Spelling rationales – the challenge of writing English, Hebrew and French

 

Learning how to speak a language is intuitive. With a little bit of effort, courage and humility, it is possible to learn how to speak a language without formally studying it. Every child, regardless of intelligence, learns how to speak to one degree or another of skill. By contrast, writing a language is a great challenge for many people. I personally can attest to my complete insecurity regarding the correct spelling of words in English, Hebrew and French. Yet, I admit that the apparent randomness of a spelling system can reflect historical realities or grammar rules, whose challenges can be overcome with modern computer systems.

Let us begin with the most common language of communication (not necessarily first language), English. Both native and non-native speakers have a litany of complaints about inconsistent connections between letters and sounds. A few examples will suffice: through vs tough; know, low vs women; receive vs weigh; and time vs action. For the uninitiated, there is a higher chance to succeed in blackjack than in English spelling. Some people blame Samuel Johnson in 1755 or maybe Robert Cawdrey before him in 1604 for writing the first dictionaries and creating this chaos. Alas, they are not guilty. Distance creates diversity of pronunciation, even today, and, thus, a lack of predictability. In many parts of the world, listeners immediately can tell where a person grew up just by hearing certain sounds or words. In parts of pre-literacy England and to a certain extent today, people did pronounce those words exactly as they were written, especially the guttural sounds, kn and gh. In fact, in one older English manuscript,  the modern word girl is written ghurl, something that an Arabic speaker or a Scot would have no problem saying. Thus, English spelling is really phonetic but only for some people at some time in history. The rest of us have to memorize it somehow.

Time and distance have also affected Hebrew. In theory, every letter in an alphabet represents a different sound. In ancient Hebrew, each letter was pronounced in a manner distinct from each other. However, in modern Hebrew, many, if not most, Israelis do not generally pronounce the following letters in clearly distinct ways: alef א and ayin ע, an a sound; kuf ק and kof כּ, a k sound; sin שׂ and samech ס, an s sound; tof ת and tet ט, a t sound; het ח  and kof כ, a ch sound. True, eastern (mizhahi) Jews, especially Yemenites, have to a certain extent retained the historical pronunciation differences but people generally do not annunciate the distinctions between the letters. As a result, as an immigrant that arrived in Israel as an adult and never studied the language at school, I am uncertain. Which is happiness and which is wealth, אושר [osher] or עושר [o’sher]?. Did I confuse every and voice in כל קול [kol kol]? Did I write that I need time עת or a pen אט, both pronounced [et]? Which is form and which is grab, טפוס [tofes] or תופס [tofes]? The actual key is to know the root of the word, which indicates the correct letter to be used. While it does increase the odds of a correct guess, not every Israeli, not to mention immigrants, feels absolute certainty when writing Hebrew.

As for French, it seems to me that framers of the language chose ease of speaking over simplicity of writing, plausibly using Latin rules of grammar as the excuse. To explain, it is possible to represent the long a sound, as in the a in the word late in English, in 13 different ways (forgive me if I missed a few). The following words all end in a long a: donner, donnez, donné, donnée, donnés, données, donnais, donnait, donnaient, donnerai, les, abeilles, et and forêt. For non-French speakers, the meanings are to give, you give, given (n), given (f), given (pl), given (f. pl), you gave, he gave, they gave, I will give, the, bees, and and forest, respectively. That is one impressive haul of uses for one sound. The price for such efficiency is, of course, the difficulty in knowing how to write the correct form. Since the establishment of universal schooling in France in 1882, generations of French children have had to work hard to master the rules of grammar required to know when the correct tense endings, when to add the silent e and s to the past participle and which letters are the end of a specific noun. The results, then and now, are far from perfect. Actually, I find French spelling relatively easy because I understand these rules. I find it convenient that they are based on grammar, not history.

Those of us that doubt our spelling, rightly or wrongly, and double-check all words can feel a little bit relieved. Like some exes said, it is not you; it is the language. Spelling has its own logic, one that is unconcerned about mere mortals, whether they are native or non-native speakers. Fortunately, word processing, applications and AI have made it quite convenient to identify and fix any embarrassing errors. These tools do not eliminate the need to actually know the language as you still must choose the right word when two words with different meanings sound the same but are spelled differently, e.g., too vs two in English, but at least, we don’t have to look idiots when we write. We don’t have to feel like idiots either since, while there is a rationale to spelling rules in fact, it is one that often makes no sense to us.

Shibboleth – French legal terminology then and now

 

Traditionally, legal language has two purposes: to provide a precise term and to prevent the uninitiated from understanding. The Plain Language movement, at least in English-speaking countries, has somewhat diminished the second tendency to want to confuse the person on the street but that change is far from universal or consistent. As a case in point, Tom West, in his outstanding webinar for the ATA discussed recent changes to the French codes of law, emphasizing terminology. First, I would recommend watching his webinar (through the ATA) if you do legal translation or interpretation in the French/English language pair. On the linguistic front, it was fascinating how the French legal language achieves the desired level of encryption, notably applying vagueness, generality and sheer misleading. Granted, the code reforms have improved the situation in some cases but the examples shed light on the codification of law in both senses of the word.

The first technique is using a general term to describe a specific action. It is similar to saying “kitchen” when you mean to ask someone to turn off the light in the kitchen. One example in French legal terminology is imprévision, which means something unforeseen. In legal language, it refers to the damage caused by an unexpected event not specified in the contract or list of force majeure cases. The English translation is hardship. Another example is that, traditionally, French laws had to meet the standard of bonnes moeurs, literally “good morals”. The new term is ordre public  but the English term is public policy. Finally, the French equivalent of the famous standard of the reasonable person (previously man) is pėre de famille, taken from the Latin term. The term suggests a test of whether a proper father of a  family would take a given action. The French have quite reasonably replaced it with reasonable, apparently because the mothers of the family had had enough of this sexism. In all these cases, it is possible to guess the meaning of the word but it takes a bit of imagination.

A second technique is to take a general word and give it a specific meaning, creating the false impression that the reader actually understands the significance. A prime example is the word crime. Contrary to appearance, the term in French law only refers to the most serious of all offenses, murder, rape and the like, with délit referring to lesser crimes and contravention applying to a misdemeanor. I imagine that a French lawyer would not fully understand the name of the movie Crimes and Misdemeanors. Likewise, a jurisdiction d’exception actually refers to courts with specialized but limited areas of jurisdiction, such as the Commercial Court. Jurisdiction actually refers to a court while exception relates to a specialty. A final example is the common French word proximité, which sounds like and generally means nearness. Alas, in legal French, it would refer to a local or district court. Knowledge is the key.

Finally, some terms are simply misleading. The reformed code replaces the traditional French legal répétition with restitution. The previously used chambre de l’instruction is now honestly called a chambre des investigations and libertés. At least the first term is clear. Finally, the appel public à l’épargne, which had nothing to do with savings (the last word), is now an offre au public des titres financiers. That is a public share offering to English speakers. At least, someone in the French Parliament cared about plain language.

Legal language has always served as a way of allowing or preventing entrance, a shibboleth. To its credit, the French government is working on reducing its level of encoding. I suppose that French will always be more ambiguous than English for better or worse. A word (or two) to the wise, including those in the webinar,  prevents some serious misunderstandings for lawyers and translators.

The linguist’s tale – A personal confession of native language interference

 

The sad truth is the 99% of humanity will never sound like a native speaker when they speak a foreign language. We may have a great ear, solid knowledge of grammar and well-developed vocabulary. Yet, some strange turn of the tongue gives us away. The culprit is interference from our native language, tendencies that are so ingrained that they affect every other language we speak. It is similar to those habits learnt from our parents, which we swore we wouldn’t continue when we became adults, but which we have to ultimately accept. I will demonstrate by recounting my misdoings when I speak Russian, French and Hebrew, habits that I wish I could eliminate but never will. All that is left is accepting imperfection.

Russian involves a completely different form of thinking and construction. I have managed to grasp most of its peculiarities. Case declensions are a matter of memorization and practice. Putting a noun in the singular after any number that ends in the number 1, including 1,000,001, has its peculiar logic but still carries a rational rationale. Practice helps hone the differences between the imperfective and perfective verb forms, which reflect, as a rule, incomplete and complete actions, respectively. However, placing adjectival phrases before the noun they describe is beyond the ability of my brain to apply. To demonstrate, the English sentence “The dog sitting on the table enjoys vegetables roasted in the fire.” comes out in Russian “The sitting on the table dog enjoys roasted in the fire vegetables. This structure is too alien for me to apply consistently. Thus, I will always sound like an alien, a foreigner, when speaking Russian.

French is much more similar to English but also has its intricacies. A little practice helps a student master the subjunctive. Furthermore, my plus que parfait is almost better than perfect. After an insightful webinar by Grace Shalhoub, I even feel confident when I need to adjust the past participle to agree with the gender and number of the preceding direct object, not as simple as it may sound. However, regarding gender, here I fail. I cannot and have never been able to remember the rules for knowing whether the noun is masculine or feminine. Aside from the “tion” class of nouns, which are all feminine, I can find no rhyme or reason. Thus, I have always double-checked every noun to be sure. I do not trust my intuition or my ear, only the dictionary. It is my cross to bear in French.

Hebrew is my daily language. I enjoy a rich vocabulary and an intuitive sense of how to choose the proper verb category from the root. Thus, I can read awful Hebrew legalese and can apply the rules to form the right verb from a root even if I don’t formally grasp the rule. My downfall is cultural. In Hebrew, the verb form changes depending on whether the grammatical subject is male or female (as well as singular and plural). This manipulation occurs in 1^st, 2^nd and 3^rd persons. In simple words, the verb takes on a different form when a woman talks is or is talked about. As I have spent most of my life surrounded by females, e.g., spouse, daughter and colleagues, I tend to use the feminine form at all times, especially when I am tired and my brain is dragging. It sounds quite strange to refer to a male using the feminine form. In my defense, many foreigners make the same error. I understand that the cause of this error is the lack of such distinction in English. People forgive me because I am a foreigner but I am almost as embarrassed as my wife is when I make this error. I will continue to strive to reduce the error but it is impossible to eliminate.

This is my slightly tragic but mostly humorous tale about sounding like a foreigner. I know that I am not alone. The vast majority of people drag some feature of their native language into their adopted language. It is not a sin. However, as Tevye sang in Fiddler on the Roof, it is no great honor either. As humans are no more perfect in other parts of their lives, we have to accept our linguistic warts just as we need to come to peace with our other imperfections. To paraphrase Shakespeare, it is better to have spoken and erred than never have spoken at all.

Say what or the joy of trying to understand extreme accents in foreign languages

 

Most people in the world are exposed to a second language. Some are fortunate enough to live in a place where many languages are spoken while others have to learn an additional language in a more formal way at school. Regardless of how well they are exposed to a foreign language, people always have less confidence in their knowledge of it relative to their mother tongue. There is no method more certain to feed that doubt than to visit a place where people speak a version of the foreign language so different from what they learned that it is hard to understand. The failure to understand immediately raises the question whether this incomprehension is a result of poor knowledge or the “weird” manner of speaking. Almost every language has these outliers, including French, Spanish, Arabic and English. The cause of the local uniqueness may be historical, linguistic, geographic or any combination of these. The difficulty posed by these variants makes being a translator far easier than being an interpreter in terms of language knowledge.

Even after the advent of radio and television, devices that shattered geographical language barriers, every area, whether a village, city, province or country, has its own vocabulary and way of pronouncing words to one degree or another. In some cases, the resulting dialect is so different from the standard language that even non-local native speakers struggle to understand it. For example, the Picard dialect in northern France sounds like French but only “sort of” due to its strange syntax. Of all of the Spanish variants, Chilean Spanish combines rapid speech with missing syllables and local vocabulary, a deadly combination. As for Arabic, putting aside Moroccan Arabic, which is a language in itself, Bedouin Arabic is beyond the ability of most non-native speakers to understand due to its different pronunciation of certain sounds, among other reasons. The English language enjoys a myriad of accents, with among the most confusing existing in Scotland and the parts of the south in the United States. Even native speakers struggle to understand what the locals are saying. An encounter with any of these dialects will instill doubt in the most intrepid of language learners.

The source of these local language identities may be historical, i.e., it is a previous form of the language. For example, Church Slavonic is the old Orthodox Slavic language, which was retained in Church literary and speech even after the reform of the Russian language in the 18^th century. The Cajans or Acadians, who live in Louisiana, speak an old Breton French as part of their creole dialect as they left France several centuries ago. Old Anglo-Saxon speech survives in signs and the writings of Tolkien, who studied the language. It is possible to find bits and pieces of previous “versions” of language here and there.

A more common factor in a very local dialect is the presence of other languages in the area and among the population. French speakers in all of the colonies may use the French framework but freely integrate words from African or other native languages into their speech, including even Dutch in some northern areas of France. Berber, a non-Arabic language, makes its presence felt in North African Arabic. Spanish in South America borrows Indian words while English in many southwestern states in the United States steals terms from Spanish. Depending on the local ethnic mix, the main language develops its own style.

From another point of view, geographical isolation is a vital factor in differentiation. Where mountains or extreme geography limit contact with other cultures, languages develop in their own way. The heights of mountain ranges, the great distances of the oceans, the lengths of the desert and depths of the jungle cut off a language from its source and ultimately create a new one over time. The dialect becomes ever more distinct from the standard form.

This evolution creates challenges for linguists. For interpreters, this diversity means that knowing the standard version may not be sufficient to be able to understand the speaker. By contrast, written communication remains relatively standard over cultures. Official Russian from the Brezhnev era is not much different than the current form. For the foreign visitor under the impression that several years of language study in high school or college will ensure smooth linguistic sailing in foreign lands, it is a shock to experience total incomprehension. The only reaction to the flood of apparent gibberish is “say what”. However, to cheer up any bewildered foreign visitors to such areas, it is normal. It is not you. It’s them, at least from the visitor’s perspective.

Med veg vettings or curious cases of vegetable nomenclatures

 

Mediterranean cuisine is known for its use of vegetables. Curiously, many of the most typical vegetables in the cuisine are not native to the area, meaning they were imported and had to be named. As any player in a telephone game knows, fascinating versions of the original can arise, which can now be seen today in green grocer’s sign in any given country. As an example, the history of the naming of tomatoes, peppers and eggplants shows some of the methods of the madness of naming.

Tomatoes are a staple of Italian and most southern European cooking. They originated in South America. The Aztecs referred to them as tomatl, a name that the Spanish brought back to Europe and is reflected in English and French, among others. However, the Italians received the yellow version of the fruit. As with all exotic foods, marketing is key. Therefore, it was called a  “golden apple”, i.e., pomo d’oro, which became pomodore in one word. The Hebrew story is even more wild. In the late 19^th century when Eliezer Ben Yehuda and others were re-establishing Hebrew as a daily language and inventing words for modern terms, Eliezer Ben Yehuda decided on the word עגבניה [agvania], which is derived from the root for passion or great pleasure. As in most matters in Israel, many people disagreed but eventually agvania became the known and accepted term of this omnipresent vegetable. Marketing and accidents of import had an impact.

Peppers, another South American immigrant to European kitchens, also took a curious path. Europeans had used pepper corns, an imported nut, to spice their food for a long time. With the arrival of peppers, both hot and sweet, the Europeans added an element and confused the matter. Specifically, the word pepper refers both to the plant and spice. See paprika in Hungarian and peperoni in Italian, which also designate the plant. In English, the easy solution was the addition of bell or the color to the vegetable name, e.g., green or bell peppers. However, in Israel, agriculture is a passion. Local agronomists have always sought to improve variants, e.g., the cherry tomato. For example, Israel stores always carry a light green bell papper, ideal for stuffing. It is known as a Nahariya pepper because it was developed near Nahariya, a small town on the coast near the Lebanese border. Israelis are also major consumers of gombot, a red bell pepper. The name derives from an Italian variant, a gamba, and now refers to most large red bell peppers in Israel. Of course, each country has countless variants of this pepper, which is far more than a spice.

Last but not least is the royal eggplant. Probably originally from South Asia, it traveled via Persia, North Africa and Catalonia to reach European kitchens. The word origin is the Sanskrit vātiga-gama, which means “the plant that cures the wind”, and Arabic al-bādhinjān. That last version explains the French “aubergine” (with the Arabic “the”, al, being absorbed as a root). As for the English eggplant , it appears that initially the English in India were rather fond of a white skinned variant, hence the eggplant. As usual, Hebrew presents the most confusing story. Based on a post on the subject, חציל [hatzil] is a new Hebrew word invented in the late 19th century based on a rare Arabic word, حَيْصَل, [haizal]. As usual, many others suggested alternatives. The eggplant does enjoy a wide variety of calling cards.

It is hard to imagine Mediterranean cooking or any other kitchen without these basic vegetables. Yet, they came as immigrants and experienced the same name confusion as many human immigrants have experienced. A rose is a rose is a rose but it may have a local name, which is all the fun. Nomenclature is a product of both intention and accident also in Mediterranean vegetables.

All pictures from Pixabay

Exotic or alien – when does a foreign word remain a stranger

 

All speakers and writers choose their words. Linguists, including authors, editors and translators, may invest more time and energy in this choice but even the most basic user seeks the best term in terms of register, connotation and impact. Essentially, the chosen word must sound right, which is a matter of accustomed sound. Words with unusual phonetic signatures sound strange. However, in terms of word choice, as there are no “pure” nations in terms of racial background, there are no pure languages in terms of roots. An exchange of words occurs anytime one culture meets another. In some cases, the words become an integral part of the language and lose their foreignness. In other cases, people use these words despite their non-local origin because there is no substitute in the original language. However. in many cases, speakers of different generations and points of view may disagree whether a given verbal immigrant has any raison d’être as there exists a highly adequate term. The processs never ends.

Some foreign words have been a part of a language for so long that they have become native. For example, in Russian, the word for beach, пляж [plajh], comes from the French plage while the term for a train station вокзал [vokzal] is derived from the English Vauxhall, the name on the first locomotive in Russia (from St. Petersburg to the Tsar’s village). This use of Western terminology does not bother the most nationalistic Russian. Likewise, an insulated American has no problem calling a nice sidewalk eatery a café, as distinguished by its poorer cousin, the coffee shop. New York brokers, Jewish or not, often consult a maven, a word derived from Yiddish and Hebrew, if they need an expert opinion. In Israel, Jews whose family came from Tunisia or Ethiopia use the words קיוסק, kiosk, and צ'ופצ'יק [chupchik], a whatchamacallit, whose origins are in distant Russia, without batting an eyelash. These words have become a basic part of the language.

Other foreign words still sound like immigrants but the language needs them. For example, a party can be fancy or posh but the French chic adds another dimension to the description. For describing a corrupt military dictatorship, there is no better word in English than junta, Spanish in sound and origin, and so succinct. In France, the left-wing parties are now considering holding les primaires, a gem taken from the Anglo-Saxon tradition of primaries and a relatively recent development in French politics. Hebrew is an active borrower of English terms to describe concepts that its limited root system struggles to cope with. For example, business people use the word אֵפֶקְטִיבִי [effectivi] [effective] to emphasize one aspect of the Hebrew word יָעִיל [yail], which encompasses both effectiveness and efficiency. Many Israelis have become quite skilled in terms of their ability לנרמל [lenormel], to normalize, the current situation. Languages must keep up with the times. Sometimes, it is easier to copy than to invent a word.

Nevertheless, foreign adoption can go too far, at least in some people’s eyes. The average American or Brit, depending on socio-economic background, may find it pretentious if a person said a pied-á-terre for a vacation home or “what do you think of my new coif” instead “How’s the haircut?”. The average French may have seemed to accept “le weekend”” and “le shopping” but French intellectuals and writers are far from happy with such terms, especially when the French terms are perfectly sufficient. As for Hebrew, many Israelis cringe when chefs say “crispy” instead of פריך [parich}. Even worse, in the ears of many lovers of the Holy language is the adoption of לקחת חלק [lakahat helek], the literal translation of the English take part, instead of the solid Hebrew word להשתתף [lehishtatef]. Many people believe that speakers should be proud of their language (regardless if so many of its words are derived from foreign roots).

The use of foreign words is a matter of both ideology and usefulness. Clearly, no language academy can determine which foreign word will go native and which will always be a stranger. However, the introduction of foreign words is one of the basic tools for intrinsic language development and occurs quite naturally. The answer to the question whether using a foreign word is chic or a faux pas is subjective by definition, as all language users, including translators, know.

Pride and prejudice – national identity and presence abroad

 

Being a foreign visitor exposes one’s sense of nationality, eliciting varying reactions depending on country, circumstances and personality. When people become the ambassadors of their country, locals receive them in a manner ranging from “the savior of our nation” to a persona non grata, generally somewhere in between. In response, foreign visitors exhibit a certain pride or lack thereof in their homeland as expressed in their willingness to identify themselves as citizens of that country, speak their national language and talk with pride about their home. Of course, a country is made of individuals, each with his/her manner of speaking. However, certain national tendencies do dominate as I will show in regards to Americans, French and Israelis.

Americans have for many centuries believed that America is the best country in the world and English is the only language one needs. Thus, many Americans speak as loud abroad as they do at home, which is often in extreme contrast with the local low tones, such as in Hungary or Germany. Despite having formally learned a foreign language in high school and, in many cases, being in frequent contact with Spanish speakers, most Americans assume that everybody speaks English. Moreover, they also think that most people think America is a great country. Thus, they speak with pride of their country, albeit a bit diminished for some with the advent of Trump. Americans stick out in terms of language. Moreover, not only do they not hide their origin but they are proud of it.

The French relationship with France is a bit more complicated. Most French deeply believe that the French language and culture are superior even if they recognize that the world doesn’t quite see it that way. As a result of that pride and a generally awful system of teaching foreign languages, the average French citizen cannot get by in English or chooses not to do, with exceptions, of course. When asked, they are proud of being French and extol Gaulic values, mainly food, art and sophistication. On the other hand, when asked about their appreciation of its government and policies, alas, according to many studies, the French are not very patriotic and even sometimes rather embarrassed by the current situation. The self-identification “L'État, c'est moi” attributed to Louis XIV is not a sentiment shared by most current French people. It is wonderful to be French but not a French citizen, apparently.

The relationship between Israel and the world is quite complex. To begin with, many Israelis carry a hidden or not-so-hidden concern about anti-Semitism based on events during a long diaspora and in recent years. This suspicion affects Israelis abroad. True, after 1967, Israel gained such status that Israelis traveled abroad with great pride with locals admiring them. Alas, those Halcyon days are long gone, having been replaced by pro-Palestinian demonstrations and violence and open antisemitism in some places. In terms of language, most Israelis, especially younger ones, are quite proficient in English by international standards and can function quite well in English. Thus, Israelis have a choice to speak English or Hebrew. In regards to national pride, while the level may have dropped due to political differences of opinion in Israel, Israelis are among the most patriotic peoples in the world.

To illustrate the dilemma of being an Israeli abroad, I will recount two anecdotes. In 2010, due to a hurricane on the East Coast of the United States, my wife and I had to take a return flight to Israel which involved a 7-hour wait at the connecting airport in Istanbul. On the day before, the Israelis had intercepted the Mavi Marmara, which had been on its way to bring aid to Gaza, resulting in ten deaths. The Turkish government was not pleased, to put it mildly. As we waited in that airport, we suspected that the government would react by hassling Israelis, which they later actually did. As a result, we sat in a quiet part of the airport, avoided attention and spoke in English. We decided that discretion was the better part of valor. By contrast, we have just returned from Germany and the Czech Republic. We made the conscious decision to speak Hebrew openly. For me, I refused to take on the role of the cowed Jew. By the way, nothing happened. The worst reaction was the failure, intentional or not, of a Turkish restaurant manager to understand our country of origin. I consciously chose, as do many Israelis, not to let fear control my life and did not regret that choice. That choice is not always easy.

Thus, in the face of a foreign culture, every traveler chooses an attitude. Whether it is hide or flaunt their identity depends on the person and country. To a certain degree, this decision reflects the travelers’ relations with their country, language and history. Visitors abroad must deal with pride and prejudice as Jane Austin would say.

AI writing – fancy or highfalutin?

 

[rainbow over my parents' house]

I had the peculiar experience of seeing my parents’ house advertised for sale after my mother died. I have to admit that I found it difficult match the description of the property to the actual house. It read:

“Nestled within the Encino Hills, near Mulholland Dr, in the acclaimed Lanai Road Elementary school district, sits this charming mid-century 4 bedroom, 2 bath 2,202 sq. foot home ready for its new owner. Don't miss the chance to reimagine this nearly 16k lot surrounded by flourishing foliage and citrus. Enter through double doors into a foyer which connects to a spacious vaulted ceiling formal living room with a fireplace and adjoining dining area….”

In reality, it was an expanded but simple aging wooden house but clearly the AI-created description makes it seem far more attractive to buyers.

This personal example highlights the strength as well as the dangerous temptation of AI writing. On the one hand, it is an expert-system, creating a text that only highly experienced and talented copywriters can write. On the other hand, in many cases, the resulting text is not actually effective in communicating the message as many English speakers consider overly fancy language either exaggerated or intended to deceive.

To be clear, AI produces text according to the prompts that the writer enters. The parameters include, among other, level of vocabulary, purpose of the document and educational level of the reader. Thus, in theory, AI should be able to produce a text that is tailored for the intended goal. Accoridingly, the skill of the programmer has a dominant influence on the relevance of the text.

One of the major problems is that a significant percentage of those using AI to write their texts are not fully fluent in the language and often unaware of the nuances of communicative language. Thus, based the concept that more the better or, as in the case of writing, the higher, the better, users tends to aim to write highly sophisticated texts. The resulting copy thus chooses the elegant and indirect route instead of the simple and direct approach. For example, compare “visitors have the possibility of observing a myriad of animal species at the local zoological center” and “visitors can view a wide variety of animals at the zoo.” Clearly, the first shows a far richer level of vocabulary but many adults, even some native speakers, not to mention children, would struggle to understand the meaning or find it off-putting.

The cultural background affecting this reaction to high-level language partly stems from a preference in English for content over style. For many English speakers, using sophisticated language in terms of vocabulary and structure is viewed as an attempt to prove personal superiority or hide the truth. In simple terms, English speakers often expect to a person to say something directly and not decorate it. Americans in particular expect their leaders to “tell it like it is” and value that type of communication even if the form is rather simplistic, even crude. For example, many voters truly respect Trump because of his manner of answering questions but he is not the first president to be overly direct. Even modern legal language strives to be simple and direct and drop its pretensions as many modern scholars consider the use of legalese as an elitest and dangerous practice.  See my previous post.

This insistence on clarity at the price of elegance is contrast to the situation in many other countries and cultures. In France, for example, listeners are often quite willing to forgive a complete lack of content if the language is elegant enough. Almost all French politicians and even masters of ceremonies sound almost royal in their speech. It is hard to name one French president that was not an elegant speaker. Thus, AI creates more benefit in some languages than in others.

Thus, an AI user without the knowledge of when high-level language is appropriate can unintentionally create an artificial and/or ineffective text. People seeing a marketing text with such language know that it is not written by a human as almost no one can or wants to write in that style. Thus, the alien text only highlights the fact that they cannot write. Even worse, if the purpose of the copy was to sell or persuade, the AI-generated copy will tend to create distrust, the exact opposite.

To give a concert example of power of short direct speech, note that most Americans know by heart at least a part of Abrahams’ Lincoln’s Gettysburg address  (1863), which totals 272 words, while nobody remembers a single word from the preceding two-hour speech by Edward Everett. English speakers prefer, to paraphrase Lincoln, English “of the people, by the people, for the people.” It does not mean that that there is no place of AI texts. My parents’ house sold quite fast in fact. However, direct plain English, edited until it is clear and smooth, often produces better results. Simply put, highfalutin AI English is often not an appropriate manner of expression.

Words and their derived meanings – how far does a ball roll in different languages?

[Effy the kitten with ball*)

 

If we look at the idea of a word, it is fundamentally a concept that human beings apply to various objects, real and theoretical. The Chinese language is the perfect embodiment of this vocabulary building approach but the process also occurs in alphabetical languages. For example, a round object is called a ball, balle, шар [shar] and כדור [kadur] in English, French, Russian and Hebrew, respectively. While each refers to the ball that is the fascination of children, puppies and kittens (especially mine currently), the word also is used for many other round objects with slight differences.

While the origin of the word ball in English is rather fuzzy, its primary meaning is quite clearly, i.e., according to the Oxford Dictionary, a solid or hollow spherical or egg-shaped object that is kicked, thrown, or hit in a game. Clearly, a really heavy one that requires explosive power to launch is a cannon ball, not an object to play with. On a smaller basis, balls can be loaded into cartridges and cause terrible casualties. For that matter, a great ball of fire is also rather threatening. On a less serious note,  ball in baseball can mean that the pitch fails to cross the plate between the knees and numbers of a player and within the side boundaries of the home plate. Not surprisingly but quite differently, testicles are sometimes referred to as balls., This may explain the application of the word to describe the willingness to take a great risk as in the sentence General MacArthur had the balls to land at Inchon. Confusingly, derived from a completely different root, a ball is a formal dance from which probably the term having a ball, i.e., having a good time, may have been derived, although my forementioned kitten might disagree.

The French balle also is generally used to refer to the toy as in the short form of ballon. However, it refers to pills, which are round, and bullets and slugs, which generally are not. In the days of the French Franc (pre-Euro), it was another term for that national currency. In agriculture, a balle refers to a bale in English and  applies to any similar bulky packaging, round or not.

Russian is even more generous is the use. шар [shar] refers to the toy but also to a globe and bowl and other round objects. In the plural, it is another term for eyes. It is used as a term for a lightbulb. Russian even uses it for a vote or ballet. (If a language refers to communication tower as an “object”, everything is possible).

Hebrew almost equates ball and round in the word כדור [kadur]. Sports equipment, pills and tablets and well as spheres and planets are balls. In line with the old traditional ammunition, so is ammunition for rifles and machine guns (despite their modern long shape).

So, as true for many languages, words evolve to expand their meaning to directly and not-so directly connected items and sometimes retain the use when the original shape of the object changes.  Balls really roll far away sometimes.

* Picture captions help the blind fully access the Internet.

Spelling out the differences – Thoughts on why most of us do not pronounce the word exactly as it is written

 

[frustrated Spock*]

One of the claims to fame of Esperanto is that the learners can pronounce words as they see them. As the exception proves the rule, almost all alphabet-based languages exhibit a marked difference between the letters on the paper (or screen) and how the speaker says the word. This linguistic schizophrenia often serves a purpose but more often derives from the fact that written script is snapshot from a given, often distant, time and place and rarely updated to another time and place. Thus, students, both native and non-native speakers, must do as all previous generations do, i.e. learn by heart how to spell the words.

One notable complication of spelling is the multiple manners of expressing the same vowel sound but this redundancy serves a practical purpose. Latin languages in particular use verb endings that sound the same but are written differently. For example, French speakers pronounce é, er, ez, ai, ais, ait and aient exactly the same. Thus, touché, toucher, touchez, touchai, touchais, touchait and touchaient sound alike despite their spelling differences. While this may seem confusing to listeners, mix-ups are rare due to the human ability to apply context. On the other hand, these multiple spelling allow French and similar languages to get more kilometers to the liter for its sounds; due to limited number of phonemes available to Latin languages (as compared to Arabic most notably), having numerous ways of writing them significantly adds to the number of possible visually distinct words. Thus, while such a tendency does add difficulty to learning spelling, it also enriches the vocabulary.

Yet, in most cases, it is the actual process of determining the official spelling that creates the mismatch between the oral and written form. Clearly, pronunciation is a dynamic process specific to a given place and time. It is true that people tend to speak like their family and surrounding neighborhood when they were growing up. My Fair Lady very musically portrayed that phenomenon. Their children may pronounce the same word differently if they move elsewhere or another form becomes fashionable By contrast, at some time or another, somebody writes a dictionary, which establishes the “approved” spelling. At the moment of writing, the composer writes the words exactly as s/he says it or, at best, most people in that area. The spelling is phonetic for that time and place. Thus, in parts of England, then and now, the sentence “the girl went through tough times, I thought” would include 4 guttural g’s, specifically girl, through, tough and thought. Alas, the vast majority of English speakers today would pronounce the each of those consonants a bit differently but the damage is done. There is no choice but to memorize the spelling.

In some cases, such as Hebrew, the actual ability to distinguish a sound from a similar but not identical one has disappeared or is disappearing. Hebrew has two related vowels א, alef, which is pronounced [a] and ע, ayin, which is pronounced [a’] (as in when the doctor checks your tonsils. Furthermore, there are two forms of the sound t, ט, tet, [t] and ת taf [t’], which resembles a soft th historically. Unfortunately, many if not most Israelis do not clearly pronounce the ayin, blurring the distinction. As for the “t” situation, aside from religious Ashenazi Jews who received formal training in biblical Hebrew and Arabic speakers, modern Hebrew speakers make no distinction. See the modern Hebrew Shabbat as compared to the Yiddish shabbas or English sabbath. To take an extreme example, in Hebrew, את ,אט, עת and עט all are generally pronounced the same, [et], but mean moment, slow, a particle to signal a direct object and pen, respectively. In some cases, speakers actually say the letter to make sure of the meaning as in אושר ועושר, [osher v’ o’sher], happiness and wealth, adding “with an ayin” for the second one. Once again, the spelling reflects a reality that barely or no longer exists.

Some languages have managed to clean up their spelling act to a certain degree. The Russian government after the 1918 revolution reformed the language and eliminated numerous historical legacies. The post-revolution version of War and Peace is several pages shorter as compared to the 19^th century edition. The Turkish government in 1928 changed the alphabet, which provided a clean slate for the spelling. Even in English, the distant colonies, notably the United States and Australia often took the liberty of removing the silent and meaningless letters. Some examples include thru instead of through, honor instead of honor and shop instead of shoppe. As there is no official academy of the English languages, such efforts will always be local and limited, unfortunately for learners of English. Comprehensive language reforms are few and far between.

The legacies of the past define a language’s spelling system and lag far behind the changes in actual pronunciation. While sometimes a linguistic factor may justify the gap between the oral and written forms, in most cases, learners have no choice but to depend on their memory and, in these modern days, some kind of digital spellcheck. For me, complaining about illogical spelling reminds me of complaining about the weather. It is an entertaining  topic for a few minutes but, ultimately, people adjust to it. Spelling is what it is, often locally illogical.

* Picture captions help the blind fully access the Internet.

Picture credit - Pixabay

Names of seasons – A linguistically dynamic spectrum

 

[pomegranates and grapefruits*]

All civilizations and, therefore, all languages label their seasons in one way or another. In practice, there are multiple approaches to this nomenclature, which can change over time and distance. To illustrate the spectrum of views on the seasons, I will present how English, French and Hebrew have related to the times of the year. Agriculture is often the key factor in this process.

In English, as in many languages, the spring is literally the beginning, whether of water or plants. It is the time they spring up, the start of the year for farmers. By contrast, summer is derived from the ancient word for year. I can postulate that the summer defines the year in terms of crops, i.e., if the fields produced in plenty, there was plenty to eat. By contrast, the autumn, a term more often used in the UK, signified the passing the year at which end the fields were bare, more or less. The American fall emphasizes the obvious physical aspect of the season, specifically the falling of the leaves. As for the winter, it was the wet season, literally.

As typical of Franco-British relations, the French view this situation differently. Le printemps literally means “first time”, which would imply that the world is born anew. L’été relates to burning, presumably to the effects of the sun. L’automne is the time for enriching, especially for the farmers as it harvest time for many crops. Finally, l’hiver is the rainy season, a variation of the wet theme.

Hebrew, a far more ancient language evolving in a far drier region, has a long and complicated story in regard to the seasons. Originally, there were two seasons, the fig harvesting season קיץ [keitz] and the wet, סתיו [stav], a bit like the same nomenclature in many countries in the equatorial regions but without the figs. At some point, writers referred to the season in terms of the name of their first month, i.e., תשרי [tishrei], טבת [tivet], ניסן [nisan] and תמוז [tamuz], starting from the autumn. The terms eventually evolved to identify  a separate spring season, אביב [aviv], which relates to young plants. Furthermore, Hebrew speakers began to use the word חורף [horef], which refers to picking fruit, for winter, another sign of how moderate the climate is in the eastern Mediterranean. The previously mentioned סתיו [stav], the rainy season, now was limited to the fall. On another level, the year was once defined from the spring to spring but the new year changed to the month of  תשרי [tishrei] in the fall. In Hebrew, the seasons do also change linguistically.

These are just a small sample of how cultures and languages relate to seasons. It is clear that weather and agriculture, the most basic of all industries, strongly influence the specific choice of words but climate also has an effect. In any case, there is no unilateral way to describe a season. Seasons" greetings.

* Picture captions help the blind fully navigate the Internet.

Picture credit