However, a contradiction seems to appear by the end of the passage. Wallace, who worked as a professor, gives an example of a spiel he would give some of his students that were deficient in what is considered SWE. He says, “I’m not going to let you write in SBE… In my class, you will have to learn and write in SWE.” I was a bit surprised when I read this, as this portion of his speech seemingly disputes all that he argued before in the essay. However, as I read the entire essay again, I found it evident that Wallace is instead looking at the utility of SWE, which he finds unfortunately to be the only dialect one can use if they want to be taken seriously in the United States.

In David Foster Wallace’s Authority and American Usage, Wallace continually uses profound ideas about American dialects, which effectively allows him to get his point across, which at times seemed quite confusing.

I look down at my phone, the light glaring into my eyes, and as I look away, everything is momentarily invisible once again, and my pupils readjust each time. I look up and see a telephone on the wall and wonder when it was last used and by whom. “Who would make a call in here?” I think to myself. I feel myself become hot, and take off my hoodie. Looking around the room, I see the source of the heat: long radiators flank the sidewalls, keeping the room warm even when no one was expected to be there. There’s another door to the right of me, I remember trying to get in through there one time and not being able too; I fear that walking out that door may trigger some alarm so I find it best to keep some distance, especially as the fire alarm sits right next to it.

Leaving Shaw, I make my way to the Dance Studio, put my wallet up to the ID scanner, and the door clicks open. I feel a blow of warm air overcome me as I walk into the dark room.

To the left of that, I notice two more bathrooms. “Why are there two sets of bathrooms for this small room?” I wonder. There must be a reason, but it isn’t quite clear to me.

All I hear are the voices on the other line, and looking around the room, I notice more and more. I notice the trash that was left by some student earlier that day; I notice a water bottle with someone’s name written on it. Looking at the wall to the left of me, I see the reflections on the mirror of the windows across from it, the bright yellow light from Medeiros giving some small amounts of light to the room. The cross pattern of the windows makes odd shadows that sprawl the room, and the white keys of the piano can still be seen.

I can just think to myself, I can imagine myself anywhere in the world at any time, because in that moment, I am not really in a random dance studio on a college campus. I am wherever I want to be, make it back in New York with my friends, in Ireland or Israel with my family, or anywhere that my mind takes me. My reliance on this room to be my sanctuary becomes taken for granted, and I know that I will really be the only person here at this hour. During the day, this place is completely different for me as I see the groups of dancers practicing in the light. In that moment, it is really just a random dance studio on a college campus. Only when it is late and the lights are off does it really become mine. Like this:Like Loading...

The Renunciation

That I cherish a hope—in fact a dream—of knowing it well. I don’t tell her that I’m looking for a way to keep alive a language that has nothing to do with my life. That I am tortured, that I feel incomplete. As if Italian were a book that, no matter how hard I work, I can’t write.

They tolerate my mistakes. They correct me, they encourage me, they provide the words I lack. They speak clearly, patiently. Just like parents with their children. The way one learns one’s native language. I realize that I didn’t learn English in this fashion.

In a sense I’m used to a kind of linguistic exile. My mother tongue, Bengali, is foreign in America. When you live in a country where your own language is considered foreign, you can feel a continuous sense of estrangement. You speak a secret, unknown language, lacking any correspondence to the environment. An absence that creates a distance within you.