O tell me where is fancy bred?
Or in the heart, or in the head?
— William Shakespeare
O tell me where is fancy bread?
At Rourke's the baker's, it is said.
— James Joyce
An excerpt:
Showing posts with label English. Show all posts
Showing posts with label English. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Monday, May 3, 2010
On innovation in language
A very interesting podcast by Stephen Fry on pedantry in language vs. freedom to innovate and break rules. If you are a member of the totalitarian regime that takes it name from a certain fruit, you can download it here for free. Otherwise, you can listen to it (or download it) here:
Now, Stephen Fry (and I shall really write more about this later) can be seen as a bit of an authority on the subject because of his own — immediately apparent — superior command of English tongue. His vocabulary, grammar and style are remarkable, and not, at the same time, at the expense of clarity.
Therefore, what he says is all the more interesting: he is against pedantry in language. He confesses he had to break himself out of it, but, nevertheless, he intensely dislikes the people who complain about others being wrong in grammar, usage, punctuation or the like.
Not only because he himself believes it normal — even most wonderful — that the language changes, adopts to new cultures, environments and circumstances, but also because he is irritated that these people worship rules for their own sake, and no evidence points to them enjoying the language.
My thoughts on the talk?
First of all, I liked it very much. And I agree with its spirit. I do think myself that it is wonderful to use the language creatively and “own” it, as it were. At the same time, I personally think it absurd to say that you can ignore the rules, the convention and the tradition completely. Not because I worship these phenomena for their own sake (people who have been in close communication with me know this to be quite opposite from the truth), but because they are good tools which get the job done. Effectively. More effectively than lack of rules.
The famous quote by Picasso goes something like: “It took me twenty years to learn to paint like an artist. It took me a lifetime to learn to paint like a child.” But he had to learn how to paint like an artist first! One has to know the rules in order to know how to break them. There is a world of difference between a pianist who reinvents a work of Bach (within the boundaries of classical tradition — or not) to suit her own style, personality, as well as the thoughts and feelings on the particular work, and me just banging on the piano. In the first case it is a light that was allowed to become expressed in a new vessel. Something wonderful. Something new. A creation ex nihilo. In the second case it is just noise. Nonsense.
I really do think that understanding why passive voice is to be avoided (pun intended — twice) allows one to use one’s sentences more effectively. And, if one so desires, one can break this rule. But, he must know it first to understand what he is breaking and why. (And the same goes for starting sentences with conjunctions.) As Rabbi Paltiel once said, it is not quite the same for a cow not to know G-d and, lehavdil, for a tzaddik not to know G-d. The former is just a product of mere ignorance. The latter is a case of submission to something that goes beyond the structure and the fabric of reality.
My main point is: Stephen Fry is right. Language needs to be enjoyed. It is more than just a form of communication. It is an art. (Although, even if used only for the means of communication, when done creatively, language can be incredibly forceful.) Having said that, the rules exist for a reason — they are not mere tradition necessarily. They are a means for expressing thoughts more effectively.
And knowing how to balance innovation with tradition is both an art and a science. The way to acquire this skill is through study and practice. Not through ignorance.
A final thought: I think one will find that most great thinkers, movers, creators, shapers and leaders, both in the Jewish and, lehavdil, secular history, used the force and the momentum of the tradition, to which they added a spice of innovation to create the explosions of brilliance for which they are known (and which have become the meat and potatoes of Judaism). At their times, they were criticized for being troublemakers and innovators. In our times, they are the rock of the tradition and a source of inspiration and guidance. Take anyone, from Rambam or Rabbi Yehuda Ha’Nasi, to Alter Rebbe, to the Rebbe, and see if this formula applies.
This same idea is expressed in the concept of Havaya hu ha’Elokim. G-dly Light must reach this lowly world — and for this purpose, it must be accepted and shaped by a vessel. But, in order to be a recipient for the Light, the vessel must be subservient to the Light’s purpose and message, the knowledge of where it is coming from.
Now, Stephen Fry (and I shall really write more about this later) can be seen as a bit of an authority on the subject because of his own — immediately apparent — superior command of English tongue. His vocabulary, grammar and style are remarkable, and not, at the same time, at the expense of clarity.
Therefore, what he says is all the more interesting: he is against pedantry in language. He confesses he had to break himself out of it, but, nevertheless, he intensely dislikes the people who complain about others being wrong in grammar, usage, punctuation or the like.
Not only because he himself believes it normal — even most wonderful — that the language changes, adopts to new cultures, environments and circumstances, but also because he is irritated that these people worship rules for their own sake, and no evidence points to them enjoying the language.
My thoughts on the talk?
First of all, I liked it very much. And I agree with its spirit. I do think myself that it is wonderful to use the language creatively and “own” it, as it were. At the same time, I personally think it absurd to say that you can ignore the rules, the convention and the tradition completely. Not because I worship these phenomena for their own sake (people who have been in close communication with me know this to be quite opposite from the truth), but because they are good tools which get the job done. Effectively. More effectively than lack of rules.
The famous quote by Picasso goes something like: “It took me twenty years to learn to paint like an artist. It took me a lifetime to learn to paint like a child.” But he had to learn how to paint like an artist first! One has to know the rules in order to know how to break them. There is a world of difference between a pianist who reinvents a work of Bach (within the boundaries of classical tradition — or not) to suit her own style, personality, as well as the thoughts and feelings on the particular work, and me just banging on the piano. In the first case it is a light that was allowed to become expressed in a new vessel. Something wonderful. Something new. A creation ex nihilo. In the second case it is just noise. Nonsense.
I really do think that understanding why passive voice is to be avoided (pun intended — twice) allows one to use one’s sentences more effectively. And, if one so desires, one can break this rule. But, he must know it first to understand what he is breaking and why. (And the same goes for starting sentences with conjunctions.) As Rabbi Paltiel once said, it is not quite the same for a cow not to know G-d and, lehavdil, for a tzaddik not to know G-d. The former is just a product of mere ignorance. The latter is a case of submission to something that goes beyond the structure and the fabric of reality.
My main point is: Stephen Fry is right. Language needs to be enjoyed. It is more than just a form of communication. It is an art. (Although, even if used only for the means of communication, when done creatively, language can be incredibly forceful.) Having said that, the rules exist for a reason — they are not mere tradition necessarily. They are a means for expressing thoughts more effectively.
And knowing how to balance innovation with tradition is both an art and a science. The way to acquire this skill is through study and practice. Not through ignorance.
A final thought: I think one will find that most great thinkers, movers, creators, shapers and leaders, both in the Jewish and, lehavdil, secular history, used the force and the momentum of the tradition, to which they added a spice of innovation to create the explosions of brilliance for which they are known (and which have become the meat and potatoes of Judaism). At their times, they were criticized for being troublemakers and innovators. In our times, they are the rock of the tradition and a source of inspiration and guidance. Take anyone, from Rambam or Rabbi Yehuda Ha’Nasi, to Alter Rebbe, to the Rebbe, and see if this formula applies.
This same idea is expressed in the concept of Havaya hu ha’Elokim. G-dly Light must reach this lowly world — and for this purpose, it must be accepted and shaped by a vessel. But, in order to be a recipient for the Light, the vessel must be subservient to the Light’s purpose and message, the knowledge of where it is coming from.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Nabokov on the difference between Russian and English
I couldn’t find a translation, so I made an attempt at it myself. Which is somewhat ironic, given the content.
Scientific scrupulousness moved me to save in the Russian text the last paragraph of the above-mentioned American afterword, despite the fact that it can only throw into confusion a Russian reader, not remembering and not understanding and never having read the books of “V. Sirin” published abroad in the 20s and 30s. To my American reader I so strongly insist on the superiority of my Russian word over the English one that some Slavist may indeed think that my translation of Lolita is one hundred times better than the original. I, however, am at another time nauseous from the off-tuned braying of my rusty Russian strings. The history of this translation is one of disappointment. Alas, that “wondrous Russian language”, which, it seemed to me, was still waiting for me somewhere, flourishing as a sure spring behind strongly shut gates, to which I for so many years had had a key, turned out nonexistent, and behind the gates lay nothing but charred tree stumps and autumn hopeless horizon, while the key resembled more a lock pick.What do I personally think? I think Nabokov is full of crap.
I find consolation in thinking that awkwardness of the present translation is the fault not only of a translator grown foreign to his native tongue, but also of the spirit of the language into which the translation is made. During the half a year of working on Russian Lolita, not only did I discover losing many personal trinkets, unreconstructible language movements and treasures, but also came to certain general conclusions about mutual translatability of the two wondrous languages.
Body language, poses, landscapes, slumber of trees, smells, rains, melting and shapeshifting hues of the nature, all that is gentle and human (surprisingly!), and everything masculine, rough, juicily vulgar turns out in Russian just as good, if not even better than in English. But so common to English things subtle and unspoken, poetry of thought, immediate exchange between the most abstract ideas, scampering of one-syllable qualifiers — all this, as well as everything relating to technology, fashions, sports, natural sciences and unnatural urges — becomes in Russian shackled, multi-syllabled, and often disgusting in the sense of style and rhythm. This misstep reveals the difference in historical aspect between the green Russian literary tongue and over-ripe as a fig ready to burst at seams, English language: between an ingenious but still somewhat uneducated, and often having bad taste youth and a venerable genius, uniting in himself stocks of shiny knowledge with full liberty of spirit. Liberty of spirit! All breath of humanity is in these words.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Regarding Mr. Sanders
A little outdated, but still apropos (text edited out a bit to make it more PG-13). Click on the picture to see a larger version (does anyone who reads blogs not know this yet?):
“Who is Mr. Sanders”, you ask? Why, it’s Mr. Pooh’s real name.
“Who is Mr. Sanders”, you ask? Why, it’s Mr. Pooh’s real name.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Elements of Style
As was correctly pointed out to me, not everyone can express his thoughts well in writing (whether or not the thoughts themselves are coherent is quite a separate issue). I had a privilege of having good teachers — in particular, a brilliant professor of Byzantine History who taught me how to write well by
Recently I have become more sloppy with my writing (for instance, I am quite a fan of passive voice, which is a carry-over for me from Russian tradition), but the general idea of how to write well has been embedded in my skull forever. I can still correct my students’ papers, for example, for style and usage. (Scientific writing is quite another story. There, not so many rules apply; one just needs to be as dry as possible. By the way, it is interesting to read some papers from early 20th century — their language was quite flowery.)
Not everyone is lucky to have good teachers. Also, when one learns to write well by trial and error, the rules of writing become intuitive to him. Sometimes it helps to have a “carbon copy” of rules to refer to.
Any aspiring writer — and by that I mean anybody who wants to express his thoughts properly in English even in a note pinned by a magnet to a refrigerator door — must read Elements of Style by Strunk and White. In addition to that, it would be ideal for one to read many-many other books (my personal recommendation is to start from Patrick O’Brian’s Aubrey–Maturin naval series), but those will only help one’s style if one knows what to look for in a good language.
It is preferable to buy the last edition of Elements of Style, which has modern usage and orphography (most people no longer write to-day, for example), but for the basics, even the first edition will suffice (html version here).
* * *
Of course, being born in Russia, I never mastered proper usage of articles. I [think I] know when and how to use them and sometimes do use them intuitively, but for the most part, they just don’t come to me naturally.
* * *
I absolutely hate some aspects of American (and British) typography. Not leaving spaces—like this—around em-dashes (and not using proper en-dashes and minus signs — especially in scientific papers!), placing punctuations marks “inside a quotation,” leaving spaces within ellipsis. . .and not around it, and so on. I also think that Russian second-order „quotation marks“ look retarded (the «first-order ones» are fine).
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