Scary Hanzi Followup

C’mon, you remember a time when a page of hànzì looked like this:

JuleszFig6Doesn’t this seem to parallel the 2nd, 4th and 5th levels of Hanzi Hell? If you buy the analogy of learning Hanzi as “texture discrimination”, the money quote from today’s Language Log post is:

The texture-perception literature is full of contrasts among local features that “directly contribute” to texture discrimination, local features that contribute via their statistical distribution, and local features that are not accessible at all to pre-attentive texture discrimination.

Emphasis added. Without claiming to have any answers, and certainly without knowing jack about the subject, would it be too presumptuous of the Beijing Sounds studios to propose that “pre-attentive” might be malleable, specifically that it changes as one learns hanzi, or any new script for that matter?

[Yes, apologies, another audioless post -- regular Sounds to resume in near future]

Sound off: Mandarin literacy, Chinese style

On a new blog with a different view of Mandarin literacy acquisition

No matter how fervently you sometimes wish it weren’t the case, Mandarin literacy requires learning hànzì (汉字 = Chinese characters). And literacy is an absolutely essential component of full language acquisition for modern Mandarin. Ergo about two years ago I embarked on a self-paced (read: slow) literacy program, having managed to put off the task for five blissful years of Beijing sound — fricatives, plosives, pure vowels, dipthongs, nasals and the like, much of it heavily rhoticized, largely in classes at YU — unadulterated by worldly worries about writing systems.

Without too much simplification, the path to (yet-to-be-achieved) full language acquisition could be described roughly as follows:

2002 Sounds and vocabulary, basic syntax, poor Pinyin, failed attempts at hànzì memorization.
2003 More vocabulary and syntax, fairly complete Pinyin. Not a further glance at hànzì.
2004-6 More vocabulary and most regularly spoken grammar. Willful hànzì ignorance.
2007 Very reluctant decision to begin recognizing hànzì.
2008 Recognition of more characters. Conscious decision not to handwrite but only to use computer (Pinyin) input. Progress seemingly rapid.
2009 Q1-Q3 Progress stymied by embarrassing confusion of long-ago “learned” characters. Anki incorporated into studies with vengeance, but problem persists.
October 2009 Ignominious capitulation. Abandonment of the reverently held principle that character handwriting was for Luddites, Oriental Exoticizers, and the brainwashed. The humbled studio director mutely takes his bitter pill (哑巴吃黄连 — yǎba chī huánglián) daily in the form of Pleco flashcard tests of character handwriting.

Verdict from 20/20 hindsight? Mistakes were made. Specifically and most outrageously, it no longer seems reasonable to believe that you can recognize your way to literacy, i.e. know the characters when you see them but never have to actually, physically, painstakingly write them out by hand. Well, maybe it works for someone — this is, after all, a sample of one — but since I began to write characters myself, my grasp has gotten firmer (bad pun intended). The once ever present danger of misrecognizing the simplest character has receded somewhat; the muscle memories complement the neural memories in a way that makes it much more difficult to draw a blank. It’s not even really that hard, arguably not as hard as the work that was put into avoiding the task in the first place.

It’s this revised view of Mandarin literacy acquisition that has piqued my interest in following Randy Alexander’s new blog, Yǔwén 语文 (meaning “language”), which explicates language-learning from the first-grade student’s perspective and which is also the latest addition to the bjshengr.com melange of language-in-China websites. As he says in the intro:

The aim of this project is to discover and report on how Chinese native speakers learn their own writing system, to facilitate comparisons with non-native speaker Chinese language programs such as those in universities and other schools, and in self-study textbooks.

I am writing a post for each lesson in the first grade textbook, and doing it at approximately the same pace as the lessons are presented in a Chinese public school; my son is currently in first grade at a typical Chinese elementary school, and the posting dates follow the dates of his assignments in the textbook (I backdate some of the posts).

There’s a clear parallel between Randy’s reports from a standard Chinese first grade textbook and my newly revised view on how I wish I had gone through the steps of Mandarin acquisition. Given the same amount of time, I might have taken a path similar to what he describes for the first grader: several years of spoken language acquisition (supplemented, in the adult second language learner’s case, by Pinyin) followed by intensive hànzì study in which recognition precedes production (i.e. writing) by weeks or months but probably not by years.

Is the “going to first grade” approach going to be the final answer to Mandarin language acquisition? No, and as Randy says in the introduction, that’s not what it’s intended to be. Rather, the blog provides context and analysis for what’s going on as native speakers of Mandarin learn their writing system, something every Zhonglish speaker has to tackle as well, sooner or later and like it or not.

Sound off: Your own private Hanzismatter for Halloween

On the demons that haunt the Hanzismatter netherworld

If you sample the pleasures of Hanzismatter, it’s hard not to hit the subscribe button. Once subscribed, the rewards are plentiful. The posting rate is leisurely, one every week or two, and the content is always nectar for the bee in your schadenfreude bonnet. Mostly it’s the muscleheads and exoticists who end up with “ugly boy” on their biceps or “sacrificial grasshopper” on their bums. Sometimes, even more sweetly, it’s the academic journal whose front cover sample of classical Chinese turns out to be a brothel advertisement, or the book about “Chinese symbols” that has one upside-down on its cover.

At the same time you have a nagging suspicion that, for a Zhonglish speaker and student of Hanzi, Hanzismatter is a guilty pleasure leading you to dark places you’d be better off not knowing about. On the one hand it couldn’t be that scary: it’s a mere taste, a dip in the pond — enervating, practically, like a small-but-salubrious dose of radiation or cigarette smoke. You’re not sure it’s even wicked, really. After all, what is Hell but Heaven misunderstood?

The Beijing Sounds studios hope to use this Halloween as an opportunity to frighten you out of this complacency. Today, based on scientific examination and extensive documentation* of the Hanzismatter phenomenon, along with liberal use of joss sticks and seers, the staff is proud to present:

Denizens of Hanzismatter

Level
Name
Description Sample Residents

1

Exotic Others

The visitor to this level (who is neither student nor Zhonglish speaker) encounters mystifying curls, sharp hooks, forceful strokes and gentle swabs — but nothing resembling language. Typical comment: “Oh, you can write stuff with this?” For details, see Hanzismatter See Hanzismatter

2

Shadow players

On this level the student encounters, as if in a dream induced by an anodyne, a dizzying conflation and reseparation of characters that have almost nothing in common except a general overall shape.Students often realize they’ve reached this level in a moment of clarity that parallels the classic mourning process:

  • Shock — “this doesn’t make any sense at all”
  • Denial — “huh, did the dictionary get the wrong pronunciation?”
  • Bargaining — “Okay, okay, I guess they are different, so I’m gonna remember that the component on the bottom is different — but that top stuff is all about the same” (leads directly to Level 4, below)
  • Guilt — “I am the world’s worst Hanzi student; clearly I just don’t care [sob]“
  • Anger — @!丫#刁*^虲
  • Depression — “I will never, never, never, never, never…”
  • Resignation — “Put them both in Anki and get on with it”
  • Acceptance — “It’s fun to decipher and differentiate. Really. Soy Feliz.”
盖,善
绊,详
捞,伤

3

Personal Devils

In certain ways the specters of this level should be more frightening than the shadow players, because they are pairs of characters that are connected by only the thinnest threads — a misplaced component here, a vowel sound there. Yet the student is comforted at the thought that, somehow, in some way, neural pathways are connecting in ways that will eventually sort themselves out. Idiosyncratic by definition, e.g. in this writer’s case:
棍,谐
臭,厚

4

One-dimensional warlocks

These spooks promote the confusion of two characters that are really not much alike except insofar as they locate one component part in the same place, e.g. the bottom-right 力 found in the example at the right. In the student’s defense, the remaining components often have vaguely the same shape.At this level it is fair to say that the student has only just begun to pay attention to character components. 掌,拿
择,棒

5

Decorative doppelgangers

Those who don’t know their devils would treat the Decorative Doppelgangers as just a variation on the warlocks of Level 4, but the most frightening aspect of the DDs is that the student feels progress has been made. “After all, I correctly matched the pattern on the vast majority of the real estate. All these details are overrated, anyway: three-drop water, two drop water — whatever.” 除,涂

6

Semantic polygamists

Closely related to the DDs above, the Semantic Polygamists marry the same phonetic to another component to form a “different” word or morpheme whose meaning is sometimes so close that you wonder what sadist thought of differentiating them in the first place. 荒,慌

7

Phonetic Phantoms

Sneaky phonetic component (dis)similarities, especially when one (e.g. 亡 in example on right) is a pretty useful and productive phonetic component but the other has nothing to do with it. 汇,亡

8

The truly wicked

To achieve this level of infamy, two characters must not only differ by just a single flick of the seemingly errant finger, they must also occur in print at roughly the same frequency. For example, although an earlier post accused 日 and 曰 of falling into this “minimal pair” category, the studio staff decided, on the basis of reader input, that it actually didn’t qualify precisely because 曰 was such a rare character and 日 so common.

The student at this level is tempted to give up on isolated encounters entirely, “If only I could always see the characters in context, surely I wouldn’t be this confused.” After all, each of the truly wicked is more than likely to be part of a two-character word in the context of a larger sentence. Why not just forget about learning them in isolation?

The truth is, though, that relying on context always comes back to haunt you, somehow. Sure, there’s safety in numbers, but inevitably, as byway leads on to byway, eventually you find yourself off the main thoroughfare, away from the crowds, during the witching hour. It’s a twisted street in an unfamiliar hútòngr (胡同儿 = neighborhood), dimly lit by only the blue sign of a massage parlor menu offering theirs “European style”. You’re badly in need of directions but not sure who you dare to approach. The character lingering out front looks oddly familiar, yet not altogether friendly. You decide to greet him by name…

奏,秦
拨,拔
衣,农
己,已

The depths of Hanzismatter: how far do you dare to go this Halloween?

NB: posting a few days early so you can get your costume ready. If you prefer buffoonish to scary, you could always dress up as Biang.

——————–

* Granted, the sample size of one, studio director syz’s personal Anki flashcard collection, might be questioned by the mathematically challenged. But rest assured, dear readers, that the relevant departments are working hard to ensure accurate and rapid scientific development.

Soundbites: Hitmen on the street

What you’ve always wanted to mutter as you watch yet another eyes-glazed new driver white-knuckle his way through an intersection, oblivious to the little girl he almost knocked off her grandfather’s bicycle and clueless to the chaos he’s created from having just stopped in the middle of the intersection while he got his bearings and decided to take a left from the right-turn lane.

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Nále běnzi dànshì, yǒu zhízhào dànshì kāichē jìshù bùxíng. Běijīnghuà guǎn zhèi xiē rén jiào “mǎlù shāshǒu.”
拿了本子但是,有执照但是开车技术不行。北京话管这些人叫“马路杀手”
They’ve gotten their license but, they’ve got the license but their driving skill’s no good. In Beijing dialect they call these people “Road Killers” [mǎlù is "road" and shāshǒu is "hitman/killer"]

Extra BJS bucks, as usual, to the reader who supplies a more pungent translation.

[Update: fixed the mid-draft transcript -- not sure how that happened.]

Soundbites: bucks or dollarrrs

Zhonglish speakers learn pretty quick that you hardly ever hear yuán (元 = RMB, Chinese unit of money) in casual contexts; kuài (块) is the unit of choice, more common than “bucks” in the US.

But what about yuánr? This was a first for the BJS studios, from a discussion with a driver about taxi economics:

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Yīnwèi tā háiyào gěi zhèige jiāo èrbǎi lái yuánr zheige, jiùshi měitiān yǒu èrbǎi lái kuài qián de chē fènr qián.
因为他还要给这个交二百来元儿这个,就是每天有二百来块钱的车分儿车份儿钱。
…because he still has to pay 200 dollars [rmb], every day there’s 200 bucks of car lease money.

Soundbites: Your *what* went bad? (Answer)

Yesterday’s pop quiz was to “Fill in the blank to name that lighting fixture component. Write it down so you can go to the store and buy it. Better yet, try to find it in a dictionary without using the English word that you already know.”

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Jiùshì bǎ zhèige liàngde, gē zài zhèige shàngtou yě bù liàng. Shì zhèi yìsī ma? Nà jiùshi zhènliúqì huàile. Jiù gāngcái gěi nín shuō de nèi báide: zhènliúqì.
就是把这个亮的,搁在这个上头也不亮。是这意思吗?那就是镇流器坏了。就刚才您说的那白的:镇流器。
So you take this one that lights up and put it on top of this one and it doesn’t light up. Is this what you mean? Then your ballast definitely went bad. The thing that I was just telling you about, the white thing: the ballast.

Maybe it wasn’t that hard. But the first time he said it, before the recorder was on, it was one big nasal blur.

Soundbites: is it easier for Zhonglish speakers?

… easier for Zhonglish speakers to understand the accents of wàidìrén (外地人 = Chinese from outside the big city), that is. The hypothesis would be something like this:

Since the first thing to vary in non-Beijing Mandarin is often the tone on a word [unsubstantiated impression -- it would be cool to know of an actual study on this], and since Zhonglish speakers are not as naturally clued into tones as native speakers, they might have an easier time with wàidìrén accents.

Granted, it’s a highly dubious proposition. But before answering an emphatic No, consider how easy it is to understand some of what this Nǎinai says (as she picks her grandson up from PBS’s school) regardless of her very non-Beijing tones.

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Nǐ de běizi ne? … nà huíjiā suǎn le ma
你的被子呢? … 那回家算了嘛
What about your blanket? …then go home and it’s settled.

[Update: see comments below for full translation from "doctor" -- and thanks for corrections]

[red indicates non-standard pronunciation for what should be bèizi(被子) and suànle(算了)]

Would natives be confused? Almost definitely not by suànle — context is too strong. But bèizi maybe?

Soundbites: Your *what* went bad?

Today’s pop quiz: Fill in the blank to name that lighting fixture component. Write it down so you can go to the store and buy it. Better yet, try to find it in a dictionary without using the English word that you already know.

24 hours to respond. Answer tomorrow. Winning entry receives usual jackpot. Terms and conditions and relevant departments may apply.

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Jiùshì bǎ zhèige liàngde, gē zài zhèige shàngtou yě bù liàng. Shì zhèi yìsī ma? Nà jiùshi ________ huàile. Jiù gāngcái gěi nín shuō de nèi báide: ________.
就是把这个亮的,搁在这个上头也不亮。是这意思吗?那就是________坏了。就刚才您说的那白的:________。
So you take this one that lights up and put it on top of this one and it doesn’t light up. Is this what you mean? Then your ________ definitely went bad. The thing that I was just telling you about, the white thing: the ________.

Bonus points: try this out on your southern-Mandarin-speaking friends and see if they hiccup.

——–

PS: Serious érhuàyīn and consonant elision here, but no time for serious analysis: these are soundbites!