破譯法國人的談話法則

MY kids have recently picked up a worrying French slang word: bim (pronounced “beam”). It’s what children say in the schoolyard here after they’ve proved someone wrong, or skewered him with a biting remark. English equivalents like “gotcha” or “booyah” don’t carry the same sense of gleeful vanquish, and I doubt British or American kids use them quite as often.

我的孩子們最近學會了一個令人擔心的法語俚語詞：bim（發音與英語的“beam”相似）。孩子們在校園裏證明別人犯了錯，或者用尖刻的話把對方駁得體無完膚時，就會說“bim”。英語裏類似的詞語“gotcha”或者“booyah”並沒有完全傳達出那種碾壓別人的喜悅。而且我也懷疑，英國和美國的孩子說這些詞並沒有那麼頻繁。

As an American married to an Englishman and living in France, I’ve spent much of my adult life trying to decode the rules of conversation in three countries. Paradoxically, these rules are almost always unspoken. So much bubbles beneath what’s said, it’s often hard to know what anyone means.

作爲一個嫁給英國人、目前生活在法國的美國人，我成年後的大把時間，都在努力破譯這三個國家語言交流的規則。可矛盾的是，這些規則幾乎總是心照不宣的。人們說出的話裏有太多掩飾，常常很難明白真實的用意。

I had a breakthrough on French conversation recently, when a French sociologist suggested I watch “Ridicule,” a 1996 French movie (it won the César award for best film) about aristocrats at the court of Versailles, on the eve of the French Revolution.

在理解法國式對話方面，我最近取得了重大進展。一位法國社會學家建議我看一看1996年的法國電影《荒謬無稽》(Ridicule)。這部片子贏得了凱撒獎的最佳影片獎項，講述了法國大革命前夕凡爾賽宮廷裏貴族的故事。

Life at Versailles was apparently a protracted battle of wits. You gained status if you showed “esprit” — clever, erudite and often caustic wit, aimed at making rivals look ridiculous. The king himself kept abreast of the sharpest remarks, and granted audiences to those who made them. “Wit opens every door,” one courtier explained.

凡爾賽宮的生活似乎就是漫長的脣槍舌劍，如果能展示出“esprit”——聰明、博學且時常很尖刻的機鋒，並讓其他人顯得可笑——那麼你就能贏得地位。國王本人也時刻關注着最犀利的言辭，而說出這種話的人會得到接見。一位侍臣解釋道，“機智能打開每一扇門。”

If you lacked “esprit” — or suffered from “l’esprit de l’escalier” (thinking of a comeback only once you had reached the bottom of the staircase) — you’d look ridiculous yourself.

但是，如果你缺乏“esprit”，或者遭遇“l’esprit de l’escalier”（走到樓梯最下面，纔想起如何反擊），那麼你自己就會顯得十分可笑。

Granted, France has changed a bit since Versailles. But many modern-day conversations — including the schoolyard cries of “Bim!” — make more sense once you realize that everyone around you is in a competition not to look ridiculous. When my daughter complained that a boy had insulted her during recess, I counseled her to forget about it. She said that just wouldn’t do: To save face, she had to humiliate him.

誠然，法國比起凡爾賽的時代已經發生了一些變化。但是當你意識到，周圍的所有人都在爲了不顯得可笑而奮力競爭，那麼當代的很多對話，包括校園裏高呼的“Bim!”，就都顯得合理了。我的女兒抱怨，一個男孩課間欺負了她，我建議她別在意這件事。但她說那是不行的：要想挽回面子，就必須羞辱回去。

Many children train for this at home. Where Americans might coo over a child’s most inane remark, to boost his confidence, middle-class French parents teach their kids to be concise and amusing, to keep everyone listening. “I force him or her to discover the best ways of retaining my attention,” the anthropologist Raymonde Carroll wrote in her 1987 book “Cultural Misunderstandings: The French-American Experience.”

許多孩子在家就接受了這種訓練。爲了激發孩子的信心，美國人對子女最愚蠢的言論或許都會柔聲讚許，但是法國中產階級父母卻會教導孩子要講話簡潔風趣，好讓所有人都願意聽。“我會強迫他或她，想方設法地吸引我的注意力，”人類學家雷蒙德·卡羅(Raymonde Carroll)在她1987年出版的《文化誤解：法國和美國的經驗》(Cultural Misunderstandings: The French-American Experience)一書中寫道。

This is probably worse in Paris, and among the professional classes. But a lot of French TV involves round-table discussions in which well-dressed people attempt to land zingers on one another. Practically every time I speak up at a school conference, a political event or my apartment building association’s annual meeting, I’m met with a display of someone else’s superior intelligence. (Adults don’t actually say “bim,” they just flash you a satisfied smile.) Jean-Benoît Nadeau, a Canadian who co-wrote a forthcoming book on French conversation, told me that the penchant for saying “no” or “it’s not possible” is often a cover for the potential humiliation of seeming not to know something. Only once you trust someone can you turn down the wit and reveal your weaknesses, he said. (I think the French obsession with protecting private life comes from the belief that everyone’s entitled to a humiliation-free zone.)

這種現象在巴黎，在專業階層當中或許更嚴重。不過，法國的很多電視節目都有圓桌討論的情形，讓衣着考究的嘉賓用尖刻的口吻相互嘲弄。在學校會議、政治活動，或者公寓樓居民協會的年會上發言時，我幾乎每次都會遇到別人炫耀高超的智力。（成年人並不會真的說出“bim”，只是臉上閃現出一絲滿意的微笑而已。）加拿大人讓-貝努阿·納多(Jean-Benoît Nadeau)與人合著了一本關於法國式談話的書，即將出版。他告訴我，愛說“不”、“不可能”的習慣，常常是爲了避免因爲看起來不知道某事而可能受到的羞辱。他說，只有當你信任某人時，才能不必那麼機智，袒露自己的弱點。（我想，法國人對保護私生活的偏執，源於他們認爲每個人都有權得到一個免受羞辱的空間。）

At least it’s not boring. Even among friends, being dull is almost criminal. A French entrepreneur told me her rules for dinner-party topics: no kids, no jobs, no real estate. Provocative opinions are practically required. “You must be a little bit mean but also a little bit vulnerable,” she said.

至少這樣聊天不會無聊。即使是在朋友之間，表現得無趣幾乎也是犯罪行爲。一名法國企業家告訴我，她爲聚餐話題立下的規矩是：不談孩子、不談工作、不談房地產。這實際上就需要提出爭議性的意見。她說，“必須要有一些惡毒，但也要有一些脆弱。”

It’s dizzying to switch to the British conversational mode, in which everyone’s trying to show they don’t take themselves seriously. The result is lots of self-deprecation and ironic banter. I’ve sat through two-hour lunches in London waiting for everyone to stop exchanging quips so the real conversation could begin. But “real things aren’t supposed to come up,” my husband said. “Banter can be the only mode of conversation you ever have with someone.”

切換到英國式的交談模式則會令人不知所措。在這種模式裏，人人都努力表現得不把自己當回事，結果就是大量的自嘲和諷刺性的調侃。在倫敦，我曾好幾次耐着性子堅持到兩個小時的午餐結束，一直等着所有人停止相互打趣，這樣才能開始真正的交談。但“可別以爲一定會談什麼實質內容，”我丈夫說。“和有的人，只存在戲謔這一種談話模式。”

Earnestness makes British people gag. Viewers respond to the “gushy, tearful” speeches of American actors at the Oscars with a “finger-down-throat ‘I’m going to be sick’ gesture,” writes Kate Fox, author of “Watching the English.” Moralizing politicians get this, too.

真誠會讓英國人嗆着。《觀察英國人》(Watching the English)的作者凱特·福克斯(Kate Fox)寫道，對美國演員在奧斯卡頒獎禮上“含淚發表的煽情”感言，英國觀衆會做出“把手指塞進喉嚨裏，表示‘我要吐了’的動作”。面對愛說教的政客，他們也不會客氣。

Even British courtships can be conducted ironically. “ ‘You’re just not my type,’ uttered in the right tone and in the context of banter, can be tantamount to a proposal of marriage,” Ms. Fox writes.

就連英國式的求愛，也可以在冷嘲熱諷中展開。“在戲謔語境下用恰當的語調說出‘你決不是我喜歡的類型’，簡直無異於求婚，”福克斯寫道。

Being ridiculous is sometimes required. The classic British hen night — a bachelor party for brides — involves groups of women wearing feather boas to a bar, then daring one another to “kiss a bald man” or “remove your bra without leaving the room.” Stumbling around drunk with friends — then recounting your misadventures for months afterward — is a standard bonding ritual.

有時候，表現得滑稽可笑是必須的。在傳統的英國女子婚前單身派對上，會有很多姑娘戴着羽毛圍巾前往酒吧，然後用激將法攛掇彼此“親吻一個禿頂男人”或是“當場脫掉內衣”。醉醺醺地和朋友一起出醜——然後在接下來的幾個月裏一直回顧自己當時做的糗事——是建立友情的標準儀式。

After being besieged by British irony and French wit, I sometimes yearn for the familiar comfort of American conversations, where there are no stupid questions. Among friends, I merely have to provide reassurance and mirroring: No, you don’t look fat, and anyway, I look worse.

被英國式的嘲諷和法國式的機智包圍後，我時不時會渴望美國式談話給人帶來的那種熟悉的舒適感。這種談話裏沒有問題會被認爲是愚蠢的。在朋友之間，我只需要寬慰對方，並拿自己做參照：不，你看起來不胖，而且不管怎樣，我看上去更遭。

It might not matter what I say, since some American conversations resemble a succession of monologues. A 2014 study led by a psychologist at Yeshiva University found that when researchers crossed two unrelated instant-message conversations, as many as 42 percent of participants didn’t notice. A lot of us — myself included — could benefit from a basic rule of improvisational comedy: Instead of planning your next remark, just listen very hard to what the other person is saying. Call it “mindful conversation,” if you like. That’s what the French tend to do — even if it ends with “bim.”

我說什麼可能根本不重要，因爲有些美式談話其實是一連串的獨白。葉史瓦大學(Yeshiva University)的一名心理學家在2014年牽頭進行的一項研究中發現，當研究人員將兩個不相干的即時通訊對話交叉在一起時，多達42%的參與者毫無察覺。我們中的很多人，包括我在內，可以從即興喜劇的一條基本規則中受益：與其構思接下來要說什麼，不如干脆非常認真地聽對方在說什麼。不妨稱之爲“用心交談”。法國人往往會這麼做，儘管最後會加上一個“bim”。