Dialect

R. and I are debating the use of dialect in fiction writing. I hate it. I don’t like reading it, and when it’s included, it almost always makes me wonder what motives the author had for writing in dialect. Think of films: movies set in other countries but made for an English-speaking audience either use subtitles, or have all characters speaking in English (allowing the setting to do the work of implying a non-English language). But in neither case does a film use intentionally poorly-translated English the way “dialects” in fictional works sometimes do. And of course, I realize that there truly are dialects, different idiosyncrasies used by different English-speaking communities… Still, I think it’s so easy to rely on dialect as a kind of verbal stereotype and, especially in a text-based art form, deliberately poor language can be used to imply (or maybe only accidentally and subconsciously implies) a lack of intelligence in a character.

Just because some people do speak in dialect doesn’t mean that the stereotypes are somehow “true” and therefore fair to use. I find myself, for instance, changing the way I speak when I’m at work. I put on the waitress uniform, and suddenly everyone (coworker and customer alike) treats me as relatively uneducated working-class. I conform to that projected identity almost without realizing it. I’ve noticed myself conjugating verbs improperly, pronouncing -ing as -en’ and even using particular ejaculations and expressions that I only picked up from that environment. As soon as I leave the workplace, I speak like I always have; and even within the restaurant setting, when someone communicates with me directly or intimately, as a human being rather than just a waitress, I speak with my own voice. (Sometimes I joke with coworkers by intentionally “talking normal” and willfully misunderstanding slang terms and phrases–then they get to laugh at how uncultured I am.) But the fact is that it is all too easy to conform to a projected stereotype of “how waitresses talk” and adapt a waitress-dialect that is not really my own.

Now if this happens to me, why shouldn’t I wonder if other people experience the same thing? How can I tell when a dialect is an honest representation of someone’s voice, or a stylistic quirk adapted because of projected preconceptions, perhaps preconceptions that I myself am projecting onto them? I think the whole attempt to use dialect is rife with complications and potential blindspots…

R. doesn’t agree (does he ever agree with anything I say?). Mostly, I think, because the whole discussion started because of Palahniuk’s next book coming out, written (it would seem) entirely in the “dialect” of an Arabic foreign-exchange student/terrorist. That makes me nervous. There are so many ways in which Palahniuk may be accidentally racist. I have a great admiration for the Arabic language and especially the poetry of that culture (though I’ve only ever been able to read it in translation, I did have the chance to study a little bit of actual Arabic, enough to appreciate the unique sounds and rhythms, anyway). Why an Arabic person would choose to keep a journal (or tell his own story) not only in English but in really bad English is beyond me. It seems, more likely, a stylistic device that Palahniuk is using. And if that’s so… it makes me wonder why, to what purpose.

The book (Pygmy), doesn’t come out until May, 2009. So I have some time before I’ll be able to read it and see how he handles it. Still, I’m not going to say I’m entirely comfortable with the idea. And I’m not going to jump up and defend him to the death before I’ve read it (the way R. does) merely because so far his work has been so good.

~ by Ali on November 24, 2008.

3 Responses to “Dialect”

  1. So, if in a story, you wanted to explore or portray how a character changes in response to their different environments (as in the example you give about yourself), would you still eschew the use of an attempt to reproduce dialect?

    I agree that it can be overdone. It need only be hinted at for a reader to pick up that dialect, again as in the example you use, ‘en’ instead of ‘ing’ at the end of a word. If a writer is to give genuine voice to their characters should they not be allowed a certain leeway? It very much depends, of course, on the nature of the story. If the characters are from similar backgrounds and the same place, it isn’t an issue. But where there is a contrast of class, background, culture, is it not more immediate to show it in nuances of speech (including dialect words)?

    This is a slightly defensive response as I use my native London dialect in ‘Thin Reflections’ (set in 1940s London) and will no doubt make use of fairground argot in the next volume. I have tried to convey most it through speech rhythms and (un)grammatical constructs, but now and then an alternate spelling to reproduce the voice seems the only viable way.

    I dare say, on the next re-write, I’ll be watching (and listening) very keenly.

  2. R. and I continued this conversation over dinner, so I think if I had written this entry now instead of earlier, it would have come out slightly differently. I didn’t mean to imply that there aren’t very good times to use dialect (the example of changing circumstances you mentioned, as well as the use of one’s own native dialect, are both appropriate times, for instance)…. But I think that, like rhyme in poetry, it is so hard to do well that you have to be very, very careful with it. Yes, of course creativity demands not only “leeway” but a lack of censorship–but like I pointed out to R. over dinner, we shouldn’t assume that anything we write in the throws of creative expression is going to be automatically good warm-fuzzies. Instead, we may discover that our writing reveals biases that we didn’t even realized we held–and the use of dialect is one way that I think this can manifest.

    He and I agree that the essential thing–the best way to avoid unintentional bias or prejudice–is to always approach every individual as an individual, and this includes characters. The conversation morphed, over dessert, into whether or not a man can write honestly about a woman’s perspective, and vice versa–and certainly, I think that’s absolutely possible, and vastly important. But the novels I’ve read where I’ve been most impressed with a male writer’s treatment of female characters has always been when he treated those characters first and foremost as individual human beings. The same goes with cultural differences–it requires a lot of self-awareness and honest, open-minded research into the cultures involved, and in the end, the writing has to be about the people as individuals

    Maybe that’s obvious. But when I go on rants about this stuff, it’s only because I see people using stylistic devices in dialogue and narrative sometimes that aren’t directed towards that goal. I highly doubt your work falls into that trap, though. :)

  3. Ah. Flattery will get you everywhere. ;-)

    Your points are well made and important. My first drafts are a feast of awful writing, but I have fun with them. It’s in the successive rewrites that I concentrate on more accurate and more concise ways of of saying what I want. That particularly includes dialogue because, as you rightly say, the story should be about specific individuals (no matter how universal the themes). Much of the dialect will have disappeared by the time I feel ready to send the work out to agents. The difficult bit in rewrites, I always find, is doing the necessary technical stuff whilst keeping the original energy of the story. That is why I always do at least one read aloud session, just to listen to the flow.

    Like you, I do not like writing that draws attention to itself in a ‘look at me what a clever author I am’ kind of way. Writing just for effect always gives me the impression the author has dragged out exercises from CW class and shoved them in because they are pretty. It’s like changing gear whilst driving just for the sake of it, not because the situation demands it.

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