How many times is too many for words?

How many times do you need to use a word in one piece of writing or speech before it's too many? 

In the novel 'We' by Yevgeny Zamyatin, a word meaning 'rose-coloured' or 'rosy' is used several times. The version on Project Gutenberg translates it in one of those two ways, and there are 27 instances (24 of rosy, 3 of rose-colored). In my copy it was translated as roseate, an uncommon word, and that was certainly enough times for me to first notice it, then become distracted by it, and eventually become annoyed by it to the point where it's the main thing I remember about the book. I'm sure in the original it's fine and probably has a stylistic purpose but it was way too high frequency for it not to stand out for me. Because it was highly salient, it's stuck in my memory extremely effectively. 

In one of the podcasts I listen to, The Knitmore Girls, one of the hosts used the word cocoon for the second time within an hour-long episode and caught herself, saying she was using that word a lot in that episode. Just two uses isn't that many, certainly not as many as 27 instances of roseate in a short novel, but it was salient enough to stick out for her and so more than once was too many. 

Disappearing, and being disappeared

The verb disappear is normally what we call 'intransitive', which means that it has one participant: the person who disappears. Like this: 

The leftovers disappeared. 

If anything follows the word disappear, it's either some extra optional information, or it's a continuation of the discourse and the 'disappear' phrase is done: 

The leftovers disappeared overnight. 

The leftovers disappeared, which I'm very annoyed about because I was going to have them for lunch today. 

If we want to talk about more than one participant, like if we have both the thing that disappears and also someone who causes the disappearing to happen, we have to add in another word, make: 

The kitchen staff made the leftovers disappear. 

English being the flexible language that it is, you can find examples of 'transitive' disappear, which is when we just put the two participants of the action right there with the verb: 

VICE has disappeared the post from its website (from M-W)

But English also being the kind of language that doesn't like redundancy (this is all languages tbh), because we already have a way of doing this with make, the 'cause to disappear' meaning takes on a more specialist meaning than the other one, so that they are distinct in their function as well as their form. Content warning now for examples relating to war and dictatorships. Here's some more examples from Merriam-Webster: 

Her son was disappeared during Argentina's so-called Dirty War.

Under his repressive regime, tens of thousands of Chileans were 'disappeared', tortured and killed. 

It [Nineteen Eighty-Four] imagines a secretive regime that surveils its people and polices even their thoughts, disappearing anyone who rebels against the order. 

It has taken on this specialised meaning of the imprisonment or killing of political dissidents. 

Perhaps, if you're paying close attention, you might notice that only the last one actually has two participants mentioned: the 'secretive regime' and 'anyone who rebels'. The others only mention the person who disappeared. But here we have an exception that proves the rule, because these are passive sentences (He was disappeared vs The government disappeared him). You can only make a passive sentence with a transitive verb, because to do so you need to promote the object (the thing the verb happens to) to be the subject of the sentence: 

I (subject) ate the leftovers (object).

The leftovers were eaten. 

You can't do it with a sentence with only one participant to begin with, because then there's no object to promote. Or, if you prefer, you can, but by doing so you're adding in another understood participant: 

Not passive, one participant: The boat sank (perhaps with no particular cause). 

Passive: The boat was sunk (by someone in particular, though we aren't told who). 

While it is true to say that the political dissidents disappeared, it is more informative to say that they were disappeared, because it informs us of the involvement of a third party who deliberately caused this 'disappearance'. 

Best pub for precisely 8.5km is decent

There's a sort of trope that Japanese has no swear words, and instead you insult someone simply by using the wrong level of politeness. As with all these things, it's based on a grain of truth (there are linguistically-encoded formality registers) but it's also really xenophobic and demeaning to essentialise cultures in this way, as it perpetuates racial or national stereotypes of Asians/Japanese people. Plus, you miss out on the actual interesting facts about Japanese honorific speech if you skim the surface like this (you'll have to go somewhere else for those, though, as I am not a Japanese expert). The truth is often more interesting than the factoid and I encourage you to learn more if you didn't know about this! 

So probably I didn't even need to bring that trope up apart from I like to share information about languages, but some things I saw lately reminded me that English (and any other language, probably) is also perfectly capable of being highly insulting without using actual insults, and we do it with pragmatics. 

First, a tweet from @mralanjohnsmith, his second appearance on this blog in recent times, included this photo and observation: 

"Decent staff 🙂" feels like shade at the staff of another café. pic.twitter.com/4vnzUsTzUr

— Alan ‘join a union’ Smith (@mralanjohnsmith) December 13, 2021

(Photo shows a cafe's outdoor A-board with things like 'awesome food', 'delicious cakes', 'the best brew', and 'decent staff'.)

Secondly, this one: 

There’s a pub in the village with a sign saying it has ‘the best pint of Guinness for 8.5km’ which is so incredibly specific it has to be a sick burn on some other pub

— Pro Pattys Day Account (@steveohrourke) March 5, 2022

Both of these seem to be maligning another establishment but not by directly saying anything bad. They in fact both just say good things about themselves. However, they do it in such a way that we fill in the blanks and infer a whole lot more. 

The 'decent staff' cafe has a lot of very enthusiastic words like 'awesome', 'the best'. So among these, 'decent' sounds like fairly low praise, meaning only tolerably good. I had a quick look on Urban Dictionary to see if the kids these days are using it in a more positive sense, and while there are a couple of entries with that sense, most have the 5/10 meaning. It seems strange, then, to put this on your advertising. The cafe could be saying that, if it's honest, its staff are only pretty good, but given that the staff wrote the sign, we might interpret it as more likely that they're comparing themselves to other places. Those other places may have good coffee, but this place has 'the best!' Those other places may have good food, but the food here is 'awesome!'. And by extension, if this place only has 'decent' staff, the other places must have less than decent staff, and the next level down from decent is, well, not good. 

The other sign, rather than saying too little, gives us too much information. If you said you serve the best pint for miles around, we interpret this to mean you think you're pretty good, but haven't literally done a taste test and got votes and so on. The non-specific nature of the claim means that it's not verifiable, because it's not meant to be. The pub next door might have something to say about it, but a pub five miles away can safely consider itself out of range of the claim. But as it says 'for 8.5km', which is a specific measurement, it just can't be interpreted as 'a large area' or 'a long way' in the way that a round figure like 'ten miles' could, so we wonder what is precisely 8.5km away. Is it, as the person suggests, that there is some other pub within that range that they're saying is less good? Perhaps the village is 8.5km in size, so it's a way of saying it's the best in the village? or is it, as I think I'd be inclined to think, that 8.5km away is a better pint? 

It end ups being a word

[Please note that this is a schedule post and I am currently observing my union (UCU)'s industrial action over pensions, pay, workloads, and equality.]

English has a group of verbs that you might know as 'phrasal verbs'. It's things like cheer up, find out, turn off. They include what looks like a preposition (up, out, off) so can be hard to distinguish from normal verbs with a preposition following them. To add to the complication, verbs that are not really phrasal but might have a preposition after them come in two types: they have to have a particular preposition, or they can have any old one optionally. Here's a classic Linguistics 101 example to clarify: 

Look can occur with no preposition at all: 

I'm not sure where it is, I'll look. 

Or it can be followed by one of several prepositions: 

I'm not sure where it is, I'll look at a map. 

I'm not sure where it is, I'll look up the address. 

I'm not sure where it is, I'll look in the atlas. 

I'm not sure where it is, I'll look to the stars as my guide. 

I'm not sure where it is, I'll look with my soul. 

OK, I'll stop there before it gets silly. But one of these is different from the others. Compare these two sentences: 

*I'm not sure where it is, I'll look a map at. 

I'm not sure where it is, I'll look the address up. 

In the second one, we can put the preposition at the end, whereas we can't do that in the first one. That's because look up is (in this case) a phrasal verb, and up isn't really a preposition. It's sometimes known as a verbal particle and it's doing something other than signifying direction. Compare it to the same phrase when it's not a phrasal verb. As we just saw, phrasal verbs like this one can move the 'preposition' to the end: 

I looked up the address.

I looked the address up. 

They can't have any other preposition than the one they go with, though:  

*I looked down the address. 

But if look up is not a phrasal verb, but instead just a normal verb that happens to be followed by a preposition, the opposite is true. You can't move the preposition to the end, but you can change it for another one. (I've added in a bit of context here to make the meaning clear.) 

I looked up the street and saw my friend arriving. 

*I looked the street up and saw my friend arriving. 

I looked down the street and saw my friend arriving. 

Anyway, this is all stuff that's in grammar books, so on to the observational content that you know and love. Someone I follow on twitter used the phrasal verb end up, but treated it as a single unit, putting the verbal ending on the particle, like this: 

...because it end ups reproducing the same situation they want to avoid. 

Normally, you'd expect to see ends up, not end ups. But this does make sense if you consider a phrasal verb to be a single unit. End up is a bit different from look up in that we can't move up anywhere else. It really always does have to be end up, with nothing in between them, and no other preposition than up. The parts don't really mean the same on their own (end could be used in the same way, but it's not). So it's really functioning as a single word in any meaningful sense, and therefore it makes sense to stick the word ending (the 'inflection') on the end of the whole unit, as this person did. 

If/had I needed to express a counterfactual

[Please note that this is a scheduled post, and I am taking part in the ongoing industrial action by my union, UCU.]

In a recent tweet, which I won't quote because the subject was too serious and grim for this light and fluffy discussion of linguistics, I saw the construction had/if. Like this: 

This is who I'd have spoken to had/if I needed help. 

It's like when you use and/or, to be clear that it's inclusive. If I write You'll enjoy this if you like fantasy and/or thrillers, then you'll like it if you like just one of those things or both of them. In other words, fantasy and thrillers, or fantasy, or thrillers. It just makes explicit the 'inclusive disjunction' (one or both are ok). 

But with had/if, there's no equivalent thing to make explicit. We can indeed use either of them in this sentence: This is who I'd have spoken to if I needed help and This is who I'd have spoken to had I needed help. But although had is a bit more formal, the meaning is the same, unlike with and/or. They both give a conditional interpretation. This made me wonder about the difference between them and after some struggle with finding out what the 'had' construnction was called (honestly it's hard to google linguistic things sometimes), I found Iatridou and Embick's 1994 article 'Conditional inversion'. 

It's called conditional inversion because it's used in conditionals, and the verb had is inverted with the subject: I had needed help vs Had I needed help. We use inversion a lot, including in questions (Had I needed help? Who can say.). 

So, if and inversion both indicate a conditional: 

If Sabine had eaten the calamari, she might be better by now.

Had Sabine eaten the calamari, she might be better by now. 

(Examples are all taken from Iatridou and Embick 1994, but with the name 'John' changed to 'Sabine' because John is in way too many linguistics example sentences.) 

Here's one difference between them, though. If can be used in situations where the thing might be true, and we just don't know the facts: 

If Sabine has eaten the calamari, there'll be none left for us. 

Inversion, meanwhile, can only be used in what are called counterfactuals, where we know the thing isn't the case, and you're talking about if it had been (but it isn't). In the equivalent example to the one just above, where it may or may not be true, it doesn't sound at all natural:  

*Has Sabine eaten the calamari, there'll be none left for us. 

(Remember the convention that an asterisk means that a sentence is not grammatical for speakers of the language under discussion.) 

And while if can be used with contracted negation (n't), inversion can't: 

If he hadn't seen the car coming, he would have been killed. 

*Hadn't he seen the car coming, he would have been killed.

Had he not seen the car coming, he would have been killed.

So there are some differences. But in the sentence I saw, where we began this, either would have been fine, because it was a counterfactual (she didn't need help), so inversion is ok, and if works in all conditionals so that would have been ok. So there's no reason to include both for covering more bases. It looks like one of those times when it feels like they mean something more than just using one of them, so you include both for the feeling of completeness. 

An ilk of that ilk

[Please note that this is a scheduled post, and I am taking part in the ongoing industrial action by my union, UCU.]

You should always learn something at a pub quiz, and I did recently: I learnt what ilk means, as in of that ilk. The question asked us about a phrase that is used generically to mean 'of that type' and specifically in Scottish English and Scots to mean 'of the same name or place'. I had no idea and was coming up with all sorts of nonsense like autochthonous. But of that ilk it was, and once we knew, it was so obvious! An example from the OED of it being used in this way is Wemyss of that ilk, meaning Wemyss of Wemyss. 

Reading the OED entry is really interesting because it was used to mean family or class, and you can see how that's related to the meaning above. But its origin is in a pronoun, it seems, which has come down to Modern English as each or which (Scots is descended from the same predecessor as Modern English is) and that meant same or alike. You could use it like that for a while, as in the OED's example from 1648, During this ilk time.... 

It still seems to be pretty widely used in informal contexts today, as a quick twitter search turns up plenty of examples. You'll be pleased to know, I'm sure, that there's also the occasional sighting of the eggcorn version of that elk. 

Catching criminals and watching them in the act

CW: mention of public indecency behaviour in the tweet linked and below, before we get to the linguistics. 

This reply to a tweet of Derren Brown's delighted me. The response is to a screenshot of a takeaway driver review in which the person says they 'caught the delivery guy playing with himself in his car for ten minutes': 

Ten minutes seems a long time to "catch" someone doing something. I feel like that strays into "watch".

— Alan ‘join a union’ Smith (@mralanjohnsmith) December 19, 2021

As Alan says above, you can't really catch someone doing something for ten minutes. Why not? 

This is what linguists call 'lexical aspect', and it's basically part of the meaning of the verb, but it also interacts with the tense and other features of the way you use it. It's why if you say I'll go for a walk in an hour you mean that an hour from now, you will go for a walk, whereas I finished my homework in an hour means that it took you one hour to do your homework, and I'll do my homework in an hour is ambiguous: you'll do it in one hour's time, or it will take you one hour to finish it. Notice that I'll go for a walk in an hour doesn't have this ambiguity because it's just not the type of verb that you can say how long it takes to complete. You can, however, say I'll go for a walk for an hour, and then you're expressing the duration of your walk. 

There are a few different systems of classifying verbs in this way, but let's go with the classic one: Vendler's system from 1957. On this classification, catch is what he termed an 'achievement': an instantaneous action, a point in time. While you might have a long build-up to the catching, like a year-long investigation and stake-out, the act of catching itself is an instant in time. Watch, on the other hand, is an 'activity', which is an ongoing process without a pre-defined end point. If it doesn't have a pre-defined end point, then you can specify how long it went on, as in this case (ten minutes). 

You can manipulate these classes, and for instance say that It took ten years to catch the criminal, and then although we're using a frame that specifies the length of the process, that length of time is actually the delay before the achievement takes place: ten years of meticulous planning and investigating, or perhaps alternatively bumbling incompetence. This is why, after the ten years is up, you might say We finally caught the criminal on Tuesday, after ten long years!. Compare this with an 'accomplishment' like write a novel: you can say It took ten years to write my novel, but you can't say I finally wrote my novel on Tuesday, after ten long years!. You'd have to say instead that you finished it on Tuesday, because write a novel includes the process leading up to the completion as well as the completion itself, unlike catch, which is just the completion and not the process.