2b or not 2b?
Despite doom-laden prophecies,
texting has not been the disaster for language many feared, argues linguistics
professor David Crystal. On the contrary, it improves children's writing and
spelling
Last year, in a newspaper article headed "I h8
txt msgs: How texting is wrecking our language", John Humphrys
argued that texters are "vandals who are doing to our
language what Genghis Khan did to his neighbours 800 years ago. They are
destroying it: pillaging our punctuation; savaging our sentences; raping our
vocabulary. And they must be stopped."
As a new variety of language, texting has been
condemned as "textese", "slanguage", a "digital
virus". According to John Sutherland of University College London, writing
in this paper in 2002, it is "bleak, bald, sad shorthand. Drab shrinktalk
... Linguistically it's all pig's ear ... it masks dyslexia, poor spelling and
mental laziness. Texting is penmanship for illiterates."
Ever since the arrival of printing - thought to be
the invention of the devil because it would put false opinions into people's
minds - people have been arguing that new technology would have disastrous
consequences for language. Scares accompanied the introduction of the
telegraph, telephone, and broadcasting. But has there ever been a linguistic
phenomenon that has aroused such curiosity, suspicion, fear, confusion,
antagonism, fascination, excitement and enthusiasm all at once as texting?
And
in such a short space of time. Less than a decade ago, hardly anyone had heard
of it.
The idea of a point-to-point short message service
(or SMS) began to be discussed as part of the development of the Global System
for Mobile Communications network in the mid-1980s, but it wasn't until the
early 90s that phone companies started to develop its commercial possibilities.
Text communicated by pagers were replaced by text messages, at first only 20
characters in length. It took five years or more before numbers of users
started to build up. The average number of texts per GSM customer in 1995 was
0.4 per month; by the end of 2000 it was still only 35.
The slow start, it seems, was because the companies
had trouble working out reliable ways of charging for the new service. But once
procedures were in place, texting rocketed. In the UK, in 2001, 12.2bn text
messages were sent. This had doubled by 2004, and was forecast to be 45bn in
2007. On Christmas Day alone in 2006, over 205m texts went out. World figures
went from 17bn in 2000 to 250bn in 2001. They passed a trillion in 2005. Text
messaging generated around $70bn in 2005. That's more than three times as much
as all Hollywood box office returns that year.
People think that the written language seen on
mobile phone screens is new and alien, but all the popular beliefs about
texting are wrong. Its graphic distinctiveness is not a new phenomenon, nor is
its use restricted to the young. There is increasing evidence that it helps
rather than hinders literacy. And only a very tiny part of it uses a
distinctive orthography. A trillion text messages might seem a lot, but when we
set these alongside the multi-trillion instances of standard orthography in
everyday life, they appear as no more than a few ripples on the surface of the
sea of language. Texting has added a new dimension to language use, but its
long-term impact is negligible. It is not a disaster.
Although many texters enjoy breaking linguistic
rules, they also know they need to be understood. There is no point in paying
to send a message if it breaks so many rules that it ceases to be intelligible.
When messages are longer, containing more information, the amount of standard
orthography increases. Many texters alter just the grammatical words (such as
"you" and "be"). As older and more conservative language
users have begun to text, an even more standardised style has appeared. Some
texters refuse to depart at all from traditional orthography. And conventional
spelling and punctuation is the norm when institutions send out information
messages, as in this university text to students: "Weather Alert! No
classes today due to snow storm", or in the texts which radio listeners
are invited to send in to programmes. These institutional messages now form the
majority of texts in cyberspace - and several organisations forbid the use of
abbreviations, knowing that many readers will not understand them. Bad textiquette.
Research has made it clear that the early media
hysteria about the novelty (and thus the dangers) of text messaging was
misplaced. In one American study, less than 20% of the text messages looked at
showed abbreviated forms of any kind - about three per message. And in a
Norwegian study, the proportion was even lower, with just 6% using
abbreviations. In my own text collection, the figure is about 10%.
People seem to have swallowed whole the stories
that youngsters use nothing else but abbreviations when they text, such as the
reports in 2003 that a teenager had written an essay so full of textspeak that
her teacher was unable to understand it. An extract was posted online, and
quoted incessantly, but as no one was ever able to track down the entire essay,
it was probably a hoax.
There are several distinctive features of the way
texts are written that combine to give the impression of novelty, but none of
them is, in fact, linguistically novel. Many of them were being used in
chatroom interactions that predated the arrival of mobile phones. Some can be
found in pre-computer informal writing, dating back a hundred years or more.
The most noticeable feature is the use of single
letters, numerals, and symbols to represent words or parts of words, as with b
"be" and 2 "to". They are called rebuses, and they go back
centuries. Adults who condemn a "c u" in a young person's texting
have forgotten that they once did the same thing themselves (though not on a
mobile phone). In countless Christmas annuals, they solved puzzles like this
one:
YY U R YY U B I C U R YY 4 ME
("Too wise you are . . .")
Similarly, the use of initial letters for whole
words (n for "no", gf for "girlfriend", cmb "call me
back") is not at all new. People have been initialising common phrases for
ages. IOU is known from 1618. There is no difference, apart from the medium of
communication, between a modern kid's "lol" ("laughing out
loud") and an earlier generation's "Swalk" ("sealed with a
loving kiss").
In texts we find such forms as msg ("message")
and xlnt ("excellent"). Almst any wrd cn be abbrvted in ths wy -
though there is no consistency between texters. But this isn't new either. Eric
Partridge published his Dictionary of Abbreviations in 1942. It contained
dozens of SMS-looking examples, such as agn "again", mth
"month", and gd "good" - 50 years before texting was born.
English has had abbreviated words ever since it
began to be written down. Words such as exam, vet, fridge, cox and bus are so
familiar that they have effectively become new words. When some of these
abbreviated forms first came into use, they also attracted criticism. In 1711,
for example, Joseph Addison complained about the way words were being
"miserably curtailed" - he mentioned pos (itive) and incog (nito).
And Jonathan Swift thought that abbreviating words was a "barbarous
custom".
What novelty there is in texting lies chiefly in
the way it takes further some of the processes used in the past. Some of its
juxtapositions create forms which have little precedent, apart from in puzzles.
All conceivable types of feature can be juxtaposed - sequences of shortened and
full words (hldmecls "hold me close"), logograms and shortened words
(2bctnd "to be continued"), logograms and nonstandard spellings (cu2nite)
and so on. There are no less than four processes combined in iowan2bwu "I
only want to be with you" - full word + an initialism + a shortened word +
two logograms + an initialism + a logogram. And some messages contain unusual
processes: in iohis4u "I only have eyes for you", we see the addition
of a plural ending to a logogram. One characteristic runs through all these
examples: the letters, symbols and words are run together, without spaces. This
is certainly unusual in the history of special writing systems. But few texts
string together long sequences of puzzling graphic units.
There are also individual differences in texting,
as in any other linguistic domain. In 2002, Stuart Campbell was found guilty of
the murder of his 15-year-old niece after his text message alibi was shown to
be a forgery. He had claimed that certain texts sent by the girl showed he was
innocent. But a detailed comparison of the vocabulary and other stylistic
features of his own text messages and those of his niece showed that he had
written the messages himself. The forensic possibilities have been further
explored by a team at the University of Leicester. The fact that texting is a
relatively unstandardised mode of communication, prone to idiosyncrasy, turns
out to be an advantage in such a context, as authorship differences are likely
to be more easily detectable than in writing using standard English.
Texters use deviant spellings - and they know they
are deviant. But they are by no means the first to use such nonstandard forms
as cos "because", wot "what", or gissa "give us
a". Several of these are so much part of English literary tradition that
they have been given entries in the Oxford English Dictionary. "Cos"
is there from 1828 and "wot" from 1829. Many can be found in literary
dialect representations, such as by Charles Dickens, Mark Twain, Walter Scott,
DH Lawrence, or Alan Bleasdale ("Gissa job!").
Sending a message on a mobile phone is not the most
natural of ways to communicate. The keypad isn't linguistically sensible. No
one took letter-frequency considerations into account when designing it. For
example, key 7 on my mobile contains four symbols, pqrs. It takes four
key-presses to access the letter s, and yet s is one of the most frequently
occurring letters in English. It is twice as easy to input q, which is one of
the least frequently occurring letters. It should be the other way round. So
any strategy that reduces the time and awkwardness of inputting graphic symbols
is bound to be attractive.
Abbreviations were used as a natural, intuitive
response to a technological problem. And they appeared in next to no time.
Texters simply transferred (and then embellished) what they had encountered in
other settings. We have all left notes in which we have replaced an and by an
&, a three by a 3, and so on. Anglo-Saxon scribes used abbreviations of
this kind.
But the need to save time and energy is by no means
the whole story of texting. When we look at some texts, they are linguistically
quite complex. There are an extraordinary number of ways in which people play
with language - creating riddles, solving crosswords, playing Scrabble,
inventing new words. Professional writers do the same - providing catchy copy
for advertising slogans, thinking up puns in newspaper headlines, and writing
poems, novels and plays. Children quickly learn that one of the most enjoyable
things you can do with language is to play with its sounds, words, grammar -
and spelling.
The drive to be playful is there when we text, and
it is hugely powerful. Within two or three years of the arrival of texting, it
developed a ludic dimension. In short, it's fun.
To celebrate World Poetry day in 2007, T-Mobile
tried to find the UK's first "Txt laureate" in a competition for the
best romantic poem in SMS. They had 200 entrants, and as with previous
competitions the entries were a mixture of unabbreviated and abbreviated texts.
The winner, Ben Ziman-Bright, wrote conventionally:
The wet rustle of rain
can dampen today. Your text
buoys me above oil-rainbow puddles
like a paper boat, so that even
soaked to the skin
I am grinning.
The runner-up did not:
O hart tht sorz
My luv adorz
He mAks me liv
He mAks me giv
Myslf 2 him
As my luv porz
(The author of the latter was, incidentally, in her
late 60s.)
The length constraint in text-poetry fosters
economy of expression in much the same way as other tightly constrained forms
of poetry do, such as the haiku or the Welsh englyn. To say a poem must be
written within 160 characters at first seems just as pointless as to say that a
poem must be written in three lines of five, seven, and five syllables. But put
such a discipline into the hands of a master, and the result can be poetic
magic. Of course, SMS poetry has some way to go before it can match the haiku
tradition; but then, haikus have had a head-start of several hundred years.
There is something about the genre which has no
parallel elsewhere. This is nothing to do with the use of texting
abbreviations. It is more to do with the way the short lines have an individual
force. Reading a text poem, wrote Peter Sansom, who co-judged a Guardian
competition in 2002, is "an urgent business ... with a text poem you stay
focused as it were in the now of each arriving line." The impact is
evident even in one-liners, whose effect relies on the kind of succinctness we
find in a maxim or proverb. UA Fanthorpe, Sansom's fellow judge, admired
"Basildon: imagine a carpark." And they both liked "They phone
you up, your mum and dad."
Several competitions have focussed on reworking
famous lines, titles, or quotations:
txt me ishmael
zen & T @ f m2 cycl mn10nc
The brevity of the SMS genre disallows complex
formal patterning - of, say, the kind we might find in a sonnet. It isn't so
easy to include more than a couple of images, such as similes, simply because
there isn't the space. Writers have nonetheless tried to extend the potential
of the medium. The SMS novel, for example, operates on a screen-by-screen
basis. Each screen is a "chapter" describing an event in the story.
Here is an interactive example from 2005, from an Indian website called
"Cloakroom":
Chptr 6: While Surching 4 Her Father, Rita Bumps
In2 A Chaiwalla & Tea Spills On Her Blouse. She Goes Inside Da Washroom,
& Da Train Halts @ A Station.
In Japan, an author known as Yoshi has had a huge
success with his text-messaging novel Deep Love. Readers sent feedback as the
story unfolded, and some of their ideas were incorporated into it. He went on
to make a film of the novel.
A mobile literature channel began in China in 2004.
The "m-novel", as it is called, started with a love story,
"Distance", by writer and broadcaster Xuan Huang. A young couple get
to know each other because of a wrongly sent SMS message. The whole story is
1008 Chinese characters, told in 15 chapters, with one chapter sent each day.
Plainly, there are severe limits to the expressive
power of the medium, when it is restricted to a screen in this way. So it is
not surprising that, very early on, writers dispensed with the 160-character
constraint, and engaged in SMS creative writing of any length using hard copy.
Immediately there was a problem. By taking the writing away from the mobile
phone screen, how could the distinctiveness of the genre be maintained? So the
stylistic character of SMS writing changed, and texting abbreviations, previously
optional, became obligatory.
Several SMS poets, such as Norman Silver, go well
beyond text-messaging conventions, introducing variations in line-shape,
type-size, font, and colour that are reminiscent of the concrete poetry
creations of the 1960s. They illustrate the way the genre is being shaped by
the more powerful applications available on computers.
In 2007 Finnish writer Hannu Luntiala published The
Last Messages, in which the whole 332-page narrative consists of SMS messages.
It tells the story of an IT-executive who resigns his job and travels the
world, using text messages to keep in touch with everyone. And the growing
independence of the genre from its mobile-phone origins is well illustrated by
the French novelist Phil Marso, who published a book in 2004 written entirely
in French SMS shorthand, Pas Sage a Taba vo SMS - a piece of word-play intended
to discourage young people from smoking. The next year he produced L, an SMS
retelling of French poetic classics.
An extraordinary number of doom-laden prophecies
have been made about the supposed linguistic evils unleashed by texting. Sadly,
its creative potential has been virtually ignored. But five years of research
has at last begun to dispel the myths. The most important finding is that texting
does not erode children's ability to read and write. On the contrary, literacy
improves. The latest studies (from a team at Coventry University) have found
strong positive links between the use of text language and the skills
underlying success in standard English in pre-teenage children. The more
abbreviations in their messages, the higher they scored on tests of reading and
vocabulary. The children who were better at spelling and writing used the most
textisms. And the younger they received their first phone, the higher their
scores.
Children could not be good at texting if they had
not already developed considerable literacy awareness. Before you can write and
play with abbreviated forms, you need to have a sense of how the sounds of your
language relate to the letters. You need to know that there are such things as
alternative spellings. If you are aware that your texting behaviour is
different, you must have already intuited that there is such a thing as a
standard. If you are using such abbreviations as lol and brb ("be right
back"), you must have developed a sensitivity to the communicative needs
of your textees.
Some people dislike texting. Some are bemused by
it. But it is merely the latest manifestation of the human ability to be
linguistically creative and to adapt language to suit the demands of diverse
settings. There is no disaster pending. We will not see a new generation of
adults growing up unable to write proper English. The language as a whole will
not decline. In texting what we are seeing, in a small way, is language in
evolution.
· Txtng:
The Gr8 Db8 is published this week by OUP. To order a copy for £9.99 with free
UK p&p go to guardian.co.uk/bookshop
___________________________________________________________________________