Me and the Umlaut

The umlaut and I have never gotten along.

I don't seem to be able to wrap my tongue around the particular sound of a long “o” and along “a”, pronounced simultaneously with my lips pursed. It just doesn't come out right.

 This problem began with a college course in the Romantic period of literature.

After sighing sadly over the losses of Keats to tuberculosis and Shelley to the Mediterranean, we moved on to the German Romantics.

I was intrigued. They were appealingly healthy and robust and not inclined to die easily.

I read the sorrows of Young Werther and Faust, written by the supreme German Romantic writer. His name was G-o-e-t-h-e.

I suppose you noticed that I spelled rather than pronounced his name. I happened to be dating a fellow who was studying German. I proudly told him about my reading. I named the author.

He winced. “ Whoa. That's not even close to the way you pronounce his name. The vowel sound is like an umlaut – a simple diphthong – and you have to purse your lips and say the “o” and the “a” together at the same time. Let me show you.”

Needless to say, this small achievement eluded me. And continued to every time I attempted to pronounce a German word with an “o”, “u” or “a” followed by an “e” or with an umlaut over it.

My date, who I was seeing quite a bit of, just couldn't believe that I couldn't master such a simple concept.

So I did what any pronunciation challenged person would do: if I couldn't skip those umlauted words I just spelled them out.

It’s 50 years later and that same guy is sitting across from me muttering at a newscaster who is mispronouncing the German chancellor’s name.

That's fine with me. After all, I can say her name pretty well. There’s no umlaut in Angela Merkel.