Language: July 2008 Archive Page

It was intersting to see online political discourse (with a case study on the Kerry-Edwards attempt to build a blog presence in 2004) and a history of the internet filtered through a folklorist's lens. I'm saving this in case I need ever need to update some of the insights found in the older, classic, historical studies of cyberculture (such as Buckles's dissertation on Adventure, or Levy's Hackers, or Kidder's The Soul of a New Machine).

While mass-mediated communication technologies have empowered the institutional, participatory media offer powerful new channels through which the vernacular can express its alterity. However, alternate voices do not emerge from these technologies untouched by their means of production. Instead, these communications are amalgamations of institutional and vernacular expression. In this situation, any human expressive behavior that deploys communication technologies suggests a necessary complicity. Insofar as individuals hope to participate in today's electronically mediated communities, they must deploy the communication technologies that have made those communities possible. In so doing, they participate in creating a telectronic world where mass culture may dominate, but an increasing prevalence of participatory media extends into growing webs of network-based folk culture. -- Robert Glenn Howard, Journal of American Folklore 121(480): 192-218 (PDF)

I tell my free-verse-loving creative writing majors that Picasso learned to paint traditional portraits before he chose to put two eyes on one side of a figure's nose, so that learning the traditional rules of grammar will make your writing more powerful, since if you choose to ignore a convention, it will be a deliberate action, rather than something that happens because you don't know any better.

When transcribing spoken words, reporters regularly cut out an "um" here and an "uh" there.  Since punctuation is often just an approximation, different reporters who hear the same passage don't always record it the same way. (See "Ladies and Gentlemen [?] we got him." for a brief overview of how reporters variously puncutated the dramatic pause in Paul Bremer's 2003 statement on the capture of Saddam Hussein.)

But what if you're quoting an e-mail from a source whose computer apparently doesn't have a shift key?  You can often work around it through indirect quotation:

Using the clipped lingo typical of online chatter, Saha said she would be right back ("brb") because her kid sister's rabid wallabee had gotten stuck in the air vent again ("ksrwsiava").

When does standardizing a language change the sentiment too much? There's a whole side industry of bloggers who enjoy picking apart President Bush's published verbal gaffes.  Certainly anything a public figure says at an official event is fair game, but when an ordinary citizen suddenly becomes a source of news -- perhaps by being related to a crime victim -- it may appear patronizing to publish their ungrammatical statements either verbatim, or with an encrustation of parenthetical corrections. 

Online communication adds yet another layer of uncertainty. When is it appropriate to leave the cyberspeak as is, without parenthetical clarifications or silent corrections?  The NYT offers a great reflection on the relationship between cyberspeak and standard written English.

My problem with message-board language brings up a prior problem in journalism: the difficulty of translating spoken language into written language. The philosopher Jacques Derrida gained notoriety by dimming the bright line between what was known in strange pre-Internet lingo (French, was it?) as langue and parole. He thought the written-spoken distinction was suspect and by turns collapsed and reasserted itself in the merry game of signification.

Nothing works more Frenchly and merrily this way -- shape-shifting at a rapid pace -- than Internet language, which morphs from standard English (a dialect of which has become the Web's lingua franca) to other languages and dialects to slang and emoticons and acronyms and phonetic miscellany. (Take "hey guys, i'm stoopid. DOH! meh. GAH. :O wth." Can this communication be taken as an admission of some kind of error? Can it be faithfully paraphrased as "she admitted her mistake on a message board"?) I can't tell how much of this keycap casserole belongs in ink on paper or how much of it makes sense there. -- Virginia Hefferman

From the L Magazine. Some are actually just unfortunate art, but the whole list was worth it for this one:

In addition to the usage error, I particularly like how the highlights on the drops of blood seem to be made by a light shining *up* from the lower right.

Okay, and this next one is almost certainly a quadruple play:

A great introduction to some of the reasons why I love studying the English language. From John McIntyre's You Don't Say.

The malapropism: This venerable category of errors derives from the delicious and eponymous Mrs. Malaprop from Richard Brinsley Sheridan's The Rivals of 1775. Mrs. Malaprop (from the French mal a propos) pretentiously and unknowingly substitutes the wrong word for a similar-sounding correct one in her pronouncements, such as an allegory on the banks of the Nile. Or, more comprehensively: If I reprehend any thing in this world, it is the use of my oracular tongue, and a nice derangement of epitaphs! (apprehend, vernacular, arrangement, epithets).

The Spoonerism: The Rev. Archibald Spooner, warden of New College, Oxford, has given his name to a tongue-twisted error in which portions of words are transposed in phrases to give new and incongruous meanings. May I sew you to a sheet? for show you to a seat and the toast To our queer old dean for dear old queen are representative examples. Though the Rev. Mr. Spooner was said to be given to this sort of thing, it appears that many Spoonerisms attributed to him are entirely apocryphal.

The mondegreen: In an 1954 essay Sylvia Wright gave this word its impetus by desribing how as a child she had understood a line in the ballad "The Bonnie Earl O'Murray," laid him on the green, as Lady Mondegreen. A mondegreen is a misunderstood rendering of the text of a songf or poem. The child's hearing the hymn "Gladly the Cross I'd Bear" as "Gladly, the Cross-Eyed Bear" is a famous mondegreen. Rock music, given the roaring instrumentation and slack articulation of the singers, is fertile soil for mondegreens.

The eggcorn: The linguist Geoffrey Pullum has given us this term for an erroneous transformation of a stock expression into a new one that only appears to make sense. Free reign, hone in and baited breath* are typical examples. They appear to rise typically from misunderstandings of spoken English as it is translated into the written version.

The Cupertino: Technology has given us a new class of error identified at Language Log as the Cupertino: an error induced by careless use of electronic spell-checking -- a form of cooperation transmuted into Cupertino. The Sun once presented a notable example in an article referring to Kunta Kinte, the protagonist of Alex Haley's Roots, as Chunter Knit. It should be superfluous to point out that only a fool sets a spell-check program to run automatically.

Language Log has a good post on a phrase that I've seen cropping up increasingly in journalism:

Person of interest, called a "euphemism for a suspect" by the National Association of Police Chiefs, is now routinely used in investigations of all types, from murders to brush fires. 

Donna Shaw, writing in the American Journalism Review two years ago, said:

Officially, "persons of interest" means...well, nothing. No one has ever formally defined it-not police, not prosecutors, not journalists. The terms, "accused," "allege," "arrest," and "indict" are all dealt with in the Associated Press Stylebook, but there is no listing for "person of interest." Similarly, the US Attorney's Manual-the guide to federal criminal prosecutions-uses the terms "suspect" "target" and "material witness," but "person of interest" gets no mention. So what are reporters to do?

What indeed? Journalists are stuck with using law enforcement's word, that's what.

So there you have it. Person of interest is an expression that has no legal meaning, yet it carries an undefined and highly pejorative meaning about those so designated. So far at least, it's apparently okay for law enforcement to use it, as long as they don't mind the inevitable lawsuits that will follow.