So, as many of you might have already guessed, I’m a bit of a nerd from time to time. Well, that’s a slight understatement, but regardless, as a nerd, I’m a fan of video gaming in general. So, for today, I figured I’d talk a little bit about the different ways that different languages are used in video games.

Right now, in-Game languages are usually rather disappointing to a Linguist.

For instance, in Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic, the main character interacts with a variety of different human and alien species on a variety of planets. Although most interaction with humans (and a few specific non-human characters) takes place in English with actors reading lines, when an alien speaks, a soundbite of their “language” is played and a subtitle is shown on the screen. Now, this is cool, and the fact that every species that speaks has a different and recognizable sound and sound system in those soundbite is a really cool thing. However, it’s literally just two or three soundbites. So, every time your garden variety Twi’Lek speaks, one of the two or three twi’lek soundbites is played, no matter what’s being said and who’s saying it. So, although the Twi’Lek language in KOTOR has a sound system, there’s no actual grammar.

In game languages can get more complex, though. In Ambrosia Software’s Escape Velocity: Nova, they have a slightly different philosophy. Although all communication is through text, they’ve managed to work some interesting language use in. There are several species living in the same galaxy, and the naming of both the planets and the ports on them is usually reflective of the language of the species. Looking at a Galactic map, one can pretty easily distinguish the different governmental regions of control just by the planet name. For example, The Polaris (in purple) generally have names with a single syllable, an ” ‘ “, and a cluster of syllables, whereas the Wraith (grey, at the top of the map) name their planets with a syllable, a ” ‘ “, a capitalized orthographic vowel, ” ‘ “, and a syllable cluster.

However, the really interesting stuff happens when you look more closely at the Polaris planets and personal names in EV Nova. In the game, they are explained as having Five Castes. If you learn the different castes and the naming system, then just by looking at the map, you can tell instantly which of the castes controls a given system, which offers a huge gameplay advantage. Say, for instance, you needed to purchase an armor upgrade. Knowing that military hardware is sold by the Warrior caste (the Nil’Kemoria), you could look at the map for the nearest system prefixed with “Nil’” indicating warrior caste control, and go there. Similarly, it’s easy to determine where to go for cheap medical supplies (at the Healer caste planets, with “P’”). So, learning elements of the Polaris language in EV Nova is a boon to the gamer, and I applaud the folks at Ambrosia for taking the time to actually make something (no matter how small) out of the language, rather than just leaving it as creative gibberish.

Some games have interesting language features that aren’t even meant to be interesting. In Star Wars: Jedi Knight, Jedi Academy they have the wonderful option to have all dialogue, interface features, and subtitles in English or Spanish. Being a language nerd, I usually leave it set to Spanish. The translations are very good in general, with only a few comical aspects. Notable among them is the fact that Jedi, pronounced “Jed-eye” in English, is pronounced “Yed-ee” in the Spanish version). It’s also quite funny to see a Rodian speaking Spanish, with the distinctive Rodian pitch and filter.

So, oftentimes, games (especially in Sci-Fi and fantasy) will give a nod to the existence of non-human language, but very seldom will they actually go through the trouble to make that language into more than just background noise. However, those games that do choose to utilize some variety of actual, meaningful created language create a unique experience for the gamer, and deserve commendation.

These are just a few salient examples from the vast world of gaming. If you’ve got another example, leave a comment or send me an email and I’ll give it mention, or, if you’re space-travel enabled, just stop by Ling’angma, home planet to the Linguist caste. You might not want to bring any grammarians, though.

Also: If you look at the sidebar on the main page, you’ll notice I’ve added a new feature, the Link of the Moment. This is just a random language, life, or computing link that I’ve found interesting and bookmarked here. It changes every time you refresh the page, so come back often. :)

I’ve been doing a fair amount of research on translation theory recently, and it’s really a fascinating field. There are as many facets and complexities as colors in a sunset, but at its core, it does have any number of interesting and easily understandable aspects. Since I’ve been looking around at different sorts of translation, I think it’s time to discuss one of the more basic choices that translators make (and one of the ones that most affects the readers): source and target language bias.

So, let’s say that I wanted to translate a modern Spanish novel into English. For the purposes of this article, I’ll be using the terms “source text/language” to refer to the Spanish version, and using “target language/text” to refer to the English translation.
Translation would be far more simple if all languages were identical, abstract sets of words, used identically by everybody. If this were the case, every word construction, tense, or framing would have an exact duplicate in every other language in the world. The English word ‘Table’ would be exactly the same as the Spanish ‘Mesa’, and every time you saw ‘Table’, you could just switch it out with ‘mesa’. So, ideally, I would sit down with my dictionary and my reference grammar and start replacing English words, sentences, and paragraphs with their Spanish “equivalents”. Once this substitution was complete, I would have a perfectly accurate copy of the original text which was completely understandable to a speaker of the target language.

As convenient as that would be, it’s not remotely true. Even in our quick example, ‘Table’ in English has a number of different meanings, and not all are covered by the Spanish ‘mesa’ (ranging from a Data Table, to “tabling” a resolutions). No two languages are exactly equivalent, and although some words might have quick and easy equivalents in both the source and target language, the vast majority of words and constructions will require the translator to make some decisions.

When these decisions start being made, there’s an opportunity for bias. Let’s say I come across the Spanish phrase “Mas vale pajaro en mano que ciento volando” in the novel. I need to make a choice here, as to how to translate it. Literally, it means “A bird in the hand is worth more than a hundred flying.” However, English does have a very, very similar expression, “a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush”. So, I can translate literally, and favor the Source Language (Spanish) phrasing, or I can translate using the English idiom, and favor the Target Language.

In this case, the main difference will be in terms of native target language speaker’s perception. Using the literal Spanish would be what translators often refer to as a “difference” preference or “favoring the source language “, the choice to use different phrasing and, even through the translation, emphasize that the source language and the author’s words are different than how an English speaker might have written things. On the other side, using the English idiom might be referred to as “identity” preference (or “favoring the target language”), where the translator tries to make the target language text as accessible, understandable, and familiar as possible to target language readers.

This example is fairly simple, in that really, a native English speaker will understand what the phrase means even if it’s translated literally. However, imagine you’re given an idiom like “Estar como perro en barrio ajeno”, literally, “to be like a dog in a neighbor’s yard”. If one were to translate that literally, the target language readers might understand the words, but miss the meaning entirely. However, Ii one translated it (more accurately) as “to be like a fish out of water”, the target language reader would have a much easier grasp on the meaning behind it.

There are always other factors at play in the decision of translating certain phrases. I’ve been learning about translation theory with one of the professors in my department, and he recently made a very interesting comment about the translation of Native American stories and literatures. We were going through one of his translations of an Arapaho speech, and we stumbled across a particularly colorful phrase (along the lines of “walking into the other group’s camp”). He translated it literally for me, but he put it into the English version as a single English word, “assimilation”. When I asked why, he explained that he didn’t want to make it sound like the stereotypical, disney-style Native American speech. He said that although the Arapaho often do use metaphors related to the Old Ways, hunting and nature, he often chooses not to translate them literally, because he feels it really just reinforces the stereotype of how their language sounds, rather than the actual message of the story or speech.

So, every translation has a bit of bias. However, that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. This is a choice, and a tool in the hands of a skilled translator, and very seldom is a translation done favoring ONLY the target or source languages. Although translation theorists will likely argue this point, I suspect that the most accurate translation will likely fall somewhere in the middle, with a mix of difference and identity.
Sometimes, you need to favor the target language, to make the book clear, understandable, and readable to the readers, but sometimes you need to favor the source language, if for no other reason, just to remind the reader that the original work wasn’t written two weeks ago in Des Moines.

Suggested Readings:

Introducing Translation Studies by Jeremy Munday : A good primer on translation theory and many of the issues discussed here (albeit with a generalized target language bias)

The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoevsky, Pevear and Volokhonsky translation: A great book, and a more Target language biased translation.

The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoevsky, Constance Garnett translation: The same great book, but this is a more source language favoring translation.

Now, here at Linguistic Mystic, I pride myself on considering many different perspectives, not all within the accepted realm of Linguistic Academics. Today, I would like to continue this tradition by quoting what may well be my least authoritative source yet: Michael Stackpole’s Star Wars: Rogue Squadron (Book 1).

This book is a science-fiction work, taking place in the Exapnded Star Wars universe, following the adventures of Wedge Antilles, Corran Horn, and the elite pilots of Rogue Squadron. The squadron itself is composed of many different species, and today’s example comes from Ooryl Qyrgg, a Gand pilot, and is paraphrased below.

Corran nodded in what he hoped was a friendly manner. “Why do you speak of yourself in the third person?”

…

“On Gand it is held that names are important. Any Gand who has acheived nothing is called Gand. Before Ooryl was given Ooryl’s name, Ooryl was known as Gand. Once Ooryl had made a mark in the world, Ooryl was given the Qyrgg surname. Later, by mastering the difficulties of astronavigation and flight, Ooryl earned the right to be called Ooryl.”

“This still does not explain why you do not use pronouns to refer to yourself.”

“Qyrgg apologizes. On Gand only those who have achieved great things are permitted to use pronouns for self-designation. The use of such carries with it the presumption that all who hear the speech will know who the speaker is, and this assumption is only true in the case where the speaker is so great, the speaker’s name is known to all.”

…

“Then why do you sometimes refer to yourself by your family name, and sometimes by your own name?”

The Gand looked down for a moment and his mouth parts closed. “When a Gand has given offense, or is ashamed of actions, this diminishes the gains made in life. Name reduction is an act of contrition, an apology. Ooryl would like to think Ooryl will not often be called Qyrgg, but Qyrgg knows the likelihood of this is slender.”

I’ve discussed the power of names in the past, but this is taking the idea to a whole new level. I’ve never heard of a language, culture, or speech community where a name is not assigned to a person until they “earn” it, and would be fascinated to hear about it if anybody has. However, the idea of name changes with great accomplishments (or great demerits) is not uncommon. In some Native American cultures, a child changes names at the end of adolescence, once he or she has proven his or her worth and become an adult. In addition, a warrior winning a great battle may be given a new name to celebrate the accomplishment. However, to the best of my knowledge, there isn’t a system by which these names can be given and removed as frequently and non-chalantly as in Stackpole’s view of the Gand cutlure.

The idea of first-person pronoun use being presumptuous is also an interesting concept. Certainly, there’s nothing wrong with the first-person pronoun in American English, and using a Third-person form of address would likely be a barrier to communication in everyday life (I suspect that “Excuse me, Will has lost Will’s number, can Will have yours?” just wouldn’t go over as well). It is worth noting, however, that this subsitution does occur in some specialized sorts of writing, namely police incident reports and some journalistic reports.

Now, the question of “being known to all who hear the conversation” is a different matter. In most conversations in social situations where there are unknown people in a conversation, you are either introduced, or it’s perfectly acceptable to add in a casual “I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name?” without causing anybody to lose face. So, although using one’s full name instead of a pronoun might be useful every so often (as to reintroduce yourself to any new participants) or in some contexts (with a group of people, on a Walkie-Talkie system), the Gand strategy would likely result in a great deal more redundancy than usefulness in many of our human languages.

Although the Gand system of naming and self-reference is little more than a fascinating idea in our culture, it still serves as a great (albeit artificial) example of the necessary interaction between language and culture and the field of Sociolinguistics. However, if you do happen to stumble across a short, bug-eyed alien with a noticeable exoskeleton and a penchant for ammonia, you’d best remember this post, for the sake of interplanetary relations.