Wiard Raveling, a former teacher of modern languages, has become a prolific writer since his retirement in 2004. In the spring “Edition Zugvögel”, the new imprint of Elsinor Verlag, Coesfeld, published two to his books: a short one entitled Englisch, jetzt Englisch, nur noch Englisch. (Wie Deutsche und Franzosen mit Anglizismen umgehen.) Eine Streitschrift, in which he argues to deal rationally rather than emotionally or dogmatically with the influx of Anglophone words; and a collection of essays in which he points out the importance of laughter, the importance of humour in everyday life. Both books have inspired our guest blogger, Fenna Reus, to share her ideas with the English- and German-speaking communities. In fact, she wrote the English blog first before translating it into German.

While Wilde is funnily missing from the index of Versuch und Irrtum – Trial and Error. I laugh, so this is why I am, there are some funny quotes in the alphabetically ordered list, culminating in the well-known: “I’m so clever sometimes I don’t understand a single word of what I’m saying.”

So have fun reading the first blog-post.

All best wishes,

Jörg W. Rademacher

 

Fluent in getting it wrong – What if your biggest linguistic asset were your mistakes?

From mispronouncing unfamiliar names to hesitating in politically sensitive conversations, the fear of saying something awkward, controversial, or just plainly wrong runs deep—especially among Germans. What begins with honourable intentions soon reveals itself as a hindrance to genuine, heartfelt exchange. Instead of submitting to rigid political correctness dogmas or plunging headlong into an endless Anglicism-race, Wiard Raveling proposes a different path: one that remains critical without ever losing its sense of playfulness. More importantly, not only does it only tolerate “errors” as a natural by-product of direct communication, but it gladly welcomes them as a means of building trust, sparking creativity and uncovering truths that only unexpected slips can reveal.

In his essay collection “Versuch und Irrtum – Trial and Error”, Wiard Raveling illustrates through real-life anecdotes that “trial and error” is not just a helpful method but the very imperative of language learning. Even a speaker with advanced English skills will almost certainly mangle the pronunciation of Worcester—saying anything but “Wooster.” Raveling lines up dozens of examples like this to show that we all assume we know a word’s “correct” sound…until, alas, we don’t. The key essence is: One would assume to know the right pronunciation – until being told otherwise. Making mistakes therefore lies within language itself: Knowing these slight variations and nuances does not come from learning a strict rule book. Instead, language learning happens when engaging with speakers and paying attention to detail.

Language is not a system to master but a space to explore. Those who cling to the Duden for safety the moment an Anglicism invades their linguistic safe space will sooner or later have to make peace with the fact that language evolves beyond one individual’s control. Not only does this defensive stance prove a misunderstanding of how language works but it also reflects a surprisingly outdated view of linguistic reality. Monolingualism is the exception, not the rule. In Raveling’s polemic pamphlet “Englisch, jetzt Englisch, nur noch Englisch”, he diagnoses what he calls the modern “Anglomanie” (p. 59) —an unreflective mania for English borrowings that functions as a new kind of normative pressure, almost as rigid as political correctness dogmas are. Instead, he champions critical serenity: a playful, context-sensitive testing of each foreign term, adopting it when it enriches expression, discarding it when it rings hollow. He discards both the unreflective use of Anglicisms, but also a strict “anti-Anglicisms” policy like France’s ever-updated lists of French neologisms meant to replace English borrowings—because, as he bluntly puts it, he is “allergisch gegen Menschen, die auf oberflächlichste und am wenigsten reflektierte Weise der politischen Korrektheit des Zeitgeistes Folge leisten” (p. 49), meaning he feels allergic when faced with people who in a highly superficial and hardly reflected way pay lip-service to the political correctness of the Zeitgeist.

Raveling calls for differentiated criticism rather than sweeping judgements. He revisits a 1992 newspaper joke—one that would likely provoke outrage today—to show that political incorrectness must be read in context. Rather than branding something as outright wrong, he advocates for a nuanced approach that considers not only what is said, but who says it, how, and in what setting. This does not exempt us from critical reflection; quite the opposite. Rejecting absolute truths demands deeper thought and intellectual independence.

 

Laughter as a Lingua Franca

“Ich lache, also bin ich”. No language is as universal as the language of laughter. While there is no unified definition of humour, laughter is a human response and a powerful tool in order to foster greater acceptance of mistakes. If we are willing to embrace the stumbles of language, we should also embrace the laughter they spark. Raveling manages to capture that light-heartedness through the collection of funny quotes in his eponymous chapter, as well as in the collection of Limericks, which are short, humorous five-line poems with a distinctive rhythm and an AABBA rhyme scheme, often featuring playful or absurd content. Humour does not need to be high-brow in order to be entertaining. Sometimes a simple rhyme or a play on words does the trick. This realisation is necessary for another point Raveling makes: That some things are just funny. Not every joke requires a page-long reflection before we allow ourselves to laugh. A more open and light-hearted approach to humour keeps us honest—and human.

More importantly, humour initiates and improves communication. Laughter lowers the stakes of speaking, especially when making mistakes, because it eases tension and gently reminds us: perfection is overrated.

How we handle our own and others’ mistakes influences our ability to enhance our language skills. If we handle mistakes in a non-judgemental way as Raveling suggests, language learning has the chance of becoming an even more uniting and engaging experience. We may shed the fear of speaking with native speakers, the anxiety of imperfect phrasing, and the impulse to self-censor. In doing so, we create space for something deeper: the recognition that mistakes reveal our shared humanity—and with that recognition comes a gentler way of treating one another.

That vision shines through in Raveling’s essay collection. He shares real-life encounters with people bold enough to engage naturally. Consider Marron C. Fort—a Black man from Boston driven by a passion for the nearly-extinct Saterland Frisian—who’s mastered several East Frisian dialects simply by talking to people. He even quips that locals can’t help but flash a look of surprise when they first meet him, momentarily forgetting his unexpected appearance.

What Wiard Raveling suggests should be self-evident and common practice. Handling communication in a humorous and playful way instead of blaming each other for imperfection is what he advocates for. Instead of focusing on the final outcome, we should rather value good intentions and authenticity. Language is all about trying, stumbling, and trying again—and being open enough to rethink and redo as we go. More than rules and syntax, it is a mindset of growth that truly powers language learning.

After all, the only truly fatal error is saying nothing at all—so let’s trade silent perfection for uproarious “Wooster” catastrophes. In Raveling’s world, every linguistic misstep is not a crime but a ticket to genuine connection…and comic gold.

Fenna Reus