news20100927ip

[TODAY'S TOP STORIES] from [The Japan Times]

[japantimes.co.jp > Life in Japan > EDUCATION AND BILINGUAL]

Wednesday, Sept. 29, 2010
BILINGUAL

Some space helps a language relationship to grow

By MICHAEL GAKURAN
Special to The Japan Times

Are you familiar with the "forgetting curve"? I was about 16 when I came across it, printed in the back of my physics textbook at secondary school. But I have a vivid memory of that discovery to this day. The graph had a tremendous impact on the way I approach learning, especially when studying Japanese.

Our brains organize and process information in order to recall the most important stuff first. I’m sure most people can relate to the frustrating feeling of having studied a new and tricky word, only to find it has ceased to exist inside our head the very next day. "What happened? Surely I’m not getting old already?" we fret. Perhaps we should blame a bad learning technique instead of our memories.

Age, stress and sleep — among other things — all affect how well we remember something. Typically, however, one of the biggest problems is that we aren’t even giving our bodies a decent chance to recall things in the first place. With the constant flood of information entering through our senses every second of every day, our brains have quite a job to sort out what is important from what is forgettable.

Stronger memories take longer to forget, the best example of which are "flashbulb memories" — those supremely powerful emotional experiences that seem to permanently etch themselves into our minds. Other memories, especially sensory ones, are retained only from a few seconds to mere minutes.

So what is the best way to transform short-term memories into long-term memories? That is where the forgetting curve and "spaced repetition" come in.

German psychologist Hermann Ebbinghaus first noted an exponential relationship between time and the strength of a memory in 1885. Put simply, the more we see something, the more likely we are to remember it. What is important, however, is not cramming information into our minds over a short period of time. For the best memory retention, we must continually review the information at optimally spaced intervals. This may sound like hard work at first, but after a while the repetitions spread out further and further. The end result is that you will only need to review a piece of information every few years or even less often.

With traditional flash cards, following the spaced repetition approach means maintaining a complicated setup with various categories to identify how well you remembered a particular item. But computers and free software available on the Internet can automatically calculate the best time for your next review. All you need to concentrate on is actually doing the study!

One particular piece of software that has transformed my Japanese language learning is Anki, named after the Japanese word for memory (暗記). Anki allows you to add new material or choose from a list of shared public decks to start studying. It can be used for almost anything, from hiragana and katakana to American states or even putting names to faces! You simply select how difficult something was for you to remember and Anki calculates the next time you need to see it to avoid forgetting it. It is a great way to build sound knowledge of a topic. I used it to study grammar and vocabulary, and I credit it for my success in passing the top level of the Japanese Language Proficiency Test. I have friends who have also built decks using Anki, gradually adding material over the years, and their language ability has improved because of it.

Of course, flash-card systems are no substitute for learning and using a language properly. Studying in different environments and getting outside to interact with real people are also important parts of language learning. They will provide you with practical repetitions of the material you have been practicing at home — more deeply embedding it in your long-term memory.

Spaced repetition requires dedication to the review process, but if you’re serious about improving your Japanese ability, it’s time well spent. Good luck!

Michael Gakuran blogs at www.gakuranman.com and is the founder of gakuu.com, a Japanese language site for advanced learners.

news20100922jp

[TODAY'S TOP STORIES] from [The Japan Times]

[japantimes.co.jp > Life in Japan > EDUCATION AND BILINGUAL]

Wednesday, Sept. 22, 2010
BILINGUAL

A call to end confusion over foreign names

By MARK SCHREIBER
Special to The Japan Times

A problem newspaper readers in Japan confront on a daily basis is that no definitive rule exists for writing foreigners' names.

Keizo Nagatani, professor emeritus at the University of British Columbia, took up the issue in the Sankei Shimbun on July 10 in a column titled "Shimbun ni katsu!" ("A call to newspapers"). Here is a translation:

It's not such a huge problem that one should start a clamor, but I have some bones to pick with the way Japanese transcribe foreigners' names. In general, these are written using katakana, a method that while used in Japan from long ago, is not without problems.

Many foreigners have spent brief or extended periods at universities in Japan, and perhaps due to an order from the Ministry of Education, Culture, Sports, Science and Technology, their names must be registered entirely in katakana. This extends to nameplates on doors at research laboratories, which I find incomprehensible.

Some foreigners do nothing more than show a strained smile, while others will indignantly paste a strip of white paper bearing their name in Roman letters above the katakana. The rule on use of katakana appears particularly strict at national universities, but what's wrong with registering names in Roman letters?

Most vexing of all are names of people from countries in the so-called "kanji cultural sphere" (漢字文化圏). To write these in katakana is discourteous, and for that matter using the Roman alphabet is also incongruous.

Years ago, I asked a school principal how he would identify [Chinese leader] Mao Zedong if he were a visiting scholar. "Would you address him as ‘Professor Mou?'" I asked. He was lost for words.

As far as I know, the rule in Japan is to write names of people within the kanji cultural sphere in katakana.

When perusing Japanese-language newspapers, one thing that strikes me as odd (various publications take a scattershot approach) is the peculiar distinction made of reading Chinese and Korean personal names. Chinese names are read Japanese-style — without use of furigana [phonetic transcriptions to indicate how the character should be pronounced] — while South and North Korean personal names are read in an approximation of their native Korean sounds. As a result, [China's paramount leader] Hu Jintao is transcribed Ko Kin Tou, whereas [South Korean President] Yi Myong Bak is read I Myon Baku.

I don't know why such discrepancies appear, but I surmise it is a result of demands on the mass media by the people of the Korean Peninsula, who have a strong self-awareness, in reaction to use of Japanese-style pronunciation. On the other hand, Chinese do not show much concern as to how minor ethnic groups on their country's periphery pronounce their names, which may explain why they are read as-is in the Japanese style.

It is necessary to use the names of important foreigners in daily conversation — not only those living overseas but also those residing in Japan — and in such cases "Ko Kin Tou" is problematic. It should be pronounced "Fu Jin Tao." In polite terms, that is more appropriate.

How about newspapers taking the lead and starting a movement to learn and use the native [local] pronunciations of personal names? After that, while some effort might be required, I would also like to see newspapers show alphabetic transcriptions of other foreign personal names.

Footnote from Mark Schreiber: This problem extends to writers working in two or more languages. Japanese readings of Chinese names must be learned by rote memorization. Former Nationalist Chinese President Chiang Kai-shek, for instance, is a Cantonese reading of the name, which is pronounced Sho Kaiseki in Japanese and Jiang Jieshi in Mandarin.

As another confusing example, take TV personality and UNICEF Goodwill Ambassador Agnes Chan, whose name is transcribed in katakana as アグネス・チャン. Her Chinese name is 陳美齡 (Chan Meiling in Cantonese), but she prefers to go by her English given name. "Chan" in katakana closely approximates the original Cantonese. But the name of popular actress Zhang Ziyi in katakana is チャン・ツ ィ イー (Chan Tsui-i). So the Japanese media is transcribing two very different Chinese surnames — "Chan" and "Zhang" — exactly the same. But Zhang's name (章子怡) according to the on-yomi reading of their kanji would give "Sho Shi'i," which would be virutally unrecognizable to speakers of Chinese and English — as well as to Japanese cinema fans already accustomed to the seriously mangled katakana version in use. A closer phonetic approximation of Zhang Ziyi in katakana would be ジャン・ズーイー (Jan Zuu-ii).

news20100915jp

[TODAY'S TOP STORIES] from [The Japan Times]

[japantimes.co.jp > Life in Japan > EDUCATION AND BILINGUAL]

Wednesday, Sept. 15, 2010
BILINGUAL

196 more reasons to explore Heisig's imagination

By MARY SISK NOGUCHI

Last spring, the bar was raised for kanji learners aiming to attain literacy in Japanese through mastery of the general-use (jōyō) kanji, when the Ministry of Education, Culture, Sports, Science and Technology announced the addition of 196 characters to the original list of 1,945 official jōyō kanji approved three decades ago.

Many kanji learners who view memorizing kanji as a dreaded chore — including my 15-year-old native Japanese-speaking son — groaned at news of the additions and resolved to procrastinate as long as possible before tackling them.

Devotees of James Heisig's three-volume self-instructional system, "Remembering the Kanji" (RTK), however, are already diving into the additions with a learning supplement recently made available as a free PDF download.

It is no surprise that Heisig has got a jump-start on other kanji textbook publishers in providing learning tools for the jōyō additions, since RTK is not designed for dabblers in kanji learning. Vol. 1 teaches the shapes and meanings of the jōyō list in its entirety, Vol. 2 explains the pronunciations, and Vol. 3 presses on with more than 1,000 additional characters.

Heisig's system challenges some of the most widely accepted tenets of traditional kanji teaching. First, the learning of pronunciations is postponed entirely until the meanings and shapes of all jōyō kanji have been mastered — a "divide-and-conquer" strategy. Second, each kanji is assigned a "keyword" meaning in the learner's native language (English, Spanish, German, French and Dutch versions of RTK are available). Third, kanji are divided — building-block style — into named components used in the creation of vivid stories (not based on the historical origin of kanji) for remembering keywords and shapes.

This kanji iconoclast encourages learners to tap into their adult powers of logic and abstraction — not to mention a childlike sense of fun and imagination — to create unforgettable kanji memory stories. Anything can happen in Heisig's richly imaginative "Kanji-Land," as demonstrated in these examples from his jōyō additions supplement:

妬 — "JEALOUS"
A woman 女 is jealous of the "rock" 石 (slang for "diamond") on the ring finger of another woman's left hand.

腺 — "GLAND"
Dig into your flesh 月 (a variant of 肉) and pull out a lymph gland. Now give it a squeeze and watch a spring 泉 (white 白 + water 水) of lymph spout out of it.

捗 — "MAKE HEADWAY"
Let your fingers ⺘ do the walking 歩 as you make headway through the Yellow Pages in search of something hard to find.

鍵 — "KEY"
A gold 金 key presented to you by the mayor gives access to all buildings 建 in the city.

柿 — "PERSIMMON"
Market 市 stalls are set up around an immense tree 木 with watermelon-size persimmon fruit. The tree is sacred, so the villagers allow the persimmons to fall and wreak havoc on buyers and sellers.

汰 — "CLEANSE"
Someone who is displeasingly fat 太 goes to a spa whose waters ⺡ promise to cleanse him of his corpulence. As he sits in the water, the weight melts away, leaving a greasy scum on top.

RTK readers will already be familiar with such whimsical component names as "siesta," "truckers' convoy" and "turkey," along with traditional names such as those featured above. Heisig's story for 29-stroke jōyō addition 鬱 (gloom, utsu) — which features bulldozers, tin cans, and agro-businesses — will no doubt render kanji traditionalists speechless. Sadly, even many Japanese cannot write this eye-popper from memory.

Despite its detractors (who might not want to take a look at Heisig's sales figures), RTK has convinced devotees they can master the meaning and shapes of all the jōyō kanji by viewing them as the sum of their parts. For them, the jōyō additions — far from being an annoyance — provide a good excuse for getting more creative kicks with kanji in "Kanji-Land."

Quiz: Match each of the following joyo additions from today's column with its meaning and pronunciation in the list that you see below.

1. 妬 (woman + rock)
2. 柿 (tree + market)
3. 捗 (fingers + walk)
4. 汰 (water + fat)
5. 腺 (flesh + spring)
6. 鍵 (gold + buildings)

a. key (kagi)
b. gland (sen)
c. persimmon (kaki)
d. jealousy (to)
e. make headway (choku)
f. cleanse (ta).

Answers:
1. d
2. c
3. e
4. f
5. b
6. a.

More than 100 Kanji Clinic columns are archived at www.kanjiclinic.com

A free download of the first 125 pages of “Remembering the Kanji, Vol. 1” may be accessed at www.kanjiclinic.com

news20100908jp

[TODAY'S TOP STORIES] from [The Japan Times]

[japantimes.co.jp > Life in Japan > EDUCATION AND BILINGUAL]

Wednesday, Sept. 8, 2010
BILINGUAL

Despite the big spender image, Japanese actually love to save

By KAORI SHOJI

There's this image that the Japanese are drop-dead, go-all-out kaimono-chūdokusho (買い物中毒症, shopaholics), despite whatever the latest dreary news bulletin on the global recession says. While that may be true, it's also a fact of our collective lives that the Japanese hate spending, with every fiber of our being.

Call it the Japan paradox, or just plain perverse, but while many of us won't blink twice at buying some luxury-brand handbag — or blowing \10,000 on an Italian dinner, even though we're on extremely modest incomes — we're also adept at keeping our wallets tightly shut come flood or tsunami, or even the whirlwind that was Julia Roberts' first visit to Japan last month. The truth is that the Japanese are better at saving than spending — we have about 1,000 years of poverty and deprivation behind us, while the hankering to buy La Perla lingerie is less than three decades old.

There's also a notion that wealth in itself isn't necessarily bad, but flinging one's money about is tacky and unchic. "Seihin" (「清貧」) has always been a revered term, meaning "clean poverty," and alludes to a spirit strong enough to resist the triple corruptions of kane (金, money), onna (女, women, but in this case it refers to sex) and sake (酒, alcohol, but in this case it refers to rich foods and excessive drinking).

Not that those temptations were available to all and sundry. Until the nation opened its doors to the West, Japanese society operated on a class system that put the bushi (武士, warrior or samurai) first and shōnin (商人, merchants) last, since cash was considered kegarearu-mono (汚れあるもの, something tainted and dirty) and best left to the iyashii (卑しい, lowly). Many lower-class samurai doubled as hyakushō (百姓, farmers) — both from necessity and on principle (tilling the soil was a sacred occupation) — but rarely did they ever go into business.

In 1887, French naval officer and novelist Pierre Loti wrote in one of his observations of the Japanese that while Western technology never failed to dazzle them, they were much less enthralled by Western wealth.

We owe this ingrained, somewhat curmudgeonly stoicism to Tokugawa Ieyasu, who set up the shogunate in Edo (modern-day Tokyo) in 1603, kicked out the Christian missionaries and closed the country to outside influences. He also instilled most of the ideas of bushidō (武士道, the way of the samurai) as we know it today — including frugality, abstinence and longevity — in the ideal samurai lifestyle. Ieyasu lived to make it through the superviolent and chaotic sengoku (戦国, warring states) period of the 14th century — when he finally seized power and unified the country, he was over 70 and all his rivals were dead. Setsuyaku (節約, saving on resources) and keizoku (継続, continuity) were his watchwords; by all accounts he was infinitely patient, deeply strategic and hopelessly boring. Ah, the Japanese temperament! So now you know where we got it from.

Still, the Japanese can get pretty creative when it comes to saving — and a sizable hunk of Japanese culture has been devoted to the intricacies of that art. Classical literature devotes long pages and entire chapters to the state of konkyū (困窮, being squeezed for cash) and making things last. Old rakugo (落語, anecdotal storytelling) jokes almost always contain some aspect of poverty and the strategies for dealing with it. During the time he had his first apartment, my oldest brother came up with a way to make a single yoshi-gyū (吉牛, beef rice bowl from fast food restaurant Yoshinoya) cover two meals a day, for four consecutive days at a time. In our family, that record still holds.

Japanese women are generally thought to be better at setsuyaku than men. The first thing a woman does when she decides to up the numbers in her bank account is to hit the kitchen and make a tezukuri bento (手作り弁当, handmade lunch box) to take to work. This may not consist of anything more elaborate than rice and veggies, but it will save her from having to purchase her midday meal, thus saving anywhere between ¥500 and ¥1,000 a day. That's a maximum ¥5,000 a week, ¥20,000 a month and ¥240,000 a year.

A close friend openly professes that her hobby is chokin (貯金, saving money), and nothing gives her more pleasure than perusing the pages of her bank book. Upon learning this, men fall over themselves to ask her out and usually propose marriage at the speed of light. There's a term, "setsuyaku bijyo" (「節約美女」, "a money-saving beauty"), and in the Japanese scheme of things, one can't just go through life praying and loving and wearing great clothes a la Ms. Roberts. In good times and bad, in sickness and in health, the power to save is the greatest love of all.

news20100901jp

[TODAY'S TOP STORIES] from [The Japan Times]

[japantimes.co.jp > Life in Japan > EDUCATION AND BILINGUAL]

Wednesday, Sept. 1, 2010
BILINGUAL: KEYES' POINT

Believing the unbelievable causes goshin fears

By MICHAEL HOFFMAN

The fat, ungainly kensatsukan (検察官, prosecutor) rises and, without speaking, niramu (にらむ, glares at) the hikokunin (被告人, defendant). For a fleeting instant the chinmoku (沈黙, silence) in the hōtei (法廷, courtroom) is so deep that when Reiko Keyes, one of the six saibanin (裁判員, lay judges), inadvertently coughs slightly, the saibanin next to her starts almost as if a bomb has gone off.

"Nikunde ita (憎んでいた, You hated her). Correct?"

If the prosecutor hoped to kowagaraseru (怖がらせる, intimidate) the young defendant, he miscalculated — the hikokunin meets his gaze coolly enough.

"Correct."

"And you wanted to kill her. Correct?"

"Correct."

"But you didn't kill her. You purchased a knife, went to the place where you knew she'd be, intending to stab her to death — and yet you arrived to find her already dead! Already stabbed to death! Is this what you want us to believe?"

Taking no notice of the prosecutor's hiniku na kuchō (皮肉な口調, sarcastic tone), the young man replies reisei ni teinei ni (冷静に丁寧に, calmly and politely), "Yes, sir. That is what I ask the court to believe."

"Sonna bakana koto! (そんなばかなこと, Something as stupid as that!)."

The young man kata wo subomeru (肩をすぼめる, shrugs) and damaru (黙る, says nothing).

"Where's the knife?"

"Sutemashita （捨てました, I threw it away)."

"Why?"

"Yoku wakarimasen (よくわかりません, I'm not sure)."

"Why throw away a clean knife that would muzai wo shōmei suru (無罪を証明する, prove your innocence)?"

"I told you — I'm not sure."

"Where did you throw it?"

"Into the sea at Kamakura."

"Waza waza Kamakura ni itta (わざわざ鎌倉に行った, You made a special trip to Kamakura) to throw a clean, unused, unbloodied, perfectly innocent knife into the sea? I ask why and you say, ‘よくわかりません' — and expect that to be believed?"

"Nani mo kitai shite imasen (何も期待していません, I expect nothing)."

"Ijō desu (以上です, No further questions)."

Tazawa saibanchō(田沢裁判長, Chief Judge Tazawa) addresses the lay judges: "Saibansho kara hikokunin ni shitsumon shimasu (裁判所から被告人に質問します, The judges may now question the defendant). Saibanin kara mo nani ka areba dōzo shitsumon shite kudasai (裁判員からも何かあればどうぞ質問してください, Lay judges, too — if there is anything on your minds, please ask)."

Reiko and one other saibanin raise their hands. The other is the somewhat oroka na (おろかな, flaky) young man with whom Reiko had come into the courtroom on the first day of the trial. Judge Tazawa acknowledges the young man. "Dōzo (どうぞ, Go ahead)."

"I only wanted to ask… Kamisama wo shinjimasu ka (神様を信じますか, Do you believe in God)?"

The prosecutor leaps to his feet as fast as his bulk allows. "Igi ari (異議あり, Objection)! Futekisetsu (不適切, Irrelevant)!"

"Mitomemasu (認めます, Sustained)," says Tazawa, with a slight frown. "Hoka no shitsumon ga arimasu deshō ka (ほかの質問がありますでしょうか, Are there any other questions)?"

Reiko starts to raise her hand, then suddenly thinks better of it. Judge Tazawa looks questioningly at her. She shakes her head. Damatteiru hō ga ii (黙っているほうがいい, Better to say nothing), she thinks to herself.

"I was going to ask him," she confides to Stuart that night after the children and her mother are in bed, "if he wants to be found guilty — because I think he does."

"Well, there are psychological twists like that of course — but in that case why didn't he yūzai wo mitomeru (有罪を認める, plead guilty)?"

"I don't know. I don't understand him. His story is unbelievable. So why do I believe it? Am I crazy? I seem to be the only one who thinks he's muzai(無罪, not guilty). I'm afraid yūzai no hanketsu ga kudaru (有罪の判決が下る, he will be found guilty). And Stuart, if he is, it will be a dreadful goshin (誤審, miscarriage of justice)!"

"Hmm."

He'd hoped to raise the issue of Peter's sudden change of heart, his not wanting to Amerika ni ryūgaku suru (アメリカに留学する, go to school in the United States) after all because he had koi ni ochita (恋に落ちた, fallen in love) of all things — at 14! But with Reiko as kokoro wo ubawararete iru (心を奪われている, preoccupied) as she was, it hardly seemed the moment. But then, when was the moment?