Thursday, 9 January 2014 12:31 am
Book Review: Schottenfreude: German Words for the Human Condition
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deckardcanineI had my doubts about this gift. Much as I love linguistics, Douglas Adams failed to sustain my interest in The Deeper Meaning of Liff for two pages. Sure, Ben Schott's semi-eponymous book has more method to its madness in that the words, while made up, are combinations of real words; but like I said in my Austrian vacation review, I find German no prettier in its natural habitat.
Apart from the title, the first unusual thing to notice about this book is the shape: more than twice as wide as it is tall (when stood up and viewed from the front or back) and only 40-odd pages thick. The next strange thing is the formatting. Each right-hand page presents three devised German compounds or portmanteaus in a hard-to-read yet atmospherically appropriate Gothic font. Underneath each of these is a rough pronunciation guide for clueless English speakers, mostly helpful but sometimes questionable in spelling: Would you think to put a long-I sound in a syllable approximated as "byccht"? Below that, we get Schott's definition, followed by a literal translation. On the left side of the same page, each entry is numbered for ease of reference in lieu of page numbers, sometimes with suggestions of other entries to compare. The left-hand pages offer elaborate commentary on most entries, often with extensive citations, occasionally with just B&W photos. As you may imagine, I had trouble deciding on the order in which to look at everything.
The commentary was the part I found most rewarding, especially when quotations provided insight into the minds of famous figures. The invented words themselves? Well, I'm not likely to use any of them. Very few have both a highly practical meaning and a manageable number of syllables. For example, on the first entry page, we have "Gastdruck: The exhausting effort of being a good houseguest," followed by "Kraftfahrzeugsinnenausstattungsneugeruchsgenuss: New car smell." Yeah, definitely more useful for humor or, failing that, intellectual stimulation. You know how good comedians call your attention to hopefully relatable details on which you probably wouldn't dwell independently. The funniest part of some entries is the literal translation: The word defined as "A shameful love of bad food" comes out as "pig's-head-aspic-desire."
Had there been many more than the 120 entries, I would not have bothered to read more than a few. As it is, I read the whole thing, little by little, but it didn't spur my interest in other Schott books, most of which have titles ending in "Miscellany." You may differ; I think I've said enough for you to tell whether this cult hit is for you.
While I'm at it, I'll give a quick review of another gift from the latest Christmas, J.R.R. Tolkien's posthumously published Mr. Bliss. It too has an odd format: The left-hand pages show a neat printing of his words, unedited except for omitting the crossed-out words and bracketing in small new ones for grammatical sense; while the right-hand pages show his handwritten notes and rather skillful illustrations, often explicitly cited in the text. The format kinda goes with the quirky story of a clumsy motorist with bad luck in the companions he acquires. His secret pet, the talking Girabbit, basically steals the show. After a brisk silent completion, I had to read it aloud to my mom for old time's sake.
Up next is Earthman's Burden by Poul Anderson and Gordon R. Dickson, which I requested in honor of Anderson's recent passing. Looks like quaint retro-schlock. Good thing I take a certain comfort in old copies.
Apart from the title, the first unusual thing to notice about this book is the shape: more than twice as wide as it is tall (when stood up and viewed from the front or back) and only 40-odd pages thick. The next strange thing is the formatting. Each right-hand page presents three devised German compounds or portmanteaus in a hard-to-read yet atmospherically appropriate Gothic font. Underneath each of these is a rough pronunciation guide for clueless English speakers, mostly helpful but sometimes questionable in spelling: Would you think to put a long-I sound in a syllable approximated as "byccht"? Below that, we get Schott's definition, followed by a literal translation. On the left side of the same page, each entry is numbered for ease of reference in lieu of page numbers, sometimes with suggestions of other entries to compare. The left-hand pages offer elaborate commentary on most entries, often with extensive citations, occasionally with just B&W photos. As you may imagine, I had trouble deciding on the order in which to look at everything.
The commentary was the part I found most rewarding, especially when quotations provided insight into the minds of famous figures. The invented words themselves? Well, I'm not likely to use any of them. Very few have both a highly practical meaning and a manageable number of syllables. For example, on the first entry page, we have "Gastdruck: The exhausting effort of being a good houseguest," followed by "Kraftfahrzeugsinnenausstattungsneugeruchsgenuss: New car smell." Yeah, definitely more useful for humor or, failing that, intellectual stimulation. You know how good comedians call your attention to hopefully relatable details on which you probably wouldn't dwell independently. The funniest part of some entries is the literal translation: The word defined as "A shameful love of bad food" comes out as "pig's-head-aspic-desire."
Had there been many more than the 120 entries, I would not have bothered to read more than a few. As it is, I read the whole thing, little by little, but it didn't spur my interest in other Schott books, most of which have titles ending in "Miscellany." You may differ; I think I've said enough for you to tell whether this cult hit is for you.
While I'm at it, I'll give a quick review of another gift from the latest Christmas, J.R.R. Tolkien's posthumously published Mr. Bliss. It too has an odd format: The left-hand pages show a neat printing of his words, unedited except for omitting the crossed-out words and bracketing in small new ones for grammatical sense; while the right-hand pages show his handwritten notes and rather skillful illustrations, often explicitly cited in the text. The format kinda goes with the quirky story of a clumsy motorist with bad luck in the companions he acquires. His secret pet, the talking Girabbit, basically steals the show. After a brisk silent completion, I had to read it aloud to my mom for old time's sake.
Up next is Earthman's Burden by Poul Anderson and Gordon R. Dickson, which I requested in honor of Anderson's recent passing. Looks like quaint retro-schlock. Good thing I take a certain comfort in old copies.