Holy Moly Vocabulary

by Mandira Pattnaik

Glen Carrie

This week, following up on my own advice of exploring genres and crafts outside of routine as per the last column, I turned to making YouTube videos, and actively went about seeking and reading up on memoirs and nonfiction. Among them was Mohamed Tonsy’s “Take the Chalk, The Pens, and the Blackboards” (Epoch Press, 2021). It is the narrative exposition of experiences as a queer Egyptian, now living in Edinburgh, and their unearthing of identity politics during infrequent visits home, through the dichotomy of language (Arabic and English). I found that the piece discussed and highlighted some interesting observations. Among them was the role of mother tongue, as well as the adopted language in revealing truths about culture, socio-economic realities, and patriarchal or unequal societies. Such as how some words simply can’t be translated, because of various reasons, one of them being that the society may not want it spoken/written at all. Or that, unless you have a fine ear and interest in linguistics, morphology, phonology and the like, several minor paradoxes of the vocabulary of your regular language-of-use may simply fall through the cracks.

In addition, it wondered if such discussions only gain prominence upon deviating from comfort zones, both geographic and societal, whether as a result of displacement/migration, or by choice.

That hint brought to the fore the topic of “word choices” in literature — one that doesn’t cease to fascinate both practitioners and researchers.

I understand that language, particularly English, because of its universality, has a certain power. Over the years and across regions, this power of expression has been recognized by writers and poets, and they have been used it both as a weapon and a shield against oppressive systems.

In my first column earlier this year, I deliberated on “word choices.” Since then, I’ve made some discoveries. Here’s listing them:

i) A number of English words are such that they make clear-cut distinctions between certain nouns and verbs of nearly the same meaning, while in some other languages, there may be just one word for such emotion/object. Meaning that, when you’re thinking in a different language and writing in another, you have to be extra careful about word choices. For example, let’s take “shame” and “embarrassment.” Now, for both those two words, the only Japanese word is haji, the only Persian word is hasham, the only Hindi word sharm. It will, therefore, be of importance to choose one over the other, particularly for writers for whom English is a foreign language.

ii) In the context of emotions, word choices should be handled with even more caution. For example, “upset” can be anger, confusion, embarrassment, or sadness, but is the use of “upset” correct in the context? Similarly for “like,” “adore,” “love,” “prefer,” “favor” are all veering towards expression of something nearly the same, but what would be perfect for the meaning you’d want conveyed? I’m deeply concerned about using the right one when editing my work.

iii) Even within English usage, it is indeed a function of our location that we speak and write the way we do. Of course, migration and relocation, education and media, have to be factored in, but usage and vocabulary can throw up hitherto unexplored dilemmas. For example, the same words may have different meanings in different locations, and it’d be careless of writers to use them without the understanding as required.

iv) In the use and translations of idioms, the risk factor is highest. While scouring to find ones that would probably be of use in lending authenticity to your narrative, one must be very careful. Does the meaning come through? It could do more harm than benefit if it results in something entirely misplaced, obscene or outright terrible.

v) Contemporary writers and poets are using phrases and vocabulary borrowed from local languages in a fascinating manner. For example: “My grandmother was born in a city called [宜兰]/Despite its name, no orchids grow there/Five of my six aunts have names ending in [兰]” — K-Ming Chang in “A brief history of the orchid.” Would you experiment with that? I think such fluidity in language leaps from the page and makes for a unique reading experience. Though I’d say the level of comprehension of general readers should be kept in mind. What do you think about using Arabic, Latin or French dialogues in a piece largely written in English, let me know in the comments?

Sometimes, in reading submissions, I’m awed by the clever insertion of unusual or dated English words. For me, it lights a spark, because the writer has obviously been at it enough to pay attention at the sentence-level. Often, I’m taken by surprise by the delightfully innovative use of common vocabulary. Like that dash of spice which results in great flavor.

For now, I’ll let the words, more words, and still more of them, swirl in my kitchen sink. In English, and in languages I’d love to use.

WORD CHOICE EXERCISES

1) According to the Merriam-Webster, there are over 100 related words to the word “happiness.” How many can you list?

2) Select a random passage from a longer published work. What words can you possibly replace with better ones? Can you play with the phrases used? Will you risk editing out some words? Write it down. Careful not to change the meaning.

3) If you write poetry, take out the last poem you wrote. Can you insert one or more words that are from your local language?

4) In editing your work, take the #WordChallenge. Replace (with a more refined word) or remove at least one word from each page. The more the better.