Language as Niche
Niche is such an overused word - an irony, that. To me, a word describing a small, specialised corner of the world should itself be something of a curiosity, somewhat archaic, yet strangely and perfectly pertinent.
A niche.
Sometimes before going on a journey, it becomes necessary to orient oneself. Sometimes you have to ignore what you think you know to go in the right direction. Of course, it may or may not be strictly the right direction - but then, what direction ever is?
Before exploring language as niche, its helpful to understand the kind of niche I'm referring to. To do this, you first must ignore the mainstream definition, the capitalist obsession with specialisation and optimisation and efficiency. Focus instead on something small, something unassuming. A knook, a cranny, yet more useful, more meaningful. This is not the kind of niche that is cultivated; this is the kind that forms completely organically.
Nature abhors a vaccum. If an empty space is created, it will inevitably be filled. In physics, denser surrounding materials will always fill any atomical void. In biology, rivalling species will always occupy any available ecological role. In chemistry, a gas will always expand to fill any vaccum in a container. In economics, competitors will always fill any gaps in the market. In sociology, ambiton will always fill any power vaccum.
In each instance where a vaccum is filled, there lies a niche. To occupy a vaccum, it must be filled completely, thus creating a specific, unique position in its wider environment.
This fundamental law is equally true within linguistics. Nature abhors a vaccum, and in this case the vaccum in expressibility is filled with language. And yet even though a vaccum may be filled, it still occupies a niche within vocabulary in general.
This concept is epitomised in the french phrase 'le mot juste'. Le mot juste means the exact, right word, and is used to describe the perfect thing to say.
The idea behind language as niche is that the law of nature abhoring a vaccum will have already produced the perfect language to fill any linguistic vaccum you come across.
These are words used to describe uncommon, but recognisable, familiar things; small quiet instances we can identify but not immediately name.
Take the word surrussus.
Most people have no idea what a surrussus is, but most people would instantly be able to recognise what it is describing. A surrussus is a low, soft murmuring or rustling sound, like the surrussus of wind along a beach, or the ambiant surrussus of a hushed but crowded room. The word itself is both stylistically and phonetically appropriate, at once sounding somewhat mysterious and also creating the sound which it's describing.
Surrussus is a great example of language as niche. The niche is recognisable but not commonplace, and the word which fits the niche fits it perfectly.
Over human history the works of academics, philosophers and writers have produced words and phrases for almost every circumstance imaginable. If a vaccum has been identified, then somewhere, somehow, it has very likely been filled.
And yet, in spite of these efforts, many such words fall to the wayside. Too easily can the common mans venacular can cease to include a word, no matter how pertinent or useful it may be. In these instances, humanities ability to express itself diminishes just ever so slightly.
In the same way that the adoption of a new word gradually cascades into popularity, so too does its disuse gradually descend into obscurity. All words inevitable ebb and flow in popularity, morph and change in usage, build and collapse in definition. But to lose a word completely is a misfortune to all.
As a general heuristic, the more useful a word, the longer its half life. Time is the ultimate test of language.
Though language as niche is located on what could be deemed the fringes of vocabulary, it very much exists within vocabulary in the first place. The trouble is that these fringes lie beyond the common man's immediate grasp.
It is easier to reach for accessible mediocracy than inaccessible perfection. That is, humanities natural default is to take the path of least resistance.
To find the right word to match the right circumstance requires some level of effort, of rudimentary research. Most ignore this, and yet to do so is a far more satisfying experience. This satisfaction is double-sided. Not only are you perfectly expressing a circumstance for yourself, but by doing so you are then able to perfectly express this exact circumstance to another.
This is the power of language as niche. By clarifying your inward expression, you can then clarify your outward expression.
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