29e Using other languages

29eUsing other languages

You might use a language other than English for the same reasons you might use different varieties of English: to represent the actual words of a speaker, to make a point, to connect with your audience, or to get their attention.

See how Gerald Haslam uses Spanish to capture his great-grandmother’s words as well as to make a point about his relationship to her.

“Expectoran su sangre!” exclaimed Great-grandma when I showed her the small horned toad I had removed from my breast pocket. I turned toward my mother, who translated: “They spit blood.”

“De los ojos,” Grandma added. “From their eyes,” mother explained, herself uncomfortable in the presence of the small beast.

I grinned, “Awwwwwww.”

But my Great-grandmother did not smile. “Son muy tóxicos,” she nodded with finality. Mother moved back an involuntary step, her hands suddenly busy at her breast. “Put that thing down,” she ordered.

“His name’s John,” I said.

—GERALD HASLAM, California Childhood

In the following passage, notice how the novelist Michele Herman uses Yiddish to evoke her grandmother’s world:

“Skip shabes?” Rivke chuckled. “I don’t think this is possible. Once a week comes shabes. About this a person doesn’t have a choice.”

“What I mean”—Myra’s impatience was plain—“is skip the preparation. It’s too much for you, it tires you out.”

“Ach,” Rivke said. “Too much for me it isn’t.” This wasn’t true. For some time she had felt that it really was too much for her. It was only for shabes that she cooked; the rest of the week she ate cold cereal, fruit, pot cheese, crackers.

—MICHELE HERMAN, Missing

In this passage, Rivke’s syntax—the inversion of word order (Once a week comes shabes, for example, and Too much for me it isn’t)—reflects Yiddish rhythms. In addition, the use of the Yiddish shabes carries a strong association with a religious institution, one that would be lost if it were translated to “sabbath.” It is not “sabbath” to Rivke; it is shabes.

In the following passage, a linguist uses Spanish, with English translations, in her discussion of literacy in a Mexican community in Chicago:

Gracia (grace, wit) is used to refer to wittiness in talk; people who tiene gracia (have grace, are witty) are seen as clever and funny. Not everyone illustrates this quality, but those who do are obvious from the moment they speak. As one middle-aged male said,

. . . cuando ellos empiezan a hablar, desde el momento que los oyes hablar, tienen gracia. Entonces, la gente que tiene gracia, se va juntando gente a oírlos. Y hay gente más desabrida, diría yo. No tiene, no le quedan sus chistes. Aunque cuente uno una charrita . . . ya no te vas a reír igual.

(. . . when they start to speak, from the moment that you hear them speak, they are witty. So then, the people who are witty begin to have a listening crowd gather about them. And then there are people who are more boring, I would say. They don’t have, their jokes just don’t make it. Even though they may tell a joke...you’re not going to laugh in the same manner.)

—MARCIA FARR, “Essayist Literacy and Other Verbal Performances”

Here, Farr provides a translation of the Spanish, for she expects that many of her readers will not know Spanish. She evokes the language of the community she describes, however, by presenting the Spanish first.

In general, you should not assume that all your readers will understand another language. So, in most cases, including a translation (as Marcia Farr does) is appropriate. Occasionally, however, the words from the other language will be clear from the context (as is shabes in Michele Herman’s passage). At other times, a writer might leave something untranslated to make a point—to let readers know what it’s like not to understand, for example.

Considering Disabilities: American sign language