My last email was about –
Well, I can’t remember, because
the thing that dominated your reactions afterwards was my use of y’all.
In particular, I had people writing to me from Scotland, Northern
Ireland & Australia telling me that I didn’t have to raid the
American South to come with a perfectly good you-plural, when I could
use a perfectly good Scottish/Irish/Aussie youse.
And youse feels just
right. I’m going to use it more often from now on.
But that brings us on to the
matter of which version of English we should respect as authoritative.
Standard British English (SBE),
because the Queen speaks it? Standard American English (SAE), because
Donald Trump speaks it (kinda)? Or maybe some other kind of English,
because both those Englishes have had their turn in the sun?
The answer, of course, is that
it’s a stupid question. No particular English is more authoritative or
appropriate than another. You speak with (and write with) whatever’s
right for the job at hand.
Now most of you, I expect, write
in SBE or SAE, and I’m sure you do that proficiently enough. But what
when you have a character who doesn’t speak one of those Englishes?
Perhaps that character speaks (for example) African-American Vernacular
English (AAVE)? Or perhaps they’re someone who speaks English,
imperfectly, as a second language?
Either way, you don’t
necessarily want to stuff your SAE / SBE into the mouth of that
character. That might show a kind of disrespect to the character and
the language they speak. (Which would be stupid, not least because
those other Englishes are quite often more expressive. Did you know,
for example, that AAVE has a full four versions of the past tense: I
been bought it, I done buy it, I did buy it, I do buy it? Sweet, huh? AAVE has three versions of
the future too.)
So you’re determined to honour
the status and expressive power of those other Englishes. But how?
Let’s say, for example, that you
have a Yorkshireman as a character in your MS. (Yorkshire is a large
and self-confident county in the North of England.) Let’s say your
novel is set in the London advertising world. Most of your characters
don’t talk Yorkshire. This particular one – we’ll call him Geoffrey –
does. You want to mark the way he speaks as being different; that’s
part of what makes him who he is. It’s part of the richness of your
character set.
Well, we could have our Geoffrey
speak like this:
Ear all, see all, say nowt;
Eat all, sup all, pay nowt;
And if ivver tha does owt fer nowt –
Allus do it fer thissen.
(That’s the ‘Yorkshire motto’
and translates as: Hear all, see all, say nothing. Eat all, drink all,
pay nothing. And if ever you do something for nothing – always do it
for yourself.)
But doesn’t that look
unbelievably patronising? We have our book full of London ad-world
types, then in walks Geoffrey sounding like something dragged from the
rougher end of one of the Bronte novels. It would be hard to have
Geoffrey speak like that on the page and not somehow create the idea
that he was comical, or stupid, or boorish, or ignorant.
The solution, of course, is
precision. (Most things in writing are.)
Take a look at that motto again.
Some of the words are exactly the same as Standard British English, but
just rendered phonetically – ear for hear, ivver for ever. But
why do that? We don’t generally write phonetically. When I talk, I’ll
seldom pronounce the last g in going, though some English speakers
would. So if you were writing a character like me in a novel, would you
write goin’ for going? Surely not.
So rule 1 is: You don’t
describe accents phonetically. Doing so just looks patronising and
clumsy.
But that rams you straight into
the second issue, which is: what do you do when you encounter a word
(like the Yorkshire nowt) that just doesn’t exist in SAE or SBE?
And the answer there is equally
obvious: nowt is a perfectly legitimate word. It just happens to be a
Yorkshire one, not an SAE / SBE one.
So rule 2 is: You include
non-standard words / phrases / grammar in exactly the way that
your character would use them.
So we’d rewrite our Yorkshire
motto as follows:
Hear all, see all, say nowt;
Eat all, sup all, pay nowt;
And if ever tha does owt for nowt
Allus do it for thissen.
That removes the patronising
phonetics, but honours the separateness of Yorkshire-ese by including
its words and phrases in full. You haven’t lost a jot of local
character. All you’ve lost is a metropolitan sneer towards non-SAE/SBE
speakers.
If you wanted to tone this down
a bit (and I would), I’d use always for allus, and maybe yourself
for thissen. I’d probably swap in you for tha,
just because you want to nudge the reader about a character’s voice and
accent. You don’t need to bellow.
And –
You can have fun. I once created
a character who stemmed from the Orkney Islands, off the north Coast of
Scotland. Even by Scottish standards, Orkney is remote – so much so
that it spoke Norn (a version of Norse, the language of the Vikings)
until a couple of hundred years ago. Since then, that Norn has softened
out into Orcadian, which is a sister language to Scots, which is a
sister language to English.
But –
It’s a strange and beautiful
thing. The language is sort of comprehensible to a regular English
speaker, but only just.
So on the one hand, my Orcadian
character (Caff) says things like this:
‘Ye’r a guid peedie lassie. Th’
wurst damn cook a’m ever seen, but a guid lassie fur a’ that.’
You might not know what peedie
means (small), but the rest of it is straightforward.
On the other hand, Caff also
says things like this:
‘Thoo dohnt wahnt tae be skelp
while turning,’ he says, as his hands show a big wave hitting the ship
side-on as it turns. ‘If tha’ happens, we’ll hae oor bahookie in th’
sky in twa shakes o’ a hoor’s fud.’
And this:
‘Whitna raffle wur geen and
gottin wursels intae noo, eh? A right roo o’ shite.’
I wouldn’t say that those are
totally incomprehensible – roo of shite means roughly what you
think it might – but you wouldn’t especially want to be tested on the
detail.
When writing that kind of thing,
you want to dance your reader along a line of comprehension /
bafflement. I reckoned that readers wouldn’t know what skelp meant,
so I added half a line of explanatory text about waves hitting ships to
make it clear. But whitna raffle, roo of shite, bahookie in th’ sky
and the rest of it – well, I just wanted to dangle those lovely, strange
phrases in front of my readers’ noses, so we could enjoy their Nordic,
sea-green beauty without comment.
My character’s reactions to this
speech are much as yours or mine would be. She understood some of what
she was being told, but not all of it. Her own ripples of confusion
added a layer of enjoyment to the interactions.
Oh, and if you’re sitting there
quietly impressed by my mastery of Orcadian … well, I did what I could
using a dictionary that I bought online. Then I sent the relevant
chunks of my draft to the editor of The Orcadian newspaper, and
he was kind enough to correct my text where it needed it.
That’s all from me. Youse have a
good weekend.
Harry
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