The story begins here — "Polished pan cake" (2/20/22) — which shows two dessert items on a menu. In Chinese, one is described as a guō bing 锅饼 (lit., "pot / pan cake / pie") and the other is called a jiānbing 煎饼 (lit., "fried cake / pie"), two different kinds of bǐng 饼.
In the English translations on the menu, those two different varieties of bǐng 饼 are respectively rendered as simply "cake" and "pan cake". I won't go into their fillings, since they have more or less been adequately covered in the earlier post.
We have the testimony of Charles Belov who ate one of the latter at the very same restaurant where the menu came from and declared that "pan cake" turned out to be a fried glutinous rice ball partially covered in granulated sugar. A commenter to the post stated, "My understanding of 饼 was always just 'it means round food'".
The traditional Slavic impulse to meet tragedy with humor is still strong. Among the Russian reactions to the war in Ukraine, this one is my favorite so far:
A snapshot of the Russian economy: an investment expert goes live on air and says his current career trajectory is to work as "Santa Claus" and then drinks to the death of the stock market. With subtitles. pic.twitter.com/XiPVTSUuks
In studying the history of the Chinese Imperial examination system, I came upon an individual named Stafford Northcote (1818-1887), 1st Earl of Iddesleigh, who was instrumental in devising the British civil service. Naturally, I tried to pronounce the name of the village he was from, but couldn't quite wrap my head and tongue around it. So I decided I'd better do a bit of research on the history of Iddesleigh to see what topolectal gems lay hidden in that perplexing concatenation of six consonants and four vowels.
Like many around the world, I have been deeply saddened by Putin’s invasion of Ukraine. I have been watching news from around the world, including Japan. In addition to the actual war itself, and to the sometimes inane (studio talking-head) coverage of the war as some kind of horse race, I have been disturbed by the Japanese media’s failure to update the orthography of Ukrainian cities such as the capital, Kyiv.
Not a single domestic news outlet I am aware of―including the public broadcaster, NHK―has dropped the Soviet-era Russian name “Kiev” (キエフ) to replace it with Kyiv. CNN’s Japanese site, for instance, has similarly failed to revise its choice of katakana.
I'm writing something about the Best Picture nominee "Drive My Car," whose Japanese title is "Doraibu mai kā." Is there a name for this sort of transliteration from English into Japanese? Why would a Japanese writer–the source story was written by Haruki Murakami–choose a transliteration instead of a translation? (Beatles reference, maybe?)
From David Spafford:
It’s definitely a Beatles reference. I don’t know this particular Murakami work, but he’s well known for his Beatles references: think "Noruuei no mori", which is an obvious reference / mistranslation of the Beatles song, "Norwegian wood".
From Tom Ace: "It looks like hexagram 43 is at the top of Taipei 101 in the attached photo. I remember you saying in 2017 that you and your brother hoped to complete a translation of the I Ching. I hope that's still possible."
Those who have never lived in northern Taiwan during the winter may scoff at the idea that 11 °C (52 °F) can seem miserably cold. But cold it is here nevertheless, especially during a week of seemingly endless rain.
Figuring out the etymologies of words has always been one of my favorite things in life, almost as much as eating flavorful food. All the way back in second grade of primary school, my Mom gave me a Merriam-Webster dictionary, and I treasured it above all my other belongings because of its etymological notes. Much later, when The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language became available, I was euphoric, since then I was able to trace words to their Indo-European and Semitic roots.
In between, though, I came up against the pseudo-science of Chinese character etymology, which should better be called "Chinese character construction". Despite almost universal misunderstanding to the contrary, Chinese characters have no direct connection to the sounds and meanings of words. If you want to analyze the history of the development of how individual Chinese characters acquired their shapes and sounds, all well and good, but that's a different matter from how the sounds and meanings of Chinese words evolved through time. Always and ever, I emphasize over and over the primacy of sounds for conveying meaning, the same as with all other living, spoken languages. The writing systems are only there as a makeshift, always catching up and inevitably imperfect means for recording the sounds of the languages.
Chinese netizens are so focused on the Russian attack on Ukraine that nobody can focus on work (wuxin gongzuo)."
What's on Weibo (2/24/22)
Here's the new expression that has gone viral:
wū xīn gōngzuò
乌心工作
lit., "U[kraine] heart-mind work"
This is word-play for:
wúxīn gōngzuò
无心工作
"don't have a mind to work; not in the mood for work")
where wū 乌 is short for "Wūkèlán 乌克兰" (transcription of "Ukraine") and stands for "wú 无" ("no; not; without; do not have"), hence "wúxīn gōngzuò 无心工作" ("do not have the mind for work")
