Category Archives: language

Gettin’ Shet o’ Mah Accint

Macon.com carries an AP report on Southerners shifting their accents.

COLUMBIA, S.C. – “Y’all” isn’t welcome in Erica Tobolski’s class in voice and diction at the University of South Carolina. And forget about “fixin’,” as in getting ready to do something, or “pin” when talking about the writing instrument.

Tobolski’s class is all about getting rid of accents, mostly Southern ones in the heart of the former Confederacy, and replacing them with Standard American Dialect, the uninflected tone of TV news anchors that oozes authority and refinement.

“We sort of avoid talking about class in this country, but clearly class is indicated by how we speak,” she said….

Across the fast-growing South, accents are under assault, and not just from the modern-day Henry Higginses of academia. There’s the flood of transplants from other regions, notions of Southern upward mobility that require dropping the drawl, and stereotypes that “y’alls” and “suhs” signal low status or lack of intelligence.

But is the Southern accent really disappearing?

That depends what accent you mean. The South, because of its rural, isolated past, boasts a diversity of dialects, from Appalachian twangs in several states to Elizabethan lilts in Virginia to Cajun accents in Louisiana to African-influenced Gullah accents on the coasts of Georgia and South Carolina.

One accent that has been all but wiped out is the slow juleps-in-the-moonlight drawl favored by Hollywood portrayals of the South. To find that so-called plantation accent in most parts of the region nowadays requires a trip to the video store….

Georgia-bred humorist Roy Blount Jr. understands that people with strong Southern accents are often perceived as “slow and dimwitted.” But he thinks it’s “sort of a shame” that people should feel the need to soften or even lose their accents.

“My father, who was a surely intelligent man, would say `cain’t’. He wouldn’t say `can’t.’ And, `There ain’t no way, just there ain’t no way.’ You don’t want to say, `There isn’t any way.’ That just spoils the whole thing,” Blount said.

It shore do! My Tidewater-Virginia-raised, college-and-seminary-educated father still says `cain’t’–and some of his kin keep the small class of `ahn’ words together, pronouncing aunt `aint’, aren’t `ain’t’, and maybe even haunted ‘hainted’. He also resorts to compounds to distinguish `inkpin’ from `stickpin’.

But I made a concerted effort to purge `cain’t’ and other Southernisms from my speech when I was a kid, especially when I was away at a Canadian boarding school in Japan, where I also teased other Southern missionary kids who came back from furlough with their accents in full bloom.

By the time I went off to college, I had acquired one of those ‘no-accent’ accents. Most people cain’t place my accent when I challenge them to–beyond general American, of course. My wife, who grew up in the Dakotas and Minnesota, also has one of those ‘no-accent’ accents, unlike her two sisters, who respectively exhibit those unmistakable Minnesota and Wisconsin shibboleth vowels. And my daughter is acutely aware of my distinctive upglide on the mid front vowels of measure, treasure, and leisure.

My maternal Shenandoah Valley-accented cousins, however, found my wife’s accent most charming. My mother remembered as a kid having to practice moderating her regional diphthongs by repeating “How now brown cow”–distinctive but not quite the same sound or phonetic environment (before voiceless consonants) as the near “Canadian raising” that Sen. Warner (R-VA) just demonstrated in his interview on the NewsHour tonight. (He talked about ‘sitting out‘, ‘waiting out‘ and ‘getting out‘ with respect to Iraq.)

I liked listening to the marked regional accent of Sen. Reed (D-RI), too. In fact, most of the time, I tend to tune out the content when politicians bloviate on TV and concentrate instead on pinpointing their accentual differences. One of my favorite accents on the NewsHour, though, is that of Alabama native Jan Crawford Greenburg. Unfortunately, her perceptive analyses of the Supreme Court often distract me from her accent.

via Atlanta-based Photodude

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Belated Happy Hangul Day!

Hangul Day (한글날) was 9 October. The ever-observant Language Hat has more, and Language Log has much, much more.

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The "Big Bang" of Modern Keigo Ideology

Ask Japanese speakers on the street today if they know what keigo is, and the answer will be a resounding yes. A hundred years ago, the response is more likely to have been no, or at the very least, “What?” The word “keigo” was invented by Meiji scholars to describe something that presumably already existed but had never been named. Along with that naming came keigo ideology. In some sense keigo is a modern construct that serves an important ideological function. Its contemporary identity is a product of historical processes that begin in what I call the “Big Bang” of keigo ideology: kokugo seisaku ‘language policy’, which began with the Kokugo Chôsa Iinkai of 1902.

If keigo ideology did not exist before Meiji, how did it come to exist today? What was the cloud of raw materials out of which it formed? What stages has it passed through? How is its contemporary shape different from the primordial mass from which it emanated? And how did it happen that the primordial mass has passed from a timeless state of perfection to a state of decline?

If one presses modern Japanese speakers to talk a little more about keigo, they will probably indicate that it is an important component of what it means to function as an adult in society, that they wish they could use it more skillfully, or that they wish the younger generation could use it more skillfully–that keigo today is midarete iru ‘in a state of disarray’. They will talk about keigo in terms of the social fabric within which it functions. Their views are echoed and elaborated in a self-help, “how-to” genre. Keigo how-to takes its place alongside other kinds of Japanese how-to, and makes use of the same images, the same constructs, and the same view of the Japanese cultural landscape as do other kinds of how-to in Japan.

SOURCE: Keigo in Modern Japan: Polite Language from Meiji to the Present, by Patricia J. Wetzel (U. Hawai‘i Press, 2004), pp. 1-2

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Guidance: Welcome it is all of you!

The following sign at Shin Sapporo Station Bus Terminal no. 22 was helpful and befuddling at the same time.

Guidance: Welcome it is all of you!

A visitor going to “a village of reclamation” takes a bus for “Kaitaku no mura” of the 22nd number from a departure home of here and please take it to a terminal.

Because I can be more late by traffic circumstances from the departure time, please understand it. Then please spend pleasant time.

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Multilingual Japan

One big difference I’ve noted on this, my first extended trip back to Japan in 20 years, is how much more multilingual the nation is. I don’t mean so much that more Japanese seem to speak foreign languages better than at any time since 1945–though I suspect that is also likely to be true.

What has struck me instead, on our attempts to get maximum usage from our rail passes, is the much greater quantity of signage in Chinese and Korean–and some Russian in Niigata–designed to help tourists speaking those languages. Many goods imported from other Asian countries also list instructions or ingredients in both Chinese and Korean.

But another thing that has struck me is that most Japanese now seem to expect foreigners to speak enough of the host country language to conduct simple transactions such as making purchases and asking directions. And I’ve been very impressed by the many people I’ve queried in my limited but sometimes deceptively fluent Japanese who’ve communicated very effectively in simplified and maximally redundant Japanese designed to get through to foreigners with limited proficiency.

Of course, a few bumpkins still just repeat the same thing more loudly when dealing with non-Japanese-speaking foreigners, but many people I’ve met have proven quite adept at effective foreigner talk in Japanese. The flip side of this–the hound that no longer barks–is the near absence of the reaction I used to get so often 20 or 30 years ago: Elaborate praise from strangers on hearing my first few words of Japanese. I’ve only encountered that reaction once or twice in the past 3 weeks. Nor have I encountered the speechless panic that used to overcome so many Japanese when a foreign face approached them to ask for information. Now, when speaking Japanese, the panic is more on my side, as I anticipate the inevitable hurdles of inarticulateness that are sure to trip me up the longer the conversation goes on.

Another reaction that has mercifully become much rarer is the kneejerk shouts of ハロ、ハロ (hah-ro, hah-ro) from groups of Japanese schoolboys. The only such reaction I’ve noticed on this trip has been from a group of uniformed middle-school boys touring a Japanese shrine in Sapporo who greeted us with ヘロ、ヘロ (heh-ro, heh-ro). The girls who followed greeted us instead with a civilized 今日は (kon-nichi-wa).

UPDATE, 23 August, 23 September: Yesterday my wife applied for her alien registration at the Ashikaga city office, where I learned that Japan will conduct a national census on 1 October 2005. The notice was posted in the following languages, in the following order: English (in larger type at the top), Korean, Chinese, Portuguese, Spanish, Thai, Tagalog, Indonesian/Malay (“Sensus nasional dilaksanakan”), Farsi/Persian (I think), Vietnamese, Hindi, Burmese, French, German, Russian, Malay/Indonesian (“Sensus Penduduk”), Arabic (if not Persian).

The same office also offered a Tochigi International Association flyer for “Consultation and Information Services” with contact information listed in the following languages: Japanese, English, Chinese, Portuguese, Spanish, Persian, Thai. The local prefectural lending library, however, had nothing substantial in any other language than English, but had many volumes of classic literature translated into Japanese from English, French, German, Russian, Korean, Chinese, German, Spanish, and Italian (roughly in that order, by quantity).

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Paul Farmer’s Word Gymnastics

“An H of G” was short for “a hermeneutic of generosity,” which [Paul Farmer] had defined once for me in an e-mail: “I have a hermeneutic of generosity for you because I know you’re a good guy: Therefore I will interpret what you say and do in a favorable light. Seems like I’m the one who should hope for as much from you.” I have counted scores of terms like that one in his lexicon, which was also the lexicon of PIH [Partners in Health]….

One time his brother Jeff, the wrestler, sent him a card in which he misspelled the word “Haitians.” He spelled it “Hatians.” So in PIH lingo, Haitians were “Hat-eans” or simply “Hats,” and their country was “Hatland.” The French were “Fran-chayze,” their tongue “Fran-chayze language,” and Russians were “Rooskies.” A “chatterjee” was a person of East Indian descent–there were a few in PIH–who talked a lot. Farmer referred to himself as “white trash”–he had an old photo to prove it, his extended family at a picnic around a couch outdoors. The man who railed about the plight of impoverished women everywhere would in private, poking fun, employ terms like “chicks.” “I don’t care about any of that stuff” he told me once. “Just the one thing.” Impolite terms, used intramurally, were meant as philosophical rebukes to the misplaced preoccupations of those who believed in “identity politics,” in the idea that all members of an oppressed minority were equally oppressed, which all too conveniently obscured the fact that there were real differences in the “shaftedness,” also sometimes called the “degrees of hose-edness,” that people of the same race or gender suffered. “All suffering isn’t equal” was an article of the PIH faith, generated in reaction to the many times when they had tried to raise money and instead had been offered lectures about the universality of suffering, or simply lines like “The rich have problems, too.” (Farmer once taught a course at Harvard called Varieties of Human Suffering.)

“When people get around Paul, they start talking like Paul,” his old friend from medical school the writer Ethan Canin said. “He’s such a word gymnast.” There was an obvious utility in the brevity of terms like “H of G,” for a mind moving fast, and for people trying to keep up. When, for instance, “TBMI” (transnational bureaucrats managing inequality) produced clever arguments (also known as “well-formed stool”) against treating MDR [Multiple Drug Resistant TB] or AIDS, one could simply say, “Love, ID,” and be completely understood. Everyone in PIH knew that “DQ” stood for “Drama Queen,” and a DQ proposal meant an emotional appeal. (“We could use a DQ quote here, and a generic inequality-of-outcomes over here,” I once heard Farmer say to a young assistant working with him on a speech.) “Geek flowers” was the completed research that PIH-ers presented to Farmer or Kim, and “scholbutt” was short for “scholarly buttressing,” which meant that every statement of fact Farmer made in a paper had to be verified as coming from some authoritative source. (“He’s neurotic about having it all perfect,” said a medical student who did a lot of scholbutt for Farmer. “Not because he’s anal but because when you’re doing these things for the poor, amidst arguments that it’s not cost-effective to treat them, you have to be perfect or you’ll be picked apart.”)

“Lugar” was luggage. “Koutoums” meant “customs.” To commit “a seven-three” was to use seven words where three would do, and a “ninety-nine one hundred” was quitting on a nearly completed job. (“Nothing pisses me off like a ninety-nine one hundred,” Farmer would say.) PIH-ers often said “Thank you” to people who had done something for a third party, for anyone who belonged to the multitudinous group known variously as “the indigent sick,” “the shafted,” and “the poor,” the last being the term of choice in PIH because, as Farmer would say, it was the term that most Haitians used to describe themselves.

SOURCE: Mountains Beyond Mountains: The Quest of Dr. Paul Farmer, a Man Who Would Cure the World, by Tracy Kidder (Random House, 2004), pp. 215-217

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紐約洋基勝明尼蘇達雙城 4 : 3

Sinography-solver Amritas leads you down the garden path toward the real meaning of this actual headline from a Chinese newspaper, and in the process counters a few myths about Chinese characters. Hint: 明尼蘇達 doesn’t really mean UNTIL BRIGHT NUNS LIVE AGAIN, although it does have something to do with St. Paul, Mingnisuda.

If that’s not enough for you, pay a visit to Language Hat‘s post about a site that lists the most common Chinese characters in order of frequency.

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Unglamorous Scottish Glamour

Virginia Postrel posts a bit of Scottish etymology:

In his poem “The Lay of the Last Minstrel,” Sir Walter Scott introduced the word glamour into English from Scots, where it meant a literal magic spell that kept the subject from seeing things as they really are:

And one short spell therein he read:
It had much of glamour might;
Could make a ladye seem a knight;
The cobwebs on a dungeon wall
Seem tapestry in lordly hall;
A nut-shell seem a gilded barge,
A sheeling [a shepherd’s hut] seem a palace large,
And youth seem age, and age seem youth:
All was delusion, nought was truth.

The last bit certainly applies to much of modern syntax, if not grammar more generally.

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Language Hat on Barbarian Names

Language Hat quotes an interesting take on name etymologies from O. Maenchen-Helfen’s The World of the Huns (University of California Press, 1973). Here’s a bit of it:

We must be prepared to meet among the names borne by Huns Germanic, Latin, and (as a result of the long and close contact with the Alans) also Iranian names. Attempts to force all Hunnic names into one linguistic group are a priori doomed to failure.

“Let no one,” warned Jordanes, “who is ignorant cavil at the fact that the tribes of men use many names, the Sarmatians from the Germans and the Goths frequently from the Huns.” Tutizar was a Goth and Ragnaris a Hun, but Tutizar is not a Gothic name and Ragnaris is Germanic. The Byzantine generals who in 493 fought against the Isaurians were Apsikal, a Goth, and Sigizan and Zolban, commanders of the Hun auxiliaries. Apsikal is not a Gothic but a Hunnic name; Sigizan might be Germanic. Mundius, a man of Attilanic descent, had a son by the name of Mauricius; his grandson Theudimundus bore a Germanic name. Patricius, Ardabur, and Herminiricus were not a Roman, an Alan, and a German as the names would indicate, but brothers, the sons of Aspar and his Gothic wife. There are many such cases in the fifth and sixth centuries. Sometimes a man is known under two names, belonging to two different tongues. Or he has a name compounded of elements of two languages. There are instances of what seem to be double names; actually one is the personal name, the other a title. Among the Hun names, some might well be designations of rank. It is, I believe, generally agreed that the titles of the steppe peoples do not reflect the nationality of their bearers. A kan, kagan, or bagatur may be a Mongol, a Turk, a Bulgar; he may be practically anything….

In addition to the objective difficulties, subjective ones bedevil some scholars. Turkologists are likely to find Turks everywhere; Germanic scholars discover Germans in unlikely places. Convinced that all proto-Bulgarians spoke Turkish, Németh offered an attractive Turkish etymology of Asparuch; other Turkologists explained the name in a different, perhaps less convincing way. Now it has turned out that Asparuch is an Iranian name. Validi Togan, a scholar of profound erudition but sometimes biased by pan-Turkism, derived shogun, Sino-Japanese for chiang chün, “general,” from the Qarluq title sagun. Pro-Germanic bias led Schönfeld to maintain, in disregard of all chronology, that the Moors took over Vandalic names.

I particularly like the first comment, from John Emerson:

Boodberg and Wolfram have both argued that steppe peoples are not “peoples” the way that anthropologists think of it. They are armies, together with their families. Voluntarily or otherwise, whole groups of other peoples could be absorbed.

The supposed ethnicity of a group is a function of the ethnicity of its leader and his clan, and also of the language spoken in the leadership councils. So the Huns weren’t really Huns, nor the Goths Goths — not the way we can say that a people that’s been living in a certain valley for five generations might have a given ethnicity.

That’s somewhat similar to my impression of many peoples along the coast of New Guinea.

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Russian Prison Tapping Code

Perhaps the most elaborate form of forbidden communication [in Russian prisons] was the prisoners’ Morse code, tapped on the walls of cells, or on the prison plumbing. The code had been devised in the Czarist era–Varlam Shalamov attributes it to one of the Decembrists. Elinor Olitskaya had learned it from her Social Revolutionary colleagues long before she was imprisoned in 1924. In fact, the Russian revolutionary Vera Figner had described the code in her memoirs, which is where Evgeniya Ginzburg had read about it. While under investigation, she remembered enough of the code to use it to communicate with a neighboring cell. The code was relatively straightforward: letters of the Russian alphabet were laid out in five rows of six letters:

А Б В Г Д Е/Ё
Ж З И К Л М
Н О П Р С Т
У Ф Х Ц Ч Ш
Щ Ъ Ы Э Ю Я

Each letter was then designated by a pair of taps, the first signifying the row, the second the position in the row:

1,1 1,2 1,3 1,4 1,5 1,6
2,1 2,2 2,3 2,4 2,5 2,6
3,1 3,2 3,3 3,4 3,5 3,6
4,1 4,2 4,3 4,4 4,5 4,6
5,1 5,2 5,3 5,4 5,5 5,6

Even those who had not read about the code or learned it from others sometimes figured it out, as there were standard methods of teaching it. Those who knew it would sometimes tap out the alphabet, over and over again, together with one or two simple questions, in the hope that the unseen person on the other side of the wall would catch on. That was how Alexander Dolgun learned the code in Lefortovo, memorizing it with the help of matches. When he was finally able to “talk” to the man in the next cell, and understood that the man was asking him “Who are you?” he felt “a rush of pure love for a man who has been asking me for three months who I am.”

SOURCE: Gulag: A History, by Anne Applebaum (Anchor Books, 2003), pp. 155-156

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