Accents clear and still, by Ben Jeapes
Image by Wayne Iredale from Pixabay
Crikey, I have to follow the spiritual high of Easter! No idea how to do that so I'll rant about something completely different instead. But I hope you all had a good one.
Disengaging Easter settings ... Now.
Disengaging Easter settings ... Now.
My progression through the inherited set of Lord Peter Wimsey novels has got as far as (The) Five Red Herrings, first published in 1931. The BBC dramatised this one when I was 10, with Ian Carmichael in the title role, and that was my introduction both to the existence of Lord Peter and the expression “red herring”. Years later I watched and enjoyed Ian Carmichael’s performance on DVD, so I already knew the story but I was looking forward to seeing how the original book compares.
And I’m sorry to say, I’m very pleased I did already know the story because the first third of the book – essentially, the set-up on which all else depends – is nigh-on impenetrable.
The set-up is easy enough to grasp. There is a murder and Peter identifies six possible suspects. Five of them are … now, let’s not always see the same hands. The sixth dunit. But.
Firstly, far too much revolves around who could have caught which train to where and when. Sayers obviously suffered for her research as she delved into the regional timetables, and felt that now it was our turn. Endless reams of times and places, all recited and batted back and forth in – and here is the main problem – a Scottish accent, spelled out phonetically. Opening the book at random: “There’s mony a slip, an’ I’m no losin’ sight o’ any o’ my suspectit pairsons, juist yet awhile.” Yer what? And there’s plenty more where that comes from. If Peter is having a conversation with a Scot, your eye and brain glide effortlessly over his dialogue and then come to a screeching halt as you try to unpick whatever the other person is saying. Then you shift mentally back up a gear as Peter speaks again, and then the brakes come on once more as the Scot replies. And so on, for page after page.
And I’m sorry to say, I’m very pleased I did already know the story because the first third of the book – essentially, the set-up on which all else depends – is nigh-on impenetrable.
The set-up is easy enough to grasp. There is a murder and Peter identifies six possible suspects. Five of them are … now, let’s not always see the same hands. The sixth dunit. But.
Firstly, far too much revolves around who could have caught which train to where and when. Sayers obviously suffered for her research as she delved into the regional timetables, and felt that now it was our turn. Endless reams of times and places, all recited and batted back and forth in – and here is the main problem – a Scottish accent, spelled out phonetically. Opening the book at random: “There’s mony a slip, an’ I’m no losin’ sight o’ any o’ my suspectit pairsons, juist yet awhile.” Yer what? And there’s plenty more where that comes from. If Peter is having a conversation with a Scot, your eye and brain glide effortlessly over his dialogue and then come to a screeching halt as you try to unpick whatever the other person is saying. Then you shift mentally back up a gear as Peter speaks again, and then the brakes come on once more as the Scot replies. And so on, for page after page.
Once the set-up is done, once Peter understands the scale and complexity of the challenge, then the Scottish-accented timetabling thankfully lets up and we get far more of the old, familiar well-drawn character interaction that we read Sayers for in the first place. But it's a long slog getting there.
There may possible be a hint of hubris in little old me telling off Dorothy L. Sayers. But I’ll do it anyway, and say to anyone else so inclined: don’t do this. It’s a pain. Just trust the reader. You could throw in the occasional Scottishism (“Aye!”) to make the point but otherwise let the reader’s imagination do the work. Anything else is just patronising.
Patronising to the reader, and also patronising to the characters. Tucked away at the back of my mind is always the faintest suspicion that Sayers, the middle class southerner with perfect RP, is having a slight chuckle at the funny foreigner, I mean northerner, I mean differently accented person. (J.K. Rowling-as-Robert-Galbraith is another offender in this area that I recently read.) Listen to how they talk! They’re different to us! Isn't it cute?
There may possible be a hint of hubris in little old me telling off Dorothy L. Sayers. But I’ll do it anyway, and say to anyone else so inclined: don’t do this. It’s a pain. Just trust the reader. You could throw in the occasional Scottishism (“Aye!”) to make the point but otherwise let the reader’s imagination do the work. Anything else is just patronising.
Patronising to the reader, and also patronising to the characters. Tucked away at the back of my mind is always the faintest suspicion that Sayers, the middle class southerner with perfect RP, is having a slight chuckle at the funny foreigner, I mean northerner, I mean differently accented person. (J.K. Rowling-as-Robert-Galbraith is another offender in this area that I recently read.) Listen to how they talk! They’re different to us! Isn't it cute?
If you heard a BBC reporter reporting on something a non-English newsworthy figure said or did today, you’d be shocked if they tried to imitate their accent as well. It would come across as taking the mickey, and rightly so. We just need the words; our brains can do the rest. Loving your neighbour means respecting them too, and that goes for your readers and also your characters.
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ReplyDeleteInherited books are interesting. I read the Forsyte Saga among other things, but had to give up on a book about Egyptian mythology.
ReplyDeleteInteresting. I haven't read Dorothy L Sayers, but I can't recall ever having trouble with the written form of accents. Brain wiring is fascinating!
ReplyDeleteAlways respect your characters. Yes. In accents, and in other things. They are, after all, 'real people' as we enter the world of a novel... (being a pedantic person, I also feel we shouldn't talk flippantly with our writer friends about 'killing off' a character, as if this wasn't a serious thing to do to them... but that's possibly taking it too far!)
ReplyDeleteI hadn't thought of that before, but now you mention it - well, yes! Characters may need to die but death should not be treated casually.
DeleteI agree with you, Ben. love spoken accents but loathe having them painstakingly manipulated into text which in no way captures the lilt or abruptness (or personality) of how they actually sound.
ReplyDeleteLovely post, Ben! Your title comes out of a line from a hymn in Songs of Praise: 'Oh Jesus I have promised to serve thee to the end' Interesting post. Thanks and blessings.
ReplyDeleteI agree with you, Ben; I myself have had difficulty with this in Robert Galbraith's novels. It really isn't necessary; skilful authors can convey the character's origins and identity and trust the readers' imaginations. A famous example is Joseph in Wuthering Heights. I always found myself skipping over the long passages where Joseph speaks because I knew this was going to be really hard work for me as a reader, interrupting the flow of the story. The sound and the music of an accent gives us so much information, especially in the accents of those born and brought up in Liverpool, Newcastle-upon-Tyne, the Potteries, Glasgow, Wales, Yorkshire, Lancashire, to name but a few. I love them, but I much prefer to listen to them rather than to read them rendered phonetically on the page.
ReplyDeleteP.S. I studied Linguistics at university, and Phonetics was part of the course. Several times we were asked to take phonemic transcription and to write down in phonemic symbols exactly what we heard, not we thought we had heard, because of our own accent and presumptions. It could be hilarious. I remember the teacher strolling round, looking at what someone had written, and saying, "Ah! You're a Liverpudlian aren't you?" I was also highly amused because the northerners on the course would think my accent was RP and it most definitely isn't, it's south London.