52
The Observer
25.08.19 BooksAt the beginning of this lucid and
insightful study of linguistics, David
Shariatmadari states: “There are
good reasons language is such a
battleground and frustration: it is
also a source of delight, of self-
esteem and solidarity.” He might
have added that it is a topic that
writers and their publishers keep
returning to. Yet Don’t Believe A
Word is too wise, and too personal,
to be regarded as just another book
on language : it entertains just as
much as it informs.
An account of how learning Arabic
led Shariatmadari to become more
Ants, anxiety
and angry suits
Many of Oliver Jeffers’ s books have
a folk tale fl avour, their gentle
messages smuggled in via offbeat
characters with extraordinary skills
or habits (think of The Incredible
Book Eating Boy or the girl who
hides her heart away in The Heart
and the Bottle ). Yet The Fate of
Fausto ( Harper Collins ), “a painted
fable”, as Jeffers describes it, feels
like a fantastically fresh departure.
Fausto is a pompous, pinstripe-
suited man with a twirly moustache
and a desire to own the naturalengaged and tolerant in society
sets the scene. As he writes: “My
fi rst experience of a non-Indo-
European language... overturned my
assumptions about what language
was.” This began his journey of
sorts, with his scholarly interest
in the roots and development of
language always underpinned by
its everyday use. He points out that
“in terms of establishing a human
connection, there was something
fundamental about getting to grips
with the language”, and this longing
for connection gives Shariatmadari’s
story its heart and soul.
Shariatmadari has no truck
with the idea that our language
is somehow poorer than that of
our ancestors, briskly arguing that“linguistic decline is the cultural
equivalent of the boy who cried
wolf”. He makes some interesting
points about the conservatism
inherent within linguistics,
describing “proper” English, of the
kind that you might read in this
newspaper, as being controlled by
middle-aged, middle-class people,
and therefore representing “theMind your language
Don’t Believe a Word
David Shariatmadari
Weidenfeld & Nicolson, £16.99, pp336
Linguistics
Children’s picture books
Beautiful hymns to
nature and the modern
metropolis are among
this month’s highlights,
writes Imogen Carter
David Shariatmadari: entertains
just as much as he informs.dialect of power”. The reader cannot
help but be reminded of Jacob
Rees-Mogg’s regrettable attempts
to impose his views of what proper
and improper English is upon his
unfortunate parliamentary staff.
Shariatmadari, a Guardian journalist,
is excellent on the way in which class
associations between language and
an accent are immediately forged,
just as there is no such thing as a
classless use of language; everyone
has an accent as a social identifi er,
even if it’s just a form of RP.
There are reminders of the gravity
of language throughout, and how
it distinguishes itself from “lesser”
forms; Shariatmadari cites the
Yiddish maxim that “a language is a
dialect with an army and navy”. He
is also incisive on the way in which
forbidden words have their own
power, writing that taboos “are not
anthropological curiosities, confi nedto museums – they are real and have
meaning”.
The odd section can be somewhat
hard going, despite Shariatmadari’s
obvious enthusiasm, but some good
jokes make up for that; I especially
enjoyed a line on how Madonna’s
accent, after years of life in Britain,
became “more Downton than
Downtown”. And, above all, this is a
generous and enthralling study of
the basis of how we communicate.
At its close, Shariatmadari compares
linguistics to Schatzkammer, a
German term for treasure chamber.
Readers of this fi ne book will
enjoy taking part in this particular
treasure hunt, with Shariatmadari
serving as their more than able
guide. Alexander LarmanTo order Don’t Believe a Word for
£12.99 go to guardianbookshop.com
or call 0330 333 6846world. “Tree, you are mine,” he
shouts before moving on to the
lake as the tree bows obediently.
More spare in text and imagery than
its predecessors, it’s a tale full of
suggestion with expanses of white
page wittily used as pregnant pauses
and punctuation.
In an age of exquisite picture
books, this is possibly the most
beautiful of the year. Made with
traditional lithographic printmaking
techniques, neon pink and yellow
shades zing against an earthier
palette of green, teal and brown.
The aggressive, bullying Fausto is
both timeless and utterly of our age
(straight out of Westminster, you
could say). As he fi zzes with rage
and makes demands even a toddler
would fi nd ridiculous, he’s also
very funny. He’s last seen stepping
out of his boat to stamp on the
obstinate sea.Another fun ode to nature comes
in the form of Joanna Rzezak’s
1001 Ants ( Thames & Hudson ), a
non fi ction book that feels more like
a walk in the woods. Rather than
pages heaving with text, we gather
short facts about the countryside
as ants march through it. So when
the ants brush past a fern we learn
that these plants are older than the
dinosaurs and when they run into a
snail, that its average speed is three
inches a minute. Children will love
trying to spot the ant in red socks
featured on every spread.
A thin skyscraper of a book,
Small in the City by Sydney Smith
(Walker ) explores the sights,
sounds and dangers of the modern
metropolis as seen through a little
protagonist’s eyes on a wintry day.
Smith won the prestigious Kate
Greenaway Medal last year for
illustrating Town Is by the Sea, about
a young boy in a seaside mining
community, and he can conjure up
a North American cityscape just as
impressively – all gridded streets
and buildings, traffi c lights and
crowds (Smith lives in Toronto).
The narrator begins: “I know what
it’s like to be small in the city...
Construction sites pound and drill
and yell and dig”, before offering
advice about where to fi nd comfort
and make friends. Towards the end
of the book, we learn who the advice
is for, adding even more depth to
this warm, sweet tale (it’s hard toresist immediately re reading).
City living is also the subject
of Felicita Sala’s debut picture
book, Lunch at 10 Pomegranate
Street ( Scribe ). Part biography of
an apartment block’s inhabitants,
part children’s recipe book, each
highly evocative illustration depicts
a different resident or family in
their kitchen preparing a dish,
with the instructions alongside.
There’s Mister Ibrahim making
baba ganoush who “remembers
his childhood home and smiles” or
young Maria who mashes avocados
for guacamole. I was left longing
for more meat on the story, but the
book is a wonderful celebration of
multiculturalism and food bringing
people together. It’s also a unique
way to encourage independent
readers who are would-be cooks (it’s
recommended for fi ve-10-year-olds).
As the summer holidays draw
to a close, Matt Haig once again
turns his attention to anxious
children. In The Truth Pixie Goes
to School ( Canongate, illustrated
by Chris Mould ), the follow-up to
his bestseller, The Truth Pixie , Aada
struggles to make friends at her
new school and her “100% fi b-free”
pixie companion really doesn’t help.
Countless children will fi nd solace in
Haig’s tale and empathise with Aada
as she overcomes hurdles before
realising the power of being yourself.
The world seems a better place with
Haig looking after our collective
mental health – if only he could sort
out the angry Fausto types too.To order any of these books for a
special price go to guardianbookshop.
com or call 0330 333 6846Left: Joanna Rzezak’s 1001
Ants and, above, Oliver
Jeffers’s ‘fantastically fresh’
The Fate of Fausto.