The German language is famous for its habit either of clearly summing up an idea in a concise compound word (Schadenfreude) or creating an enormously unwieldy one (Rinderkennzeichnungsfleischetikettierungsüberwachungsaufgabenübertragungsgesetz) for the sake of it. Their approach to these compound nouns and all the other alien but entirely logical laws of their tongue is completely thorough and seen through to the end, much like a litre of beer or an Audi. This rational and sensible way of structuring a language is completely at odds with the leisurely lack of grammar to which modern Romance languages descended from Cicero’s Latin. It has created words which are so obviously useful it is surprising so few have been adopted into English: below are some of the best.
Familiar to chess players, a Zugzwang is a nasty situation in which action is compulsory—and can only make the position worse. It is a sinking feeling to find that neither bishop nor knight can survive this turn, or that an overdue essay will have to take the place of Thursday morning orchestra because missing either means detention anyway. This sensation is made all the worse by the difficulty of actually finding oneself in a Zugzwang without exceptionally bad luck or planning, and the German word captures it well.
A nation which survives on currywurst and beer has some excellent ways to label what English speakers can only call a ‘wimp.’ Those who fear a melted dashboard and prudently park their Volkswagens in the shade are known as Schattenparker, or ‘shade parkers,’ and are widely seen as sunlight-fearing dweebs in Germany. Moreover, the Schattenparker’s cousin, one whose nerves are so fragile as to dissolve in cold water, is known as a Warmduscher, or ‘warm showerer,’ and is the worst kind of wallflower.
A perfect line of iambic pentameter, Vergangenheitsbewältigung is, like the previous two, a distinctly German, if rather more poignant, concept. It describes the process of ‘coming to terms with the past,’ and hungover Pilsner lovers everywhere may find themselves making use of it, often after a Schnappsidee, or drunken idea. However, in modern Germany, the long-term process has been central to the mentality since the horror of the two world wars; without an attempt to recognize and analyze what went wrong in the 20th century, modern Deutschland would be a less sober nation.
Treppenwitz is the German word that captures with the neatest conciseness an idea that is frustratingly difficult to describe in English. This ‘staircase wit’ is the belated but stinging reply to an insult that only occurs much later, on the way upstairs; it manages to bring to mind both the embarrassment of being unable to create a witty response at the time and the cruel irony of discovering the perfect retort hours later. Ironically, I only came across the term Treppenwitz after having already suffered a few of them—if only I had been able to describe my delayed wit with this perfect German word.
It may be that after a Schnappsidee or two and the resulting Katzenjammer (a hangover, literally ‘wailing cats’), an apology to one’s wife, accompanied by some Drachenfutter, is what is needed. The latter is not one of German’s more poetic concepts: meaning ‘dragon fodder,’ it is the chocolates or flowers given to a spouse as appeasement after a late night in the beer tent. The German word for the nut-and-raisin mix popular among penniless youths, Studentenfutter, or ‘student fodder,’ is also an appeasement—only it is instead appeasing the often alcohol-induced sweet and salty cravings of a late night out.
Finally, and without even mentioning Handschuhschneeballwerfer (someone who throws snowballs with gloves on—that is, someone who spreads rumors behind backs), Hüftgold (hip gold, or love handles), or Fernweh (wanderlust), there is the melancholic Weltschmerz. This ‘world-weariness’ is so listless that it takes some effort for the Weltschmerzer to realize that a long day of commitments has resulted in an utter lack of will to do anything. The only cure is a long sleep, since this form of lassitude is a lack of interest in any action at all.
The words above only scratch the surface of German terms that brilliantly capture an obvious concept: Schadenfreude, or ‘shame joy,’ has not been considered, nor has the evocative Kummerspeck (‘grief bacon’: emotionally induced eating). Hopefully, some of these words will soon be used in English, as I now feel that our language is lacking some of German’s perfect precision in describing both the mundane and the intangible.
