MichaelB
September 28th, 2008, 10:34 PM
MichaelB’s Guide To
Creating Your Own Language:
Seven Things You Ought To Remember
(But Few Do)
One of the staple elements of modern fantasy fiction is for the author to create a new language for their world. After Tolkien introduced Sindarin and Quenya to the world, fantasy authors everywhere have taken to the art of language creation. However, there are several things that many fantasy language makers overlook (with their priority being the story) that a more serious language maker (whose priority is the language) might not.
Here I discuss seven of the more important points that a beginning language-maker might fail to notice. These points, in my opinion, are vital for the creation of a dynamic, effective and authentic-seeming language. To aid my discussion, I will draw on examples of Christopher Paolini’s ‘Ancient Language’ and ‘Dwarven Language’ from the Inheritance Cycle, as well as my own works.
Dynamic, Not Static
Words should never be treated as static descriptors. By this I mean that words should be treated as a lifeless collection of letters. In Christopher Paolini’s Ancient Language, for example, the word for fire is ‘brisingr’. It is a static description of the object, with no connection to other words, or other concepts. It is essentially an isolated word. It has no context. In comparison, my own Kessa word for fire is ‘has’. Closely connected to it are the words ‘hasiir’ (shield), ‘hasueg’ (love), and ‘hios’ (star). Etymologically, it also connects with the ‘Huku’ word for fire, ‘hasune’. We immediately get a sense of the way the (fictional) native speakers thought of fire: it is seen as a primarily protective force, closely linked with protection, intimacy and the night. We can also see something of the history of the Kessa language, in its Huku origins. The way the words link together changes our perception of the original word. We no longer just see ‘fire’ as this static thing with no underlying social or linguistic ramifications: we see the subjective expression of a particular concept, and we see how that concept is viewed within the speakers’ philosophy. They automatically link the image of fire with, for example, protection from nocturnal predators; a warm, private backdrop for intimacy (for example, candle-lit dinners). The word ‘has’ also connects with the word for ‘to cook’, (‘hasa’), tying the concept of fire further into its role as a tool to be used in daily life. Words are dynamic. They connect to each other, they change each other’s meanings through implied connections and an intricate web of hidden underlying meanings.
Spelling Rules and Rhythmic Consistency
Every naturally-occurring language, no matter where it’s from, has particular rules of spelling and a kind of rhythmic consistency. I’m talking here of the way words are spelled, and the way words sound together. Take the following examples:
1. Besbuu fera falo taku eng daa. Nambuu takufala.
2. Shech kirdr elempu ug ghrarg wenn saaluea.
Notice how, in the first example, all the words seems to fit together as a unified phrase? But in the second example, the words seem inharmonious, and the spelling conventions vary alarmingly. Which example would you say is more beautiful or easier to read? The first one, right? That’s because the sound of the words is more consistent. There is a rhythm in the way most words follow a particular convention of spelling and vowel-consonant patterns, with no harsh or guttural sounds or glottal stops. In the second example, though, there is an inconsistent mix of ‘soft’ vowel-heavy words and ‘hard’ guttural double-consonant combinations.
Guttural sounds aren’t ‘wrong’, just as vowel-heavy words aren’t ‘right’. They are both equally acceptable, but only when applied consistently. Repetition of particular idiosyncratic letter combinations and vowel-to-consonant ratios and patterns will help lend your language a sense of cadence and rhythm.
Originality
The absolute last thing you want to do when creating your own language is to use other languages. The entire point of the language – creation game, is to exercise your originality as much as you can within the (fairly broad and fairly flexible) boundaries of linguistic sensibility and logical cohesion. Going back to Paolini’s Ancient Language, we can see an excellent example of what not to do. More than 90% of his lexicon (word list) is made up of Norse words, often taking without alteration, and keeping their original meanings. These words are then applied to an essentially English sentence structure, with only the placement of some verbs changed (but not others). For example, we see the sentence: ‘Atra du evarínya ono varda’, purportedly meaning ‘may the stars watch over you’ In this, the word structure is ‘may the stars you (to guard/watch over)’. Here, only the order of one vowel has been changed. Compare this to my own Kessa: ‘ies garume hios-aathe hasiiri fara daa’. Word-for-word, this translates as ‘they may stars protectively see you’. See how the grammar structure is distinctly different from English. It’s also relevant to note that the words themselves do not intentionally relate to any existing language. It is inevitable that some words may be repeated across languages (especially short ones, like 'no' and 'si'), but so long as incidences of word-repetition are coincidental, isolated and unintentional, they are acceptable.
If you’re going to make your own language, make it uniquely your own. If you’re going to use an existing language, use it as it should be, and don’t mangle it to make it seem like your own invention.
Pronounceability
This is a big one that lots of people, especially beginners, seem to miss: no matter how obscure your pronunciation rules are, they have to be realistically pronounceable. The only exception to this rule is if the creator clearly expresses that it is a (usually alien) language that humans cannot pronounce (But then, what is the point of creating it, without the pleasure of speaking it?).
Try reading these out loud:
1. Garjzla; Shrrg; grimstnzborith; Sindriznarrvel; skilfz; kveykva; grimstnzhadn; Skgahgrezh.
Did you manage to pronounce any of them? Be honest.
How about these instead?
2. Hasiir; surang; duod; fesuam; felingo; hasuego; kuono; shunguel.
Those were better, yes? Now, which of the two examples are you more interested in learning to read and write? The first one, a mixture of words from Paolini’s Ancient Language and Dwarven Language, or the second, my own Kessa language? The first is full of awkward consonant combinations (like ‘stnz’ and ‘rjzl’) and unnatural-sounding arrangements. The second has more of a flow to it: balance between the number of vowels and the number of consonants, and balance in the positions of the vowels.
Words are our attempt to give a name to an object, process, concept or idea. You cannot name something if you can’t pronounce the name that you give it.
Diacritics
One of the biggest mistakes any beginning language creator can make is to insert unnecessary diacritical marks. Things like umlauts (ü), circumflex (û), horizontal bar (ū), tilde (ũ), and other marks are often thrown into a language simply to look cool. By their nature, diacritical marks (and apostrophes) should modify the pronunciation (or, more rarely, the meaning) of a word. An excellent example of this is Paolini’s Ancient Language, which uses unnecessary apostrophes (Shur’tugal, ra’zac, Zar’roc, Gil’ead), umlauts (Alagäesia, rïsa, yawë), and other purposeless diacritics (Ellesméra, Ûru’baen, kópa) that do not alter the pronunciation or meaning of the words. By not altering the pronunciation of a word in a clear, consistent way, it simply confuses readers and slows comprehension.
My Velann language provides a contrast to the gratuitous use of unnecessary diacritical marks. Take, for example, the sentence ‘Walu Lạtāot Ko'œl’ (‘Northern never-ending wild jungle trees’). It has many diacritical marks, and even an apostrophe. Why do I contrast it with the examples from Paolini’s work? Because in this example, each one of those diacritical marks is necessary for pronunciation. In Velann, there are 3 ways of pronouncing the vowel ‘a’, 2 forms of ‘e’, 2 of ‘i’, 4 ways of saying ‘o’, and 2 variations of ‘u’. That’s 13 separate, distinct vowel forms, and each of them needs to be represented in the English alphabet for transliteration. How do we do this? One way of transliterating different vowel-forms is to use diacritical marks, as with traditionally transliterated Chinese. Another way (also used to transliterate Chinese) is to use numbers: ‘Walu Lạtāot Ko'œn’ would be then transcribed as ‘Wa2lu1 La3ta103t Ko3’o4n’. The downside to this is that it’s more difficult to memorise the relationship between numbers and which sound they represent than to memorise letters to represent sounds. Using numbers slows down comprehension just as much as, if not more than, using marks.
The rule of thumb is, if it changes the way a letter is pronounced, and if that change is consistently applied to every instance of that mark, then diacritical marks are acceptable. If nothing changes by adding a mark or apostrophe, don’t add it.
Grammar and Sentence Structure
This is one point that many people do take note of, but aren’t quite sure how to go about it. Sentence structure basically means word order – do your descriptions go before or after the object they describe? What about verb and adverb placement? Subjects and objects? There are many essays on the topic for beginning language-makers, so I will be brief.
One of the most important aspects with grammar is consistency. If it is not consistently applied, the language is worse than if it has no grammar at all. No matter how you choose to structure your language, it must be a structure that can be applied to many different phrases, and must be stable enough to withstand the most awkward tests of structure. Yes, ‘my dog is black’ might work, but what about ‘I heard your loud dog barking’? What about ‘I thought I hard your loud dog barking, but it was just a dream’? Do those phrases fit into your sentence structure? What about something more abstract? ‘I thought of writing to you, but I got distracted by food’, or ‘I will have had a good time’.
Your sentence structure needs to be loose enough to fit many different phrase-structures, but tight enough to be recognisable and applicable to many different phrases. It is a delicate balance, and a balancing act best left to the individual.
Language and Culture
According to Sapir and Whorf, two of the most eminent linguists of the field, language defines culture, and is defined by it. In order to create a believably authentic language for your world, you must tie it inextricably to the social and philosophical mindsets of the people who speak it. As mentioned earlier, the way a people think about the world colours the way they speak or write about it. The best example for this is, of course, George Orwell’s masterpiece Nineteen Eighty-Four. In this story, the created language Newspeak has replaced English, eliminating negative or disloyal words and replacing them with more positive-sounding alternatives, such as ‘ungood’ for bad. The theory is that the language defines thought patterns. If a person cannot put words to a thought, they cannot effectively either think it or express it. Clearly, though, this takes the theory to an unstable extreme: thoughts and emotions that cannot be captured in words have been depicted in artwork, dance and through metaphor for hundreds of years.
Regardless, the basic theory remains firm. Each culture will have different priorities and expectations and social maxims, and these will inevitably be expressed through words. A good example of this is Paolini’s Dwarven Language. Paolini’s Dwarf culture is based closely on two things: rocks and clan loyalty. Therefore (as can be expected) there are many words to express metaphors based on stone or rocks, and words to express different positions of authority within the clan (for example, grimstborith, clan chief; dûrgrimst, clan; and grimstnzhadn, country. Also, knurla, Dwarf or stone; knurlheim, ‘stone heart’, a metaphor (assumedly) for strength). The combination of using the word for ‘stone’ as the same word for ‘Dwarf’ clearly outlines a philosophical or religious viewpoint of the speakers.
Comparing to my Huku language: the fact of a relationship is considered to be more important than the nature of the relationship itself, in many cases, so they say ‘ I relate to you in this fashion’, rather than ‘I relate in this fashion to you’ (‘I you love’, rather than ‘I love you’). Except in the case of family or enemies, the fact that there is a relationship is more important, and this importance is expressed through word order. Similarly, the word-group hasune, hasunesa and hasunena (fire, protectiveness/passion and anger/violence, respectively), expresses the culture’s belief that there are always three sides to a story: the objective truth, and at least two subjective viewpoints. This idea of three interlinked perspectives is a dominant feature of the language.
Another example would be my Velann language: the idea of ownership, in the sense of ‘my sister’, or ‘my family’ is not used; they have separate prefixes for relatives and for possessives (‘my sister’ is expressed as œn ạmna, while ‘my sword’ is expressed as œn ạŋ’ŋā, where ‘ạm’ is relative and ‘ạŋ’ is possessive).
Language defines and is defined by culture. Every culture is (or should be) unique, with it’s own focus and cultural understandings and shared ethos; therefore, every language should express those unique focus-points in sentence structure, metaphor and word or idea repetition.
Summary
I’ve now discussed what I believe to be some of the most overlooked parts of creating an authentic-sounding language. To summarise, the key points are:
I. Words are dynamic
II. Spelling conventions should remain stable
III. Your language should be uniquely your own
IV. Words need to be realistically pronounceable
V. Diacritical marks must change the pronunciation of a word
VI. Grammar and sentence structure should be consistent
VII. Language defines and is defined by the culture
Many instructional manuals available on the internet will instruct you on the technical aspects of subject-verb agreement, noun declension and morphosyntactic alignment, but in the midst of all of these technical terms, language-makers may forget the most important part of any language: its speakers.
Creating Your Own Language:
Seven Things You Ought To Remember
(But Few Do)
One of the staple elements of modern fantasy fiction is for the author to create a new language for their world. After Tolkien introduced Sindarin and Quenya to the world, fantasy authors everywhere have taken to the art of language creation. However, there are several things that many fantasy language makers overlook (with their priority being the story) that a more serious language maker (whose priority is the language) might not.
Here I discuss seven of the more important points that a beginning language-maker might fail to notice. These points, in my opinion, are vital for the creation of a dynamic, effective and authentic-seeming language. To aid my discussion, I will draw on examples of Christopher Paolini’s ‘Ancient Language’ and ‘Dwarven Language’ from the Inheritance Cycle, as well as my own works.
Dynamic, Not Static
Words should never be treated as static descriptors. By this I mean that words should be treated as a lifeless collection of letters. In Christopher Paolini’s Ancient Language, for example, the word for fire is ‘brisingr’. It is a static description of the object, with no connection to other words, or other concepts. It is essentially an isolated word. It has no context. In comparison, my own Kessa word for fire is ‘has’. Closely connected to it are the words ‘hasiir’ (shield), ‘hasueg’ (love), and ‘hios’ (star). Etymologically, it also connects with the ‘Huku’ word for fire, ‘hasune’. We immediately get a sense of the way the (fictional) native speakers thought of fire: it is seen as a primarily protective force, closely linked with protection, intimacy and the night. We can also see something of the history of the Kessa language, in its Huku origins. The way the words link together changes our perception of the original word. We no longer just see ‘fire’ as this static thing with no underlying social or linguistic ramifications: we see the subjective expression of a particular concept, and we see how that concept is viewed within the speakers’ philosophy. They automatically link the image of fire with, for example, protection from nocturnal predators; a warm, private backdrop for intimacy (for example, candle-lit dinners). The word ‘has’ also connects with the word for ‘to cook’, (‘hasa’), tying the concept of fire further into its role as a tool to be used in daily life. Words are dynamic. They connect to each other, they change each other’s meanings through implied connections and an intricate web of hidden underlying meanings.
Spelling Rules and Rhythmic Consistency
Every naturally-occurring language, no matter where it’s from, has particular rules of spelling and a kind of rhythmic consistency. I’m talking here of the way words are spelled, and the way words sound together. Take the following examples:
1. Besbuu fera falo taku eng daa. Nambuu takufala.
2. Shech kirdr elempu ug ghrarg wenn saaluea.
Notice how, in the first example, all the words seems to fit together as a unified phrase? But in the second example, the words seem inharmonious, and the spelling conventions vary alarmingly. Which example would you say is more beautiful or easier to read? The first one, right? That’s because the sound of the words is more consistent. There is a rhythm in the way most words follow a particular convention of spelling and vowel-consonant patterns, with no harsh or guttural sounds or glottal stops. In the second example, though, there is an inconsistent mix of ‘soft’ vowel-heavy words and ‘hard’ guttural double-consonant combinations.
Guttural sounds aren’t ‘wrong’, just as vowel-heavy words aren’t ‘right’. They are both equally acceptable, but only when applied consistently. Repetition of particular idiosyncratic letter combinations and vowel-to-consonant ratios and patterns will help lend your language a sense of cadence and rhythm.
Originality
The absolute last thing you want to do when creating your own language is to use other languages. The entire point of the language – creation game, is to exercise your originality as much as you can within the (fairly broad and fairly flexible) boundaries of linguistic sensibility and logical cohesion. Going back to Paolini’s Ancient Language, we can see an excellent example of what not to do. More than 90% of his lexicon (word list) is made up of Norse words, often taking without alteration, and keeping their original meanings. These words are then applied to an essentially English sentence structure, with only the placement of some verbs changed (but not others). For example, we see the sentence: ‘Atra du evarínya ono varda’, purportedly meaning ‘may the stars watch over you’ In this, the word structure is ‘may the stars you (to guard/watch over)’. Here, only the order of one vowel has been changed. Compare this to my own Kessa: ‘ies garume hios-aathe hasiiri fara daa’. Word-for-word, this translates as ‘they may stars protectively see you’. See how the grammar structure is distinctly different from English. It’s also relevant to note that the words themselves do not intentionally relate to any existing language. It is inevitable that some words may be repeated across languages (especially short ones, like 'no' and 'si'), but so long as incidences of word-repetition are coincidental, isolated and unintentional, they are acceptable.
If you’re going to make your own language, make it uniquely your own. If you’re going to use an existing language, use it as it should be, and don’t mangle it to make it seem like your own invention.
Pronounceability
This is a big one that lots of people, especially beginners, seem to miss: no matter how obscure your pronunciation rules are, they have to be realistically pronounceable. The only exception to this rule is if the creator clearly expresses that it is a (usually alien) language that humans cannot pronounce (But then, what is the point of creating it, without the pleasure of speaking it?).
Try reading these out loud:
1. Garjzla; Shrrg; grimstnzborith; Sindriznarrvel; skilfz; kveykva; grimstnzhadn; Skgahgrezh.
Did you manage to pronounce any of them? Be honest.
How about these instead?
2. Hasiir; surang; duod; fesuam; felingo; hasuego; kuono; shunguel.
Those were better, yes? Now, which of the two examples are you more interested in learning to read and write? The first one, a mixture of words from Paolini’s Ancient Language and Dwarven Language, or the second, my own Kessa language? The first is full of awkward consonant combinations (like ‘stnz’ and ‘rjzl’) and unnatural-sounding arrangements. The second has more of a flow to it: balance between the number of vowels and the number of consonants, and balance in the positions of the vowels.
Words are our attempt to give a name to an object, process, concept or idea. You cannot name something if you can’t pronounce the name that you give it.
Diacritics
One of the biggest mistakes any beginning language creator can make is to insert unnecessary diacritical marks. Things like umlauts (ü), circumflex (û), horizontal bar (ū), tilde (ũ), and other marks are often thrown into a language simply to look cool. By their nature, diacritical marks (and apostrophes) should modify the pronunciation (or, more rarely, the meaning) of a word. An excellent example of this is Paolini’s Ancient Language, which uses unnecessary apostrophes (Shur’tugal, ra’zac, Zar’roc, Gil’ead), umlauts (Alagäesia, rïsa, yawë), and other purposeless diacritics (Ellesméra, Ûru’baen, kópa) that do not alter the pronunciation or meaning of the words. By not altering the pronunciation of a word in a clear, consistent way, it simply confuses readers and slows comprehension.
My Velann language provides a contrast to the gratuitous use of unnecessary diacritical marks. Take, for example, the sentence ‘Walu Lạtāot Ko'œl’ (‘Northern never-ending wild jungle trees’). It has many diacritical marks, and even an apostrophe. Why do I contrast it with the examples from Paolini’s work? Because in this example, each one of those diacritical marks is necessary for pronunciation. In Velann, there are 3 ways of pronouncing the vowel ‘a’, 2 forms of ‘e’, 2 of ‘i’, 4 ways of saying ‘o’, and 2 variations of ‘u’. That’s 13 separate, distinct vowel forms, and each of them needs to be represented in the English alphabet for transliteration. How do we do this? One way of transliterating different vowel-forms is to use diacritical marks, as with traditionally transliterated Chinese. Another way (also used to transliterate Chinese) is to use numbers: ‘Walu Lạtāot Ko'œn’ would be then transcribed as ‘Wa2lu1 La3ta103t Ko3’o4n’. The downside to this is that it’s more difficult to memorise the relationship between numbers and which sound they represent than to memorise letters to represent sounds. Using numbers slows down comprehension just as much as, if not more than, using marks.
The rule of thumb is, if it changes the way a letter is pronounced, and if that change is consistently applied to every instance of that mark, then diacritical marks are acceptable. If nothing changes by adding a mark or apostrophe, don’t add it.
Grammar and Sentence Structure
This is one point that many people do take note of, but aren’t quite sure how to go about it. Sentence structure basically means word order – do your descriptions go before or after the object they describe? What about verb and adverb placement? Subjects and objects? There are many essays on the topic for beginning language-makers, so I will be brief.
One of the most important aspects with grammar is consistency. If it is not consistently applied, the language is worse than if it has no grammar at all. No matter how you choose to structure your language, it must be a structure that can be applied to many different phrases, and must be stable enough to withstand the most awkward tests of structure. Yes, ‘my dog is black’ might work, but what about ‘I heard your loud dog barking’? What about ‘I thought I hard your loud dog barking, but it was just a dream’? Do those phrases fit into your sentence structure? What about something more abstract? ‘I thought of writing to you, but I got distracted by food’, or ‘I will have had a good time’.
Your sentence structure needs to be loose enough to fit many different phrase-structures, but tight enough to be recognisable and applicable to many different phrases. It is a delicate balance, and a balancing act best left to the individual.
Language and Culture
According to Sapir and Whorf, two of the most eminent linguists of the field, language defines culture, and is defined by it. In order to create a believably authentic language for your world, you must tie it inextricably to the social and philosophical mindsets of the people who speak it. As mentioned earlier, the way a people think about the world colours the way they speak or write about it. The best example for this is, of course, George Orwell’s masterpiece Nineteen Eighty-Four. In this story, the created language Newspeak has replaced English, eliminating negative or disloyal words and replacing them with more positive-sounding alternatives, such as ‘ungood’ for bad. The theory is that the language defines thought patterns. If a person cannot put words to a thought, they cannot effectively either think it or express it. Clearly, though, this takes the theory to an unstable extreme: thoughts and emotions that cannot be captured in words have been depicted in artwork, dance and through metaphor for hundreds of years.
Regardless, the basic theory remains firm. Each culture will have different priorities and expectations and social maxims, and these will inevitably be expressed through words. A good example of this is Paolini’s Dwarven Language. Paolini’s Dwarf culture is based closely on two things: rocks and clan loyalty. Therefore (as can be expected) there are many words to express metaphors based on stone or rocks, and words to express different positions of authority within the clan (for example, grimstborith, clan chief; dûrgrimst, clan; and grimstnzhadn, country. Also, knurla, Dwarf or stone; knurlheim, ‘stone heart’, a metaphor (assumedly) for strength). The combination of using the word for ‘stone’ as the same word for ‘Dwarf’ clearly outlines a philosophical or religious viewpoint of the speakers.
Comparing to my Huku language: the fact of a relationship is considered to be more important than the nature of the relationship itself, in many cases, so they say ‘ I relate to you in this fashion’, rather than ‘I relate in this fashion to you’ (‘I you love’, rather than ‘I love you’). Except in the case of family or enemies, the fact that there is a relationship is more important, and this importance is expressed through word order. Similarly, the word-group hasune, hasunesa and hasunena (fire, protectiveness/passion and anger/violence, respectively), expresses the culture’s belief that there are always three sides to a story: the objective truth, and at least two subjective viewpoints. This idea of three interlinked perspectives is a dominant feature of the language.
Another example would be my Velann language: the idea of ownership, in the sense of ‘my sister’, or ‘my family’ is not used; they have separate prefixes for relatives and for possessives (‘my sister’ is expressed as œn ạmna, while ‘my sword’ is expressed as œn ạŋ’ŋā, where ‘ạm’ is relative and ‘ạŋ’ is possessive).
Language defines and is defined by culture. Every culture is (or should be) unique, with it’s own focus and cultural understandings and shared ethos; therefore, every language should express those unique focus-points in sentence structure, metaphor and word or idea repetition.
Summary
I’ve now discussed what I believe to be some of the most overlooked parts of creating an authentic-sounding language. To summarise, the key points are:
I. Words are dynamic
II. Spelling conventions should remain stable
III. Your language should be uniquely your own
IV. Words need to be realistically pronounceable
V. Diacritical marks must change the pronunciation of a word
VI. Grammar and sentence structure should be consistent
VII. Language defines and is defined by the culture
Many instructional manuals available on the internet will instruct you on the technical aspects of subject-verb agreement, noun declension and morphosyntactic alignment, but in the midst of all of these technical terms, language-makers may forget the most important part of any language: its speakers.