A couple weeks ago in my writing group, we got to talking about languages. One of the fun things about fantasy is that you can make up a language and no one blinks an eye. Thank you, J.R.R. Tolkien, for laying that foundation for the rest of us. Really, it's one of my favorite things to do. When I first started coming up with my own stories, I began with making maps for them, which of course meant I had to come up with place names, and that in turn led to me creating languages (just like in The Lord of the Rings and The Silmarillion). Actually, I only ever really worked on one language extensively at all, but that's beside the point.
I enjoyed it. But I haven't really done it at all since then. Rise of the Colos has plenty of opportunity for me to play with language, if I wanted to get into the complexity inherent to American Indian languages so that I could create a Djose language. Considering how deep I've gone into this world over the past few years, I'm almost surprised I haven't. Okay, at one point I did delve a little into the Djose language as I was coming up with names for the clans, but I eventually chose to drop that part because I felt it distracted from more than it added to the worldbuilding. Also, I started learning some really cool things about the syntax of some Native American languages, features that were not at all present in the names I was creating. Indian languages are hard, guys. I didn't feel like starting over, and I know that I would get consumed in the language-making process as I tried to make it seem real despite the relatively minor role the language itself would play in the book. Better to just give translations of the names. However, after discussing the subject with members of my writing group, I feel I am likely to dabble in language-making once again some time in the future.
Language is an integral part of culture, which is the one reason why I really would like to go all out and create an actual Djose tongue. I got to thinking about the importance of language to culture when listening to the Greek Orthodox Pascha service; it was done entirely in Greek, with some parts (namely reading of the scriptures) also done in English after the Greek portion was done. I felt that, although I could understand only a word here and there of the Greek, something intangible was lost in the translation. Granted, I was grateful for the translation so that I could understand what was being said, but I also felt that if I spoke Greek, I would understand the service on a much deeper level than I could with the whole thing translated. Even if the rituals were all the same, the service would be different if it had been in English. The hymns would certainly be different, for the flavor of the words would not have properly meshed with my native tongue. I think the Hindu concept of mantras, where the sound is more important than the meaning, may hold some weight, especially with song. However, I think language is simply important as a critical part of culture. It's tough, though, holding onto culture when surrounded by another culture with another language. It's the reason why languages are often banned when a conquering people are trying to assimilate an ethnic group, or are at least trying to reduce the group's cohesiveness and thus resistance. Losing the language is the first step to losing the culture, and translation can bring over only so much.
Translation is a tricky business. It's much more than simply matching synonyms between two tongues. It's a matter of matching up two ways of thinking about the world, for we use language as a framework for our thoughts. Language defines how we think about the world. The easiest way to demonstrate this is by looking at how we conceptualize time. Entire studies have been done to show the differences between how Navajos think of time compared to the European conceptualization. (Unfortunately, I've forgotten the details and I don't have links to any of these studies, but I assure you it is quite interesting.) In at least one dialect of Swiss German, they have a present tense and a not-present tense that is used for both the past and future. The closest real example I can give is in the subtle differences between English and Spanish, which are much more closely related culturally than are English and Navajo, yet still quite distinct. In English, a general greeting at night would be good evening. The phrase good night is only used at parting. Buenas noches encompasses both of these concepts—while distinct in the English mind, they are one and the same to the Spanish speaker.
Perhaps that example does not truly convey my meaning. Fatalistic attitudes are fairly common in Latin American culture. Things just happen. I believe there are many factors contributing to this societal outlook on life, and language is surely one of them. The reflexive is usually used for anything negative that happens (for things just happen, with no real cause). Se me olvidó—"I forgot," or more literally, "It forgot itself to me" (something to that effect—a direct translation is impossible due to the differences in Romance and Germanic syntax). There is no causality, no responsibility for action. By no means do I think this the sole reason for the fatalistic attitude had among so many people whose native language is Spanish, and I happily point out that it is not a universal attitude, but I contend that it is a contributor, for language is a framework for conceptualization. However, my argument has now become quite circular and ineffective.
You can see this process well enough in English just by looking at synonyms. There are many words that mean pretty much the same thing, but there are usually subtle differences, nuances, and shades of meaning between those words, such that we would use one word in a given context but never the other, while in another context another word would be more suitable, and in another either is fine. As English speakers, we see the difference clearly, but such a difference does not exist for somebody who has but one word. Of course, in that other language, there may be multiple words for something we have only one for. (Though this gets to be difficult, as English is the pirate of the linguistic world.)
Maybe I should use an example from the language I was making up through most of my teenage years. In that language, you cannot say that a picture is of a flower; you say that it hopes to be a flower. Much more active view of the world. (The word I translated as hope is also a much more active word in that language, based partly on how I feel it is used in Moroni 10.) The fact that I started creating idiomatic expressions as a teenager is another good indicator of how much creating a language would consume me, which is the principle reason I choose not to do so despite my feelings of its importance to culture.
The point is, language is how we human beings define the world around us, both the tangible and the merely conceptual. It is an integral part of culture. Someday I will get cogent examples so I can explicate my thoughts on the matter clearly. For now, though, just trust me on this one.
I enjoyed it. But I haven't really done it at all since then. Rise of the Colos has plenty of opportunity for me to play with language, if I wanted to get into the complexity inherent to American Indian languages so that I could create a Djose language. Considering how deep I've gone into this world over the past few years, I'm almost surprised I haven't. Okay, at one point I did delve a little into the Djose language as I was coming up with names for the clans, but I eventually chose to drop that part because I felt it distracted from more than it added to the worldbuilding. Also, I started learning some really cool things about the syntax of some Native American languages, features that were not at all present in the names I was creating. Indian languages are hard, guys. I didn't feel like starting over, and I know that I would get consumed in the language-making process as I tried to make it seem real despite the relatively minor role the language itself would play in the book. Better to just give translations of the names. However, after discussing the subject with members of my writing group, I feel I am likely to dabble in language-making once again some time in the future.
Language is an integral part of culture, which is the one reason why I really would like to go all out and create an actual Djose tongue. I got to thinking about the importance of language to culture when listening to the Greek Orthodox Pascha service; it was done entirely in Greek, with some parts (namely reading of the scriptures) also done in English after the Greek portion was done. I felt that, although I could understand only a word here and there of the Greek, something intangible was lost in the translation. Granted, I was grateful for the translation so that I could understand what was being said, but I also felt that if I spoke Greek, I would understand the service on a much deeper level than I could with the whole thing translated. Even if the rituals were all the same, the service would be different if it had been in English. The hymns would certainly be different, for the flavor of the words would not have properly meshed with my native tongue. I think the Hindu concept of mantras, where the sound is more important than the meaning, may hold some weight, especially with song. However, I think language is simply important as a critical part of culture. It's tough, though, holding onto culture when surrounded by another culture with another language. It's the reason why languages are often banned when a conquering people are trying to assimilate an ethnic group, or are at least trying to reduce the group's cohesiveness and thus resistance. Losing the language is the first step to losing the culture, and translation can bring over only so much.
Translation is a tricky business. It's much more than simply matching synonyms between two tongues. It's a matter of matching up two ways of thinking about the world, for we use language as a framework for our thoughts. Language defines how we think about the world. The easiest way to demonstrate this is by looking at how we conceptualize time. Entire studies have been done to show the differences between how Navajos think of time compared to the European conceptualization. (Unfortunately, I've forgotten the details and I don't have links to any of these studies, but I assure you it is quite interesting.) In at least one dialect of Swiss German, they have a present tense and a not-present tense that is used for both the past and future. The closest real example I can give is in the subtle differences between English and Spanish, which are much more closely related culturally than are English and Navajo, yet still quite distinct. In English, a general greeting at night would be good evening. The phrase good night is only used at parting. Buenas noches encompasses both of these concepts—while distinct in the English mind, they are one and the same to the Spanish speaker.
Perhaps that example does not truly convey my meaning. Fatalistic attitudes are fairly common in Latin American culture. Things just happen. I believe there are many factors contributing to this societal outlook on life, and language is surely one of them. The reflexive is usually used for anything negative that happens (for things just happen, with no real cause). Se me olvidó—"I forgot," or more literally, "It forgot itself to me" (something to that effect—a direct translation is impossible due to the differences in Romance and Germanic syntax). There is no causality, no responsibility for action. By no means do I think this the sole reason for the fatalistic attitude had among so many people whose native language is Spanish, and I happily point out that it is not a universal attitude, but I contend that it is a contributor, for language is a framework for conceptualization. However, my argument has now become quite circular and ineffective.
You can see this process well enough in English just by looking at synonyms. There are many words that mean pretty much the same thing, but there are usually subtle differences, nuances, and shades of meaning between those words, such that we would use one word in a given context but never the other, while in another context another word would be more suitable, and in another either is fine. As English speakers, we see the difference clearly, but such a difference does not exist for somebody who has but one word. Of course, in that other language, there may be multiple words for something we have only one for. (Though this gets to be difficult, as English is the pirate of the linguistic world.)
Maybe I should use an example from the language I was making up through most of my teenage years. In that language, you cannot say that a picture is of a flower; you say that it hopes to be a flower. Much more active view of the world. (The word I translated as hope is also a much more active word in that language, based partly on how I feel it is used in Moroni 10.) The fact that I started creating idiomatic expressions as a teenager is another good indicator of how much creating a language would consume me, which is the principle reason I choose not to do so despite my feelings of its importance to culture.
The point is, language is how we human beings define the world around us, both the tangible and the merely conceptual. It is an integral part of culture. Someday I will get cogent examples so I can explicate my thoughts on the matter clearly. For now, though, just trust me on this one.
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