A classmate presented this article (Aneta Pavlenko (2006). "Bilingual Selves." in Bilingual Minds: Emotional Experience, Expression and Representation), not me, but here are some of the interesting things I gleaned from it.
Basically, this lady Pavlenko did some in-depth research via questionnaires and surveys and found that a lot of bilinguals (anyone who can function appropriately in two languages in different contexts, remember) experience a metaphorical schizophrenia, in that they sometimes feel like a different person when they speak each language. This effect is intensified when bilinguals have learned one language in one context, and then moved on to another, separate context that is removed from the first and then learned another language. (This is as opposed to someone learning two languages but using them both in an ongoing manner in a bilingual society.)
For example, she told of a French/English bilingual author who was writing his memoirs. He put them down in French initially, and then went back and started putting them into English. As he finished some early chapters, he realized that the stories that had emerged in each version were so different that you could have mistaken them as coming from two different authors. For him, language was more than a medium in which to tell his story: it was a lens through which he focused the story.
Other bilinguals spoke of feeling like they were putting on a performance in their second (or third, etc.) language, like they were actors presenting versions of themselves that were not the true one. Similarly, participants self-reported (and psychoanalysts confirmed) being able to feel more emotion in their first language as compared to their second. Childhood stories came alive with detail and even fictional accounts were more vivid in the first language. Seemingly paradoxically, some bilinguals felt that it was easier to speak of taboo topics (or use taboo language) in their second language. Really, though, this confirms the finding of them being able to feel more emotion in their first language: by using a second language, they were distancing themselves emotionally from these awkward topics and inappropriate language. (So maybe that's why the first words some people want to learn in a foreign language are the curse words??)
Finally, the article talks about how the way we feel while speaking a certain language will affect our idea of our "selves" in that language. Remember that most of this holds especially true for those whose first- and second-language experiences are separated by social or cultural divides, but I confess I see this principle at work in myself. When I think of my Japanese self, I feel confident and literate and with-it. My Russian self is very culturally aware and is good at blending in with the crowd (not drawing attention to myself through language). My Arabic self is the one I have the most trouble with. In Arabic, there is no way for me to not be a freak, and it's in a different way than with my Japanese self. In Arabic, I feel anxiety about talking with men. In Arabic, I feel anxiety about only knowing one dialect. In Arabic, I feel anxiety that I basically can't read a newspaper - something I can (or could at one time) do in all of my other languages. In Arabic, I don't feel a strong connection to the literary tradition because there isn't much of a colloquial literary tradition to connect to. In Arabic, there are some sounds that I still. can't. freaking. PRONOUNCE.
So yes, all the intricacies of emotion/skill/proficiency when speaking a language are bound up with how I feel about each of my bilingual selves.
Do you agree with the author's proposed concept of a metaphorical schizophrenia? I'm not sure that's the term I would use, but I definitely see where she's coming from.
Basically, this lady Pavlenko did some in-depth research via questionnaires and surveys and found that a lot of bilinguals (anyone who can function appropriately in two languages in different contexts, remember) experience a metaphorical schizophrenia, in that they sometimes feel like a different person when they speak each language. This effect is intensified when bilinguals have learned one language in one context, and then moved on to another, separate context that is removed from the first and then learned another language. (This is as opposed to someone learning two languages but using them both in an ongoing manner in a bilingual society.)
For example, she told of a French/English bilingual author who was writing his memoirs. He put them down in French initially, and then went back and started putting them into English. As he finished some early chapters, he realized that the stories that had emerged in each version were so different that you could have mistaken them as coming from two different authors. For him, language was more than a medium in which to tell his story: it was a lens through which he focused the story.
Other bilinguals spoke of feeling like they were putting on a performance in their second (or third, etc.) language, like they were actors presenting versions of themselves that were not the true one. Similarly, participants self-reported (and psychoanalysts confirmed) being able to feel more emotion in their first language as compared to their second. Childhood stories came alive with detail and even fictional accounts were more vivid in the first language. Seemingly paradoxically, some bilinguals felt that it was easier to speak of taboo topics (or use taboo language) in their second language. Really, though, this confirms the finding of them being able to feel more emotion in their first language: by using a second language, they were distancing themselves emotionally from these awkward topics and inappropriate language. (So maybe that's why the first words some people want to learn in a foreign language are the curse words??)
Finally, the article talks about how the way we feel while speaking a certain language will affect our idea of our "selves" in that language. Remember that most of this holds especially true for those whose first- and second-language experiences are separated by social or cultural divides, but I confess I see this principle at work in myself. When I think of my Japanese self, I feel confident and literate and with-it. My Russian self is very culturally aware and is good at blending in with the crowd (not drawing attention to myself through language). My Arabic self is the one I have the most trouble with. In Arabic, there is no way for me to not be a freak, and it's in a different way than with my Japanese self. In Arabic, I feel anxiety about talking with men. In Arabic, I feel anxiety about only knowing one dialect. In Arabic, I feel anxiety that I basically can't read a newspaper - something I can (or could at one time) do in all of my other languages. In Arabic, I don't feel a strong connection to the literary tradition because there isn't much of a colloquial literary tradition to connect to. In Arabic, there are some sounds that I still. can't. freaking. PRONOUNCE.
So yes, all the intricacies of emotion/skill/proficiency when speaking a language are bound up with how I feel about each of my bilingual selves.
Do you agree with the author's proposed concept of a metaphorical schizophrenia? I'm not sure that's the term I would use, but I definitely see where she's coming from.