At the beginning of this lucid and insightful study of linguistics, David Shariatmadari states: “There are good reasons language is such a battleground and frustration: it is also a source of delight, of self-esteem and solidarity.” He might have added that it is a topic that writers and their publishers keep returning to, whether in David Crystal’s How Language Works, Bill Bryson’s The Mother Tongue or in any of the other books, specialist and general alike, that proliferate in the reference section of bookshops all over the country. Yet Don’t Believe A Word is too wise, and too personal, to be regarded as just another book on language: it entertains just as much as it informs.
An account of how learning Arabic led Shariatmadari to become more engaged and tolerant in society sets the scene. As he writes: “My first experience of a non-Indo-European language… overturned my assumptions about what language was.” This began his journey of sorts, with his scholarly interest in the roots and development of language always underpinned by its everyday use. He points out that “in terms of establishing a human connection, there was something fundamental about getting to grips with the language”, and this longing for connection gives Shariatmadari’s story its heart and soul.
Shariatmadari has no truck with the idea that our language is somehow poorer than that of our ancestors, briskly arguing that “linguistic decline is the cultural equivalent of the boy who cried wolf”. He makes some interesting points about the conservatism inherent within linguistics, describing “proper” English, of the kind that you might read in this newspaper, as being controlled by middle-aged, middle-class people, and therefore representing “the dialect of power”. The reader cannot help but be reminded of Jacob Rees-Mogg’s regrettable attempts to impose his views of what proper and improper English is upon his unfortunate parliamentary staff. Shariatmadari, a Guardian journalist, is excellent on the way in which class associations between language and an accent are immediately forged, just as there is no such thing as a classless, accentless use of language; everyone has an accent as a social identifier, even if it’s just a form of RP.
There are reminders of the gravity of language throughout, and how it distinguishes itself from “lesser” forms; Shariatmadari cites the Yiddish maxim that “a language is a dialect with an army and navy”. He is also incisive on the way in which forbidden words have their own power, writing that taboos “are not anthropological curiosities, confined to museums – they are real and have meaning”. One wishes for slightly longer on some fascinating subjects, such as Polari, which is briefly mentioned in a footnote and probably deserves its own book, but, inevitably, there cannot be enough space to do justice to all of the associations and ‘clubs’ of language.
The odd section can be somewhat hard going, despite Shariatmadari’s obvious enthusiasm, but some good jokes make up for that; I especially enjoyed a line on how Madonna’s accent, after years of life in Britain, became “more Downton than Downtown”. And, above all, this is a generous and enthralling study of the basis of how we communicate. At its close, Shariatmadari compares linguistics to Schatzkammer, a German term for treasure chamber. Readers of this fine book will enjoy taking part in this particular treasure hunt, with Shariatmadari serving as their more than able guide.
• Don’t Believe a Word by David Shariatmadari is published by Weidenfeld & Nicolson (£16.99). To order a copy go to guardianbookshop.com or call 0330 333 6846. Free UK p&p over £15, online orders only. Phone orders min p&p of £1.99
