Beware of BIG WORDS

In English, when we speak of “big words,” it’s generally not a good thing. “Big words” – words usually of Latin or Greek origin that are not instantly understood, are hardly ever spoken or even pronounced properly – are the verbal equivalent of fake jewelry trying to pass itself off as the real thing. Big words are out to impress, mislead, or intimidate – but most often they just confuse and annoy. Don’t get me wrong: I love a good, rich vocabulary – but big words are mere pretenders to the throne.

English, having been created by the peasant masses – not royalty or the upper classes -- is not a language where long, fancy words can safely camouflage themselves in daily conversation. Words like “get,” “have,” or “do” serve so many linguistic purposes, they’re like maid-butler-gardener-and-chauffeur all in one; the minute an “obtain” or “possess” or “accomplish” appears instead, it is quickly taken in for questioning: was that word necessary, or is the speaker trying to put on airs?

Big words happen when we forget who we’re talking to. A humorous, small business website demonstrates what happens when big words are left to their own devices:

In promulgating your esoteric cogitations, or articulating your superficial sentimentalities and amicable, philosophical or psychological observations, beware of platitudinous ponderosity.
(See: http://www.abcsmallbiz.com/funny/big-words.html)






Even with a plethora of English words to choose from, words like “plethora” stick out – anyone hearing or reading that word would think, “Why didn’t she just say ‘a lot’ or ‘gazillions’?” “Plethora” is the kind of word we learn when studying for the SATs but never really say. In general, English speakers prefer to hear and speak their language straight up with a twist, and easy on the high-fallutin’.

Speaking of pretension, Dictionary.com offers a Word of the Day to all interested in building up their word power. However, given some of their recent choices, I have to wonder if the motivated student wouldn’t be better off reading a checkout counter weekly, like the National Enquirer -- at least those deliver descriptive words you can use: a woman “seethes” with rage (when her 60-year-old husband runs off with his 18-year-old sister-in-law); a celebrity might “brandish” a broken martini glass at an intrusive paparazzi photographer; a well-known politician might have recently been accused of “perjuring” himself on the witness stand. Meanwhile, Dictionary.com offers such baubles as:

roborant
autochtonous
clerisy
animadversion

Most of us can go a healthy lifetime without ever using one of those words. (Or, anyone want to play “Dictionary”?) A few weeks ago, without having checked the link myself, I had recommended Dictionary.com’s “Word of the Day” to a motivated French student, a data technologist; in an email last week he asked how he could use these words, either at work or elsewhere. I told him that Harry Potter couldn’t even use them for spells, and to cancel his (free) subscription.

It’s funny, though, that “big words” in English are not especially long; the Dictionary.com words above have no more syllables than other, more regular words like beautiful, intelligent, and authoritative. What makes a word “big” is its lack of familiarity, and the reason it’s not familiar is probably because we have a shorter word or simpler phrase to explain the same thing.

For instance, most people would probably refer to “a 70-year-old man” before calling him a “septuagenarian.” Weathermen can talk about “precipitation” but we generally call it “rain;” just as a movie reviewer might call a movie “extraordinary,” “astounding,” and “magnificent,” whereas fans might just say it’s “great.” Still, if those words are used in a proper context and add color or meaning, they can come out as clean and clear as, well, “clean” and “clear.”

But using fancy terms to impress listeners invariably does just the opposite. In the mystery novel, “Death of a Bore,” by M.C. Beaton, a pompous, second-rate writer attempts to explain his craft to a room full of practical Scottish highlanders:

“Perhaps we will discuss linear progression,” the writer said.
“Do you mean plot?” called Hamish.
“Er, yes.”
“Then why not say so?”

There are times, however, when the formal phrase serves a purpose. One occasion is the written acceptance to a formal party, and the standard, Emily Post reply is downright Victorian:

“Clara Jones and Joshua Smith accept with pleasure the kind invitation to the …” (insert: birthday party, bar mitzvah, debutante ball or whatever), etc. Using this format might sound retro, but it is easy for the respondent, since you don’t have to think of anything clever to say yourself – and you can ad lib informally, if you like; it’s also useful for the party planner, since it immediately says who the potential guests are, and whether or not they can come; and yet the language and structure acknowledge the formality of the event in a way that “Yes, we can come!” simply cannot.

One of the first times I came across a big-word style expression was when I was about 10 years old and reading an Archie comic book. Smithers, the tuxedo-clad butler to spoiled, rich Veronica Lodge had apparently reached his limit and said to his boss, Mr. Lodge, “I wish to tender my resignation.” Tender his resignation? I figured Smithers meant, “I quit” but I realized with that fancy phrase that Smithers was, in short, keeping his cool. Saying, “I quit!” would have sounded angry and emotional, whereas tendering his resignation helped Smithers maintain his butler-ish dignity.

Still, there’s a limit on what we can tolerate, and some of the world’s worst writing appears not in our children’s research papers or book reports, as might be expected by fledglings, but in what could be considered the Capital Cities of Big Words: business, law, and government. There, big-wordy emails, memos, forms, and other documents can get so loaded with jargon and bloated verbosity as to make readers groan in pain.

One such intolerant reader was Martin Cutts, an Englishman who in 1979 stood in London’s Parliament Square and shredded official documents – the first act of the Plain Language Commission, for which Cutts is owner and director. Ever since the document-shredding, this organization has published books and articles, as well as provided writing services to companies worldwide – with the goal of clear, accurate writing.
(See: http://www.askoxford.com/betterwriting/plainenglish/?view=uk.) (In fact, language and grammar sites abound on the Internet – it’s just a matter of taking advantage of them.)

So how do you know when you’re using Big Words, and when you’re sounding erudite? A first step is to ask yourself if you understood what you wrote. Next, ask someone nearby to read what you wrote. Then try it on your boss. These are not full-proof steps, but they do provide an initial screening of sorts.

As you write, remember that some of the best writing and most treasured lines in literature were short and straightforward, though absolutely eloquent:

Take Abraham Lincoln’s three-minute-long “Gettysburg Address” (‘Four-score and seven years ago our forefathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal”); or Jane Austen’s opening to Pride and Prejudice: (“It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune should be in want of a wife.”); or Scout’s description of her town in “To Kill A Mockingbird” (“Maycomb was an old town, but it was a tired, old town when I first knew it.”) No big words there. The first two samples are formal, but clear; the third, so easy to understand you can almost feel the flies.

In short, if big words are bad jewelry, then it’s better to keep your language plain and simple than to be caught casting swine before pearls.

Gender Specific

Back in the misty days of 7th grade, first-year French I remember a particular class somewhere in the middle of the year in which a boy, Willie C., raised his hand and asked, “Why are ‘question’ and ‘problem’ feminine but ‘book’ and ‘paper’ masculine?” This question seemed to hit a nerve: up until then we had obediently accepted this seemingly random categorization of nouns into male and female words but had not the faintest clue why. Willie’s question prompted an outpouring: who decided that ‘pen’ and ‘pencil’ were masculine, but ‘door,’ ‘roof,’ and ‘window’ were feminine?” Why was ‘the wind’ masculine and ‘war’ feminine? and so on. Ultimately, was this a boy-girl thing, or what?

The teacher calmly – but firmly – told us it was strictly grammatical, nothing personal. There was an edge in her tone that said, “Don’t ask me anymore.” (Perhaps she thought looking any deeper would stall the growing Women’s Movement?) A few years later I found out that Spanish had a similar masculine-feminine randomness but at least it was visually easier to tell male nouns from female nouns.

In college, when I started taking German, I discovered that language not only divided nouns into masculine and feminine, but neuter as well. I didn’t try to make sense of the categories – including why “girl” was neuter; instead, I simply tried to master the differences by color-coding my vocabulary sheets – I wrote masculine words in red; feminine in green; and neuter in yellow. (Bad idea: by the time I took my exam, I couldn’t remember if a word were green or red or yellow and botched the whole thing.)

But despite what my French teacher said, I am not convinced” that “gender” and “grammatical gender” have nothing to do with each other – why would they both be called “gender”? And if it weren’t a male-female thing, then why are nouns called masculine, feminine, and yes, even neuter – and not just Type A, B or C?

Some languages – including aboriginal Australian and Polish – distinguish between animate and inanimate things, in addition to the usual masculine, feminine and neuter. (And one aboriginal language even has a noun category for hunting weapons and dogs.)

Given that languages and their genders were formed in prehistory, the reasons for categorizing nouns and corresponding parts of speech into genders have been lost to time. My guess is that people began classifying each other as “masculine” or “feminine” and then started extending the classifications to other things, with each culture deciding what had male qualities and what had female or neuter qualities. Mixed in with spiritual beliefs as portrayed in say, Disney’s Pocohantas, -- i.e. that one’s ancestors could be reborn as animate or inanimate objects -- could have lent further chaos among those early “language deciders.” Imagine: “Tree is feminine – that’s my grandmother.” “Are you kidding? Look at that tree – big, strong, straight up! It’s masculine!”

Thus, for example, “tree” is masculine in French, Spanish, and German but feminine in Portuguese, and neuter in Norwegian. Different cultures, different perspectives.

Still, after a while people must have given up trying to see the “maleness” or “femaleness” or even neutrality of a noun and instead just randomly gave it a gender. That might explain why the Portuguese “tree” is feminine but their word for tree “trunk” is masculine – the Whatever! Syndrome no doubt set in.

English has a “natural gender” style – anything that isn’t a living-breathing male or female human, or domestic pet, is an “it.” What could be easier? Yet does that make our language and culture free of gender distinctions and contradictions – no way! The Women’s Movement has helped change a lot of words or terms that once defined roles or jobs that belonged predominantly to one sex or the other -- words like, “chairman” and “stewardess” have become “chair person” and “flight attendant.” Even “actress” and “waitress” – with French-inspired feminine endings – are beginning to be discarded in favor of simply “actor” and “waiter.”

The one pronoun English needs now is for a singular gender-neutral third person, singular, possessive, which would rid us of dilemmas in sentences like: “Each employee must fill out his/her own time sheet.” At this point, the choices are either the awkward “his/her” or the ungrammatical “their.” Linguists have come up with some suggestions but, just as English itself was formed, the masses will ultimately make the decision over time.

Women have already forged ahead with how they choose to be called in business when a courtesy title is necessary: Some married professionals go with Ms. and their maiden names; some with Ms. and their married names; some with Mrs. and their married names. All are accepted.

As more women appear in powerful positions in government – and sooner or later as leader of the Free World – it will be interesting to watch our genders change with the times: Madame President? (too French; and there’s the association with “madames” in “other” types of houses) Ms. President? or Mrs. President? Mr. First Gentleman? Or Mr. First Man? I guess we’ll cross that gender-bender when we come to it.