LAS LENGUAS INGLESA Y ESPAÑOLA de Delfín Carbonell

 Somewhere, long ago, I read that The Tragic Sense of Life (1921) by Miguel de Unamuno was the most important essay of the 20th century. El sentimiento trágico de la vida , 1913, is indeed a book to reckon with on our intellectual journey, and we should take a peek at it, if only because it was included -and therefore banned- in the list of best books: the Index Librorum Prohibitorum of the Catholic Church. Jorge Luis Borges said about it:  “Sospecho que la obra capital de cuantas escribió Unamuno es El sentimiento trágico de la vida . Su tema es la inmortalidad personal: mejor dicho, las vanas inmortalidades que ha imaginado el hombre, y los horrores y esperanzas que nos impone esa especulación.”  ( Textos cautivos , 1995.) Let me quote Unamuno:  “… único verdadero problema vital, del que más a las entrañas nos llega, del problema de nuestro destino individual y personal, de la inmortalidad del alma.” Miguel de Unamuno, Del sentimiento trágico de la vida en l...

  Un sufijo es un añadido a una palabra que cambia su significado. En este caso, el sufijo -o es de uso informal. Tenemos que wine es vino, pero un wino es un borrachín de vino, que se considera en inglés el peor tipo de alcohólico. Y si dumb es bobo, un dumbo es ya la caraba de la estupidez. Veamos más ejemplos de uso coloquial: dumbo – stupid person weirdo   strange person sicko – perverted or morally twisted person, sicópata cheap-o – stingy person, tacaño cheapo – bargain item or stingy person wino – slang for alcoholic (drinking wine mostly.) kiddo – child (afectuoso) preggo - pregnant female, embarazada psycho  – mentally unstable person, sicópata 

The Internet, AI, and related technologies have brought about advances that would once have seemed unimaginable. They can now generate lifelike figures—faces that blink, smile, and even flirt with the viewer—voices that appear, at first hearing, entirely real. One watches and listens with a mixture of admiration and unease: the simulation is astonishing, and yet something is off. The unease becomes clearer in the language itself. Whether in English or Spanish, what we hear is not incorrect, but curiously flattened. The intonation lacks the natural variability of real speech; the rhythm feels over-regularized; the voice seems to belong nowhere in particular. The Spanish, especially, often fails to correspond to any identifiable speech community. It is presented as “neutral,” yet comes across as disembodied—competent, but unreal. The visual element only heightens the effect. The language coach looks flawless, even coquettish, and behaves as if she were fully alive; yet her voice betray...

  Spanish has a wonderfully vivid way of calling out empty talk: cacarear y no poner huevo —literally, “to cluck and not lay an egg.” The image says it all: plenty of noise, no result. Closely related are mucho ruido y pocas nueces and írsele la fuerza a uno por la boca , both pointing to effort wasted in talk rather than action. English matches this idea with equally colorful expressions. A personal favorite is to be all hat and no cattle , evoking someone who looks the part but delivers nothing. Other equivalents include much ado about nothing , much cry and little wool , much smoke, little fire , and the blunt all mouth and no trousers . Example: David es un fanfarrón que cacarea y no pone huevo. David is a braggart— all hat and no cattle. As Fray Francisco Alvarado neatly put it in 1811: “Esto se llama en mi tierra cacarear y no poner huevo.” Different languages, same timeless observation: talk is cheap.

  I have always held that if the first 50 pages of a novel are tough going, toss it into the wastepaper basket or give it away to a friend you do not care much for. I have often heard it said that "the first 50 pages of this thriller are very complicated to read, but after that, the novel is wonderful, the best."  And who has the grit, endurance, and resilience to put up with fifty boring pages of a book, hoping that the best is yet to come. Once a bore, always a bore, I say. All this comes because my daughter, Laura Lynn, has gifted me with Barbara Kingsolver's Demon Copperhead. So far, I have read 20 pages of the autobiography of a boy in Appalachia, Demon, who is "a voice for the ages - akin to Huck Finn or Holden Caulfield," according to Beth Macy, author of Dopesick . Having read both masterpieces years ago, I see no reason to tackle a new youngster's ravings and commonplaces about his childhood and hard times. Also, having read Tobacco Road  when it wa...

In my opinion, a word that sometimes describes Spaniards linguistically is hubris : excessive confidence in one’s own abilities. Why do I say this? Because it is not uncommon to hear claims of “perfect English” that do not quite withstand scrutiny. Many people will say, in all seriousness, that they speak flawless English—or that their children do—based on rather limited experience. One hears statements such as: “My daughter speaks perfect English; she spent a month in London washing dishes,” or that someone’s command of the language is impeccable because he works as a translator at a certain firm. Yet, when the chips are down, this supposed perfection often proves less solid than advertised. The gap between confidence and actual performance can be striking. This is not to say that Spaniards are uniquely guilty of such overconfidence, but there does seem to be a tendency, at times, to equate familiarity with mastery. In that sense, “hubris” may not be entirely misplaced. Spaniards spea...

  Homophones are the terror of poor spellers: words that have the same pronunciation but different meanings and spellings. ‘David is rite when he says Peter is rich’ sounds the same as ‘David is write when he says Peter is rich,’ but our sight tells us that the correct form is ‘David is right when he says…’. The sounds are identical, but the meanings and spellings are different. Here/hear; hair/hare; week/weak; pair/pare/pear… and many more. In Spanish, examples include hecho/echo; hola/ola; vello/bello; haber/a ver… and, for those who do not pronounce the Castilian /θ/ sound, caza/casa; cocer/coser. This is not a trivial matter of grammar or spelling; it signals to others that we belong to the intellectually below-the-salt type of people. 

  Rhyming phraseology occurs in both English and Spanish, as in “una y no más, Santo Tomás” or “date el piro, vampiro,” expressions that are distinctly colloquial and largely ornamental. English likewise abounds in rhyming pairs such as “itsy-bitsy,” “okey-dokey,” “hanky-panky,” and “super-duper,” among many others. As these forms are part of the language, their use cannot be prescribed; however, they are best confined to informal contexts rather than formal speech, and still less to formal writing.

  While reading the article “The people at the center of the war” by Parin Behrooz in The New York Times (April 10), I came across a sentence that contains two very small slips—of the sort that occasionally appear in even the best-edited publications. The sentence reads: “That war began with explicit encouragement for Iranians to rise up and ended with U.S. threats to bomb the country back to the ‘Stone Ages’ has not been lost on the people living through it.” Two details may be noted in passing. First, the familiar English expression is “the Stone Age,” not “the Stone Ages.” Second, the grammatical subject of the sentence is the compound statement introduced by that (“that war began … and ended …”), which would normally take a plural verb: have not been lost rather than has not been lost. These are, of course, minor points that do not affect the sense of the passage. They simply remind us how demanding careful copy-editing can be. Readers of a certain generation may recall a...

  Nature has laws we cannot escape. Life is a struggle for survival among living beings driven to thrive and reproduce. In that struggle, we fall prey to countless enemies, many microscopic. What we call disease consists of tiny organisms that do not intend to harm us, yet must use our bodies to thrive. If we overcome them, they lose; if they prevail, we die. That is neither good nor bad—simply a fact. I have fought my share of such battles and, so far, prevailed: ear infections, measles, chickenpox, kidney stones, two severe bouts of flu, endless colds, gastritis, headaches, a heart attack, cancer. The usual fare, if one lives long enough. Add to this the wear and tear of time on body and mind. I am 87 and still pushing on. Time allows no pause. Despite everything, I have lived a largely healthy, active, and mostly pain-free life. I was born before penicillin came into common use, which says something about the stamina of my body. I am, by any measure, a survivor—fortunate, and ...

  Of late, I have been noticing a tendency to employ "firstly", "secondly" instead of "first, second", as in "Firstly I wish to thank..." instead of "First I wish to thank..." It is not wrong, of course, and the adverb has been in use this way for centuries; even Fowler ,  however, tended to prefer first, second , etc., rather than firstly, secondly , and expressions such as “last but not least” would sound odd if turned into “lastly but not least.  I simply wanted to point this out in case someone like me was wondering. 

  I have always said it as "codo con codo", shoulder to shoulder, meaning side by side, but I read in a journal "codo a codo" and I rushed to my dictionaries to double-check. Was it a mistake? Nope, it wasn't. María Moliner uses the preposition "con", and Seco registers the idiom with "a".  Finally, the Diccionario de la Real Academia accepts both prepositions. Live and learn! So you can say: "Petra y yo trabajamos codo con codo", and "Petra y yo trabajamos codo a codo." 

Toda la obra Crítica efímera , es un dechado de buen escribir, acertada crítica, buen humor y correcciones lingüísticas. A propósito del lenguaje, me arriesgo a entresacar la siguiente cita, escrita en 1919, por si puede servir de algo a alguien o como recordatorio de épocas lejanas.   "... por defectuosa organización de la enseñanza oficial, y hasta por carencia de obras racionales que faciliten el conocimiento práctico del idioma, nuestros literatos, salvo honrosas excepciones, se arrojan a llenar cuartillas sin haber aprendido a manejar el instrumento de su arte, y, naturalmente, desafinan. De aquí que entre nosotros sea más necesaria, y también más eficaz, la policía del lenguaje." Julio Casares, Crítica efímera , "Una fábula de aduaneros y matuteros", Espasa-Calpe, 1962. (Publicado originalmente en 1919.)

 People no longer seem to care as much about how they dress, but there was a time when being elegant, dapper, smart, well-groomed, and stylish was the ideal everyone aspired to. Men and women dressed to kill, to the nines, and took pride in being well-dressed at all times. The Spanish language, too, bears witness to this former obsession with dress, with expressions such as ir hecho un pincel ( hecho un brazo de mar ) ir de tiros largos or maqueado.  If this increasingly casual approach to dress persists, such expressions may survive only in dictionaries. Juan vino a la fiesta hecho un pincel John came to the party dressed to the nines — “… se ponía hecho un pincel aunque solo fuera a ir al mercado.” Antonio Muñoz Molina, Sefarad , 2001. Esp. || “… lo mandé planchar, hice almidonar la camisa y…hecho un brazo de mar, bajé al comedor.” Manuel Leguineche, El camino más corto , 1995. Esp. 

These alternatives in English  Either...or: "Either pay or go to jail." Neither... nor: "I neither love you nor need you." have their parallel equals in Spanish: O... o: "O me pagas o te parto la cara." Ni... ni: "Ni quiero ir ni puedo ir."

I regularly receive the Modern Language Association newsletter The Source from the MLA Style Center, which I peruse diligently. In the issue of 29 January 2026, an article titled “A Common Mistake: Should of in Place of Should Have” caught my attention. It opens with the statement: “You may have seen people write should of , but that is grammatically incorrect.” I do not generally encounter such usage, nor do I associate with people who write in that manner. Indeed, contrary to the claim, I cannot recall ever hearing anyone say should of in place of should have . I may be living on the fringes of present-day English, but I find the assertion surprising nonetheless. The author, Laura Kiernan, suggests that “the mistake probably comes from the fact that should’ve sounds similar to should of when spoken.” Try as I might, however, I cannot hear should’ve as resembling should of . While the explanation is plausible, pointing out this “mistake” strikes me as somewhat unnecessary for ...