Far West in the Far East: On learning Chinese characters

Ostensibly, I’m in China to learn the language. There are many other reasons for being here, but learning Mandarin gives me both a focus and a distraction, and I’ve found the most mental stimulation and solace in learning the characters.
Right now, I know about 150 of them. In order to read a newspaper, I’ll need to know between two and three thousand, so I’ve a ways to go. However, I’m learning between eight and ten new ones per day, and slowly the gibberish around me is taking on form and meaning.
The repetition of writing the same characters over and over into thin-papered books with large squares meant for third-graders to practice in is oddly satisfying and meditative. Often when I close my eyes at night, characters scratch themselves onto the insides of my eyelids. I feel like they are a code that I need to crack, and indeed as I learn more of the basics I’m able to understand other characters more rapidly. .

There are many brilliant compounds that I delight in: the character for crisis, for example, is a combination of the characters for “danger” and “opportunity.” Star is a combination of “sun” and “birth.” Man, “strength” plus “field.” Of course, for every thought-provoking compound there is an equally puzzling one: the symbol for sea is simply the character for “constant” with a water radical added on. I like to think of something poetic-sounding such as “the constant sea” to help me remember it, but how it evolved I don’t know.

For now, occasionally when I walk down the street I feel like a series of lights pop on – each light a new character I understand. Pop! “Day.” Pop! “Hot.” Pop! “Milk” (the character for cow, plus a combo character than includes the symbol for female). It’s like a scene in some grammar nerd’s personal musical. Of course, there are other times when I look at the seemingly endless variety of unintelligible characters, and I feel very, very tired.

Chinese Tattoos: Funky Translations

Chinese lettering is so art-like, so lovely. I bought a scroll of a Chinese poem when we were living in Taiwan and it now hangs on our wall. The translation in English was written on a piece of paper and paper clipped to the scroll. I assume that the translation is accurate. As lovely as the writing looks, however, beware when heading to a tattoo parlor. Make sure that what gets inked in your skin says what you want it to say–or thereabouts. The problem is that Chinese doesn’t translate to English word for word all that well. For example, since we couldn’t read the local movie listings when we lived in Taiwan, the only way we could ever figure out what was playing was if we described what the movie was about to our Chinese friends and they could let us know what movie title came close to what we described.

As Chris Mitchell points out in “Tattoos Gone Bad: Engrish in Reverse,” Chinese characters, when used as a direct translation from English, can make missives worthy of a laugh. One of his favorites is “Inferior goods.” Since the tattoo is over someone’s backside, the joke is even more poignant. Mitchell cites the blog, Hanzi Smatter, dedicated to the misuse of Chinese characters, as one of his favorites for Chinese language butchering. The photo is from the last entry on this blog. According to Tian, the blogger, one of the characters doesn’t exist, and one is upside down.