Weihnachten

[Christmas and adventures in Bavaria. For those of you who don't read German I will try to put up an English version at some point. Some photos can be found here]

Zu Weihnachten und den Feiertagen war ich in Bayern und dann in Frankfurt bei verschiedenen Freunden von der Uni in Colorado. Es wurde viel gequatscht (und gestritten), gegessen, getrunken (Tee, nicht Alkohol), gespielt (hauptsächlich Welteroberungsversuche), und mittendrin wurden auch einige Stadtbesichtigungen gemacht. Ich glaube, es wird nicht so ganz leicht sein, sich wieder im Unileben zurechtzufinden. Vor allem war die Möglichkeit, sich über die Erfahrungen im Ausland austauschen zu können, unheimlich wichtig. Aber ich werde auch einfach die Gemeinschaft vermissen. Leute um mich zu haben. Ich bin sonst viel zu oft allein.

Trotzdem ist es schön, wieder im eigenen Bett zu schlafen.

Ich kam zuerst in München an, nach fünf Stunden Bahnfahrt und eine Stunde Verspätung im kalten Bahnhof. Wir liefen für einen halben Tag in München herum, während Martin sich über das Leben in Frankreich schimpfte, dann gingen wir nach Altötting, wo Martins Eltern, vier Geschwister, und eine Handvoll Katzen auf uns warteten. In den folgenden Tagen ging es nach der Burg zu Burghausen ("die längste Burg Europas"), die an der österreichischen Grenze liegt, und nach Herrnchiemsee und dem prachtvollen Abbild des Versailles von König Ludwig II. Beim letzteren Ausflug hatten wir einen kalten aber ungewöhnlich sonnigen Tag, der einen wunderbaren Blick auf den Alpen bot.

Obwohl man sich bemühte, Hochdeutsch zu reden, war der Akzent trotzdem anfangs leicht fremdartig für mich. Aber nach ein Paar Tage fühlte ich mich richtig einheimisch und die Aussprache kam mir derart normal vor, dass einige Tage später die Standardsprache in Frankfurt seltsam verblasst und tonlos klang. Wenn ich länger geblieben wäre, hätte ich wahrscheinlich angefangen, die Sprechweise selber leicht anzunähern. Auf jeden Fall habe ich mir einige Charakteristiken gemerkt (einzelne Wörter, z.B. die Zahlen: 'oan' für 'eins', 'zwoa' für 'zwei', 'fuchsig' für 'fünfzig'; das fast unentbehrliche Wort 'heuer' - 'nowadays' - sowohl als Adjektiv als auch Adverb verwendbar; die Sprachpartikel 'gäi', die am Ende eines Satzes angehängt wird und etwas wie 'you know' oder 'nicht wahr' bedeutet). Ich habe auch amüsiert beobachtet, wie der Martin im Laufe der Tage allmählich immer bairischer sprach.

Auf der Fahrt zwischen München und Frankfurt (ich lies Stanzels "Theorie des Erzählens") sagte der Sitznachbar im Vorübergehen plötzlich zu mir, das Buch von Martinez sei viel besser. Ich hätte unbedingt fragen sollen, ob er Literaturwissenschaftler sei und an welcher Uni. Vielleicht hätte ich etwas nützliches lernen können.

Frankfurt war fast eine andere Welt. Den Beinamen 'Mainhatten' für die Großstadt kenne ich seit der Schulzeit, aber ich hatte irgendwie nicht richtig begriffen, wie passend dieser Name ist. Nicht nur wegen der Wolkenkratzer, oder weil die große Banken dort sind. Auch der Stil ist ähnlich.

Ich kam gegen Mittag an, wir fuhren nach Königstein außerhalb der Stadt und gegen 7 ging die Cocktailparty los. Am anderen Morgen machten wir eine Stadtbesichtigung. Zwischen den modernen Gebäuden steht halbversteckt das Goethehaus - irgendwie hatte ich gar nicht gewusst, dass Goethe in Frankfurt geboren wurde - wiedergebaut nach dem Krieg und sehr nett konzipiert, wenig museumhaft, sondern ausgelegt, als ob die Familie jederzeit wieder nachhause kehren könnte.

Bei der Party war auch eine andere Amerikanerin dabei. Sie meinte, mein Englisch habe einen deutschen Akzent. Das hat mich etwas überrascht, ich kann andere Leute schlecht nachahmen, daher ist mir die amerikanische Aussprache im Englischen bisher immer deutlich erhalten geblieben, auch wenn ich, wie jetzt, häufig auf deutsch rede. Aber es mag wohl auch sein: mein Englisch ist anders als sonst. Ich muss mich richtig konzentrieren, wenn ich auf Englisch reden will, was den Sprachrhythmus schon verändert. Ich würde vermuten, dass ihr Eindruck von Fremdheit hauptsächlich daran liegt, dass ich die Füllwörter und Denkgeräusche (ja, ähm, hmm) meistens auf Deutsch mache.

Es gibt aber vielleicht auch einen indirekten Einfluss vom Deutschen in meiner Sprachgebrauch. Ich hab nämlich in der letzten Zeit bei mir einen Tendenz gemerkt, mich auf Englisch so auszudrücken, wie es hier üblich wäre. Das soll man nicht mißverstehen: es ist nicht als eine böse Kommentar auf 'die Deutschen, die kein richtiges Englisch können', gemeint. Im Gegenteil liegt eher eine Art Scham oder Feingefühl dahinter, ein Gefühl, dass man sich anpassen soll, es wäre irgendwie Großtuerei, auf meinem (wie es mir manchmal vorkommt, ungehobelten) amerikanischen Englisch zu beharren. Es hat auch nichts mit grammatischen Korrektheit zu tun. Ich rede einfach etwas vorsichtiger, wähle manchmal andere Wörter, vermeide bestimmte Ausdrücke.

Gestern fuhr ich dann wieder nach Göttingen, gerade rechtzeitig, um hier einen verschneiten Silvester zu feiern. Und wieder um die über Weihnachten vernachlässigten Lektüren und viel zu lange aufgeschobenen Seminararbeiten zu kümmern.

Skaz

Ich lese gerade Hundejahre und bin aufs neue von dem merkwürdigen Grass'schen Stil beeindrückt. Den Begriff 'skaz' fällt mir hier ein. Ich weiss nicht, ob man seine Werke jemals so bezeichnet hat. Vielleicht greife ich zu weit. Aber es passt irgendwie ganz gut.

Vor einigen Semestern versuchte ich den russischen Begriff für ein Referat zu erklären. Da die typische Beispiele (Leskow, Gogol, Zoshchenko) dem Nicht-Slawisten eher wenig bekannt sind, wollte ich Autoren aus dem englisch- oder deutschsprachigen Raum erwähnen, aber fand mich ziemlich in Verlegenheit, gute Exemplare zu finden. Huckleberry Finn oder Catcher in the Rye kämen dabei infrage, aber keiner von den beiden scheint mir ganz zuzutreffen. Nach meiner Auffassung des Begriffs ist skaz nämlich nicht bloß Dialektliteratur. Die Orientierung auf mündliche Erzählformen ist ein wichtiges Bestandteil, aber nicht entscheidend. Obwohl es mir etwas schwierig fällt zu beschreiben, warum. Was fehlt ist eine gewisse Stilisierung, ein spürbarer Kontrast zwischen der Welt des Erzählers und der des Autors und Adressats.

Bei Bachtin habe ich neulich eine Stelle gefunden, die dieses Merkmal von skaz ganz gut beschreibt -- auch wenn der Begriff in der deutschen Übersetzung nicht direkt vorkommt. Ich kann es mir aber schwer vorstellen, daß er hier nicht an skaz dachte. Es wäre allerdings interessant zu sehen, was im Originaltext steht.

...Eine ganz andere Bedeutung erlangen fiktiver Autor und Erzähler dort, wo sie Repräsentanten eines besonderen Standpunktes gegenüber der Welt und den Ereignissen, besonderer Wertungen und Intonationen sowohl in bezug auf den Autor, sein tatsächliches direktes Wort, als auch auf das 'normale' literarische Erzählen und auf die Sprache sind.[...]In jedem Fall werden dieser besondere fremde Horizont, dieser besondere fremde Standpunkt zur Welt vom Autor wegen ihrer Produktivität bevorzugt, weil sie einerseits den Gegenstand der Abbildung in ein neues Licht stellen (in ihm neue Aspekte und Momente entdecken), andererseits den 'normalen' literarischen Horizont, vor dem die Besonderheiten der Erzählweise des Erzählers rezepiert werden, in neuer Weise ausleuchten.

[...]in diesem Fall liegt ein 'nicht-direktes Sprechen', ein Sprechen nicht in einer Sprache, sondern durch einer Sprache, ein fremdes sprachliches Medium vor, und daher auch eine Brechung der Intentionen des Autors.

Der Autor verwirklicht sich und seinen Standpunkt nicht nur im Erzähler, in dessen Rede und dessen Sprache...sondern auch im Gegenstand der Erzählung, einem Standpunkt, der vom Standpunkt des Erzählers verschieden ist. Hinter der Erzählung des Erzählers lesen wir eine zweite Erzählung - die Erzählung des Autors über dasselbe, wovon der Erzähler erzählt, und außerdem über den Erzähler selbst.

Michail M. Bachtin. "Das Wort im Roman". Aus: Die Ästhetik des Wortes. Übers. Rainer Grübel und Sabine Reese. Suhrkamp. S. 202-3.

Bei Dialektliteratur -- ich denke hier an den schottisch-geprägten Sunset Song von Lewis Grassic Gibbon oder die schweizerische Dialekte im Quatemberkinder von Tim Krohn, aber die Erzählungen von Theodor Storm wären auch gute, wenn weniger ausgeprägte Beispiele -- gibt es diese Spannung einfach nicht. Der Erzähler taucht völlig in der Welt des Erzählten ein. Sie ist ihm nicht fremd. Das Blick 'nach außen' fehlt.

Zum Bildungsstreik

Seit anderthalb Wochen wird es hier an der Uni gestreikt. Oder besser gesagt: demonstriert. Zu meiner großen Erleichterung ging man bisher unbehelligt weiter in den Vorlesungen, auch im Verfügungsgebäude, dessen Erdgeschoß von den Protestierenden besetzt wurde.

Ein komisches Gefühl, zwischen den Protestschilder in das Gebäude zu gehen...Obwohl ich mehr und mehr Verständnis für die Studenten und ihren Unzufriedenheit mit dem Ablauf des Bologna-Reforms habe, bin ich immerhin etwas gespalten. Es ist mir nicht unwichtig, aber ich bin nicht hier gekommen, um mich in deutschen hochschulpolitischen Problemen zu verwickeln. Ich bin hier gekommen, um zu studieren. Und dann trotzdem gezwungen zu fühlen, Partei zu nehmen, wenn es mir letztendlich nicht angeht: Es ist alles etwas unbehaglich.

Heute ging es aber richtig zu: man blockierte das Zentrale Hörsaalgebäude. Ich merke, wie das alles genau erwägt wird. Weil viele großen Vorlesungen dort stattfinden, ist das schon von symbolischer Bedeutung. Und tatsächlich kam es (wenn ich richtig verstanden habe) sogar zu Gespräche mit der Universitätsleitung. Aber gleichzeitig war der Unialltag wenig davon betroffen und die meisten Veranstaltungen fielen nicht aus.

Wenn ich sehe, wie kompliziert und unübersichtlich das neue System ist, und unter wie viel Druck die Studenten leiden, weil die neue Regeln schlecht oder inkonsequent durchgesetzt werden, wundert es mich nicht, dass sie die Situation etwas unbefriedigend finden, oder dass sie ihrem Ärger Luft machen wollen. Man fühlt sich mißhandelt, machtlos. Und irgendwie muss man versuchen, sich damit abzufinden.

Aber ich würde sagen, es ist auch eine Chance. Weil alles schon im Umbruch ist, hat man auch die Möglichkeit, etwas wirklich zu verbessern. Mitzubestimmen. Und die Proteste haben schon für Aufsehen gesorgt. Wenn ich es dann mit dem Zustand in den USA vergleiche, das ist schon etwas, finde ich. Bei uns gibt es einfach keinen Anlass für solche bundesweiten Proteste, obwohl das System unzweifelhaft auch seine Probleme hat. Es ist ironisch vielleicht, dass man ein schlecht durchführtes Reform braucht, um utopistische Visionen wieder zu erwecken.

interesting times

On Saturday a friend and I used our semester train ticket to do some sightseeing in Hannover (about an hour north of Göttingen). When we came back in the early afternoon, we left the train station only to find dozens of police officers lined up in rows on either side of the entrance. It was a surreal moment. (If you remember the scene in "Lola Rennt" with the swat team pointing their guns at Lola as she comes out of the bank -- it felt a little bit like that, I wasn't scared, just puzzled, like I had walked onto a stage in the middle of a performance. Except that it was broad daylight and -- unlike Lola -- I hadn't just robbed a bank.)

My first thought, rather irrelevantly, was that I didn't know there were so many police officers in the entire city. And then the more normal question: Was ist denn hier los?

As we walked towards the city center: more police cars, blockaded streets, and the sound of a loudspeaker. Ah, okay. Must be something political then.
Was I supposed to know what this was all about? I thought maybe I had missed something as a result of my usual wandering around obliviously....

It turns out the occasion was the anniversary of the the death of a Göttingen student who was killed at an antifascist protest in 1989. The organizers, fearing, I presume, that their demonstration would be prevented if they announced it officially, did not advertise it beforehand. So in this case my ignorance makes a little bit more sense.
However, I think people active in leftist circles would have been aware of it well in advance. It seems this particular event has become something of a rallying point for groups all over the country: One of my Berlin friends said he had seen leaflets about the demonstration in the Berlin subway that morning!

There is an ironic aspect to this. Some of the posters for the demonstration proclaimed "Kein Frieden mit dem Polizei- und Überwachungsstaat." Rather than opening up space for change, however, the protest only seems to have turned onto a reenactment of the original occasion, turning the city for some hours into precisely that police state it was directed against.

Last week of course was the twentieth anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall and the (unofficial) birth of a reunified Germany. Feeling a bit left out and isolated, I had been wishing I were in Berlin, in the middle of things. To be part of all of this, here, no longer looking on from afar, from outside, as I have done for so long, but actually seeing and experiencing some small piece of the history of this country.

It turns out I may be more in the middle of things than I had thought...

More Contrastive Focus Reduplication

Als ich gestern frühstücken wollte, waren zwei Mitbewohner bereits in der Küche und diskutierten gerade die Bedeutung des Wort 'satt'. Vorigen Tag nämlich hatte jemand die etwas merkwürdig klingende These geaüßert, daß Kaffee satt macht, und jetzt fragten sie sich, ob man das eigentlich sagen könnte. Gemeint in diesen Fall war nicht, daß man keinen Hunger mehr hatte, sondern keine Durst.

Es scheint wirklich hier ein semantisches Loch zu geben. Für das Gegensatzpaar
'hungrig -- satt'
'durstig -- ???'
gibt es kein entsprechendes Wort für 'nicht mehr durstig'.

Dann kam natürlich die obligatorische Frage, ob es ein englisches Äquivalent für das deutsche Wort 'satt' gibt. Nein, eigentlich nicht so genau, das hat mir auch schon mal gefehlt, obwohl man 'full' oder 'satisfied' sagen kann. Und das gesuchte Wort für 'nicht durstig' haben wir wohl auch nicht. Also auch hier keine Lösung. (Im Nachhinein fällt es mir ein, daß man auf Englisch 'quench one's thirst' sowie auch auf Deutsch 'Durst stillen' sagen kann. Aber gesucht war eigentlich ein brauchbares Adjektiv...)

Ich habe dann gefragt, als Nichtmuttersprachler, ob man unter 'satt' sowohl 'nicht durstig' als auch 'nicht hungrig' verstehen kann. Man kann ja 'satt' im übertragenen Sinn gebrauchen, etwas wie 'keine Lust mehr haben'. Hmm, OK, vielleicht, war die Meinung, aber ich habe das Gefühl gekriegt, auf jeden Fall wäre diese Bedeutung, wenn überhaupt möglich, gar nicht so zentral wie 'keinen Hunger haben'.

Mittlerweile waren ihre Eier fertig, und eine von den Mädels hat beschwert, daß sie schon satt war. Und dann hat sie hinzugefügt: 'satt-satt, nicht kaffee-satt'. Und wir haben alle gelacht.

Also contrastive focus reduplication gibt es doch auf Deutsch.

(Eine interessante Diskussion zum Thema 'nicht durstig' gibt es übrigens hier bei Leo.)

Kleist in the Theater

I've been trying to take advantage of the rich variety of cultural events the city has to offer -- there are three quite active theaters and frequent readings by both established and less well-known authors -- but mostly I've always been either too stressed or too absent-minded and haven't actually managed to attend anything.
Until this last week, when I saw two productions, both of them based on works by Kleist. (Nearly two centuries after his death, Kleist finally seems to be coming into his own on the German stage. I'm all for it.)

The first was an adaptation of the short story "Die Marquise von O" based on a stage version by Ferdinand Bruckner. The acting was superb, as was the blocking. The music was somewhat odd, but effective. The piece shifts the emphasis of the story somewhat: while much of Kleist's story depends on the fact that the reader is as much in the dark as the characters, the play leaves no doubt about what happened to the Marquise and who is responsible for her pregnancy. Instead, it focuses on the aftermath of rape and the victim's difficulty in coming to terms with what happened (to the point of denying or repressing the traumatic event) and her contradictory feelings about her rapist.
Thus, the adaptation was based on the insight that at the core of the story is a psychological dilemma which is still very relevant today. Oddly enough, this was the main weakness of the production as well as its strength.
Interspersed between the scenes were recitations by a narrator of passages from the story; in some ways this is quite a brilliant idea, it's imminently appropriate for Kleist where problems of knowledge have such a central role. Particularly when the narrator is present as an observer at key scenes and later slips into the role of one of the characters.
However, as actually used in the production, the narration was jarring and sometimes quite confusing. Rather than providing key bits of information which the characters were unaware of or unable to admit, or (more prosaicly) filling in gaps in time, the narration summarized portions of the story which were subsequently acted out by the other characters.
Because the outlines of the story were the same, but the responses of the characters to the various events were not, the narration created a sense of dissonance, emphasizing the differences between Kleist's society and our modern, liberated one, as though the play were engaged in a dispute with its classical model. And this, in turn, tended to reduce the plausibility of the modern version. The characters' behavior within the individual scenes made sense, but the scenes themselves didn't always seem to completely fit together, except by the (externally imposed) structure of Kleist's story. So, while the idea is interesting, in this case I think in practice it fell somewhat short of its goal.

The second piece was "Das Kätchen von Heilbronn". I think it would have helped if I had been acquainted with more than the general outline of the play before seeing it, both from the standpoint of simply understanding what was going on, as well as being able to recognize where the director had taken liberties with the script and where, in fact, he hadn't.
This was...an unusual and sometimes rather disorienting experience. Quite literally: the audience sat on the stage while the action took place backstage, in the wings, the rafters, and even the seating area normally reserved for the audience. It is extremely odd to sit in the dark at the beginning of the play facing the wrong side of the curtain. And then to have the whole podium on which you are sitting suddenly start rotating to reveal a whole new space in the area that had been behind you. And so the play opens to a surreal trial instigated by some unknown entity (God?) while the chararacters try to explain themselves to voices coming from above in the catwalk. (When I describe it this way one wants to ask, is this Kleist we're talking about here or some modern absurdist play? Lest anyone get the wrong impression: this was not a misguided attempt to 'modernize' a classic, although it did make use of a wide variety of styles and media. Let us say rather that Kleist's concern with existential crises, the difficulty his characters have in distinguishing dream from reality -- these elements of his work find a certain sympathy in contemporary audiences. So the comparison with the theater of the absurd is perhaps not as unapt as it seems at first glance.)
The rotating stage was more effective at the beginning, where the audience was still not entirely sure what to expect. By the sixth or seventh rotation, however, the suspicion began to creep in that these shifts were motivated less by dramatic or artistic reasons than because the script required a change of scene. All the same -- on some level it remained impressive. Along with the film projections onto the stage, the special effects (rain and wind), and the suspension of several characters on cables, it rather took on the quality of a grandious spectacle.
The slightly fantastic feel, the constant running about and mixture of styles and periods seems appropriate, however, for a play which I suspect is fairly chaotic (Shakespearean, I suppose it would have been described in Kleist's day). I'm not absolutely certain that the angel who appeared in the piece, and who played the role of companion, helper, and sometimes not-so-subtle manager of the unfolding events was part of the original, but I wouldn't put it past Kleist, either.
I really need to go back and read the play, now. Although one of the nice things about theater is that (most of the time) you don't need to understand every word to be able to follow the general flow of the plot, all the same, the performance was a sobering reminder of where the limits of my German skills are. Understanding a lecture, where the primary goal is to communicate information, is one thing; processing Kleist's archaic language while it is spoken by agitated characters is another. And I'm definitely not quite there yet.

"Die Marquise von O." Ferdinand Bruckner/Heinrich von Kleist. Directed by Alexander Krebs. Junges Theater, Göttingen. 28.10.09
"Das Käthchen von Heilbronn." Heinrich von Kleist. Directed by Mark Zurmühle. Deutsches Theater, Göttingen. 30. 10.09

Inventory

"Die Stadt Göttingen, berühmt durch ihre Würste und Universität, gehört dem Könige von Hannover, und enthält 999 Feuerstellen, diverse Kirchen, eine Entbindungsanstalt, eine Sternwarte, einen Karzer, eine Bibliothek und einen Ratskeller, wo das Bier sehr gut ist."
("The city of Göttingen, renowned for its sausages and its university, belongs to the king of Hannover and contains 999 fireplaces, diverse churches, one maternity ward, one observatory, one prison, one library, and one town hall cellar, where the beer is quite good.")
-Heinrich Heine, Die Harzreise

My inventory is certainly less extensive than Heine's, and as yet I can't say much about the quality of the beer or sausage, but during my wanderings over the last couple of weeks in the Innenstadt (old city center), I was pleased to discover almost immediately no less than four used book stores. And they seem to have normal hours, unlike the ones in Berlin, most of which seem to be open about three days a week at random times. However, except for the one which is located along the main street, I'm not at all certain that I will be able to find any of them again, because I always seem to get lost in the Innenstadt and I stumbled across most of the used book stores serendipitiously when I had no idea where I was. In addition, I've found at least three tea shops, numerous döner stands, and just about anything else one might need (you know, mundane details like clothes and dishes and shampoo). But as yet no fabric store.

I'm gradually starting to be able to find my way around the uni. The library is beautiful, the student center is crowded. What I miss so far are the random places to curl up and read or study. Most of the library (i.e. the part with the books) is off limits unless you first check your coat and bags. So, there are places to study, but given the casual atmosphere that I'm used to at Norlin, I'm not quite comfortable with this system yet. I imagine within a few months it will start to seem routine.

Classes started last Monday, and everything seemed to fall into place. I'm still very confused about a lot of the details -- what we're doing is the same, but how it's organized is definitely not -- but it's good to be back at work and doing what I came here for! The familiarity is reassuring. I think as far as the university stuff is concerned, I'll be all right, I have the necessary knowledge and techne.

What I lack, however, is everyday experience. Things like: at which stores do I buy what (not always quite as simple as it sounds), how much does (for example) a case of eggs usually cost, what is open on a Sunday and how late, and where does one start when one is looking for, say, a used bicycle? All of a sudden my research skills and my intuitive knowledge about how things are done at home don't help anymore. Some of this stuff I can ask about, the rest I'll probably have to figure out by trial and error. But that's what I'm here for. The everyday stuff, not just the academic experience.

'Woher kommst du?'

[On politeness forms and having an American accent]

Es ist ein prekäres Gleichgewicht.
Ich bin daran gewöhnt: sobald man erfährt, daß ich Amerikanerin bin, reden alle plötzlich auf Englisch. Also warte ich immer mit einer gewisser Spannung darauf, bis es geschieht. Dann etwas wie Erleichterung, wenn es doch anders kommt.

Und meistens spricht man tatsächlich Deutsch mit mir, sogar manchmal, wenn ich es nicht unbedingt erwartet hätte. Wie dankbar ich war, als der Mann bei der Sicherheitskontrolle am Flughafen in Zürich mich höflich fragte 'Verstehen Sie Deutsch?' weil ich verwirrt herumschaute. Dankbar, daß man mir die Chance gab, meine Sprachkenntnisse zu beweisen.

Und dann im Antiquariat, als ich ein Reclam Ausgabe und ein Roman von Christa Wolf kaufte, ein Paar Sätze auf Englisch, und die Frage: 'Kommst du aus England?'
'Nein, aus den USA.'
Die Welt wurde plötzlich gebrechlich.

Nicht, daß ich dachte, er wechselte nach Englisch weil er es mir nicht zutraute, Deutsch zu reden. Es ging nicht darum. Es war eher wie seine Frage: er wollte mich zeigen, daß er meinen Akzent erkannt hatte, daß er etwas über mich wußte.
Nur, es tat weh. Wegen meines Akzents. Als ob ich durchsichtig geworden wäre, damit man in mich hineinsehen könnte.
Und er hat geduzt.
Ich glaube, das hat mich auch ein bißchen verletzt.

Ich weiß, daß es in Deutschland mittlerweile etwas geändert hat, man duzt häufiger als vorher. Aber in einem Laden? Da bleibt man auf 'Sie', oder?
Weil es für mich nicht selbstverständlich ist, weil ich mich bemühen muss, das richtige Pronomen anzuwenden, ist es auch unheimlich wichtig: ein Zeichen, daß ich Erwachsen bin, daß man mich ernst nimmt. Daß ich akzeptiert bin, mitwirken kann. Auch als Ausländer.

Die Leiterin des Studium International hat mich auch geduzt. Ich glaube, es war freundlich gemeint, sie machte Sorgen um mich, wollte mich beruhigen.
Ich glaube, mir wäre es angenehmer, wenn sie gesiezt hätte.

Normalerweise bin ich gegenüber solchen Sachen nicht so empfindlich, auch wenn ich selbst oft formaler Anredeformen benutze, als gewöhnlich wäre. Aber es hat mich gestört.

Eine Anekdote von einem ungarischen Skandinavisten, der in Norwegen war, wo es zwei Standardschriftarten und viele mündliche Dialekte gibt: Er wurde gefragt, 'woher kommst du, welchen Dialekt sprichst du denn, ich kenne es nicht.'
Naja, so geht es auch.

Kreislauf

[In which I complain about German bureaucracies]

Das nächste mal, das jemand mir etwas über 'German efficiency' sagt, würde ich ihn bitten, mal in irgendeiner Behörde zu gehen, um etwas zu erledigen. Um ganz gerecht zu sein, wenn man das richtige Amt gefunden hat, sind die Beamte alle sehr höflich und kompetent, wissen genau, was sie von einem brauchen, und machen überhaupt keinen Ärger, was ich jedenfalls über die amerikanischen Bureaukraten nicht sagen könnte. Aber natürlich muss man erst mal wissen, wo man hin muss, und das ist gar nicht so einfach.

Ich hab die letzten drei Tage nur mit dem Versuch verbracht, die richtige Unterlagen zu bekommen und die dann an die richtigen Stellen abzuliefern. Erstmal einen Krankenversicherung bekommen. Aber dafür braucht man den Kontonummer, und das dauert noch einige Tage, bis der Konto läuft. Also dann nochmal bei der Krankenkasse melden. Dann wieder nach oben zur Wohnheimverwaltung. Die brauchen wiederum eine Bestätigung von der Einwohnermeldeamt. Und so weiter.

Wäre alles nicht so schlimm, aber die Stadtmitte, wo die Ämter sind, ist etwa 20-30 Minuten zu Fuß (abhängig davon, wie müde ich bin) von der Wohnung entfernt, und ich glaube, ich habe diese Strecke schon wenigstens acht mal gelaufen. Die Uni selbst kenne ich noch kaum, wohl aber die Strassen zwischen hier und dem Stadtzentrum.

Dazu ist es natürlich unmöglich, alles im voraus zu planen, um möglichst viel herumlaufen zu vermeiden, da die Ämter haben z.B. nur von 10:00-12:00 oder 13:00-15:30 Uhr offen, und wenn man erst spät nachmittags erfährt, dortdrüben muss etwas abgegeben werden, da bleibt nichts übrig, als bis morgen zu warten und wieder dahin zu laufen.

Und inzwischen muss man auch hin und wieder essen, was noch andere Schwierigkeiten bereitet. Da ich tagsüber unterwegs bin, müsste ich immer irgendwo etwas zum Essen kaufen, und das fällt mir immer schwer, aber besonders jetzt, wenn ich schon gestresst bin. Ich kann nämlich nicht essen (oder nicht, auf jeden Fall 'in public') wenn ich ängstlich oder nervös bin. Am liebsten würde ich alleine bei sich mit ein Bisschen Brot und Tee mich hinsetzen, aber in einer neuer Wohnung...mit gemeinsamer Küche...mit wenig Vorrat im Keller...ist es auch nicht so einfach. Ich muss mich wirklich bemühen, dass ich in den nächsten Tagen nicht verhungere, danach ist wahrscheinlich das schlimmste vorbei.

Contrastive Focus Reduplication in German

I've long been intrigued by a phenomenon in colloquial English referred to by linguists as Contrastive Focus Reduplication, in which a potentially ambiguous word or phrase is repeated in order to pick out a more prototypical meaning. For example, "Oh, that's a potato salad, not a SALAD-salad" (i.e., a green salad) or "I'm up, I'm just not UP-up" (i.e, I'm awake, but not out of bed and dressed and so forth). The canonical article on this is the "Salad-Salad Paper" by Jackendoff et. al.

As far as I know, this phenomenon has not been widely observed in languages other than English, although there seems to be no particular reason why it should necessarily be restricted to English.

Therefore, I was fascinated to hear the following in Deutsche Welle's program "Bücherwelt" during a discussion of a new Krimireihe by the literary publisher Suhrkamp:

Was mir fehlt ist so, sagen wir mal, das Herausragende und Neue, das man insgeheim doch ein Bisschen von Suhrkamp und der Suhrkampliteratur erwartet hätte. Aber vielleicht ist genau das auch das Schlaue, das die Macher dieser Krimireihe an Suhrkampverlag geschafft haben. Sie machen nicht Kriminal-Literatur, sondern sie machen Krimi-Krimi. Man sagt ja immer Suhrkamp würde Literatur-Literatur machen, und im jeden Fall machen sie Krimi-Krimi, also Kriminalliteratur, die wie ein Lektor mir sagte, in der Bahnhofsbuchhandlung auch ihren Platz findet neben ganz anderen Verlagen. Also man unterläuft die Erwartungen, die im Grunde genommen da waren.

(The audio file is available here, with the relevant section starting at about 10:00.)

Here we have contrastive focus reduplication not once, but three times, and a similar contrastive intonation in the first usage of Kriminalliteratur to mean"literary mysteries" (Paul Auster's New York Trilogy, perhaps?) rather than "mystery fiction" which would be the usual meaning of the term.

Edit 8.11.09: "Literaturliteratur" seems to be a (fairly recent?) coinage for what I am accustomed to hearing referred to as 'Belletristik' - that is, 'literary fiction' - with perhaps an extra connotation of metafictional play and literary references. Or, as one writer puts it: "Literatur, die weltvergessen um den eigenen Bauchnabel kreist." (An English equivalent might be something like 'literature with a capital L,' an expression which for obvious reasons wouldn't make much sense German, or perhaps the term 'writers' writer' for the creator of such works.)
So 'Krimikrimi' would be formed in imitation of this expression, and there also seem to be the terms 'Kunstkunst' and 'Filmfilm' (discussion) which makes me less certain that this is quite the same phenomenon as the English contrastive focus reduplication, in that it's apparently restricted to a fairly small semantic field (i.e., the realm of 'high culture' vs. 'popular culture' or some such).

Zur Sprache kommen

Die Wortlosigkeit durchbrechen. Wie lange es denn immer dauert, bis ich alles zur Worte bringen kann. Es hat weniger mit der Sprache zu tun als einer gründlicheren Ungewissheit: Was sagen, zu wem, und auf welcher Sprache.
Und ich weiss auch nicht, ob es wirklich etwas zu sagen gibt. Ich warte. Jetzt ist Pause, ich nehme das Leben später wieder auf.
Enttäuschend, irgendwie. Ich weiss nicht, wo ich bin, mir kommt’s vor, als ob ich eigentlich nicht in Deutschland bin. Aber doch nicht mehr zuhause. Bleibe draussen, irgendwie.

Ich weiss nicht, ob ich auf Deutsch schreibe, weil ich will, oder weil ich glaube, ich sollte.
Und wenn ich auf Deutsch schreibe, schreibe ich an niemanden. Wenn ich berichten wollte, was ich alles erlebe und empfinde, müsste ich auf Englisch schreiben. Ich weiss nicht, ob ich das will. Den eigenen Gedanken übersetzen. Immer diese Zwiespalt.

Aesthetics & Estrangement

I'm not sure why it hasn't occurred to me before that Kant's aesthetic theory can be understood in relation to the Russian formalists' concept of ostranenie ('defamiliarization', 'making strange'). The idea that literary language (for example) is language used in such a way that it is remarkable or unusual, that we are led to consider things in a new light. Kant's ideas about beauty are of course part of a larger theory of how we form judgments about the world. Beauty is thus essentially about understanding; the beautiful is what seems immediately comprehensible and yet resists comprehension. It seems appropriate that one of the examples of the beautiful that he gives is the arabesque, with its Oriental (and hence, exotic, strange) associations.

This is of course only one reading of Kant. Where the Formalists differ most significantly from Kant is in the idea of making strange. Kant's aesthetic object derives its beauty from some inherent quality of the thing, and thus it tends to feel rather static. Ostranenie carries with it a sense of renewal, of transformation. Beauty as an unveiling, a stripping away of the ordinary.

Certainly this is part of the very personal appeal which learning languages has always had for me. The challenge of reading texts in another language makes one more sensitive to things which one would otherwise take for granted.

A Moment of Weakness

So, just in case anyone was taking bets, I've been in Germany less than a week, and already I've managed to purchase several books (as though I weren't lugging around enough stuff as it is).

I went to the Pergomon Museum this morning so I could see the Ishtar Gate and some other exhibits which had been closed when I was there last summer...The weekly antique market was set up in the street outside, and of course I couldn't just walk by without seeing whether any of the booksellers had anything good, now could I? For three Euros I came back with a commentary by Denniston and Page on Aeschylus' Agamemnon, and a two volume text + commentary in German of Greek lyric poetry. There were some other interesting titles, but I restrained myself fairly well, I think, the stuff in German I should be able to find again if I really want it, but the Greek texts were too good of an opportunity to pass up.

Final preparations

Punk of course had to help me with the packing...

And make sure that nobody meddled with the contents of my suitcase...
And finally test out the view from my half-emptied bookshelf...

Sniff. I'll miss the little monsters.

A Wish

I've always liked this brief enigmantic story by Walter Benjamin. Times like now when I'm running around trying to arrange things and wondering what the purpose of all of it is, it seems particularly appropriate.

"The Wish"
Walter Benjamin

One evening at the close of the Sabbath the Jews sat in a poor inn in a Hasidic village. All of them were locals except for one whom no one knew, a very poor and tattered fellow who cowered in the background in the shadow of the oven. The conversation turned to this and that, until someone asked the question what each of them would wish for if he were to be granted one wish. One wanted money, another a son-in-law, a third a new workbench, and so it went around the group.

After all had spoken their turn, only the beggar in the corner by the oven remained. Reluctantly and with hesitation he replied to their questioning: “I would that I were a mighty king and ruled in a great country and lay asleep at night in my palace and enemies broke across the borders and by dawn the riders had penetrated to my castle, and that there were no resistance and I, frightened from my sleep, not even having time to dress myself, wearing only my shirt, had to take flight, and that I were pursued over mountains and valleys, through woods and across hills until I arrived here and found safety on this bench in your corner. That is what I wish.”

The others looked at him uncomprehendingly. “And what would you have as a result of all that?” asked someone. “A shirt,” was the answer.

Source: Walter Benjamin. “Der Wunsch.” In Gesammelte Schriften, Vol. IV, Part 2, p. 759. Translation is mine, the original will follow if I can find where I put the photocopy of the text.

Aristotle & semantics (IV)

Categoriae 1. 1a 1-15

Ὁμώνυμα λέγεται ὧν ὄνομα μονον κοινόν, ὁ δὲ κατὰ τοὔνομα λόγος τῆς οὐσίας ἕτερος, οἷον ζῷον ὅ τε ἄνθρωπος καὶ τὸ γεγραμμένον. Τουτων γὰρ ὄνομα μόνον κοινόν, ὁ δὲ κατὰ τοὔνομα λόγος τῆς οὐσίας ἕτερος· ἄν γάρ τις ἀποδιδῷ τί ἐστιν αὐτῶν ἑκατέρῳ τὸ ζῴῳ εἶναι, ἴδιον ἑκατέρου λόγον ἀποδωσει.

Συνώνυμα δὲ λεγεται ὧ τό τε ὄνομα κοινὸν καὶ ὁ κατὰ τοὔνομα λόγος τῆς οὐσίας ὁ αὐτός, οἷον ζῷον ὁ τε ἄνθρωπος καὶ ὁ βοῦς. ὁ γὰρ ἄνθρωπος καὶ ὁ βοῦς κοινῷ ὀνόματι προσαγορεύεται ζῷον, καὶ ὁ λόγος δὲ τῆς οὐσίας ὁ αὐτός· ἐὰν γὰρ ἀποδιδῷ τις τὸν ἑκατέρου λόγον, τί ἐστιν αὐτῶν ἑκατέρῳ τὸ ζῴῳ εἶναι, τὸν αὐτὸν λόγον ἀποδώσει.

Homonymous are called those things which have only the same name, but which have a different account of their essence [λόγος τῆς οὐσίας] in relation to the name; in such a way ‘animal’ [ζῷον] is used for both a human being and a drawing. For only the name is common to both, while the account of the essence for this name is different. For if someone were to explain what it is for each of them to be an animal, he will give a particular account of each.

Synonymous are called those things which have both the same name and the same account of their essence in relation to the name; in such a way ‘animal is used for both a human and an ox. For man and ox are both called animal with the same name, and the account of their essence is the same. For if someone were to give the account of what it is for each of them to be an animal, he will give the same account.

λόγος τῆς οὐσίας: translated by Ackrill as “definition”; the emphasis, however, is slightly different than that of ὁρισμὸς in the Physica above.

ζῷον: originally meant ‘animal’ or ‘living thing’, but also came to refer to paintings or other artistic representations.

Aristotle’s use of “homonym” and “synonym” is different than the modern one. Ackrill (71) points out that they apply to things, not types of words. I have followed him in translating ὁμώνυμα and συνώνυμα in the passage as though they were adjectives in order to make this relationship clearer.

The distinction Aristotle makes between homonyms and synonyms seems to involve what we would call different word senses. That is, he distinguishes between two instances of a word where it is being used in the same sense (synonymous) and two instances where the sense is different (homonymous). Note that in his description of synonyms he is not saying that ‘human’ and ‘ox’ mean the same thing, but rather that, since both are hyponyms of ‘animal’, the name applies to each of them in the same way (in Aristotle’s terms, by virtue of their being possessed of both a nutritive and a motive/perceptive soul), whereas a drawing is an animal only insofar as it represents, or has the form necessary for, an animal.

For Aristotle, as will be seen in the section from De partis animalibus below, this homonymous (we might say, ‘metaphorical,’ although where non-metaphorical extension of meaning ends and metaphor begins is difficult to say) use of language seems to be inferior; each word has a central meaning which is connected to the physical thing which it describes.

παρώνυμα δὲ λέγεται ὅσα ἀπό τινος διαφέροντα τῇ πτώσει τὴν κατὰ τοὔνομα προσηγορίαν ἔχει, οἷον ἀπὸ τῆς γραμματικῆς ὁ γραμματικὸς καὶ ἀπὸ τῆς ἀνδρείας ὁ ανδρεῖος.

Paronymous are called those things of a sort which have the name they are called by from something else, while differing in their ending; thus, the grammarian from grammar, and the brave man from bravery.

πτωσις: “falling” or “fall”. Usually used in grammar for the cases of a word, but here Aristotle is using it to refer to derivational, not inflectional morphemes.

Unlike the previous terms, “paronym” corresponds fairly closely with modern usage, although once again it probably refers to things rather than words. Ackrill also suggests that “the derivativeness in question is not etymological. Aristotle is not claiming that the word ‘brave’ was invented after the word ‘bravery’. He is claiming rather that ‘brave’ means ‘having bravery’; the brave is so called because of (‘from’) the bravery he has” (72). This interpretation would be consistent with Aristotle’s thought in general and his concern with qualia in particular, as it does not simply register a grammatical fact (we can derive words from other words), but a certain type of relationship between the name and the characteristics of the thing named. The Greek tends to support this: the use of ἀπό τινος “from something” instead of ἀπὸ ἄλλου ὀνόματος “from another word,” and the examples Aristotle chooses, which both start with the abstract quality from which the noun (for a person) is derived.

References:
Ackrill, J.L. Trans & Commentary. 1963. Aristotle. Categories and De Interpretatione. Oxford: Clarendon Press.

Observation

A medievalist's understanding of the ancient world is very different than a classicist's. This is frustrating and highly disorienting, at least for the classicist.

I'm not sure how much of the structure of the medieval education system (for example) is appropriate to attribute to Aristotle (or even the neo-Aristotelian tradition), although people in the Middle Ages may have believed that they were essentially following ancient sources. One might at least note that their knowledge of Greek texts was often second-hand, either through Roman writers or via Latin translations of the originals.

Aristotle & semantics (III)

Been attending lectures to keep myself busy until I leave next month, and I can't seem to get away from Aristotle, even in courses which theoretically have nothing to do with him. So I figure it's a good time to resume my series of reflections on language in Aristotle.

Physica B 3. 194b 16 – 195a 3

Διωρισμένων δὲ τούτων ἐπισκεπτέον περὶ τῶν αἰτίων, ποῖάτε καὶ πόσα τὸν ἀριθμόν ἐστιν. ἐπεὶ γὰρ τοῦ εἰδέναι χάριν ἡ πραγματεία, εἰδέναι δὲ οὐ πρότερον οἰόμεθα ἕκαστον πρὶν ἂν λάβωμεν τὸ διὰ τί περὶ ἕκαστον (τοῦτο δ’ ἐστὶ τὸ λαβεῖν τὴν πρώτην αἰτίαν), δῆλον ὅτι καὶ ἡμῖν τοῦτο ποιητέον καὶ περὶ γενέσεως καὶ φθορᾶς καὶ πάσης τῆς φυσικῆς μεταβολῆς, ὅπως εἰδότες αὐτῶν τὰς ἀρχὰς ἀνάγειν εἰς αὐτὰς πειρώμεθα τῶν ζητουμένων ἕκαστον. ἕνα μὲν οὖν τρόπον αἴτιον λέγεται τὸ ἐξ οὗ γίγνεταί τι ἐνυπάρχοντος, οἷον ὁ χαλκὸς τοῦ ἀνδριάντος καὶ ὁ ἄργυρος τῆς φιάλης καὶ τὰ τούτων γένη· ἄλλον δὲ τὸ εἶδος καὶ τὸ παράδειγμα, τοῦτο δ’ ἐστὶν ὁ λόγος ὁ τοῦ τί ἦν εἶναι καὶ τὰ τούτου γένη (οἷον τοῦ διὰ πασῶν τὰ δύο πρὸς ἕν, καὶ ὅλως ὁ ἀριθμός) καὶ τὰ μέρη τὰ ἐν τῷ λόγῳ. ἔτι ὅθεν ἡ ἀρχὴ τῆς μεταβολῆς ἡ πρώτη ἢ τῆς ἠρεμήσεως, οἷον ὁ βουλεύσας αἴτιος, καὶ ὁ πατηρ τοῦ τέκνου, καὶ ὅλως τὸ ποιοῦν τοῠ ποιουμένου καὶ τὸ μεταβάλλον τοῦ μεταβαλλομένου. ἔτι ὡς τὸ τέλος· τοῦτο δ’ ἐστὶν τὸ οὗ ἕνεκα, οἷον τοῦ περιπατεῖν ἡ ὑγίεια· διὰ τί γὰρ περιπατεῖ; φαμέν «ἵνα ὑγιαίνῃ», καὶ εἰπόντες οὕτως οἰόμεθα ἀποδεδωκέναι τὸ αἴτιον. καὶ ὅσα δὴ κινήσαντος ἄλλου μεταξὺ γίγνεται τοῠ τέλους, οἷον τῆς ὑγιείας ἡ ἰσχνασία ἢ ἡ κάθαρσις ἢ τὰ φάρμακα ἢ τὰ ὄργανα· πάντα γὰρ ταῦτα τοῦ τέλους ἕνεκά ἐστιν, διαφέρει δὲ ἀλλήλων ὡς ὄντα τὰ μὲν ἔργα τὰ δ’ ὄργανα.

Having defined these things, one must give consideration to the αἰτίαι, of what sort and how many there are. For since our investigation is for the sake of knowing, and we do not think we know each thing before we grasp the ‘why’ [διὰ τί] concerning it, which means to grasp the primary αἰτία, it is clear that one must do this for creation and decay and all natural change, so that knowing the principles of these things we may try to refer each thing which we seek to them. [1] In one way the thing out of which something comes to be is said to be responsible [αἴτιον] for it; thus bronze for a statue, and silver for a bowl, and things of that type. [2] In another way the form and the pattern is responsible [αἴτιον]; that is, the account of [a thing] being what it is and things of this type (thus [the αἰτία] of an octave [is] two in relation to one, or number in general) and the parts in the account. [3] Additionally, [an αἰτία is that] from which the first principle of change or stillness [comes]; thus one who advises is responsible [αἴτιος], and the father [is responsible for] the son, and generally, the making for the thing being made and the changer for the thing changed. [4] Further, [an αἰτία is] like an end [τέλος], that is, the thing for the sake of which; thus, health [is an αἰτία] of walking around. For what does he walk? We say, so that he may be healthy, and saying this we think that we have explained its cause [αἴτιον]. And such are all things which, once something else has begun the motion, meanwhile become [something] for the end.

αἴτιον, αἰτία: originally “responsibility, blame, accusation”, related to αἰτέω “to ask, beg”. In the Hellenistic period it also has the meaning of a story explaining the origins of a custom, which is fairly close to how Aristotle uses it here. It governs the genitive.

‘Αἰτία’ has no good English equivalent. The usual translation is “cause”, and the four αἰτίαι Aristotle lists are conventionally known as [1] material cause, [2] formal cause, [3] efficient cause, and [4] final cause. However, this translation is unsatisfactory for a number of reasons which will become clear. While the Latin causa is similar in meaning to the Greek, ‘cause’ in English is much more restricted. It implies an event, or at least an agent which makes something else happen; the only one of Aristotle’s causes which makes sense in this meaning is efficient cause.

“Reason” or “explanation” (if understood as referring to things, not words) would not be inappropriate, but are often required to translate the Greek λόγος. “Things because of which” is closer to Aristotle’s meaning, but awkward. I have translated the adjective as “responsible” where sense permitted; elsewhere I have used the Greek word.

Moravcsik, who points out that Aristotle’s αἰτίαι are typically not events or propositions, but things, argues that this passage should be interpreted as a theory about understanding (what is necessary in order to ‘know’ something), and that the translation “cause” is therefore highly misleading. Instead, Moravcsik argues, the αἰτίαι should be called “generative factors,” meaning that they account for something being the type of thing it is: “for x to be an aitia of y is for x to be in a relation to y such that the grasp of that relation enables one to understand some important aspect of y” (624). The theory suggests that, although the specific account of each individual thing differs, it is possible to consistently identify certain types of relationships – Moravcsik’s phrase is “configurations in reality” – which explain what a thing is.

Pustejovsky, influenced by Moravcsik’s ideas, incorporated Aristotle’s αἰτίαι into a theory of lexical semantics. His Generative Lexicon involves representing words according to several categories which describe both combination rules and meaning components. One of them, Qualia Structure, which describes the properties of a lexical item, is taken from Aristotle and broken down into categories which correspond with the four αἰτίαι: constitutive, formal, telic, and agentive (Saeed 281). The approach is heavily computational, concerned primarily with identifying sets of elements which would allow us to construct the meaning of any sentence.

It seems to me, however, that the αἰτίαι, as an analytic system which differs significantly from modern logic, potentially have other applications in semantics. When we use words to describe a thing, we pick out certain aspects of a thing which we wish to emphasize; when asked who someone is, for example, we may reply “Polyclitus” or “my neighbor” or “the sculptor” depending on the situation. What the αἰτίαι offer is a way of examining which elements are being picked out and what type of information they are being used to convey.

Additionally, αἰτίαι seem to play a role in how we are able to use words in extended senses. Although Moravcsik suggests that the relationships described by αἰτίαι are ontological, not linguistic, there seems to be some awareness of these relationships in the ways we use language. In particular, the αἰτίαι seem to be relevant to the problem of polysemy, as Pustejovsky recognizes but perhaps does not take far enough, as he does not seem to have investigated how different uses of words relate to their αἰτίαι structure. Are certain αἰτίαι present when we talk about Athena the goddess that are different when we talk about a statue of her?

References:
Moravcsik, J. M. 1975: Aitia as Generative Factor in Aristotle's Philosophy. Dialogue 14, 622-36.
Pustejovsky, James. 1995: The Generative Lexicon. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.

Anglizismen im Deutschen

Ich will keinen neuen Angriff auf die Anhäufung von Anglizismen im Deutschen anfangen (die gibt es schon reichlich genug). Aber ich glaube, es lohnt sich mal die ganze Sache aus amerikanischer Sicht ein bisschen zu erklären, da die meisten Beiträge zum Thema entweder von Nörglern, die sich über den Verfall der deutschen Sprache alarmieren, oder von Linguisten, die die Sprachinnovationen gegen oben genannte Nörgler verteidigen will, stammen. Normalerweise bin ich eher die Deskriptivistin, aber Reaktionen zum Sprachgebrauch hat man trotzdem.

Ausdrücke wie 'public viewing' oder 'service point' kommen mir, als Muttersprachler des (amerikanischen) Englischen, einfach komisch vor. Sogar bei dem berühmten 'body bag' geht es nicht hauptsächlich darum, dass der Begriff nicht verständlich ist (im Zusammenhang ist es ja klar, was gemeint wird), oder darum, dass ich etwas ganz anderes damit assoziere (obwohl das auch stimmt), sondern dass es gegen mein Sprachgefühl stößt: ich hätte es auf Englisch nie derart ausgedrückt.

Zum Beispiel: Anstatt 'service point' würde ich wahrscheinlich 'information desk' oder vielleicht 'service desk' benutzen; anstatt 'public viewing' (falls es dazu käme, dass wir einen knappen Begriff dafür bräuchten), wäre mir 'public screening', 'open air television' oder so was in der Richtung lieber. Auf jeden Fall ist die Betonung anders: der englische Begriff deutet auf das Angebot, das deutsche auf die Aktivität. Tja, und für 'body bag' gäbe es wahrscheinlich 'sling pack'. 'Grillparty' brauchen wir nicht im Englischen, da 'barbecue' die gleiche Bedeutung hat. Aber 'Handy'** finde ich eigentlich wegen der anderen englischen Bedeutung reht süss: eine Art bilinguales Sprachwitz oder so.

Natürlich ist es beim Aneignen von Fremdwörtern normal, sie anders anzuwenden als in der jeweiligen Fremdsprache. Auch ist es nicht ungewöhnlich, eigene Wortschöpfungen aus Wortteile dieser Sprache zu erfinden. Man denke z.B. an die vielen lateinischen Wortstämme, die für die Sprache der Naturwissenschaften gedient haben. Aber zu sehen, wie die eigene Muttersprache dafür benutzt wird, ist etwas unheimlich.

Allerdings stimmt es auch, dass ich diesen 'Trend', immer mehr englische Wörter zu benutzen, etwas bedenklich finde. Erstens, da ich Deutsch gern habe, weil sie eine Fremdsprache ist, d.h., weil sie nicht Englisch ist. Deshalb finde ich es traurig, wenn die schöne deutsche Wörter durch lauter englischen Begriffe ersetzt werden. Das mag etwas widerspruchlich sein, da Englisch dafür bekannt ist, dass man sehr häufig Wörter aus aller Welt aneignet, was die Sprache deutlich bereichert hat. Ich bin aber nicht so sicher, dass es im Deutschen und in vielen anderen Sprachen ebenfalls eine Bereicherung ist, wenn man plötzlich viele englische Wörter gebraucht. Es hängt nämlich mit der Verbreitung von amerikanischer kapitalistischer Kultur zusammen, und darauf könnte ich eigentlich entbehren.

Noch eine Bemerkung: Einige haben wohl bemerkt, dass ich englische Wörter (was meist eigentlich heisst: Wörter lateinischer Herkunft) im eigenen Sprachgebrauch vermeide, wenn es ein entsprechendes deutsches Wort dafür gibt. Es geht teilweise darum, dass die Worte mir einfach besser gefallen. Aber einen anderen Grund gibt es auch. Ich bin nämlich oft nicht sicher, ob ich ein Wort gebrauche, weil es auf Deutsch üblich ist, oder weil ich es unbewusst aus dem Englischen übertrage. Mein Verhältnis zur Anglizismen ist also aus vielen Gründe etwas zwiespältig: sie beunruhigen mich sowohl aufgrund meiner Kenntnis des Englischen, sowie auch meines (sagen wir) 'Nichtmuttersprachlertums' des Deutschen.

**Es fiel mir übrigens erst neuerdings ein, dass ich 'Handy' lange falsch ausgesprochen habe. Nach deutscher Rechtschreibung sollte das 'a' als /a/ (wie im 'alt,' 'lang') ausgesprochen werden, nicht als /ɛ/ wie im englischen Wort. Diese Vokale wird auf Deutsch meist mit 'ä' representiert. Man schriebe das Wort etwa so: Händi. (Schön, oder?)

Unexpected applications of a classical education

So...I walk into Norlin library the other day after my Greek art and archaeology class, and what do I see?That's right. Pergamene columns! And guttae!
When I saw the columns I was pleased with myself for recognizing the type of capital being used. When I noticed the guttae I was pleased with the architect for the classical citation. (Mind you, I'm not sure what the guttae are doing inside the building, but even so: cool.)
The Women's Studies cottage, of course, uses Corinthian capitals.

Who knew classics had so many...uh, "practical" applications?

Packing: The Longlist

Two months till Germany. I'm very gradually starting to think about packing and -- most importantly -- deliberate about which books to take with me. Rather a daunting task, even though I've tried to weed out my collection a bit over the last couple of months. Needless to say, most of it is staying here, it's just a question of what.

• Langenscheidt, Pocket Dictionary German-English/English-German **
  
• Wahrig, Wörterbuch der deutschen Sprache **
  
• Duden, Fremdwörterbuch
• Richerd Lederer, Reference Grammar of the German Language
  
• LSJ **
  
• Smyth's Greek Grammar **
  
• Grund- und Aufbauwortschatz Griechisch
• Sidgwick's Greek Verse Composition
• Hans Orberg, Lingua Latina
• Moreland & Fleischer, Latin: An Intensive Course
  
• Nicholas J. Brown, New Penguin Russian Course
• Morrison & Gauthier, French Grammar
• Lewis V. Thomas, Elementary Turkish
• John Saeed, Semantics
• Handbook of Narratology **
  
• Dictionary of Literary Terms
• Jonathan Culler, Structuralist Poetics **
  
• Todorov, The Fantastic
  
• Horkheimer & Adorno, Dialektik der Aufklärung **
  
• Mikhail Bakhtin, The Dialogic Imagination
• Peter Bürger, Theorie der Avantgarde
• Walter Kaufmann, Tragedy and Philosophy **
  
• Kant, Critique of Judgment

I'm a bit alarmed, as it is only the most important of my reference material and Fachliteratur, and it already makes up quite a hefty list! Obviously, I can't take all of them, or I won't have room for anything else. Seeing that I also plan to buy books while I'm in Germany, I want to keep the number of books I take with me down as much as possible, and I'd rather not have to try to ship stuff.

And this still leaves everything else, and it's rather hard to guess what I'm going to need...German literature I can, of course, acquire easily enough once I'm there, but I'd rather not have to buy a book because I need it for class while my copy is sitting unread in Boulder several thousand miles away! I took a look at the Vorlesungsverzeichnis to see what's being offered, which at least gives me some idea of what I'm likely to need during the winter semester, but there's still comfort reading, and miscellaneous projects, and books that I've had forever and never had a chance to get around to reading...

• Kleist, Werke in einem Band **
  
• Goethe, Faust; Dramen **
  
• Ingeborg Bachmann
• Ilse Aichinger
• Franz Kafka
• E.T.A. Hoffmann, Erzählungen
  
• Hermann Hesse, Das Glasperlenspiel
  
• Hermann Broch, Der Tod des Vergil **
  
• Özdamar, Die Brücke vom goldenen Horn
• Friedrich Nietzsche, Die Geburt der Tragödie
  
• Russische Zaubermärchen
• Chekhov, Рассказы
  
• Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass
• Nicholas Ostler, Empires of the Word
• George Steiner, After Babel
  
• Anne Carson, Autobiography of Red
• Michael Ayrton, The Maze-Maker
• Christopher Logue, War Music
  
• Mary Renault, Rosemary Sutcliff
• Daphne du Maurier, Rebecca
• Ursula le Guin
• Italo Calvino
• Julio Cortazar, Hopscotch
• A.S. Byatt, Possession
• Thomas Wolfe, You Can't Go Home Again
  

Sigh. I was aiming for two Girl Scout cookie boxes or thereabouts, but I don't think I'm going to be able to get it down that far. (It doesn't help that every time I look at this list, rather than taking stuff off, I find something else to add!)

I'm going to have to double-check the baggage policies for US Airways, and then take another look at my suitcase and get a sense of how things are going to fit. I need to buy another suitcase, but I'm still not sure how much space that is going to leave me. Besides clothes, I also need to leave space for:

• Laptop
• Sewing kit
• Patterns + fabric
  
• Plush pegasus family
  
• Tea (whatever's left at that point)

I think most other stuff I should be able to buy once I get there.

Ships and Temples

A discussion of temple architecture in my Greek art and archaeology class sent me scrambling for the dictionary, wondering about the relationship between the word naos, used to describe the main chamber of a temple, and ships (the Greek word is naus). Christian churches, obviously drawing on Greek models, refer to the body of the church as the nave (in German, Schiff), recalling the Latin word navis. Which left me wondering, is there any actual etymological connection between these two very similar Greek words?

Apparently not. I started off in the stacks. Hofmann's Etymologisches Wörterbuch des griechischen produced the following:

νᾱός, ion. νηός, att. νεώς: m. Tempel, Heiligtum. Als Götterwohnung aus *νασ-ϝ-ος zu ναίω (aor. νάσ-σαι) wohne.

Under ναῦς (ion. νηῦς, gen. νη(ϝ)ός or νεώς) there is no useful information, except a comparison to Indogermanic *naus, and Latin navis (war mir schon klar), so the root seems to be pretty basic, and, more importantly, entirely unrelated to the word for temple.

This still leaves the question, why 'nave'? The OED suggests it is derived from a post-classical use of the Latin navis or an Italian or Spanish equivalent. Not much help so far.

A little more searching on the web turned up an article from 1926 which makes some doubtful assumptions (etymological and otherwise):

The ship was for the Greeks something sacred and was regarded as the gift of the Olympian Gods. The economic life of the population around the Aegean Sea was based on shipping. It was no mere accident that the inner shrine of Greek temples was given the same name as the ship, naos. The word nave used in the Christian churches to this day is probably derived from the Latin word navis and handed down from the days of the temples, and it is known that in the early Christian Church the ship stood as a sacred symbol.

(Hovgaard, William. "The Arsenal in Piraeus and the Ancient Building Rules," Isis 8.1 (1926): p. 18.)
Another article provides more substantial evidence for the Christian connection between the church and ships. The etymological claims are also much more conservative:

NAVE (Gr. ναός, εὐκτήριον τοῦ λαοῦ; Lat. navis, capsum; Fr. nof; Ital. Nave; Ger. Schiff, Langhaus) Authorities are not agreed on the etymology of the word, some deriving it from (1) ναός, temple, which is the ordinary Greek term for what we should call "the body of a church;" and others from (2) navis, a ship. The fact that in several European languages (e.g. French and Italian), the corresponding word is used to designate both "ship," and "part of a church" may be thought to favour the latter hypothesis.[...]As being the receptacle of the people, it was no great stretch of fancy to speak of it under the figure of a ship. The Ark was at all times the Old Testament figure of the Church. The idea of the comparison between the church and a ship was elaborated very early.[...]The resemblance of nave to its Greek equivalent (ναός) may be nothing more than accidental.

(Smith, William, and Daniel Cheetham. A Dictionary of Christian Antiquities, v. 2 (1880): p. 1381)
So it seems we can trace this usage to the early Christian period, although it still does not explain how the Latin word navis came to be applied to architecture. Was this inspired by a perceived resemblance between the shape of a ship and the shape of the main chamber of a temple or church? Or is it based on a false etymology of the Greek word naos? I would tend to speculate the latter. Certainly the Greek words for 'temple' and 'ship' are similar enough to be easily confused, and this sort of etymological play was not untypical of the Romans -- or the Greeks, either, for that matter. However, this seems to be a post-Hellenic usage, not a connection that the Greeks themselves drew, which was my original question.

A final note is in order, however: In the process of this research I came across an interesting article (for those with academic journal access, here) on analogies between temples and ships in Homer. He notes the use of νηοὺς - - ˘ θεῶν ("temples of the gods") in Od. 6.10 and suggests word play with a common formula for "swift ship", for example, νηῦς - - ˘ θοή in the same metrical position in Od. 24.299. He cites a number of examples of possible cultural associations of temples with ships; I did not find them completely convincing, but I'll cite his explanation of the etymology here.

The nominative singular of νηός, “temple,” is identical to the genitive singular of νηῦς, “ship.” One often finds such superficial similarities in Greek and elsewhere between forms originally quite distinct: νηός “temple,” derives from proto-Greek *naswos, the verbal reflex of which is *nas-io > ναίω, v, “to dwell,” a fact not lost on the author of the Homeric Hymn to Apollo (cf. νηὸν ἔνασσον, 298), while νηός, “of a ship,” comes from proto-Greek *nawos and ultimately from PIE *neH2ues,which is widely attested. (544)

He also makes a couple of intriguing remarks on connections between power/leadership and seafaring - this metaphor makes sense for a culture where seafaring is of supreme importance - as well as the connection of ships with temples in another context: their presence as dedications. (For the sake of readability I've eliminated his notes on sources in classical writers here; those interested are referred to the original article.)

The equation of temple and ship gives special point to the fact that as helmsman of Olympus Zeus 'sit[s] high on the benches' what the ancients rightly saw as a seafaring metaphor....Ships and parts thereof made common dedications, like the Roman rostra, usually at temples, and Christian lore says that Jesus, who like the Egyptian ferryman of the dead, Mahaf, was a fisher of souls taught from the boat of the Rock (Simon Peter) on whom he would build his church. (544)

(from Griffith, R. Drew. "Temple as Ship in Odyssey 6.10," American Journal of Philology 123 (2002): 541-547.)

Numbers

French, week 2.
Once again I'm reminded of why I generally skip over numbers and dates at the initial stages of learning a language. Admittedly this is partly self-indulgence: I want to get on to the more juicy bits of grammar as quickly as possible, and numbers are usually irregular and not very useful for understanding the working of the language as a whole. Because I'm usually learning the language for reading knowledge, rather than for travel or communication in a foreign country, it's also not extremely urgent, since in written texts numbers typically play a relatively small role.

This approach is of course the opposite of most contemporary language courses, which teach numbers quite early on, usually in the first month or so (one notable exception is Russian, where numbers are usually delayed -- for good reason -- until after the genitive plural has been taught, sometimes until the second semester). However, if immediate survival skills in the language are not at issue, I think there are some good reasons why putting off numbers actually makes sense. Numbers are (I find) actually one of the more difficult parts of a language to learn. We process them differently. Fine, it's easy enough to recite the numbers from 1 to 10 or whatever, but it takes much longer until we actually are able to connect them to something. Try doing mental arithmetic or remembering a phone number in a foreign language: not so simple. Furthermore, numbers are relatively separate from the rest of a language. Most words we use only in connection with other words; we have to know what forms they take, how to distinguish an object from a subject or a past tense from a present, how an adjective changes when used with a feminine noun rather than a masculine, what complements a verb takes. But numbers remain fairly isolated. They're more like placeholders, they don't have particular characteristics of their own, they don't mark out syntactical or rhetorical relationships. Instead, they refer to a separate symbolic system with its own set of rules.

At the initial stages of learning a language, I'm inclined to see this as a distraction. Instead of spending time constructing sentences and getting comfortable with the way the language works, its patterns and rhythms, the student is forced to divert his attention to mastering a bunch of idiosyncratic expressions and performing the double process of trying to produce sentences in an unfamiliar language and at the same time do mental calculations which may actually hinder the process of trying to think in the language.

Ratschlag

Man soll Vertrauen haben. Gegenüber anderen und auch gegenüber sich selbst.

French textbook reviews

Brunetti, Mendor. Read, Speak, Write French. Bantam, 1963.

I don't think I've seen any language textbook that's arranged quite like this. It's divided into three sections: a grammar (with drills & practice exercises), conversations which are keyed to the grammar, and readings, usually 2-3 pages, adapted from various literary sources. The book is designed for self-study and includes a key to all the exercises, and the conversations and readings are presented with a parallel translation. In addition to vocabularies (including separate lists for the individual readings) and grammatical tables, the supplementary material at the end also includes some interesting lists of French proverbs and idioms.

The grammatical section is very condensed and moves rather quickly; the pace may be too swift for many learners, but for someone who has some basic knowledge of French, or who is willing to spend a lot of time at the beginning memorizing paradigms, it may be manageable. I bought this book mostly for the readings, so I haven't been using this section very much, but it seems to be clear enough and the concepts are introduced in a sensible order.

The "conversation" section consists of sets of questions and answers which might be only loosly described as conversations, as the content of most of them would normally not be uttered in any real-life interaction! An example (taken randomly from the book):
"Feraient-elles une bonne promenade si elles n'étaient pas trop fatiguées" ("Would they take a good walk if they were not too tired?")
However, at times the author seems to be aware of the slight absurdity of the textbook sentences, and there's a certain subtle humor to the text, as in the following exchange: "Non parlons-nous pas français maintenant?" "Non, nous ne parlons pas français , nous parlons chinois." ("Are we speaking French right now?" "No, we're not speaking French, we're speaking Chinese.")
Furthermore, because the conversations are organized around grammatical principles rather than themes or subjects, they provide little guidance for coping with situations such as introducing yourself, talking about the weather, going to the store, or any number of everyday occurrences. (There is a short "situational" vocabulary at the back, covering such topics as "food," "family" and "professions," but a list of nouns is not quite the same as seeing the words used in context.)
That said, although the dialogues may not be immediately useful for communicative purposes, as one might expect, the language is idiomatic and makes use of complex constructions, and the sentences are above all useful for practicing transforming questions into statements, substituting pronouns for nouns, changing positives into negatives, and so forth. As in English, the rules governing French word order are fairly complex, and skill in making these kinds of transformations is invaluable.

The readings are quite fun. They are short, fast-paced, and frequently humorous, and contain complex vocabulary and sentence structures while avoiding the long descriptive passages in which a new reader in a foreign language often bogs down. Most of the stories are not by French authors, surprisingly (the second selection is a story by O. Henry), which is rather unfortunate, as it misses an opportunity to provide a glimpse into French culture.

For the $2 I spent on this at the used book store, it was definitely worth buying even if only for the readings & practice exercises. It would probably work well as a succinct grammatical reference and reader used in tandem with a more recent, communicative and audio-based text such as "Teach Yourself" or a similar series.
_________________

William S. Hendrix & Walter Meiden. Beginning French: A Cultural Approach. 3rd ed. 1961.

Another excellent textbook from the 60s. It uses a loosely "natural method" (reading-based) approach, starting with a map of France and discussion of the countries in Europe, and building up to readings about life in France. One possible disadvantage is that actual conversational skills are somewhat delayed; the student who is not interested in the geography of France will find the first few chapters rather frustrating. There are a couple of places where vocabulary is introduced too quickly (as in the section on fashion, which covers a number of fairly technical vocabulary items as well as basic clothing terms). In general, however, it is well organized and successful.

Although it is intended for classroom instruction, the format is also quite suitable for self-study, as the core of the book is the reading selections that open each chapter.

Grammar points are not covered in the individual chapters; instead, the student is referred to specific paragraphs in the substantial grammatical appendix, which can make it very easy to simply skip over this information without looking it up. Likewise, there is a review section after each group of five chapters which includes vocabulary for the unit and additional exercises (usuall English->French) for each chapter. This organization scheme is somewhat irritating when covering the material for the first time, as it makes it necessary to constantly flip back and forth. However, for review purposes it is ideal; having the grammatical information all in one place is convenient, and this section could easily be used as a reference separately from the rest of the book.

Out of print, but easily found online through used book sellers.
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R. de Roussy de Sales. Easy French Reader. McGraw-Hill, 2004 (1970). ISBN 9780071428484. $11

A progressive reader intended for beginning students. It is divided into three sections: a story about an American and a Parisian and their respective cultures; readings in French history; and adapted stories by French writers. Includes a vocabulary in the back and occasional glosses in the margins.

This really is an ideal reader for absolute beginners -- I was able to pick it up and understand most of the readings in the first section with only a very basic knowledge of French grammar (a personal pronouns, the verbs 'to be' and 'to have' and so forth). It's fairly repetitive and provides enough information to learn a lot of words from context. The second and third sections are more difficult, but quite manageable, good for a slightly more experienced reader to expand his comprehension and reinforce vocabulary.

The content is simple -- as is somewhat inevitable for this audience -- but not simplistic or condescending, and the stories manage to be interesting given the context.

Highly recommended as a supplement to any course of study. I only wish there was an audio version to accompany this.
_________________

Christopher and Theodore Kendris. French Now. Level 1 (with audio CDs and answer key). Barron's, 2007. ISBN 9780764179587. $30

This book is simply terrible. It promises to be a beginning high school/college level textbook suitable for both classroom and self-study, which I hoped meant that it was fairly comprehensive, but...unfortunately, in this case, you get what you pay for: a poorly conceived, amateurish book which does not, as far as I can see, meet the needs of any of its potential audiences. The audio is decent, and it has the huge advantage that it is spoken quite slowly, which helped me get a sense of how French sounds are elided together. The rest of the book, however, has so many problems that it's difficult to know where to begin.

The dialogues are artificial, condescending, and completely implausible, and they seem to have been written by an adult who had very misguided ideas about what is important to teenagers. For example, there's a dialogue at the restaurant where a young man asks about various types of food (an apple, a sandwich), but does not want any of them. When the garçon asks him if he would like some chocolate, he says yes, to which the waiter replies that they don't have any.

In addition to the implausible dialogues, the authors' English is frequently unidiomatic, which gives a poor impression of their competence. Although translationese can be found in some very good textbooks and under certain circumstances may serve a useful pedagogical purpose, here it seems symptomatic of more pervasive issues with the book. At one point, for example, the student is prompted "Mrs. Dumont gives the child a candy," with the intention that they will then produce the French "un bonbon." This may be acceptable French, but in English "candy" is a collective noun; we must either use the plural or say "a piece of candy." Recognizing that French expresses certain ideas differently than English is a valuable insight which is crucial to acquiring a language rather than treating it as a code to be translated word by word, and the authors miss an opportunity to use an example like this to illustrate the point. Treating the student as a mature, intelligent individual who is capable of figuring out complex ideas would go far towards remedying this problem.

Finally, even half-way through the book, the language remains exasperatingly simplistic, and it's not because the book focuses on the basics and is rich in examples and meaningful practice exercises: there's simply little content for a lot of bulk. The passé composé is introduces quite late, the imparfait and subjunctive not at all, as far as I could tell. This book might be suitable as an introduction for a student who has no experience at all learning languages, but for the student with any experience at all who is interested in seriously learning the language, I cannot recommend this. (Barron's also has similar books for Spanish and Italian, it seems -- based on my experience with this one, I will be steering clear of them and sticking with Teach Yourself or some such course in the future.)
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William Eric Morrison and Jean Ch. Gauthier. A French Grammar. American Book Company, 1935 (c. 1923)

An old and quite obscure textbook, and therefore probably not of great relevance to the prospective learner. But since I have it I figured I might as well review it along with everything else.

The author's preface describes their approach very well:
"This book combines the Natural with the Grammar method of teaching French....The rules are stated in Englich, but the classroom exercises are in French, and for the most part oral. Furthermore, all headings are in French, as well as the conversational grammatical summary, Sommaire Grammatical, provided in each lesson. French words and expressions are so constantly repeated in these headings, exercises, and summaries, that the student gradually and naturally acquires a facility in using them in his conversation. The grammar rules are taught by a combination of the inductive and deductive methods. The construction to be explained is indicated in a heading; then its use is shown in examples; and finally the rule itself is stated."

I picked this up for less than a dollar at a Goodwill store when I was first starting to think about learning French (mind you, for that price I would have even purchased a grammar of Vietnamese or Swahili -- because you never know when the urge might strike). This was the first French book I used, and (as should be clear by now) the authors' method works well with my learning style. However...

Because of the age of the book, the content of the readings often seems odd in the extreme, bearing testiment to the period it was written:

J'ai reçu une lettre d'un ami dans laquelle il me donne des renseignements sur la situation des ouvriers en France....Les ouvriers reçoivent des salaires plus élevés qu'avant la guerre.
I received a letter from a friend in which he gives me information about the situation of the working-man in France....The working-man receives a higher salary than before the war.

[yes, "ouvrier," as far as I can tell, has just as much of a Socialist overtone in French as the English translation does]

Dans la dernière guerre, beaucoup d'hommes ont reçu des blessures, dont ils portent encore le trace. Il y a des visages sans nez et des yeux qui ont oublié la lumierè du jour et la couleur des cieux.
During the last war, many men received wounds of which they still bear the traces. There are faces without noses and eyes which have forgotten the light of day and the color of the heavens.

Or this example from a section on rules of politeness, which is straight out of another era:

Si vois désirez faire la conaissance de vos nouveaux voisons, vous irez chez aux et vous y déposerez une carte. Si ces personnes désirent faire votre conaissance, elle cois enverront un petit mot pour vous indiquer leur jour de reception.
If you wish to make the acquaintance of some of your new neighbors, you will go to their houses and leave a card. If these people wish to make your acquaintance, they will send a short message to indicate which day they receive [visitors].

Some general notes on the layout and content:
The book is absolutely packed with information, but definitely moved too quickly for me. By lesson 20 they have introduced the present, past indefinite, future, conditional, imperfect, and past definite verb forms, which I found a little too much. If they had provided extensive drills in recognizing and producing the various forms (as would be the case in a Latin book, for example), it would have helped. The other problem with this is that the explanations of how to conjugate different types of verbs were intended to be systematic, but so abbreviated that they were often less than completely clear -- particularly, I think, for someone still struggling with the phonetics of French. I would also have liked a more extensive explanation of when the various tenses are used, but they were introduced so quickly I had trouble telling what form was being used in a given situation, much less why.

Strengths: Very good explanations of the different syntactic transformations (and in French this is crucial). They also include all sorts of information on idiomatic constructions or notable usages of words being taught. For example, when teaching the comparative and superlative, they not only tell you how to create them from the positive form of the adjective, but also how to say "greater than/less than," the usage of comparatives with numbers, when to use "de" instead of "que," other uses of "plus" and so forth. Furthermore, it has a very useful index of grammatical constructions and usages as well as the usual appendices with verb tables and vocabulary. I've been keeping it around so I can look up half-remembered constructions as needed.

Aristotle & semantics (II)

Categoriae 5. 2b 37 – 3a 6
ἔτι αἱ πρῶται οὐσίαι διὰ τὸ τοῖς ἄλλοις ἅπασιν ὑποκεῖσθαι κυριωτατα οὐσίαι λέγονται. ὡς δέ γε αἱ πρῶται οὐσίαι πρὸς τὰ ἄλλα πάντα ἔχουσιν, οὕτω τὰ εἴδη καὶ τὰ γένη τῶν πρώτων οὐσιῶν πρὸς τὰ λοιπὰ πάντα ἔχει· κατὰ τούτων γὰρ πάντα τὰ λοιπὰ κατηγορεῖται. τὸν γάρ τινα ἄνθρωπον ἐρεῖς γραμματικόν· οὐκοῦν καὶ ἄνθρωπον καὶ ζῷον γραμματικὸν ἐρεῖς, ὡσαύτως δὲ καὶ ἐπὶ τῶν ἄλλων.

Further, primary essences are said to be essence most properly through their underlying all other things. And as primary essences are towards the others, thus the kind [eidos] and the type [genos] are towards the remaining things. For against these all the remaining are alleged. Say you call a certain man grammatical: accordingly, you are calling both a man and an animal grammatical.

οὐσία: literally ‘being’. A technical term in Aristotle, often translated (for reasons I have never understood) as ‘substance’. I have used ‘essence’ here to avoid the implications of something material, since it refers to properties as much as to things.

What is interesting about Aristotle's choice of examples is that while the statement 'a [particular] animal is grammatical' is true in terms of both biology and logic, semantically it is odd. ‘Grammatical’ is not usually a word which is relevant in relation to ‘animal.’
Lexical relations do not work quite the same way as logic. There are a couple of ways this can be understood. One is that words can be classed into hierarchical (subordinate/hyponymic or superordinate/hypernymic) relations with each other. Aristotle's observation here, that the more specific term includes the meaning of the more general one (known as ‘transitivity’), is essentially correct. However, hyponymy works from the top downwards. That is, characteristics which apply to a higher part of the tree also apply to lower ones, but not necessarily in the reverse order, since lower members of the tree acquire further defining characteristics. As a result, there are certain restrictions about what words can be predicated to a particular concept.

Another way we can understand the oddness of this collocation (at least for the modern reader) is to look at binary features. One major semantic distinction we make is between human/nonhuman. 'Animal' is marked [-HUMAN], while one of the implications of the adjective 'grammatical' is 'able to use language', and this is ordinarily limited to humans. Because we tend to conceptualize the world in such a way that humans are separate from the rest of the animal kingdom, there is a clash in meaning; the components of the two words contradict each other. The question to ask at this point is: Would this also have been true for the ancient Greek, or did their understanding of ζῷον include humans as well?

Aristotle & semantics (I)

I did a project a several semesters ago on Aristotle in the form of a translation + commentary on some of his writings on language (looking at, among other things, his discussion of aitia, which was later used by Pustejovsky in his theory of lexical semantics). It's not argued entirely in an academic mode (since I am an expert neither on Aristotle nor on semantics), and some of the sections are frankly quite speculative, but I had fun with it and it helped me understand Aristotle, so here goes (hoping that there are not too many scribal errors from typing out the Greek).

Physica A 1. 184a 25 – 184b 14
ὁ γάρ ὅλον κατὰ τὴν αἴσθησιν γνωριμώτερον, τὸ δὲ καθόλου ὅλον τί εστί· πολλὰ γὰρ περιλαμβάνει ὡς μέρη τὸ καθόλου. πέπονθε δὲ ταὐτὸ τοῦτο τρόπον τινὰ καὶ τὰ ὀνόματα πρὸς τὸν λόγον· ὅλον γάρ τι καὶ ἀδιορίστως σημαίνει, οἷον ὁ κύκλος, ὁ δὲ ὁρισμὸς αὐτοῦ διαιρεῖ εἰς τὰ καθ’ ἕκαστα. καὶ τὰ παιδία τὸ μὲν πρῶτον προσαγορεύει πάντας τοὺς ἄνδρας πατέρας καὶ μητέρας τὰς γυναῖκας, ὕστερον δὲ διορίζει τούτων ἑκάτερον.

For the whole according to perception is better known, and the thing which is generally is a kind of whole: for it encompasses many things as parts. Names, also, are in the same sort of state in reference to their explanations, for [a word] such as ‘circle’ signifies a whole, although unclearly [ἀδιορίστως], but the definition [ὁρισμὸς] of the same distinguishes it according to each [of its parts]. And so children at first address all men as ‘father’ and all women as ‘mother’, and only later do they make distinctions [διορίζει] between different people.

ὁρισμὸς: literally a “marking off with boundaries” (from ὅρος, ‘boundary’), roughly equivalent to our Latinate word “definition” (de- + finis).

Over- or underextension of concepts is a typical phase in children’s linguistic development. That Aristotle chooses this as an example here is somewhat startling, not so much because of the accuracy of the observation (although that is part of it: it vividly brings to life the ancient world), but because he mentions a profoundly important linguistic fact in an almost offhand way, apparently without realizing its significance. For Aristotle it is a useful analogy for the hermeneutical process he lays out in this section; for a linguist or psychologist, however, it is a demonstration of how the mind processes language which raises serious questions: what are words? Are they concepts? And if words are concepts, why are we able to use them even if we have little idea of what the word means? That is, a child and a biologist can both use the word ‘elephant’ and feel that they’re talking about the same thing, even though the biologist’s knowledge about what makes something an elephant is significantly more detailed than the child’s. Aristotle largely passes over this problem in his writing, although he touches on it in the Posterior Analytics.

While much of what Aristotle writes is interesting in terms of linguistics, it is important to recognize that he is primarily a natural scientist; he is concerned first of all with things, and only secondarily with words. He is interested not so much in how words mean or in the way we actually use them, but in using them to develop a logical language to talk about the world. Therefore, his perspective, even when he is making observations on language, is different than that of a linguist and it is important not to confuse this. However, because he is interested in classification, that is, with defining relationships, many of his ideas about the natural world are also potentially applicable to examining how languages work.

Bibliography for Abram Tertz/Andrei Sinyavsky

Compiled during my own work on Tertz's Fantastic Stories (here and a non-academic review here).
This was some of the first major academic research I did, and Tertz (along with Gogol) was one of the primary reasons I decided to learn Russian, so he has a special place in my heart.

Monographs
Dalton, Margaret. Andrei Siniavsky and Julii Daniel', Two Soviet 'Heretical' Writers. Würzberg: Jal, 1973.

Kolonosky, Walter. Literary Insinuations: Sorting out Sinyavsky’s Irreverence. Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2003.

Lourie, Richard. Letters to the Future: An Approach to Sinyavsky-Tertz. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1975.

Nepomnyashchy, Catharine Theimer. Abram Tertz and the Poetics of Crime. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1995.

Fantastic Stories
Artz, Martine. “Interpretations of Pchenc, One of the Fantastic Stories of Andrej Sinjavskij/Abram Terc.” Dutch Contributions to the Eleventh International Congress of Slavists, Bratislava, August 30-September 9, 1993. Ed. Willem G Weststeijn. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 1994. 13-22.

Carrington, Ildikó de Papp. “Demons, Doubles, and Dinosaurs: Life before Man, The Origin of Consciousness, and 'The Icicle'.” Essays on Canadian Writing 33 (1986): 68-88.

Cheaure, Elisabeth. Abram Terc (Andrej Sinjavskij): vier Aufsätze zu seinen “Phantastischen Erzählungen.” Heidelberg: Winter, 1980.

Cornwell, Neil. “At the Circus with Olesha and Siniavskii.” Slavonic and East European Review 71.1 (1993): 1-13.

Durkin, Andrew R. “Narrator, Metaphor, and Theme in Sinjavskij's Fantastic Tales.” Slavic and East European Journal 24 (1980): 133-144.

Haber, Erika. “In Search of the Fantastic in Tertz's Fantastic Realism.” Slavic and East European Journal 42.2 (1998): 254-267.

---. “The Fantastic Form of Terc's Early Fiction.” Russian, Croatian and Serbian, Czech and Slovak, Polish Literature 47.2 (2000): 135-158.

Kolonosky, Walter. “Inherent and Ulterior Design in Sinjavskij's "Pxenc".” Slavic and East European Journal 26.3 (1982): 329-337.

Morsberger, Grace Anne. “'The Icicle' as Allegory.” Odyssey: A Journal of the Humanities 4.2 (1981): 15-18.

Nepomnyashchy, Catharine Theimer. “Andrei Sinyavsky's 'You and I': A Modern Day Fantastic Tale.” Ulbandus Review 2.2 (1982): 209-230.

Peterson, Ronald E. “The Writer as Alien in Sinjavskij's 'Pkhens'.” Wiener Slawistischer Almanach 12 (1983): 47-53.

Other
Airaudi, Jesse T. “Fantasia for Sewercovers and Drainpipes: T.S. Eliot, Abram Tertz, and the Surreal Quest for pravda.” Modes of the Fantastic Selected Essays from the Twelfth International Conference on the Fantastic in the Arts. Ed. Robert A Latham. Westport, CT: Greenwood, 1995. 21-27.

Artz, Martine. Fantasy and Reality in Abram Terc's Early Prose: A Documentary-Narratological Study. Diss. University of Amsterdam, 2005.

Aucouturier, Michael. “Writer and Text in the Works of Abram Terc (An Ontology of Writing and a Poetics of Prose).” Trans. Alexandre Guerard. Fiction and Drama in Eastern and Southeastern Europe: Evolution and Experiment in the Postwar Period. Ed. Henrik Birnbaum & Thomas Eekman. Columbus, OH: Slavica, 1980. 1-10.

Brown, Deming. “The Art of Andrei Siniavsky..” Slavic Review 29.4 (1970): 663-681.

Clowes, Edith W. “Kafka and Russian Experimental Fiction in the Thaw, 1956-1965.” Modern Language Review 89.1 (1994): 149-165.

Cohen, Gordon, and Donald Fanger. “Abram Tertz: Dissidence, Diffidence, and Russian Literary Tradition.” Soviet Society and Culture: Essays in Honor of Vera S. Dunham. Ed. Terry L. Thompson and Richard Sheldon. Boulder and London: Westview Press, 1988. 162-77.

Dunham, Vera S. “Serenity: A Note on Sinyavsky’s Style.” The Third Wave: Russian Literature in Emigration. Ed. Olga Matich and Michael Heim. Ann Arbor: Ardis, 1984. 110-17.

Fanger, Donald. “Conflicting Imperatives in the Model of the Russian Writer: The Case of Tertz/Sinyavsky.” Literature and History: Theoretical Problems and Russian Case Studies. Ed. Gary Saul Morson. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1986. 111-24.

Fenander, Sara. “Author and Autocrat: Tertz's Stalin and the Ruse of Charisma.” Russian Review 58.2 (1999): 286-297.

Gifford, Henry. “Andrey Sinyavsky: The Voice and the Chorus.” Encounter 42.2 (1974): 34-39.

Holmgren, Beth C. “First-Person Liberties: The persona in the work of Witold Gombrowicz and Abram Terc.” Ph.D. diss., Harvard University, 1987.

---. “The Transfiguring of Context in the Work of Abram Terts.” Slavic Review: American Quarterly of Soviet and East European Studies 50.4 (1991): 965-977.

Karpov, Anatolii S. “Le Realisme fantastique dans les premiers ecrits en prose d'Abram Terz.” Canadian Slavonic Papers/Revue Canadienne des Slavistes 43.2-3 (2001): 227-234.

Kolonosky, Walter. “Andrei Sinyavsky: Puzzle Maker.” Slavic and East European Journal 42.3 (1998): 385-388.

McLean, Hugh. “Abram Tertz and His Translators.” Slavic and East European Journal 8.4 (1964): 434-40.

Nussbaum, Andrew J. “Literary Selves: The Tertz-Sinyavsky Dialogue.” Autobiographical Statements in Twentieth-Century Russian Literature. Ed. Jane Gary Harris. Princton: Princeton University Press, 1990. 238-59.

Sinyavsky, Andrei. “'I' and 'They': An Essay on Extreme Forms of Communication under Conditions of Human Isolation.” Survey: A Journal of East & West Studies 100-101 (1977): 278-287.

Skillen, Daphne Helen. The Prose Fiction of Andrej Sinjavskij. M.A. thesis, University of Colorado, 1976.

Szarycz, Ireneusz. “Sinyavsky and Vonnegut: The Themes of Displacement and Alienation.” Twentieth-Century Russian Literature: Selected Papers from the Fifth World Congress of Central and East European Studies. Ed. Karen L. Ryan & Barry P. Scherr. New York: Macmillan, 2000. 164-179.

Woronzoff, Alexander. “The Writer as Artist and Critic: The Case of Andrej Sinjavskij.” Russian Language Journal 37 (1983): 139-45.

Wozniak, Anna. “Skomorosheskii glum v proze Abrama Tertsa.” Roczniki Humanistyczne: Annales de Lettres et Sciences Humaines/Annals of Arts 50.7 (2002): 53-71.