Living in a Multilingual World (The One About Die Deutsch Sprache)

The conversation could not have been more normal. Two work colleagues talking about their children and their first GCSE year. The only difference was that the novel I am about to finish now, Die Mansarde, was lying on the table in the staffroom and my colleague queried the title.

It is German for The Loft, I said. Oh, that’s a coincidence, my son is doing German GCSE, she replied. And so, modern foreign languages entered our amiable chat.

It is welcoming news that people’s perceptions of Germany are finally changing. More important is the fact that the language is becoming popular once again. Attached to this is the economic success of recent years. Linguistically, native German-speakers might lie in a distant tenth place, well behind the Chinese, Anglophones and Hispanics. Yet, they actually rank fourth in the world when you take into account their economic output (put Germany, Switzerland, Austria, Luxembourg and Liechtenstein together and you will see. In fact, squeeze part of Belgium into the equation if you still have some space left).

Wie sagt man "power" auf Deutsch?

There is another factor in this upward trend. German language advocates do not seem to engage future learners aggressively but adopt a rather laisez-faire attitude to the acquisition of their lexicon. Where the Academy of the French Language would probably put its foot down and tut-tut at Anglicisms, German-speakers (from this outsider’s perspective) assimilate them.

A few days ago I praised on this blog the efforts of Angela Merkel during the current refugee crisis and how her attitude contrasted with that of our Prime Minister. Merkel, more than anyone else, understands that if a country is to become a magnet for investors, it needs an influx of young blood. One of the ways to attract this kind of attention is to stand out. That is exactly what she has been doing since she came to power, in a rather inconspicuous way some would say. By the way there is no sycophancy in my words. Politically speaking Frau Merkel’s domestic agenda is not one I would follow and her party is not one I would vote for. Yet I have to admit that she has placed Germany and by default, German-speaking nations in an advantageous position. When news channel prefer to use subtitles instead of dubbing her speeches, you know something is going on.

What this means in practical terms is that newcomers to the language forget how difficult it is and focus more on the benefits of either living in Germany, Austria or Switzerland  or working there temporarily.

As for me, my reply to my colleague was, your son is very clever. Not only is he thinking of his academic future, but also his professional one.

© 2015

Next Post: “Stay In, Sit Up and Switch On”, to be published on Saturday 17^th October at 6pm (GMT)

Living in a Multilingual World (The One About Formality and Informality)

One of my favourite poems by the late Uruguayan writer Mario Benedetti is Sery Estar. Although heavily political the piece also has a nice combination of humour and didacticism. The latter is illustrated by the author’s poetic explanation of the difference between the verbs ser and estar (hence the title) in Spanish to an imaginary US marine. This is always confusing for people learning Spanish. In English, there’s only to be. Or not, as Shakespeare put it. In French, there’s être and in German there’s sein. But in Spanish we have two verbs, one of which denotes identity (ser) and another one that infers condition (estar). Confusing, uh? You bet.

Yet, Anglo speakers can occasionally indulge in the pleasure of hanging a sign outside their houses that reads “Schadenfreude” (or epicaricacy, in English) and watch us, speakers of other languages, struggling to come to terms with modern linguistic currents. For instance, when to be formal and when to be informal.

Spanish has a common trait with French and German, the other two languages I speak (although not as fluently as I used to). They all have formal ways of addressing someone according to age or social status. For instance, if I were in Spain or any other country from the Diaspora, it would never occur to me to use the “tú” with a new acquaintance unless he or she was my age or younger. Anyone over fifty would be given the “usted” treatment straight away. Same with French and “vous” and the German “Sie”. Besides, in the case of German, one of the reasons why I usually stay with the formal is that it makes it easier for me to conjugate verbs. They usually keep the infinitive form – with the exception of “sein”, methinks. Even when my interlocutor assures me that "Wir sagen doch du, ja?", I still sometimes use the "Sie". Which is just as rude as "Du-ing" someone without his or her consent.

I can hear Anglophones laughing their heads off now. But we only have “you” for both singular and plural, they’re probably shouting out. And they’re right. What makes matters more confusing is that nowadays the distinction between “tú/usted”, “tu/vous” and “du/Sie” is fading away rapidly. Part of it is technology. There are five letters in “usted” and 140 characters to contend with in Twitter. Guess which of the two addresses is handier? Well done for figuring that one out. Another reason for this linguistic shift might be the drive to turn less dynamic languages (Spanish and French come to mind) into lexica more attuned to the times we’re living, like English has done for the past few decades. Readers of this blog know that I’ve neither time nor patience, for the Real Academia Española, the body tasked with looking after the correct use of our grammar and syntax. The overhaul of the “tú/usted” division might be a way of reacting against centuries-old, traditional dogma which made even relatives observe formality when addressing each other. In fact, I know that in some countries in South America (Ecuador and Peru, for instance) children still address their parents as “usted”.

There is a third reason why the confusion about when “se tutoyer” and when “se vouvoyer”, or when to “du” or “Sie” someone, has come to the surface in recent years. There are countries, mainly in Europe, that are still resistant to the Americanisation of their culture. They see US influence as detrimental to their heritage. I’ve no truck with this attitude, but it was interesting to see a few years ago the short shrift the British ex-Prime Minister Tony Blair was given when he was presumably addressed as “Yo, Blair!” by ex-White House dweller, George W. Bush. Never mind the lack of a formal second person singular in English, this chumminess was a step too far. Especially on the back of the ill-fated invasion of Iraq a few years before and the too-close-for-comfort relationship between Downing Street and Washington during that period. In these circumstances, maybe keeping our “tú/usted”, “tu/vous” and “du/Sie” dichotomy is a sign of showing respect to people we meet for the first time. It also creates a space between individuals to get to know each other progressively. In the same way I wouldn’t dream of calling my former line-manager (a headteacher) “mate” in public, I wouldn’t “du” anyone just because it’s cool to do so. Surely a question for the marine boy of Benedetti’s poem to ask the Uruguayan master. After all, the poet uses “tú” al the way through.

© 2013

Next Post: “Sunday Mornings: “Coffee, Music and Reflections”, to be published on Sunday 24^th February at 10am (GMT)

Living in a Bilingual World (The One About Daughter and Prepositions)

- ¿Qué es esto para?

That was Daughter.

- ¿Qué es esto para?

- Pardon?
- ¿Qué es esto para?
- Hmmm... I don't understand, nena.

- ¿Qué. Es. Esto. Para?

- I. Do. Not. Understand.

I did understand, mind, but I was playing dumb. Because the mistake Daughter was making was the same slip-up I had often borne witness to whenever I was in the presence of British children speaking either Spanish or French.

To be honest with you, my dear fellow bloggers and readers, Daughter's error was a baby blunder. Daughter was placing the preposition 'para' at the end of the sentence rather than at the beginning. Whereas that would be common practice for an Anglo-Saxon speaker, in romance languages we keep to a strict structure whereby prepositions are usually placed before nouns, pronouns and other substantives to form phrases functioning as modifiers of verbs, nouns, or adjectives.

In English, as well as German, prepositions can be used at the beginning of a sentence (For whom are we waiting?) or at the end (Who are we waiting for?). Note the difference of 'whom' and 'who'. That's another post. In Spanish the question Daughter was asking me made no sense whatsoever because that 'para' must be placed at the beginning of the sentence. That's why I did not translate the phrase; it would have made sense to an English-speaker. I know for a fact that there are some exceptions in French (any Francophone reading this post, please do get in touch) but I cannot vouch for either Italian or Portuguese; I think it's the same structure as in Spanish.

However Daughter was not totally wrong.

Apparently this habit of ending sentences with a preposition in English is not very old. Schoolchildren used to be told by their teachers (probably influenced by Latin) that finishing their phrases with a preposition was a no-no. This was famoulsy satirised by Winston Churchill who said: 'this is the sort of English up with which I will not put'.

And if we analyse the etymology of this word, preposition, we see that in Latin (praepositiōn) the term meant 'a putting before'. What happened, in my humble opinion, was that English syntax, lax as it's always been, allowed for final placement of the preposition, as in 'We have much to be thankful for' or 'I asked her which course she had signed up for'. A little Teutonic influence should not be ignored as in German 'split verbs' are very common and they tend to place the preposition at the end: 'Wen wartest du auf?' (Who are you waiting for?)

So, yes, Daughter was not totally incorrect. She just chose the wrong language.

Image taken from Bogglesworld.

Copyright 2009

Living in a Bilingual World (Serenade)

I am still trudging through Simone de Beauvoir's feminist masterpiece 'The Second Sex' (see navigation bar on the right handside of the blog) and it's funny how I have fallen hook, line and sinker in the linguistic traps that the French writer has unintentionally placed on my path.

In Part 3, 'Myths', Chapter 1, 'Dreams, Fears and Idols', de Beauvoir addresses the feminine attributes that one usually sees cities, nations and abstract entities attired with. Obviously this bold approach set my linguistic pulse racing and with two dictionaries in hand (French and German) I ventured forth, attempting to understand the examples she numbers in her book.

Simone's exegesis includes the words: Church, Synagogue, Republic, Humanity, Peace, War, Liberty, Revolution and Victory. In her own words, 'Man feminizes the ideal he sets up before him as the essential Other, because woman is the material representation of alterity; that is why almost all allegories, in language as in pictorial representation, are women'. In short, the fact that man places these lofty ideals on a pedestal makes woman unreachable and unattainable, a perfect excuse to deny her her right to be a human being. What cannot be touched, cannot be experienced, other than through quasi-religious contact.

And is it any wonder that, in de Beauvoir's own words, this is a phenomenon encouraged mainly by the Christian world? No, it shouldn't be surprising because in Christian imagery 'Woman is the Soul and Idea, but she also is a mediatrix between them: she is the divine Grace, leading the Christian towards God, she is Beatrice guiding Dante in the beyond, Laura summoning Petrarch to the lofty summits of poetry' (op. cit.).

The curious element here, though, is that out of the four languages I analysed, three proved de Beauvoir's theory with a couple of exceptions.

The Church - La Iglesia (Spa) - L'Église (Fr) - Die Kirche (Ger)

The Synagogue - La Sinagoga - La Synagogue - Die Synanoge

The Republic - La República - La République - Die Republik

The Humanity - La Humanidad - L’Humanité - Die Menschlichkeit
The Peace - La Paz - La Paix - Die Friede

The War - La Guerra - La Guerre - Der Krieg (masculine, one of two exceptions to the rule)

The Liberty - La Libertad - La Liberté - Die Freiheit

The Revolution - La Revolución - La Révolution - Die Revolution

The Victory - La Victoria - La Victoire - Der Sieg (the other exception)

As you can see there's only one language that escapes this categorisation. And yes, my dear readers, you guessed it right. English.

This linguistic hybrid, the result of Anglo-Saxon-Jute migration from Denmark and northern Germany plus some French and Latin thrown in for good measure, is the only lexicon of the six more popular modern languages (Spanish, French, Portuguese, German, Italian and English) to have a neutral definite pronoun regardless of gender and number. A cause for celebration? Or a reason to despair? As a non-native speaker I find this fact comforting. It is a soft cushion aimed at protecting me against the grammatical rigour imposed by the other five.

And yet... yet... yet, as I continued to read 'The Second Sex' I could not help wondering whether despite this linguistic peculiarity English speakers still saw the nouns listed above in a feminine way rather than in their neutral natural form.

So, this is your homework for this week, my dear English speakers (and the rest, too, of course). When you think of 'Peace' and 'Liberty', just to use two of the examples above, do you see the female of the species or do you see neutrality?

Copyright 2008

Living in a Bilingual World (1st Mov 'Grave') (2nd Mov Allegro)

- Do not interrupt me when I'm talking, and DO NOT CORRECT ME!!!

Thus spoke Daughter recently, or rather shouted at me. And yes, my dear reader/poster/fellow blogger, I hold up my hand in shame. I suffer from severe linguistic obsession.

You see, it's difficult for me to let grammatical errors slide by and glide aimlessly into the void generated by half-said phrases, onomatopoeias and grunts which are actually words, only that they sound like grunts. I'm obsessed about my children learning good Spanish and on occasions I've been known even to correct Wife, who's a fluent speaker of the language I grew up with. I was aware that something was wrong when in a normal conversation I would be more attentive to her use of the subjunctive mood than the real content of the message she was trying to convey to me. And now, the problem has been compounded by my children's involvement in my condition. To their chagrin, I'd dare say. So, mea culpa. That's me.

How did it all start? And when? Well, the when I can point out. Uni. Yep, that's when all hell broke loose and I suddenly found myself immersed in this competitive environment from which I could not escape, nor did I want to. Because although it pains me to admit it, I loved linguistic competitiveness back in my Uni years. Over the years, and when I added German and French in that order to the cluster of languages I spoke fluently I developed a strong attraction towards both the minute details and the more noticeable aspects that made those two languages, plus Spanish and English so different from each other and yet so alike. I learnt that 'water' in English probably came from 'Wasser' in German, as the former is a Germanic language, too. Same with 'eau' (French) and 'agua' (Spanish), both romance languages. But when it came to in-laws, well, the situation got funny and both funny, ha-ha and weird. In German father-in-law is 'Schwiegervater', in French it's 'beau-père' and in Spanish 'suegro' or 'padre político'. So whilst in French they praise you and compliment you on your physical beauty, in Spanish they're thinking of snap elections.

The how is harder to explain. I guess that I was sucked into this linguistic vortex because of my natural inclination to question my surroundings, an attitude that as long as you restrict to languages in Cuba keeps you on the safe and sane side. And now I'm paying the price, because whereas Son is capable of translating entire books (posts passim) Daughter is beginning to go through the same motions he went through a few years ago. And we're clashing. Big time. I guess, I'll have to bide my time and be more patient because she's equally intelligent and capable as Son is. I am the one who have the problem. On the same note, living in a bilingual world in the UK makes me anxious. British culture is a very strong force with a strong identity (despite the alleged crisis) and language is one of the ways in which children with parents from different backgrounds, especially as in my case, with one of them born in Britain, can assert their individuality and build upon both sets of identities. The way we speak Spanish in Cuba is very peculiar and carries with it myriad cultural references that I'm positively sure will enrich my children's lives. And for that I'm prepared to change and be more patient.

Now, about that shouting...

Copyright 2007

Illustration courtesy of Garrincha