The Hidden Grammar Rule English Speakers Don’t Know They Know

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What’s fascinating to me—and Chomsky Doe—is how kids so fluidly pick up on the rule structures of language. They don’t know from verbs, but they can still conjugate them. It’s amazing to me, every time.

👍︎︎ 4 👤︎︎ u/rasterbated 📅︎︎ Apr 01 2021 🗫︎ replies
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This video was made possible by CuriosityStream. Get the Nebula-CuriosityStream bundle for the sale price of less than $15 a year by going to curiositystream.com/HAI. How do you do, fellow kids? Are you into hop-hip? No? What about tok-tik? Or perhaps I could interest you in a game of pong-ping? I’ll just need to be careful because I’m wearing flop-flips. Why are you laughing with me? What’s that? Oh, you’re laughing at me. I see. Well, how about I prove just how cool and lit I am by spending the next five minutes explaining the obscure grammatical phenomenon behind why everything I said before made me sound like Joe Biden trying to get out the youth vote. It’s called ablaut reduplication, and to understand it, we have to do like a hop-hipper and break it down. So, ablaut is just any pattern of vowel shifts inside of related words. Like sing-sang-sung: the S, N, and G stay the same, but the vowel changes. Ablaut is used for a lot of different things; sometimes, like with sing-sang-sung, it’s to shift verb tenses: sing is present tense, sang is simple past tense, and sung is past participle—and I know you’ve forgotten what a past participle is, but given the limited time we’ve cut our explanation. There are lots of English verbs that do this: give and gave, ride and rode, drink-drank-drunk, and stink-stank-stunk. Ablaut is also sometimes used to distinguish singular and plural nouns: that’s why, for example, you can fight off one goose, but you’ll be beaten up by multiple geese. You can try to kick the geese with one foot, but soon they’ll manage to tie up both your feet. And whether you’re a man or a woman, you’ll be most humiliated when you have to yell at several nearby men and women to save you. Now let’s talk about reduplication, which is country-club-elitist-vaccine-talk for when you repeat a word, or part of it, for some effect. Like a leprechaun’s tax filings, reduplication comes in many forms. The simplest is exact reduplication, which is when you just repeat a word exactly. It’s why you might tell a child it’s a no-no to cry wah-wah before night-night—or why your drunken friend might go wee-wee on a putt-putt course, and have to say bye-bye once he’s arrested by the po-po. Some languages will use exact reduplication to create plurals: in Malay, rumah is a house, and rumah-rumah is houses; it’s a convention that, like many patents, has been copied by Chinese: for example, in Mandarin, ren is person, and renren is people. In English, there are a number of other reduplication variants. One is rhyming reduplication: it’s why you might use a teenie-weenie, itsy-bitsy walkie-talkie to gather a super-duper rag-tag team, and then you could all do the hokey-pokey. Quite possibly the most fun variation is called “shm reduplication,” which is when you repeat a word, but replace the beginning with “shm.” For nouns, shm reduplication makes you sound dismissive of that thing: “You’re tired? Tired-shmired, get over it.” “You got beaten up by a violent gang of geese? Geese-shmeese, walk it off.” For adjectives, though, shm doesn’t dismiss the meaning, but intensifies it; that’s why you can go to a fancy-schmancy restaurant—or at least, you can if your attitude on public health is “covid-shmovid.” Shm reduplication originates from Yiddish-speaking areas of New York, and has since become widely adopted across the country by anyone who wants to make something sound dumb, and it’s especially interesting because it is productive, which means you can apply it to whatever word you want. YouTube, ShmouTube. Wendover, Shmendover. Smosh, Shmosh—actually that one doesn’t really work well, but you get the idea. Another reduplication variation is contrastive focus reduplication, where you emphasize the first repetition to imply you want the true form of something. I don’t want oat milk, I want milk milk. Or as many viewers are likely commenting, I don’t want grammar jokes, I want joke jokes. So, now you know what ablaut is, and what reduplication is, which means it’s time for the incredible Avengers-style team-up you knew was coming all along: ablaut reduplication. Ablaut reduplication is when you repeat a word, but with a vowel shift… and we use it all the time. Chit-chat, flip-flop, flim-flam, hip-hop, riff-raff, knick-knack, ticky-tacky, wishy-washy, pish-posh, criss-cross; and there are tons more, but what’s really fascinating about ablaut reduplication is that it’s a rule that native English speakers intuitively know, but have probably never thought about: anytime you use ablaut reduplication, the vowel shift must follow this precise order: I then A, then O. Nearly every instance of ablaut reduplication starts with “i” as the first vowel, followed by a shift to either “a” or “o”—in the case of rare three-parters, like tic-tac-toe or splish-splash-splosh, the A always goes before the O. This vowel shift pattern is called a front-to-back pattern, because the first vowel sound, the sound you get from the “i” in words like flip or hip, ĭ, is formed at the front of the mouth, and the next vowel sounds—which for “o” are either ŏ like flop or ô like song and for “a” are either ă like flap or ä like washy—those vowel sounds are formed at the back of your mouth. Say “pish-posh” out loud right now, and notice how the ĭ in pish is at the front of your mouth, and the ŏ in posh is at the back. Then notice how everyone in the library is staring at you. Now, there are a few examples of ablaut reduplication that start with not with “i” but with “e”—hee-haw, see-saw, and teeter-totter—but even then, that long “e” is a front vowel, so the front-to back pattern is still followed. Bottom line is, if you don’t follow a precise front-to-back vowel pattern—you try to say hop-hip or cross-criss or tac-toe-tic—you’ll sound like your brain is a bit wibbly-wobbly. And I know that you’re wondering: why? Why do we do this extremely specific, weirdly technical vowel shift to describe everything from dumb shoes to dumb games to dumb racist allegories? Well, we genuinely have no idea. Seriously. Not a clue. All the theories are about as useful as everyone’s guesses about what Evan Peters was doing on Wandavision, which means that in the end, ablaut reduplication’s origins will always remain wishy-washy and topsy-turvy. You may think ablaut reduplication is a bunch of pish-posh, but you know what’s tip top? The Nebula-CuriosityStream bundle. If you like HAI or Wendover, you’ll definitely want to check out my three-part trivia show, 40-minute HAI bricks special, podcast, and a new Wendover Original coming out April 6th: all of which are exclusively available only on Nebula. Plus, with the bundle, you’ll also get access to CuriosityStream, the incredible streaming site with thousands of top-quality documentaries, including The History of English, a great short documentary that’s about… well, the history of English. Right now, the Nebula-CuriosityStream bundle is on sale for less than $15 for the entire year—so head over to CuriosityStream.com/HAI, and help support independent creators like me.
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Channel: Half as Interesting
Views: 707,489
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Length: 6min 48sec (408 seconds)
Published: Wed Mar 31 2021
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