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A review by brice_mo
Linguaphile: A Life of Language Love by Julie Sedivy
2.5
Thanks to NetGalley and FSG for the ARC!
Dr. Julie Sedivy’s Linguaphile is a poppy celebration of language that favors simplicity over substance.
Sedivy has a remarkable ability to synthesize basic linguistic concepts into a manageable package, reframing them in accessible terms. That said, this is probably a better book for readers who haven’t put much thought into language, as the author often reduces these ideas to generalizations that amount to “Isn’t reading magical?!?!” or “There’s a lot of subtext in language.” To be clear, these are important points, and I appreciate the journey Sedivy takes us on to get to them, but it feels like a hike that promises a waterfall and delivers a creek—they feel trite because of their extended setup.
The later sections of the book feel more fruitful, as Sedivy writes directly about some of her research. In particular, her exploration of syntax in “The Rectilinear Movement of Time” is exciting and informative, perfectly threading the needle between analysis and simple language philosophy. Likewise, I found all the discussion of her eye-tracking studies to be really fascinating, though it’s quickly undermined by a (frankly) meanspirited take on the dissolution of the author’s marriage. It’s a pivot that feels indicative of the book’s larger issues.
All of the memoirish scaffolding that Sedivy uses begins to obscure her actual points, which feels like a betrayal of the audience, the author, and the form. Good memoir is tacitly built on the premise that writers will dignify everyone they write about with honesty, including themselves. That means depicting people in all their kindness and cruelty; it means recognizing one’s own faults as much as one’s strengths. In Linguaphile, the author constantly reminds readers that she has been exceptional her whole life, whereas many of the people surrounding her have not. In a different book, these topics might feel at home, but here, they read more like this was the only outlet the author could find to air her frustrations. Similarly, her reliance on art and poetry often feels ill-informed and under-developed, distracting from the discussion rather than clarifying it.
To be perfectly honest, I don’t feel that Sedivy’s authorial strengths lend themselves to the tone and style she uses in Linguaphile. It’s a matter of subjective taste, but she writes with a performatively elevated diction, similar to what you might hear in a graduation speech or a TedTalk. It's a manufactured "artfulness." In those short-form outlets, it might be a powerful approach, but it can’t sustain hundreds of pages here. It's disappointing because I’m certain that if I took a class with Dr. Sedivy, she would be one of my favorite professors; I probably would have loved this book as a freshman linguistics student too—it’s just that her communication style doesn’t translate well to print.
With all of those caveats in mind, I think this book is probably a great choice for readers who want to reflect more on the mysteries of language. It likely won’t be groundbreaking for most people, but it might be thought-provoking, and sometimes that’s enough!
Also, if anybody asks, I was definitely NOT energized by the section on sentence diagrams. (ugh, I love sentence diagrams.)
Dr. Julie Sedivy’s Linguaphile is a poppy celebration of language that favors simplicity over substance.
Sedivy has a remarkable ability to synthesize basic linguistic concepts into a manageable package, reframing them in accessible terms. That said, this is probably a better book for readers who haven’t put much thought into language, as the author often reduces these ideas to generalizations that amount to “Isn’t reading magical?!?!” or “There’s a lot of subtext in language.” To be clear, these are important points, and I appreciate the journey Sedivy takes us on to get to them, but it feels like a hike that promises a waterfall and delivers a creek—they feel trite because of their extended setup.
The later sections of the book feel more fruitful, as Sedivy writes directly about some of her research. In particular, her exploration of syntax in “The Rectilinear Movement of Time” is exciting and informative, perfectly threading the needle between analysis and simple language philosophy. Likewise, I found all the discussion of her eye-tracking studies to be really fascinating, though it’s quickly undermined by a (frankly) meanspirited take on the dissolution of the author’s marriage. It’s a pivot that feels indicative of the book’s larger issues.
All of the memoirish scaffolding that Sedivy uses begins to obscure her actual points, which feels like a betrayal of the audience, the author, and the form. Good memoir is tacitly built on the premise that writers will dignify everyone they write about with honesty, including themselves. That means depicting people in all their kindness and cruelty; it means recognizing one’s own faults as much as one’s strengths. In Linguaphile, the author constantly reminds readers that she has been exceptional her whole life, whereas many of the people surrounding her have not. In a different book, these topics might feel at home, but here, they read more like this was the only outlet the author could find to air her frustrations. Similarly, her reliance on art and poetry often feels ill-informed and under-developed, distracting from the discussion rather than clarifying it.
To be perfectly honest, I don’t feel that Sedivy’s authorial strengths lend themselves to the tone and style she uses in Linguaphile. It’s a matter of subjective taste, but she writes with a performatively elevated diction, similar to what you might hear in a graduation speech or a TedTalk. It's a manufactured "artfulness." In those short-form outlets, it might be a powerful approach, but it can’t sustain hundreds of pages here. It's disappointing because I’m certain that if I took a class with Dr. Sedivy, she would be one of my favorite professors; I probably would have loved this book as a freshman linguistics student too—it’s just that her communication style doesn’t translate well to print.
With all of those caveats in mind, I think this book is probably a great choice for readers who want to reflect more on the mysteries of language. It likely won’t be groundbreaking for most people, but it might be thought-provoking, and sometimes that’s enough!
Also, if anybody asks, I was definitely NOT energized by the section on sentence diagrams. (ugh, I love sentence diagrams.)