Don't sleep, there are snakes Life and language in the Amazonian jungle

Daniel Leonard Everett

Book - 2008

A linguist offers a thought-provoking account of his experiences and discoveries while living with the Pirahã, a small tribe of Amazonian Indians living in central Brazil and a people possessing a language that defies accepted linguistic theories and reflects a culture that has no counting system, concept of war, or personal property, and lives entirely in the present.

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Subjects
Published
New York : Pantheon Books c2008.
Language
English
Main Author
Daniel Leonard Everett (-)
Edition
1st ed
Physical Description
xviii, 283 p., [8] p. of plates : ill. (some col.), ports., music ; 25 cm
ISBN
9780307386120
9780375425028
  • Some Notes on the Pirahã Language as Used in This Book
  • Preface
  • Prologue
  • Part 1. Life
  • 1. Discovering the World of the Pirahãs
  • 2. The Amazon
  • 3. he Cost of Discipleship
  • 4. Sometimes You Make Mistakes
  • 5. Material Culture and the Absence of Ritual
  • 6. Families and Community
  • 7. Nature and the Immediacy of Experience
  • 8. A Teenager Named Túkaaga: Murder and Society
  • 9. Land to Live Free
  • 10. Caboclos: Vignettes of Amazonian Brazilian Life
  • Part 2. Language
  • 11. Changing Channels with Pirahã Sounds
  • 12. Pirahã Words
  • 13. How Much Grammar Do People Need?
  • 14. Values and Talking: The Partnership between Language and Culture
  • 15. Recursion: Language as a Matrioshka Doll
  • 16. Crooked Heads and Straight Heads: Perspectives on Language and Truth
  • Part 3. Conclusion
  • 17. Converting the Missionary
  • Epilogue: Why Care about Other Cultures and Languages?
  • Acknowledgments
  • Index
Review by Booklist Review

In 1977, Everett, a Christian missionary, took his young family to live with Brazil's remote Pirahã (pee-da-HAN) tribe, intending to learn their language and translate the Bible into it. Pirahã, however, was a little-understood linguistic anomaly that was difficult to master confusingly, Everett could find no equivalent for many seemingly universal concepts. After more than 30 years of study, he found himself increasingly fascinated by the Pirahã's unique worldview. Unable to convert them, he instead began questioning his own religious faith. The earlier chapters combine the urgency of adventure with the pleasure of intellectual discovery. Everett's own language is straightforward, and his examination of the complex relationship between the way we talk and the way we live is easy to follow. Later chapters on linguistics may be too specialized for general readers. And, unfortunately, Everett waits until the very end to write about his own apostasy. Yes, we can see it coming and we can appreciate his urge to not preach but, as he has just spent the book showing us, belief and speech must be considered together. Somewhat uneven, but still unforgettable.--Graff, Keir Copyright 2008 Booklist

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

The ways language and thought intertwine have long intrigued scientists. Does language shape the way we see the world? Does the world influence the structure of language? Do we think in words? Such lofty questions pondered in many an ivory tower would go unanswered without the mostly anonymous work of field linguists. These scholars venture into isolated communities and wrestle with culture shock, broken tape recorders and dysentery--all to learn an unfamiliar language from the ground up. Their work is painstaking, and no matter how smart or how educated they are, their projects must begin with the most elementary communicative tactics--they point at a rock or a tree or a bird, and whether they are in Australia's Western Desert, the remote islands of Indonesia or the jungles of Brazil, their interlocutor will respond, "rock" or "tree" or "bird" in the native tongue. Dan Everett's life as a field linguist began when he entered a Piraha village in the Amazonian jungle in December 1977. After being greeted by a happy, chattering crowd, he walked over to a man cooking on a small fire. First, he tapped his own chest and said, "Daniel," then he pointed at the animal being cooked on the fire. "KaixihI," said the man. Everett pointed at a stick. "XiI" said the man. Everett dropped the stick and said, "I drop the xii." "XiI xi bigI kIobIi," his new friend replied, meaning "stick it ground falls." Thus began 30 years of dedication to the Piraha and their native tongue, a mystifying system of sound and rules unrelated to any other language in the world. In this fascinating and candid account of life with the Piraha, Everett describes how he learned to speak fluent Piraha (pausing occasionally to club the snakes that harassed him in his Amazonian "office"). He also explains his discoveries about the language--findings that have kicked off more than one academic brouhaha. Everett learned that Piraha does not use what are supposed to be universal aspects of grammar, an observation that runs counter to linguistic dogma about how culture, the brain and language connect. For Everett, Piraha is evidence that culture plays a crucial and previously unacknowledged role in the creation of language. Everett's life with the Piraha cost him dearly. He almost lost two family members to malaria, and his first marriage broke down after years of highly productive shared field work. But life in the Amazon taught him a great deal about human nature, too, perhaps more about his own than that of the Piraha. Everett began his linguistic work as a Christian missionary, but the Piraha were marvelously impervious to his promise of a life with Jesus. They pointed out that Everett simply had no proof for the supernatural world he described, and in the end he found himself agreeing with them. He left the church, choosing a world that more honestly integrated his goals as a scholar with the world view of his Piraha friends--one where evidence matters. (Nov. 11) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by Library Journal Review

Everett (languages, literatures, & cultures, Illinois State Univ.) has crafted a fascinating account of his 30 years of linguistics work among the Piraha (pronounced pee-da-HAN) Indians, a tribal group living along the Maici and Marmelos Rivers in a remote area of western Brazil. Everett and his family first lived among the Piraha in 1977 as Christian missionaries. Although he had prepared for language learning through missionary field training, Everett's real interest in linguistic theories blossomed during his graduate study at Brazil's State University of Campinas. During his years among the Piraha, Everett has undertaken serious linguistic study and has discovered many interesting and unique aspects of the Piraha language, which is unrelated to any other. The language has a paucity of vowels (three) and consonants (eight), but it has a complex system of varying tones and stresses. It lacks numbers or any type of counting system and also lacks specific terms for colors. Everett's findings about the language have led him to challenge some of the most widely accepted theories put forth by renowned linguists Noam Chomsky and Stephen Pinker. With a clear, detail-rich writing style, Everett provides evocative ethnographic descriptions of Piraha life and culture as well as perceptive linguistic analysis. Throughout, he emphasizes the interconnectedness of language and culture and the importance of studying both together if one wants to understand either. This excellent study is highly recommended for linguistics and anthropology collections in academic and large public libraries [See Prepub Alert, LJ 8/08.]-Elizabeth Salt, Otterbein Coll. Lib., Westerville, OH (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review by Kirkus Book Review

Rich account of fieldwork among a tribe of hunter-gatherers in Brazil. In 1977, the author was a 27-year-old Christian missionary determined to convert the Pirah, a group of 300 living along the Maici River in the Amazon rainforest. Everett (Languages, Literatures, and Cultures/Illinois State Univ.) shares the discoveries he made over the course of three decades, during which he spent a total of seven years with these simple, hardy and seemingly endlessly happy people. The Pirah have no rituals, no art, no myths and no concern about the future, and they spend much time laughing, he writes; they live in the present moment and believe "life is good." Aspiring to translate the Bible into Pirah, Everett gradually learned the difficult language, which is tonal like Chinese and has an unusually small set of phonemes: three vowels and eight consonants. The author found that the Pirah could often simply dispense with their phonemes and sing, hum or whistle conversations. Drawing on his doctoral training in linguistics, the author argues that the language emerges from the tribe's culture and contradicts the prevailing notionbased on linguist Noam Chomsky's theory of a universal grammarthat biology accounts for the evolution of human grammars. Everett's views on the significant role culture plays in language, which have been controversial since they were first expressed in academic journals in the 1980s, are nicely explicated here and will introduce non-specialists to the fascinating ongoing debate about the origin of languages. He believes the Pirahs' emphasis on living in the moment so shapes their lives that they base their perception of reality solely on direct experience. (Hence their reaction to Everett's stories about Christ: "Have you met this man?") Not only did the missionary fail to convert the Pirah; he lost his own faith, won over by the appeal of "life without absolutes." Despite his understated style, Everett's experiences and findings fairly explode from these pages and will reverberate in the minds of readers. Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Prologue "Look! There he is, Xigagaí, the spirit." "Yes, I can see him. He is threatening us." "Everybody, come see Xigagaí. Quickly! He is on the beach!" I roused from my deep sleep, not sure if I was dreaming or hearing this conversation. It was 6:30 on a Saturday morning in August, the dry season of 1980. The sun was shining, but not yet too hot. A breeze was blowing up from the Maici River in front of my modest hut in a clearing on the bank. I opened my eyes and saw the palm thatch above me, its original yellow graying from years of dust and soot. My dwelling was flanked by two smaller Pirahã huts of similar construction, where lived Xahoábisi, Kóhoibiíihíai, and their families. Mornings among the Pirahãs, so many mornings, I picked up the faint smell of smoke drifting from their cook fires, and the warmth of the Brazilian sun on my face, its rays softened by my mosquito net. Children were usually laughing, chasing one another, or noisily crying to nurse, the sounds reverberating through the village. Dogs were barking. Often when I first opened my eyes, groggily coming out of a dream, a Pirahã child or sometimes even an adult would be staring at me from between the paxiuba palm slats that served as siding for my large hut. This morning was different. I was now completely conscious, awakened by the noise and shouts of Pirahãs. I sat up and looked around. A crowd was gathering about twenty feet from my bed on the high bank of the Maici, and all were energetically gesticulating and yelling. Everyone was focused on the beach just across the river from my house. I got out of bed to get a better look--and because there was no way to sleep through the noise. I picked my gym shorts off the floor and checked to make sure that there were no tarantulas, scorpions, centipedes, or other undesirables in them. Pulling them on, I slipped into my flip- flops and headed out the door. The Pirahãs were loosely bunched on the riverbank just to the right of my house. Their excitement was growing. I could see mothers running down the path, their infants trying to hold breasts in their mouths. The women wore the same sleeveless, collarless, midlength dresses they worked and slept in, stained a dark brown from dirt and smoke. The men wore gym shorts or loincloths. None of the men were carrying their bows and arrows. That was a relief. Prepubescent children were naked, their skin leathery from exposure to the elements. The babies' bottoms were calloused from scooting across the ground, a mode of locomotion that for some reason they prefer to crawling. Everyone was streaked from ashes and dust accumulated by sleeping and sitting on the ground near the fire. It was still around seventy- two degrees, though humid, far below the hundred- degree- plus heat of midday. I was rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I turned to Kóhoi, my principal language teacher, and asked, "What's up?" He was standing to my right, his strong, brown, lean body tensed from what he was looking at. "Don't you see him over there?" he asked impatiently. "Xigagaí, one of the beings that lives above the clouds, is standing on the beach yelling at us, telling us he will kill us if we go to the jungle." "Where?" I asked. "I don't see him." "Right there!" Kóhoi snapped, looking intently toward the middle of the apparently empty beach. "In the jungle behind the beach?" "No! There on the beach. Look!" he replied with exasperation. In the jungle with the Pirahãs I regularly failed to see wildlife they saw. My inexperienced eyes just weren't able to see as theirs did. But this was different. Even I could tell that there was nothing on that white, sand Excerpted from Don't Sleep, There Are Snakes: Life and Language in the Amazonian Jungle by Daniel L. Everett All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.