Through the language glass Why the world looks different in other languages

Review by Choice Review

For the most part, linguists believe that language has little or no influence over the way people think; that is, most linguists believe that the effects of language on culture are mainly superficial and, hence, unimportant. Deutscher (Univ. of Manchester, UK) takes the controversial opposing view. He postulates that language offers a lens through which one can view the world and that fundamental concepts such as color and direction, which seem natural and universal, are in reality influenced by language. Using well-known historical examples, the author supports his claim in a manner that is convincing and at same time enjoyable. A follow-up to his The Unfolding of Language: An Evolutionary Tour of Mankind's Greatest Invention (2006), this is now the first (recent) discussion of this concept, which diverges from widely accepted mainstream theories of universal grammars. Although Deutscher's claims initially sound outrageous, his detailed explanations and excellent examples help him make a persuasive case. A solid resource for linguists but written in an entertaining style that will appeal to more casual readers, this book should have a wide audience. Summing Up: Highly recommended. Lower-division undergraduates through faculty and professionals; general readers. P. J. Kurtz Minot State University

Copyright American Library Association, used with permission.

---

Review by New York Times Review

IS language first and foremost an artifact of culture? Or is it largely determined by human biology? This issue has been argued back and forth for a couple of centuries with no clear resolution in sight. Guy Deutscher's 2005 book "The Unfolding of Language" placed him firmly in the pro-culture camp. Now, in his new book, "Through the Language Glass," he examines some idiosyncratic aspects of particular languages that, in his opinion, cast further doubt on biologically based theories of language. Deutscher starts with the puzzling fact that many languages lack words for what (to English speakers) seem to be basic colors. For anyone interested in the development of ideas, Deutscher's first four chapters make fascinating reading. Did you know that the British statesman William Gladstone was also an accomplished Greek scholar who, noting among other things the surprising absence of any term for "blue" in classical Greek texts, theorized that full-color vision had not yet developed in humans when those texts were composed? Or that a little-known 19th-century philologist named Lazarus Geiger made profound and surprising discoveries about how languages in general divide up the color spectrum, only to have his discoveries ignored and forgotten and then rediscovered a century later? Did you know that Siegfried Sassoon's World War I psychiatrist, William Rivers, carried out the earliest psychological experiments to test the precise relationship between the colors people could name and the colors they actually saw? Deutscher does not merely weave little-known facts into an absorbing story. He also takes account of the vast changes in our perceptions of other races and cultures over the past two centuries. Although the strange sequence in which color terms appear in the world's languages over time - first black and white, then red, then either green or yellow, with blue appearing only after the first five are in place - still has no full explanation, Deutscher's suggestion that the development of dyes and other forms of artificial coloring may be involved is as convincing as any other, making color terms the likeliest candidate for a culture-induced linguistic phenomenon. But then Deutscher switches to another issue entirely, that of linguistic complexity. He brings off a superb "emperor has no clothes" moment by demonstrating that the "fact" (attested in countless linguistic texts) that all languages are equally complex has no empirical basis whatsoever. Moreover, as he points out, such a claim could not be made even in principle, since there are no objective, nonarbitrary criteria for measuring linguistic complexity across entire languages. Deutscher then goes on to addresses the relationship between language and thought. Do speakers of all languages think in similar ways, or do different languages give their speakers quite different pictures of the world (a view sometimes referred to as "linguistic relativity")? Deutscher rejects linguistic relativity in its strong form, pouring scorn on its most vehement defender, the early-20th-century linguist Benjamin Whorf, and again firmly locating his account in the cultural-historical background. His skepticism extends even to promising cases like that of the Amazonian language Matses, whose arsenal of verb forms obliges you not only to explicitly indicate the kind of evidence - personal experience, inference, conjecture or hearsay - on which every statement you make is based, but also to distinguish recent inferences from older ones and say whether the interval between inference and event was long or short. If you choose the wrong verb form, you are treated as a liar. But the distinctions that must be expressed by verbal inflections in Matses, Deutscher argues, can all be easily understood by English speakers and easily expressed in English by means of circumlocutions. Deutscher does find three areas where a weaker version of linguistic relativity might hold - color terms, spatial relations and grammatical gender. Ever since Mark Twain mocked the pronoun confusions of "the awful German language" - a young girl is an "it" while a turnip is a "she" - most people, including linguists, have treated gender assignment as largely arbitrary and idiosyncratic, devoid of any cognitive content. But recent experiments have shown that speakers do indeed, on a subconscious level, form associations between nonliving ("neuter") objects and masculine or feminine properties. As for spatial relationships, we English speakers relate the positions of objects or other people to ourselves ("in front of," "behind," "beside") or to each other, but some languages use compass references ("east of," "southwest of") for identical relationships. Deutscher argues that repeated use of such expressions forces speakers of these languages to develop an internal cognitive compass, so that regardless of where they are and what they are facing, they automatically register the location of the cardinal points. Deutscher presents his material in a chatty and accessible (if sometimes verbose) style, and if he had left things at that, he would have written just the kind of language book most readers love - heavy on quirky detail, light on technicalities and theory. But he also burdens his findings with more theoretical weight than they can bear. First, the facets of language he deals with do not involve "fundamental aspects of our thought," as he claims, but relatively minor ones. Things like location, color and grammatical gender hardly condition our thinking even in the day-to-day management of our lives, let alone when we address issues of politics, science or philosophy. Moreover, with the possible exception of color terms, cultural factors seldom correlate with linguistic phenomena, and even when they seem to, the correlation is not causal. For instance, languages of small tribes tend to have words with multiple inflections, while those of complex industrial or post-industrial societies do not. However, this phenomenon is not directly caused by differing degrees of social complexity. Rather, complex societies tend to have much larger and more ethnically diverse populations, hence they experience far more interactions between native speakers of different languages and dialects. It is this factor that encourages simplification and erodes word endings. Take a hypothetical correlation that really might have cultural causes. Suppose relative clauses appeared only when a society entered the market economy. Any such finding would revolutionize our understanding of the interface between language and culture. But not only has no such relationship ever been demonstrated, nothing remotely like it has ever been found. Explaining why he rejects biologically based explanations of language, Deutscher states that "if the rules of grammar are meant to be coded in the genes, then one could expect the grammar of all languages to be the same, and it is then difficult to explain why grammars should ever vary in any fundamental aspects." Actually, it's quite easy. Simply suppose that biology provides not a complete grammar, but rather the building blocks out of which such a grammar can be made. That is, in fact, all biology could be expected to do. With physical organs, biology can mandate - two legs instead of four, five fingers instead of six. But when it comes to behavior, biology cannot mandate. It can only facilitate, offering a range of possibilities from which culture (or more likely, sheer chance) can choose. Fortunately, relatively little of "Through the Language Glass" is devoted to these issues. Readers can ignore Deutscher's broader claims, and enjoy the little-trodden linguistic bypaths along which he so knowledgeably leads them. Studies suggest that the gender of a noun does influence the way we think about the thing it names. Derek Bickerton is an emeritus professor of linguistics at the University of Hawaii. His most recent book is "Adam's Tongue: How Humans Made Language, How Language Made Humans."

Copyright (c) The New York Times Company [August 29, 2010]

---

Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

This fascinating pop-linguistics study contends that how we talk influences how we think about the world, from the way we give directions to the colors poets see. Drawing on everything from classics to anthropology and brain scans, linguist Deutscher (The Unfolding of Language) abjures the crude notion that language makes Italians frivolous or gives Hopis a mystical disregard for time. Rather, he insists that linguistic conventions subtly alter basic perceptions. The examples he highlights are delightful and thought-provoking: speakers of languages, such as French and German, in which inanimate objects have gender actually associate gendered qualities with objects; speakers of the Australian Guugu Yimithirr language denote spatial relationships by cardinal points-"‰look out for that big ant just north of your foot'"-and therefore develop an internal compass that puts a GPS to shame. The author upsets a few linguistics apple carts, challenging both Noam Chomsky's theory of an innate human grammar and Steven Pinker's view of language as a cognitively neutral system for representing the environment. Deutscher's erudite yet entertaining arguments (and cunning illustrations) usually stick; they make for a fascinating exploration of culture's ability to shape the mind. Photos. (Sept.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

---

Review by Library Journal Review

Do the French have more esprit simply because they have a word for it? Or is it the other way round? Did Homer never describe the sea or sky as blue while mentioning violet sheep and green honey because he was colorblind? The explorations that Deutscher (former fellow, St. John's Coll., Cambridge; The Unfolding of Language) takes you on here are marvelous. He combines erudition, wry humor, and serious interpretation in this elegant and charmingly accessible study of the relation among language, culture, and thought and of how we have engaged in and reflected upon language over the years. Importantly, Deutscher takes issue with today's linguists who consider language as universally coded and inviolately distinct from culture. Deutscher's narrative introduces philologists, anthropologists, and linguists-beginning with William E. Gladstone!-and is rich with insight. Readers will find themselves enchanted by topics heretofore not even in their purview. Highly recommended for all who love accessible books on the history of thought and who love the warmth of writing that makes them think. (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

---

Review by Kirkus Book Review

The author of The Unfolding of Language (2005) returns to address questions about how our languages shape our perceptions and ideas.Deutscher enjoys himself in this romp through research and theory. Although Hebrew is his native language, he uses English artfullyand playfullyto make points, provide examples and slay sacred cattle, nowhere more entertainingly than in his systematic dispelling of the airy theories of American linguist Benjamin Whorf, who argued (but could not prove) that languages prevent their speakers from having certain thoughts. Deutscher begins by showing that the nature-vs.-nurture argument, though it has long raged in his discipline, is a straw dogthe reality is that nature and nurture shape language. To illustrate, he examines three major concepts: color (why are Homer's color descriptions so odd?), orientation (some languages identify locations that are egocentric, others geocentric, others both) and gender (some languages employ gender heavily, others little or not at all). The author swiftly summarizes the theory and research in each area, then shows that for each, current thinking seems to have settled on a fundamental principle: "culture enjoys freedom within restraints." He does not accept the notion of "universal grammar" fiercely advanced by Noam Chomsky, nor does he believe that culture determines all. He also takes Steven Pinker to task, declaring that his "facts are hardly quibbleable with [but] his environmental determinism is unconvincing." Of great interest is Deutscher's explanation of Guugu Yimithirr, the language of the Australian aboriginal tribe that contributed kangaroo to English. Guugu Yimithirr is completely geocentric in its orientation, meaning that speakers offer even the simplest of directions with compass references, not with personal onesi.e., the chair is not on your left; it is in the northwest corner of the room. Deutscher also writes about how all languages are manifestly not equally complex, about what sorts of information a language compels its speakers to communicate (verb tenses in English) and about how gendered nouns can supply poets with richer metaphors.Entertainingly executed with a near-erotic passion for language.]] Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

---

PROLOGUE Language, Culture, and Thought "There are four tongues worthy of the world's use," says the Talmud: "Greek for song, Latin for war, Syriac for lamentation, and Hebrew for ordinary speech." Other authorities have been no less decided in their judgment on what different languages are good for. The Holy Roman Emperor Charles V, king of Spain, archduke of Austria, and master of several Europe an tongues, professed to speaking "Spanish to God, Italian to women, French to men, and German to my horse." A nation's language, so we are often told, reflects its culture, psyche, and modes of thought. Peoples in tropical climes are so laid-back it's no wonder they let most of their consonants fall by the wayside. And one need only compare the mellow sounds of Portuguese with the harshness of Spanish to understand the quintessential difference between these two neighboring cultures. The grammar of some languages is simply not logical enough to express complex ideas. German, on the other hand, is an ideal vehicle for formulating the most precise philosophical profundities, as it is a particularly orderly language, which is why the Germans have such orderly minds. (But can one not hear the goose step in its gauche, humorless sounds?) Some languages don't even have a future tense, so their speakers naturally have no grasp of the future. The Babylonians would have been hard-pressed to understand Crime and Punishment , because their language used one and the same word to describe both of these concepts. The craggy fjords are audible in the precipitous intonation of Norwegian, and you can hear the dark l 's of Russian in Tchaikovsky's lugubrious tunes. French is not only a Romance language but the language of romance par excellence. English is an adaptable, even promiscuous language, and Italian--ah, Italian! Many a dinner table conversation is embellished by such vignettes, for few subjects lend themselves more readily to disquisition than the character of different languages and their speakers. And yet should these lofty observations be carried away from the conviviality of the dining room to the chill of the study, they would quickly collapse like a soufflé of airy anecdote-- at best amusing and meaningless, at worst bigoted and absurd. Most foreigners cannot hear the difference between rugged Norwegian and the endless plains of Swedish. The industrious Protestant Danes have dropped more consonants onto their icy windswept soil than any indolent tropical tribe. And if Germans do have systematic minds, this is just as likely to be because their exceedingly erratic mother tongue has exhausted their brains' capacity to cope with any further irregularity. English speakers can hold lengthy conversations about forthcoming events wholly in the present tense (I'm flying to Vancouver next week . . . ) without any detectable loosening in their grip on the concepts of futurity. No language--not even that of the most "primitive" tribes--is inherently unsuitable for expressing the most complex ideas. Any shortcomings in a language's ability to philosophize simply boil down to the lack of some specialized abstract vocabulary and perhaps a few syntactic constructions, but these can easily be borrowed, just as all Europe an languages pinched their verbal philosophical tool kit from Latin, which in turn lifted it wholesale from Greek. If speakers of any tribal tongue were so minded, they could easily do the same today, and it would be eminently possible to deliberate in Zulu about the respective merits of empiricism and rationalism or to hold forth about existentialist phenomenology in West Greenlandic. If musings on nations and languages were merely aired over aperitifs, they could be indulged as harmless, if nonsensical, diversions. But as it happens, the subject has also exercised high and learned minds throughout the ages. Philosophers of all persuasions and nationalities have lined up to proclaim that each language reflects the qualities of the nation that speaks it. In the seventeenth century, the Englishman Francis Bacon explained that one can infer "significant marks of the genius and manners of people and nations from their languages." "Everything confirms," agreed the Frenchman étienne de Condillac a century later, "that each language expresses the character of the people who speak it." His younger contemporary, the German Johann Gottfried Herder, concurred that "the intellect and the character of every nation are stamped in its language." Industrious nations, he said, "have an abundance of moods in their verbs, while more refined nations have a large amount of nouns that have been exalted to abstract notions." In short, "the genius of a nation is nowhere better revealed than in the physiognomy of its speech." The American Ralph Waldo Emerson summed it all up in 1844: "We infer the spirit of the nation in great measure from the language, which is a sort of monument to which each forcible individual in a course of many hundred years has contributed a stone." The only problem with this impressive international unanimity is that it breaks down as soon as thinkers move on from the general principles to reflect on the particular qualities (or otherwise) of particular languages, and about what these linguistic qualities can tell about the qualities (or otherwise) of particular nations. In 1889, Emerson's words were assigned as an essay topic to the seventeen-year-old Bertrand Russell, when he was at a crammer in London preparing for the scholarship entrance exam to Trinity College, Cambridge. Russell responded with these pearls: "We may study the character of a people by the ideas which its language best expresses. French, for instance, contains such words as 'spirituel,' or 'l'esprit,' which in English can scarcely be expressed at all; whence we naturally draw the inference, which may be confirmed by actual observation, that the French have more 'esprit,' and are more 'spirituel' than the English." Cicero, on the other hand, drew exactly the opposite inference from the lack of a word in a language. In his De oratore of 55 bc, he embarked on a lengthy sermon about the lack of a Greek equivalent for the Latin word ineptus (meaning "impertinent" or "tactless"). Russell would have concluded that the Greeks had such impeccable manners that they simply did not need a word to describe a nonexistent flaw. Not so Cicero: for him, the absence of the word was a proof that the fault was so widespread among the Greeks that they didn't even notice it. The language of the Romans was itself not always immune to censure. Some twelve centuries after Cicero, Dante Alighieri surveyed the dialects of Italy in his De vulgari eloquentia and declared that "what the Romans speak is not so much a vernacular as a vile jargon . . . and this should come as no surprise, for they also stand out among all Italians for the ugliness of their manners and their outward appearance." No one would dream of entertaining such sentiments about the French language, which is not only romantic and spirituel but also, of course, the paragon of logic and clarity. We have this on no lesser authority than the French themselves. In 1894, the distinguished critic Ferdinand Brunetière informed the members of the Académie française, on the occasion of his election to this illustrious institution, that French was "the most logical, the clearest, and the most transparent language that has ever been spoken by man." Brunetière, in turn, had this on the authority of a long line of savants, including Voltaire in the eighteenth century, who affirmed that the unique genius of the French language was its clearness and order. And Voltaire himself owed this insight to an astonishing discovery made a whole century earlier, in 1669, to be precise. The French grammarians of the seventeenth century had spent decades trying to understand why it was that French possessed clarity beyond all other languages in the world and why, as one member of the Académie put it, French was endowed with such clarity and precision that simply translating into it had the effect of a real commentary. In the end, after years of travail, it was Louis Le Laboureur who discovered in 1669 that the answer was simplicity itself. His painstaking grammatical researches revealed that, in contrast to speakers of other languages, "we French follow in all our utterances exactly the order of thought, which is the order of Nature." No wonder, then, that French can never be obscure. As the later thinker Antoine de Rivarol put it: "What is not clear may be English, Italian, Greek, or Latin" but "ce qui n'est pas clair n'est pas français." Not all intellectuals of the world unite, however, in concurring with this analysis. Equally distinguished thinkers-- strangely enough, mostly from outside France--have expressed different opinions. The renowned Danish linguist Otto Jespersen, for example, believed that English was superior to French in a whole range of attributes, including logic, for as opposed to French, English is a "methodical, energetic, business-like and sober language, that does not care much for finery and elegance, but does care for logical consistency." Jespersen concludes: "As the language is, so also is the nation." Excerpted from Through the Language Glass: Why the World Looks Different in Other Languages by Guy Deutscher All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

---