A Symphony of Syllables: Why fictional languages have meaning
As a young girl, I used to lament that my heritage is so American—tracing my vanilla ancestry as far back as WW1 at best. But not all my schoolyard friends could say the same. Many were second-generation, and I’d look forward to afternoons where they would invite me to come over and play, for entering their homes was like walking through a Stargate into another world. Warm, pungent spices flavored the air. Beguiling, stringed instruments were plucked over the radio. And foreign words were shared through cheery, welcoming smiles. I’ve since come to realize that those afternoons were possibly the most American of all; unity amid diversity, established over homework and a fragrant cup of tea.
Language, and its beautifully expansive breadth, became a repeated refrain throughout my upbringing, eventually infiltrating my own home. My mother developed a season of wanderlust during my middle-school years. After embarking on philanthropic trips to Colombia, Hungary, and Croatia, she often returned to our kitchen with a quiver full of new dialects, shooting off her tongue. To this day I can expect her to pitch a pithy “pa što” (Croatian; so what?) over her shoulder to something snarky I’ve said.
Eventually obtaining my license, I cherished such exchanges during my regular commute. Many a day in Metro Detroit, I would stop into the local Lebanese café around the corner, eager for a dallop of toum with my order of chicken shawarma. The door would jingle and a flurry of Arabic conversations would chime my ears. The owner and his wife would pause in conversation with their son behind the counter to hand me a promising to-go box. Grabbing the Styrofoam and savoring its whiff of garlic, I’d extend a grateful “shukran”. “Afwan,” the apple-cheeked wife always replied, before she’d restore her attention to her teenager. Departing their domain, I would jump into my Oldsmobile and rejoin the midwestern world, one bite of shawarma happier.
In interviews I’m often asked why I chose to develop dialects for The Haidren Legacy. The interviewer posits things like:
Are they not tedious to create?
Doesn’t it cause the reader to work just to get through the story?
Don’t you worry people will give up before they even start?
To each of these questions I always give an emphatic “yes”. Perhaps Italian filmmaker Federico Fellini put it best when he stated, “A different language is a different view of life”. For that is precisely what makes dialects so worthwhile.
Even the fictional.
When practiced travelers journey beyond their national borders and into foreign countries, they tend to carry a pocket dictionary. This usually isn’t because English is not widely known—at least in part—but because the traveler suspects that if they wish to truly experience the people, the culture, the way of life, then they must assimilate. The must integrate the local verbiage. They must learn the meaning of words to capture the history of building names, monuments, and customs. Language speaks beyond its translation. It speaks through inflection, accompanied hand gestures, how sentences are structured and how things are phrased. It speaks to the region and those who are rooted in its soil. Thomas Aquinas understood this nearly a millennium ago. His philosophy of language suggests that the relationship between words, concepts, and objects is essential for comprehending the structure of reality. That language is not only a tool for communication, but also a means for conceptualizing and understanding the world.
This is why Orynthia needs its dialects. They make it more real. If we are to see the world-build through the eyes of our characters, then we need to first understand how they verbalize what they are seeing.
“Language is just spoken music. Sing her an ink-filled melody, Lady Boreal”
-— Dmitri Korbin Thoarne, House of Boreal (THL #3)
So how did I do it? That is probably the second most asked question I receive, once I make the case during interviews for lingual development itself. Now, before we dive into the nitty gritty, I’d like to preface that I am no expert in this arena. I merely forged a system that compliments my own brainwaves. If anything, I hope readers can see the gross effort and intentionality behind this facet of my world-building. It was certainly crafted with care, and no doubt adds a tangibility to the Orynthian experience.
Syllabic-Hybrids
It’s no secret that the various Houses are distinctly inspired by particular, cultural mashups (like everyone’s favorite performances on Glee). This plays out in territorial architecture, holidays, textiles, commerce, and more. Dialect is no different. In fact, I rely heavily on inspo languages when developing new terminology. To do so, I tend to create what I call “syllabic-hybrids”.
Beginning with the desired definition in English, I perform a lingual sweep, translating key words into 5-10 languages. While the goal is not to appropriate existing terms, what I am seeking are syllables that stand out to me. Either visually or in overall mouth-feel (I know that’s a strange way of putting it, but if sommeliers can use it, so can we).
Take Boreali, for instance. I wanted this language to flow from the mouth like water. That’s why there are very few hard consonants throughout its lexicon. The reasons for that are thematic and become more apparent in Book 3, when the Quadren physically travels to Boreal’s mysterious, mist-shrouded highlands. By contrast, Andwele has a brusque yet bloated mouth-feel. Like biting into a plump fruit and hitting the pit. Unlike the highlanders, my warmongering Darakaians speak with full, swollen vowels and punchy consonants—brash interruptions, just them themselves. These are the elements I am seeking when appraising syllables. Then, pairing them together, I create usable hybrids.
When I’m not pleased, I’ll look at sister-words. Referencing the example table below, if I’m dissatisfied with results for the word strength, I may also search Icelandic equivalents for blessing, talent, or power. Again, what I’m really getting after is a syllable or two that appeals to the cause.
Boreali - Origin: House of Boreal
Glyphs (the written language) is a different topic for a different day… As I’ve notated, I plan to unveil Andwele runes with the prequel trilogy, slated for the completion of the flagship series, The Haidren Legacy. If you’d like to explore the alpha-to-Boreali cipher, explore it here.
Andwele - Origin: House of Darakai
These tables show only a sampling of four linguistic sources, but there are often many more, as detailed below both. Something I love doing is taking seemingly uncomplimentary roots and pairing them together. Like Gaelic and Indonesian. Or for Andwele, Swahili and Navajo. Though once basic terms are defined, creating the rest of the language gets easier.
Grammatical Rules & Pronunciation Patterns
Another reason this gets faster over time, is that by the midpoint in the series, I’ve already developed some basic grammatical and pronunciation codes to regulate the lingual structure. These are crude compared to what an actual Harvard grad linguist could create, but they do the trick.
In practice, I essentially take my new syllabic-hybrid and conform it to the regional rule set. This can include where prepositions go in the sentence structure, when I delete words and replace them with apostrophes, etc. Likewise, simple pronunciation effects the transliteration you see on the page (i.e., the actual letters used in English).
Example Boreali Grammatical Rules:
• MN – long “m” sound
• JJ – “zhee” sound, in the middle of word (typically)
• AE – long “a” sound
• Ö – long “o” sound, in the middle of word (typically)
• Ï – long “ee” sound, at the end of word (sometimes)
• ii – long “ee” sound, beginning or middle of word
• ü – long “u”
• Apostrophe – possessive or adjective / verb *the* noun / to be / in / of (typically)
• Negative tense – nii’
• By - lim
• I / me / my / mine – meh
• You / your / you’re – yeh
• We / our / us - weh
Phraseology
Perhaps the most telling aspect of language is why people phrase things the way they do. Their reasoning will often say just as much about their culture (if not more) than the words they said. Or in the case of Andwele, the words they’ve never said.
Readers tend to appreciate when an author shows rather than tells. And I have to admit, that is a tall order sometimes, especially in a complex world-build. While I missed some opportunities in my debut novel, House of Bastiion, I think there is one that was definitely capitalized on. Throughout interactions with Zaethan, readers, and characters alike, quickly learn some fierce realities about the Darakaian perspective. The Southerners are blunt, and when they upset someone, they do not apologize for it. This isn’t because they are rude, per se, rather because they own their every action and its consequence. Tribal in social order, the culture remains functionally militaristic. The best way I could comprehend how to show this was to literally eliminate such verbiage from their vocabulary. It doesn’t exist.
Likewise, Darakaians do not say “please”, yet in an even more respectful way, ask permission by voicing shamàli, “if you see fit”, to their ranking superior. They do not believe in thanks, for to them expressing gratitude signifies a debt. Instead, they prudently say zullee, “accepted with honor”. And when giving, they do not extend welcome; the notion is superficial. The House of Darakai—the House of war—is a meritocracy. Everything is earned. Thus gifts and opportunities are never extended casually. Ho’waladim, “as is due you”, can be just as rewarding as whatever preceded it.
Inflection
In that same vein, inflection plays as big a role as phraseology. I was inspired by how the Japanese, as well other Asian dialects, rely on volume to denote meaning. Adopting the practice, this is heavily exemplified in House of Darakai (THL #2). Where a Southerner might use the Andwele phrase “as is due you” like a compliment or a curse, depending on his inflection. It seems strange to put so much emphasis on volume in a book. It’s not easy to describe inflection in text format… but it is more realistic. This is why I squabble so often with my editor about dialog tags. I love them, especially when my Darakaians are speaking.
Gesticulation
Highlighting one more special component of the Andwele language, I can’t help but mention their hand gestures. Some may have overlooked this, but as Zaethan exits the multi-cultural crown city and nears his homeland in Book 2, these progressively get more common. This was inspired by how many Native American tribes, even those speaking different verbal languages, shared a form of sign language. Though the Darakaians all speak an Andwele variant, I couldn’t help but think how profitable sign language would be during combat and coordinated strikes. The Darakaians aren’t naturally quiet and poised like the Boreali; their ears don’t pickup the whispered tones of the spooky shadowmen. So rather than adopting ASL or gestures used by the Cherokee, I purposely attempted to create a catalog of my own. They add a visceral touch to Zaethan’s words with his warriors, one that exemplifies the physicality of their culture. Not to get too philosophical, but they are materialists in a way. Although some retain the mythology of the Sun and the Moon, others adopting faith in the Fates, they live in the moment—for the battle at hand. Their bodies speak through story-dances and their scars chart their tales.
Movement is a critical part of conversing. Most experts agree that 70 to 93 percent of all communication is nonverbal Thus it needed to take part in the world-build. As I cultivate them, Darakaian hand signs are slowing growing into a love language of mine throughout the series. One I intend to spotlight during the prequel trilogy.
Mythology & Slang
Whenever we travel to another country, most will attest that we taste more culture in the cab ride than in the airport. The reason is simple: cabbies speak in slang.
The bit about slang we tend to overlook is where is comes from. Think about your own. A large portion (though not all, of course) is heavily influenced by our mythologies, religious affiliations, and so forth. In the American South, the equally kind or dismissive slang phrase “well bless your heart” derives from the notion that the Good Lord either needs to reward you or set you (and your nonsense) to rights. Mythology is obviously a large part of any fantasy world-build, though when the logic is carried through the culture, it should also show up in its slang terminology.
Ex: Boreali
• Shores of Aurynth
• By the Watchman
• By Aniell (Highland diety)
• Aurynth knows
• What in Aurynth's eye?
• Under the Watchman's lampstand (moon)
• Aurynth's tapestry / scroll / endless chronicle
• Aurynth-sent
Ex: Darakaian
• Depths
• Owàa's chains (Sun; Southern deity)
• Fate's sake
• Thank the Fates
• Kakka-shtàka (nonsense)
• kàchà kocho (this or that; noncommittal phrase)
• Fates-forsaken
Ex: Unitarian / Universal
Shtàka (shit)
All in all, language is ever-evolving. It’s a faucet hard to turn off. Once flowing, I can’t get enough of it. It will be interesting to see how the diverse dialects of Orynthia evolve over the course of The Haidren Legacy and future, related series—especially when we begin to retrace ancestral steps, further back in time toward their origin.
But until then, tredae’Aurynth, weary traveler. The road widens ahead.
“You can never understand one language until you understand at least two.”
— Geoffrey Willans
