Studia Anglica Posnaniensia 55s2 (2020): 549–555
doi: 10.2478/stap-2020-0030
REVIEW
Millenia of language change. Sociolinguistic studies in deep historical
linguistics. By Peter Trudgill. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2020.
Pp. 164.
Reviewed by Anna Rogos-Hebda (Faculty of English, Adam Mickiewicz
University in Poznań)
In his Millenia of language change. Sociolinguistic studies in deep historical
linguistics Trudgill, indeed, digs deep in linguistic history. He digs so deep, in
fact, that his search for explanations takes him millenia away, sometimes as far
back as the Mesolithic and the New Stone Age. Departing from the conviction
that “some linguistic features take a very long time […] to develop” (2020: 1)
Trudgill looks for the ultimate roots of a number of language change processes.
In doing so, he applies the tools of sociolinguistic typology, for to his mind the
organisation of the then societies, clearly different from that of most
contemporary ones, cannot have been irrelevant to the way linguistic innovations
spread. Each of the eight chapters, then, throws light on the role of social factors
in promoting or hindering language change in different parts of the world, at
different times in history.
What aspects of social organisation could be instrumental in encouraging a
particular outcome, in the sense of either simplification or complexification of
language structure, and how they possibly contribute is the topic of Chapter 1
“Prehistoric sociolinguistics and the Uniformitarian hypothesis”. At the
beginning of the chapter Trudgill rightly observes that uniformitarianism,
according to which “the general processes and principles which can be noticed in
observable history are applicable in all stages of language history” (Hock 1991:
630), only works as a methodological principle with regard to those linguistic
features “due to the nature of the human language faculty” (2020: 7–8). Surely,
there must be, however, aspects of language structure whose shape or nature
depends on (the interplay of a number of) social parametres. Indeed, Trudgill goes
on to describe a range of phenomena he sees as determined by such factors as
“arbitrary human invention” (Trudgill 2020: 9, after Blust 2012) and small
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community size, the latter resulting in non-anonymity, non-optimality, density of
social networks, and large amounts of communally shared information. He
mentions, for example, an intentional arbitrary swap in the nominal system of
Laro/Laru spoken in Kordofan, central Sudan, whereby the masculine nouns have
turned feminine and the other way around, allegedly for the neighbours of the
Kordofians to get confused (Trudgill 2020: 10, after Schadeberg 1981).
Community size may have been responsible for the fostering of non-optimal
object-initial word orders found in “small communities […] more vulnerable to
drift away from optimal states” (2020:11–12, after Nettle 1999) as well as a
personal pronoun system, attested in Onya Darat (western Borneo), with
pronouns reflecting generational affiliation among interlocutors (2020: 11, after
Tadmor 2015). The density of social networks and a considerable amount of
communally shared information, in turn, are considered by Trudgill conducive,
respectively, to the implementation of unexpected sound developments (e.g.,
unusual fortitions in peripheral dialect areas) and the development of overelaborate deictic systems (e.g., 31 personal pronouns in !Ora, a now extinct
Khoisan language, vs. mere 6 forms in Finnish). While “the uniformitarian
principle is basically correct”, Trudgill concludes, caution is necessary in
applying “the present to explain the past” (2020: 16, 7), for Mesolithic and
Neolithic tightly knit communities “provided a social matrix which allowed
linguistic phenomena to develop which are most unlikely to arise today in our
own modern at-a-distance societies” (2020: 8).
The question of social factors influencing linguistic structure is discussed
further in Chapter 2 “From Ancient Greek to Comanche: On many millennia of
complexification”. Musing about the extent to which social structure impacts the
typological characteristics of a language, Trudgill focuses on the issues of
structure simplification and complexification as the two outcomes of linguistic
contact. On the basis of divergent behaviours of genetically related varieties,
namely Afrikaans vs. the Netherlandic dialects of Belgium and the southern
Netherlands, he explains how the scale and type of contact determine at which
end of the complexity spectrum a language lands. Simplification typically results
from “short-term contact with other communities speaking different languages”
(2020: 35), due to imperfect adult second-language learning with concomitant
removal of linguistic L2-difficult features such as “irregularity, syntactic
agreement and grammatical gender” (2020: 20). Complexification, on the other
hand, seems attributable to “[l]ong-term contact between communities where
small children become bilingual”, speakers transferring from L2 features of
grammar and phonology (additive borrowing) (2020: 21).
Of the two trends, the latter, Trudgill notes, has been on the decrease, perhaps
for the past 2000 years. The complexity of the kind found in Ancient Greek, West
Greenlandic or Comanche takes “many millennia rather than centuries” to
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develop (2020: 32) and a hospitable environment. That environment, however,
i.e., the sociolinguistic conditions required, is becoming harder and harder to
come by, given the size of the world population and the rate of short-term adult
language contact these days. The most complex languages are spoken in small,
low-contact, non-industrialised tribal communities, after all, and those are
increasingly rare.
The notion of additive borrowing, i.e., the acquisition of a morphologically
expressed grammatical category from another language, is brought up again in
Chapter 3 “First millennium England: A tale of two copulas”. The matter at hand
is the formal and functional distinction between Old English beon and wesan,
both meaning ‘to be’, unattested in other Germanic languages and no longer
present in English itself (2020: 45, after Wischer 2011). Trudgill (2020: 3) lends
a sympathetic ear to Vennemann’s (2010a) hypothesis concerning the role of
Vasconic, possibly originally spoken in the Franco-Cantabrian Refugium, in the
transfer of that feature to the north-western European languages, including (Old)
English. If widely criticised as heavily speculative, the hypothesis ties in nicely
with Trudgill’s claim that nearly all complexification, of which the adoption of a
two-copula system is an example, requires “a long-term, co-territorial contact
situation between social groups involving childhood bilingualism” (2020: 39). A
possibility of that kind of (lengthy) cohabitation taking place first between the
speakers of Proto-Vasconic and Proto-Celtic, then between the Celts and the
Romans in mainland northwestern Europe and Lowland England, and – finally –
between the Romano-Britons and the Germanic tribes in Britain cannot be ruled
out in the light of Schrijver’s research on the use of British Latin in the Lowland
zone (Trudgill 2020: 41, after Schrijver 2002) and Filppula and Klemola’s (2014)
paper re-evaluating Celtic influences in English. The abandonment of the
distinction between the habitual/consuetudinal and non-habitual be in early
Middle English is attributed by Trudgill (2020: 49, after Lutz 2009) to contact
with Old Norse.
The role of language contact in the history of English is what Chapter 4 “The
first three thousand years: Contact in prehistoric and early historic English”
discusses at length. Beginning with language change processes which did not
operate in English per se, but nevertheless led to its emergence affecting the
structure of its ancestors, Trudgill considers the nature of subsequent encounters
with particular language varieties against the move of a “highly synthetic fusional
inflecting language” that Old English was towards “a much more isolating type
of morphology” found in Middle English (2020: 56). Simplification, as he claims
(2020: 51), typically results from adult, imperfect, language learning inherent to
short-term (not infrequently tumultuous) contact situations. Trudgill believes
(2020: 55–56, after Morris 1973 and McMahon 2011) that after the period of
initial British dominance over the Anglo-Saxons, leading to bilingualism on the
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part of the invaders, from the 7th century onwards adult linguistic contact in the
Highlands, the Midlands and the South-West between the now subjugated Celts
and the speakers of Old English would lead to a degree of pidginisation through
imperfect second language-learning. A case for substratal contact with Late
British as instrumental in the simplification of Old English is, in Trudgill’s view
(2020: 62), much stronger from a sociolinguistic-typological perspective than the
case for adstratal contact with Old Norse, involving “long-term co-territorial cohabitation and intermarriage” or French, whose speakers were somewhat isolated
due to their social standing.
In Chapter 5 “Verner’s law, Germanic dialects and the English dialect ‘default
singulars’” Trudgill (2020: 67) dissects what he calls “a widespread perception
in the international English-linguistics community” regarding the status of plural
was as a “vernacular primitive” or, better yet, an “angloversal”. Specifically, he
argues against viewing was-generalisation in vernacular varieties of English as
representing the principle of “the default singular” at work. The distinction
between was and were as the preterite forms of the verb to be goes back a long
time to Verner’s Law, a process conditioned by the mobility of the PIE accent,
which inhibited lenition after stressed vowels (Page 1998). While this
conservative alternation is very much alive in Standard English and Dutch, the
mainland dialects of North Frisian and a number of Dutch dialects, in the
remainder of the Germanic language family the s/r distinction has been levelled
out, languages opting either for the s- or the r-paradigm (Trudgill 2020: 74). If
the s-variant were a default singular, Trudgill argues, one would expect it to
predominate in all the varieties (2020: 68). Yet, despite its prevalence in most of
the colonial Englishes, it is r-generalisation that the majority of Germanic
vernaculars have regularised towards (Trudgill 2020: 74). Therefore, the
principle of “default singular”, if operative in English, indeed, “has no
explanatory value whatsoever in this case”, Trudgill concludes (2020: 68).
Rather, we are dealing with a regularising trend, with world English leaning
decidedly towards was simply due to the fact that it happened to be the norm “in
the heavily populated English southeast” at the time English-speaking colonies
were established (Trudgill 2020: 76).
Chapter 6 “Deep into the Pacific: The Austronesian migrations and the
linguistic consequences of isolation” tackles the impressive expansion of the
Polynesian languages, a millenia-long reduction in the consonant inventory of
some and the role of sociolinguistic factors therein. Five thousand years of
colonisation of the Pacific by the Austronesians ended around 1400AD with the
settlement of the Chatham Islands by migrants from New Zealand. As a result,
the Austronesian language family covers an enormous area stretching from
Hawai’i to the South Island of New Zealand, and from Madagascar to Rapa Nui
(Trudgill 2020: 78–80). Trudgill observes that the consonant inventories in
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distant albeit related Hawai’ian and Rurutu (spoken in the island of Rurutu in the
Austral archipelago) contain as few as eight phonemes, following thousands of
years of consonant loss beginning with Proto-Malayo-Polynesian (2020: 81).
Trudgill links the said reduction to two factors, namely small community size and
isolation, but the cause-effect scenario is different from the ones hitherto
presented. In previous chapters simplification was described as resulting from
adult language contact through faulty L2 learning and subsequent pidginisation
(2020: 84). This kind of explanation, however, does not seem adequate in the case
of relatively isolated, low-contact varieties that Hawai’ian and Rurutu are
assumed to be. With Haudricourt, Trudgill (2020: 84, after Haudricourt 1961)
therefore turns to the isolation-triggered impoverishment as well as to “large
amounts of shared information” (2020: 88) due to small community size as
potential forces behind the reduction in question.
In Chapter 7 “The Hellenistic Koiné 320BC to 550AD and its medieval and
Early Modern congeners” Trudgill disposes of two major fallacies, i.e., the
Monogenesis Fallacy and the Identity Fallacy, concerning colonial varieties of
western European languages (2020: 89). Having talked the reader, step by step,
through the formation of the Hellenistic Koiné, Trudgill uses this example to
show how unnecessary it is to reach for the notion of identity in explaining the
motivation behind the emergence of new varieties in colonial situations and how
unreasonable it is to believe in their monogenetic origin. Given the logistics of
colonialisation and the mechanisms at work when a number of dialects are
brought into close contact, a new mixed dialect is bound to be born, Trudgill
(2020: 91, 100) argues. He supports his claim with an overview of a range of
(chronologically distant) colonial koinés from all over the world, from colonial
Arabic of the 7th century through Australian English to the new Polish mixed
dialects of the post WWII era. The picture that emerges is one of there being no
other way for a colonial concoction of dialectal features but to lead to the
establishment of a new variety.
The final chapter, Chapter 8 “Indo-European feminines: Contact, diffusion
and gender loss around the North Sea”, is an attempt at finding a sound,
sociolinguistically grounded explanation for the discrepancy among Germanic
languages regarding the number of genders present. While Norwegian and
Icelandic retain the original (i.e., Indo-European non-Anatolian) three-way
contrast, Standard Swedish and Danish, Bergen Norwegian, northern Dutch,
northwestern Low German, West Frisian and the island dialects of North Frisian
show the masculine – feminine syncretism, with English having lost grammatical
gender altogether. Not unexpectedly, Trudgill sees geography and linguistic
contact as “crucially involved in the loss of the feminine” (2020: 113), though it
is a very specific type of contact that he means, of course, namely one involving
post-critical threshold learning. In that kind of learning semantically redundant,
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cross-linguistically dispensable phenomena such as grammatical gender (Trudgill
2020: 109, after Hickey 2000 and Dahl 2004) are among the first to be removed.
Geographically, the area affected by gender reduction is the western seaboard of
the North Sea and the eastern seaboard from the Rhine Delta up to Western
Jutland, i.e., the zone of intense maritime Hanseatic trade contacts. Trudgill
proposes that it was trade relations between urban centres and the associated
influx of foreigners that fuelled the spatial diffusion of the (linguistic) innovation
from the kernels in Britain and northern Holland (2020: 127).
Contact between communities as the ever-present driving force behind
linguistic simplification or complexification is the leitmotif of Trudgill’s book.
Sociolinguistic factors, such as community size, network density, or the extent of
isolation, serve Trudgill as the common denominator for language change
processes operative in varieties distant in space and/or in time. Exploring the extent
to which sociolinguistic typology could help make sense of the outcomes of those
processes, Trudgill casts his net wide both in terms of chronology and geography,
which is admittedly an advantage. Approachable narrative and compelling
argumentation make it easy for the reader to yield to the enticing illusion that a
universal explanation lies at hand, even if the author does not explicitly make that
promise anywhere. Would it not be nice, after all, if all elements of the puzzle that
historical research not infrequently resembles, finally fell into place? Yet, there are
fragments when the degree of speculation requires of the reader a considerable
amount of openness, for example when Trudgill quotes Vennemann on the
vocabulary of Proto Germanic being influenced by contact with Semitidic (2020:
53). It is also difficult at times to escape the impression that some evidence has
been used selectively to help further the author’s agenda. This is the case, perhaps,
when – discussing the influence of Britonnic/Late British upon Old English –
Trudgill first uses the notions of long-term contact and (child) bilingualism to
justify borrowing from Britonnic of the progressive aspect (2020: 55), only to use
the same arguments two pages later as causing noticeable simplification in the
structure of English. He pins the simplification onto the now different
sociolinguistic context (2020: 56), but even with the post-600AD Germanic
dominance it does make one wonder where the need for reduction(s) came from, if
already between 420 and 600 the speakers of Old English achieved what Trudgill
calls “competent bilingualism” (2020: 56). Also, why that shift in power relations
would somehow “prioritise” adult bilingualism, with its drive towards simplicity,
over child bilingualism involved in additive borrowing is unclear. Of perhaps lesser
weight, yet not unnoticeable, are occasional spelling errors which, in the case of
place names like “Szczeczin” [sic!] for the Polish city of Szczecin or “Madgedurg”
[sic!] for Magdeburg do stand out.
Millenia of language change. Sociolinguistic studies in deep historical
linguistics is, nevertheless, a well written, well balanced and a much needed book.
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The times of fake news and post-truths seem to offer ample opportunity for
researching aspects of contemporary discourse(s), yet Trudgill’s book points to
the ongoing need for rethinking historical linguistic approaches to language
change and proves that insights from other disciplines can inform research on
historical data in multiple ways.
REFERENCES
Filppula,
Markku & Juhani Klemola. 2014. Celtic influences in English: A reevaluation”. Neuphilologische Mitteilungen 115 (1). 33–53.
Hock, Hans Heinrich. 1991. Principles of historical linguistics (2nd edn.). Walter de Gruyter.