Despite the title suggesting either bad science fiction or worse woo, this is undoubtedly the best book I have ever read or ever expect to read about the multilingual warning messages inside Kinder Surprise Eggs. Kahn-Harris does branch out just a little from that starting point, of course – starting with minor details of translation, like how some versions of the Message are in capitals while others are not, and only seven of the 34 versions on the Manuscript* specify 3 as the age below which the toy presents a danger. And why that particular selection of languages? Some of this I saw on his inaugural expedition into this territory, back at the 2017 Boring Conference – ah, those heady days before the whole world was boring! And already it was interesting stuff for anyone curious about translation, about the politics of multilingual messaging, about the ignored structures underpinning the world. But working over a few hundred pages, rather than 20 minutes or so, some of the wider implications can be teased out. The idea of being a 'language fan', for instance – which is to say, enjoying the look and the sound of languages you don't know – and, following on from that, getting the Message translated into still more languages. As a result of which, if nothing else, this book serves as a wonderful introduction to some beautiful scripts. I was already a big fan of the Georgian and Korean alphabets, but was not familiar with Amharic and Tibetan, both equally evocative - or Tifinagh, in which Amazigh (or Berber) languages are written, and which to these Anglo eyes looks like a classic science fiction alphabet**. And it's important to remember that Anglo eyes bit – particularly after getting embroiled in controversy with a translation of the Message into African-American Vernacular English, as a result of which he became more sensitive to the ways in which his project could be construed as condescending or colonialist, Kahn-Harris is keenly alert to the political implications of language, and what is or is not considered one. He references, but doesn't entirely agree with, the old line about a dialect with an army – but one of the most interesting bits is the way that even when a dialect does become enshrined as a language, that often serves only to marginalise other forms of the same dialect. Or, alternately, to enshrine minor differences of usage as something far more concrete than they need be: I was particularly gratified to learn of the 2017 'Declaration on a Common Language', in which intellectuals from four former Yugoslav countries confirmed that as far as they were concerned Serbo-Croatian should still be regarded as one tongue, a position I have long supported but a) from a considerably less solid base and b) principally to torment a friend with Serb heritage. And if you think that's niche, you should have seen my grin at learning some versions of the Manuscript feature a combined Romanian/Moldovan message badged RO-MO.
That's the wonderful thing about the book; it can take in so many modes. The tone is fully aware of the ostensible silliness of the project, but never lapses into the snide, wacky, or trendy vicar. At the same time, it can be serious and thoughtful where necessary, without ever falling into the po-faced or green ink. The result being that when Kahn-Harris says something like "As with the Bible or the works of Homer, we will never achieve full knowledge. Does this matter, though?", the comparison seems charmingly audacious, instead of just daft. He can be straightforwardly and usefully informative: I'm now a lot clearer on the extent to which there are, and aren't, languages called Chinese and Arabic. He can call up outrage on the reader's part – it may not be the country's biggest problem, but is still appalling that the Haitian government routinely violates its own constitution by not using Kreyòl. Or equally, a gentle melancholy for all the things which time and homogenisation have taken from the world – "To write the Message in Occitan is, perhaps, to dream of lost glories". There are times when natural languages can seem comical – the Channel Islands, with four different languages derived from Norman French, when even combined they'd be distinctly short of speakers; Abkhazian, a debatable language for a disputed state, written in modified Cyrillic despite having 50+ consonants and only two vowels. But these are as nothing compared to the forays into that reliable monument to hubris, deliberately constructed languages. Yes, we get the message in Esperanto, but the real winner is Lojban, conceived as a wholly logical language (or rather, a schismatic branch from a prior language conceived as such, which is already gold). I've known it as bathetic since I first learned it existed, but it still excels itself here, with three very different versions even of the Message's simple instructions. But just when I thought that had to be the book's big punchline, Kahn-Harris decides to create a language of his own, just to translate the Message into it. And while this is not only a comedy book, that chapter had me properly doubled up with laughter at the linguistic misadventures. All in all, a volume which deserves to be, though it never will be, as widespread as its inspiration.
*The capitals are partly a joke, of course, and partly a useful shorthand. But when we get the brief comparison of a rival product – "This has no manuscript (it cannot be a Manuscript) but it does have a message (it cannot be a Message) in English" – I did get the tiniest flashback to The Napoleon Of Notting Hill, and remember how easily these things can become less and less of a joke. Look, I know that on the list of likely future catastrophes, a holy war between enemy sects devoted to confectionery warning messages is not high on the list, but then two years ago nor was a world-stopping pangolin plague, and it certainly wouldn't be any more absurd than the whole 'filioque' debacle.
**All of which, incidentally, my Kindle app could handle just fine, though eventually I had to download the Netgalley ARC in another format because Kindle was coming a cropper with Sumerian and, of all things, emojis.