Figurative Language, written by Barbara Dancygier and Eve Sweetser, is a lively, comprehensive and practical book which offers a new, integrated and linguistically sound understanding of what figurative language is. The following extract is taken from the Introduction.
Thinking about figurative language requires first of all that we identify some such entity – that we distinguish figurative language from non-figurative or literal language. And this is a more complex task than one might think. To begin with, there appears to be a circular reasoning loop involved in many speakers’ assessments: on the one hand they feel that figurative language is special or artistic, and on the other hand they feel that the fact of something’s being an everyday usage is in itself evidence that the usage is not figurative. Metaphor, rather than other areas of figurative language, has been the primary subject of this debate. Lakoff and Johnson (1980) recount the story of a class taught by Lakoff at Berkeley in the 1970s in which he gave the class a description of an argument and asked them to find the metaphors. He expected that they would recognize phrases such as shoot down someone else’s argument, bring out the heavy artillery, or blow below the belt as evidence of metaphoric treatment of argument as War or Combat. Some class members, however, protested, saying, But this is the normal, ordinary way to talk about arguing. That is, because these usages are conventional rather than novel, and everyday rather than artistic, they cannot be metaphoric. However, there are many reasons to question this view, and to separate the parameters of conventionality and everyday usage from the distinction between literal and figurative. One of these is historical change in meaning: historical linguists have long recognized that some meaning change is metaphoric or metonymic. For example, around the world, words meaning ‘see’ have come to mean ‘know’ or ‘understand.’ Indeed, in some cases that past meaning is lost: English wit comes from the Indo-European root for vision, but has only the meaning of intellectual ability in modern English. But in other cases, such as the see in I see what you mean, metaphoric meanings in the domain of Cognition exist alongside the original literal Vision uses. This knowing is seeing metaphor is extremely productive: transparent, opaque, illuminate, and shed light on are among the many English locutions which are ambiguous between literal visual senses and metaphoric intellectual ones. Do we want to say that because these are conventional usages, they are not metaphoric? In that case, we would have to separate them completely from less entrenched uses which show the same metaphoric meaning relationship: if someone says they have examined a candidate’s record with a magnifying glass, we probably don’t want to say that there should be a dictionary entry for magnifying glass listing this usage. Still less would we want to make a new dictionary entry if someone said they had gone over the data with an electron microscope. As has been widely argued, starting with Lakoff and Johnson, the most plausible hypothesis here is that while wit is no longer metaphoric, transparent and shed light on are metaphoric – and that it is precisely the habitual use of conventional instances of the knowing is seeing metaphor which helps motivate innovative uses.
It is thus possible for metaphor or metonymy to motivate conventional extensions of word meanings – and figurative links which are pervasively used in this way shape the vocabularies of the relevant languages. At a first approximation, then, we might say that figurative means that a usage is motivated by a metaphoric or metonymic relationship to some other usage, a usage which might be labelled literal. And literal does not mean ‘everyday, normal usage’ but ‘a meaning which is not dependent on a figurative extension from another meaning.’ We will be talking about the nature of those relationships in more detail soon, but of course metaphor and metonymy are not the only motivations for figurative usage. In this context, we might say that polysemy – the relationship between multiple related conventional meanings of a single word – is often figurative in nature. English see continues to manifest simultaneously meanings related to physical vision and ones related to cognition or knowledge: Can you see the street signs? coexists with Do you see what I mean?.
Read the full excerpt here or find out more about Figurative Language here.
written by Professor Bernard Spolsky
It’s great to be relevant! A few weeks after my sociolinguistic history of the Jewish people was published, a Reuters story highlighted a dispute between the visiting Pope Francis and the Israeli Prime Minister over the language spoken by Jesus (Reuter, 28 May 2014). “Jesus spoke Hebrew”, Netanyahu stated. “Aramaic”, responded the Pope. He almost certainly knew both Hebrew and Aramaic, and also Greek (and maybe a little Latin), I would have answered, as I did in one of the earliest studies that I published that marked my growing interest in the language of the Jews.
But this disagreement turns out to be only one the many examples of disputes that I found in my research. There are, I learned, scholars who argue that Jews stopped speaking Hebrew soon after they returned from the first exile in Babylonia (say about 700 BCE), and others who find evidence that it was still spoken after the destruction of the Second Temple by the Romans, as late as the second century of the Common Era. A nine hundred year spread seems a lot; however, seeing we have very little direct evidence of who spoke what, but must depend on much later written sources, we can understand the uncertainties of historical sociolinguistics.
As I carried out my studies, a number of similar major disagreements and doubts emerged. One concerned the origin of the Jewish variety that developed strongest claims to status as a language, Yiddish. There are continuing arguments (some almost violent) about the location where Jews (still reading and writing Hebrew but speaking another variety derived from a non-Jewish “co-territorial” language) started to speak Medieval German and made it their own by adding many words and phrases from Hebrew (or actually from the Hebrew and Aramaic that had become the regular language of religious expression and literacy). The classic theory by the major scholar, Max Weinreich, holds that Yiddish started when Jews speaking a French-based language moved into the Rhineland, and before the Crusades set up barriers between them and Christians that drove them into ghettos, picked up the local spoken German dialect. Another theory (and one that Weinreich recognizes in the footnotes which add a second volume to his monumental history of Yiddish) argues that Yiddish developed further east, in Regensburg in Swabia. Others suggest it developed further east even: one theory holds that it was Jews living in Prague speaking a Slavic based variety who adopted it from the German-speaking Swabian farmers who moved in and populated the region in the 13th century. There are more extreme theories: one Israeli scholar has put forward the notion that it derives from a relexified version of the language of the Sorbians who he believed converted to Judaism, and others relate it to the mythical accounts of the conversion of the Khazars (but recent research has challenged any genetic evidence for the Khazarian hypothesis that Koestler proposed, and has cast serious doubt on the stories of the conversion itself, just as unlikely as the 13th century belief that the invading Mongols were Jews or one of the missing Ten Tribes).
“…the fact that Jewish children mainly attended schools in the local national languages suggests that even without the
subsequent Soviet banning of Yiddish culture and the Nazi extermination of millions of its speakers, Yiddish too would soon
have become an endangered language”.
There is no question that East European Jews developed Yiddish into their main spoken language (although there were many variants that are traced in the major Yiddish dialect atlas that is now appearing), although they continued to pray and write Hebrew. Only in the late 19th century did Yiddish literature start to appear, reaching a high point in the 20th century between the two wars. Here again, there is a quarrel, for in spite of the double standardization (one by YIVO in Warsaw and Vilna, and the second under Soviet imprimatur in Moscow) and the associated burgeoning of secular Yiddish writing, the fact that Jewish children mainly attended schools in the local national languages suggests that even without the subsequent Soviet banning of Yiddish culture and the Nazi extermination of millions of its speakers, Yiddish too would soon have become an endangered language.
Jewish varieties developed elsewhere in the extensive Diaspora. Jews expelled from Spain in 1492 took with them a language variety which developed in North Africa into Haketia and in the Balkans and Turkey into Ladino, which itself developed in time a strong literature. Ladino was replaced in Turkey first by French (when the Alliance Israélite Universelle set up schools for Jews) and then by Turkish (reformed and established by Kemal Ataturk). Jews in the Arab speaking world developed varieties of Judeo-Arabic, used in the Middle Ages to write philosophical and religious works (as second class citizens, Jews and Christians under Islam were forbidden to learn Classical Arabic); in North Africa, they switched to French after colonization, and by the time they were expelled from Arabic countries after the UN decision in 1947, they had little loyalty to Arabic and were easily persuaded to adopt local hegemonic languages, whether Hebrew in Israel or French in France.
And in the West, emancipation and even more the introduction of compulsory state education in the national language, worked against the continuation of Jewish varieties, most of which by now are spoken if at all by the elderly. But there remain some signs of life – Yiddish has been adopted as a spoken variety for boys in some Hasidic sects. And there have grown up postvernacular activities for many of the languages: local groups that learn and read Yiddish or Ladino, theatres that present plays in these two languages and in Judeo-Arabic, web-sites that teach and preserve a number of Jewish varieties; for supporters, the varieties have symbolic and not communicative relevance. And there are signs of the creation of new Jewish varieties, such as the Jewish English learned by newly-observant young Jews, incorporating the Yiddish and Hebrew words and grammar of the Haredim.
The study of Jewish language varieties is quite new, and it is made especially difficult because the historical evidence we have of spoken language is limited, and dependent often on much later written developments. But tracing their history, we can learn how the wandering Jew fared in different times and places, and how Hebrew remained and still remains the main force for identity.
Find out more about The Languages of the Jews and download an excerpt here.
Arabic linguistics is a vast ﬁeld combining study of the Arabic language with the analytical disciplines that constitute the ﬁeld of linguistics. Linguistic theories, methods, and concepts are used to analyze the structure and processes of Arabic; but at the same time, Arabic with its millennium-long intellectual traditions, its complex morphology, and its current broad diversity of registers, informs linguistic theory. Many linguistic approaches to Arabic language analysis have been applied over the past ﬁfty years both within the Arab world and from the point of view of western scholars. These approaches and their disciplinary procedures are both varied and convergent, covering a wealth of data but also coming to terms with central issues of concern to Arabic linguistics that had been neglected in the past, such as validating the prominent role of vernacular Arabic and variation theory in Arabic society and culture. Arabic linguistics is now an active subﬁeld in sociolinguistics, corpus linguistics, and computational linguistics as well as theoretical and applied linguistics. Both traditional and new genres of Arabic writing are now being examined within postmodern frameworks of literary theory and linguistic analysis. Media Arabic studies is a new and rapidly growing ﬁeld; medieval texts are being re-examined in the light of new philology and discourse analysis; previously ignored forms of popular culture such as songs, advertisements, oral poetry, vernacular writing, letters, email, and blogs are now legitimate grist for the linguistics mill.
The discipline of linguistics has a growing number of subﬁelds. The traditional four core divisions usually include theoretical linguistics, applied linguistics, sociolinguistics, and computational linguistics. Each of these has developed new applications, perspectives, hypotheses, and discoveries that extend their analytical power in novel ways, such as cognitive linguistics in theoretical linguistics, second language acquisition in applied linguistics, corpus linguistics in the computational ﬁeld, and discourse analysis in sociolinguistics. When these perspectives and theories are applied to Arabic, the ﬁndings can be revealing, satisfying, or puzzling, but generally lead toward greater understanding of how languages work, how they resemble each other, and how they differ. The ﬁeld of computational linguistics has provided ways to develop extensive corpora of spoken and written Arabic that can be used for pioneering research and analysis of language in use. An active subﬁeld of linguistics – history of linguistics – examines linguistic historiography, the development of language analysis over time, and the evolution of grammatical theory in different cultures.
The phonological, morphological, and syntactic structures of Arabic reﬂect its Semitic origins and its essential differences from Indo-European languages. These differences and their cultural embeddedness are what make Arabic of interest to research in many ﬁelds of linguistics. For example, the particularly well-deﬁned and elaborated verb system with its derivations reﬂect an aspect of classical Arabic that is both fascinating and rigorous in its structure and linguistic logic. As another example, the contrasts between vernacular and written language, their different roles within Arab society, and the tensions between local and regional linguistic identities, form areas of sociolinguistics that pose particular challenges to data collection, empirical study, and objective analysis. Many research challenges and opportunities still lie ahead in this regard.
Read the full excerpt here.
Middle Egyptian, written by Proffessor James Allen, introduces the reader to the writing system of ancient Egypt and the language of hieroglyphic texts. It explores the most important aspects of ancient Egyptian history, society, religion, literature, and language. Grammar lessons and cultural essays allows users not only to read hieroglyphic texts but also to understand them, providing the foundation for understanding texts on monuments and reading great works of ancient Egyptian literature. This third edition is revised and reorganized, particularly in its approach to the verbal system, based on recent advances in understanding the language. (The following excerpt is taken from Chapter 1).
1. Language and Writing
Egyptian is the ancient and original language of Egypt. It belongs to the language family known as Afro-Asiatic or Hamito-Semitic and is related to both of that family’s branches: North African languages such as Berber and Beja, and Asiatic languages such as Arabic, Ethiopic, and Hebrew. Within Afro-Asiatic, Egyptian is unique. It has features that are common to both branches, although it is closer to the African side of the family.
Egyptian first appeared in writing shortly before 3200 BC and remained a living language until the eleventh century AD1. Beginning with the Muslim conquest of Egypt in AD 641, Arabic gradually replaced Egyptian as the dominant language in Egypt. Today, the language of Egypt is Arabic. Egyptian is a dead language, like Latin, which can only be studied in writing, though it is still spoken in the rituals of the Coptic (Egyptian Christian) Church. Throughout its long lifetime, Egyptian underwent tremendous changes. Scholars classify its history into two phases and five major stages:
1) Old Egyptian is the first stage of the language. Although Egyptian writing is first attested before 3200 BC, these early inscriptions (called Archaic Egyptian) consist only of names and labels. Old Egyptian proper is dated from approximately 2700 BC, when the first extensive texts appeared, until about 2100 BC.
2) Middle Egyptian (or Classical Egyptian) is closely related to Old Egyptian. First attested around 2100 BC, it survived as a spoken language for some five hundred years but remained the standard hieroglyphic language for the rest of ancient Egyptian history. Middle Egyptian is the phase of the language discussed in this book.
3)Late Egyptian began to replace Middle Egyptian as the spoken language after 1600 BC, and it remained in use until about 600 BC. Though descended from Old and Middle Egyptian, Late Egyptian differed substantially from the earlier phases, particularly in grammar. Traces of Late Egyptian can be found in texts earlier than 1600 BC, but it did not appear as a full written language until after 1300 BC.
4) Demotic developed out of Late Egyptian. It first appeared around 650 BC and survived until the fifth century AD.
5) Coptic is the name given to the final stage of ancient Egyptian, which is closely related to Demotic. It appeared at the end of the first century AD and was spoken for nearly a thousand years thereafter. The last known texts written by native speakers of Coptic date to the eleventh century AD.
Egyptian also had several dialects. These regional differences in speech and writing are best attested in Coptic, which had five major dialects. They can only be partly detected in the writing of earlier phases of Egyptian, but they undoubtedly existed then as well: a letter from about 1200 BC complains that a correspondent’s language is as incomprehensible as that of a northern Egyptian speaking with an Egyptian from the south. The southern dialect of Coptic, known as Saidic, was the classical form; the northern one, called Bohairic, is the dialect used in Coptic Church services today.
The basic writing system of ancient Egyptian consisted of about five hundred common signs, known as hieroglyphs. The term “hieroglyph” comes from two Greek words meaning “sacred carvings,” which are a translation, in turn, of the Egyptians’ own name for their writing system, “the god’s speech.” Each sign in this system is a hieroglyph, and the system as a whole is called hieroglyphic (not “hieroglyphics”).
Unlike Mesopotamian cuneiform or Chinese, whose beginnings can be traced over several hundred years, hieroglyphic writing seems to appear in Egypt suddenly, around 3250 BC, as a complete system. Scholars are divided in their opinions about its origins. Some suggest that the earlier, developmental stages of hieroglyphic were written on perishable materials, such as wood, and simply have not survived. Others argue that the system could have been invented all at once by an unknown genius. Although it was once thought that the idea of writing came to Egypt from Mesopotamia, recent discoveries indicate that writing arose independently in Egypt.
People since the ancient Greeks have tried to understand this system as a mystical encoding of secret wisdom, but hieroglyphic is no more mysterious than any other system that has been used to record language. Basically, hieroglyphic is nothing more than the way the ancient Egyptians wrote their language . To read hieroglyphic, therefore, you have to learn the Egyptian language.
 Some scholars prefer BCE and CE rather than BC and AD. Because both conventions use the same benchmark (see Essay 9), however, this book retains the older system.
Read the full excerpt from Middle Egyptian, An Introduction to the Language and Culture of Hieroglyphs, here.
Post written by Peter Stockwell, Editor of the new The Cambridge Handbook of Stylistics
Twenty-five years ago, one of the contributors to the new Cambridge Handbook of Stylistics started a conference paper by declaring that there could not be a handbook for the field of stylistics. Unlike other subjects, went the argument, stylistics at the time did not have a commonly agreed set of methods and principles. Drawing on the most recent linguistics in order to study literature was seen as oddly interdisciplinary, and eclectic. The comment was quickly forgotten, as the speaker produced an overhead-projector transparency that was not only printed, rather than handwritten, but was actually in colour! There were audible gasps from around the room at this startling technology.
Both the field of stylistics and the wizardry of our presentational skills have moved on equally exponentially since then. Stylistic methods that emphasise a systematic and modern linguistic understanding of the language of literary texts have become mainstream. The close description of literature can be found in literary studies all over the world. Twenty-five years ago, there was no such thing as a lectureship in stylistics: now a literary-linguistic training is almost a guarantee of an academic post. Exploring the language of literature is becoming central to the school curriculum. When literature students first encounter stylistics, I have watched the light of revelation dawn in their faces like an epiphany.
Stylistics has itself changed, from being relatively narrowly focused just on the textuality of literary works to the current situation in which matters of reading, interpretation, culture and literary texture are prominent. Stylistics – under various different names across the world – has been supercharged by the revolutions in text-digitisation and in cognitive science.
The Handbook of Stylistics would barely be recognisable to that audience a quarter of a century ago. Sara Whiteley and I assembled a stellar cast of the most important stylisticians of the age and asked them to produce something new. The result is a series of thirty-nine meditations, arguments and – of course – stylistic analyses. The Handbook is a monumental thing, both physically and intellectually, but it is also a starting point rather than a review of past glory. Stylistics is progressive, in the sense that there is a tangible collective desire to move the field forward rather than defending entrenched positions. Our authors set out their arguments and evidence as clearly and readably as possible, so that others can engage with them, and think about ways of addressing their ideas even better. Several of our chapters are even in the form of a dialogue between two authors. The whole thing is vibrant and exciting, and the aim of the book is to engage both the old stylistician and the new student of style in their own new thinking. We wanted thirty-nine chapters, rather than the rounded forty, to serve iconically as a suggestion that there is always one more thing to be said.
Discover more about The Cambridge Handbook of Stylistics
The Study of Language has proven itself to be the student and instructor choice for first courses in language and linguistics because of its accessible approach to, what is often, a complicated subject. In every edition, readers have praised the book for being easy to follow, simple to understand, and fun to read, with its quirky anecdotes and examples of languages from around the world. Now in its fifth edition, it is further strengthened by the addition of new student ‘tasks’ (guiding readers to connect theory to real-world scenarios), including examples from even more foreign languages, and updating the text to reflect the most current linguistic theory. We will also be offering an enriched learning experience with our new enhanced eBook (publishing in Autumn), which will include pop-up glossary terms, embedded audio and interactive questioning. All of these features make this the most student-friendly edition of the textbook yet.
Paragraph above by Valerie Appleby, Development Editor, Cambridge University Press
written by Aneta Pavlenko, Temple University
One of the linchpins of human information-processing are the frames of expectation we apply to the constant flow of information. These frames allow us to impose meaning on the things we see, hear, or read and to position ourselves with regard to ideas and arguments. In the case of the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis (SWH), these frames require us to adopt one of the three recognizable positions: for (which may brand us as radicals), against (a marker of a skeptic or a rational thinker), or in-between (a sign of a temperate scholar willing to consider the pros and cons of everything). The adoption of conventional frames of expectation saves us a lot of valuable time – once we know (or think we know) what each position means and where each party stands, we can jump right in the middle of any argument and hammer in our own point of view. I have experienced the power of this conventionality firsthand when I gave an interview about my book, The Bilingual Mind, to François Grosjean at Psychology Today: some readers immediately branded it as defense of the relativist cause (at best) or ‘nonsensical relativism’ (at worst). Yet there is a downside to unquestioning adoption of conventional frames of expectation – it leaves us vulnerable and unprepared for changes in the terms of engagement. The Bilingual Mind is a case in point: I do not argue for or against the SWH because I do not see it as a legitimate scientific phenomenon. The purpose of the book is to show that the SWH ‘as we know it’ is a phantom, if not a fraud, and has little to do with questions that preoccupied Sapir and Whorf.
The manufacturing of consent on the SWH began when Sapir and Whorf passed away and their ideas landed in the hands of others. Driven by the desire to make complex notions, articulated by linguistic anthropologists, fit experimental paradigms in psychology, Roger Brown and Eric Lenneberg transformed them into two ‘testable’ hypotheses. These hypotheses – one ‘weak’, one ‘strong’ – appeared in their definitive form in Brown’s (1958) book Words and things:
linguistic relativity holds that where there are differences of language there will also be
differences of thought, that language and thought covary. Determinism goes beyond this
to require that the prior existence of some language pattern is either necessary or sufficient to produce some thought pattern. (p. 260)
Soon the newly-minted SWH took on a life of its own, multiplying and reproducing itself in a myriad of textbooks, articles, lectures, and popular media. Yet ideas don’t travel easily across disciplines and Brown’s and Lenneberg’s reformulations departed from Sapir’s and Whorf’s original arguments in several ways. To begin with, they articulated the hypothesis in monolingual terms (while Sapir and Whorf were interested in the power of multilingual awareness). Secondly, they shifted the inquiry from obligatory grammatical categories, such as tense, to lexical domains, such as color, that had a rather tenuous relationship to linguistic thought (color differentiation was, in fact, discussed by Boas and Whorf as an ability not influenced by language). Third, they shifted from concepts as interpretive categories to cognitive processes, such as perception or memory, that were of little interest to Sapir and Whorf, and proposed to investigate them with artificial stimuli, such as Munsell chips. In doing so, they moved the discussion further and further away from Sapir’s primary interest in ‘social reality’ and Whorf’s central concern with ‘habitual thought’.
When we look back, the attribution of the idea of linguistic determinism to multilingual scholars interested in second language learning and language change makes little sense. Yet the replacement of open-ended questions about linguistic diversity with two ‘testable’ hypotheses had a major advantage – it was easier to argue about and to digest. The transformation was further facilitated by four academic practices that allow us to manage the ever-increasing amount of literature in the ever-decreasing amount of time: (a) simplification of complex arguments (which often results in misinterpretation); (b) reduction of original texts to standard quotes; (c) reliance on other people’s exegeses; and (d) uncritical reproduction of received knowledge. Eventually, the very frequency of its reproduction made the SWH a ‘fact on the ground’.
Today, the received belief in the validity of the terms of engagement articulated by Brown and Lenneberg still reigns unopposed. Yet the focus on ‘non-linguistic cognition’ of ‘monolingual’ speakers in the experimental lab gave rise to a self-defeating line of inquiry that has little ecological validity and little in common with Whorf’s interest in thought insofar as it is linguistic. The purpose of The Bilingual Mind is to consider what is meant by linguistic thought and what non-trivial effects languages have on such thought in monolingual and multilingual speakers. Far be it from me, however, to claim that the book aims to move the inquiry on language and cognition ‘forward’. It does not – if only because I agree with Kuhn ( 2012) that the metaphor of science as ongoing march forward is utterly misleading. My goal is to convince at least a few readers to move ‘away’ from the deeply familiar – yet inherently flawed – terms of engagement articulated for us by Brown and Lenneberg, to ‘backtrack’ towards the questions posited by Sapir and Whorf and to adopt more realistic terms of engagement with the relationship between language(s) and thought that take into consideration language change and the undeniable bi- and multilingualism of the majority of the world’s population.
The Bilingual Mind is due to publish February 2014.
Posted on behalf of Editors William Labov and Dennis Preston
Cambridge University Press is pleased to announce the launch of the new online-only Journal of Linguistic Geography (JLG). The journal’s goal is to open the flow of linguistic analysis using electronic formats (such as scalable maps and figures, searchable data sets, and embedded audio files) in a field that has long been blocked by technical factors. For all new subscribers, a comprehensive User Experience Guide provides an overview of the journal’s interactive capacities. Submissions to the journal are welcome and may be sent to firstname.lastname@example.org. Queries are welcome, too.
The journal is an official publication of the International Conference on Methods in Dialectology. Editors Bill Labov (University of Pennsylvania) and Dennis R. Preston (Oklahoma State University) are supported by Technical Editor Bartłomiej Plichta (University of Minnesota). The full editorial board can be viewed here.
The Journal of Linguistic Geography: From Concept to Creation
The stacks of our libraries are filled with magnificent atlases of linguistic geography. File cabinets throughout the world are filled with papers that have never appeared, faced with the problem of reducing maps to small black-and-white versions that convey only a small part of the information in the original.
There will be no limit on the size of maps submitted to the Journal of Linguistic Geography; they will be viewed in their entirety with the panning and zooming options that are second nature to users of the internet. Color is as fundamental as size in cartography, and in electronic publication, color is no more difficult or expensive than black-and-white.
Even more crucial to analytical reading is the relation between map and text, which in print may require a back-and-forth paging operation that challenges memory and even lead to accepting (or rejecting) the author’s statement without making a point-by-point inspection. In the Journal of Linguistic Geography, maps and figures open in a new window, allowing the reader to make a direct comparison between what is said and what is shown.
A further advantage of the journal’s format is that of sound samples in the electronic page. They will not replace IPA notation, but rather serve to refine and encourage the use of phonetic notation.
Reading the Journal of Linguistic Geography will also show that technical innovations are not confined to modes of display. New developments in mathematical analysis of spatial patterns are represented and may include substantial appendices, since the space limitations of print journals do not apply.
So much for form. But what about content?
To put it simply, linguistic geography is concerned with the spatial differentiation of linguistic forms. Teachers of introductory linguistics find that students are fascinated with the fact there are regions nearby where speakers use ‘X’ to refer to what is (“rightly”) called ‘Y.’ This fascination with the facts of the matter impedes rather than encourages the development of our field as a branch of linguistic science. JLG hopes to mobilize those facts in pursuit of a better understanding of the nature of language structure and language change. Our interest is focused on those connections within language that reflect the impact of a given change on other members of the system. A submission that traces distribution of isolated forms or sounds will receive our full attention when it is woven into the fabric of relations that turn words into language.
We do not disprefer studies of the lexicon, but we encourage authors to display the use of a form against the background of competing and complimentary forms, showing what meanings are found for a given form as well as what forms are found for a given meaning.
Fields of structural relationships are most clearly delineated in phonology, and we would be surprised not to receive submissions dealing with the geography of chain shifts, splits and mergers, but we hope to deal with the geography of the full range of linguistic structures.
We invite studies of the perception of speech as well as production. We are interested in both how linguistic varieties across and within regions are heard and processed and how non-linguists perceive the spatial distribution of varieties, particularly when such studies shed light on the characteristics of language variation and change.
The fact that we are named the Journal of Linguistic Geography is not without significance, but the linguistics we appeal to is not just that of the internal relations of linguistic forms. It is also outwardly defined to include the social, historical and economic contexts in which language is formed and used. Thus we expect to find maps reflecting population growth and movement, out- and in-migration, political trends and voting records as well as highway and railroad networks.
Our Editorial Board comprises a group of distinguished linguists from throughout the world. Learn more about these board members and how their own published work illustrates research of the scope and quality we hope to feature in the journal.