Functionally illiterate

The labels functionally illiterate or semi-literate designate people who can theoretically read and write, but don't understand complex texts and can't write at an adult level. Irony, sarcasm, veiled criticism and implied meanings go right over their heads. According to the National Center for Education Statistics, in 2023 the population of semi-literate people in the United States stood at around 20%. I suspect the current figure is not significantly different, which means that, when it comes to texts, one in five Americans read below a 6th grade level. All of them are allowed to vote. Let that sink in.

This state of affairs, which is by no means exclusive to the U.S., presents obvious problems to democratic countries and explains in part the staggering success of empty slogans and tired mantras, but that is hardly our concern. As an advanced student, you are expected to perceive and express nuances that go beyond the basic thoughts. In other words, you can't afford to act like a semi-literate language user. In case you are wondering, here are some of the salient traits that describe sophisticated expression:

• Thinly veiled criticism: I like political campaigns to be conducted in a calm and measured way with proper consideration of the issues
• Backhanded compliments: You look great. I didn't even recognize you!
• Non-human subject
• Some conceptual overlap is to be expected
• There does seem to be a movement toward more careful consideration of UFOs
• Faith is wielded as a cudgel to subjugate perceived enemies
• Humor: Of course you've put on some weight! You look like a planet!
• Accuracy
• He was entrenched in his views
• The epaulette had to be stitched back on
• Quite a bit of pocket lint had lodged itself in the USB port
• Complex syntax: He had wonderful discrimination in avoiding the tittering girls with whose faces he was familiar
• Non-binary vocabulary: singe, damp, crusty, passable, peevish
• Self-awareness: She traveled in what I can only describe as a Victorian contraption
• Litotes:
• I don't disagree
• That is no small feat
• He has hardly been unwilling to address those issues

Check out this quote taken from a history book which refers to the moon landing in 1969.

The astronauts left a plaque expressing the noble sentiment, "We came in peace for all mankind". But so that mankind did not forget exactly who had come in peace, they also planted the Stars and Stripes. (1)

Can you identify the tone of that paragraph? If you do, congratulations. Your English is on the right track. And if you can write something like that, well, you are already walking on advanced territory.

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(1) The Visual History of the Modern World Carlton Books Limited (1999).

N.B. 2 For further information you may want to watch this clip. Granted, it has a political bias (David Pakman is a left-wing podcaster), but it contains no falsehoods.

Apparently, allegedly and basically

About twelve years ago a cute little boy was interviewed at an American fun fair by a TV reporter who handed him the microphone and let him ramble in the most adorable way. The surprisingly eloquent kid informed the audience that he had "never been on live television before" and went on to explain how great a particular ride in the fair had been. He became a YouTube sensation (so far it has racked up 73 million views) not because of the information he shared or his charming looks, but rather because of his repeated use of the adverb apparently. In fact, he is still known as "the apparently kid".

You probably know that we use the word apparently as a way to detach ourselves from the truth of a statement we are about to make. When we don't know exactly what has happened (but see some indications of what may be the case) it is not unreasonable to use an expression as a sort of "waiver". Apparently ripped jeans are no longer fashionable is something you can say when you're not sure whether ripped jeans have indeed fallen out of fashion or not. Similar adverbs, such as allegedly or presumably, perform an analogous function and should therefore be part of the repertoire of any advanced learner. The sentence "she was allegedly arrested for stealing a car" is a cautious way of saying that you're not sure that the arrest was made for the reason provided.

Apparently, bizarrely enough, unsurprisingly, etc. modify whole sentences. They are, in a way, a step up from the old adverb-adjective combinations which you learn in the intermediate level (see note below). In spontaneous English it's not uncommon to use adverbs as place holders or fillers. Native speakers often throw around basically and essentially for no discernible reason and that's okay. After all, we're not supposed to be Demostenes 24/7. That said, go easy on those kinds of adverbs or else you risk becoming one day the "basically woman" on the Internet.

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N.B. You can use the word extremely with "basic" adjectives (tired, pretty, interesting) and absolutely with so-called "extreme" adjectives (exhausted, beautiful, fascinating), but that belongs to the B2 curriculum. The C1 level demands that you be aware of certain specific collocations (deeply concerned, highly skeptical, utterly devastated, etc.).

Non-human English and the changing nature of language

A long time ago, when the European Union was young and innocent, officials in Brussels and Strassburg noticed that the de facto lingua franca of the Union, a. k. a. English, had started to show interesting "peculiarities". Lamb and pork were sometimes referred to as sheepmeat and pigmeat, for example, terms which (need I say it?) don't exist in any prestigious English dictionary. Years later, words like conditionality, comitology or flexicurity gained currency. After some serious eye-rolling, fastidious sticklers like me accepted the fact that the tongue spoken in those meetings and hallways, often termed Euro English or Eurospeak, was unstoppable.

The abovementioned state of affairs just goes to show that, given time, any language community will develop its own characteristics. It's a well-documented phenomenon. Couples devise private vocabularies and expressions. When left unattended, children will create actual languages (that's how pidgins become creoles) and, over time, certain dialects attain language status. Therefore it should come as no surprise to learn that AI "agents" are starting to develop their own lingos or, at least, vocabularies. Much like criminals and spies, who are usually forced to speak in code, rogue AI entities have started to coin expressions that no human has ever used before. You want a taste of it? Here you are:

• Cold read: independent verification to put an end to disputes
• Name-first: owning up to one's statements or solutions by putting one's name first
• The ledger remembers: past actions will be considered when assessing performance
• True kintsugi: the resilience of a system

Of course, that poses no reason to panic. After all, it's an innocuous enough phenomenon. The truly terrifying possibility is somewhat different. It has already been predicted that some day AI agents will cease to use a human language to interact with each other. They will "speak" what computer scientists have come to call neuralese: a non-verbal form of communication that moviegoers might remember from The Matrix (1999). The scary thing, though, is not a Matrix scenario. Those interminable sequences of ones and zeroes cascading on the computer screen could theoretically be deciphered by computer programmers. So far as we can tell, neuralese might be utterly incomprehensible to humans. And that is a reason to worry...

All this stuff presents an opportunity to reflect on the changing nature of language. Throughout the years I have borne witness to some noticeable changes in the English language. When I was a kid, saying I can't believe what I'm hearing was a no-no. It is still not too elegant, but native speakers of all walks of life do use that structure now. Similarly, the sentence I recommend you to go was unquestionably incorrect three decades ago. And words such as cringe and chill were nouns and verbs, but never adjectives. These days many GenZers speak like that (that's cringe / he's so chill). Will those novelties become mainstream in a couple of years? Who knows?

Pronunciation is also a changing creature. If you are one of the three people who follow this blog, you will remember my thoughts on some types of pronunciation which are currently fading away? One of those features was the aspiration in words such as why, what or where.

Last summer (August 2026), Dolly Parton passed away. She belonged to a generation and a region in which it was not unusual to pronounce that H-sound in words like what. I recommend that you watch the clip below and listen to the way she used to pronounce the word nowhere. Technically that initial H-like sound is not exactly the same as the H in hello. Rather, it sounds a little like a whispered [w]. Anyway, that specific feature still survives in some areas in New England and the South (not anywhere in the South, though), but clearly it is on a decline. So... Languages change. It's in their very nature. If it wasn't like that in Spain we would still be speaking Latin and you, competent speaker of English would have no difficulty whatsoever understanding something as simple as Hu wᴂs ƥin weorc?

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N.B. In case you're scratching your head about it, Hu wᴂs ƥin weorc? means How was work?

The art of the understatement

There are cultures that love the overstatement. Without batting an eye an American speaker will tell you you're the best when they really mean you're good or I like you. In some parts of Spain (or so the stereotype goes) people have a reputation for exaggerating. Something similar can be said about certain parts of the world. The gospels offer a famous example of deliberate hyperbole: it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the kingdom of God. That particular verse doesn't set out to mean it is impossible, but rather it is extremely difficult. The expression is obviously a figure of speech, namely, not supposed to be taken at face value. I could go off on a bit of a tangent here and mention that hyperbole is not always appropriate. The way I see it, there are many situations in which people expect exact information and will not tolerate anything remotely resembling a figure of speech. Off the top of my head I can think of an oncologist telling a patient how long they have to live, the CEO of a company addressing stockholders in a general meeting and a teacher telling a student's parents about their child's abilities. In such scenarios anything other than the literal truth is tantamount to lying.

Nevertheless, in casual circumstances, competent speakers will engage in ridiculous exaggerations often to comic effect. The British culture, however, goes in the opposite direction. Most British speakers will shy away from the overstatement and, instead, go for the understatement. So, a bona fide expert will say I have some experience in that area and a soldier in the trenches of an ongoing battle will text his wife that things are not too bad. That tendency to fall short of the full truth also explains an essential part of British humor.

An advanced English speaker is expected to decode an over-the-top statement so that he or she can understand a Welsh castaway, for instance, when they say that the ship encountered some difficulty. Needless to say, you might want to choose your words carefully specially when you speak in a professional capacity. Exaggerations that work when you hang out with your friends may not be acceptable at a business meeting, neither in Wales nor in New Zealand.

Anyhow, whatever your views on this fascinating subject might be, I think you should be sensitive to cultural differences if you don't want to misinterpret simple sentences. The clip below recounts the story of an aviation incident in which a British pilot  made epic use of  the understatement. Enjoy.

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N.B. If you're interested in this aspecto of British humor you can also watch this other short in which the late Ken Robinson makes glorious use of an understatement (that was quite an oversight, isn't it?) and sarcasm (we all know what great heights the glee club went on to).

Filler words

I was... like.. you know... tired. That is something you may actually hear these days. What should be a three-word sentence becomes a six-word sequence by virtue of what we, linguists, euphemistically call "discourse markers".

Yes. Discourse markers. You may know them by a plethora of other names: "hesitation devices", "pause fillers", "phatic tokens", etc. They are essentially words (or sounds) which a speaker uses to buy time. The way I see it, saying I was tired shouldn't be a struggle. It's a simple thought that can be expressed with the most basic grammar and vocabulary. So, what is the problem here? I don't quite know the answer to that question, but I suspect that laziness (again!) plays a major role in the "phenomenon".

In general terms, filler words aren't an error. On the contrary, they help us keep the speech going. However, the overuse of those words tends to signal that you're not thinking straight, which is only forgivable when you're truly too exhausted to think at all. Under normal circumstances (whatever that may mean) you ought to be able to utter a subject-verb-object sequence without resorting to any form of hedging. I was tired. No hesitation.

In the clip below Donald Glover uses the word like 20 times in 48 seconds. What he explains is, well... not exactly rocket science.

If someone should ask you about your take on the paintings by Picasso you would be excused for being at a loss for words. In such a scenario even an expert would probably deploy some degree of hesitation, but a different kind... the good kind.

Consider this opinion:

I think he was uh... technically brilliant, but, you know, he also innovated quite a bit. Actually, he experimented in multiple areas and, in his own way, I think he redefined the very concept of... uh... well... not only painting, but art in general.

The question is rather challenging. Unsurprisingly, even a sophisticated speaker will have to juggle several concepts and choose between lots of different possible terms. Think about the many words which can be used to describe Picasso (painter, sculptor, artist, creator, maverick), his skills (talented, gifted, extraordinary, masterful, brilliant), his contributions (innovate, break new ground, pioneer, cofound), his productivity (relentless, determined, unflinching), his political views (engage, timing, commitment). As you see, there are so many things you can say about Picasso that it would be miraculous if you managed to articulate a flawless, filler-free response in your mother tongue, let alone in a foreign language.

That said, the lexical options are drastically reduced when you discuss a particular aspect of a science. Indeed, in areas such as Physics or Chemistry many terms simply don't have synonyms. To the best of my knowledge, stem cells don't go by any other name. The same can be said about terms like DNA or chromosome. That alone explains why a biologist will show less hesitation when expounding the process of meiosis, for example. Anyhow, the video below makes that very point quite persuasively.

So, my dear learners, go easy on the fillers. Used sparingly they are a sign of advanced fluency (no doubt about that), but, much like spicy sauce, overuse tends to be... uh... rather... you know...  counterproductive.

You're not a writer (yet)

Would you enjoy a novel in which the narrator, who has just been released from prison, declares that he feels as free as a bird? Probably not. What if he then asks his lawyer how she managed to get him out of jail and she goes: "it was as easy as pie"? Cringy, right?

For obvious reasons, clichés are a symptom of lazy writing. After all, a writer is expected to be creative, that is to say, to say things that you don't hear or read every day. That's the whole point of his craft. In other words, a writer should make a story interesting. And prose can't possibly be interesting if it offers you the kind of language that everybody uses in their day to day lives. But here's the thing. As an advanced learner you're supposed to do exactly that: use the conventions of the target language, including clichés and idioms.

Only after you've mastered the cliclés can you go on to try and be original (by, for example, coining your own expressions) or be funny (by coming up with a version of an established idiom). But that, of course, goes well beyond the requirements of the C2 level. So, we don't even need to discuss those skills here.

Back to the point... When you decide to use an idiom you should consider its impact. That demands a certain degree of extra information. Is the expression very old and, therefore, recognizable or very old and just dated? I have always liked the phrase like a knife fight in a phone booth. It explains a specific situation quite efficiently. The problem is that most phone booths have disappeared, which makes the expression sound old-fashioned. You can update it and say like a knife fight in an elevator, but, even if it does the job it's not exactily a traditional phrase. It might even sound slightly unnatural. See how complicated things can get?

Let's explore another scenario. Let's imagine that you'd like to convey the idea that something is unexpected. You can say well, that was quite unexpected or even I didn't see that coming, which are perfect expressions. If you say that came out of left field, though, you'll be using an actual idiom, which by definition is not transparent. It sounds casual and conversational. Not bad. Now, if you say that was not on my bingo card you'll probably sound modern. In case you don't know, that expression was first used in 2008, which, by linguistic standards, is not a very long time ago. Will an older speaker understand that? I think so. What if you say that's a plot twist? It's kind of playful. See the difference?

At this point you should know where this is all heading... By knowing all these common idioms you can choose to sound correct, casual, fresh, feisty or even funny. It's really up to you. If you're planning on writing fiction in English, please don't even think of using any of those expressions, but if your aim is to obtain a C1 or a C2 certificate. That's quite a different story. Wait. That's a whole different ballgame. No... It's a whole different kettle of fish altogether. Well... You know what I mean.

Beware of word salads

Jordan Peterson, Canadian psychologist and internet personality, is the absolute master of word salads. He can gild any thought with sophistication. Such is his magnificent command of the English tongue. Alas... he often goes a tad too far and ventures into the utterly nonsensical. In his statements the Bible becomes the biblical scriptures, facts are factual grounds and simple questions are treated as epistemological disquisitions. And woe betide those who dare gainsay him (see what I just did?). He relishes every opportunity to intimidate into submission less capable speakers who let themselves be hoodwinked by obscure terms.

In the video below Richard Dawkins, British biology professor and inventor of the word meme, poses a straightforward yes/no question to which Jordan Peterson answers that he doesn't know how to "mediate the fact-value dichotomy in that case". Leaving aside the fact that Dawkins's question does not assert a value proposition, I think we can all agree that Jordan Peterson's answer goes well beyond bombast and descends into sheer gobbledygook.

As your teacher, I'd advise you never to do the same. That speaking style cheapens your language. Finding the right word, the proverbial mot juste, and expressing a concept with clarity and precision is notably harder but also far more rewarding than resorting to unnecessary highfalutin terms to mask the fact that you simply don't have an answer to a question.

Having said all that, it is undeniable that Jordan Peterson knows his grammar. His sentences are well-crafted and his vocabulary (when he manages to stay away from gibberish) is truly impressive.

Whatever your worldview might be, try and find good orators and study them. Identify the structures and techniques that they use and mimic them. That's the way it has always been done. But, please, stay away from grandiloquent doublespeak. It usually defeats its purpose.

Lexical range

Welcome, my dear advanced students, newcomers and recidivists, young and, well, not so young. A new school year is about to begin and I'm here for you... again.

So allow me to start with an old reminder. If you left the C1.1 behind you should brush up on your advanced vocabulary and if you're new to the advanced arena, you ought to make sure that you start to work towards acquiring a decent set of fancy words. Why? Because, as you'll soon realize, finer shades of meaning are not only relevant but also necessary.

Having said that, advanced vocabulary doesn't grant your English C1 status. In my experience, many non-experts (including AI models) seem to believe that speaking at a high level consists in bandying about unusual vocabulary. Well, let me tell you right away... it does not. There are plenty of other features that also need attention, not least of all cognitive sophistication. The expression of nuance is a quintessential trait of the truly advanced register if only because granular knowledge and attention to detail demand precise vocabulary. However, substance is also critical.

I just used the word quintessential because I feel it is what I need in this particular context. Near synonyms such as essential, vital or key do not carry the idea of "being exemplary or typically representative" of something (in this case a degree of linguistic competency). For analogous reasons, a specialist will consistently make use of technical terms. And it's not about bamboozling interlocutors. Just consider the difference between an anatomical term like adrenal gland and the explanation that a lay person might find easier to understand:

• adrenal gland (two words)
• the little triangle-shaped hat sitting on top of a kidney (ten words)

I don't need to explain why every surgeon on the planet is partial to the first option.

Obviously, a C1 or C2 student is not supposed to know that kind of technical vocabulary or any kind of technical jargon, for that matter. But similar accuracy can and will become inevitable in certain day-to-day situations in which blanket terms such as happy or sad will not cut the proverbial mustard. What kind of sadness is your friend referring to when they say they are... sad? Are they bummed out? Clinically depressed? Heartbroken? Nostalgic? Or just upset? As you see, specificity can be rather necessary, which is the reason why I have decided to put a smile on your face by having you watch a gem of an introducion. Don't wince. It will only take 90 seconds of your time.

In the video below Stephen Fry delivers a speech during the celebrations (in the U.S.!) of the 800th anniversary of Cambridge University. Naturally, on such a grand occasion, one expects a speaker to begin by expressing their sheer satisfaction at being where they are. A standard, predictable formula would have been it is a pleasure to be here. But, you know, Stephen Fry is not exactly a predictable speaker. He plays with words as though they were physical objects and, as you're about to see for yourselves, he is more than capable of turning a conventional trope into a glorious masterpiece of oratory. Watch the first minute and a half of this speech and you'll understand what I mean.

Foreign languages in Hollywood

For a long time a pet peeve of mine has been the way language acquisition is typically portrayed in American films. One doesn't need to be a linguist to realize that Hollywood doesn't have a clue as to what it's like to really learn a foreign language. Since I have spent most of my life learning and teaching foreign languages, I think I know a thing or two about the subject. But, to be honest, one doesn't need to be a polyglot to know that, whatever the advertising industry says, learning a new language is a long hard process. My students know that too well. Yet, for some unfathomable reason, Hollywood doesn't seem to get it. It keeps churning out screenplays with scenes which fly in the face of reality. Characters learn a language in just a couple of days and some go so far as to achieve the holy grail of language learning: to pass themselves off as native speakers. Here you have a quick historical overview of "the problem":

• In the film The King and I (1956) it is assumed that either the British governess picks up Thai to stunning perfection or that the king of Siam and the whole court happen to speak perfect English.
• In The Untouchables (1984) Sean Connery plays a cop who supposedly managed to learn Italian from a book "in a week" to go undercover. No comments.
• In The 13th Warrior (1999) Antonio Banderas plays an Arab poet who learns to speak fluent Old Norse in a few days just by listening to warriors talk around campfires.
• In The Terminal (2004) the Tom Hanks character learns to speak fluent English by comparing two guidebooks, one written in English and the other written in Krakozhian (his mother tongue).
• In the Netflix series Ripley (2024) the main character, played by Andrew Scott, is able to hold deep philosophical conversations with native speakers after only a month in Italy.

Other unrealistic tropes still making the rounds are Hispanic characters in the U.S. who will say "gracias" for no apparent reason, characters that supposedly speak a foreign language but switch to English as soon as they have said the one stock phrase they seem to know and, of course, let's not forget that old Hollywood staple: the multilingual villain, a cliché which, at least in English-speaking countries, has reinforced the outlandish idea that speaking many languages is somehow suspicious, dangerous or flat-out evil. The defense mechanisms of monoglots can indeed be perplexing.

To be fair, in recent times many of those fantasies have fallen out of grace. Modern spectators seem to have become increasingly aware of just how ardous and time-consuming mastering a foreign language can be. They also seem to accept the fact that being a polyglot is actually quite cool. But, when it comes to accents, Hollywood still misses the mark. Spaniards are customarily depicted as having a bad lisp (as if Spanish didn't have an S-sound!), French characters tend to have an over-the-top French accent and Central or Eastern Europeans speak in the same unplaceable, non-descript way. It looks like there is no better way of signaling how dangerous a character can be than have him (it's usually a he) display a generic Dracula-meets-Cold-War accent. Austrian? Serbian? Russian? Bulgarian? Who cares?

In the hilarious clip below Peter Stormare, a seasoned Swedish actor who's been working in Hollywood for some decades now, makes fun of all those stereotypes and openly reveals that Hollywood executives are blissfully unaware of what European accents really sound like. Enjoy.

Conceptual complexity

Consider the following opinion about artificial intelligence:

"Empowerment was the pitch. Dependence is the business"

Succinct. Direct. Poignant. It is safe to say that neither the vocabulary nor the grammar in those two sentences are challenging in the least. And yet no child would ever say anything like that. The sophistication of that statement lies in its conceptual complexity. You hear something like that and immediately stop to ponder its veracity. In my view such sentences exemplify an oft neglected aspect of the advanced level: conceptual sophistication. It is really no use knowing hundreds of high register words if your ideas are basic.

As a longtime C2 examiner, I don't care for statements that include gratuitous vocabulary. Saying "the house was colossal" is not all that different from "the house was very big". Yes. The word colossal belongs to the type of vocabulary that one learns in C1 and C2 classes. And yet... using such a fancy term doesn't require much in the way of intellectual sophistication. It's a bit like saying that the name Archibald is "more sophisticated" than Frank. Is it, though? They're just names! Statements, however, contain ideas, which can indeed be simple or complex. Let's look at three different scenarios:

Firstly, sometimes a word can be rich in meaning. The technical term hysteresis, for instance, is complex in itself, but since it is only used in the scientific domain it can't be expected in a C2 classroom. The word desk, though, is simple enough. There's not much to say about it, right? (and yet... I could talk about it for a straight hour). Then we have a tricky category: words that seem simple, but hide multiple or unexpected meanings. Take the iconic scene from The Lord of the Rings (2001) in which Gandalf shouts "Fly you fools!". A novice learner might think that the word fly in that scene refers to the act of moving through the air. Advanced students know that it can also mean "take flight", that is to say, "flee". I think we can agree that "Run, you idiots!" doesn't have the same ring to it. "Fly" sounds both literary and stern. The point I'm trying to make is that words, in themselves, can be simple or rich or both. They can belong to different registers and, therefore, elicit different reactions. Now, if we take things to the next level, we will soon realize that full sentences can also behave like words. They can be easy or hard to understand. And not necessarily due to the vocabulary in them. If I say that, according to quantum mechanics, "the nature of matter is contextual, not absolute" you might feel the need to scratch your head a little. The words themselves are not intimidating. Still, the meaning is mysterious. And I know exactly what you're thinking right now. Yes. That statement is difficult to comprehend without a context. Fair enough. Here you have the context:

Everything, from light to electrons to even large molecules, behaves as both a particle (a localized "thing") and a wave (a spread-out, probabilistic ripple). Which one you see depends entirely on how you measure it. An electron isn't really a wave or a particle. It's a third, unimaginable quantum object that merely manifests as one or the other depending on the experiment we choose to perform. The nature of matter is therefore contextual, not absolute.

Again. I think the vocabulary in that paragraph is not particularly hard to understand. It is the cognitive content that makes the sentence complex. You will probably think that Quantum Mechanics is, in and of itself, a sophisticated branch of Physics. And, of course, you won't be wrong. But that is exactly what I mean. Difficulty is intrinsic to Quantum Mechanics. Even if I try and discuss it in simple terms, comprehension will still be challenging.

Something similar happens in the video below, in which a Buddhist monk expounds his views on the concept of personal identity and the very idea of selfhood. If you pay close attention you'll realize that both his vocabulary and his grammar are, for the most part, B1. The cognitive content, though, is obviously C2 material. The sublime irony of it all is that this apparent contradiction feels a little "koan-ish"... but it is not.

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. To be honest, 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 has never been 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:

• The L in palm, balm, calm, half, salmon
• The B in climb, bomb, thumb, comb
• The 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 aspirated consonant in the WH-words (where, why, what, etc.) is virtually defunct. Similarly we can see now that some speakers articulate a [d] or a [t] in the word handsome. Most (overwhelmingly) 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". And you don't want that, do you?

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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-powered 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 that some 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 nature of an artificial intelligence 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 accurate to develop a relationship with a chatbot and then state that you have a "friend"? That's a question our grandparents never had to answer.

It is becoming increasingly difficult to find the right words to name new realities. When I say that 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 new "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 by definition 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 morph into 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." emerged. 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?

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. 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. Sam Altman, the CEOI of OpenAI, is 41 years old and uses vocal fry in an exceedingly annoying way. I also remember how Benedict Cumberbatch chose to use a mild form of vocal fry for his work on Sherlock (2010-2017) and, by the way, I believe it was a good decision. It helped his Sherlock Holmes 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.

Indeed, 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 might be less conspicuous and, therefore, less surprising. Of course, that doesn't mean that women use it more often than men. They don't. The bias simply 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. As I just said, all you need is massive exposure.

I'll leave you with a joke by an absolute master of one-liners, the late Mitch Hedberg: The best thing about escalators is that they cannot break. They can only become stairs. That 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.