Read Dreaming in Chinese Online
Authors: Deborah Fallows
Tags: #Language Arts & Disciplines, #Translating & Interpreting, #Social Science, #Anthropology, #Cultural
Some other examples are:
Kāiguān
is
kāi
(open) +
guān
(close) = a switch, as in to switch a light on and off.
“
Will you open-close the light?”
Hǎohuài
is
hǎo
(good) +
huài
(bad) = quality. “The good-bad of this cloth makes it look cheap.”
Duōshǎo
is
duō
(many, much) +
shǎo
(few, little) = how many or how much. “Do you have much-little time to spend with me?”
Hūxī
is
hū
(exhale) + xī (inhale) = breathe. “Exhale-inhale polluted air is bad for you.”
Zuǒyòu
is
zuǒ
(left) +
y
ò
u
(right) = approximately, nearly or about. “There is enough coffee to make left-right one more pot.”
Dōngxi
is
dōng
(east) +
xi
(west) = stuff or things. “I’m going out to get a few east-west for the house.”
Gāoǎi
is
gāo
(tall) +
ǎi
(short) = height. “I started to notice the number of newspaper ads for jobs that came with prerequisites for a candidate’s minimum tall-short.”
Dàxiǎo
is
dà
(big) +
xiǎo
(small) = size. “Which big-small do you want to try on?”
Chinese makes compounds in many ways besides slapping together opposites. In the era of technology, Chinese seized the word
diàn
which means power, electricity or electronics, and tacked other existing words onto
diàn
as names for new electric and digital inventions.
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Patterns like this can be a godsend to language students trying to build their vocabulary.
Diànhuà
= electric +
hu
à
(speech) = telephone or telephone call
Diànnǎo
= electric +
n
ǎ
o
(brain) = computer
Diànshì
= electric +
sh
ì
(view) = TV
Diàntī
= electric +
t
ī
(stairs) = elevator
Diànyǐng
= electric +
y
ǐ
ng
(shadow) = movie or film
Diànbào
= electric +
b
à
o
(report) = telegram or cable
Diànchē
= electric +
ch
ē
(vehicle) = tram or streetcar
Many Chinese compounds are straightforward literal translations of their parts, while others are so vivid that they easily make sense:
Fùmǔ
=
fù
(father) +
mǔ
(mother) = parent
Yǔmào
=
yǔ
(rain) +
mào
(hat) = rainhat
Míngbai
=
míng
(clear) +
bai
(white) = under- stand
Yānhóng
=
yān
(eye) +
hóng
(red) = jealous
Niánqīng
=
nián
(year, age) +
qīng
(light) = young
Tiānqì
=
tiān
(heaven) +
qì
(breath) = weather
Huǒchē
=
huǒ
(fire) +
chē
(car, wagon) = train
Other compounds come from idioms, but are so far removed from current use that there is no connecting the compounds to the literal meaning of their parts.
Mǎmahūhū = mǎ
(horse)
+ hū
(tiger)
=
horsehorsetiger-tiger, or “so-so,” as in “How are things going at work? Well,
mǎmahūhū
.
” I heard a fable about the origin of this word. I usually shun folk etymologies for their lack of linguistic rigor and accountability, but this one is particularly charming: An artist was drawing an animal picture on the wall of his cave. His neighbors came along, saw the work, were impressed, and began arguing over whether the animal was a horse or a tiger. The arguments escalated until the village folk stepped back, got a grip and realized that if they could not agree on what the drawing represented, then perhaps it wasn’t actually so good after all. Hence, horsehorsetigertiger, or
mǎmahūhū
, became the shortcut way to describe the quality of something as so-so.
Mǎshàng = mǎ
(horse)
+ shàng
(on, above) = on the horse, meaning “immediately” or “right away.” “I’m coming right away.” A good guess would be that
mǎshàng
got its meaning way back when the fastest way to get somewhere was on a horse.
There are some compound words that go right to the heart of Chinese life. One is
rènao
,
rè
(hot)
+ nào
(noisy)
.
19
My dictionary defines
rènao
as “noisy and exciting in a pleasant way, boisterous, bustling.” This odd definition doesn’t do justice to the real-world connotations of the word.
Rènao
is all about the revelry of a festive, chaotic gathering. Think of a raucous, beery sports bar during the Super Bowl, or a loud, sweaty pub during the World Cup.
Rènao
is the default mode of Chinese social life; it is the standard to strive for.
At a
rènao
restaurant in China, diners squeeze around too-small tables that are squeezed into too-small spaces. They toast, drink, tell stories, pass food, hop from their seats to drink to each other, sing, laugh, eat. Servers bustle from table to table, bringing more and more dishes, opening more and more bottles. Diners call after servers, servers run faster. The measure of a great evening is the hotter and noisier the better.
A good train ride is also
rènao
. My first ride was from Shanghai to Hangzhou; people jumbled together with their snacks, papers, children, thermoses of hot tea, ringing mobile phones, bags of belongings, all amid loudspeakers, pushcarts of food, and dashing up and down the aisles. It was a whole village life re-created inside one car of the train. On overnight rides, people change into sleeping clothes, trail back and forth to the bathroom, play cards, tell stories, make new friends.
If foreigners are exhausted by
rènao
, Chinese are energized by it.
Then there is
xìngfú
:
xìng
(good fortune)
+ fú
(happiness) = happy, fortunate
.
The first and only time I heard the word was in a conversation with Sasha, the young girl from Shanxi Province, who worked in a beauty shop near where we lived.
Four-dollar manicures proved to be an irresistible respite for me from the otherwise chaotic pace of our China life. When we first moved to Shanghai, a young local woman was assembling a list for me of places for cheap but clean foot massages, mani-pedis, facials and haircuts, the affordable stuff of even working girls in China. Suddenly she stopped as if surprised at herself and blurted out: “Shanghai is a great city for girls!”
If these luxuries need justifying, it’s easy to talk yourself into the idea that they also provide a great chance to practice language skills. Sasha was telling me about her visit home over the previous holidays, and asking me about plans to go back to America. I told her
xiàtiān
, summer, which was then about two months away. She asked when I would be returning, and I replied that it would be a long while, since we were moving back home after three years in China. “I will be happy to be nearer to our children, and all of our family,” I said.
Sasha paused for just a second longer than usual, and said “
Xìngfú
.” I wasn’t sure I understood her at the time, and gave a kind of nod and half smile, the way you do when trying to cover for your shortcomings in a foreign language. At least I knew that both
xìng
and
fú
had a positive sense, so this must be a good word.