Axiom: SRS is by far the most effective vocabulary learning method I’ve ever seen.

Corollary: There is no way I could have learned nearly as much vocabulary with my usual laid back attitude.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy spending most of my life propping up the idea that “if a word wants me bad enough it will find a way to attach itself”. It’s modest reward for scarce effort and I like it that way. There is so much more worth doing in life than learning lots of words. But there are times when a quick uptake of vocabulary is pretty crucial, namely in the opening stages of a new language. It’s when you put in a lot of effort and consequently, where seeing results matters a whole lot. But it matters not only for motivation. It also greatly impacts the quality of your early learning process if you can absorb the core vocabulary quickly.

I found this out last year when I was starting on Italian and I realized I had learned lots of not-all-that-interesting-but-important words that would have taken me several times longer without SRS. To my good fortune, I knew about Anki and I had read enough plaudits to try it.

Still, there is a problem. Anki may be effective, but I wouldn’t call it fun. In fact, it’s awfully tedious. So much so that even though I appreciate how helpful it is, most days I just can’t persuade myself to click the icon that launches it. I get little thrill from returning to the same words that I saw yesterday and couldn’t remember then. Plus the interaction itself is highly tedious; clicking those buttons like it’s some kind of psychological survey, trying each time to pick the most appropriate choice.

Making it more fun

Alright, how? Khatzumoto writes about timeboxing and SRS tirelessly, and after reading through most of that I was ready to try it out. The idea is to go from “man this is boring, how much longer?” to “I only have 5 minutes, how much can I get done?” and it sounds like it’s never going to work. And yet.. okay, have you ever stayed at a nice place on vacation for just a bit too long, so much so you get bored? The idea is to leave wanting more, it’s basic showmanship. Timeboxing, believe it or not, adds that element of urgency to the mix. You give yourself 5 minutes for Anki and that means you only have 5 minutes, however many decks you have.

Yeah, it’s weird. But here’s what it looks like to me. Before timeboxing I would start up Anki, gaze at all the decks I have and all the cards that are up for review and sigh. “What a pain it’s gonna be to review all that.” Now, all of a sudden, I have a different reaction. “Alright, I have all these decks, which one do I most want?” Then I start on one and keep going for a while, but not for too long since I also want to cover other ground. The 5 minutes is almost up and I still want to get more done so it ends up being 7 minutes. 7 minutes,  which prior to timeboxing, seemed like a century of Anki.

Decks – how to plan them out?

You could just put everything in one giant deck, but I don’t like that idea. I did that at first and I found out that I like to have some notion of the context where the information was from. Is it from a textbook, a vocabulary list on a particular topic, from reading or watching stuff (ie. passive learning) or what? That gives me a choice; I can pay close attention to some vocabulary set that’s important right now. And if a particular deck is just annoying me I can remove it completely.

It’s also a way to manage my morale. If I review lots of cards from a tough deck and I can’t remember anything (ie. the thing that makes me unhappy), I can counter that with an easy deck where I win easy points.

Behold, a valid sentence in Polish:

- Je.

In context:

- Co robi? (What’s he doing?)
- Je. (He’s eating.)*

In Polish verbs reflect the actor, so “je” is the singular, present form of eat. This makes saying “he’s eating” (On je.) unnecessary because the he is already given in the form of the verb.

Behold, the same in French:

- Il mange. (He’s eating.)
- Ils mangent. (They’re eating.)

Same story? Not quite. You see, in Polish you pronounce every single letter. In French you don’t. Il mange and Ils mangent sound exactly alike (singular and plural). Which means it’s impossible to infer from that sentence alone what the hell is happening.

Let’s step back and think about that for a while. Here you have all these verb forms that change depending on the pronoun. But they’re pronounced the same anyway. So what the hell is the point? Ils mangent is no more insightful in speech than Ils mange would have been. It’s only in writing that it makes a difference. And in writing there’s obviously no need to have the special form because the pronoun is sitting right next to it!

Let’s try the first sentence again:

- Mange. (Pronounced the same whether it’s je, tu, il/elle, ils/elles.)

Now, despite the fact that you have all these different forms, the only thing you can rule out is that it isn’t nous or vous. Very insightful, isn’t it?

Incroyable!

* Can also be “she” or “it”.

Have you noticed that every language seems to deamonize a particular letter of the alphabet? Users of the language either refuse to pronounce it, or they pronounce it as a different sound, or they banish it altogether.

Polish

Polish has excommunicated the V. This is really strange, because all its linguistic neighbors use the V all the time. All words get rewritten with Ws instead.

Norwegian

Norwegian vowels are heavy, industrial strength. Somehow this has made the O into a Polish U or an English OO. To compensate for this lacking, the Å was invented as a makeshift O.

English

English has caught onto the fact that V and W are really the same sound, and have co-opted the W for a completely different sound. Polish has a ready made letter for this sound: the Ł.

English also disfavors the J, and uses the Y as a J when need be.

Needless to say, the R was mutated into a sound that defies definition. This is lost on many English natives who plainly assume that the crazy English R is the standard for all languages.

French

French refuses to pronounce the H, yet it keeps using it in written form.

French also uses the J as a Polish Ż.

The R, of course, is the most eccentric of them. It was made into a gargling sound that stings the throat.

Dutch

Dutch will pronounce the G only as an H. And the H.. er.. also as an H. It may be that the G and the H are slightly different in speech, but if so it still eludes me how.

Spanish

Spanish doesn’t like the J. In its place it improvised the LL (but also the Y is used for this). The J is used as an H, in place of the real H, which refuses to be pronounced. Sounds pretty obsessive, doesn’t it?

And the V becomes a B, depending on who you ask.

Italian

Like all its latin friends, Italian pretends the H doesn’t exist, but still keeps writing it.

Dutch words love double vowels. We don’t have that in Norwegian, we have the opposite – double consonants. When there’s one, the preceding vowel is long, when there’s two it’s short.

hele - the whole

helle – to pour

The pronounciation is distinct.

In Dutch you have double vowels that sort of maybe sometimes are pronounced differently than single ones, but if so I can’t tell. So to me it’s like they pop up for no apparent reason. I have no clue when to expect them, it’s a hassle. Or if I’m actually pronouncing it right.

hel – hell (and many more meanings)

heel – a whole

Maybe I misunderstood the meaning, but that’s not the point. The point is that they sound the same to me. Now take a word like this.

helemaal – completely

How the frick am I supposed to know the multiplicity here? Double the first e, the second e, or maybe the a?

If you think it’s just the last vowel that doubles..

heelal – space

I remember my English teachers always told us it’s fine whether we prefer the British or the American spelling, so long as we’re consistent. Perhaps I could apply the same principle here?