Thinking about Japanese V

When I was young and began wonder about computers, one day it occurred to me that Chinese keyboards must very, very big. So big, they would have thousands of keys. I imagined an old monk-like figure with white hair and long beard tapping away at his giant keyboard in a dimly lit basement. In Japan, fortunately, there is a better answer. They use romanji to input phonetic representations of desired words. A computer program then assists the disambiguation process since Japanese has an ambundance of homophones -- words that sound identical but are "spelled" differently.

In an earlier post, I used the name of Japan in Japanese, Nihon or Nippon, as an example. Typing either of these phonetic spellings into a computer setup for Japanese input will immediately convert these roman characters to kanji (日本). Beyond the required disambiguation, the system is quite efficient. An experienced typist can produce a document very quickly, at least as fast as phonetic European languages.

When I visited Hongkong for the second time recently -- this time on business -- I realised a substantial difference in the way language was used when compared to the Japanese business setting. In our Tokyo office, Japanese is strictly used, or English is strictly used. They are but a handful of people who can successfully navigate the language barrier well. In our Hongkong office, three languages are required for complete navigation: Catonese (the local Hongkong dialect), Mandarin (the national dialect for Mainland China), and English. Again, they are but a few who understand all three well enough to conduct business. Most people know two of three. English is the lowest common denominator -- everyone knows it. They begin by trying their strongest dialect then downshift to Mandarin, if possible, and finally English. All of this occurs in the beginning few seconds of a conversation. Sometimes a more basic form of a dialect is employed instead of switching down to English. Even worse, sometimes they pick words for languages that best suit their thoughts.

Why is this important to language input on a computer? Almost no business is done using written Chinese; nearly everything is English. This is very different than Japan. All client interactions, with the exception of a few foreign hedge funds, are spoken and written using Japanese. Curious, I asked why no one was writing Chinese e-mails. I was told, contrary to so-called common knowledge, written Chinese is not the same everywhere -- between Mainland and its satellites. Mainlanders often find it difficult to read a Hongkong newspaper and vice versa. Local grammar drives a slightly different use of words or order of characters. This requires a difficult adjustment on the part of the Mandarin speaker.

There is also no standard for input of Chinese characters. At the time of this writing, there are at least five major systems in use for Cantonese and Mandarin. In Japan, there is one. (I intentionally failed to mention this earlier.) I am convinced this is the key. The Modified Hepburn system is used by the vast majority of computers in Japan. I am sure the government has had a heavy hand in its success. There is no equivalent for Chinese language input between Mainland and its satellites.

One of the more complex input systems for Chinese characters uses a non-roman method where keys correspond to brushstrokes. For example, the letter b may correspond to a vertical slash, and c to a horizontal slash. A typist must memorize this system and imagine the shape of the character as it is written. Other systems are based upon competing romanizations. I suspect very soon a standard will emerge courtesy of the Mainland government in the interest of promoting computer literacy.

Thinking about Japanese IV

When I first discovered kanji in Japanese, I fascinated by the idea of a small picture representing a idea. But, it was daunting to learn how complex it was to read these characters. In Japanese, each hiragana character represents exactly one sound or syllable. The character ひ is always pronounced as "hi" (short i vowel). When reading kanji, not only are there one to many syllables per character, but there are often multiple readings for each character given the kanji on either side. These are calling kanji compounds.

Let us consider one of the most simple characters, its pronunciations and meanings: 本. If you know any Japanese, you will know that Nihon or Nippon is the name of Japan in Japanese. It is written as 日本. The first character, 日, is "ni" and means day or sun in this context. The second character, 本, is "hon" or "ppon" (hold the p sound in your lips) and means base. This is why Japan is nicknamed in Western nations as the Land of the Rising Sun.

From the looks of this example, it should be relatively simple to learn syllables to associate with different kanji. Unfortunately, given the preceding or proceeding kanji, the pronunciation of 本 may change. There is a famous city in the north of Japan called Matsumoto. The center of the city has an ancient, well-preserved castle. It is written as 松本. Here, 松 is "matsu", and 本 is "moto". Suddenly, we have a second pronunciation for the same character, 本. Even worse, now this character represents two syllables, where it previously represented one syllable.

And I'll keep going: 元 is pronounced the same, "moto", and also means base or bottom. There is another character, 基, that has the same pronunciation, "moto", and same meaning.

This is getting hard.

Context sometimes changes the definition of a character, such as 六本木 (Roppongi). This is the name of a famous neighborhood in Tokyo frequented by foreigners. It translates to six trees. The first character, 六, means six, and the third character, 木, means tree. What about the second character, 本? It is now used as a counting device for cylindrical objects. Trees, being roughly cylindrical, must be counted using this character.

To give you some perspective, this is an easy example.

If you cannot create the correct sounds to read these characters, you know their basic meaning in any language. Understanding a street sign is reasonable, but reading it aloud is much more difficult.

Thinking about Japanese III

Having never experienced the mindset required for a true multilingual persona, it is difficult to imagine yourself in such a place. Take my co-worker as an example. He was born in Poland, moved to Canada, and now lives in Japan. He speaks Polish with his parents, English with his brother and friends, and Japanese at work, at home, and with other friends. This makes no mention of his high school immersion program in Canada to learn French. His French isn't perfect, but he can carry a conversation well.

This brings me to my point: Part of being bilingual, or even multilingual, is faking it. Yes, faking it. Something I have become accustomed to in Japan is making the speaker believe that I understand their words. Think of when you speak your native language (likely English); there are many small phrases used to carry the conversation.

• "Okay."
• "Sure."
• "Absolutely."
• "I was thinking the same thing."
• "I disagree."
• "I don't understand."
• "It's true."
• "Yes."

Someone could study these phrases on an aeroplane from Moscow to New York and pass for a poor English speaker the first week. I use the same types of expressions when speaking Japanese. When you enter a taxi cab in Japan, most cab drivers speak less than fifty words of English. I sense they can read much more but are too どきどき (dokidoki / nervous) to use more with you. A few catch phrases are the key.

When people first arrive in my office to Japan and are looking for advice, I tell them above all to be polite. Nearly any misunderstanding in Japan can be resolved with politeness. The same in true in a taxicab. Try a few different pronunciations and the taxi driver will do his best to understand. Apologize -- if you know how -- even in English. Most drivers understand "I'm sorry."

One part of faking fluency with which I have had difficulty is the cadence of service in Japan. In the United States and Canada, there is a specific order to which the service industry calls and responds. This may be in a number of different situations: ordering lunch from a waiter or waitress, checking into a hotel, getting home in a taxicab. While the exchange in North America is quite informal, it is elaborate and draw-out in Japan. The most difficult part for me is the cadence of repetition. At the supermarket:

• Them: "Do you need chopsticks?"
• You: "No, thank you."
• Them: "No, thank you?"
• You: "Yes, no, thank you."

At first sound, it could be maddening, but this is normal for Japanese speakers, especially service people. Since this cadence is so programmed into the Japanese as part of their language and culture, any break in this rhythm can upset the entire transaction. If, for example, you are confused by their second question confirming your first answer, their entire approach will change. Service people are not offended, only illequipped to deal with this disruption to their cadence. Suddenly and often, they will switch to broken English which further confuses both parties. I have made the mistake in the past of insisting that we switch back to Japanese by responding to their broken English with broken Japenese. Since the cadence of English is completely different, the rhythm is lost yet again. One of my informal measures of fluency is the ability to rock the boat back towards Japanese. If you can convince the Japanese speaker of your slight misunderstanding, you can gingerly tip the boat back.

Regardless, one thing I keep in mind is that most Japanese people only have the best intentions when interacting with non-native Japanese speakers. As I said before, politeness prevails in this nation -- certainly in Tokyo.

Thinking about Japanese II

Watching people write Chinese and Japanese provides a window into their minds and respective cultures about how language is handles. From my observations, Japanese writing is handled like a fragile egg. Characters are written more slowly and with more precision. I have never seen Chinese characters handled this way.

My idea why is simple: Beyond the endless cultural debates one could launch into, this is a matter of reality. Writing Chinese characters is more difficult than Japanese ones. Beyond the number of strokes required for each Chinese character, they is no syllabary available to write the sounds. When I watch Japanese co-workers take notes during meetings, if the speaker is fast and content complex, there is no time to write kanji. Instead, hiragana is substituted for the sounds.

In English, imagine when one listens to a complex science lecture. When new, unfamiliar words are introduced, an approximation is jotted down in note form. As in, it sounds something like...

There are fourty-six regular sounds in the Japanese language, they are available in a set of syllables called hiragana (ひらがな). They are ultra-simplied versions of kanji. Derivations for the curious exist in most study manuals. If we return to my prior post, the Japanese term for train is den-sha (電車). Written using hiragana, this becomes でんしゃ. For many, the latter is simpler and faster to write than the former.

Back to written Chinese. When text must be written in an informal setting, two things occur -- simplification and sloppiness. I have rarely have seen this kind of sloppiness from native Japanese writers. Most Chinese writers learn an italicised short-form of writing for informal notes. Thus, watching someone write Chinese is a wholely different experience than watching someone write Japanese.

While the art and appreciation of calligraphy is alive and healthy in Chinese-influenced cultures, including Japan, its use in informal settings varies widely.

Thinking about Japanese I

I recently returned from a one week visit to Hongkong (香港) on business. Returning to Hongkong was exciting as it was my first Asian destination. Having learned a few kanji (characters borrowed from Chinese) in Tokyo, it was a chance to put this knowledge to work. I was surprised by a few things. Firstly, the characters in Hongkong are considerably more complex than those in Japanese. Secondly, even the simplest words were often different characters.

Still, Cantonese people living in Tokyo always find a way to translate these characters. How is this? While it is a necessity to order food and read street signs, Chinese readers have a distinct advantage over those using phonetic languages -- Vietnamese, Indonesian (Bahasa Indonesia), German, English, etc. They were educated using character-based reading and writing. If you are not familiar with the idea of ideograms, consider that the word in Japanese for train is two kanji -- electricity (電) and vehicle (車). Together they are pronounced den-sha. When lifetime readers of phonetic languages are exposed to character-based languages they are immediately overwhelmed. Natives cannot comprehend a world without a foundation in ideograms. Thus, their efforts to teach are normally misdirected.

The study book for kanji I use is called Kanji ABC. It is written by a Japanese woman and German man and was originally published in German. The opening chapter in the book provides invaluable insight as the function of kanji and its origins. I call this meta-writing: writing about writing.

This brings me back to why native Chinese readers and writers can so easily absorb Japanese kanji. When ideographic languages are learned, components of each character are learned. Take the previous Japanese word for electricity (電). When I see this character, I see two parts: the top and bottom halves. The top translates as rain and the bottom half lightning. These parts are called radicals, or more technically graphemes. Unfortunately, not all characters are this simple, and the pieces cannot stand by themselves. While this may seem unreasonable at first, consider that English uses the suffix "s" or "es" at the end of nouns to pluralise. These suffices also cannot stand on their own; they must be combined with a noun.

If my patience provides, I would like to do more writing about Japanese. As a foreigner educated using a phonetic language, English, I often stuggle to understand new paradigms required in ideographic languages.