I’ve just come to the end of 3 weeks in Greece (2 in Athens and 1 in Thessaloniki), volunteering as a teacher trainer for some of the volunteers there who are teaching English to adult refugees. Continue reading →
This weekend I had the great pleasure of attending the second ever Innovate ELT conference in Barcelona, Spain, organised and hosted by ELT Jam and Oxford TEFL – and the great pleasure and honour of opening the main day of the conference by giving the first of three mini-plenaries. Continue reading →
This is the third and final post in a short series to restart my blogging for another year, and all relate to language learning and empathy. Each of the 3 posts will suggest a new year’s resolution for anybody hoping to develop their connections with others through language in 2016.
Resolution #3. Understand the choices we make when we use language.
This is the second in a short series of posts to restart my blogging for another year, and all relate to language learning and empathy. Each of the 3 posts will suggest a new year’s resolution for anybody hoping to develop their connections with others through language in 2016.
Resolution #2. Appreciate how your use of language may appear to others.
This is the first in a short series of posts to restart my blogging for another year, and all relate to language learning and empathy. Each of the 3 posts will suggest a new year’s resolution for anybody interested in developing their connections with others through language in 2016.
Resolution #1. Appreciate how people (try to) express themselves.
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair…
So goes the start of our tale, in which we meet two teachers, diametrically opposed in methodology and sociolinguistic awareness.
But wait. Let’s rewind a moment and set the scene properly…
I promised in the Prologue to this series that at the end of every week I’d blog about my experiences of learning Greek.
That was 3 weeks ago and now I’m finally writing the first post.
I only survived two lessons before I knew it wasn’t for me. Wanna know why? …’Course you do!
OK, let’s start with the good things he did, because I’m not a total monster:
He clearly made an effort to generate rapport with the group, using our names* and referring to things we’d mentioned previously.
He engaged in natural conversation with each of us, talking to us about our lives and asking real questions, not merely display questions.
He answered our questions more or less satisfactorily.
He corrected us frequently enough, and generally didn’t overdo it.
Although almost all input and explanations were given by the teacher, he did occasionally elicit things from us.
He drew attention to things which are easily confused and important points of difference, such as words with quite different connotations or common words where changing the stress changes the meaning.
He addressed pronunciation! Far too few teachers in ELT include pronunciation. I don’t know how Greek language teachers are trained in this regard. But don’t get too excited just yet—I’ll have more to say on this later.
And now the bad:
Our “course book” was a book of grammar exercises, akin to using Murphy as an ELT course book. These sorts of book are certainly not without any value, but there’s a time and a place for them, and the entirety of a 3-hour lesson, 3 times a week is not it. OK, so the teacher didn’t write (and possibly didn’t choose) the book, but he also did nothing to clarify, supplement or improve it for in-class use.
The balance of skills and language areas was inadequate. Perhaps this would have changed over the course of a few lessons, had I stayed to witness them. But in the first two, there was essentially just speaking and grammar. To interpret it a bit more charitably (but just a bit), there was speaking (to the teacher), listening (to the teacher), writing (to complete gap-fills) and reading (gap-fills), emergent vocabulary (but nothing apparently planned based on what was in the exercises), grammar (obviously) and pronunciation (correction).
No context was given before or during any of the exercises and none of the vocabulary present in the grammar gap-fills was explained unless we asked. When I asked about or looked up some of the meanings, I found words like “brooch”, “icon” (in the religious sense), “doll” and “mountain”. Yeah, that common lexical set.
There was no interaction that did not involve him. Not a moment. When we tried to address each other (there were only 6 of us, all friendly and apparently interested in each other), he would jump in. We’re not total beginners and were more than capable of asking and answering some basic questions, but we almost never got the chance. (I say “almost” because sometimes I just doggedly kept directing what I was saying at another student instead of him! But that didn’t stop him explaining or translating it to them, or answering it himself.)
He often answered his own questions within a second or two, not giving us enough time to process the question or even think before he jumped in and saved us the necessity of trying to answer.
He did not look closely at what we wrote, nor did he monitor. But then, he never let us do anything by ourselves, so when would he?
A pet peeve of mine: he asked leading questions which negatively framed and represented to us our presumed (in)ability, like, “This is difficult, isn’t it?” “You don’t like reading, do you?!” Questions or comments like these seem superficially to show empathy, but in effect implicitly reinforce learners’ impression that learning a second language is just too hard or unpleasant, a chore, a negative experience. (Though I’d have to say, in his class, those complaints were all true.)
When we were all having difficulty accurately producing the singular and plural articles and nouns in three genders and two cases (i.e. 36 possible combinations, with no context and sometimes using words we didn’t know the meaning of and had never heard), and I made a mistake with a feminine form, he laughed, “Come on! Feminine is easy!” I suspect this was an effort to lighten the mood and remind us all that declining masculine nouns requires remembering more endings than with the feminine or neuter nouns, but this entirely missed the point. It’s all new to us; we hadn’t actually studied all the patterns before being put on the spot to “practise” in front of the whole class; I hadn’t fully understood his lecture on the rules (the ones he actually told us about); and anyway working memory has limits, dammit!
*I said earlier that he used our names. At the start of the second lesson, I can’t remember how exactly, it came up that the name “Laura” comes from the laurel (or bay) tree, and that this is translated in Greek as δάφνη (“daphne”). But both forms exist in Greek as women’s names. He suggests, with a charming smile, clearly expecting me to agree, “So can I call you Daphne sometimes?” To which I replied (probably not without evident disdain, I’m afraid): “Well, I’d prefer my name.”
In short, there were many good reasons not to continue with this course. But one short exchange during the first lesson really clinched it. Looking back, I don’t really know why I even went to another lesson. Could I have been certain at that early stage that we weren’t a compatible student-teacher pairing? I suppose I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, as a fellow language teacher. And this course was at a long-established and well-renowned school. Surely its reputation must be worth something? But as for what definitely made my mind up, I’ll come back to this later…
Fortunately, I know a few people in the language-teaching industry, and Marisa helped match me with a teacher from her team for one-to-one lessons at CELT Athens, for which I am very grateful. A fairly simple exercise, comparing and contrasting a few key content and style differences between Teacher 1 and Teacher 2, will show you why.
Full disclosure: I took the notes for Teacher 1’s lesson during the lesson itself, but in Teacher 2’s lesson I was too busy and engaged, so I made notes with approximate timings immediately after the lesson ended.
And thus begins our Tale of Two Lessons…
Round the class, one by one, the T asking each student to recount what they did yesterday and interjecting now and then with comments, questions and corrections.
Checked answers to homework #1 (grammar gap-fill).
Checked answers to homework #2 (grammar gap-fill). Also spent 5 minutes explaining an apparently irrelevant grammar point no one seemed to be having any issue with.
Checked answers to homework #3 (grammar gap-fill).
(Total: 105 mins.)
5 mins: Warmer and aims
Brief chat, then WB organised, ready for lesson. Lesson content briefly introduced/explained.
Approx. 10 mins: Set context, pre-teach lexis
Context – look at image; look at example language; tell T what is familiar?
Pre-teach key vocab + concept (do someone a favour)
Listening for gist.
Concept checked some vocab.
Approx. 20 mins: Focus on accuracy: vocab and pronunciation.
Shadowing the T (short chunks).
Shadowing the T/responding to prompts (longer chunks).
Reading it aloud myself (whole passage).
20 mins: Focus on fluency.
Freer practice of key vocab via speaking task (in a pair with the teacher).
(Total: 90 mins. including short break)
No discernible underlying pedagogical principles.
Exclusively grammar-focused, decontextualized, no graphic support, all book-based.
Short recording, accompanying tapescript, supporting images.
Planning & prep
Adequate—certainly fit for purpose and personalised to my needs and goals.
Use of whiteboard
Used to record emergent vocab and some aspects of grammar rules. Not organised. Wiped off and re-filled about 4–5 times during the lesson. Messy, and sometimes difficult to read handwriting. Two different colours, but purposes inconsistent.
Prepared for the lesson at the start of class, organised into sections for things which would definitely come up and a misc. section for other things that might arise during the lesson. Different colours used for different purposes, mostly consistently. Very clear handwriting, easy to read.
Given in English. Clear enough—the task for a generic gap-fill is pretty obvious, though.
Given in Greek with accompanying gestures/pointing to appropriate part of material. Some instructions don’t match the task on the page, indicating that the T has thought about what I should be doing with the material and isn’t just trusting the material to ‘teach’ me.
Every single interaction with the teacher or channelled through the teacher. No pairwork, no groupwork, and st-st interaction is never prompted, facilitated or encouraged by the teacher.
Very student-centred. Worked at my pace, responded to my specific areas of difficulty. (Of course this is much easier in one-to-one context.)
Use of L1/English
Lots of English used throughout to explain rules, translate words and build rapport by chatting with the students.
Almost all teacher talk is in Greek, including instructions, explanations & concept-checking. Only occasional L1 use for things that weren’t relevant or the immediate focus of our attention so could just be skipped past.
Anyway! Back to…
Things I sort of did:
4. I need to make more effort.
Well, in a sense, I did make an effort. Despite seeing the diabolical syllabus in advance, I enrolled for the course. I reasoned that a good teacher can work wonders, even with a mere list of grammar points. (And, incidentally, I still believe this.)
Then, despite the first lesson proving me wrong in this respect (at least in this teacher’s case), I came back, undeterred (well, ish), for a second lesson. I mean… no one is perfect; everyone has an ‘off’ day; it was only my first lesson; I’m an unusually over-qualified judge as language students go; etc.
But there’s more at stake than my pedagogical sensibilities, effort and general comfort when it costs 675€ for 6 weeks of this torture. And in this case,δεν αξίζει!
5. I need to put in the hours.
I did! I put in 6 painful ones! Plus a few more for homework. And I’ve also been using Greek at every opportunity during the day, in shops, cafés, etc. I even spent a few hours in the fabric/crafts district of central Athens talking to shopkeepers about the kind of fabric and thread I was looking for. I learned (and still remember) more useful Greek from this than from those lessons.
But I admit, I could have put in a bit more time every day to consolidate my learning and improve my memory (see points 7 and 8, below).
6. I need to actually apply what I know to be effective from research and experience.
Again, I sort of did:
I used my L1 judiciously, both in and out of class;
I reflected on my motivation and goals and tried to self-regulate my emotional state so as to get the most out of study time;
I participated (as far as the teacher would let us) in peer interaction and peer teaching;
I took notes in ways that make sense to me;
I actively resisted succumbing to Death by Grammar, pursuing every available opportunity to increase my range of vocabulary and use it in natural conversation, both in and out of class.
I did, if you consider that I’m using Greek every day in my general interactions. But I have to admit, I felt zero motivation to revisit the content of those two lessons every day.
8. I need to revisit my habits and strategies periodically with a view to iteratively changing and improving them, based on what I’m finding more or less useful to my own lived experience.
If attending and ultimately quitting a poorly taught course counts as a strategy, then OK, I did this. But seriously—I know I still need to work on developing better language-learning habits. To really improve my proficiency in Greek, it’s not enough to use the same functional language in the same sort of interactions every day—this is why I was politely corrected today by a waiter for the zillionth time when ordering a Coke in a café. (Coca-Cola is a feminine noun, not neutral, duh.)
Things I did not do
9. The evening before every lesson, I will revise what I learnt in the previous lesson(s). I will look for patterns and categories and re-organise my notes accordingly into advance organisers.
I repeat: I felt zero motivation to revisit the content of those lessons. In fact, when I look now at the notes I scribbled during class, do you know what patterns I see?
no time to think!
not wrong level, just wrong teacher
[unfinished word – didn’t know how to write down what I’d just heard]
“Feminine is easy!” NOT FOR ME
hw will take “only 1 hr”
The patterns I see there aren’t linguistic. They’re patterns of confusion, frustration and irritation. Patterns of thought in the mind of a student who didn’t feel listened to. Patterns of thought in the mind of someone attending a lesson where the teacher just taught the material, not the learners.
10. As far as possible (given what is reasonably foreseeable from the class timetable and syllabus) I will brainstorm and/or write down what I already know about a given topic/language feature before we study it in class, so that I am primed to process it more effectively during class.
This wasn’t really possible, as we didn’t know lesson-by-lesson what we’d be studying, or so I thought. As it turned out, what we’d be studying in one class was what we’d done for homework in the previous class. And when I say “studying”, I mean “checking answers to, with occasional clarifications and frequent correction”.
11. I will spend 30 minutes every morning testing myself on what I’ve learned recently, i.e. focusing on remembering previous learning content, not simply re-reading/re-studying it.
I have no good excuse for not doing this. I was just too busy living the life in Athens! In future, I really do want to make an effort in future to spend 30 minutes studying every morning, before I go out into the city and have to use my Greek in real situations.
“But wait! What was the clincher???” I hear you say.
Alright, I’ve given you some examples of the good and bad things the teacher did. Now we’re going to see the truly ugly.
But before I get to that, though, please note: I have generally taken care to critique and criticise the teacher only for things for which I really think there is no excuse. I am all too aware of the appalling conditions of pay, benefits, job security, resources and more to which many language teachers around the world are unfairly subject. When it’s clear that systemic failures are the reason behind a teacher’s lack of training or preparation, I wouldn’t dream of victim-blaming. But some things come down to a person’s general professionalism and attitude towards other human beings, and it’s a combination of these, principally the latter, which ultimately clinched my decision to quit the class and find another teacher.
First of all, for the non-Greek speakers among you, you need to know that one feature of modern spoken Greek is to pronounce the <ντ> letter combination as /d/ at the start of words and as either /d/ or /nd/ within words. For example, πάντα (English translation: “always”) might be pronounced as [ˈpa.nda] by some speakers and [ˈpa.da] by others.
Or, as Holton et al put it (2004, p.5):
So far, so uncontroversial, right? These expert linguists have made it clear in two short sentences that two variant pronunciations exist and, it is implied, neither is uniquely (in)correct.
Unfortunately, Greek, like every other language, has its particular targets of linguistic discrimination, and it turns out that the pronunciation of <ντ> within words as /d/ is one of them. I soon learned that this teacher subscribes to the bigoted view that a person’s pronunciation can be used as a proxy for their general… character? personality? moral worth? I don’t really know how to adequately describe such views, other than that apparently, predictably eliding one consonant from a cluster of two in certain common phonetic environments is abhorrent and should be avoided at all costs.
I should also point out that I already knew two variant pronunciations existed, and had elected to go with the one that elides /n/ because I felt that this was the one I heard most frequently in all the conversations I’ve participated in or eavesdropped on over the past 5 years and 3 visits to Greece. So although it took me a second to realise what was happening when he corrected my pronunciation, the penny quickly dropped.
This is how the exchange went:
Me: …something something πάντα ([ˈpa.da]) something…
T: [ˈpa.nda]! [ˈpa.nda]!
Me: [Suddenly understanding why he’s parroting this back to me with an extra consonant.] Oh. But—
T: [ˈpa.nda] is the correct way to say it.
Me: I always hear people say [ˈpa.da].
T: Just because 50% of Greeks do it doesn’t make it correct!
T: It’s the same in all languages: you know, the Queen doesn’t speak like the person on the street!
Me: OK, but I’m not the Queen; I’m your average person on the street.
Rest of class: [Looking politely perplexed at why this is becoming such a drama]
T: Look. Please understand why I want you to say [ˈpa.nda]. Dockers in Piraeus* say [ˈpa.da]. Homeless people say [ˈpa.da]! [Laughs in a way that suggests I should also laugh at the thought of being mistaken for a member of one of these ill-favoured social groups]
T: [Sigh + wry smile.] You really want to say [ˈpa.da], that’s fine, say [ˈpa.da]. Everyone else—please do not imitate Laura! [Laughs jovially.]
Rest of class: [Laughs—perhaps a bit uncomfortably… or did I imagine that?]
Me: [To self: This guy badly needs an education in sociolinguistics. Right now. But not from me.]
In short, in the space of about 1 uncomfortable minute, my new Greek teacher made it very plain that he did not find my pronunciation of πάντα as /ˈpa.da/ socially acceptable, and his facile attempt to justify this—and accompanying ingratiating chuckle—may well have convinced a few of the other students to adopt this pejorative attitude, too. But I sincerely hope not.
Not that it matters in any practical way—I will never condone such wilful and deplorable accent prejudice—but out of curiosity, I conducted a bit of casual field research over the next few days, in which I elicited words containing this pronunciation feature from some of my Greek friends and colleagues from various walks of life. (A bit like Labov—but hopefully more ethical, since I told them immediately afterwards why I’d asked and reassured them that I couldn’t care less how they pronounce <ντ> spellings and anyone who does is an ill-formed twit.)
Here’s what I found:
People who said /nd/ in casual speech (the teacher’s preference, likely a relic of Katherevousa)
a professional interpreter
And people who said /d/
a person in a co-working space (no idea of their profession or socioeconomic background)
two teacher trainers
several professors of linguistics
a professor of sociology (among whose family, incidentally, there are a number of sailors)
So basically, from this very unscientific study, I conclude that pronunciation of one ending or the other is not relevant to whether a Greek person has a basic education, a PhD, a job as a sailor/docker, a home, or is of a certain age, gender or class.
The homeless thing particularly annoyed and shocked me. I just couldn’t believe he invoked that unfortunate group of people as his example of whose linguistic behaviour not to imitate. He didn’t even look ashamed of the comparison.
It should be obvious, but for the record: whether someone happens to have a fixed abode is not reflected in the way they speak by any consistent phonetic or other linguistic measure I’m aware of, and is certainly not a reliable indicator of any other aspect of their class or character.
But then, it would be harder for someone to make such a pejorative judgment as this /d/-or-/nd/ nonsense involves if they’d deigned to undertake an even-slightly-more-than-superficial consideration of another person’s circumstances, context and fundamental humanity, wouldn’t it?
Coincidentally, a few days after that lesson, this tweet by photographer Marc Davenant about his new project appeared in my Twitter feed:
The crowdfunder for my project Outsiders giving a voice to homeless people and capturing their stories and photos is now live. I have very little hope it will get any support but if you are able to donate even a small amount I will be eternally grateful https://t.co/N77eT6A6WLpic.twitter.com/CdVwbbBTxa
When you are walking around the city in the knowledge that you have a safe home to return to try to be less judgmental about homeless people you see begging. The women who do this are asked by men for sexual favours in return for money multiple times every day. An awful existence
What a great way to document this population and their lives compassionately, to “make the invisible visible”. If you agree, and if you can afford to, you can click here to make a donation to the project.
Holton, D., Mackridge, P. & Philippaki-Warburton, I. (2004). Greek: An essential grammar of the modern language. London: Routledge.
About a thousand years ago, I decided to learn Greek. Perhaps unsurprisingly, I didn’t get very far on that first attempt and even now, I’m still hovering somewhere between CEFR levels A1 and A2.
Because laziness. Above all, I just didn’t put in enough effort to actually study the language or to find a teacher suited to my needs and preferences. I did take lessons for several months at a school in Cambridge with a good teacher; but as a language teacher, trainer and linguist myself, I can be quite a demanding student (!), and I just wasn’t invested enough to make the effort. I got busy with other things, couldn’t always attend, and didn’t always do my homework. Mea culpa!!
Because levels. The class I attended was quite mixed, containing near-beginners and linguaphobes as well as people like me, i.e. people who already knew the alphabet and, perhaps more significantly, were formally trained language teachers and/or linguists and more curious/motivated about linguistics in general, so picked things up faster than other students. Altogether, the lessons were a bit too easy for me at times and I started to get bored when I did attend, so was less motivated to come when I actually had the time.
Because loneliness. Outside of taking actual lessons, I think I knew all along I’d find it difficult to study on my own, especially without being surrounded by Greek every day. I know from experience that I personally learn languages best when I’m immersed and when there’s a teacher and/or fellow learners to interact with and plague with questions. As I said in my previous post (prophetically, as it turns out): “I’ve optimistically titled this post “part 1″…” and “Let’s hope it’s not too long before the next one…”
Because life. As I always tell my own students and teacher trainees, we’re people before we’re language learners. We bring our whole selves to the language-learning experience. In the past few years, in addition to wanting to learn Greek, I also moved cities, moved house several times, changed jobs, travelled extensively, went freelance, and went through a sudden bereavement. “Learning another language just for fun” simply slid way down my list of priorities.
Fast forward to September 2019 and I’m now in Athens, and planning to stay here for a couple of months! I have found myself a Greek housemate, forewarned all my local friends that I’ll be practising with (on) them, and this morning I signed up to take a course: three mornings per week, three hours per morning, for 6 weeks.
So here we are. Time to go again. Second attempt. Version 2.0!
As Howard Chen explains, adapting this originally techie term and relating it to his own industry (health care):
“Being 2.0 means embracing something brand new, something different, revolutionary, totally revamped from the old 1.0 that’s just not as good. […] The terminology we use for what software developers call a “major version release” is a popular way to address all things new and cool.”
But he also points out a very important caveat to this “new and cool” way of seeing things:
“The danger with 2.0 lies in its implicit recognition of a dramatic change, in the fact that you simply cannot call something 2.0 without first defining a 1.0 and then defining its shortcomings. The implication is that 1.0 can be fixed with an [sic] packaged solution. It makes a complex process that may otherwise require a gradual transition appear achievable with a simple technological update.”
And I’d agree. After over a decade in ELT and over 15 years in linguistics, I’m certainly not naive enough to think I can just pick up the complex process of learning Greek again simply by signing up to a course, without also changing my behaviour and habits.
I need to make more effort; I need to actually apply what I know to be effective from research and experience; I need to put in the hours (and be patient with myself); and I need to revisit my habits and strategies periodically with a view to iteratively changing and improving them, based on what I’m finding more or less useful to my own lived experience.
As Chen suggests, perhaps perpetual beta is a more useful and realistic metaphor. To paraphrase him one last time:
“The reality is that, like cloud-based technology, [my attempt to learn Greek] doesn’t really have a true “2.0.” [An effective language learning process] is in perpetual beta testing, as new knowledge incrementally accumulates and changes practice patterns.”
I started this post by defining version 1.0 of my Greek learning process and its shortcomings. Now more specifically (and empirically*), I am going to make a few resolutions that should dramatically increase my chances of learning success this time around:
Research shows that integrating new with existing knowledge is crucial to learning, so the evening before every lesson, I will revise what I learnt in the previous lesson(s). I will look for patterns and categories and re-organise my notes accordingly into advance organisers; and (as far as possible, given what is reasonably foreseeable from the class timetable and syllabus) I will brainstorm and/or write down what I already know about a given topic/language feature before we study it in class, so that I am primed to process it more effectively during class.
I will spend 30 minutes every morning testing myself on what I’ve learned recently, i.e. focusing on remembering previous learning content, not simply re-reading/re-studying it. And the good news is, it doesn’t even matter if I get the answers right; simply testing myself will ultimately improve my memory and promote learning.
I will do a little bit every day, rather than just one huge day of study; and I will make sure I get a good night’s sleep every night!
*Follow the hyperlinks in these bullet points if you’re interested in reading about some of the research my resolutions are based on.
Combined with the immersive environment I’m now living in, I hope and expect that these resolutions will lead me to enjoy greater success this time.
I’m also going to share my experiences right here on this blog at the end of every week. I’m very interested to see what sort of methodology my new Greek teacher will use, and just as interested to discover how applicable the course content is to my daily life in Athens!
After my placement test this morning, I was assigned to the Level 2 class. This is the syllabus I was shown:
My first impressions?
Grammar, grammar, grammar! And no mention of pronunciation… hmmm…
But I will reserve judgment until my first lesson… or maybe the second…
Over the years, my work has mostly appeared in English-language publications or events. But occasionally, I am consulted for projects in a different language.
Recently, I was approached by Yelena McCafferty, an award-winning Russian-English translator/interpreter from Talk Russian (по-русски) who was writing an article about speaking English with a Russian accent. Yelena specialises in business, trade and legal matters, and was interested to know what research tells us about the relationship between accent and identity. Although many Russians living in the UK may be concerned that they still sound Russian when speaking English, is it really so important to try and ‘neutralise’ or ‘lose’ one’s accent?
Our accents reveal where we are from and which social groups we belong to (or wish to belong to). They help reflect and project our identities. But research shows that there is no single accent of English which is most widely used, understood or accepted. And interestingly, in international English communicative contexts (such as in business or academia), it is very often the native speakers whose pronunciation is least clear to others.
Most of the world’s 2 billion English users are non-native and multilingual. Even in the UK, eight percent of the population has a main language other than English, and in London, over 35% of schoolchildren have a non-English home language. English users are characterised by their diversity, both in the UK and internationally. Awareness of our own and others’ pronunciation is certainly important for clear communication, but it is not at all necessary, realistic or desirable to try and ‘lose’ one’s accent entirely.
In short, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with sounding Russian when you speak English. Like all effective international English users, there will be some pronunciation features that are important if you want to be widely understood, but there is also plenty of room for you to retain certain pronunciation features that “give you an accent”. That accent is part of your identity and that’s perfectly fine.
So which features of English are especially important for Russian speakers to focus on? Which things are going to help you be understood by a range of other English speakers from a range of different language backgrounds?
There are a number of key areas, but here are just three to get you started:
1. Aspiration of /p/, /t/ and /k/ sounds when followed by a vowel at the start of a stressed syllable.
For example: there are two syllables and two /p/ sounds in the word ‘paper’, with one /p/ at the start of each syllable. The first syllable is stressed, so this /p/ should be aspirated; but the second /p/ would not be aspirated. To aspirate a /p/, /t/ or /k/ sound, you need to release a little bit of air when you say the sound. (Don’t be too enthusiastic, or the words potatoes and pasta might come out like this!)
2. Length of vowel sounds before voiced consonants, especially at the ends of words.
For example: the vowel in had should be slightly longer than the vowel in hat; the vowel in back should be slightly longer than the vowel in bag; and the vowel in p should be slightly longer than the vowel in b. Russian speakers usually devoice consonants at the ends of words (compare English standard with Russian стандарт) and it can be very difficult to add this voicing when speaking English. But by lengthening the preceding vowel (so that had doesn’t sound like hat), you can create the same effect and help the listener.
3. The /ɜː/ vowel sound.
For example: work, bird. Try not to be distracted by the spelling. Both of these words have the same vowel sound, despite their different spellings. For Russian speakers, this sound might be particularly challenging when it follows a /w/ sound (as in work).
I am based in London (UK) and work as a consultant, trainer, speaker and writer, focusing on how to use English clearly and effectively when communicating with international audiences.
If you are a Russian-accented English speaker, are based in London, and want to find out more about making your pronunciation as clear as possible for international communicative contexts (such as business, academia, media), contact me to discuss tuition opportunities.
I also work with speakers from other first-language backgrounds (including English), so feel free to get in touch even if you are not a Russian speaker.
Munro, M. & Derwing, T. (1999). Foreign accent, comprehensibility, and intelligibility in the speech of second language learners. Language Learning, 49 (supp. 1), pp. 285-310.
Ordin, M. (2010). ‘Russian’. In R. Walker, Teaching the pronunciation of English as a Lingua Franca. Oxford: Oxford University Press. pp. 127-130.
Smith, L. E. & Rafiqzad, K. (1979). English for cross-cultural communication: The question of intelligibility. TESOL Quarterly, 13/3, pp. 371-380.
Von Ahn, M., Lupton, R., Greenwood, C. and Wiggins, D. (2010). Languages, ethnicity and education in London. Institute of Education: Department of Quantitative Social Science. Published online at http://repec.ioe.ac.uk/REPEc/pdf/qsswp1012.pdf
Sweeney, E. and Zhu, Hua (2010). Accommodating towards your audience: do native speakers of English know how to accommodate their communication strategies towards non-native speakers of English? Journal of Business Communication 47 (4), pp. 477-504.
And what better way to make a comeback than via Macmillan’s ‘Advancing Learning’ series, which is devoting the next few months to “celebrating Women Advancing Learning with a fantastic line-up of prominent female experts and authors from the education and ELT world“?
In my webinar for this series on 7 November 2018, we’ll discuss the issue of “Teaching English pronunciation for the real world”. It’s gonna be fun. In fact, it’ll be so much fun, I’m doing it twice! Once at 10:00 and again at 16:00 (GMT); so, whatever time zone you’re in that day, I hope you can make it.
What do you think of when you hear the word “research”?
Many people who are not based in a very academic setting (e.g. a university) hear the word “research” and immediately think that it will be boring, dry, confusing, esoteric, irrelevant to “real life”, or that it will take them forever to read and understand a research publication. Of course, sometimes research is like this — but it doesn’t have to be!Continue reading →
For several years now, I’ve been working with Katy Simpson on ELF Pronunciation, a website which supports teachers and learners who are interested in the reality of pronunciation and listening in an ELF context. Continue reading →