English is Bizarre, Part I

It all started with beamish.

Not the concept of beamish, though a lovely notion. That whispers of bright things and blazing smiles. No, not the idea, but the word itself.

I think beamish is a beautiful, if not somewhat dated, word. I can't imagine using it in everyday speech and not sound like a transplanted Romantic poet, or at the very least an over-zealous drama student.

But I have always held a secret love for words. I use trifecta and quandary in casual conversation. Ever since I began writing poems in the third grade, the thesaurus has been a constant source of both information and delight.

(For those wondering, my first ever poem was called The Black Cat, about a mysterious cat at a Halloween party. It was about four stanzas long, had a simple ABAB rhyme scheme, and Mrs. Hempstead let me read it aloud to the class.)

And since that time of elementary school poetry, every word I come across seems like a new discovery. Old words, standard words, obscure antonyms and ones just entering the lexicon. Each and every one unique in the tapestry that is the English language.

To me, there is a certain beauty in the numerous variations and choices language affords. Despite the simplicity of a concept, there may be an abundant array of words to express it. From formal speech to casual slang to archaic expressions, the one you choose invariably colors the meaning.

The words used to put a name to an idea as varied and colorful as peacock feathers.

I love the way language rolls off the tongue; the harsh stops or gentle rumblings of dialect. Whether I understand it or not, I love the music of speech, as well as the life to it.

For language is alive, as much as anything else can be. Constantly changing, constantly evolving, adapting to the time and place in which it lives.

And the pieces that make up the whole are the words, original meaning and origin obscured by the commonality of use. Each one a small mystery, one whose secrets we whisper to each other every day.

Linguistics is, in my opinion, a fascinating discipline. It is a science that is also somewhat of an art, for a certain creativity is necessary to study it. A particular understanding of humanity, for it is a science of both sounds and people. And ever since I began teaching English, the observations of outsides had made me examine the words of my mother tongue in ways I never had before. But nowadays, I find myself explaining the latin roots of centipede, and that the anglicization of French words is why foyer is not pronounced the way it is spelled.

For history, and its people, shape language. No matter the science, the categorization, there will always be something deeply human about it. Even if you've never studied syntax or phonology, when a nonsense word is said, we just inherently know that it is wrong.

Which brings me back to beamish.

Beamish entered into the lexicon of Modern English in the late 19th century. It originated in the poem Jabberwocky, written by Lewis Carroll. Although a nonsense word, it has since entered into everyday use. Categorized as an adjective, it means beaming with happiness, optimism, or anticipation.

I find it interesting that nonsense words, if they sound phonetically correct, can enter into the language. But what I find even more fascinating is the misconception that Carroll invented the word. He didn't.

In fact, he was three hundred years too late.

Upon further research, it seems that beamish was actually already a word, originating from the 15th century. Perhaps Carroll made it as a portmanteau, as with many other words from the poem, but he did not indeed coin it. Even though, in my opinion, he believed he had.

So in simple terms, that means a man in the late 19th century re-introduced the exact same word that had already been in existence, but gone out of use, three centuries later.

Frankly, that is mind-boggling.

So the niggling of interest took hold of me. I was intrigued by English, with its abundance of words, and more exceptions than actual rules. And what did this interest become? Research, of course!

I claim no authority on the matter. I'm just a girl with an internet connection and an insatiable thirst for useless knowledge. But I take this time to warn you, reader, turn away now if you don't want to hear my love letter to the English language.

For English has as varied a history as its people. And in the same vein, it adopts, conquers, and adapts just as much as the people who have carried it across the world.

So without further adieu, I bring you a post in three parts, entitled:

A Very Abridged and (Most Likely) Biased History of the English Language

A Poor Man's Treatise on the Mother Tongue

(A few things before we begin: I may introduce a few boring linguistic terms that probably sound like alien species or medieval religious texts. But do not fear, they are actual words used in the study of language. I will provide a glossary at the conclusion. Also, since I am a student of history, I will of course connect everything back to the social changes of the time. And probably lovingly so, with a few historical in-jokes along the way. That's just how I roll.)

Prologue: Just like the Bayeux, but I'm No Nun

in which I introduce a solid metaphor, or way too much purple prose

It's easiest, I believe, to think of the English language as a long tapestry. A brightly colored cloth miles long, spread out across a long space. The kind that is faded with age and painstakingly embroidered by hand. The cloth begins varied, and roughly, as all projects do, before taking a general shape. As time passes, different people come along. Each and every one adds another layer to the fabric, stitching their influence with delicate thread work. A new square of cloth is therefore laid down every few years, borrowing from the patches that came before it, but making an undeniably richer design.

So as the years roll along, English stretches and shapes from one century to the next. Long and winding, but ultimately connected. An unbroken experiment in people and linguistics, whose roots and branches we can see as we walk along it.

But every tapestry, no matter how impressive, must start with a single thread. And our tapestry of English is no exception.

Part I: Teutonic Musical Chairs

in which Scandinavia gets restless, and the only real losers are the Celts

Imagine, if you will, a tiny green island in the North Sea. It is a fertile land, with lots of resources and waterways. The weather can be miserable, unless you particularly love rain, but there are much worse places in the North Sea to be. So although a very small place, it is highly sought after. And now, at this point in time, open for the taking.

It is the 5th century, and the Eastern Roman Empire is collapsed. Roman settlements are no longer around, and though a Celtic people still live on the island, they are scattered and divided. The island is practically defenseless against an organized invasion.

These conditions of opportunity of expansion, something that in hindsight seems entirely appropriate, brought about the advent of the English people and language.

English is a borrowing language. One of great flexibility, and over the last 1500 years it has truly cornered the market on sharing and copying vocabulary. The entire history of the language is littered with diversity. And no where is this more evident than in its very roots.

There is not one, but several dialects we now group together and term Old English. They were brought over in the 5th century by the Anglo-Saxons who settled on that green island, in what is now England and Southern Scotland. Though we term them Anglo-Saxons, these settlers actually came from three different Germanic tribes: the Angles and Saxons from where modern day Germany is, and the Jutes from the Jutland Peninsula in modern Denmark.

These lovable Teutons formed powerful kingdoms in post-Roman Britain. An Anglo-Saxon Heptarchy, which is just as impressive as it sounds, four of which originated the distinct dialects of Old English.

First, there were the Anglian dialects of Mercian and Northumbrian. Then there was Kentish, derived from the Jutes. And lastly, and arguably the most important, was the Saxon dialect of West Saxon.

Why was West Saxon so important? Because it was the dialect of the Kingdom of Wessex, and Alfred the Great.

Alfred was one of the most important figures in Anglo-Saxon Britain, and definitely the only one who got the moniker of "the Great." He's also probably the only personage most people can name from that period of history, if one was so inclined to go around naming Anglo-Saxons. Unless, of course, they have a secret love for the monk Bede, or find Ethelred the Unready's name as hilarious as I do.

One has to wonder what he did to be forever branded as ill-prepared.

But with the influence of Alfred's reign, Late West Saxon came to dominate all of Britain by the end of the 9th century. It is also the language in which Beowulf, the oldest surviving text in English, was written.

Oldest surviving text...and the bane of my Junior year English class.

But the 9th century was not a peaceful time in Anglo-Saxon Britain. Alfred is known as a powerful king because he united the Anglo-Saxons in Southwest Britain. Not just for kicks, but out of necessity. He needed an army to combat the ever increasing Viking Invaders.

But invade they did, and the English language was forever changed by it.

At that time in history, Vikings were doing what they do best: invading the hell out of Northern Europe. Sure, they also traded, explored, and farmed, but that does not get the attention that their pillaging does. And starting in the 9th century, they turned their inaccurately-depicted horned helmets towards the burgeoning kingdoms of Britain.

Besides pillaging, Vikings also enjoyed industrious activities like animal husbandry.

With invasions by men with names like Cnut and Sweyn, the end result was Danelaw, a term used to describe the area in Northern and Eastern England where the Danes established Kingdoms.

But in the 9th century, being that both were Germanic languages, there was a mutual intelligibility between Old English and Old Norse. Meaning that the two languages were similar enough to be understood by each other. With such an easy understanding between two groups of people now sharing the same tiny island, both languages eventually changed. Therefore, Old Norse influenced many words in English that still survive today.

For example, the word law itself is an Old Norse word. As in, the word that is a basis for most of society. And remnants of the old relationship between Old Norse and Old English is evident in both Modern Danish and Modern English. In particular, both modern languages have the exact same words for sky and window, as well as the pronouns they, them, and their. (Which limits the sentences I can make in Danish, but a fun fact nonetheless.)

Danish: intelligible enough to be absolutely useless

So on the island of Briton, now like a siren song for conquering countries, Old English developed into a heavily influenced and constantly changing language. Malleable, but with a solid syntax and vocabulary.

And then the eleventh century came, bringing with it the biggest and most colorful addition to our tapestry yet. The Normans.

Next time: 1066, and all that.