Philosophical problems arise when language goes on holiday.
Ludwig Wittgenstein.
I think, like Wittgenstein, that a lot of philosophy stems from misuse of and bewitchment by language. I think analytic philosophy, with its so-called “linguistic turn”, has taught us a lot about problems we failed to make progress on for thousands of years, and is continuing to do so. But that doesn’t mean that I think all philosophical problems are language problems. I don’t think the question “are there other minds?” can be settled simply by analyzing the word “mind”. I’d like to think that philosophy isn’t exclusively surface-level therapy, clearing away linguistic confusion (which is tied to specific languages), but also touches on meaningful, universal problems.
There are some questions I tend to see more as linguistic puzzles than as substantive problems. The problem of universals and abstract objects, for instance. Does “redness” exist, above and beyond red things? Is “3” an abstract object, an object that exists outside of space and time, immaterial, eternal, but still existing? I’m skeptical that these are really meaningful questions, because I can’t imagine how the world would differ if the answers were “yes” or “no”. And if a world where X is true and one where X is false are identical, I don’t see how the question “Is X true?” can be meaningful. Pragmatically, proposition-talk or abstract object-talk or universal-talk may be useful, so that might be an argument for adopting these ways of talking, but I don’t see how to invest the weighty metaphysical questions with anything resembling meaning.
I’m absolutely fascinated by the picture of the human numeric sense that’s starting to emerge. We don’t know everything yet, but it seems we have a primitive number sense that allows us to distinguish small quantities intuitively, a sense we may share with other primates, but this sense gets increasingly fuzzy as numbers grow larger, and pretty soon, we are into non-intuitive territory where we need to learn how to manipulate numbers and make a conscious effort to do so. This is also relevant to the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis, which says (in its strongest form) that language determines how and what we can think, because experiments with tribes whose languages have few or no terms for numbers (e.g., only words for “one”, “two”, and “many”) show that they have trouble learning larger numbers and manipulating large quantities accurately.
I’ve tried to illustrate this idea of an innate number sense above (as I understand it, not being a scientist working on this stuff). Suppose I ask you to imagine one banana, or maybe four. You can imagine four bananas easily: you can see each banana clearly in your mind, and you have a very good idea how this quantity relates to three or two bananas. You can easily picture adding two more bananas to the pile, so there’s six. But when you start talking about larger numbers, it becomes increasingly difficult to imagine each distinct banana, and the gap between each quantity seems to grow smaller. If I ask you to imagine thirteen bananas, not the numeral 13 but 13 distinct, clearly separated bananas, you’re going to run into trouble; it’s easy to imagine four different bananas, all with different shapes and slightly different colors and spots in different places, but thirteen? If I ask you to add twelve to the pile, you may remember that 13+12 = 25, but can you picture it? Can you picture a pile of thirteen distinct bananas, to which you add another twelve distinct bananas, the way you can easily picture in your mind’s eye a pile of three distinct bananas to which you add one? By the time we get to something like 167, I’m confident that no human can easily imagine a pile of 167 distinct bananas. You can only picture (and remember) a pile of lots of bananas, to which you attach the symbol “167”. By the time you get to the thousands and millions and billions, we start losing all sense of scale. I might picture a pile of 100-odd bananas as smaller than one of 1000-something bananas, but I’ve absolutely no intuitive idea of the difference in scale between 17 and 18 million or 45 and 56 billion bananas. I’m totally lost: all I have to lean on are symbols. Not only individual numbers, but orders of magnitude in difference get so fuzzy they float into each other, making simply a big blob that, if we want to remember it, we have to attach an exact symbol to.
This has nothing to do with either spoken or written language. You don’t need a public language at all to do complex numerical operations with large numbers. What you need is symbolic processing. Humans may have a primal sense for the difference and scale of small quantities; we, even as babies, can apprehend the difference between two and three of something without resorting to counting. I suspect dogs and cats can too. But what neither human babies nor cats can do is manipulate larger quantities intuitively. For that, we need symbols.
The symbolic processing of arithmetic may perhaps be considered a language, but it’s not a natural language, not a spoken or written language (although we can speak about it or write it out in a given natural language), and pretty much universal, in the sense that every culture that has a need for it develops it. Chinese, British and aboriginal arithmetic are the same, even if the language and instruments used to deal with them are different. The Pirahã, famous for having no numbers, would have developed the same arithmetic if they had a use for it. That’s quite different from the usual picture of a strong Sapir-Whorf linguistic determinism.
Linguashmucks
This is a translation of a post in and about Greek, specifically, about text speak and its not being the end of western civilization. I think it’s wonderful both for the insight into Greek and for the universal aspects.
Now, if you don’t get the joke, pull up a seat, and let me remind you of a thing or two about the Immortal Greek Tongue. Who knows, we might have a laugh together.
So, we here in this country of stones have been cursed, to have had some utter loafers live here before us. These loafers didn’t know what else to do with their time, so they sat around and came up with philosophies. And any number of related sciences, too. As if it wasn’t bad enough that they came up with those philosophies, the bastards went and left behind some written texts—just so they could torment their descendants with them. These written texts were later taken up by Civilised Humanity, to their great admiration. (Insert exclamation point here.) Of course, Civilised Humanity then burnt most of those texts, in case they fell into the hands of unsuspecting serfs and gave them any curious notions. The ancient texts that weren’t burned were copied by pious monks, with the appropriate level of care to ensure there were no deviations from Christian morality. (And if there were any, then so much the worse for the deviations.) This bunch of stuff more or less passed on to Modern Greece as “Ancient Greek Literature”. And they turned our brains to chicken wire with it in High School, because it was compulsory to teach it to us from the original. (Original my ass.)
At any rate, There’s two things you should keep from this story:
- The pathological relationship of Greek citizens with the Ancient texts: texts they flipped off in school, and flip out on in middle age.
- The hysterical idealisation of the Ancient Greek language, because many of its words are used in modern Western science.
Now, I love the image of Greeks flipping off texts in school and flipping out on them in middle age. I don’t know Greek, but I imagine that’s a really clever translation. The author’s main point about text speak seems to be that it’s simply natural change — real people using real language to do what language is for, communicating — which tends toward efficiency:
And while:
- Greek teachers presume to do a linguist’s job, imposing arbitrary grammatical rules;
- authors write however the mood takes them, either using local dialect, or following the vernacular of their suburb, or even inventing a language of their own;
- the State communicates in a farrago of Demoticising Puristic;
- the Church stays faithful to Old School Puristic—
the citizens of the country speak their own language. Which makes sense, right?
Dynamism, Legacy of the Visigoths
“Dynamic” is technical jargon used by programmers, meaning “good”. It derives from the Latin dyno mite, meaning “I am extremely pleased”, and is first recorded in the historical work Bona Aetas of noted Roman sage and pundit J.J. Walker. Its meaning evolved in the 4th century after monks copying an obscure manuscript on programming linguistics in their ignorance tried to deduce its meaning from context.
In this (occidental) manuscript, the Lingua Lambda, the author described how he had stumbled across Miranda, an early ancestor of Haskell, a typed language that had found its way to the West from the Orient, and which, though crude in some ways, supported many fine features and was, in fact, lauded as the language for discriminating hackers. The author wrote an essay about this language, describing its features, and noted (Miranda dyno mite!) how pleased he was with it…
The Etymological Fallacy is the error of assuming that the current meaning of a word is necessarily related to its original meaning. Often, it occurs when there’s an argument about the meaning of a word, and someone drags forth the original meaning of the word to settle the matter.
Fun example: the word silly. Here is the progression of the word, originally gesælig in Old English, courtesy of Etymology Online: happy, blessed → pious → innocent → harmless → pitiable → weak → feeble in mind, lacking in reason, foolish.
That’s some development. Next time someone insists that we look to the etymology of a word for its current meaning, ask them what “those silly priests” means.
In Quechua, a language of South America, the future is behind us and the past in front of us. And it makes perfect sense: we can see (remember) the past, but not the future. Having a long life behind you means you’re young, while in English it would mean you’re old.
How we break up semantic space — the (imaginary) space of all things that could or do exist, everything that could be done — is absolutely fascinating. Different languages use different categories, metaphors and expressions. If you’re monolingual, or even if you know many languages, but from the same language family and/or roughly the same culture, it might not even occur to you that people could think and speak differently about this. But they do.
Originally, I was going to insert here a rant about navigation schemes on blogs. On some blogs, “next” means “posts from later in time” (“next up on Showtime”) and “previous” means “posts from earlier in time” (“what happened in the previous installment”), and on others, “next” means “the next page of posts you haven’t read” and “previous” means “the previous page of posts you read”. On some, the past is placed to the left and the future to the right, and on others, vice versa. I was going to talk about how this reflects two different metaphors, one of moving through a stack of pages and the other of moving through time, and I was going to tell you how I made my own blog navigation less ambiguous. But instead of all that (which, I realize, I covered in less than one paragraph just now), I found a fun categorization scheme from Jorge Luis Borges. It’s a taxonomy of animals, and apparently kind of influential — granted, having a Wikipedia page isn’t saying much these days. Anyway, these are the different kinds of animals that exist:
- those that belong to the Emperor,
- embalmed ones,
- those that are trained,
- suckling pigs,
- mermaids,
- fabulous ones,
- stray dogs,
- those included in the present classification,
- those that tremble as if they were mad,
- innumerable ones,
- those drawn with a very fine camelhair brush,
- others,
- those that have just broken a flower vase,
- those that from a long way off look like flies.
The list was taken from here. Borges attributes the taxonomy to an ancient Chinese encyclopedia called the Heavenly Emporium of Benevolent Knowledge, but he was very fond of quasi-scholarly citations, so it’s probably just something he made up. Regardless of origin, I think it’s delightful. It reminds me a bit of Women, Fire and Dangerous Things; while I haven’t read the book, which is about categorization, the title is supposedly a grammatical gender in the aboriginal Dyirbal language.
False Power
I’ve only written one post about the Norwegian elections this year. I think I’m allowed one more.
Election day was yesterday. I voted Liberal, and the election was disastrous for the Liberal Party. The Liberals’ leader of many years, who almost single-handedly brought the party — the oldest political party in Norway — back out of obscurity, resigned on live tv. They lost eight of their ten seats in parliament. And the socialist government got another majority, which means they’ll continue to govern for the next four years.
Watching the American election, the basic way it was framed always felt weird and unnatural. It hadn’t occurred to me that the framing of our own political debate must seem equally unnatural, if not worse. There are two major power blocs: one is called, and calls itself unashamedly the Socialist parties, and the other bloc is called — I love this — the Bourgeois parties. Of course, we should be very careful with analyzing politics through linguistics, but let’s just say that the terminology of the debate is very much framed in the language of worker’s rights or, more extremely, communism, unlike certain other countries, where the political vocabulary leans more heavily on classical liberalism and capitalism.
Back to the results: Norway is closer to proportional representation than the US, but it’s still not quite proportional. The Bourgeois parties had a slight majority of the votes, but are in the minority in parliament. This is chiefly due to an election threshold: there are 169 seats in parliament, and 150 of these are divided between the 19 counties and open to all. The 19 last seats are divided between parties above the threshold. The threshold is 4 percent. The Liberals got 3.9 and therefore lost 6-8 seats on 0.1 percentage points of the vote.
This may be due to their principled stand against supporting a government led by the right-wing Progress Party. This party, which got 22.9 percent of the vote, is characterized by reckless spending, shameless populism (cheaper booze, higher speed limits, and so on), nationalism, xenophobia and perpetual opposition (they’ve never been in government). That almost a fourth of the country agrees with this party scares me. The Progress party invited the three other Bourgeois parties to participate in a coalition. The Conservatives said yes, the Liberals and the Christian Democrats said no. Most of the Liberals’ campaign boiled down to “No, we will not support the Progress Party.” They never got a chance to discuss their own politics.
Now, here’s the problem: people are saying that if the Liberals had agreed to cooperate, there would be a Bourgeois government and they would have power. The first may well be true, but the second is utterly false.
Cooperating with the Progress Party would mean compromising core values. It’s false power. This is a general point, applicable to politics everywhere: if you have to start compromising on your core values to get into power, you’re not in power. If the Liberals had compromised on their core values, they would turn into a different party. There’s no way Liberal values are going to get implemented by shedding all the core Liberal values. If you’re powerless to implement your own values and instead forced to implement values you’re strongly against, how is that power? Power for a political party is all about the ability to transfer that party’s values into practice; if the party has to turn into another party in order to gain power, the original party has neither a clean conscience nor political power. Now, at least, the party has a clean conscience. It’s like telling a woman who wants to enter a field full of sexism that she has every right to compete on equal terms in this field, if only she has a sex change. That’s not power: if a woman can’t be herself and still have power, she is effectively barred from power. If you have to metamorphose into someone else in order to gain X, you cannot gain X. This isn’t Kafka, it’s real life.
Lars Sponheim, the Liberals’ leader, took full responsibility for the poor election for his party and resigned. But he didn’t repent. He said, essentially, “I stood for my own values, that’s all that counts, and I don’t give a crap about the sacrifices I had to make to do so.” He’s lost his seat in parliament, his position in the party, and his life’s work seems to be for nought as the party he spent his political career rebuilding has been reduced to insignificance, at least for the next four years. Yet he has a clean conscience. It was the most honest moment I’ve ever seen in politics. It was beautiful. It almost made me want to get into politics myself. (Who am I kidding? There’s no fucking way I’m going into politics. But I might join the Liberal party.)
False power is worse than useless. It’s negative power: it bolsters your enemies, while fooling you into believing you actually have power.
While we’re on the topic of elections you might want to be aware of: the Japanese held a general election recently, in which the Democratic Party of Japan defeated a coalition led by the Liberal Democratic Party, which has governed for 50 years (I don’t know what that means in practice; ask someone Japanese). The Germans are having one in a couple of weeks; according to the commenters I’ve read, the differences between the viable coalitions are small and shrinking. Oh, and there’s Greece. There are probably more I don’t know about.
Language rows between Slovakia and Hungary: Hovorte po slovensky!
The Economist:
Language laws may protect minority rights or infringe them. Slovakia’s new law, which comes into force on September 1st, is under fire for its harshness. It imposes fines of up to €5,000 ($7,000) on those who break rules promoting the use of Slovak in public. Hungarian-speakers, who number around a tenth of the population, mainly in the south of the country, see that as a direct attack on their right to speak their mother-tongue. So do politicians in neighbouring Hungary. A long-running dispute between two of Europe’s most prickly neighbours is turning nasty.
Slovakia’s left-leaning populist government has been needling Hungary since it took power in 2006. It sidelined plans for a joint Hungarian-Slovak history textbook last year and has publicly endorsed the Benes Decrees, which expelled most Germans and many Hungarians from the then Czechoslovakia after 1945, as a punishment for their supposedly Nazi sympathies. The new law tightens rules about speaking Slovak in dealings with public officials: not just police officers or teachers, but also, say, doctors. Exceptions apply to monoglots, or in districts where the minority makes up a fifth or more of the population. Hungarian-language schools must conduct their administration in Slovak. The new law also lays down detailed instructions for the way in which memorials and plaques may be inscribed.
In brief, around ten percent of the population of Slovakia is Hungarian-speaking, beyond which there are Ukrainian, Roma and other minorities. For all practical purposes, the new law eliminates all the minority languages from the public sphere. Yet even here there is a further discrimination - the small Czech minority is exempt from its restrictions.
The Law, recently passed by parliament, is highly detailed and penetrates deep into the everyday lives of the linguistic minorities. It seeks to regulate any and all meetings, gatherings, associations and other forms of communication by insisting on the parallel use of the “state language”, Slovak, whenever and wherever members if the minority get together in public, and “public” is very broadly defined. Thus, if a group of Hungarian-speakers establish a literary circle, say, their proceedings would have to have a parallel Slovak translation, whether anyone actually needed this or not.
Minority-language schools are obliged to run their administration and documentation in Slovak and the same applies to the health service. The armed forces, the police and the fire service are to be monolingually Slovak. This last, by way of example, creates interesting scenarios - thus in a Hungarian-speaking area, the firemen are very likely to be all Hungarian-speakers, but when putting out a fire, they must speak Slovak to each other and also, of course, to the owner of the house where the fire is.
The weirdest of all is that all public inscriptions must be in the state language; this may be accompanied by other languages and, although the Law is vague on this, it looks as if it is to be applied retroactively. The implication is that gravestones must all be recarved, unless they are already in Slovak.
Really? If this is correct, it’s thoroughly fucked up. As a lover of languages, it’s always sad to see someone campaigning for the death of a language (even if it’s just in one area); as a lover of human rights, it’s always sad to see ethnic discrimination.
It was only a few decades ago that the Norwegian state ceased its despotic assimilation policy of sending off our Sami population to boarding schools where they were punished harshly for using their own native language. This kind of thing is thoroughly despicable on so many levels (so despicable, in fact, that I’m leaving in the redundancy).
How does our language shape the way we think?
There is a fascinating hypothesis called the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis that says language has a profound effect on the way we see the world. Sapir-Whorf places the causal arrow at language, towards thought: we observe that speakers of different languages act and speak differently in many different ways, such as when it comes to spatial orientation, color, gender, social organization, and so on, and infer that these differences are decided by their languages. The strong version of this hypothesis says that language absolutely determines the way you see the world, perceptually and conceptually. A bit weaker, but still quite strong versions of Sapir-Whorf are currently back in vogue, as this article attests.
The problem is that most of those who argue that language has a profound effect on some aspect of thought mistake correlation for causation. When you observe that people speak a particular way and also act a particular way, there are three distinct possibilities: speaking that way caused them to act that particular way; acting that particular way caused them to speak that particular way; or some third, unrelated phenomenon caused both the behavioral and the linguistic patterns. Most S-W proponents jump directly to the conclusion that it’s the language that’s causing the thought patterns, and completely ignore the possibility that in fact the culture the speakers are living in is causing both thought and language.
This article pretends to address that objection, but ignores it completely in several of the examples:
Follow me to Pormpuraaw, a small Aboriginal community on the western edge of Cape York, in northern Australia. I came here because of the way the locals, the Kuuk Thaayorre, talk about space. Instead of words like “right,” “left,” “forward,” and “back,” which, as commonly used in English, define space relative to an observer, the Kuuk Thaayorre, like many other Aboriginal groups, use cardinal-direction terms — north, south, east, and west — to define space. This is done at all scales, which means you have to say things like “There’s an ant on your southeast leg” or “Move the cup to the north northwest a little bit.” One obvious consequence of speaking such a language is that you have to stay oriented at all times, or else you cannot speak properly. The normal greeting in Kuuk Thaayorre is “Where are you going?” and the answer should be something like ” Southsoutheast, in the middle distance.” If you don’t know which way you’re facing, you can’t even get past “Hello.”
The result is a profound difference in navigational ability and spatial knowledge between speakers of languages that rely primarily on absolute reference frames (like Kuuk Thaayorre) and languages that rely on relative reference frames (like English). Simply put, speakers of languages like Kuuk Thaayorre are much better than English speakers at staying oriented and keeping track of where they are, even in unfamiliar landscapes or inside unfamiliar buildings. What enables them — in fact, forces them — to do this is their language. Having their attention trained in this way equips them to perform navigational feats once thought beyond human capabilities. Because space is such a fundamental domain of thought, differences in how people think about space don’t end there. People rely on their spatial knowledge to build other, more complex, more abstract representations. Representations of such things as time, number, musical pitch, kinship relations, morality, and emotions have been shown to depend on how we think about space.
Very interesting, but this seems like a prime candidate for a cultural explanation. Consider this: how did the Kuuk Thaayorre language come to use north, east, south and west where we use relative terms like left and right? Did the terms just spontaneously emerge, and then the speakers learned to keep track of their absolute position at all times just to keep up? A more plausible explanation is that being able to keep track of absolute position was such an important trait for survival that it permeated the culture, including the language. Since no one is even attempting to empirically test whether the causal arrow is pointed from language to thought or the other way around, and since it’s unclear what would constitute an empirical test of the matter, we must fall back on a priori reasoning, and on the face of it, it seems to me that it’s more plausible that a culture collectively developed a good sense of direction because those who didn’t died, and then it spread into the language, than that the language spontaneously developed a different set of spatial concepts and then the culture was forced to use these concepts to communicate.
More plausible is the example with gender: speakers of gendered languages, such as Spanish or German, will tend to describe words that are masculine in their language with words for qualities associated with masculine traits, and similarly describe feminine words with feminine traits. This is a stronger case for (one instance of) S-W for several reasons: it persists in English, a language without grammatical gender; there is no obvious possible cultural explanation here; and, more importantly, grammatical gender is much more prone to randomness and not as closely tied to ways of living as for example spatial navigation. Generations of students have been puzzled that e.g., German das Mädchen, the girl, is neuter, not feminine. This is probably by analogy with other words that end in the diminutive -chen — -chen words are always neuter. This happens a lot when it comes to grammatical gender, but is hard to imagine when it comes to spatial concepts: a random fluke in the language that is not caused by any kind of cultural shift causes speakers to think differently about the concepts the word refer to. A grammatical shift that is purely linguistic caused shifts in patterns of thought.
The problem with this article is that it celebrates the above as an example of the huge influence of language on thought. “The fact that even quirks of grammar, such as grammatical gender, can affect our thinking is profound.” Well, it is, but the effect isn’t as profound as some would have it. By this point in the article, we’re supposed to take this as one of a long series of examples that corroborate S-W. In fact, it’s the single example in the article that unambiguously supports an instance of S-W!
I think language affects thought, but I think thought affects language far more. So far, the evidence for the opposite has been underwhelming. (The color example, too, is more complicated than it’s made to appear.)
Of course, researchers who believe in S-W approach every correlation as if it were causation in their favor, and skeptics, like me, approach every correlation as if it were simple accidental and not in favor of S-W. More nuance is clearly needed, and less sensationalism.
Broken Koans and other Zen debris
I know almost nothing about Buddhism, but I found this “broken koan” poignant: a student is complaining that other students, through various means, gain enlightenment, but he has been doing these things for two years, and things don’t make any more sense to him. The teacher replies:
Well you see, for most people, and especially for most educated people like you and I, what we perceive and experience is heavily mediated, through language and concepts that are deeply ingrained in our ways of thinking and feeling. Our objective here is to induce in ourselves and in each other a psychological state that involves the unmediated experience of the world, because we believe that that state has certain desirable properties. It’s impossible in general to reach that state through any particular form or method, since forms and methods are themselves examples of the mediators that we are trying to avoid. So we employ a variety of ad hoc means, some linguistic like koans and some non-linguistic like zazen, in hopes that for any given student one or more of our methods will, in whatever way, engender the condition of non-mediated experience that is our goal. And since even thinking in terms of mediators and goals tends to reinforce our undesirable dependency on concepts, we actively discourage exactly this kind of analytical discourse.
I think I, and a lot of other people, are stuck thinking too much. Overanalyzing. Never being fully present in a moment, because our minds are also busy analyzing the moment as it’s happening. And how the fuck do we get out of that quagmire? Resistance is futile. Whatever we decide to do is going to be a method, and the whole point is not to look at the world through methods or analysis, but to simply live it. I’ve been meaning to write about that feeling, and may still do so, but writing about it is kind of futile, since writing about it is the kind of overthinking that I want to avoid. In the meantime, the broken koan will have to do.
Your favorite X for the next five minutes
Your least favorite expression for the next five minutes: the above.
I could say that I’m annoyed by the tone of this expression — it’s either an assertion (in which case it’s presumptuous) or it’s an imperative (in which case, OR ELSE WHAT?) — but really I’m just bored of seeing it. Some people (cough) apparently can’t link to anything without declaring it the reader’s favorite something while also implying that the reader changes favorite somethings every few minutes.
Aside from that, I wonder what this kind of linguistic construct is called. I don’t think it’s quite a snowclone, because while it is “a multi-use, customizable, instantly recognizable … phrase or sentence that can be used in an entirely open array of different jokey variants by lazy journalists and writers”, it is not, as far as I can tell, quoted (or misquoted) from anywhere.
Proto-World and the Language Organ
Mark Rosenfelder challenges both the idea of a language organ and a single origin for language. He has written a number of great articles debunking linguistic quackery that I like to link to ocassionally, and seems like a very reasonable fellow overall, so if you’re interested in this sort of thing, I suggest reading and evaluating it before writing it off.
8 Racist Words You Use Every Day
Someone needs to teach Cracked.com’s writers about the etymological fallacy, meaning as use, and the concept of descriptive linguistics.
Of course, one should always take everything on that site with, like, three and a half tons of salt.
The Linguistic Diversity of Aboriginal Europe
Don Ringe describes what we know — after reading the post, anyway — about the languages of Europe before the spread of Indo-European.
Ted Chiang
A time-travel story showed up on reddit recently, and that led me to Ted Chiang (helpful interview here). Ted Chiang is awesome.
He’s published something like ten short stories in all, nothing more and nothing less, and they’re consistently well received, a bunch of them winning awards. Several of them are also available free online. That’s the case with The Merchant and the Alchemist’s Gate, an Arabian Nights-esque time travel story that’s one of this year’s Hugo nominees. Read also Story of Your Life, about the illuminating experience a linguist has upon learning an Alien language, with implications for free will (see a linguist review it here); and Division by Zero, about a mathematician who discovers that arithmetic is inconsistent.
Chiang says of his fiction:
I’m most interested in writing about characters experiencing a moment of comprehension. Sometimes it’s a conceptual breakthrough, sometimes it’s just a flash of recognition.
And true enough, I can’t say I know of any authors who better capture the feel of an epiphany.
Another interesting thing I’ve discovered recently with regards to fiction: reading it on screen really isn’t as painful as I thought it would be. I still prefer a dead-tree version, but reading novels (well, one novel) and long short stories on screen hasn’t made me blind, crazy or given me headaches yet.