Montreal-based singer-songwriter and linguistics student Jérôme 50 has assembled a new dictionary of Quebec French as it’s spoken on the ground, the Dictionnaire du chilleur.Dave Jolicoeur/Supplied
A is for abribuzz (a bus shelter where you smoke weed). B is for bèl eat (enjoy a feast, deriving from Haitian Creole and English). C is for chlag-mimosa (a mix of beer and orange juice inspired by the working-class Montreal neighbourhood of Hochelaga).
This isn’t the French they teach you in elementary school. But make no mistake, it is French.
The definitions come from the Dictionnaire du chilleur, compiled by the Québécois musician and linguist Jérôme 50 and released last year by the Quebec imprint of Le Robert, the renowned Parisian lexicographical publisher.
The book has made waves in Quebec by casting light on the changing nature of the French spoken by young people in the province, influenced by waves of immigration from North Africa, Haiti and France, and suffused by the influence of American pop culture.
No one should be surprised anymore to hear a white francophone teenager in Montreal say wallah (Arabic for “I swear”) or gadjo (French argot for addressing a friend, itself derived from Romani), much less the peppering of repurposed English that is a ubiquitous feature of idiomatic Quebec French. Just in one narrow section of the dictionary’s n’s, we find: no cap, no chill, no fear, no joke, no matter what, norm core, no stress, no way, nude.
There have been dictionaries chronicling the particularities of Quebec French for 150 years, but nowhere near as comprehensive a collection of the turbulently living language used by young Quebeckers in their everyday lives.
“There will be a before and an after the Dictionnaire du chilleur,” said Gabriel Martin, the book’s editor.
The 400-page tome comes out of five years of research in parks and parking lots across the province where Jérôme 50 – a 30-year-old singer-songwriter whose name is inspired by Labatt 50 beer and whose real last name is Charette-Pépin – would bring a case of suds and look for young people.
His methods were unorthodox – he admits that he had alcohol in his system when he wrote his entry on beer pong – and some of his entries were too edgy (which has its own entry), including a recipe for crack cocaine that Le Robert made him cut.
But the project is no lark. It was done alongside his master’s research in linguistics at Laval University in Quebec City, where he’s from, and it was inspired, he said, by a “love of the Quebec language, the popular language.”
Anxiety about the influence of English has prompted the government of Premier François Legault to wage a publicity campaign aimed at persuading young people to speak “proper” French. One widely discussed government ad on TV poked fun at everyday anglicisms such as sketch and nice.
“For me it was a manifestation of linguistic insecurity,” said Mr. Charette-Pépin. “It’s not constructive: we’re condemning, we’re reprimanding.”
As a proud Quebec sovereigntist, he is sensitive to concerns about the survival of the French language. He just thinks it’s strong enough to survive loan words from English. Quebec boomers may be scandalized by verbs like FaceTimer or unfriender but their generation uses plenty of anglicisms for the technology of their day. Car parts have been commonly referred to in English for decades, such as windshield, hood, bumper and tank de gaz.
“We live in North America!” exclaimed Mr. Martin, the editor. Borrowing from the dominant local language is inevitable.
A more recent phenomenon is the borrowing from immigrant languages. Quebec chilleurs – who are nonchalant, hedonistic and non-conformist, according to the dictionary – might now say khalass (that’s enough, from Arabic) or lèl (neighbourhood, from Haitian Creole) no matter what their background. Because of a recent wave of immigrants from France and the popularity of French influencers on TikTok, Montreal teenagers might describe something annoying as relou, a bit of Paris slang.
“I ended up with a dictionary that was inclusive,” said Mr. Charette-Pépin. “For me, it was fantastic. It became official, in Le Robert no less, that Haitian Creole is part of Quebec French.”
Some Haitian Quebeckers felt more ambivalent about the launch of the dictionary. Promotional material for the book made much of Creole swear words that have entered the Quebec vernacular in a way that some found demeaning. The mere fact that a white guy from Quebec City was becoming the face of linguistic diversity in the province also rubbed some people the wrong way.
“The communities that contributed to this book should have been put forward much more,” said KeKe Calixte, a Montreal-based producer and entrepreneur of Haitian descent.
Mr. Charette-Pépin faced up to the backlash, appearing on numerous podcasts with his critics and apologizing for mishandling the promotion. Mr. Calixte thought he took the criticism well and accepts that the author was aiming for “cultural appreciation” rather than “cultural appropriation.”
The mini-controversy doesn’t seem to have dampened the book’s popularity. People still stop Mr. Charette-Pépin in the street and tell him they read the dictionary before bed. Sales data aren’t available yet but Mr. Martin, the editor, said it’s the biggest success of any of the dozens of the books he’s worked on.
The Dictionnaire du chilleur could have a healthy effect on the always-charged discussion of language in Quebec, said Wim Remysen, a professor of linguistics at the University of Sherbrooke.
It may even help bridge the generational divide that leaves boomers like Mr. Legault sneering at the more linguistically varied youth vocabulary (while his health minister promises to hire a “top gun” of talent at a newly created agency).
The book should also help break the perception that Quebec French is stuck in the 17th century, a holdover from the days of New France, Prof. Remysen said. It’s doubtful that Samuel de Champlain talked about being a fanboy or riding his fixed gear.
“There’s still a prejudice out there that the French of Quebec is an archaic language, but it’s really a living language,” Prof. Remysen said.
No joke.