I speak two languages. Not all words or ideas are shared between the two of them, although most are and certainly it is possible and even easy to convey meaning between the two. But some words only exist in one and not the other, even basic ideas like words for a particular color (light blue has its own word in Russian). There are also feelings that deserve their own words in one language while the other requires a paragraph to express them. Some languages assign genders to noun, which in turn change the verbs and descriptors that go along with them. The genders are not constant between languages, and Russian, for example, has three genders. Seeing something as feminine can obviously color how we think about that object, focusing on one set of traits over another. And finally there is music to language. Direct translations — word for word – have different musicality to them. So that in one language, the words sounds whimsical and fun, while in the other the with the same meaning sound terse and plain. This makes those words not really feel like a direct translation, because some shades of meaning get lost in the process. I guess that’s why literature and poetry in particular don’t translate well from one language to another. Some meaning gets across, certainly, but nuance gets left out. The music and imagery of words get lost in translation.

I left Russia for America when I was thirteen — that’s a difficult age to make cultural and language adjustments. Unlike others in my family who have amazing language translating abilities, I’m not particularly good at language acquisition. I find learning a new language and a novel way of thinking very hard. If fact, I get stuck in a language — when I think of something in English, I find it extraordinary hard to retrieve just the right set of words in Russian. It’s like there is a physical divide in my brain between the regions that utilize English and those that work in Russian. For years, I tried to learn French, too, and all I have to show for it is just a few scatterings of words. But I love the musicality of French almost as much as that of Russian. I can feel the possibilities, even as I am never going to be able to fully grasp them (or even a little bit).

For a more nuance discussion of learning a new language, I strongly recommend a book by that title: Lost in Translation: A Life in a New Language by Eva Hoffman. I particularly identify with Eva’s story, who emigrated from Poland to Canada as a young teenager, and who grew up to be a writer in English.

There many interesting books and even TED talks on this subject. I like one by Lera Boroditsky because it is nice and short and gives a few examples of how the language one uses changes the reality in which they live in: How Language Shapes The Way We Think.

In her talk, Lera touches upon the effect of cultural differences on language. Culture is partly expressed through language. For all of the beauty of cave paintings (some dated to 40,000 years old), language must have come first. It takes a lot of negotiation and conversations to create this art in the dark depth of the labyrinthian caves. What we talk about, what we pay attention to, and what we remember comes down mainly to language. Just think back to your earliest memories. I only have a few non-verbal ones. Most of my memories are anchored in language. Language is how we recreate our societies generation after generation. When two languages are very different from each other, translations become less and less exact.

Humans are not the only animals on earth to use sounds to communicate nouns. There are primates that consistently use the same combination of utterances to signal the presence of predators, having different sound combinations for a snake or a bird of pray. A snake sound makes everyone look down; and the “word” for eagle makes everyone look up. That’s not only true of the primates in the troop, other animals around them recognize those sounds of threat and act the same — inter-species communication. But is that language? I don’t think so. Nouns alone are not enough to convey knowledge, although they are good enough to signal danger with a certain degree of specificity. Humans probably started with nouns, but our species was able to take the next leap in language development and recognized the usefulness of verbs, and then qualifiers. This allowed us to make plans and express multi-step directions. It let us make amazing cave art.

Which brings me to science fiction alien contact stories. Communicating with aliens will be more complicated than trying to understand animals on our planet, where we share the environment, have most senses in common, and come from the same genetic stock. Communication requires a foundation of mutually agreed upon concepts. Since our environment and the senses we posses to access it inform our culture and the langue we use, how do we find a mutual ground when our native environments are very different and our senses might not have mutual equivalents? This is one of the reasons writers and scientists are looking to mathematics as a common ground. But it is very hard to explain friendship, loyalty, and love via math alone. This makes an unbelievably deep creative vein for sci fi writers to explore.

For those who want to nerd out on words, consider listening/viewing Erin McKean’s TED talk: The Joy of Lexicography. I really enjoyed it!

And of course I’ve written several stories that focus on communication between very different creatures. Becoming Animals focuses on inter-species understanding. Harvest is a story about first contact. Good Girl explores language and meaning in AI intelligence.

Happy reading!