Super-size My Language!

I’ve noticed a tendency to be verbose of late, and it’s actually a fairly disturbing trend. Its most recent form, at least the one that’s been on my radar most of late, is the propensity to improperly modify words in an effort to sound more intense. For example, I recently heard “extremely critical” and often hear “more unique” (or “most unique”).* And just today I heard someone on NPR say “very ubiquitous.” Now, when I hear things like this, all I can think of is The Princess Bride: “I do not think it means what you think it means.” (Except, unlike Inigo, I know the word’s being used incorrectly. Or, at least, modified unnecessarily.) I really think a lot of people need to look up what words mean, so they can use them properly.

Another, related linguistic gripe I have is the often unnecessary repetition because people don’t know what acronyms mean: PIN number, please RSVP, ATM machine, etc. It really should stop. Take a moment to expand them: "personal identification number number," "please respond if you please" (ok, so that one takes a little translation, too...). Then again, it can be a source of endless amusement. Think about it — when people ask “Where is the ATM machine?” they’re really looking for a machine that dispenses ATMs.

Now, this is not in student papers — it’s mostly in conversation, either in the media (TV, radio) or in person, usually conversations I overhear, rather than ones I participate in. I have read many papers where the students should have their thesaurus taken away, and where they are verbose for the sake of meeting a page requirement. I know many of the reasons for this effort, even if I try to urge honesty in their paper’s voice — writing much like they talk, or at least with a similar vocabulary. But that’s a topic for another post.

Of course, I am familiar with the argument that this is just a facet of the evolution of our language, and that I should just relax and accept it. But you know what? I see it as a devolution of the ability of people to understand their own language. And when we no longer understand the words we share, when we can no longer agree on meaning, that’s a problem, because the language itself is then an impediment to communication, not a tool to facilitate it. Now, we’re far from the end of the utility of English, and I don’t want to sound like Chicken Little. The sky is not falling, and we have a long way to go before we’re not communicating through a shared language. But if “unique” no longer means “one of a kind,” when the unique item no longer has status as a distinctly singular object, then we need a new word to replace “unique.” So... what is it? I’ve heard nothing. Just that “this” is more unique than “that” — which is, according to my dictionary, impossible.

If you don’t know what these ”big words” and acronyms mean, stop using them — to those who do know them, you sound like an idiot. And those that don’t are not worth amazing with such simple (and misguided) linguistic feats.

* I would like to point out that while one cannot logically increase something’s uniqueness, it can be decreased: an object can be “almost unique,” but not “more unique.” I have no problem with that.

What Do We Do?

At a recent party, I was asked “Why read Shakespeare? Kids [meaning high schoolers] don’t like it. They aren’t going to try. It doesn’t matter to them.” My response? Foolishly, I tried to play the canon card — I said “Ask the people you meet tomorrow if they know or have read Shakespeare. I bet all of them will know his name, and 95% will have read something he wrote.” “But,” was the reply, “People today don’t enjoy reading his work. They just have to in school.”

Ugh!

Upon later reflection, it seems to me that English departments have done a horrible job of selling themselves. And academia, both college and el-high, has moved on. What are English departments traditionally supposed to do? Study the language. Teach people how to read, understand, and interpret words, both written and spoken — and then respond to the ideas they present. And what do we do? Cultural studies. Film studies. “Fun” stuff, not “rigorous” stuff. Why? Because we need to keep up enrollment. (And, yes, we enjoy teaching it... but then, we also enjoy teaching Shakespeare and other stuff that's not "enjoyable," by my friend's implicit standards.) It seems we've lost sight of our initial mission, and we've not really defined a new one for ourselves.

But we'll never disappear — we’re the workhorses of colleges, walking all freshmen through composition for the benefit of every other program. We’re also the broom closet of the college, as a colleague argues. Our comp classes are the places where students have to not only learn how to produce research papers, which is fair, but they also learn how to use the library, how to use word processing programs (usually Microsoft Word), basic grammar and punctuation, and often some introduction to public speaking. Oh, and since we have to write about something, add in some content.

There's still the idea that we’re not teaching “marketable skills” when we get to do what we want (i.e., read texts) — that is the province of other programs: science, business, etc.

Is this because we learn to read as children, and the skill we use is considered mastered before college? Not perfected, perhaps, but good enough by 6th grade to get through bestsellers? (Yeah, I’m thinking of Dan Brown, Stephanie Meyer, and J. K. Rowling, however much I enjoyed reading Harry Potter.) Is anything that demands a higher reading ability just not worth the effort? Or is it not profitable? That is, my ability to read Shakespeare (or Chaucer) is really just showing off, and won’t get me a better job because it is, somehow, not valued by society. Or by the sectors that pay well.

Yeah, I’m frustrated. But so it goes. I wouldn’t choose another discipline. I am happy with my choices, with my direction. I do like teaching English, I like teaching literature, I even enjoy teaching composition. I just don’t enjoy being the freak that didn’t pursue a career that promises big paychecks.

I’m too smart for that.