Do you know your ABCs as well as you think you do? Though virtually unknown to most people outside of the phoneme universe, there is considerable discord amongst the letters comprising the English language.
Consider first, the vowels. A, like the other vowels, has multiple identities, but unlike the others, respects boundaries pretty well. It has, for example, standard long/short sounds (place/ham) but is not content with those identities alone. It can be silent (head) and the short sound can take alternative forms (alms vs cancel).
A can also behave different according to the home of the speaker. Consider the different ways to say “hand” between speakers from the north (one syllable) and the south (two syllables).
The other vowels are more aggressive than A in staking out sound real estate and, in the process, sometimes overstep their boundaries. Consider E. It has, of course, a silent version (scale) a short version (set) and a long version (see), but not content with its own long sound, E also elbows its way into the territories of the long U (few) long A (mesa), and the long I (eye). Most short pronunciations are straightforward, but E also spills over into short U territory (learn).
The letter I is not immune from controversy. It makes standard long (high), and short (lift) sounds, of course, but it also takes over from U with ‘guilt’ and ‘build,’ is totally submissive to E in ‘wield’ and ‘seize’ and to A in ‘plain,’ but most unusually, I cedes auditory space to O with ‘women.’ I’s battle with O for the most part, though, is a standoff, producing a diphthong (void). In other cases, I can just be ‘weird,’ such as when it steals the long E sound in ‘naive.’
O is a “man-spreader” vowel. It has standard utterances that are long (short) and short (long) but it also makes new sounds with itself (moon) and with U (cougar), though double vowels aren’t a requirement for making the sound (two). The double O also makes enemies with the short U, producing a bit of ‘blood.’ Silent Os are odd compared to the rules the other vowels follow – consider ‘youth’ and ‘people.’
As noted earlier, O makes a diphthong with I (avoid). It also makes a different one with U (count). Not content to just stomp on I’s space with “women,” O also trespasses on E with ‘worth’ and on U with ‘blood’.
The other vowels don’t take O’s bullying lying down, though. Witness how A fights back with ‘awful,’ thanks to a little help from W but also with ‘fall,’ all by itself. U also isn’t content to cede the ‘cool’ sound of the double O without a fight, ganging up with E to make ‘sleuth’ or working by itself with ‘truth.’ To display their unhappiness, three of the vowels ganged up and stole the long O sound in ‘beau’. U fought back by silencing E and A in ‘beauty’ before things settled down.
Then we come to U which has standard short (fun) and a long sounds (vacuum). U can, of course, be silent (aunt), confusing (queue) and it kidnaps a W sound when paired with Q (quilt). Yet another U sound is found in ‘tuba,’ with the actual pronunciation varying according to regional dialects that assign the U either an ‘oo’ sound like ‘cool’ or a somewhat longer sound like ‘cube.’
U masquerades as a short E in ‘hurt’ and long E in ‘quinoa,’ but loses complete control of the ‘uh’ sound by letting A have ‘want’ and O have ‘won.’
Territorial encroachment is not restricted to the vowels. Take C, for example, stealing the sounds of S and K. Some would say C doesn’t need to exist. K is particularly unhappy because not only does C claim some of its property, but so does Q. Think ‘mystique.’ Worse yet, K is sometimes forced to play nice with C (pocket) against its will. Because of the lack of respect of boundaries by C and Q, K is a relatively minor player in consonant land.
Not surprisingly, K is jealous of letters like G because 1) nothing encroaches on the hard G (gum) and further, G owns a bit of J space (gem). So G gets 1.5 sounds, while K has disputed territory with C and Q. G even branches into foreign territory with ‘lasagna’.
H isn’t threatened overly by its sound appearing in things like ‘jalapeno,’ but it does win the prize as the most versatile letter, due to its flexibility on the playground with W (when), S (should), G (ghost or though), P (phone), C (chew), D (dharma), R (rhododendron), and T (this).
J has an existential crisis because, as noted above, because some of its mental space is occupied by G (gem). L doesn’t have boundary issues, but has an inferiority complex, often having to double up to be heard (small or llama).
M has no issues with the other letters and has good partnerships with P (camp), L (calm), R (harm), and S (chasm).
N, like M, owns its sound, but due to similarity of appearance, N sometimes lives in M’s shadow (damn).
P by itself is an upright citizen having uniqueness of sound while not encroaching on others when alone, but grabs F territory when in partnership with H (phantom) and worse, loses its identity paired with N (pneumonia), S (psychology) and T (ptomaine).
Q’s obsession with the letter U and identification as a K phoneme is renowned. Though mostly limited to ‘kw’ sounds, Q, also moonlights as a “simpler” K sound (mosque or quinoa).
R is one of the most consistent letters, whether acting alone (rant) or dancing with others (bright, grand, frill, prince, train) though it does draw resentment from W for taking too much from thr relationship (write, wrong).
S excels not only in making a sound, but in also playing a role as a plural-maker (toys) and a possession-maker (John’s). S complains about the hegemony of C (cease), but compensates by walking across the Z line (easy). In addition, S assumes different identities between single and double expressions of itself (his vs hiss).
T outscores D on the hardness scale (hit vs hid) to earn its stripes and is good friends with some of the consonant crowd, C (act), H (that), N (went), P (rapt), R (part), S (fast), W (newt), and X (text), but almost never socializes with D, G, J, K, M, Q, and V.
Last, we come to the letter Y, which asks the musical question, “Am I a vowel or a consonant?” The languagemeisters say, “It depends,” because Y is only considered a vowel when there are no “other” vowels present. Is it a consonant the rest of the time or in some letter “never-neverland?” No one knows.
Y’s disturbing situation arose back when spellings were being decided and there were two opposing camps. The “Every Word Must Have a Vowel” crowd was very uncomfortable with having words, like ‘why’ or ‘rhythm’ not containing a widely accepted vowel.
On the other hand, the powerful Vowel Lobby was exceedingly vocal and influential about keeping other letters from joining their Country Club. “You let one in and soon every consonant is going to want to join too,” one said. In the end a compromise was reached (known as the asterisk Y rule) that let Y be a vowel, but with restricted rights.
Some say this is unfair to Y and propose giving Y full vowel status, but drawing the line to prevent other consonants from jumping the line. This Y compromise is currently being considered in an effort to placate both camps while giving Y its much desired identity. You may have heard of this discussion. It’s known as the vowel movement.
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