In Search of Language in Writing Historicals

by Kathy Fischer-Brown 

In setting historical novels for a contemporary audience, dialogue and voice are vital elements for bringing the past to life. Before I park myself in front of the computer to write, I need to hear the characters speak. I want to hear, not just the particular tone and quality of their voices—so if they were to call up on the phone, I’d know who they were—but its rhythms and word choices. Like other writers, I hear voices (too often at the most inconvenient times), and it’s the particular sound and rhythms I try to get right in their dialogue and inner monologues. Unfortunately there are complications in that we have only a vague idea what eighteenth century speech sounded like as it was spoken on a daily basis.

Unlike the barely-to-almost recognizable English of the early Medieval and into the Renaissance periods, the English language of “The Age of Enlightenment” closely approximates today’s written (and it is assumed, its spoken) word. This was also the time when punctuation rules were being formulated for the first time, so we can read along and hear in our minds how the author intended the words to sound, their pauses and full stops. We have a number of dictionaries from the period: Robert Crawdrey’s A Table Alphabeticall, (1604), works by Elisha Coles, Thomas Blount, Edward Phillips, and Samuel Johnson’s monumental A Dictionary of the English Language (1755), to name a few. These dictionaries not only defined the words, but made an attempt to standardize their pronunciation. 
 

Obviously we have no recordings of our ancestors from the 1700s, but we have some idea of the accents that defined English speech in the thirteen original colonies, some of which are still with us (such as the Bostonian “pahk the cah” or Bernie Sanders’s Brooklyn “yuge”). It’s presumed these regionalisms were derived from the areas in Great Britain where the settlers of New England originated. These in turn acquired flavor in the melting pot, seasoned by smatterings from the Dutch, German, and French—both words and their pronunciations. (An excellent case for this theory can be found in The Story of English, by Robert McCrum. William Cran, and Robert MacNeil.)

A most important tool for the writer of historicals is the written word of the period, especially poetry, which is most helpful when rhyming words give an indication of how certain words were pronounced over two hundred years ago…except when the rhyme is strained. (By the way, is it “huzzah,” or “huzzay”? The battle rages on in this informative and entertaining article, by Norman Fuss). Letters, plays, novels, political treatises, newspaper articles all provide glimpses into the way people wrote, which was generally more formal than daily speech.

A pet peeve of mine is finding words in modern historicals—both in dialogue and narrative—that didn’t exist in the period. Even trickier are words which appear to be modern that were actually in use. The question for a writer attempting to recreate an accurate depiction of a far gone time is whether to use such words and expressions without jolting the reader out of the setting. I tend to avoid both cases.

 

Another quandary is: “How much period lingo is too much?” A pinch of Thees and thous, prithees, vouchsafes, and the like sprinkled in with dialogue that is easy on the modern eye and ear goes a long way toward establishing the era and the characters’ individual and societal idiosyncracies. Same goes for accents. A minor character in Courting the Devil, “Major” Fergus McKenna, is veteran of the French and Indian Wars. Without going into too much detail, I wanted to establish his Scottish roots with a word or a phrase here and there, without attempting to capture his accent on the page.  Accents are ‘tricksy little hobbitses’ and best approached with a light hand.

Some Cool Links

A Guide to Eighteenth-CenturyEnglish Vocabulary

A Digital Edition of the 1755 Classic by Samuel Johnson

A to Z Guide to Street Slang from the 1700S

~*~ 

Kathy Fischer Brown is a BWL author of historical novels, Winter Fire, Lord Esterleigh's Daughter, Courting the Devil, The Partisan's Wife and The Return of Tachlanad, her newly released epic fantasy adventure for young adult and adult readers. Check out her The Books We Love Author page or visit her website. All of her books are available in a variety of e-book formats and in paperback from Amazon and other online retailers, as well as a bookstore near you.

I'll Never Leave Your Pizza Burning: An examination of misheard words, phrases and lyrics, by Kathy Fischer-Brown

The English language is rich with idioms, odd turns of phrase, and regional colloquialisms. For a foreigner trying to learn English (whether it be of the American, British, or other variety), it can be a daunting task...even tricky…to say the least. Same with children just starting to talk. How we hear and interpret these words and phrases can often have a lasting effect on how we speak them.

Which brings me to one of most entertaining…and even amusing... of these curiosities of warped perception, the “mondegreen."

Coined in “The Death of Lady Mondegreen,” a November 1954 essay published in Harper’s Magazine, the mondegreen was writer Sylvia Wright’s explanation for misheard words in a favorite poem of her childhood. The Bonnie Earl o'Moray from Thomas Percy’s “Relics of Ancient English Poetry” contains the following:

Ye Hielands and ye Lowlands,
O, whaur hae ye been?
They hae slain the Earl o' Moray,
And laid him on the green.

To Ms. Wright’s young ears, the words sounded like this:

Ye Hielands and ye Lowlands,
O, whaur hae ye been?
They hae slain the Earl Amurray,
And Lady Mondegreen.

To quote the author, "The point about what I shall hereafter call mondegreens, since no one else has thought up a word for them, is that they are better than the original."

Better? Judge for yourself.  How many of you, having listened to Creedence Clearwater Revival’s “Bad Moon,” misheard a certain lyric as I did? (“There’s a bathroom on the right”—surely useful information.) The Beatles were masters of creating mondegreens. For example: “The girl with colitis goes by,” "She's got a chicken to ride," and “All my luggage...” The Rolling Stones in "Beast of Burden" promise, “I’ll never leave your pizza burning” (I'd have no other guy). Annie Lennox had it right when she  promised, "Sweet dreams are made of cheese." And what about that cute, cuddly critter, “Gladly, the Cross-eyed Bear"? National anthems are not immune, and in this instance, more than true: “O, Canada, I stand on cars and freeze.” For all you Boomers, did you know that Davey Crockett was “killed in a bar when he was only three”? Let’s not forget The Young Rascals and their loving threesome, “You and me and Leslie.” But the most famous of all has to be Jimi Hendrix with his “Excuse me while I kiss this guy.” I could go on.... But I'm sure we all have our own personal mondegreens.

I first became acquainted with mondegreens in a hilarious 1978 article in The New York Times Sunday Magazine, titled “I Led the Pigeons to the Flag,” in which William Safire, tongue in cheek, stated that some guy named Richard Stans was the most saluted man in America. Despite his politics, I was a big fan of  Safire's "On Language" column, reading it religiously every week. This one, in which he tackles the "misheard," was arguably one of his best. He called the misinterpretation of words and phrases “false homonyms,” or “The Guylum Bardo Syndrome.” He presented a lovely thesis on how some misheard words and phrases have actually found permanence in our lexicon. He cited a few etymologies, such as the evolution of “spit 'n’ image”—often spelled now as “spitting image”—and how “kit and caboodle” is sometimes written “kitten caboodle,” which he described as “a good name for a satchel in which to carry a cat.”

"Mondegreen" turned out to be Safire’s preferred label for this phenomenon of substituting perfectly reasonable words where the actual ones are ripe for misinterpretation. It also lends support to Wright's assertion that modegreens are, in many cases, better than the actual rendition. This is especially apparent as it applies to the poor Earl o’Moray.

Safire closed his brilliant piece by expressing how much more romantic and appropriate it is that, instead of simply being “laid on the green” to die a cold and lonely death, the earl had company. Perhaps he even held the hand of the beautiful Lady Mondegreen, “both bleeding profusely, but faithful unto death.”

Yes, I will agree with Sylvia Wright. Some mondegreens are infinitely better than the original.

 

Links to Sites Featuring Mondegreens

(Not by any means comprehensive)

The Phrase Finder

Senior Times

Kiss This Guy

Kathy Fischer-Brown is an author of historical fiction, whose novels are published by BWL Publishing, Inc. Find her at: http://bwlpublishing.ca/authors/fischer-brown-kathy/
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