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An arbitrary angel of darkness

The press gather round Lady Ashton during her hearing at the EP

Translated from the original German
By Oehmke, Philipp und Schmitter, Elke


Literature professor Manfred Schneider talks about the rationality and irrationality of killers, the paranoid psyche of western society, and its search for explanation

SPIEGEL: Herr Schneider, on 8th January 22-year-old Jared Lee Loughner shot Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords in the head, and killed six other people at point blank range. And while the world agonises for an explanation, it is possible to find explained in your recent book, The Assassination, that an assassin such as Loughner isn’t actually irrational, rather the product of hyperrationality. What do you mean by that?

Schneider: Every assassin is an acute observer and interpreter of signals and events. For him, nothing happens by chance; he scans the world for evil doings. He sees conspiracies everywhere. The result appears to us to be crazy and insane. However, at the same time it is precisely logic and reason running in overdrive, that lead to these paranoid conclusions. Paranoia isn’t a form of irrationality, but one of hyperrationality. Loughner is a typical example of this.

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Nicht misszuverstehen

Another curiosity which cropped up whilst reading Kafka’s Der Prozess can be found in the following quote:

Außerdem schien es der Maler mißzuverstehen, warum K. nur am Bettrand blieb, er bat vielmehr, K. möchte es sich bequem machen und ging, da K. zögerte, selbst hin und drängte ihn tief in die Betten und Polster hinein.

Franz Kafka, Der Prozeß

Ignoring for a second changes in the use of the ß, most learners of German would assume from this sentence the word missverstehen should be a separable verb. That is to say the painter seemed misszuverstehen and not zu missverstehen. As a result, you’d be forgiven for thinking that were the painter to misunderstand something K. said, Kafka would write:

*Der Maler verstand ihn miss.

A thread on the WordReference language forums brings some more light to the situation:

Die Verwendung von missverstehen ist schwankend bezüglich der Trennbarkeit (der Duden charakterisiert das Verb als unregelmäßig). In finiter Form wird es in der Regel untrennbar verwandt:
Er missverstand ihn
Die Variante
*Er verstand ihn miss
ist ungewöhnlich und gilt meines Wissens auch als standardsprachlich inkorrekt.

Der Infinitiv mit zu wird aber von vielen Sprechern so gebildet, als sei missverstehen trennbar aber von nicht wenigen Sprechern auch so, als sei das Verb nicht trennbar. Entsprechend ist sowohl zu missverstehen oder misszuverstehen anzutreffen.

Meines Wissens ist misszuverstehen die standardsprachlich vorgezogene Form; die Variante zu missverstehen würde ich aber ebenfalls als standardsprachlich korrekt ansehen.

So missverstehen is simply irregular, having both separable and inseparable verb properties. In particular, the infinitive with zu is more commonly formed as if the verb were separable, but finding it used otherwise as a separable verb is much rarer.

Finally, here’s the Duden Online entry, which includes an example of the ‘jokingly colloquial’ separable variant.

miss­ver­ste­hen

Wortart: unregelmäßiges Verb

eine Aussage, eine Handlung [unbeabsichtigt] falsch deuten, auslegen

Beispiele

  • jemanden, etwas missverstehen
  • sie missversteht mich absichtlich
  • du hast mich, meine Frage missverstanden
  • die Bemerkung war nicht misszuverstehen
  • er fühlt sich missverstanden
  • (umgangssprachlich scherzhaft) verstehen Sie mich bitte nicht miss (verstehen Sie mich nicht falsch)
  • eine nicht misszuverstehende (eine eindeutige) Handbewegung

Trotzdem als Nebensatz

Reading Kafka’s Der Prozeß recently, I came across an interesting construction that I hadn’t seen before.

Trotzdem K. gerade jetzt nicht daran gedacht hatte, sagte er sofort: “Gewiss, ich muss fortgehn. Ich bin Prokurist einer Bank, man wartet auf mich, ich bin nur hergekommen, um einem ausländischen Geschäftsfreund den Dom zu zeigen.”
Franz Kafka, Der Prozeß

I’d only ever heard trotzdem used in a main sentence, and never before to form a verb-shunting Nebensatz. I figured at first this might be a mistake on the part of the publishers–my copy was of rather low-budget quality–and that the word obwohl had been intended, but the form repeated itself a number of times throughout the book.

A quick bit of Google research later revealed that this form is perfectly common in the Randregionen of the German language, particularly in Bohemia and in Alpine areas, and used as a matter of course by authors such as Kafka, Stifter and Dürrenmatt. This older thread on wer-weiss-was.de has a great explanation, explaining that the form arose as a contraction of the now old-fashioned trotz dem, dass, and further points out that the form is pronounced with the stress on the second syllable.

Duden’s entry on the matter.

trotz|dem

Bedeutung

obwohl, obgleich

Beispiel

er kam, trotzdem (standardsprachlich: obwohl) er krank war

Herkunft

entstanden aus: trotz dem, dass …

Now to find out why the version of the text published here replaces these forms of trotzdem with the word obwohl. And why in my copy Kafka never capitalised the word gewiss even at the start of sentences.

Verner’s Law: The Movie

Does it disturb you that despite the general appliance of Grimm’s Law, there are still some words which appear to deviate from the rule? Then you’re probably already well aware of Verner’s Law, but nevertheless here’s a really cute, little summary created by Ari Hoptman and filmed at the University of Minnesota.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

[Via Mr. Verb]

The infected German language

This post is nothing more than the idle musings of a person entirely unqualified to judge upon the vagaries of the German language. Certainly being no linguist, nor even having control over anything stronger than a tiny smattering of Denglish, I can only claim to comment as an outsider looking in, and any resemblance to reality is purely coincidental.1 Regardless, here a couple of thoughts that my contact with German has provoked.

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  1. And yes, the title is a play on that rather more succinct and eloquent survey, The Awful German Language by Mark Twain. []

Beware the squiggly red line

Our language is constantly evolving. That’s almost a tautology for any language that hasn’t been officially pronounced dead. Whilst the rate of change often appears virtually imperceptible to us, a quick flick through a dictionary containing word etymologies, or a glance at the literature from bygone centuries soon proves the point. Words arise and mutate, they spontaneously alter their usage and change their position in a sentence, they crop up in unusual scenarios through metaphor, and before long appear to us in an entirely new guise from their original form. Whilst we occasionally borrow words from foreign languages, and typically for the moment derive new words for new technologies, the main source of new words in our language comes from the current stock. Each of us has an inbuilt sense of how words should be used and formed, and through repetition and popularity, a new word (or an old one with new stripes) can worm its way into one of those revered tomes we like to call dictionaries.

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Mała anegdota

Kiedy byłem w Polsce pierwszy raz, mieszkałem z przyjaciółką w Olsztynie. Rano matka mojej przyjaciółki zapytała mnie, czy chciałbym kawę lub herbatę. Wtedy jeszcze prawie wcale nie rozumiałem po polsku, tylko piąte przez dziesiąte – “dziękuję”, “proszę”, “przepraszam”, “nie rozumiem” – ale dlatego, że jestem z Wielkiej Brytanii, oczywiście chciałem herbatę! Odpowiedziałem po prostu “proszę”, ale jak już napisałem, tylko trochę mówiłem po polsku, tak więc naprawdę powiedziałem “prosię”.

- “Czy chcesz kawę albo herbatę?”
- “Tak, prosię!”