The third edition of my new column on language for The National* takes a fresh look at an old topic, false friends. Not the kind you may think but words of phrases that cause confusion. The wonderful folk-rock singer Linda Thompson provided the inspiration for my theme and I am grateful to her ...
Every language is likely to have its false friends: words or phrases with meanings that differ greatly from what a non-speaker would assume. Even a decent knowledge of another tongue may not be enough to avoid the traps.
Most English speakers will be aware, or able to guess, that examen is French for examination. But would they realise passer un examen means no more than to sit one?
Another striking example of the French equivalent of false friends – or faux amis – is notoriété, which is not the same as notoriety but describes fame without derogatory implication.
Of course, French and English have numerous true friends, or true cognates as etymologists call words with identical spellings and definitions in each language. Think of accident, destination and pardon. Only the pronunciations differ and this probably makes it easier for us to stumble when false friends appear.
The Oxford Language Dictionaries Online (OLD) lists three types. The first is described a little confusingly as the “true faux ami”, a word with common roots that has taken on entirely different meanings with the passage of time. Oxford cites the French actuel and English actual, actual indicating something real or genuine but only in secondary definitions equating to the similar French word meaning current.
OLD’s second category of “true” false friends, again comparing French and English, refers to words that look similar but have no common origin. Most of us probably know that pain means bread and does not hurt at all. Fewer would be able to translate pain in the English sense to douleur.
The third type of false friendship, slippery and potentially hazardous as far as the OLD is concerned, is the “partial faux ami”. This is a word that may have both a common root and at least one shared definition but also a divergent meaning. For instance, a British chauffeur has a specific role and expects to be paid for it whereas a French one is anyone driving a vehicle (he or she becomes a chauffard when doing so dangerously; not only mischief-makers would suggest the word therefore crops up rather often in France).
False friends have close relatives. I am thinking of words that people use in good faith but are simply wrong. Brian London, a British former champion boxer, will have tired long ago of being reminded he once described himself as “only a prawn in the game”.
A singer of my acquaintance, Linda Thompson, recently came up with her own example of the genre. She launched a lively Facebook debate after hearing someone ask, “does this pass mustard?” during a television programme, the speaker meaning “pass muster”.
As one respondent pointed out, the error may be a consequence of changing society. “Sayings from yesteryear don’t make any sense (or use words not commonly spoken any more) today, so people get them all messed up,” he wrote.
To pass muster, or to reach an acceptable standard, has historical origins in the presentation of soldiers for inspection. “Pass mustard” means nothing unless spoken as an impolite request for a condiment. But since “cut the mustard”, used in the same sense as pass muster, is of sound provenance, the mistake is perhaps understandable.
Thompson also invited her Facebook friends to nominate words and phrases they found annoying. Among her own pet hates were “at this moment in time”, “at the end of the day” and “very unique” and her choices can hardly be faulted. The first should be replaced by “now”, the second is waffle and the third qualifies an adjective that cannot correctly be qualified.
There were many responses. Some had a familiar ring, including mention of the misuse of “literally” and the dehumanising nature of “collateral damage”. One contributor objected to the increasing recourse, even by educated public figures, to what he called “American teeny talk”. I know what he means, although there are surely more offensive examples than his own bêtes noires, the overuse of “absolutely” and a tendency of some interviewees to begin every answer with “so”.
Spare a thought, however, for the man who chipped in with “get a life” only to realise Thompson may have interpreted this as a rebuke for her fussiness about the use of English.He must have been horrified, though not literally, at the idea of being considered a truly false Facebook friend.
* My work for The National, Abu Dhabi is reproduced with the editor's consent. See more at http://www.thenational.ae/authors/colin-randall. The Linda Thompson album shown in the image is superb: buy it at the Salut! Amazon link - http://www.amazon.co.uk/exec/obidos/ASIN/B00006BNAX/salusund-21
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