With more than 600,000 words in the Oxford English Dictionary, how many of these would you expect to be Canadian? Six thousand? One thousand?
Try about 700.
The OED staff know their coverage of Canada falls short, so, earlier this year, they teamed up with Sali Tagliamonte, a U of T professor of linguistics. Tagliamonte is reviewing words and phrases from her research, and, with the help of one of her grad students, is compiling a list of candidate words for the OED.
She learned that a “goer,” for example, is a spirited child. And that in Timmins, Ontario, “miner’s mouth” refers to someone who swears a lot.
Having grown up in northern Ontario, Tagliamonte knew that a “soaker” is what you sometimes get when you step in a deep puddle or snowdrift. The word exists in the OED, but the Canadian sense does not appear among the definitions, which include “a drunkard,” “one who soaks something” and “a drenching rain.” Tagliamonte thought everyone knew her childhood meaning of the word — until she started her research. “You live in the north, there’s always deep snow in winter. Your feet get wet; it’s a soaker.” Turns out it’s a Canadianism.
She also knew that “a suck” is a whiny or sulking person. And a “bush party” occurs when friends gather in the woods around a campfire to drink and talk. These senses aren’t in the OED either.
Tagliamonte plans to submit these words along with dozens of others to the OED for consideration. To give the dictionary’s editors a sense of how frequently they’re used (which will help determine whether they will be included), she’ll provide counts for how many times each term appears in every 10 million words. “Many of them are very infrequent,” she says.
According to Katherine Connor Martin, the head of lexical content strategy for Oxford University Press, the dictionary team looks for new words — and assesses how meanings of existing words are changing — mostly by reading national newspapers and other major publications. This makes it difficult to track word use in more isolated rural areas, in specific neighbourhoods or among particular ethnic groups. “Because those words are not as visible, we rely on linguists such as Sali who are working with these language communities,” she says.
To be recorded as Canadian, Martin says, a word must be “overwhelmingly associated with Canada,” or have originated here. Some words become Canadian even though they came from elsewhere. “Parkade,” for instance, originated in the U.S., but is now chiefly used in western Canada and South Africa.
And even if a word itself is not Canadian, one of its meanings can be. An “atom,” for example, is a fundamental particle of matter, but in Canada, uniquely, it also refers to a level of sport for children.
What further complicates matters for the OED is that many Canadian words aren’t used across the country: you’re unlikely to hear anyone outside of Saskatchewan call a hooded sweatshirt a “bunnyhug.” And only in Quebec is a convenience store a “dep” (derived from dépanneur.)
“Words don’t follow national boundaries,” says Martin. “Some do, but a lot of them don’t.”
Establishing whether a word is Canadian is one matter, deciding if it gets into the dictionary is another. According to Martin, the editors assess the length of time the word has been in use (several years is usually a minimum) and its frequency of use over time.
The OED also takes into account where the word comes from, since words from smaller populations of speakers (such as Canada) won’t be used as frequently overall as those from larger ones (such as the United States).
Martin, who is American, encourages University of Toronto Magazine readers to contact the dictionary through Twitter or its website with words they think might be unique to Canada. “Anyone can give us their Canadian words,” she says.