Eyjafjallajökull

17 April 2010

This name is really throwing the newscasters for a loop. Attempts to pronounce Eyjafjallajökull are all over the map, as seen in this video:

Mark Liberman over at Language Log has lots more audio clips of the pronunciation, including a nice slow and carefully articulated one by an Icelandic speaker.

The eruption of the Icelandic name in the news gave me a chance to pull out my Icelandic dictionary (actually, it’s a dictionary of Old Icelandic, but it will work for these purposes) to find the etymology of the name. Eyjafjallajökull is a triple compound and quite easy to pull apart. Eyja means “island,” fjalla is “mountains,” and jökull is “glacier.” So the name is, literally, “island-mountains glacier.”

I’ve heard at least one complaint about Eyjafjallajökull glacier, opining that it is redundant, literally Eyjafjalla-glacier glacier. But that complaint is a bit silly. Yes, jökull means glacier in Icelandic, and it would be redundant if you were speaking that language. But jökull is meaningless in English, and when speaking English it is sensible to add the glacier for clarity.

Hollywood and the C-Word

16 April 2010

Will the American public accept the most taboo of taboo words coming out of the mouth of an eleven-year-old girl?

If nothing else, it’s a brilliant PR move. I, and many others, probably would never have even heard of this movie if not for this one use of the word.

(Hat tip to Ben Zimmer)

Bad Day for Language Blogging

14 April 2010

Sigh. First Slate, now the Guardian. It seems the newspaper is launching a new blog on style, and they’ve gotten off to a very inauspicious start.

First, it sets as a goal to be like Lynne Truss’s Eats, Shoots & Leaves, quite possibly the worst book on language written in the last fifty years. (Click here for my review of this execrable book. For an even better review, see Louis Menand’s take in the New Yorker.)

Second, it cites Orwell’s essay Politics and the English Language, calling it “brilliant.” Now, Orwell was indeed a brilliant writer, but he was also a horrible analyst and commentator on writing. It cites Orwell’s famous six rules of good writing from the essay, five of which are actually quite poor guides. For one thing, beware any rule that says “never” or “always.” More specifically:

  • Never use a metaphor, simile or other figure of speech which you are used to seeing in print. Familiar metaphors and cliches are often substitutes for clear thinking, and in this they are to be avoided. But they can also be succinct and powerful means to evoke traditions, ideas, and emotions, and when used properly can make brilliant political speech.

  • Never use a long word where a short one will do. The key to this is what “will do” means. Clarity and simplicity are often good. But synonyms often have particular connotations, and longer words are often a better semantic, stylistic, or rhetorical fit than shorter ones. Had Orwell substituted “avoid using” for “never use” this rule might have been a good one.

  • If it is possible to cut a word out, always cut it out. See the above. The problem is “always.” It may be possible to cut a word and still be a bad idea to do so. Relentless trimming can destroy the flow of good prose. “Cut unnecessary verbiage” would be better, and more succinct, guidance. (Note, I could have said, “cut unnecessary words,” but “verbiage” has a slightly different meaning. It’s not enough to cut individual words, you have to look at the entire phrasing of a passage before cutting.)

  • Never use the passive where you can use the active. This is utter crap. There is nothing wrong with the passive voice. Because the actor can be obscured in the passive voice, it should be avoided when writing instructions and in other cases when you need to make clear who is performing the action, but otherwise there is nothing wrong with it. In fact, the passive is essential to creating readable and flowing prose. And in this very essay, Orwell ignores his own advice and uses the passive voice far more often than most published writers of his day.

  • Never use a foreign phrase, a scientific word, or a jargon word if you can think of an everyday English equivalent. Often jargon or foreign terms convey the meaning more precisely and succinctly. Orwell would have been better served by combining this rule with number two and saying, “avoid using long words or obscure vocabulary to create an erudite or affected tone.”

  • Break any of these rules sooner than say anything outright barbarous. This is the one great rule that Orwell promulgates and almost, but not quite, makes up for the failings of the other five. It should be the prime directive of any style guide.

This does not bode well for future entries in this blog. Let’s hope that in the future the Guardian bloggers will put more thought and consideration into their musings on style.

Another Language Column Going Down the Tubes?

14 April 2010

I’ve always liked Slate magazine’s The Good Word column. It appears infrequently, but when it does it features insightful commentary on language by a number of linguists, lexicographers, and other experts on language.

But today it features a column objecting to use of the word kabuki in political circles to mean something done for show with no real substance. The writer, Jon Lackman, objects to it because this meaning is not at all what real Kabuki theater in Japan is. And Lackman, who is a Ph.D. candidate in art criticism ought to know.

Unfortunately, Lackman doesn’t know about language and has fallen for the etymological fallacy. The meanings of words are not determined by their origin, but rather by how they are used. If enough English-speakers use the word kabuki to mean an empty display, then that is what it means, regardless of the word’s meaning in Japanese or the traditions of Japanese theater. Likewise, decimate does not mean to kill one out of every ten, garcon means waiter not boy, men can become hysterical, and anyone, not just popes, can pontificate. The etymological fallacy is one of the most basic errors a person writing about language usage can make, and no publication should tolerate this in a column on language.

Lackman does have a valid point that the word’s usage in English has little to do with real Kabuki theater, and the usage probably does give a false impression to westerners about what the actual art form is all about. But he’s not going to change the usage. I probably wouldn’t have objected to the column if it had been labeled as a theater or arts column, but Slate labeled it as a language column, and the editors really need to set a higher standard for who they let write their language column.