The poetics of Appalachia talk

& thoughts on American accents

Southerners are natural storytellers.

I think of this every time I visit my mom’s family, who come from the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains.

Each time, I’m told the story of a great aunt who refused to go to the outhouse alone as a child, afraid Jesus might come back while she was gone and take the family “home” without her.

I’m told of another great aunt who played chicken, resting her toes on the log while her brother was splitting wood. He chopped one of her toes clear off, and they soothed the wound with a poultice made from fireplace soot.

I’m told of my great-grandfather, strong but silent, who would let the grandchildren tag along when he went to play checkers in the town square.

He’d never announce when it was time to go. He’d simply stand and put on his hat, and they would file behind him like ducklings.

Then there are tales of my great-grandmother, who was somehow always washing dishes when you arrived, flinging suds from her arms as she hugged you.

She dropped a dish and prayed the day her radio announced that Pearl Harbor had been bombed. Three of her sons were there. All three survived.

Talking the talk

Most of these stories came from my grandmother. I could never do her stories justice when I’d tell them because it’s not so much what she said but how she said it—that staccato yet sing-song rhythm of speech that sounded like the picking of a banjo.

She would widen her “i”s and harden her “r”s and pepper in phrases like “plumb tuckered” and “lord-ah-mercy.” Some of this is characteristic of Appalachian dialect.

But then there were things that only she did—the way she’d make an admonishing “MM-mm” sound whenever someone did something she didn’t like. She had a way of saying everything without saying anything at all.

This, I’ve learned, is called an idiolect. Unlike a dialect that we share with those around us, an idiolect is our own unique way of speaking. Party of one.

Idiolects & Love is Blind

The other day, a friend and I watched Love is Blind with sleep masks on (highly recommend; thank you Instagram for the idea), and I realized just how much you can learn about a person by the way they speak alone.

Since moving to Madrid, I pay more attention to these things. My favorite game is to watch strangers approaching on the street and guess the language they’re speaking by the way their mouths are moving. I find that the moment I’m close enough to hear them talk, the picture clicks into focus, and the impression they leave becomes so much stronger.

And it’s not surprising. So much of our history and personality is woven into the way we speak. I think of my American friend who lived in London for some time and occasionally says “d’you know what?” with a slight British twang. Or my dad who, despite years of correction, prefers to call “!” an “explanation point.”

Enter: internet speak

Most linguists agree that regional dialects are fading in the US. I imagine it’s due to the internet and our widespread connectedness.

In fact, if anything, accents may be following social platforms more than regions. There have been articles about a distinct “TikTok voice” (why isn’t it called TikTalk???) that involves vocal fry and ending sentences like questions to keep the listener engaged.

But I imagine that idiolects are still alive and well. Sure, the internet is creating a style that’s easy to lean on, but we’re always going to have our idiosyncrasies, aren’t we?

I, for one, hope that’s true.

So let this be your invitation to listen for the idiolects of the people around you, and most importantly, to embrace your own! Explanation point!

🐱
Emma

PS—This post was inspired by a poem I wrote about my grandmother that was recently published in The Shore. You can read the poem here if you fancy.

And if you want to deep dive into US dialects, this dialect coach’s tour of accents is a treat.