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The graphic representation of a phrase can be visualized as a line (hypothetically, 10 cm comprising 10 words ranging from 0.5 to 2 centimeters in length). In terms of time, this phrase might span, say, 10 seconds. As we read this phrase, we instinctively aim to divide this time span proportionately according to the length of each word, meaning intervals ranging from 0.5 to 2 seconds. The result sounds like robotic speech. In reality, the time distribution across these words differs considerably. Firstly, consonants almost take no time, whereas vowels span from a fraction of a second to several seconds. But these are just temporal characteristics. Let's plot them on the X-axis, and on the Y-axis, depict the volume fluctuations of our voice throughout the phrase (in decibels). On the Z-axis, we'll represent the changes in pitch (in hertz). So, what do we end up with? A sort of mountainous landscape, a whimsical relief, a series of hills and cliffs of varying heights and breadths. But that's not all! Let's introduce a fourth dimension. Grab a paintbrush and color this landscape with a myriad of hues (which, if desired, can also be quantified). Very much like the songs of thrushes:
Sounds blossom just like flowers,
Sad, merry, or any in between.
Some as hot as fiery towers,
Others cool with a bluish sheen.
The poet perceived these colors in the songs of thrushes, who sing wordlessly. Yet, our speech, beyond its musicality, consists of words—concise, meaningful, significant, and vibrant. Can they possibly be colorless? If one listens and looks into our speech intently, it becomes evident that every word has its unique hue. This is most apparent in antonyms. We would never confuse the colors of words like "big/small", "slowly/quickly", or "beautiful/ugly". Now, let's try to fill the gradient between these antonyms and observe the evolving hues. Taste food and exclaim, "M-m-m, it’s lovely!" or "Hm, it’s horrible!". Now, take a few sentiments that lie between: "it’s not bad", "it's good". Notice the subtle shifts in color from positive to negative. Speaking of the "audible" fragments of a phrase—words—we mustn't overlook the "silent" fragments: the pauses. Much like in music or theatrical speech, a pause carries its sound, an integral part. As musicians put it, pauses are like holes in lace fabric, co-creating its pattern along with the woven parts. Yet, how are these pauses represented in text? Uniformly, just like spaces between words, for instance, measuring 1 mm.
Therefore, a phrase sounds richly textured, pronounced, colorful, and to grasp it in such depth, one must first hear it, then visualize and replicate without altering tempo or intonation. We're essentially echoing what we've heard, and the graphic representation of the phrase merely aids us a tad, being essentially a one-dimensional projection of a four-dimensional image, and that too in a hypothetical scale.
- "So, how does it help if, to a child, these letters might as well be Chinese characters?"
At first, it might seem daunting, but gradually there's an acclimation to printed text, distinguishing individual letters mentally, followed by formulating reading rules in the brain. If we pronounce several words starting with the letter "l" (like library, Liverpool), by the time we reach "life", the tongue instinctively positions itself correctly. Is there a need to discuss whether the letter "l" reads as "л"? If a letter, like "c", has multiple pronunciations, it's effective to capture the child's attention by color-coding syllables, for instance, "so/ca/cu" in pink and "ci/ce" in blue, perhaps in a song or a poem. The foundation of reading techniques, and essentially the entire phonetics course, is built on poems, but even better, songs. These have a considerable edge over prose because:
1) The structure of a poem naturally emphasizes semantic stress (in prose, one must be taught to recognize it).
2) The semantically stressed word typically resides at the end of a line. Children, catching onto the rhythm, can easily follow along the lines, and even if they lose their place, they pick up the song from the beginning of the next line.
3) Rhymes in poetry lay down reading rules for vowels and their combinations. Children color-code similarly sounding endings, identifying them independently. When the endings are identical, focus shifts to different consonants, as in the words "kittens/mittens"; the similar endings are set aside, and attention latches onto the consonants "k" and "m". And of course, the music makes the entire process simply enjoyable, especially since introducing a new song or poem involves playing it, illustrating with pictures, or using puppets. During singing, the child envisions the events described in the song, not the reading rules. In the initial stages, we often see this scenario: the child hasn’t yet memorized the entire song but can effortlessly reproduce it by glancing at the text and tracing the lines with a finger. However, this doesn’t mean they would read the same text without hearing it first. This same reading approach is applied to prose, although the task is a bit more intricate: identifying semantic stresses in sentences, judiciously placing pauses—it's meticulous work done with pencils in hand alongside the teacher. From the outside, one might jokingly label this as "deceptive" reading. It's akin to how a 3-year-old dramatically recites from a book they've memorized to entertain adults.
- "So, for how long will our child keep 'deceiving' us?"
Amusing question. I hadn't even thought about it. In my opinion, my students, who have read dozens of books, are still deceiving me. In any case, I did not notice any abrupt changes. Remember how the king in "Cinderella" exclaimed: why wasn't I informed that my son has grown up?! As for reading techniques, I dare say that we still read by the deceptive method. Let's prove it. Read the following sentence quickly, at a glance: "При свете луны были отчётливо видны очертания фомикусинтловагр." Why did you stumble? What confused you? An unfamiliar word? Though it's made up of quite harmonious syllables. You just haven't come across it before? (Of course, it's made up). But why not read it smoothly, without stumbling, if we once mastered the syllable reading technique?
Now read the following sentence: “Забора визгом под выскочила хвостом собака из виляя с весело.” You again failed to read the sentence smoothly because the word order is jumbled, even though the words are quite simple and familiar. It's because when reading, we visually capture the whole sentence. Every time, the eyes are ahead of the tongue, and the phrase sounds in our head before we pronounce it (perhaps a fraction of a second earlier).
By the way, in place of the word combination we invented, there could have been any unfamiliar word (quartsextachord, gastroduodenitis, concatenation, etc.). Therefore, even talking about a child's ability to read in English as a "completed stage of learning" is quite challenging. This process is as gradual and endless as the refinement of speech.
