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be ushered from the waiting room into somebody’s office； waiting for your date to
arrive； waiting for anything at any time？
You will learn to mobilise these precious scraps of time you’ve never even been
aware you’ve been wasting。 Some of your most valuable study time will come in
mini lessons of fifteen； ten； and even five seconds throughout your normal （though
now usually fruitful） day。
。HARRY LORAYNE’S MAGIC MEMORY AID： An ingenious memory system developed
by memory master Harry Lorayne will help you glue a word to your recollection
the instant you encounter it。 What would you do right now if I gave you a hundred
English words along with their foreign equivalents and told you to learn them？
Chances are you would look at the first English word； then look at the foreign
word； repeat it several times； then close your eyes and keep on repeating it； then
cover up the foreign word； look only at the English and see if you could remember
how to say it in the language you’re learning； then go on to the next word； then the
next； and the next； and then go back to the first to see if you remembered it； and so
on through the list。
Harry Lorayne’s simple memory trick based on sound and association will make
that rote attempt laughable。 The words will take their place in your memory like
ornaments securely hung on a Christmas tree； one right after the other all the way
up to many times those hundred words。
。THE PLUNGE： You will escape the textbook incubator early and leap straightaway；
with almost no knowledge of the language； into that language’s “real world”。 A
textbook in your target language； no matter how advanced； is not the real world。
On the other hand； an advertisement in a foreign language magazine； no matter
how elementary and easy to read； is the real world。 Everything about you；
conscious and subconscious； prefers real world to student world contact with the
language。
An actor knows the difference between rehearsal and opening night； the football
player； between practice scrimmages and the kickoff in a crowded stadium。 And
you will know the difference between your lessons in the target language and the
real world newspapers； magazines； novels； movies； radio； TV； and anything else
you can find to throw yourself into at a stage your high school French teacher
would have considered horrifyingly early！
There you have it： The Multiple Track Attack； Hidden Moments； Harry Lorayne’s
Magic Memory Aid； The Plunge。 Visualise the target language as a huge piece of thin；
dry paper。 This system will strike a match underneath the middle of that paper； and your
knowledge； like the flame； will eat its way unevenly but unerringly outward to the very
ends。
Just as food manufacturers like to label their products “natural and organic”
whenever they can get away with it； many language courses like to promise that you will
learn “the way a child learns。”
Why bother？ Why should you learn another language the way a child learned his
first one？ Why not learn as what you are – an adult with at least one language in hand；
eager to use that advantage to learn the next language in less time than it took to learn the
first？
P A R T O N E
My Story
A Life of Language
Learning
A brief “language autobiography” may help readers whose language learning and
language loving careers began only a few moments ago with the opening of this book。
My favourite word – in any language – is the English word foreign。 I remember
how it came to be my favourite word。 At the age of four I attended a summer day camp。
Royalty develops even among children that young。 There were already a camp “king”
and a camp “queen”； Arthur and Janet。 I was sitting right beside Arthur on the bus one
morning； and I remember feeling honoured。 Arthur reached into his little bag； pulled out
an envelope； and began to show Janet the most fascinating pieces of coloured paper I’d
ever seen。
“Look at these stamps； Janet；” he said。 “They’re foreign！” That word reverberated
through my bone marrow。 Foreign； I figured； must mean beautiful； magnetic； impressive
– something only the finest people share with only the other finest people。 From that
moment forward； the mere mention of the word foreign has flooded me with fantasy。
I thought everybody else felt the same； and I had a hard time realising they didn’t。
When a schoolmate told me he turned down his parents’ offer of a trip to Europe for a
trip out West instead； I thought he was crazy。 When another told me he found local
politics more interesting than world politics； I thought he was nuts。 Most kids are bored
with their parents’ friends who come to dinner。 I was too； unless that friend happened to
have been to a foreign country – any foreign country – in which case I cross examined
him ruthlessly on every detail of his foreign visit。
Once a visitor who’d been through my interrogation to the point of brain blur said
to my mother upon leaving； “What a kid！ He was fascinated by every detail of every hour
I ever spent in another country； and the only other place I’ve ever been is Canada！’
How Latin Almost Ruined It
Walking into Miss Leslie’s Latin class on the first day of ninth grade was the culmination
of a lifelong dream。 I could actually hear Roman background music in my mind。 I didn’t
understand how the other students could be anything less than enthusiastic about the
prospect of beginning Latin。 Electricity coursed through me as I opened the Latin book
Miss Leslie gave us。 I was finally studying a foreign language！
The first day all we did was learn vocabulary。 Miss Leslie wrote some Latin words
on the blackboard； and we wrote them down in our notebooks。 I showed early promise as
the class whiz。 I quickly mastered those new words； each then as precious as Arthur’s
foreign stamps had been eleven years earlier。 When Miss Leslie had us close our books
and then asked “Who remembers how to say ‘farmer’ in Latin；” I was the first to split the
air with the cry of “Agricola！” I soaked up those foreign words like the Arabian desert
soaks up spiled lemonade。
What happened thereupon for a short time crippled； but then enriched； my life
beyond measure。
I was absent from school on day four。 When I returned on day five； there were no
more Latin words on the blackboard。 In their place were words like nominative； genitive；
dative； accusative。 I didn’t know what those words meant and I didn’t like them。 That
“nominative…genitive” whatever…it…was was keeping me from my feast； and I resented it
like I resent the clergyman at the banquet whose invocation lasts too long。
The more Miss Leslie talked about these grammatical terms； the more bored I got。
Honeymooners would have more patience with a life insurance salesman who knocked
on their motel door at midnight than I had with Latin grammar。 I clearly remember
believing languages were nothing but words。 We have words。 They have words。 And all
you have to do is learn their words for our words and you’ve got it made。 Therefore all
that “ablative absolute” stuff Miss Leslie was getting increasingly excited about was
unneeded and； to me； unwanted。
Miss Leslie； noting that I； her highly motivated superstar； was floundering with
elementary Latin grammar； kindly offered to assign another student to tutor me on what
I’d missed the day before； or even to sit down with me herself。 I remember declining the
offer。 I remember deciding； with the logic of a frustrated fifteen year old； that grammar
was just another of those barriers designed by grownups to keep kids from having too
much fun。 I decided to wait it out。
I shut off my brain as the cascade of changing noun endings and mutating verb
forms muscled out the joy of my beloved vocabulary words。 I longed for the good old
days of being the first in the class to know agricola。 More and more that Miss Leslie said
made less and less sense。 I was trapped in a Bermuda Triangle。 My aura of classroom
celebrity disappeared； along with my self esteem； my motivation； and almost my
affection for things foreign。
I limped along； barely making passing grades； I only managed to pass thanks to the
vocabulary section on every test。 My knowledge of vocabulary plus some good
grammatical guesswork and a little luck got me through Miss Leslie’s class with a low D。
Some of the other students seemed to be enjoying my lameness in Latin； after my
being the overpraised and preening star of the class for the first three days。 To assuage
the hurt； I got hold of a self study book in Chinese。 By the last few weeks of school； it
was apparent that there was no way I could make better than a weak D in Latin； but that
was enough to pass。 I hid my humiliation behind that outrageously foreign looking book
with thick； black Chin