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 form of expression deserves the label "unconventional" it is, by definition, not C2. An obvious problematic area revolves around the 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. 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.

The exams are nigh, but you still have time to train yourself. This is a great opportunity to remind ourselves of what the essence of every level feels like so you can successfully pass the exams. Make sure that you have identified the hallmarks of your level and get to work on them.

The weird origin of "O.K."

Languages are messy. We want them to be logical, 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 the initials of 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 some form of 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, you'll 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:  I'm in way over my head. 

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.

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?

Vocal fry

The English language does not lack in terms which designate that most admirable human virtue: the ability to not panic in the midst of a crisis or in the face of impending doom. In fact, British culture is packed with phrases that bolster the 'stiff upper lip' archetype. The über-memeable 'Keep calm and carry on' and the old 'mustn't grumble' come to mind. Yet, there’s a delightful irony in the fact that English speakers should rely on French adjectives like nonchalant, blasé, and insouciant precisely to describe such a distinctively English attitude. At any rate, I believe the underlying message is clear: if you are English you keep your cool. And keeping your cool is a good thing.

I suspect that behind the triumph of the word cool hides a stereotype about "hot-blooded cultures" in which people prefer passion and emotions over self-restraint and stoicism. I am actually cool with that (pun totally intended) even if I come from one of those "passionate cultures".

I understand that level-headedness is exactly the kind of temperament you want when it comes to air pilots, brain surgeons and professional sharpshooters. No problem there. Some people, however, believe that being cool is not good enough. They want to take their attitude to the proverbial "next level" by displaying what I like to call the I-don´t-give-a-hoot attitude, with which they seek to signal not necessarily skepticism or stoicism, but rather indifference or even apathy. The subtext to whatever they say is not that they don't mind a setback, but that they just don't care about it. And while that brand of disdain has come to be expressed in many different ways, I think the infamous vocal fry has to be the most annoying of them all.

What is vocal fry? Simply put, it consists in the tendency to lower one's voice down to the deepest possible degree, which makes the vibration of the vocal cords quite noticeable. The video below contains a few examples.

As I said above, vocal fry is supposed to signal detachment, lack of interest or sheer indifference. You probably know what I'm referring to. It's that I'm too-cool-for-school approach to oral interaction which so many millennials and Gen-Zers appear to love. This phenomenon is, by no means, exclusive to young people. Noted linguist Noam Chomsky, who is now 97 years old, has been using vocal fry for decades. And he is not an isolated example. I remember how Benedict Cumberbatch used vocal fry in the series Sherlock (2010-2017) and I believe it was a good decision, since his portrayal of Sherlock Holmes did give off a certain worldweary vibe. So, no. The vocal fry phenomenon is not new nor is it limited to young women and yet that is the stereotype. In the minds of many native speakers the standard vocal fry user is a Kim Kardashian lookalike. Don't take my word for it. Prominent feminist author Naomi Wolf has gone so far as to explicitly ask women to drop that irritating habit. Of course, there has been some backlash from other feminists who denounce the implicit double standards in her advice. After all, men are not usually called out on that same habit. I think that theirs is a valid objection. At the same time. I also understand public perception. Because men already have deeper voices, their vocal fry is less conspicuous and, therefore, less surprising. Of course, that doesn't mean that women use it more often than men. It just highlights the fact that amongst women it is more noticeable. So, I suppose I understand both Ms. Wolf and her critics.

That said, I personally find vocal fry beyond exasperating (both in men and women) and agree with all those experts who point out its evident drawbacks. It undermines the authority of your voice and makes you sound insecure or artificial. Still, I admit that it is not a matter of right or wrong. Pretty much like the valley girl accent or the notorious uptalk, vocal fry is a phenomenon that bothers some and elicits utter indifference from the rest. I just thought you should be aware of its existence. Just remember that, for better or worse, your speaking style always has an impact on your listeners.

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N.B. Yes I am aware that the not-so-subtle sexism of the term "valley girl accent", but I'm afraid that's what it is called.

Humor

"If you're in a vehicle and are traveling at the speed of light and you turn your lights on, would they do anything?" That's a killer one-liner by the great Steven Wright. In this video you can hear the man deliver that line with his signature deadpan style. Liked it? Okay. Now check out this one by Tim Vine: "I started running a dating app for chickens, but it's a real struggle trying to make hens meet". The first joke relies on a concept taken from the field of Physics (i.e. nothing can move faster than the speed of light). The second one refers to an idiom (i.e. to make ends meet). I find them both hilarious. Do you?

It is no secret that humor doesn't translate well. Its success often depends on many factors: connotations, phonetics, local conventions, context, delivery style... which means that a foreigner who can appreciate a joke in real time has already acquired a high level of proficiency in the target language. Interestingly enough, that skill is partly learnable. Take, for example, the structure "X, Y and Z walk into a bar". It usually mentions an incongruous group of people (e. g. an astronaut, a cowboy and a rabbi) and signals that the person speaking is going to tell a joke. It functions much like the old "once upon a time", which lets a listener know they about to hear a fairy tale. In the "metajoke" below, Barack Obama exploits the old convention of the three peculiar individuals to great effect:

Other conventions have to do with the format of some jokes. Thus, an advanced learner should at least be aware of several popular "templates": the chicken-crossing the road jokes, the knock-knock jokes, the yo mama jokes, etc.). But still. It cannot be denied that "getting a joke" requires a lot on the part of the listener and, as usual, nothing beats massive exposure. That is why I recommend that you watch someone like Stuart Francis. He is a Canadian comedian who specializes in that quintessentially North American brand of humor: one-liners and quick wacky jokes with a short intro and not much in the way of context. His jokes put your understanding skills to the test, but at least they are short and allow for a simple "analysis".  Give it a try and you'll see what I mean:

If you enjoy these jokes your English level is definitely pretty high. Congratulations. And if you still struggle to understand the laughs, you know what to do: keep watching stand-up comedians, sitcoms, late night shows, etc. Eventually you'll realize that references will start to sound familiar, puns will suddenly make sense and you'll find reasons to break into laughter. All you need es massive exposure.

I'll leave you with a joke by an absolute mater of one-liners, the late Mitch Hedberg: The best thing about escalators is that they cannot break. They can only become stairs. It is, in itself, a vocabulary lesson. Don't you think?

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N.B. I know I have only referenced American humor. It doesn't mean that I don't like the British sense of humor. On the contrary, I actually love it, but the truth is it would be too complicated to even try and address the topic of British humor in a short post such as this. Still, if you are curious about the multiple differences between British and American humor you can take a look at this clip one. It is quite insightful.

Eloquence

I love Raye's music. Seriously. I believe she's the best news to have come out of the United Kingdom in quite a while. Her style is fresh, exciting and she definitely knows how to write lyrics that linger in your head long after the song is over. That said, I think it would be great if she worked a little on her speaking skills. Just listen to this clip:

"Also at the same time, yeah, like, do you know what I mean? Like, you know..."

There's nothing wrong with using fillers and discourse markers. They help us avoid awkward silences and play for time while we look for the right words. But problems start to pile up when a sentence contains more fillers than meaningful terms. So, let's forget about Raye for a second and look at these two random examples:

• "I was, sort of, you know, kind of, like... tired"
• "And I was, like... wow".

Do they sound familiar? Those phrases capture the inarticulacy of so many speakers who fail to craft such simple sentences as I was tired or I was awestruck. On the other end of the spectrum we come across someone like Eileen Gu, a record-breaking freeskier, who recently answered a question like this:

Even though she uses the term like an inordinate number of times and ends her answer with a perfect example of the infamous vocal fry, she is without a doubt a gifted speaker. Within 60 seconds she manages to display a perfect mixture of lexical resources, which includes the following:

• advanced vocabulary (pensive, revere, analytical lens, neuroplasticity, egotistical)
• a simple expresions (I spend a lot of time in my own head)
• a thought-provoking scenario (my 8-year-old me would revere who I am)
• an effective comparison (tinkering like a scientist)
• colloquialisms (flex, are you kidding?)

Both Raye and Eileen Gu are highly accomplished women who excel in their respective fields, but it would be preposterous to state that their speaking skills are comparable. As English learners, we should pay attention to the way competent speakers talk so we can borrow from them as much as we can. Articulate speakers remind us of the immense range of possibilities that a language has to offer. They help us understand our choices and venture into uncharted territories. So, now you know what to do: hone your metalinguistic awareness and give serious thought to your own communication skills or, as Eileen Gu would put it, "apply an analytical lens to your speaking process". It definitely pays off.

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N.B. Some may argue that comparing a less articulate interview with an inspired one is unfair. And that is a valid point. However, these clips are intended solely to illustrate the spectrum of eloquence. Remember that this blog is a study of the English language, not a critique of the people speaking it.