Éthylisme (French Edition)

In Table 1, we show an example of a death certificate of the training set the English version split in three lines, Table 1a, and its correct classification with the ICD10 codes, Table 1b. In both cases, there are issues related with misspellings: For this reason, in this paper we will only show experiments containing this modification. Acronym expansion was also a crucial step to normalize data and make the death certificate clearer and more coherent with the ICD10 codes. In particular, after cleaning the data and expanding the acronyms, we computed the generalized Levenshtein distance 10 between each token of the death certificate and each token of the dictionary.

At the end of this process, we found 4, tokens having no match distance greater than zero with the ICD10 vocabulary. The terms having more than 10 occurrences in the certificates were hard-coded in the source code, while all the others were automatically substituted onthe-fly. Example of death certificate left and its correct classification right in English Table 1a and 1b.

Example of French aligned data in Table 1c. In those cases where two or more classes have the same score, the first class in the list is assigned by default. System performance was assessed by means of a script provided by the organizers of the Lab; the script computes micro-Precision the fraction of correct instances among the retrieved instances , micro-Recall the fraction of relevant instances that have been retrieved over total relevant instances , and micro-F1 measure the harmonic mean between micro-Precision and micro-Recall.

In particular, we kept the best performing experiment for all causes named Unipd-run7 which uses binary weights, automatic creation of expanded acronyms and transliteration removal of diacritics. We also tried to use the semi-automatic check-spelling exp that uses a mix of manual checking for the most common misspelled words a mis-spell that occurs more than 10 times in the dataset and an automatic substitution for all the remaining misspelled words partialexp.

This was a bit of a surprise considering that our classification approach does not use any machine learning approach, but it just cleans the data and assigns the most frequent ICD10 code. Comparison of results with the best performing unofficial French runs and different approaches to certificate segmentation and semi-automatic spell-checking. The average and median performances of all the experiments of the participants of CLEF eHealth Task 1 are reported at the bottom of the table.

Rhymes at Woxikon

The performance of the system that uses a semi-manual spell-checking approach improved the baseline set by the original paper. Low dose lidocaine for refractory seizures in preterm neonates. The Indian Journal of Pediatrics , 80 6: Reproducibility in natural language processing: Replicability is not reproducibility: Nor is it good science. Unsupervised learning for lexicon-based classification. Proceedings , volume of Lecture Notes in Computer Science.

Increasing reproducibility in ir: Reproducibility challenges in information retrieval evaluation. Data and Information Quality , 8 2: Reproducible Research with R and R Studio. Palotti, and Guido Zuccon.

Online dictionary French-English - Larousse

Overview of the CLEF ehealth evaluation lab Replicability of research in biomedical natural language processing: Association for Computational Linguistics. Clef ehealth multilingual information extraction task overview: Icd10 coding of death certificates in english and french. Reproducible research in computational science. Science , Making scientific computations reproducible. Though unlike the Leckie, which I wasn't that keen on , I'd have read Sphinx much sooner if only I'd registered its milieu.

It's going to irk some people, including at least one GR friend, that I, like a lot of book blogs this year, won't be treating Sphinx 's Oulipian constraint as a spoiler issue. But if I hadn't known it, I probably still wouldn't have got round to reading the book. Although I'd have at least intended to regardless.

It's not the same as the time when I sought out spoilers for Me Before You because my decision on whether ever to read it — i. Which to some friends might be a spoiler in itself. Though I doubt they wanted to read the book anyway. Expecting Sphinx would be something worthy to plough through — albeit a book I knew I'd be way more sympathetic to than the Leckie — I read the introduction, and then left it for months to start the actual story. What nobody had said or if somebody said it I didn't notice was that this is a story about clubland, decadence, feeling torn between decadence and asceticism, intellect and hedonism, and about brooding romantic pain of loss and realisation of one's own guilt.

It takes place in a feather-boa festooned queer clubland queer in the contemporary ambiguous sense, rather than gay male which I imagined set in French equivalents of Bethnal Green Working Men's Club, or rather whatever this year's version of the place is, and dizzying warehouse parties where the music is at least as intoxicating as anything else. Although several minor characters in Sphinx are racist, very much unlike the places I was thinking of.

Were they like this in s France as well? Or had I stumbled on a resonance that the author could never have intended? Because based on people of my acquaintance, that might even be the most fitting choice of subject for this character, but one I'd never have dared to use for a made-up person because it seemed too much to explain, too improbable. Sphinx is not dry and worthy, because it's like this: She was describing hell to me with the frivolity of the damned. Due to the combined effect of a very hot coffee and a very dry cognac, I felt a sharp burn in my throat I had been in so many cabarets that they all started to look the same by five in the morning: I liked to let myself be brushed by naked skin, by boas and feather fans.

However, I did experience nights of rapture that no human ecstasy can equal, those nights when, for some unknown reason, a sort of inspired fury seized the entire club. This trancelike state that I provoked and prolonged vibrated through my body and carried me to unimaginable excesses of delirium. One such night is still carved into my memory, Strictly speaking, I was no longer listening to the music; it was passing through me.

I was cuing up the records as if by instinct, my vision obscured by a veil of blood. I was in a coma agitated by rhythms that were more and more painfully arousing my desire without ever draining it. In a vague fog I discerned the compact mass of people dancing, flattened one against the other and yet swaying, lifted up in waves. United almost without fissure, they were probably incapable of moving, but the entire mass vibrated in rhythm, all individual drives undone and lost in a higher, sovereign need… It still reigns supreme in my memory; no other night ever achieved such furious intensity.

From then on they all seemed bland and nondescript. That night inflicted a violence upon me, an annihilation; I experienced what only sex at its extremes allows one to feel, infrequently and fleetingly. I had reached a limit, and after that came repetition and ennui. I no longer slept at night; what had previously been a tendency of mine became a permanent mode of being.

The sum of the stories they confided in me could fill entire volumes of sociological or ethnological reports. Entering a club or a bar was in a way like going to the cinema: I lived on the film set of an enormous stock of unrealized B-movies of a hitherto unseen genre. At the hour when the television programs come to an end, when the last spectators leave from the theaters and the marquees are taken down, a different vision appears, a variation each night on the same miserable and violent scenario.

This particular policy forced us into a transhumance around four in the morning, inevitably leading us to a rather snooty club I feel like I'd thought it at some point but would never have dared articulate it. Before, I was mourning the present; today I mourn a past that was never present. My aptitude for suffering astonished me in that moment. I was suffering as no one suffers anymore in this century; my sensibility was outmoded in the extreme. Had I ever been capable of loving without suffering?

I was experiencing a premature nostalgia, which was sucking me into a state of melancholy; I was imagining all of this was closed off to me forever before I had even lost it. I know these states enough for them to feel like home, but because I didn't get nearly enough of most of them whilst I could, they exert a far greater emotional pull in art than do most other 'homes'.

Reading this, I was comfortable and exhilarated and hungry and, yes, nostalgic and melancholy. As per the Leckie review, I continue to be surprised that more like this has not already been written, specifically that a few decent works using the singular they aren't yet in existence, but am very pleased that what is around in terms of gender neutrality in fiction, such as this and [Written on the Body] has a great deal to recommend it in terms of style and feeling, merits that are obvious to plenty of readers who've never personally been bothered about gender or pronouns.

There are a few other examples here of novels with some sort of gender ambiguity. Repeating myself from the Ancillary Justice post, it's a habit I learned back in primary school to refer to an un-named other as 'they' even when their gender was in no doubt, and use of singular 'they' is a habit that has been growing in the last few years although I made no conscious effort towards it; there seem to be more and more people I'd reflexively refer to as 'they' rather than 'he' or 'she' if I left it unchecked. There isn't a fixed pattern as such, but the least likely to be 'they'd appear to be relatives or ex-lovers.

I suppose some people might take it as political flagwaving — and I am no fan of the made-up neutral terms such as 'zie' which I find forced this is not the book page on which to be less complimentary about them but will use them if someone prefers them — yet to me this 'they' is natural, in a way that some friends must be familiar with: It wasn't much, but it was very satisfying to know something. As I expected when I first heard about Sphinx , I was comfortable in this world where gender was ambiguous or unstated, just as I was frustrated in Leckie's where everyone was 'she' too reminiscent of school and impatiently waiting to escape.

It's one of these things that online 4th wave feminism seems to continually assert is impossible for women, and that leaves me indignant about those sites by effectively saying that experiences I've had don't exist. Garreta DJ'd for a while in the seventies and a few of the experiences in the book, although it's not quite clear which, apparently have some autobiographical basis. A GR friend, who is English-French bilingual, has found what appear to be inaccurate assertions about properties of French in excerpts from the translator's afterword excerpts quoted in online reviews. After all that, why only give it four stars?

There is some intoxicatingly intense writing here, yet at other times, the narrative descends into dull descriptions with a bloodless, administrative tone. And inexplicably, about things that the narrator must feel deeply. There were pages, sometimes several at a time, that were a slog. Perhaps there's some feature of French which made it necessary for the emotion to disappear down the plughole at these times, although I couldn't think of any when trying a basic back-translation in my head.

It was just too good to be true, and seriously lowered my opinion of the book for a while, that the narrator was quite that brilliant at DJing the first ever time they tried it. I've picked some things up pretty quickly at various times I've seen friends do it - so I'd believe it if someone became that good in a week or two or three, but that fast, in minutes when they'd never handled the equipment before, beyond home record players, was just too much. One could argue there's a heightened mood and melodrama to the whole story which fits its camp environment — much like press reviews have said about hit book A Little Life - and that the 'insta-talent is part of that just as much as the intensity of language in the paragraphs I loved, but because there's plenty of the book that does actually feel like life to me, that sounds like people I've known, this one impossible bit obtruded, and badly.

Anyway, something I'd love to know: As far as I know, not actually speaking these languages, it would simply be a matter of not naming the characters.

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Would there be any point in a book like that? Feb 07, Cody rated it really liked it Shelves: Two bits were just far too unbelievable to not pull me out of the story. Two words for those that have read it: Brilliant passages and damn important intentions, though. View all 4 comments. Jun 18, jeremy rated it really liked it Shelves: So, the actual book is excellent. The constraint was spoiled for me, which is a shame, because I think it has much more of a direct effect on the writing than people who are whirled off into identity politics and political points understand.

Indeed, I believe this is the point of constrained writing, both for the writer and for the reader: I think I would very much have liked to discover that gradually for myself while reading, and I wasn't able to.

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I am tempted to say, kidstodaygetoffmylawn style, that this is because language as art is devalued in favor of shallow entertainment, and that this is a shame. On the other hand, being aware of the constraint from the beginning did also affect my reading experience, and the overall effect was to be impressed by how little it changed the actual writing. If you are reading in translation, it is possible that some claims about the book's basic style and grammar in the afterward, which I have not read and have only seen cited in a review, are not accurate see the rant below.

The language is very little changed, except insofar as there is a heightened attention to it on the part of writer and reader. The end effect was to draw my attention to thousands of tiny constructions like this one: This sentence avoids breaching the constraint and yet it is, at the same time, exactly how people write descriptions all the time anyway. What's interesting about it is that the basic construction is NOT unusual, does NOT breach normal standards of how to create a French sentence, does NOT seem odd or call attention to itself.

That's why it's interesting to write this way: If it were down to language alone, I'm not sure most readers would ever have even noticed that there is a constraint at work. My beforehand knowledge also made me hyper-aware of certain types of thematic content: The two lovers are from different races, different classes, there is an age difference between them, and they also experience individual differences of temperament that make them fight, particularly towards the end. This mix of individual characteristic and societal category is also true of all relationships, all descriptions of all people, and somehow leaving one big description out makes that all the more abundantly clear.

It also gives passages like these an additional layer: Ok, the above review is extremely troubling. The only problem is, this is simply not true. In addition, there is no more frequent use of the imparfait here than in any other French narrative; I think the translator perhaps does not understand the difference between, say, "je ne tardai pas" and "je ne tardais pas", which I find quite shocking for someone who has set herself up as expert enough to translate a literary text.

I seriously wonder about the quality of the translated text which I have absolutely no plans to acquire and read. This, of course, wraps all the way around a full degrees into the racism it's meant to be avoiding, suggesting that while developing countries have "cultures", western democracies, and especially the US, have a neutral, normal, outside observer thing happening that exempts us from the same relativity that we are so quick to embrace. In essence, black people have a culture, white people are anthropological observers.

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And, of course, everybody is a soi-disant expert. Now, I get that you might have criteria other than faithfulness for a good translation -- that the style be pleasing to you in your native language, that the prose be easy to read and accessible and not clunky, that the critical apparatus be helpful and provide you with an adequate context. But, even then, you're looking at reading several versions of a really long ass book in different translations in order to come to the conclusion that one is really better than the other, at which point the effort involved strikes me as a major waste of time, time that you could actually spend stating to learn the actual language.

Also, if I may analogy you all for a minute, a bit like having a tasting to determine the best brand of industrial snack cake. Do it if you like, and there may be genuine differences in quality, but please don't tell me you're engaged in the same kind of gourmet activity that leads people to study for years to become a sommelier. In any case, it seems to me on the translation front, that we all pick what is available, what is currently in fashion, or what seems ok from a casual skimming.

Which is fine, but isn't expertise. I think the same overconfidence that leads people to talk out of their ass about things they know nothing about is an ingredient here, as is status conscious pseudo-intellectualism. View all 11 comments. Feb 08, Tosh rated it really liked it Shelves: A really nice mood piece of writing here.

What we don't know is the gender of either of the two. Which must have been hell for the translator Emma Ramadan to do, since the French language has very strong genderistic touches to their language. In all honesty, as I was reading, I was imagining th A really nice mood piece of writing here. In all honesty, as I was reading, I was imagining that the lovers were women, and I'm not sure if it was just a stupid knowledge of knowing the author is female, or somehow the nature of the two main characters.

The story reads as a doomed love story, a very smart and textured text, but one that conveys the loss of a presence. Sep 01, Caroline rated it liked it Shelves: The narrator decides to return part time to the university theology studies that he had abandoned shortly before he fell into the world of cabarets and chic nightclub DJing. He will write his thesis on the apophatic tradition. This apophasis is an approach to knowing and understanding God that uses only what can be identified as what we don't or can't know about God.

Which is just what Garreta does here by denying us knowledge of the gender of either the first person narra The narrator decides to return part time to the university theology studies that he had abandoned shortly before he fell into the world of cabarets and chic nightclub DJing.

Which is just what Garreta does here by denying us knowledge of the gender of either the first person narrator or the loved character. Of course the French author used very different tricks than the translator, to meet the constraints of the two languages, as described in the translator's afterword. Interesting, although a bit too French for me in the chapters of deepest introspection.

Jun 07, Jay Hamm rated it it was ok Shelves: This review has been hidden because it contains spoilers. To view it, click here. This fell far short of my expectations. Beyond the admirable and ambitious effort to code genders, the novel was full of problems. In only disguising the main characters' gender while leaving all supporting characters explicitly gendered, the book misses an opportunity to explore more interesting questions about gender and only successfully highlights how terribly gendered language is.

Rather than create a world that was beyond binary gender, it instead offered an encrypted story that left me co This fell far short of my expectations. Rather than create a world that was beyond binary gender, it instead offered an encrypted story that left me continuously resisting guessing the gender of the two characters. I was also troubled by the book's overall treatment of blackness. I found no indication of intentionality or self-awareness in the presentation of these. Sphinx had a few compelling scenes that didn't come together coherently and the pretentiousness of the narrator and the book's prose throughout were distracting.

The digression in which the narrator criticizes the pretense of the French existentialists was particularly tone deaf, as Sphinx went beyond much of that body of work in its aloofness and solipsism. These main criticisms gloss over smaller one such as the misplaced violence at the beginning and end of the novel and a number of unbelievable plot points that seemed out of a bad indie rom-com mopey ex-theology student visits a club with a priest and then masters the art of DJ-ing in 10 minutes; a hoarse but sage mafioso is the only person who understands the main characters' attraction; the narrator doesn't need to earn a living because of a mentioned once large inheritance.

Overall, an interesting linguistic accomplishment. For all the morbid self-consciousness of the narrator, though, ultimately I found Sphinx to be a let down of a novel that couldn't seem to see its own blind spots. Aug 26, Ruby rated it really liked it Shelves: I was finally being granted what I had been after for a long time: At first glance Sphinx is a I was finally being granted what I had been after for a long time: At first glance Sphinx is a short love story, but at its core it is something much more complicated.

The glaring lack of gender distinctions makes one realize how much we, both as human beings and readers, rely on gender to give us a framework for understanding characters, relationships, sexuality. Once I realized that, I felt freed from gender-based assumptions. For a short novel, Sphinx is quite dense. This is not a happy book. What I had wanted to bury came back to me; there is no way to assassinate the cadaver I have been carrying in me for eternity, no way to dull the acidic decomposition that gnaws at me, torturing my flesh every time I find myself falling in love.

I constructed each love too much in my own image.

Feb 08, Elizabeth rated it really liked it. Set in the nightclubs of Paris, the genderless novel recounts an affair between a cabaret dancer and a DJ. I've never read it described so perfectly. Alternating between a monastic life of theological study and a hedonistic one of rubbing shoulders with drug addicts, mobster Set in the nightclubs of Paris, the genderless novel recounts an affair between a cabaret dancer and a DJ.

Alternating between a monastic life of theological study and a hedonistic one of rubbing shoulders with drug addicts, mobsters, and dancers with slick bodies, the protagonist experiences over and over again the ephemerality of pleasure, beauty, and of course, life. Melancholy pervades the story with a few short-lived glimmers of ecstasy, every now and then.

Mar 18, l. Behind the simulacrum of festivity and opulence, I witnessed the most sordid trafficking and seediest machinations, sheepishly disg i'm so glad that i was never a francophile. Behind the simulacrum of festivity and opulence, I witnessed the most sordid trafficking and seediest machinations, sheepishly disguised. The four months I stayed on in Paris were a calvary for me: View all 3 comments. I was incredibly intrigued by the oulipian writing style and had never heard of it. I was also very curious about how she would approach writing the main characters without announced gender. From about page 30 I started to feel that the narrator is a narcissistic psychopath without any redeeming qualities.