![\"\"](\"https:\/\/morph.surrey.ac.uk\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/12\/Groc-195x300.png\")
Leon Groc\u2019s Le deux mille ans sous la mer<\/em> (\u20182000 years under the sea\u2019), from 1924, starts out with our heroes supervising the construction of a tunnel under the English Channel. They discover a mysterious inscription on a rock face. Fortunately, one of the party is a philologist, and identifies it as Chaldean (i.e. a form of Aramaic)! And a particularly archaic variety at that. This impresses the rest of the party, at least as much as the content of the inscription itself: Impious invaders, you shall not go any further. However, a subsequent mining accident forces them to break through the rock, where they discover a cavern inhabited by race of pale blind people, descendants of Chaldeans (or to be more precise, speakers of Chaldean) who had sought refuge in that cavern from some long-forgotten disaster, only to discover they couldn\u2019t find a way out. The learned philologist applies his practical knowledge of Chaldean in communicating them. I won\u2019t spoil the fun for those of you planning to read it; but it does not go well.<\/p>\nI can give you word after word that More has mentioned which corresponds to a kindred Hebrew word in accordance with ‘Grimm’s Law.’ For instance, Kosekin ‘Op,’ Hebrew ‘Oph;’ Kosekin ‘Athon,’ Hebrew ‘Adon;’ Kosekin ‘Salon,’ Hebrew ‘Shalom.’ They are more like Hebrew than Arabic, just as Anglo-Saxon words are more like Latin or Greek than Sanscrit.<\/p>\n “What is the language she used?” I asked.<\/p>\n “The nearest I can tell you, so far, is that it’s a sort of bastard Persian,” he answered. “It’s a dialect built on a Sanskrit foundation\u2014in my youth I studied Sanskrit, for it’s the key to every Aryan language or dialect in the East, and I always meant to come East. I must stuff you two.”<\/p>\n “Stuff us?” Bent asked.<\/p>\n “Fill you up with words that will be useful\u2014it’s astonishing what you can do in a language if you know three or four hundred words in common use. If you hear it and have to make yourself understood in it, the construction of sentences very soon comes to you. That is, if the language is built on an Aryan foundation, as this is.”<\/p>\n It\u2019s that easy! You just need to learn the method.<\/p>\n pallid underground people speak English of a sort, in which inflections have disappeared and certain alterations have taken place.<\/p>\n What could those certain alterations be? As an added bonus, the story is of culinary interest, as the next sentence of Bleiler\u2019s description goes:<\/p>\n Geophagists, they live on a nourishing clay, access to which is sometimes barred by gigantic spiders of extraordinary venomosity.<\/p>\n And if anybody knows a good source for back issues of\u00a0 New York Boys’ Weekly, <\/em>our lines are open.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" While linguistics do not cut the same kind of glamorous profile in fiction as, say, international espionage or organized crime, it does pop up now and again. Even historical linguistics. Having stumbled across a couple older examples recently (thus, historical fictional historical linguistics), I commend them to our readers as an alternative to the cheap thrills that might otherwise tempt them. Leon Groc\u2019s Le deux mille ans sous la mer (\u20182000 years under the sea\u2019), from 1924, starts out with…<\/p>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/morph.surrey.ac.uk\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/12\/4647_a_strange_manuscript_found_in_a_copper_cylinder-300x222.jpg\")
James De Mille\u2019s A Strange Manuscript Found in a Copper Cylinder<\/em>\u00a0from 1888 features members of a British expedition surveying the South Pacific becoming stranded in an unknown country with \u2013 once again \u2013 some cave dwellers, who call themselves Kosekin and speak a Semitic language. In the usual fashion of such stories in this period, there is a narrative within a narrative, in this case the manuscript directly relating the adventure, and the commentary of the members of the yacht party who discovered it. While the core narrator (named More) merely recognizes some affinity to Arabic, one of the members of the yacht party just so happens \u2013 once again \u2013 to have a philological background, which, after a lengthy digression on the comparative method and Grimm\u2019s law, leads him to conclude that the underground race speaks a language descended from Hebrew:<\/p>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/morph.surrey.ac.uk\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/12\/city_of_wonder.jpg\")
Further proof of the power of historical linguistics in a tight situation comes from \u00a0E. Charles Vivian\u2019s City of Wonder<\/em> (1923). Again in the South Pacific, a group of adventurers is attacked by a strange woman (speaking, of course, a strange language) in charge of a monkey army. Taking stock after having slaughtered the attackers, the narrator asks one of his companions:<\/p>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/morph.surrey.ac.uk\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/12\/NEW20YORK20BOYS20WEEKLY-211x300.jpg\")
Back underground, Howard De Vere\u2019s A Trip to the Center of the Earth<\/em>, first published in New York Boys’ Weekly<\/em> in 1878, is a story I haven\u2019t been able to track it down yet, but from the description in E.F. Bleiler\u2019s Science Fiction: The Early Years<\/em>, it promises to be one of the high points in early dime novel treatments of historical linguistics. A pair of boys exploring Kentucky\u2019s Mammoth Cave come across an underground world where<\/p>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/morph.surrey.ac.uk\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/12\/hypermondes1-1935-222x300.jpg\")
Alongside lost race fantasies, futuristic science fiction is another obvious vehicle for literary forays into historical linguistics. R\u00e9gis Messac\u2019s Quinzinzinzili<\/em> from 1935 is a particularly interesting variant, being \u2013 as far as I know \u2013 the only serious fictional treatment of contact linguistics. (Admittedly I haven\u2019t looked elsewhere.) Set in the period after a fictional World War II which everybody in this interwar period seemed to be expecting anyway), its narrator is trapped in a post-apocalyptic world alone with a particularly annoying handful of pre-teens. (And thus probably the most gruesome post-apocalyptic story ever written.) They are largely French speakers, but there are Portuguese speakers and English speakers among them as well. They develop a sort of pidginized French, colored by a spontaneous sound changes such as the nasalization of all vowels, along with curious semantic shifts. The title Quinzinzinzili<\/em> reflects this all, being their rendition of the second clause in the Lord\u2019s Prayer in Latin (qui es in c\u0153lis<\/strong> \u2018who art in Heaven\u2019), used as a name for their inchoate deity. I won\u2019t say any more because I think everybody should read it. Way better than Lord of the Flies<\/em>, which it preceded and superficially resembles. (And which has no noteworthy linguistic content.)<\/p>\n