is, basic English word order, puts “Place” before “Time.” (I discuss word order in my blog from January 2007, “Your Word Order, Please: http://thelanguagelady.blogspot.com/2007_01_01_archive.html)<br /> <br />As I continued, I started finding more “clues” that the translator was probably, (my assumption based on the book’s origin) Swedish. I flipped to the cover page and found that it was translated by Reg Keeland – a name that could be foreign, or not; and which could belong to a male or female, though I pictured a man. Here are some more examples that seem to give away Mr. Keeland’s nationality:<br /> <br />Page 208: “I’m just so damn sick of the whole story. It’s poisoned our lives for decades, and it doesn’t stop doing so.” <br /> <br />“… it doesn’t stop doing so” should be “it HASN’T stopped doing so.” Explaining how to use the present perfect tense – as in, “I have written -- is one of the most difficult aspects of teaching English to non-native speakers; basically, the present perfect tense is used to express an action that started in the past that still relates to now. In the above case, a native English speaker/translator would have used this tense instinctively; however, other Western languages don’t have this tense at all (at least to the extent we use it in English) and generally use the present tense to express time passage: “I am here four years,” instead of “I have been here for four years.” <br /> <br />Then there was the word “judgement,” sprinkled throughout the book and spelled with an “e” each time. This is the British way of spelling the word – Noah Webster dropped the “e” for Americans when he took the “u” out of “color,” around 1828 (from “Common Errors in English Usage” by Paul Brian); and since many Europeans learn British English in school, no doubt our Swedish translator was among them.<br /> <br />Page 248: “She had a rudimentary knowledge of the law – it was a subject she had never had occasion to explore – and her faith in the police was generally exiguous.” <br /> <br />Exiguous? Any translator who knows the vocabulary limits of his/her English-speaking readership, would never have put that word in that sentence. Exiguous? I’ve never heard of it -- never come across it, not even in old SAT practice sheets. But no doubt Herr Keeland found the word in his Swedish-English dictionary, and with the word’s Latin-sounding pomposity, it must have seemed an intelligent choice. But one blissfully nice thing about English is how it generally avoids Latin-sounding pomposity – and a better translation would have been, “and her faith in the police was meager, at best.”<br /> <br />Pages 319-320 have so many mistakes, I can almost see the poor Swede’s head bowed down on his computer keyboard in exasperation. There are problems with word order, word usage, and verb tense; and the passage in general has an awkwardness that just does not sound English. See if you agree:<br /> <br />“Gottfriend’s cabin … was the place to which Harriet and Martin’s father had retreated when his marriage to Isabella was going to the dogs in the late fifties … And here was also the place that Harriet had been to so often that it was one of the first in which they looked for her. Vanger had told him that during her last year, Harriet had gone often to the cabin, apparently to be in peace on weekends or holidays.”<br /> <br />First, “to which” and “in which” sound formal and strange – we just don’t use that construction unless absolutely necessary, and it wasn’t necessary. Secondly, the phrases, “here was also the place” and “Harriet had gone often” sound so distinctly foreign (adverb choice and placement, suffice it to say); the phrase “in peace” is not quite right, and then there is the strange, “… going to the dogs in the late fifties.” Here’s how I would have phrased it:<br /> <br />“Gottfriend’s cabin was … where Harriet and Martin’s father had retreated in the late fifties when his marriage to Isabella was going to the dogs … The cabin was also the place Harriet had been to so often, it was one of the first places they had looked for her. Vanger told him that during Harriet’s last year, she had often gone there on weekends or holidays to find some peace and quiet.”<br /> <br />But Mr. Keeland’s true “3-Finger” moment came with this, on Page 389:<br /> <br />“Norsjö was a small town with one main street, appropriately enough called Storgatan …”<br /> <br />Appropriately enough? Why was the main street, “Storgatan,” so “appropriately” named? Well, if you’re a Swedish translator and you forget for a moment that your English audience does not automatically know that “Storgatan” means “Main Street,” then yes – the name was perfectly appropriate.<br /> <br />The big surprise for me came on Page 644, the book’s final page, when I googled “Reg Keeland” and discovered that he is, in fact, an American man named Steven T. Murray, apparently the go-to guy for Scandinavian translations. He used a pseudonym for all three of the Millenium series books due to a “miscommunication” with the English publisher, who demanded the manuscripts before Murray had had a chance to edit his translation. So that may excuse, or at least explain, the muddled text, still mired somewhere between the original Swedish and unpolished English. <br /> <br />Slack editing aside, the book has taken the publishers (and translator too, no doubt) all the way to the bank. To be fair, though, I found the second book much improved. Appropriately enough.<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> The Language Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02233859743504768092noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34134615.post-11679808881395814992010-08-17T01:10:00.001-04:002010-08-17T01:11:56.477-04:00Translations: Faithful or Fluent? <br /><br />Anyone who has graced the inside of a bookstore in the past few months will no doubt have seen the display of the international, smash-hit trilogy from Sweden, “Men Who Hate Women,” “Flicken Som Lekte Med Eldren,” and “The Air Castle that Blew Up,” also called The Milliennium Series. You guessed it -- these are not the titles you’ll find at Barnes and Noble. You may recognize them as “The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo,” “The Girl Who Played with Fire,” and “The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest.” <br /><br /> <br /><br />Translating books from one language into another is not an exact science, as shown by the differences between the above titles. And when a book is gobbled up by 30 million people in 40 countries, as this has been, there are bound to be differences between what makes sense – and more importantly, what sells – in one country, versus another. So, though translators can take credit for being an indirect part of the publishing phenomenon, so can book marketers. The author of the series, the late Swedish journalist, Stieg Larssen (who died of a heart attack at age 50, in 2004, just months before seeing any of this amazing success) gave his first book the title, “Men Who Hate Women,” which underscores one of the series’ core themes; however, I can just hear the book’s American marketer at the meeting:<br /><br /> <br /><br />Marketer: The title has to go -- stores will probably stick it in Psychology next to ‘Men are From Mars, Women are from Venus.”<br /><br /> <br /><br />Larssen’s agent: But Stieg wanted this title! It’s what he wanted to say about --<br /><br /> <br /><br />Marketer: But that title won’t sell. We need something with … with mystery, and something “now,” something hip -- body piercings or tattoos or -- anything. Men hating women is so Seventies. No, it’s gotta be something about The Girl.<br /><br /> <br /><br />And the rest is history (well, recent history). But the result was that though some countries chose to be faithful to the original, “Men Who Hate Women,” plenty of others sided with “The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.” <br /><br /> <br /><br />So, having read “The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo” myself, I checked out a few of the translated titles from around the world (thank you, Google Translator), and here’s what I found:<br /><br /> <br /><br /> “MEN WHO HATE WOMEN” VS. “THE GIRL WITH THE DRAGON TATTOO”<br /><br /> <br /><br />The French title, “Les hommes qui n’aimaient pas les femmes,” or “Men who didn’t like women,” followed the Swedish in spirit, differing only in verb choice and tense. What struck me about the French title, though, was how it showed what many of my French students do – which is to say what something is NOT, rather than what it is. For example, a French person seems often more inclined to say, “It is not sunny today,” rather than, “It’s cloudy today.” So it follows that French would “not like” women over “hating” them – never mind the qualitative difference between the two emotions.<br /><br /> <br /><br />And yet the Spanish and Brazilian Portuguese followed the French, though choosing the more amorous “did not LOVE,” over “did not LIKE”, as in “Los hombres que no amaban a las mujeres,” and “Os Homens Que Não Amavam as Mulheres.” or “Men who did not love women.” I wondered if the “didn’t like/didn’t love* construction were particular to Latin-based languages, but the Italians (“Uomini che odiano le donne”) and the Portuguese from Portugal (“Os Homens que Odeiam as Mulheres”) went with “Men Who Hate Women.” <br /><br /> <br /><br />Another curious thing about the “did not like/did not love” construction is why the verb tense is in the past (imperfect) tense in these three Latin-root languages. The Swedish title is in the present tense – indicating a regular, routine activity, as in Men Who (always) Hate Women. Perhaps by putting the verb tense in the imperfect (which gives a sense of continuity in the past – more like, “Men who never liked/loved women; or men who used to never like/love women), the French, Spanish, and Portuguese reader can better sense that these are certain men and certain women in a certain time, as in a novel – as opposed to men in everyday life who routinely hate women. <br /><br /> <br /><br />And while the Finnish are reading “Men Who Hate Women” -- “Miehet jotka vihaavat naisia,” the Russians are trying a unique marketing strategy, with the first three words of the “Dragon” title in English, followed by the Cyrillic “Tattoowirovki Drakon-na,” as in "The Girl With The татуировки дракона". The Icelandic and Greek titles also did a little mix-and-match with: "The Girl með The Dragon Tattoo" <http://translate.googleusercontent.com/translate_c?hl=is&sl=en&u=http://www.stieglarsson.com/The-Girl-With-The-Dragon-Tattoo&prev=/search%3Fq%3Dstieg%2Blarsson%26hl%3Dis%26sa%3DG%26prmd%3Db&rurl=translate.google.com&twu=1&usg=ALkJrhhlbFGiopW3LHKQ6gy-khtBTaoJPQ> and "Το Κορίτσι Με Το Dragon Tattoo." <http://translate.googleusercontent.com/translate_c?hl=el&sl=en&u=http://www.stieglarsson.com/The-Girl-With-The-Dragon-Tattoo&prev=/search%3Fq%3Dstieg%2Blarsson%26hl%3Del%26prmd%3Dvb&rurl=translate.google.gr&usg=ALkJrhirwjnNK4vI2JUHcCJA9cwV6ITB2Q> <br /><br /> <br /><br />Interrupting this neat little divide between “Men” and “Dragon” are the German titles (for Germany, Austria, Switzerland, etc.), which dispensed with “The Girl” theme entirely and went with, “Verblendung,” “Verdamnis,” and “Vergebung” for the three books: “The Blinding (or ‘Blending-in’),” “The Damnation,” and “Forgiveness (or “Redemption”).” Though Stieg Larsson may be rolling in his grave with these titles (they seem to suggest the outcome to each book), the alliteration of the titles is probably a book marketer’s dream. <br /><br /> <br /><br />Translations have always wreaked verbal havoc, or prompted many a laugh or cringe. Anyone who’s every sat through a movie with subtitles can relate. I mean, how do you translate Humphrey Bogart saying, “Here’s looking at you, kid,” to his long-lost love, Ingrid Bergman in “Casablanca”? The French went with “à votre santé,” or “to your health,” even using the formal “your” – which not only seems stiff but so very un-Bogart. Maybe French audiences swoon when they read this line, as Bogart lifts his champagne glass, that certain look in his eye. A literal – and impossible -- rendering might conjure up: “Voici te regarde, cherie,” which would leave Parisians howling either in laughter or in pain at such mangling. (Maybe it does not even matter what Bogie says – his look may say it all.) <br /><br /> <br /><br />Being both faithful and fluent to the original text is an ideal not often achieved, except through luck, if both languages happen to have similar constructions or at least similar ways of conveying the same idiom or expression. The 17th-century French philosopher and writer, Gilles Menage, known in his time as a cultivator of wit and elegant conversation, thought the combination of faithful and fluent was “like women – either beautiful or faithful, but not both.” (Ah, zose French!)<br /><br /> <br /><br />The Language Lady’s next blog will look inside the pages of the English translation of “The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo” to see just how faithful and fluent – or not – the translator was. As I read “Dragon,” I found quite a few oddly worded passages, which had me guessing as to the translator’s nationality the whole way through, with the answer (googled as I hit the final page) almost as much a surprise as the actual ending. A votre santé, kids.<br /><br /> <br /><br /> <br /><br /> <br /><br /> <br /><br /> <br /><br /> <br /><br /> <br /><br /> <br /><br /> The Language Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02233859743504768092noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34134615.post-83635214076113781732010-02-28T23:54:00.001-05:002010-02-28T23:54:59.074-05:00Finding Out About Phrasal Verbs(When you see an * in the text, it means the two or three words next to it make up a “phrasal verb.”)<br /><br />One of the most difficult aspects of English for foreign students to master is something we native speakers of English rarely even think about* or hear of*: phrasal verbs. On my shelf of books about English is a hefty volume entitled, “NTC’s Dictionary of Phrasal Verbs and Other Idiomatic Verbal Phrases.” There are more than 12,000 such entries in this tome. True, some entries are idioms (colorful expressions). But what ARE these phrasal verbs? Read on* and find out*! <br /><br />Phrasal verbs – among the most basic phrases and expressions in our language -- take one base verb then add a word ‘particle’ (looks like a preposition but doesn’t operate like one grammatically) to express a certain meaning. A two-year-old can use phrasal verbs: “Pick me up” or “Go out now?” Even my cat understands “Get down!” or “Come in.” (That is, he seems to, though he’s better at “come in” than “get down.”)<br /><br />The base verb alone, however, does not do the job; it’s the little particle that makes all the difference. Use the wrong particle – like “put OFF” instead of “put ON” and you either make no sense, or have said the opposite of what you meant to say. Such a small slip explains why most foreign languages use completely different verbs – like the French “chercher” for “look for,” and “regarder” for “look at” -- whereas English speakers just switch a little word. <br /><br />Some phrasal verb particles are directional: sit down; stand up; go out; look up. But others create a meaning larger than the word’s regular use: take “off” for instance. If I take something “off” a shelf, I remove it. But if I walk, storm, run, or drive “off,” then I remove myself far into the distance and out of sight.<br /><br />Think of* “turn” “turn around,” “turn in” “turn into” “turn in on,” etc. -- each one requiring a separate definition. This could make you turn against* English!<br /><br />Think about* the difference between “cleaning” your room and “cleaning out” your room. Or “writing” a message and “writing down” a message.<br /><br />And try explaining why “wind up” and “wind down” can mean the same thing.<br /><br />Yet despite these intricacies, native speakers of English – even the most illiterate or grammar-phobic – rarely (if ever) make mistakes with phrasal verbs (or the phrasal nouns and adjectives derived from them). <br /><br />There is so much to say about phrasal verbs, it makes me realize how concise that 12,000-entry phrasal verb dictionary actually is. But rather than risk losing readers with my enthusiasm for the subject, I will instead cut to* the inspiration for this blog - a recent letter to the Language Lady from Renee, an English as a Second Language (ESL) teacher in New York, who writes: <br /><br />“Dear Language Lady,<br /><br />One of my colleagues is teaching phrasal verbs and ran across* "find out" vs "find out about." Our whole troupe of teachers is stumped: We can't figure out* why it's “find out” the rules, but “find out about” volunteering. Both rules and volunteering are nouns so why do we need the preposition for one but not the other? (the two **added by The Language Lady)<br /><br />Can you help?”<br /><br /><br />Thanks for asking, Renee. <br /><br />The key here is the word, “about,” which means “concerning; in regard to;” “referring to different sides or aspects of something.”<br /><br />The phrasal verb, “to find out” means to search and confirm or discover (“discover” is too big a word for the act, really, but it’s the closest either the dictionary or I could get) the answer to something fairly straightforward or already written down: We “find out,” for example, what the homework is; what time a movie starts; a person’s last name; and, as Renee asked, “the rules,” which given the context, are presumably ones already ones set down and recorded. <br /><br />“To find out ABOUT” something changes the meaning; “about” implies that there is something bigger than a simple answer to confirm or discover. If someone asked you to “find out about” someone’s last name, you might look into* the name’s ethnic origin, meaning, change or spelling, etc. to uncover various elements “concerning,” “in regard to,” or “about” the name. So to “find out about” volunteering would involve several calls or queries to see how to go about* it, what choices there are, whom to contact, etc. In other words, finding out about something entails more than a pre-determined fact or answers, but a larger scope of different things to think about* or consider.<br /><br />Just one more thing: why Renee is right when she says that both “rules” and “volunteering” are nouns. “Volunteering,” in the context of finding out about it, is a “gerund” – that is, a noun formed from a verb. And when a verb form follows a preposition (or phrasal verb particle), it almost always takes a gerund. This is why we say “to look forward to _______ing” (seeing, doing, meeting, etc.) or “from _______ing (listening, talking, running, etc.). To find out “about” something requires a gerund as well – hence, “volunteering.”<br /><br />So keep on* coming up with* excellent questions and The Language Lady will happily follow up* and get back to* you.The Language Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02233859743504768092noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34134615.post-1438971699680699262010-01-26T21:44:00.001-05:002010-01-26T21:44:52.238-05:00St. Jude’s Gives No Thanks to Parallel StructureWhile out Christmas shopping last month I noticed a small, green card at my local Ann Taylor store. It was from the St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital, and it featured a beaming but bald child as part of its admirable outreach to raise money for children with cancer. I picked it up and read, “Give thanks for the healthy kids in your life, and give to those who are not.” <br /><br />Hmmmm. Another case of some institution verbally mangling an ad campaign (see Language Lady’s “Citibank,” 12/31/09).<br /><br />Of course, I knew what the card was TRYING to say, but there was something about the wording that was not quite natural – something amiss; speaking of which, a few days later I saw a youthful- if not exactly natural-looking, 72-year-old Marlo Thomas, deliver this same message on TV: “Give thanks for the healthy children in your life,” the St. Jude spokesperson said, adding in her vaguely croaky, “That Girl”-ish voice, “and give to those who are not.” <br /><br />Oh, Marlo – can’t you hear that awkward syntax? <br /><br />Apparently not. This was the sixth year of the research hospital’s “Thanks and Giving” campaign – big posters, small cards, TV ads, all asking us holiday shoppers to give, in effect, to ‘the HEALTHY kids who are NOT in our lives.’<br /><br />I realize that is not what Marlo Thomas meant, and that most people understand the message: that we should be grateful for the healthy kids in our life, and to give money (via St. Jude) to sick kids. <br /><br />Given that St. Jude’s foremost goal is to find a cure for childhood cancer, this is an understandable, and well-intentioned request. But the message is a mess. <br /><br />The copywriter attempted to use a parallel construction, like Julius Caesar’s, “I came; I saw; I conquered.” See how each part repeats the structure of the one before? Julius is clear, strong, and concise – nice!<br /><br />Twenty-year-old songstress Taylor Swift uses parallel construction in her current hit, “You Belong to Me,” when she sings: “She wears short shorts -- I wear T-shirts … She wears high heels – I wear sneakers.” Such parallel construction provides clear contrast between two statements. <br /><br />St. Jude’s attempted contrasting statements, loosely interpreted, are: “Give thanks for healthy kids; give money to sick kids.” The trouble is, actually writing that sounds too crass. So the copywriter softened it up – but in doing so, he came up with two statements that have different grammatical structures – thus misaligning the key contrast between “healthy” and “sick”. <br /><br />Tweaking for parallel structure (not meaning) would render the phrase as:<br /><br />“Give thanks for the healthy kids in your life, and give to those unhealthy kids who are not in your life.” This makes no sense – but it’s at least parallel.<br /><br />When taken apart bit by bit, the slogan’s flaws become clear:<br /><br />• “Give thanks for the healthy kids in your life,”<br /><br />The structure is Subject (an understood “you,” who should be giving), Verb (Give), Direct Object (thanks), Indirect Object (Kids – technically, object of the preposition “for” but in the bigger scheme, “kids” are the indirect object of someone’s giving), and the adjective phrase, “in your life,” modifying kids.<br /><br />• “… and give to those who are not.” <br /><br />Subject (understood “you”), Verb (“give”) --- and there the symmetry stops. <br /><br />There is no direct object, and the indirect object, ”those,” refers to the “healthy kids” mentioned in the first part; and “who are not” corresponds to “in your life.” <br /><br />But given that this campaign has been going since 2004 and I seem to be the only one whining in the syntactical wilderness, St Jude’s should give thanks to grammatically forgiving (or unaware) donors. <br /><br />Still – why not try to say it right: <br /><br />“Give thanks to the children in your life who are healthy, and give to those who are not.”The Language Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02233859743504768092noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34134615.post-45496225810014340962009-12-31T23:56:00.002-05:002010-01-01T01:11:14.950-05:00Citibank "Commits to Improve" <br />It’s the last day of 2009 – a strange year, one that started with all kinds of banks collapsing, merging, converging, and coming back from the brink. It seems like the worst is over – phew! So it’s not surprising that one of the bigger banks, Citibank (and my bank, it so happens), has recently launched a new campaign to re-gain or re-affirm customer confidence. Yet I’m stuck with this thought:<br /> <br />Is it possible to trust a bank that can’t even get a makeover-style marketing effort grammatically correct? Here’s Citibank’s new slogan:<br /> <br />“We commit to improve.” Pardon me? The Language Lady’s pen froze on her deposit slip when she caught sight of that one.<br /> <br />The big promotion – printed in bold blue letters against a white background – from wallet-sized cards to big posters hanging in branch windows makes a list of various worthy but vague promises like, “We promise to be there when you need us” and is summed up at the end with, “We Commit To Improve.”<br /><br />Perhaps some of you readers are thinking, “So …?” But say it out loud: doesn’t it sound odd? You wouldn’t say, “We’re committing to improve,” would you? Or “We have committed to improve.” Of course not. Saying “We commit to improve” (IMPROVE, of all things!) is the verbal equivalent of trying to gain someone’s trust by holding out a filthy hand.<br /> <br />The slogan is wrong on so many grammatical levels: <br /> <br />• First, “improve” should be “improving” – that is, “We commit to improving.” Whenever we commit, we commit to some THING, and a THING falls into the “noun” category. There is a type of noun formed from the root of a verb + ing, and this is called a gerund. You can say, “We commit to better health” (better health = a thing) and thus, “We commit to improving (also a thing), though still not a great sentence. Here’s why:<br /> <br />• Look at that verb tense in “We commit” Anyone who read my “You Lie! (No, You’re Lying)” blog of October 5, 2009, will recall that using the present simple tense (“I speak,” “you lie,” etc.) is for facts or repeated actions. When we are in the act or process of doing something (and Citibank is in the process of improving) we use the continuous tense (“I’m speaking,” “you’re lying,” etc.) So Citibank’s saying “We commit” should contain a suggestion that they do this on a regular basis, like: “We always commit to improving;” or “We commit to improving on every Wednesday.” A “We commit” all by itself sounds as unnatural as South Carolina’s Senator Joe Wilson shouting out, “You lie!” to President Obama,; however, Language Lady readers have pointed out that Senator Wilson’s outburst was in acceptable Southern dialect -- but Citibank cannot claim the same.<br /> <br />• “Commit” can take the active voice when what is being committed is some external thing: “We are committing funds to this project.” But when describing a personal commitment, we use the passive voice: “I am committed to this relationship;” “she is committed to her job.” Citibank’s use of “commit” is wrong: although they are trying to convey personal commitment, they are using the wrong voice:<br /> <br />What Citibank meant to say was, “We are committed to improving.” <br /> <br />I know this year has been one of cutbacks and lay-offs. So is what happened here a case of Ed from Accounting being yanked from his cubicle to replace the recently laid-off Anne in Communications? How did this slogan fall through the editorial cracks like that? And is my money going to fall through similar financial cracks? Well??<br /> <br />Grammatical competence is a form of competence – and if a bank can’t be outwardly competent, then what? It’s possible to see what’s at risk here for 2010: <br /> <br />Citibank’s shoddy slogan wreaks havoc with consumer confidence, and the subsequent run on the bank spurs a domino effect in the entire banking system and it’s …. 2009 all over again. <br /><br />Happy New Year!!<br /> <br /> The Language Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02233859743504768092noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34134615.post-6760717243064806242009-12-13T13:48:00.002-05:002009-12-13T13:53:44.314-05:00A Question of “Of”The Language Lady is always eager to answer readers’ questions. Today, I am printing a recent question from a reader, “Danny,” in California, who wants to know about that potentially tricky word, “of”:<br /> <br />Danny: It's widely agreed among linguists that "of" is superfluous in phrases such as "that long OF a game" or "not that handsome OF an actor" or "too big OF a task." <br /> <br />The rule I derive from this is that when "of" follows an adjective in such situations, it's superfluous. <br /> <br />But how about when "of" follows "much," as in "it wasn't much of a game" or "too much of a challenge"? If "much" in those phrases is an adjective, does it "violate" the rule? Or is it an idiomatic exception to the rule? Or in those cases is it not an adjective at all, but a noun? <br /><br />The Language Lady: The short answer to your question, Danny, is: Yes!<br /> <br />That is, “much,” as in “It wasn’t much of a game,” is a pronoun; more specifically, a pronoun complement, which means that “It” and “much” refer to each other. (That’s why saying, “This is she,” is correct when you answer the phone (unless you’re a guy and you say, “This is HE.”) And in the sentence, “That was not much of a game,” the prepositional phrase, “of a game,” modifies “much.”<br /> <br />The other sentence, “He is not that good of an actor,” is – as suspected – wrong. It should be, “He is not that good an actor.” (OR: He is not much of an actor.)<br /> <br />The reason is, the prepositional phrase, “of an actor” is trying unsuccessfully to modify the adjective, “good.” But prepositional phrases cannot modify adjectives – only nouns or pronouns: a street IN London; the building ON the corner, a friend OF mine, etc.<br /> <br />In the above sentence, “good” describes both “He” AND “actor.” (These are all subject “complements,” since they all refer to each other.) Any “of” – as you said -- would be superfluous, tacked onto the wrong part of speech.<br /> <br />Which is why saying, “Not that big OF a deal” is so cringe-worthy. It should either be “Not that big a deal” or “No big deal.”The Language Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02233859743504768092noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34134615.post-21611825138566252362009-12-13T13:34:00.000-05:002009-12-13T13:35:32.509-05:00If I Were in the (Subjunctive) MoodDear Language Lady, I’m not a language guy per se and certainly not a grammar guru, but since I do write, I am mindful of usage – past and present. I am thus curious about your take on “If I was you” vs “If I were you”. As I understand it, this is the subjunctive mood (designating contingency rather than fact) and is thus correctly stated as, “If I were you”.<br /> <br />The sentence “I was acting as if I were you” uses both the regular past tense and the subjunctive. <br /><br />-- Gerry (Canada)<br /> <br />Dear Gerry –<br /> <br />You’re a language guy to me if you can spot your English subjunctive! I was given a thorough grounding in grammar in elementary and middle school, but I still did not learn about the English subjunctive until I took foreign languages in high school and college. Even then, “If I was you” and “If I were you” both sounded right to my ears.<br /> <br />The reason both are used is due to basic language change: that is, it seems that teachers stopped teaching the English subjunctive decades ago – even before they stopped teaching English grammar all together 30-plus years ago. So the older generation continued saying, “If I were you,” while the younger generation began saying, “If I was you,” since no one explained the subjunctive rules to them. And when enough people say something for a long enough period, then that too becomes standard, acceptable English – even if it still seems “wrong.” Language, as with all things, changes (alas). <br /> <br />The textbook, “Grammar In Use”/Intermediate by British linguist Raymond Murphy, Cambridge University Press, 2007, which I use -- and love – for my English as a Second Language students, accepts both forms. On a more grass roots level, googling “If I were you” elicits 356 million results, as opposed to “If I was you” -- and a whopping 2.6 billion! The people are clearly speaking.<br /> <br />For a good explanation of the English subjunctive, I recommend the site, EnglishClub.com. (Click on: englishclub.com/grammar/verbs-subjunctive.htm)<br />This site says that “If I were you” is correct in all situations, while “If I was you” is correct in informal, familiar situations. I’d like to think so too, but “if I was” and other forgotten-subjunctive occasions appear in writing (books, articles, etc) so often, the formal and informal situations are no longer clearly defined. <br /> <br />Historically, English has done a lot to get rid of the subjunctive, which is why it is so hard for us native speakers to learn how to use it in other languages. Meanwhile, Spanish, French, and Portuguese, for instance, use present and past subjunctive all the time – as in “What do you want me to say?” and “I hope you’ll be surprised;” or German, along with the others, jumps in on the subjunctive bandwagon with a sentence like, “If she had more time, she would write more grammar blogs.” Portuguese even uses the future subjunctive following “if” and “when” in instances like, “If you want, we can go,” and “When you arrive, we will eat,” etc. to express a future uncertainty.<br /> <br />English, meanwhile, just avoids all this language subtlety by mainly sticking with verbs that sound like our regular present and past tenses: “She hopes you will like the present” and “I wished you would open it now” would both take the subjunctive in Latin languages. <br /> <br />The English subjunctive still hanging on in two cases: one, is with what I call business-type, more formal verbs: insist, request, demand, recommend, suggest; even there it is only visible with the 3rd person singular, as in “My boss insists that everyone BRING a laptop (not: “that everyone brings”);” or “They requested that she SIT in the corner (not: that she sits). <br /> <br />The subjunctive is more clearly seen in such cases with the verb, “be”:<br /> <br /> “I ask that you BE quiet (not: ”that you are”)”; “The president suggested that all be at the meeting on time.” <br /> <br />The other place the English subjunctive is still hanging on (albeit by the proverbial thread) is in the hypothetical case with “if” and “as if”: “If I had a million dollars …” “as If I knew the answer …” “If /as if she understood the problem,” etc. All of these hypothetical clauses take what sounds like past tense; however, it is really the past tense (“you” form) AS the subjunctive form.<br /> <br />This usage is more apparent with the verb “to be” – particularly, when used in phrases like, “If I were you;” and “He wishes she were here.” <br /> <br />For the moment, Gerry, you may proudly stick with your “If I were you” (I think it sounds more elegant) but simply refrain from correcting any friends or colleagues who say the other form – they’re correct, too – though I wish it weren’t/wasn’t so.The Language Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02233859743504768092noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34134615.post-65155592334042673952009-10-05T01:15:00.002-04:002009-10-05T08:47:38.612-04:00“YOU LIE!” (No, “You’re Lying!”)Perhaps you were watching President Obama’s speech on the evening of September 9, 2009 and heard (R-SC) Rep. Joe Wilson’s by now notorious, “You lie!” outburst. And even if you were not watching, you have probably at least read the subsequent news articles about it or caught the moment on YouTube. There have been many, many responses to this outburst but not one of them has remarked on how strange it is that a native-English-speaking American would shout out, “You lie!” and not, “You’re lying!” <br /><br />Rep. Wilson claims that his outburst was spontaneous – but “You lie!” is simply not a natural tense for native speakers of English. “You lie” is in the present simple tense – the one we use for expressing facts or things done regularly: “I cook badly;” “She walks to work everyday.” “He lies when he’s stressed.” <br /><br />When speaking of what we or someone else is doing at a particular moment, we use a tense called the present progressive (or continuous). Say you’re at the stove with raw meats, vegetables, and sauces in various pots and skillets and your spouse walks in and says, “Hi, honey – what’s up?” you’re not going to say, “I cook.” You would say, “I’m cooking.” <br /><br />In that same way, “You lie” is a totally unnatural thing to say to another person when that person is still speaking: “You’re lying!” is what most of us would have said. (Or, as Whitney Houston is quoted as saying to Oprah Winfrey in this week’s National Enquirer, “You’re a liar!” Grammatically speaking, that is absolutely perfect.)<br /><br />The difference between the present simple tense and present progressive is, respectively, as clear as the difference between “What do you do?” (i.e. for a living?) and “What are you doing?” (actively, now). <br /><br />In his book, “Our Magnificent Bastard Tongue,” linguist John McWhorter goes to great lengths to show how English is distinguished from its Western European language counterparts (French, Spanish, German, Dutch, etc.) by this progressive tense – a Celtic influence not found on the Continent: the Celts were living in England when the West Germanic Saxon tribes overtook the island in the 6th century; the Celts then set about learning the language of the new Saxon rulers – bringing some structures of their own language into their adopted one. <br /><br />That is why a “What’s up?” to someone in the kitchen in, say, New York or London prompts an “I’m cooking” answer; but the answer in Amsterdam, Berlin, Barcelona, or Paris would mostly likely be, when translated, “I cook.” <br /><br />So, getting back to Joe Wilson and his so-called spontaneous outburst during the president’s speech before Congress on health care and other reforms: That evening, Obama had just finished saying, ““The reforms I am proposing would not apply to those who are here illegally,” when from the audience a voice yells out what we now know to be Wilson’s “You lie!” exclamation, but which is a bit unintelligible even on repeated viewings.<br /><br /> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rw9lQT1Ark4&feature=related <http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rw9lQT1Ark4&feature=related> <br /><br />In any case, there is no dispute that “You lie!” is what Wilson said. Still, my question remains: How could Wilson claim his “You lie!” outburst was spontaneous, when it is simply not a natural thing for any native speaker of English (and Wilson is) to say? Perhaps Wilson thought that “You lie” was better -- punchier, stronger-sounding -- than the more drawn out, “You’re lying.” If that is the case, then there would be at least a bit of premeditation there. And where there is premeditation, there is no spontaneity. <br /><br />So from a purely grammatical point of view, Wilson’s excuse for his outburst rings, ironically, false.The Language Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02233859743504768092noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34134615.post-90819887794652266782009-04-28T00:11:00.000-04:002009-04-28T00:12:22.491-04:00Between You and IBetween you and me, I think “between you and I” is giving way to everyday acceptance at a faster rate than the melting of the polar ice cap – and if that doesn’t make you cringe, then consider yourself part of that change. The rest of us are mere grammatical polar bears on an ever-shrinking base, at least where prepositions and object pronouns are concerned.<br /><br /> <br /><br />Specifically, I am talking about how it will soon be – or already is (except in grammar books) – generally acceptable to put an “I” where it technically should be “me.” Our own Harvard-educated president, who is also a lawyer, best-selling author, and someone generally acknowledged to be wonderfully articulate, has been quoted as saying, “it was a very personal decision for Michelle and I” and “the main disagreement with John and I.” The day before President Obama gave his first speech on the stimulus plan, half of the New York Times Op-Ed page was an article – mainly a defense -- of just this aspect of our Chief of State’s grammar. (See: “The I’s Have It,” Feb. 24, 2009.)<br /><br /> <br /><br />Standard, traditional grammar requires the object pronoun “me” to follow a preposition (in, for, to, by, with, etc.). Think about it: We say, “with me” -- so why say, “with Michelle and I”? To those of us brought up to admire and follow the logic and structure of grammar, breaking that particular rule has always been the linguistic equivalent of fingernails across an old slate blackboard. But the mere fact that I now have to explain what kind of board – the blackboard fast becoming obsolete, being replaced by the non-chill-inducing interactive whiteboard – also says something, however metaphorically, about language change. <br /><br /> <br /><br />And though this particular I-me switch has been around for decades, it has not been recognized as standard English. Even so, I figured a time would come when this confusion would be accepted into standard English, but I did not think it would be so soon. True, it is not in any grammar book now, but I am sensing An Inconvenient Grammatical Truth that I’m not sure even Al Gore can stop – because I’m not even sure if Al Gore knows the grammatical rule himself. Which is the whole point:<br /><br /> <br /><br />Knowing the standard form of English or any language is a practical thing -- a way to be understood by the majority of people, and along with that, a way to assimilate and move up the social ladder. Though some linguists have called the whole notion of standard English elitist and politically incorrect, this linguistic aspect of social mobility boils down to common sense: whether you’re a store manager or head of a global enterprise, you will probably hire the person you think will best be able to communicate with customers or clients. <br /><br /> <br /><br />Spoken standard English is also an unconscious preference, as witnessed most recently in the youtube sensation, Susan Boyle, who surprised over a 100 million viewers with her electrifying performance, singing “I Dreamed A Dream” on an American Idol-style British reality TV show audition. The most obvious part of the surprise was visual: this dowdy, middle-aged woman revealed a voice of startling youth and beauty. The other, more subtle surprise element was aural – in interviews before and after her singing, Ms. Boyle spoke in a plain, regional Scottish accent – nothing fancy, and sounding like a simple, middle-class woman. But her singing brought forth polished-sounding words flowing effortlessly out of her mouth in elegantly neutral-accented perfection; the live audience and panel erupted into cheers and standing ovations; youtube watchers worldwide got lumps in their throats and reached for tissues. <br /><br /> <br /><br />Foreigners who “do not speak well zee English” are usually given a little slack for grammatical errors; and many accents can be positively charming. But when you can’t understand a foreigner’s non-standard English, it is not so charming. Native speakers of English, who, let’s say, have heavy regional accents (like New Yawwk, Bahstn, or Southuhn) and who dot their sentences with “ain’t” or “youse” or double negatives like “He didn’t say nuttin’” are considered less educated and less socially refined. All else being equal among, say, job candidates, the person speaking standard English would be hired in a heartbeat over the other two.<br /><br /> <br /><br />But if President Obama thinks “with Michelle and I” sounds fine, what incentive does our fairly grammar-phobic population have to say, “with Michelle and me”? Because teaching English grammar in public school went out of fashion in the 1970s, most of today’s public school teachers never formally learned the subject themselves, nor are they required to teach it today. So at this point, confusing “me” and “I” is clearly not going to keep someone from being promoted at work, much less from holding the highest office in the land – just ask Bill Clinton, who was also heard to utter the occasional “with Hillary and I.”<br /><br /> <br /><br />Before too long I imagine that English grammar books will give readers an option – the traditional usage, and the new standard. In the English as a second language textbook, “Intermediate Grammar In Use” (University of Cambridge Press, 2008), author Raymond Murphy handles the rule regarding, “If I was you” vs. “If I were you” this way: both are fine. In this case, the original grammar rule was probably gradually over-ridden by so many people who did not know the original correct way to say it (“If I WERE you”), that the incorrect way gradually became standard as well. And so – sooner rather than later – I am betting that “I” will be okay, when following a preposition and another noun or pronoun before it.<br /><br /> <br /><br />Looking at how this works in other languages, it’s interesting to see that Spanish uses “me” directly after a preposition with no other people or pronouns, but changes to “I” when said with another person:<br /><br />English Spanish<br /><br />Come with me Ven conmigo (“migo” being the “me” suffix)<br /><br />Come with Juan and I Ven con Juan y yo <br /><br /> <br /><br />French, meanwhile, keeps “me” as an object pronoun whether with just one person, or more; but the subject pronoun “I” becomes “me” when used with more than one person: <br /><br /> <br /><br />English French<br /><br />He goes to school with me. Il va a l’ecole avec moi.<br /><br />He goes to school with Jean and me. Il va a l’ecole avec Jean et moi.<br /><br />(No change in “me” pronoun following preposition “avec”)<br /><br /> <br /><br />BUT<br /><br /> <br /><br />I go to school. Je vais a l’ecole.<br /><br />Jean and me go to school. Jean et moi allons a l’ecole.<br /><br />(Change occurs in the subject pronoun: “Je” – alone; “moi” when preceded by one or more names.)<br /><br /> <br /><br />In my lifetime, the linguistic changes I’ve noticed are mostly in vocabulary and expressions – from “groovy” to “in your face” to the “ough” being taken out of our “donuts.” But the seemingly imminent change of status with “with he and I” will be a first for pure grammatical change. So why do I compare this change to the melting of the polar ice cap? As if there’s something WRONG with this verbal change? Other readers may be cheering, or wondering what all the fuss is about.<br /><br /> <br /><br />Well, to be honest, I’m traditional and sentimental. After all, I am the daughter of a man who once called up my high school principal on reading in the school newspaper that “An Evening With Burt and I” would soon be coming to our stage. “You must be joking!” Dad said to the principal, who replied that the comic duo’s name was “Burt and I.” But it was nearly a heart-stopping moment for my father.<br /><br /> <br /><br />Language Lady reader Daniel White recently wrote (concerning the “if I was/If I were” rule), and commented that language people tended to be averse to change, because we like order and tidiness (well, not if you saw my desk). Yet there is something to that, grammar-wise: Grammar gives us a starting point, a guideline, and provides speakers and writers with a sense of linguistic security. Total grammatical liberation would not bring freedom, but chaos – imagine a highway with no traffic lanes.<br /><br /> <br /><br />Still, both Danny and I agree with William Safire, who says, "In the long run, usage calls the shots." So between you and I, Grammatical Polar Bears: start swimming.The Language Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02233859743504768092noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34134615.post-48788003456167740782009-02-16T23:40:00.001-05:002009-02-16T23:42:22.107-05:00Yes We Can… Split AuxiliariesAs the sun rose on a new presidential administration a few weeks ago, two small grammar terms -- ones rarely talked about, thought about, or even understood – briefly shared the limelight with President Barack Obama. These terms were “split infinitive” and the more obscure, “split auxiliary.” <br /><br />The two terms’ 15 minutes of fame came on Inauguration Day, January 20, at the swearing-in ceremony; there, before two million people in Washington, D.C. and millions more watching on TV around the world, Supreme Court Justice John Roberts spoke aloud, and in segments, the Constitution’s 35-word oath of office, which the incoming chief executive, who stood facing him with his hand on the Bible, was to repeat as directed. The problem? His Honor changed the wording.<br /><br />Instead of having Obama “solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States,” Chief Justice Roberts led the new president to “solemnly swear that I will execute the office of President of the United States faithfully.” That is, Roberts took the word “faithfully” (an adverb) out from between “will execute.” (Here, “will” is the auxiliary, or “helping” verb and “execute” is the main verb.) Roberts then placed “faithfully” at the end of the oath, where it sounded distinctly … odd.<br /><br />After a brief pause of confusion, Obama repeated Justice Roberts’s words in the order they were delivered – but Roberts’s seemingly simple flub was so big, the two were obliged – to be on the safe side – to re-do the oath the next day.<br /><br />This supreme snafu was written and talked about for at least a week afterward. Part of what emerged was that Roberts, in uniting a split auxiliary, had polarized writers, commentators, and the grammatically concerned. Also emerging from the debate was a discernible confusion between “split auxiliary” and “split infinitive.” Let me now explain the difference:<br />“Will faithfully execute” is an example of a split auxiliary: the auxiliary verb (“will”) is separated from the main verb (“execute”) by an adverb (“faithfully”). Infinitives, meanwhile, are verbs with the word, “to,” in front of them – like “to execute.” A “split infinitive” is when the “to” is separated from its main verb, such as: “to faithfully execute.” (More on split infinitives later.)<br /><br />Few grammar books currently even address split auxiliaries (though early English usage expert H.W. Fowler discusses them in his book, “The King’s English,” 1930). One reason may be that standard English syntax, or word order, has us almost always placing adverbs before the verb they modify. For example, in “She usually walks to work,” the adverb “usually” modifies “walks.” There’s no problem there, because “walks” is a single verb, standing on its own.<br /><br />Verbs with auxiliaries have two-parts: has/have + verb; will + verb; did + verb. For example: “She has seen that movie” and “She will see that movie.” In those sentences, “has seen” and “will see” are together. A “split auxiliary” occurs when an adverb is placed in between the two words: “She has already seen that movie;” and “She will never see that movie.” The adverb placement of “already” and “never” seems to “split” the verb – and some grammarians feel this is wrong.<br /><br />However, most current grammar books – if they even address the question – support splitting auxiliaries, since it creates the least disruption in the flow of the sentence and is the way most people speak and write.<br /><br />This view is backed by Patricia T. O’Connor, author of “Woe Is I” (2003), who clearly and wittily explains grammar to native English speakers; the view is also supported by the English-as-a-second-language authors, Raymond Murphy (British) and Kenneth Folse (American), who pointedly instruct non-native speakers to place the adverb after the helping verb. Holy split auxiliary! <br /><br />Of course, native English speakers know when and how to vary the rules. In her blog “Pheta Beta Cons,” conservative writer and literary critic Carol Iannone says, “It has always been possible to say in English, I will gladly come, I will come gladly, I gladly will come, and even gladly will I come and gladly I will come. The difference lies in what emphasis the speaker wishes to give and what rhetorical effect one wishes to have” and the Language Lady quite strongly agrees. But for everyday purposes, it’s hard to improve on the original. <br /> <br />In that way, James Madison’s “will faithfully execute” seems indisputably correct – both for standard syntax, and even as a way that gives the all-important “faithfully” its due.<br /><br />The split infinitive, meanwhile, is well known in grammar circles -- and its supporters and detractors are as fervent as devoted members of a political party. The reason has something to do with the linguistic divide between those who feel grammar should represent a kind of spoken and written ideal, and those who feel it should simply reflect the way most people speak. <br /><br />Most people learn about the “infinitive” (“to” + main verb) through studying a foreign language, when verbs are presented in their infinitive form – as in, “venir” (Spanish) or “kommen” (German), both of which mean “to come.” An infinitive does not show a tense or agree with a singular or plural person. Infinitives in most languages are one word, but English has a two-part infinitive -- and somewhere in the 19th century some grammarian deemed it wrong to split the two parts up. (That is, “I want to quickly finish this blog,” should instead keep the infinitive together and say, “I want to finish this blog quickly.” To Language Lady, both are fine.) <br /><br />In her book, “Painless Grammar,” (Barron’s 2006) Rebecca Elliot, Ph.D., gives examples of how writing is better served by NOT splitting infinitives:<br /><br />WEAK: It is usually better to not split infinitives.<br />BETTER: It is usually better not to split infinitives.<br /><br />Elliot cautions that if you do split an infinitive, you should be sure not to put too many words between “to” and the main verb, as in:<br /><br />WEAK: “My mother told me to every day and without fail come right home after school.”<br />BETTER: My mother told me to come home right after school every day, without fail. <br /><br />In the above sentence, keeping the infinitive together improved the whole structure and order of the sentence.<br /><br />Still, when separated by just one or maybe two words, a split infinitive works just fine:<br />FINE: In winter, I like to sometimes walk through the snowy woods by myself.<br />EQUALLY FINE: In winter, I sometimes like to walk through the snowy woods …<br /><br />The irony in Elliot’s advice regarding too many words in a split infinitive is that Roberts made a parallel faux pas in “correcting” the oath’s split auxiliary. When he says “…solemnly swear that I will execute the office of the President of the United States faithfully,” there are no fewer than NINE words between “execute” and “faithfully;” and in that location, “faithfully” almost seems like an afterthought -- instead of what should be a central idea. <br /><br />And yet there are quite strong feelings in favor of Roberts’s changes out there:<br /><br />A loyal Language Lady reader, a lawyer, wrote in an email regarding the Roberts mess that he had tweaked a colleague’s memos over the years to “fix” the split infinitives. The unappreciative colleague considered this tweaking obsessive, hyper-correct, and unnecessary. These two represent the two conflicting sides of the to split-or-not–to-split debate.<br /><br />The Pro-splitters – those who feel that splitting infinitives is fine – are supported by most current grammar books and sites. But the Anti-splitters’ views are upheld by the modern bible of grammar usage, “Elements of Style” (1959 – revised in 2000). Authors William Strunk and E.B. White say that splitting infinitives "should be avoided unless the writer wishes to put unusual stress on the adverb.” <br /><br />The most famous split infinitive and one referred to in almost every article on the subject is found in the opening to the 60’s TV show, “Star Trek”: there, narrator Captain Kirk explains that the starship’s goal is “to boldly go where no man has gone before.” Even the anti-splitter lawyer above, a Strunk & White adherent, felt “boldy” usage was justified – but that “faithfully” was not. He wrote:<br /><br />Most split infinitives do not call for that sort of adverbial stress, so the rule should be to avoid it in most cases. Thus, I'd say that Captain Kirk was right in saying "to boldly go"; James Madison (or whoever) was wrong in writing "to faithfully execute". <br /><br /> <br />My questions to the anti-splitter lawyer are, Why doesn’t “faithfully” deserve emphasis? And where else would you put it?<br /><br />After the Inauguration Day debacle, The New York Times tried to get to the bottom of Roberts’s mistake. The editors called in Harvard psychologist Steven Pinker, who wrote a strongly opinionated op-ed piece on January 22 called, “Oaf of Office.” You can guess what Pinker thought of Chief Justice Roberts’s presumed Constitutional tweaking: Pinker claimed that Roberts was one of those weird grammar people who are insecure about their writing, so meekly obey some ancient, illogical, and ridiculous rule to never split two-part verbs.<br /><br />Pinker’s opinion infuriated right-wing commentator Laurence Auster. In his blog, “View from the Right,” Auster said:<br /><br />“Thus Pinker, the supposed rational man of science, reveals himself as a pseudo-intellectual twit operating under the sway of the stupidest and meanest liberal prejudices about conservatives, to the point where he makes up a grammatical rule (about split auxiliaries, which Auster wrote that he had never heard of) and a conservative belief about that rule that don't exist. And The New York Times published this worthless drivel.”<br /><br />Auster said that not splitting infinitives was a rule “that good writers generally follow even today,” and added parenthetically: “(I myself follow it unswervingly, but don't require others to be that strict).” <br /><br />Again, none of these anti-splitters has shown or even remotely suggested where “faithfully” could go that would improve upon the natural order, the one that Madison used. Saying, “I faithfully will execute” is understandable but not normal English syntax, and the same goes for, “I will execute faithfully.” And what Roberts said sounded even worse.<br /><br />In fact, grammar aside, “What WAS Roberts thinking?” As a lifetime lawyer, did Roberts really think that he could change the words on a 220-year-old contract (as the oath technically is) without it mattering?<br /><br />Most newspaper columnists called what Roberts did “a flub,” or an “accident,” but those would be more like mispronouncing a word, or tripping over his tongue. What Roberts actually did was tamper with the wording – which seems like sheer delusional chutzpah (akin to presidential cabinet members and nominees not paying their taxes). The question remains, was it premeditated or not:<br /><br />If Roberts had rehearsed the oath– and with an estimated crowd of two million, and a televised and online audience of many more millions --- you’d think he might have gone over the oath once or twice beforehand. And say that in rehearsing, Roberts found the placement of “faithfully” to be personally annoying or, in his mind, “wrong,” you’d think he would have practiced saying it otherwise – if only for the private satisfaction of besting a founding father. And let’s say that in doing that, the grammarian side of Roberts decided that, awkward or not, and legal or not, split auxiliaries should be united, and that maybe no one would notice. This would explain why, during the inauguration, Roberts did not try to correct himself – and why Obama repeated Roberts’s words as the chief justice spoke them. We may never know for sure what ran through Roberts’s head.<br /><br />As for President Obama, generally acknowledged to be an eloquent speaker, the “Yes We Can” man is firmly in favor of split auxiliaries: on the night he won the Iowa primary, he said, “You know, they said this day would never come (as opposed to “never would come”);” he later said that he would win by building a coalition for change; that that would be “how we’ll finally meet the challenges that we face as a nation (as opposed to “how we finally will meet).” <br /><br />But whatever your political or split-or-not-to-split persuasion, the point is this:<br />Grammar was invented to enhance clarity first, eloquence second. If adhering to a rule for tradition’s sake actually takes away from the meaning, then it is<br />self-defeating. <br /><br />However, if you feel the desire to strongly, insightfully, thoroughly, and with ample precision, respectfully disagree – then go right ahead. Except … just not with the Presidential Oath.The Language Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02233859743504768092noreply@blogger.com0