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<div class="dateline"><span></span>Sunday<font class="dingbat" color="#990000" size="1"><strong> » </strong></font>July 29<font class="dingbat" color="#990000" size="1"><strong> » </strong></font>2007</div></td></tr>
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<div class="storyheadline">A language for lovers</div>
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<td><font class="storybyline"><strong>John Ivison</strong></font></td></tr>
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<td><font class="storypub">National Post</font></td></tr></tbody></table>
<div class="storydate"><br>Saturday, July 28, 2007</div><br>
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<p>It's always nice when someone takes an interest. A group called Canadians for Language Fairness has been following my odyssey into the French language, and they've been wishing me frustration and failure at every turn. I thought I was immersing myself for three weeks in the Saguenay so I could order a meal in French and not have the waiter respond en anglais. It turns out the whole exercise is a benchmark for the success or failure of official bilingualism.
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<p>According to CLF's Kim Mc-Connell, if I fail to speak French like a native Quebecer in three weeks, it will prove that learning a language as an adult is impossible, thus reinforcing the CLF line that we should make all the francophones speak English instead. "If someone of his intellectual calibre finds it difficult, how would the rest of the population manage? ... Instead of proving that the policy [bilingualism] is a viable one that could serve the purpose for which it was invented --
i.e. unity -- it could prove the opposite. That's my hope anyway," she wrote.</p>
<p>In reality, all Ms. McConnell's Internet post proves is: a) she's never met me, or she'd understand I have only a nodding acquaintance with the English language and no chance of becoming bilingual in under a month; b) she's seriously misinformed -- three weeks is too short a period to make any serious evaluation of a person's linguistic abilities, immersion or not. The elementary course is designed to give students the foundations of French grammar and an ability to ask and respond to simple questions. Even after three weeks here, a conversation between two francophones remains for me a flurry of liaisons and elisions that defy translation -- they might as well be talking in Swahili.
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<p>I was told that French should sound like a lilting Strauss waltz and complained at the end of the first week that it was more akin to the white noise of Metallica. By the end of week three, there has been some progress. Now it reminds me more of a modern Bob Dylan concert -- odd moments of clarity when you recognize a classic, bookended by a monotonous drone. Yet I don't consider my inability to understand a fast-paced francophone conversation to be a failure. The past three weeks have given me the building blocks of language -- basic grammar, vocabulary and verbs in the past, present and future tenses -- that will allow me to become functional, if I invest the time and effort.
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<p>The contention of Canadians for Language Fairness that fluency is limited to those who grew up in a French environment is a crock. I have gone from bumbling imbecility to being able to hold faltering conversations in three weeks, while those who began at an intermediate level are now able to converse with some confidence. I hope--and anticipate-- that by the end of the year, with half an hour or so of French on my iPod every day and weekly lessons, I'll have progressed to that stage.
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<p>The immersion program has proven the perfect environment for making steady gains -- for a precious three-week period we have been able to concentrate on the single goal of acquiring a second language at the expense of all the other distractions of life. Our group of eight beginners (curiously, three from Whitehorse) formed a tight band that moved forward at a uniform, if languid, pace. This was the country of the blind and there were no kings or queens. Similarly, on the home front, living and conversing with a local family encouraged experimentation -- it was that or three weeks of embarrassed silence over souper. By week three, my hosts, Gilles Cormier and Guylaine Boulianne, have become ( j'espere) good friends and our conversations more textured than the basic questions I had struggled to answer on arrival.
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<p>Perhaps the best lesson I have learned in the Saguenay is to forget about targets. This region has a language and a culture that is interested in more than just getting from A to B-- equal emphasis is put on the quality of the journey. "It's all about creating colour and atmosphere," said my teacher, Martine Bastien. "The language can be very romantic. Everything is pink and baby blue."
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<p>Take one example. After an evening of strenuous research in the bars of Jonquiere,Gilles might have said I looked the worse for wear. Instead, he told me: " Toute la nuit est dans tes yeux" -- the whole night is in your eyes. Or another -- as we watched the red sun set over an empty bottle of Cote du Rhone, I was told the French say " coucher du soleil" -- the sun is going to bed. The language doesn't operate in isolation -- the Sagueneens seem to enjoy life in the same way they rejoice in sketching mental pictures with words. People laugh, love, eat and sing without inhibition, in a way that would horrify the uptight anglos from the language fairness faction.
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<p>In a week where my father had to deliver the most heartbreaking news to his son, it helped to be in a culture that takes the philosophical approach, " c'est la vie." In Voltaire's words, life may be a shipwreck, but we shouldn't forget to sing in the lifeboats.
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<p><a href="mailto:jivison@nationalpost.com">jivison@nationalpost.com</a></p></div><br clear="all"></td></tr>
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