English isn’t perfect. For me, it wasn’t until I started learning other languages that I realized some deficiencies in my own. Just for fun, here are a few:
WE: Let’s say that you, dear reader, and I, are chatting. I say to you “we’re invited to the party.” Off the bat, you don’t know whether I mean that you and I are invited, or that you’re NOT invited, but my wife and I are.
“WE” means that the speaker is involved, but it doesn’t imply one way or the other whether the listener is involved. And of course, this leads to confusion and bad sit-com plot lines.
But Indonesian has a solution. “Kami” means we, excluding the listener. “Kita” means we, including the listener. Neato! (I think that’s right, anyway. It’s been a long time since I tried to speak Indonesian!)
ANSWERING NEGATIVE QUESTIONS: I say to you, “Are you not forty yet?” What would a simple “yes” mean? I think it would generally mean that you are forty (damn, you’re old), but it’s unclear enough that most people wouldn’t feel comfortable leaving it there. They’d tack on additional information, like, “yes, I am” or “no, I’m not,” or maybe, “right, I’m not forty yet.”
But the French have a solution. The word “Oui” means yes, as everyone knows. But when someone asks a negative question and you want to answer positively (are you not forty, yes I am forty), they say, “si.”
So, you ask a forty year-old whether he’s forty: Are you forty yet? Oui. Are you not forty yet? Si.
And again I say, neato!
YOU (in two parts):
THE SINGULAR YOU: When talking to one person, we say “you.” When talking to three people, we say, “you.” This inspecificity leads to constructions like “you’se” and “y’all,” or “you guys” and (God forbid) “you’se guys,” because people just don’t feel comfortable using the same word for both types.
Of course, we used to have “thou” for the singular you. When Hamlet’s mom says, “Thou hast cleft my heart in twain,” we know right away that she means one person did the cleaving. She wasn’t talking to a group of heart-cleaving ingrates, but only to one particular person. We know this without context! We know it from the word thou.
But thou is gone and now we’re floundering around trying to make “you” fill both roles.
YOU AS THE OBJECT: First an example not using you. We say, “He gives me the ball.” Then we say, “I give him the ball.”
From the first sentence to the second, the “he” switched to “him.” First HE was giving something, then something was given to HIM.
The same thing goes for “I” and “me,” “she” and “her,” “they” and “them,” “we” and “us,” etc. One word is for doing the acting (the subject), and the other is for being acted upon (the object).
Except for “you”! You is power-hungry. It not only wants to cover plurals and singulars, but also wants to be the actor AND acted upon. “You give him the ball.” “He gives you the ball.” It’s you in both places! What the hell? “He” and “him” have to tag out, but “you” just ambles over to a different part of the sentence.
So what, you ask.
So you don’t get the immediate cues that let you know quickly, without thinking, what the sentence means. Of course, in this example, it’s obvious. But when sentences and thoughts get more complicated, those cues become more important.
Again, we used to have something. Thou was the actor (for singular), and thee was the acted upon. Ye was the actor for plural, and (before it took over the world) “you” was the acted upon.
But that’s all gone now, and we just have “you” filling every vacant spot. For example, tu/vous/tois in French corresponds to you/you/you in English. Soon, “you” will probably mean everything. All our sentences will just be, “You you you you you.” (Apologies to Monty Python.)
Now, I sort of pretended that “you” is the only word throwing its weight around the object/subject world. But it isn’t. I give you…
Who was born as a subject. “Who ate the ice cream?” “Who knows if the moon’s a balloon?” “Who would read all this grammatical claptrap?”
And the object, the acted upon, of course, was “whom.” “You gave it to whom?” “You’re talking to whom?”
But “whom” may as well be dead except in certain pat phrases like, “to whom it may concern.” Some writers still use it, and I hear it used incorrectly all the time at work, but many good writers would let it die rather than be thought pedantic or pretentious. (I assume that the same thing happened to all the other words I mentioned earlier, like “thou” or “ye.” We’re witnessing history here!)
But, while it’s unstoppable at this point (and I don’t generally use it myself), losing whom is bad for comprehension:
“Who, after coming all this way, are you planning to see?” You have to wait nine words before finding out that the “who” is the object of this sentence. Until that point, it could have been, “who, after coming all this way, are you?”
Of course, I’m not saying we can’t live without “whom.” We can, do, and will.
But English would be more easily and more quickly understood if we kept some of those markers like thou and whom; maybe we wouldn’t have to break everything down into bite-sized sentences.
AMERICAN CAN/CAN’T: How many times have you said something like this over the phone: “wait, did you say we CAN or CAN’T have thirty-two crocodiles in the pool?”
“Can” and “can’t” sound too similar in American English. Most of the rest of the English-speaking world never have this problem. “Can” rhymes with “plan” and “can’t” sounds more like “want.”
Ok, I’m at the end. Kevin, this is really your fault, because you said something about how you’re happy that there are those who love English the way I do, but you advise people to avoid us at parties. It’s my lifelong dream to not make small-talk with strangers at parties, so I’m writing this to strengthen my reputation.