So, admit it, we're getting lazy and illiterate. When we pick up a book from the "good old days" before the beginning of the Century (20th, that is) we notice that there are many foreign words and phrases sprinkled about. And, mirabile dictu, many people, even folks like us, once understood those foreign things. Well, back then people did and expected them in their stories.
        Now, of course, English has become the standard worldwide wherever American dollars are found. Does that mean that we can just ignore the many other lingoes that abound? It's tempting. Just as many folks will do nothing at all with their wondrous computers except swap e-mail gossip, many writers today tend to plow down the middle of the rhetorical field, oblivious of the ripened thickets of culture on either side. Some culture, I might add, that represents their own heritage.
        Spice is the spice of . . . Oh, yes, never start a sentence without an exit strategy. What I meant is that throwing in foreign phrases (or even scientific stuff) can be the raisins in the cookie. And it can be a shortcut, which we always need when we deal with that German fellow, Fifteen-hundred Word Max. I deal with that in a moment.
        How scary is it to venture out into the linguistic sea? Let's look at a piece of late 19th Century fiction. What do we find? Well, there's "pied à terre," which, if you look it up, means "foot on the ground." Now, what would you call it in English? It means a temporary pad or place to live. But, it means more. Like the codfish you bring home from the market, it carries with it an essence. It smacks slightly of the Bohemian, for those of you who remember what that means. It suggests struggling students in a cold-water flat with a gas ring and Mimi dying. What simple English phrase says that?
        And then, there's hors  d'oeuvres. (No, Harvey, it's not pronounced "horse doovers!") What does that mean in English? Lots of things. Every hostess has a different idea of what to feed her guests to cut back on the cost of the main event and the booze. Ask ten what they usually serve. Or, ask, simply, did you have hors d'oeuvres? That condenses a whole lot of ideas into one phrase. It's multum in parvo, as the Romans would have said if they had spoken Latin instead of their regional dialects like Tuscan. Much in little.
        No, I'm not selling French as a replacement for English. After all, a modern French word, seen even on signs in Paris, is le hamburger. (To be fair, the British call it "The Great American Disaster.") So, language usage can be a Zweibahnstrasse (two-way street). Which is a cultural threat, since it tends to make young people forget their tradition of broiled kidneys and black pudding. And snails.
        Where do we insert a foreign phrase? We can use them in stories which have foreign venues, for instance. That's where the shortcut comes in. They suggest to your readers that you have really, really been there. Even if you say, "Kocka leze dirou." Well, I was there, although I learned very little Czech at the time. But telling our readers that "he was standing on Heiligestrasse waiting for the mysterious lady in Saran" does make the reader remember that you were talking about Germany. Or the Cornice in Alexandria, which is not a ledge
above the windows of a city tenement, but a waterfront walk. The smells and trees and crowds

 and history are all there in a few words anchored by a little phrase.
        Now, it doesn't have to be restricted to this planet. At times, I have referred to "borgs" in my science fiction. That's Throosian for a big, ugly, doglike animal. We know what Tolkien has done, on our very own planet but at a never-time that we all remember. And that creator of what is elsewhere and elsewhen simultaneously, Dr. Seuss. What are "zummers?" Now we know.
        Okay, try it. It's fun. You can easily change a "place" to a city by chucking in some words of dialogue that you might hear there. Yiddish in New York, French in New Orleans, Spanish in Albuquerque or California, Old English in Maine, NASCAR in Alabama. But do resist the temptation to sound like an educated rico from the Gay Nineties by using the more obscure "bouleversement" or "Auberglaube" or "anguis in herba." Hey, who are you trying to impress?
        One word (well, many) about slang. While slang, foreign or domestic, may serve as well as the more accepted language, it has a weakness. It is dated. How many people today even remember what a "boater" is? If we can so quickly forget the "cute" phrases of our past, imagine what oblivion will befall similarly pithy slang from other cultures? Best let slang alone. If you have the good fortune to write works that last for generations, best stick to prose that will mean the same thing in times to come as it now does.
        After all, what we want of our writing is immortality. If we wanted fame and fortune instead, we'd take up another hobby, like "gandy dancing." Which, again, is a defunct slang term.
    
                And furthermore…
   
        Oh, yeah. “Kocka leze dirou” means “the cat is crawling through the hole.” As you can imagine, it suggests other things, if you understand the rest of the song.
        Now before Cynthia grabs this away from me, let me throw in a few perennial favorites for the season.
  
¡Feliz Navidad!
    
Buon Natale!
  
Fröhliche Wienachten!
  
And a Happy New Year to you all!