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I just read a great article about the fecundity of the English language. The Internet and globalization have created such a hotbed for linguistic invention that English is reaching its one-million word mark.
The number we’re at now includes every hybridized elfish cyberspeak pidgin to be found, whether on the Internet, by foreign speakers of the language, or in dictionaries–and I think that’s great. The reason that I love language is exactly that: its flexibility, its drive for reinvention, its creativity. Purists may scorn bastardized word offsprings, but I love them.
English, a hybrid in itself, is a great language for such a flourishing to be happening. With French and Germanic roots–and Latin, Scandinavian, and Arabic among its influences–embracing newness is encoded in its very structure.
Apparently, not since pre-dictionary days has the language seen such a torrent of new words: “The web has revived the possibilities of word-coinage in a way not seen since Shakespearean times, when the language was gradually assuming its modern structure but was not yet codified into dictionaries (the first comprehensive English dictionary appeared in 1730). Then, as now, the lack of control, and the rapid absorption of new terms and ideas through exploration, colonisation and science, enabled a great flowering of words. Of the 24,000 words used by Shakespeare, perhaps 1,700 were his own inventions: besmirch, anchovy, shudder, impede.”
Shakespeare invented 1,700 words? That’s amazing. So get cracking, readers. Good luck adding your own to the mix.
I just came across an article via PEN’s newsletter about a recent vote to censor certain books in Michigan schools. Among the books on the table were Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye, Richard Wright’s Black Boy, Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse Five (ironically), and Erin Gruwell’s The Freedom Writer’s Diary. The Livingston Organization for Values in Education (LOVE) cited sexual themes and profanity as the reasons behind their campaign.
I don’t have kids. I admit that once you pop them out, there’s probably an urge to protect them. But isn’t it better to talk to them like they’re thinking, intelligent human beings; to give them information and teach them how to make decisions on their own? Don’t books do just that? One of the most fundamental things reading can accomplish is to teach abstract thinking, empathy, and communication. Aren’t those tools going to help kids make intelligent and sensitive decisions about issues such as sexuality and profanity–the things LOVE seems to fear most?
I just don’t get the whole push for sanitizing existence for kids. Is that “protecting” them? Or is it actually making them about as naive and ill-equipped for the real world as possible?
I work now copyediting what is essentially marketing propoganda for kids. And I’m constantly amazed at the type of language that is directed to them–baby talk, really. Lazy grammar. The easiest, dumbest approach to expressing a thought. Why dumb everything down for kids? Likewise, why assume that they can’t make abstract connections between a scenario they read in a book and the way the world really works? And wouldn’t reading about potentially confusing situations in a classroom setting be the best way to ensure an open (and professionally mediated) discussion about them?
Books are not societal instruction manuals. They are microcosms of language and characters and fantasy. They are not guides to living your life, but situational meditations on experience. What LOVE fails to grasp is the very reason reading is so important–more than just a stringing together of grammar and punctuation, reading is thinking, imagining, and understanding.
Thankfully, the Michigan school board overturned this ridiculous proposal. I can only cross my fingers that LOVE continues to get no love from the school board.
Userlands: New Fiction from the Blogging Underground
Edited by Dennis Cooper
Akashic Books, January 2007
Read my review of Userlands at PopMatters.com. Thanks!
Harif Kureshi (Penguin, 1990)
There is the brand of narrative in which the author uses the main character to point out the flaws or intricacies in society, humanity, etc. Don Dellilo’s Americana, for instance, features a character with questionable morals/actions, and the narrative maintains an almost disdainful relationship toward him. I haven’t read The Corrections or American Psycho, but from what I understand, the narrative has a complicated love/hate relationship with its main characters, as well. Dennis Cooper’s work, for that matter, certainly isn’t about making the main character the most popular guy in town. So, it’s not uncommon to not like the protagonist of a book.
But, while reading The Buddha of Suburbia, I got the distinct feeling that I was SUPPOSED to like the main character. Identify with him. Cheer for him, even. But I didn’t. I loathed him. He was self-righteous, cocky, and unintelligent. Furthermore, I didn’t like any of the characters (except maybe one–Jamilla, a feminist vegetarian commune-liver). Each felt like a caricature, with no depth beyond their respective assigned schtick.
The story takes place in and around London in the seventies, and follows a teenager named Kamir through his adventures. The first involves his father’s affair (his father dubbed the “Buddha” of the title after performing yogic mysticism for suburban audiences), and all the subsequent life changes that occur. The second involves him moving to London and casually falling into the acting scene, of course being a natural talent who did nothing whatsoever to seek out acting or fame. What a cliche! In fact, almost everyone in the story who even attempts an endeavor becomes famous for it.
Class issues come up (can you escape that in a British novel these days?), but only in a very superficial way. Class is mentioned more than experienced. There’s a nod to the immigrant experience, sexual liberation, and the shifting of cultural trends. But without characters to become invested in, I didn’t care.
The ENTIRE cast of characters seemed utterly self-absorbed and petty. And not in an ironic or interesting way. The narrative voice was unreflective. It was a quick, soap-opera-y read. It had a few comic moments, but overall, not my bag.
