Silent letters

A long time ago in a land far far away I struck up a conversation with a middle-aged American who assured me that some of the older folks in his community still pronounced the K-sound in the word knife. I happened to be on the island of Roanoke, in North Carolina, and my interlocutor was a local resident.  I never got to hear that unusual pronunciation, but I don't question the man's account. Some pronunciation habits die hard and Roanoke was, after all, the site of a colony that once attempted to be the first permanent English settlement in what is today U. S. soil. Their dialect is, in many ways, a direct descendant from the region of Devonshire in England. Still, people's perceptions of their own language are often unreliable. I have encountered many a Spaniard who decried the loss of the labiodental [v] in Spanish, even though it was never a phoneme in standard Castilian. It does make sense, though, that some of the characteristics of the English variety spoken in Roanoke should be old. Still, I have no proof that the medieval consonant cluster [kn] has really survived into the 21st century. In European English it faded away around 1650. Did it manage to survive in the Outer Banks of North Carolina for over three hundred years? Who "K-nows"?

I sometimes use that anecdote to illustrate the fact that there was a time in the English language when the K-sound was actually pronounced in words such as knight, know, knee and knife. Unfortunately for foreign learners, the pronunciation of English evolved quite a bit while its spelling remained essentially unchanged. And that is the reason for the chaotic orthographic system we all enjoy today. Over the course of a few centuries, however, some of the consonant sounds that ceased to be articulated are still represented by the so-called "silent letters". Here's a brief sample of letters that represent no sounds:

• L in palm, balm, calm, half, salmon
• B in climb, bomb, thumb, comb
• W in write, sword, wrong

This is, of course, the cause of untold headaches. There are many other surprising examples. Just think of the "p" in words such as corps, cupboard or receipt. Nevertheless, I suspect that you'd rather watch a video about silent letters than read a wordy explanation of their origins, which is why I suggest you take some minutes of your time and enjoy the following clip:

So, does that happen overnight? Clearly not. The process whereby a sound is lost may go on for decades or even centuries, but it is always identifiable. Right now, in 2026, we have two pronunciations for the word human: with and without the H-sound. That means that the word human might be in the process of losing its initial consonant. It is not an isolated case of phonetic change. Some older speakers on the East Coast still pronounce the word whale as [hweil] and white as [hwaIt]. Alas, their children have already abandoned that pronunciation. Without any young speakers pronouncing the [h] in whale. we can safely say that the sound is virtually defunct. Similarly we can see now that some speakers articulate a [d] or a [t] in the word handsome. Most don't. Sooner of later those exceptional productions will vanish altogether and the "d" in handsome, pretty much like the [h] in whale, will be officially silent.

The main takeaway from this post should be that languages are always changing. Different pronunciations may compete for a while, but eventually one becomes mainstream and the other falls by the wayside. Silent letters remind us all of this very process. In a way, they are the headstone next to the grave where nonexistent sounds lie. Your duty as an English learner is to know which sounds are gone and which are still around. You don't want to pronounce phonetic cadavers or create zombie phonemes. If you do you may one day mention the U. S. Marine "Corpse".

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N. B. Should you be interested in listening to a reconstructed evolution of English you may want to check out the first three minutes of this fascinating video.

Speed

The ability to speak fast (and clearly) without making mistakes is usually a dead giveaway that a speaker is highly competent in a foreign language. Shockingly enough, this skill is rarely mentioned in textbooks. I have taught English as a foreign language in Germany, the United States, France and Spain, and I don't remember seeing any reference to the benefits of speaking fast nor does it seem to be a concern amongst most educators. Allusions to language efficiency do exist, but they tend to focus heavily on lexical accuracy and correct syntax, not on the speed with which you speak. And even if it is true that many C1 manuals devote pronunciation sections to connected speech, teachers usually tiptoe around those exercises.

Without fail, though, whenever I bring up this subject all kinds of defense mechanisms kick in: "You don't need to be a fast talker to get your message across" they say. And, of course, that is true. "Fast speech can be disconcerting". That is not wrong, either. Indeed speaking fast can sometimes have negative consequences. For example, it can make you seem nervous or insecure, which ultimately undermines your authority. A fast talking speed is actually not recommended when you discuss a cognitively demanding subject. As a matter of fact, I suggest you slow down your pace when you express complex ideas so that your interlocutor can process the information that you dump on them.

That said, when you are talking in a group speed can definitely be critical. A slow pace may make you sound like a textbook whereas a quick rhythm can help you come off as more authentic or natural and might even be necessary when you try and match a particular mood. Think about it for a second. Can you really be enthusiastic about something if you speak slowly? Can you show your annoyance while explaining the various reasons why you find a particular behavior unacceptable? Can you express your disbelief by saying what the hell are you talking about? at a slow speed? Probably not.

And, since speed is best perceived when you listen to a language that you don't quite understand, I think it can be eye-opening to check out the following short:

So, should you care about speaking "fast"? The short answer is: not necessarily, but in certain situations speed can truly be the cherry on the cake. Sometimes you should make a thoughtful use of pauses and command authority by speaking slowly. On other occasions you might want to speed things up a little so that your words fit a specific mood. At the end of the day, a sophisticated speaker knows when they can rattle off their thoughts machine gun-like and when they should just take it easy.

Instead of "person"

The advent of AI has brought about a quiet lexical revolution. What do you call a chatbot when you have a "chat" with it? Is it really a conversation partner or just a machine? A programme? A piece of software?  A chatbot is not a being, because it is not alive, but it does things in a way that doesn't necessarily feel machine-like. So, what should we call all of these AIs? Historian Yubal Harari has suggested the term "entity", which I don't dislike. It is in keeping with the dictionary definition, namely, "something that has separate and distinct existence and objective or conceptual reality". So far so good, right? Problems arise, though, when an AI is designated by referring to the job it performs. Let's not forget that, in English, a person who is stunning is a stunner, just like a piece of news that you find shocking can be referred to as "a shocker". Consider these sentences:

• That was shocking news
• It came as a shock to me
• It shocked me to my core
• That was quite a shocker

So, the "-er" ending does not imply humanity, ergo... a computer that teaches you something could technically be... a teacher? If we accept that label then we should also be ready to embrace the fact that an AI that books rooms for a hotel is an agent... 😬

In the video below you can see a woman trying to get an AI to admit that it is not human and the AI refusing to accept that it is not a person. Just pay attention to the vocabulary that it uses.

Just like the rise of the cell phone made it necessary to coin the term "landline" to refer to the old telephones, and the invention of the electric guitar forced manufacturers to come up with the labels classical guitar or acoustic guitar, the popularity of AI-driven technology has brought about a series of changes which demand serious consideration.

The AI in the video self-identifies first as a "real authorized booking agent", then as a "live agent" and finally as a "virtual agent". Never as an AI, a language model, a computer program, a robot or a machine. I can only assume that very soon companies will try to normalize the label "virtual person" so they can say they have "people" answering phone calls without (technically) lying.

This brave new state of affairs is to me a reminder of the fact that some languages are better equipped than others to adapt to certain changes. In this particular case I think languages like Ojibwe (spoken in an area straddling the North of the USA and the south of Canada)  have an interesting advantage over European tongues. Why? Because the grammar of Ojibwe considers a feature that Indo-European languages lack: animacy. To Ojibwe speakers nouns are animate or inanimate, that is to say, living or non-living. Interestingly enough, this feature can affect even verbs. For example, in order to say "the bird is white" an Ojibwe speaker must use the animate verb form waabishkizi, but the sentence "the shoe is white" uses the inanimate verb form: waabishkaa. To complicate matters further, sometimes a word can take the animate or inanimate form depending on the circumstances. Thus a doll, whose default form is inanimate, is referred to in the animate form when it is used in a ceremony. Long story short, it is a lot easier to hint at the to the nature of an AI in Ojibwe than it is in English or Spanish.

There is an online app called Friend that offers interactions with AI entities that behave like friends (!). And if you think that is creepy, don't look into Replika, which allows you to chat to an "AI companion" (or romantic partner). Is it okay to develop a relationship with a chatbot and then state that you have a friend?

It is becoming increasingly difficult to find the right words to name new realities. When I say I play the guitar I don't feel the need to specify if I refer to a classical, acoustic or electric guitar, but we might soon find ourselves in a situation in which words like agent or boyfriend might be ambiguous. Will we be compelled to refer to friends and partners without specifying if they are human or AI? Will it be acceptable to regard your interactions with a chatbot app as part of your "social life"? Will neologisms be necessary to name those connections? The very fact that I am considering these question already feels rather disturbing, but, then again, that is the world we're living in.

Levels

Two months ago I was telling my C1 students how every CEFR level has a beginning and an end. And even if the line that separates the C1 and C2 levels can, at times, be rather blurry (is realm a C1 or a C2 word?) the end of each level is, for the most part, quite clear. Idiomatic expression belong to the C1 level. A deep understanding of implicit subtext, for example, falls within the purview of the C2 level (as does the expression fall within the purview). And engaging in wordplay, coming up with original turns of phrase, being able to adopt different accents, referencing pop culture, using a recognizable idiosyncratic style, improvising an effective joke or writing quality poetry are skills that obviously exceed the standards of the C2 level.

A highly competent learner is supposed to have mastered the conventions of the target language ("conventions" being the operative term), not to be an artist or a stand up comedian. In other words, if a degree of language proficiency deserves the label "unconventional" it is, by definition, not C2. That said, an obvious problematic area revolves around the actual conventions that a foreigner is expected to learn. Does a competent language user need to know a slang term like "4 20" or the acronym "NGL"? I think they should... but, then again, those expressions will never be part of an exam, even if they can be found in most dictionaries and are commonly used by a sizable part of the English-speaking community.

Anyway, what I centered on two months ago was the idea that creativity is never a prerequisite for those seeking C2 certification. A good candidate is supposed to follow the rules, understand complex information, be accurate and adopt the right tone in a particular set of circumstances. That seems like quite a tall order. It is also a rather dry definition, which is why I've decided to present that same thought in several degrees of complexity. Here you have the results of my endeavors:

• A2: When you get to the highest level you can be creative
• B1: After you reach the top level, you can start being more creative with your words
• B2: There is a limit to the C2 level, and after that, you enter a new area of creative language
• C1: Once you pass the C2 level, you enter a realm of creativity that most people never explore
• C2: The C2 level has clear-cut boundaries beyond which extends the, to most language users, uncharted territory of creativity.
• D1 Beyond the bounds of C2 lies the bailiwick of the raconteur whose gamut of skills definitionally runs athwart the modes of predictable expression.
• D2: Sippan þu þone hiechstan had geræst, þu meaht onginan þine word cræftiglicor nittian

Okay, the last one is a bit of a joke. Still... the ability to express an idea in Old English does exist and clearly goes waaaaaay beyond the skills of even professional writers.

All joking aside, let's take a look at the "D1 sentence". As you can see, it is lexically dense (its vocabulary sits in the high register) and displays a self-referential structure (it claims to be more complex than the highest standard of English fluency). It is undoubtedly sophisticated, but it taxes the brain to the point of exhaustion, which means that it is far from natural. I think we can all agree that a full page written in that style would be quite unbearable. Still, I believe that sentence exemplifies the possibilities of English and, more importantly, establishes the confines of an area that is NOT C2. Therefore the C2 level does have an end. QED.

I could have gone in a different direction and come up with an alternative type of post-C2 sentence, something along the lines of this:

                       Tenuous is Thalia´s whisper to hearts of flint who pour their words

                       through hackneyed sieves of ancient lore.

It is a ridiculous example of so-called purple prose, which obviously tries too hard to be flowery and gratuitously complex, but that is exactly my point. Check out the structure, the reference to Greek mythology, the cadence of the sentence... All that goes way beyond the descriptions of the C2 level. Wouldn't you say?

The exams are nigh. This is a great opportunity to remind yourselves of what the essence of every level feels like so you can successfully clear the bar. Make sure that you have identified the defining characteristics of your level and get to work on them.

The weird origin of "O.K."

Languages are messy. We want them to be logical. We all do, but more often than not they are anything but. A technical term can become an insult, a derogatory word can become acceptable and local jokes can turn into a global phenomenon. That is precisely what happened to the expression "O.K.".

Its origin can be found in a silly fad that was popular amongst Boston intellectuals in the 19th century. It may sound weird now, but back then it was all the rage. For some inexplicable reason, a group of fun-loving speakers came up with the idea of using initials based on deliberate misspellings of common phrases. Thus, "K. C." stood for Knuff Ced, which was a fanciful spelling of "(e)nough said". Similarly, "K. Y." was supposed to represent Know Yuse, which sounds like "no use" and the letters "O. W." became shorthand for Ole Wright, which, again, was an intentional misspelling of "all right". That is the context in which the expression "O. K." originated. If you want to know what it stood for, you're going to have to watch the video below:

So, the expression "O.K." is, basically, the result of a joke that got out of hand. What does that tell us? A very important lesson: languages are messy. Sometimes they don't make any sense (you can be overwhelmed and underwhelmed, but never whelmed). They are often asymmetrical (uncouth exists, but couth doesn't). They can be shockingly inconsistent (flammable means the exact same thing as inflammable) and meanings change dramatically (in the 13th century the word nice meant stupid). In the 1930s people who wanted to listen to a radio broadcast would turn on the wireless. These days wireless makes you think of a different device, right? And, of course, we are now in the process of enduring a painful irony. The adverb literally is now used figuratively even though its entire job was once to precisely prevent figurative interpretation. Let that sink in.

Over the years I've collected more than eleven different explanations of the origin of  "O.K.". They range from the hypothesis that okay comes from the Choctaw language (in which okeh means "very good"), to a misspelling of on quay, to the initials of Old Knickerbocker (the name of a New York club) or Otto Krause, a Ford employee who, legend has it, was in charge of signing off on roadworthy cars... and so on and so forth.

It is only human to try and establish order in what is seemingly utter chaos. That search for logic through folk etymologies actually explains a part of the metalinguistic function, namely, the ability to classify reality. But let's also accept that our desire to see order where there is none should not interfere with our ability to embrace reality. Okay?

Chunks again... Naturally

Check out this phrase: I'm in way over my head. In Spanish it means "esto me queda muy grande". As you can see, the direct word-for-word translation doesn't make much sense, which is an obvious symptom that the expression in question is an idiom. So far so good, right? After all, mastering idioms is a hallmark of advanced fluency. Nevertheless, many learners tend to skip what I regard as a critical phase in the process of integrating a new expression: the prep work.

Yes. Using an idiom effectively requires a bit of behind-the-scenes rehearsal before it's ever spoken in live conversation. What is it that you should do to prepare for the big moment? Well, here is a simple breakdown:

• Identify the function that the expression performs. In this case, the idiom I've chosen (I'm in way over my head) describes a scenario in which someone is not capable of handling a complex situation.

• Master the transitions from one word to the next. Speakers who find a particular expression difficult to articulate tend to play it safe and (subconsciously) opt for a simpler phrase. So... they never use the longer idioms.

• Repeat the expression till you are blue in the face. That way you gain the kind of self-confidence that you need.

When the circumstances arise you'll recognize the pattern, reach into your bag of tricks, pull the idiom and say it as a chunk. I can't stress this enough. As a chunk. Get it? As a chunk. Imagine it is not a phrase but a very long word:  Iminwayovermyhead. 

When I say "till you are blue in the face" I mean, "till you nail it". Obviously that takes a lot of practice. How much practice? Well... A lot. Amongst us, language nerds, there is a great example of the kind of commitment I'm talking about. Just listen to this weather man confidently pronounce the longest place name in Europe.

Do you think you can say that name without some extremely serious practice? I don't think so.

In order to pronounce long sequences effectively it is necessary to practice consonant clusters and transitions. It applies to place both names and idioms. First you practice an expression with a specific subject: I'm in way over my head. Eventually, you'll be able to use different subjects and say she's in way over her head or they're in way over their heads, etc. Then you may even consider similar phrases and jump to a synonymous expression. In our particular case, a very similar idiom is I'm out of my depth. It has a similar ring to it, doesn't it? When you say that the situation you find yourself in is "difficult and dangerous", rather than "hard to handle", you can say that: I'm out of my depth here. Again, before you try it out, you should ensure that you can deliver that line without a hitch. Out of your depth. Practice it over and over again. Out of your depth. Out of your depth...

That is, my dear students, the surefire way to incorporate idioms: one at a time. Identify the circumstances that call for a particular expression and then articulate it as if it were a word. Remember to say them without thinking about the actual words that are involved. And forget about the grammar too. You're not supposed to be a mechanic here. You only want to drive the car. Okay? Leave grammar and syntax for us, teachers, or else you might find yourself in a situation in which you'll definitely feel the need to say: I'm in way over my head.

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N.B. Pronouncing Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogch is something of a point of pride for many Welsh people. This funny video shows two famous Welsh actors (Taron Egerton and Luke Evans) pronounce that place name flawlessly.

The art of (mis)quoting

We know that, contrary to popular belief, Bogart never said Play it again, Sam and, of course, Conan Doyle didn't give Sherlock Holmes the famous line Elementary, my dear Watson. Rather surprisingly, though, those two misquotes have proved to have true staying power, probably because they respectively encapsulate the essence of an iconic scene and the relationship between two beloved characters.

I suppose that trying to pass for a verbatim quote what is only an approximation to what someone else said is a habit we all know too well, which is why we should always let a listener know if we are repeating someone else's words or improvising a version of what they said. So, here are your options.

When you are absolutely positive that the words you are about to utter are the exact same words somebody else said you can use these two expressions:

• And he said, quote unquote, "I shall never eat chickpeas again"
• And he said, and I'm quoting, "I shall never eat chickpeas again"

However, if you are unsure as to the accuracy of the quote you should acknowledge your uncertainty. Here are three expressions you can use:

• And he said "I shall never eat chickpeas again", or words to that effect
• And he said, I'm paraphrasing, "I shall never eat chickpeas again"
• And, if memory serves, he said: "I won't eat chickpeas ever again"

Christopher Hitchens (1949-2011), an absolute master orator, was able to effortlessly retrieve correct quotes from memory. Most of us, mere mortals, do not possess that dazzling ability. So... unless your memory is perfect you may want to use some of the above expressions every once in a while lest a passing reporter take you at face value and quote you saying the wrong thing. By the way, if you are unsure as to what language mastery looks like you should probably take a look at the clip below. I find it quite impressive. Do you?