THE FIRST INTERNATIONAL CONFERENCE
ON ENGLISH STUDIES
ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND ANGLOPHONE
LITERATURES TODAY (ELALT)
(Novi Sad, 19 March 2011)
Proceedings
NOVI SAD, 2011
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FILOZOFSKI FAKULTET U NOVOM SADU
Odsek za anglistiku
Za izdavača/Editor-in-Chief:
Prof. dr Ljiljana Subotić, dekan
Recenzenti/Reviewers:
Radmila Bodrič
Zorica Đergović Joksimović
Ivana Đurić Paunović
Sonja Filipović Kovačević
Vladislava Gordić Petković
Sabina Halupka Rešetar
Aleksandra Izgarjan
Nataša Karanfilović
Maja Marković
Nina Muždeka
Predrag Novakov
Zoran Paunović
Gordana Petričić
Biljana Radić Bojanić
Glavni urednici/Editors:
Ivana Đurić Paunović
Maja Marković
ISBN 978-86-6065-102-2
Zahvaljujemo se Ministarstvu prosvete i nauke Republike Srbije na finansijskoj
podršci u štampanju ove publikacije
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Filozofski fakultet u Novom Sadu
Odsek za anglistiku
dr Zorana Đinđića 2
21000 Novi Sad
tel: +381 21 485 3900
+381 21 485 3852
www.ff.uns.ac.rs
Rukopis je pripremljen za štampu 2011. godine
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FOREWORD
The publication in front of you is a selection of papers presented at the first
international conference English Language and Anglophone Literatures Today
(ELALT), held at the University of Novi Sad on March 19, 2011. The contributions
cover a broad array of topics in contemporary linguistic and literary scholarship, and
are divided into two main sections. The first half is dedicated to the English
language, and covers three distinct areas — linguistic research, translation studies
and teaching methodology. The second half is dedicated to various topics in
Anglophone literatures and literary theory, and has a wide geographical and
chronological reach, from Elizabethan times to the present-day, from the post-World
War Japan to the Native American Community of the White Earth Reservation, from
the poetics of the killing fields of Nigeria to the dry outback of the Aborigines.
We are deeply indebted to the plenary speakers, Professor Svetozar Koljević
and Professor Ranko Bugarski, who kindly accepted our invitation and submitted
their most inspirational work. We thank the many presenters for their up-to-date
ideas and contributions, and the participants for the insightful discussions which
followed.
The conference would have been impossible without generous financial help
from the Ministry of Education and Science of the Republic of Serbia, support we
gratefully acknowledge here. We also express our appreciation to the Dean’s Office
of the Faculty of Philosophy, whose members warmly supported the efforts of the
English Department from the moment the idea of ELALT was first conceived. We
would like to thank Professor Vladislava Gordić-Petković, head of the English
Department, for her initiative, encouragement and selfless commitment. Last — but
certainly not least — we thank the Organizing Board, the Editorial Panel and our
dedicated reviewers for handling many complex tasks with grace under pressure and
enabling this volume to see the light of day.
Novi Sad, December 2011
The Editors
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PART ONE:
LANGUAGE
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Ranko Bugarski
Belgrade, Serbia
rbugarski@fil.bg.ac.rs
FROM VERBAL PLAY TO LINGUISTICS: A PERSONAL MEMOIR
Abstract This talk emphasises the role that experimentation with sounds and words,
including verbal humour, has played in arousing interest in the nature and properties
of language, as a precondition for the emergence of linguistic science. Against this
general background the author’s development as a linguist is sketched out and
illustrated from his own experience with word play in various domains (translation,
limericks, puns, blends...). The presentation includes linguistically relevant
anecdotes and jokes about well-known linguists. The main point of the whole
exercise is substantiating the claim that the humorous potentials of both language
and linguistics should be exploited pedagogically, and showing how linguistics, in
addition to teaching us a lot about language, ourselves and the world, can also be
fun.
Key words: Linguistic phylogeny and ontogeny, verbal humour, English
prepositions, teaching linguistics.
1. Introduction: phylogeny and ontogeny
In 1866 Ernst Haeckel, a noted German Darwinist, proposed his ‘biogenetic
law’ stating that ontogeny (individual development) recapitulates phylogeny
(evolution of a species). His theory has been discredited among biologists, but it
may serve as background for my own thesis, suggested by my title. Speaking quite
broadly, one may well imagine that experimentation with sounds and sense, giving
rise to all manner of verbal play, has underlain the arousal of interest in language.
Such interest presumably developed in stages from the earliest beginnings, perhaps
already in protohuman grunts, via early human word magic, to ancient and medieval
philosophical speculations, thence to a widespread obsession with matters linguistic
that characterized much of the eighteenth century, and finally to the emergence of
modern linguistic science, starting with general and comparative-historical
linguistics of the nineteenth century. (Incidentally, such a course shows that science
begins with comparison, which enables generalizations to be made about the objects
under investigation. As long as only a single language was studied, as was the case
with Greek, Latin, Sanskrit, Arabic, Hebrew, Chinese, etc. in the respective early
civilizations, it was possible to achieve sophisticated results in descriptive studies
and normative undertakings, but there could be no general or properly theoretical
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linguistics before many genetically and typologically different languages were
compared and contrasted, the empirical basis for such an undertaking becoming
available only in the post-Renaissance period. This remark may seem out of place
here, but its relevance should become apparent later on).
I am now ready to suggest, solemnly and modestly, that the evolution of
linguistics has in some way been recapitulated in my personal development as a
linguist: a startling conjecture no doubt, but one which I find amusing if not even
intriguing. How so? Following the King’s wise advice to Alice, I will begin at the
beginning, go on until I get to the end, and then stop.
2. My own linguistic ontogeny
I was born and grew up in an ethnically “pure” but linguistically
“contaminated” family of four, where my parents, my sister and myself all spoke
English as a second home language in addition to our native Serbo-Croatian. This
fact in itself provided an initial impetus for my growing interest in language – and
indeed in languages, for several were involved in my immediate surroundings and
later on in my school years. This early multilingual experience, coupled with my
father’s career as a teacher of foreign languages, who relied heavily on idiomatic
expressions and jokes and even published a popular bilingual book illustrating their
use in teaching English (Bugarski 1938), stimulated my early enthusiasm for verbal
art, experimentation and word play in different domains (translation, limericks,
puns, jokes, metaphors, blends, idioms), which has stayed with me all my life. In
what follows I can give only a few selected examples from these categories, drawing
on my own experience.
In 1955, at age 22, on one of my hitch-hiking tours of European countries I met
an Englishman slightly younger than myself and spent a week or so with him at a
youth camp in, I believe, Denmark (I may perhaps be forgiven if after more than half
a century I am not quite sure where this was, for I travelled a lot in those years!). I
immediately exposed him to some of my verbal experiments (puns, antonyms,
reverse order of words and sounds, wrong verb-adverb “nombications”, impossible
collocations, renaming people and places, whereby a girl called Christina became
Strychnina while Copenhagen turned into Hopencagen, etc). This caught on, and we
both enjoyed distorting and mutilating the noble English tongue; “as a fatter of
mact”, we called this practice “ranking”, after my own name. We then parted and,
apart from a short correspondence (of which I have miraculously preserved a copy
of a “ranking” letter of mine, dated 15 October 1955), we never heard of each other
until some twenty years later, when I started seeing his name in linguistics
publications: this was Roger T.Bell, author of an introduction to sociolinguistics and
a monograph on translation (Bell 1976, 1991). By this time I was definitely a
linguist too, and I pride myself on the apparent fact that fooling around with English
on my initiative eventually led to both of us becoming professional linguists,
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interested precisely in fields closely related to this somewhat perverse angle on
language! We actually met again in 1990, at the world congress of translators (FIT)
in Belgrade, where I gave a plenary talk on translation as creation (Bugarski 1991),
and we exchanged happy memories...
3. Of translation, limericks and puns
Talking of translation, in the 1960s I amused myself by comparing several
existing Serbo-Croatian translations of the first stanza of Jabberwocky and the final
passage of Anna Livia Plurabelle and then offering my own versions, which were
actually published along with my commentaries (see now the updated text in
Bugarski 1996). This was also the time when, mostly thanks to the works of Edward
Lear and Lewis Carroll, I developed a life-long passion for limericks and blends. I
will return to blends below, and as for limericks let me just mention two items that
stand out in my memory. In December 1969 in San Francisco, after the annual
meeting of the Linguistic Society of America, I spent a few hours chatting and
joking over wine with the newly elected President, Archibald A. Hill, who turned
out to be another lover of limericks. So we exchanged a few increasingly bawdy
ones, whereupon he recited the beginning of one started by Thackeray (about The
young Countess of Wycherley) but left unfinished, apparently because of the
difficulty of finding good rimes for the second and last lines. Later that night I
found a solution involving the words itchily and twitchily (or was it bitchily?), all
apparently still unrecorded at the time – but forgive me for no longer remembering
the whole text, as I foolishly never wrote it down. Professor Hill evidently liked it,
for when I arrived at the University of Texas at Austin some months later to give a
lecture on his invitation, he introduced me as “the man who after 150 years
completed a limerick by William Makepeace Thackeray”!
The other item I remember well, as it was quite recent. In August 2008 I gave a
conference paper at the University of Helsinki, where I contrasted two views of the
linguistic world map. One, associated with general and theoretical linguistics, saw
this as composed of languages as distinct entities with clear borders, while the other,
characteristic of dialectology and sociolinguistics, regarded it as consisting of fuzzy,
overlapping and multilayered entities. I informally labelled the former “the bricks
view” and the latter “the patches view” – this one largely inspired by my vision of a
tattered old fellow from Natchez, Missisippi:
There was an old man from Natchez
Whose clothes were all in patchez;
When asked to disclose
The secret of his clothes
He replied, “When I itches, I scratchez”.
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This limerick actually provided a frame for a whole section of my paper
(Bugarski 2010a), which shows, to my satisfaction at least, how limericks can
support and refresh linguistic thinking.
The same can obviously be said of puns. Unfortunately, although a recognized
punster, I seem to have forgotten most of my own creations, of which friends
occasionally remind me to my surprise and delight. (Forgetfulness appears to be a
thread running through this entire talk – I wonder why?). I do recall, however, that
the best of these included bilingual ones, which I particularly cherished, and a few
were literally dreamt up. But let me cite only one which I made wide awake. In 1997
I attended a huge Europe-wide, state-sponsored and highly successful conference in
Thessaloniki entitled “’Strong’ and ‘weak’ languages in the European Union:
Aspects of linguistic hegemonism”. I punningly (but by no means cunningly or
maliciously!) modified this title in my mind, though not for public use lest I cause
offence to the kind organisers, to read “Strong and Greek languages...”. This I find
relevant here because the slight phonemic adaptation within a single syllable
encapsulated, as it were, the whole purpose of the gathering as seen by the state,
which was to gain an international hearing for its justified complaints about the
unsatisfactory position of Greece and its language in the EU. The point, then, is not
strictly or solely linguistic, but if nothing else, it demonstrates the potential
contribution of punning to the economy of language.
4. Of metaphors and blends
I will now treat you to what I consider an enlightening idiomatic joke. In 1992,
at a conference of the European Linguistic Society in Galway, the participants in
plenary sessions were seated in somewhat uneasy chairs which threatened to
collapse unless handled with care. At one point in the middle of somebody’s paper,
Werner Winter, then secretary of the Society, crashed down, whereupon I shouted
“Professor Winter is practicing for a question from the floor!” – and had the hall
roaring with laughter. Now what is linguistically instructive about this? I would say
that it is the reversal of the order usual in metaphorical usage. In terms of conceptual
metaphors as elaborated by cognitive linguistics, the direction is normally from the
(concrete) source domain to the (abstract) goal domain, i.e. bottom-up, whereas in
this instance it was the reverse, top-down, a sudden literalization of a conventional
metaphorical usage which accounts for the humorous effect. And we know from
Freud, Bergson and other theorists that the essence of humour is an unexpected,
“unnatural” coincidence or clash of opposites, where words pitted against each other
create an encounter or blending of incongruous or incompatible images, wars of
words thus apparently signalling wars of worlds...
This last reference leads me to mention quite briefly my long-time interest in,
not to say obsession with, blending as a word-formation process, well-established in
English at least from Lewis Carroll and Joyce to modern advertising and
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infotainment, but quite recent in Serbian. Over the years I have collected, analysed
and classified nearly a thousand such creations, mostly humorous, not infrequently
ironic or sarcastic, from different registers. Just for illustration, I am referring to
coinages like šahoreska (šah ‘chess’+humoreska ‘humorous story’), džezoari (džez
‘jazz’+memoari ‘memoirs’), banalitičari (banalni ’banal’+analitičari ’analysts’),
bleferendum (blef ’bluff’+referendum ’referendum’), blogoreja (blog
’blog’+logoreja ’logorrhoea’). I would claim that blends are a precious eye-opener
when it comes to exploring the creative potentials of language. Along with blends, I
have identified and studied 65 Serbian suffixes occurring only or mostly in nouns
current especially in youth jargon and slang, with a similar stylistic value and
likewise amply demonstrating linguistic creativity. The most frequent of these, and
my personal favourite, is -ak/-njak/-ljak, as in oštrak ‘strong drink’, crnjak ‘black
humour’, buvljak ‘flea market’. (For both the blends and the suffixes see esp.
Bugarski 2006).
5. The irresistible charm of “little words”
More seriously now, I wish to turn in more specific terms to an illustration of
the ways that preoccupation with certain bits of language has led me to linguistics;
and I say “bits” advisedly, since these were mostly so-called little words or word
parts (prepositions, particles, affixes and the like). I entered this fascinating world
while looking for a subject for my Ph.D. dissertation, now some 50 years back in
time. (Gosh, quite a thought that, isn’t it...). I had for some time repeatedly mulled
over combinations like stand up/stand down, stand up to someone/stand someone
up, with different semantics emerging from alternative particle choices or linear
arrangements. I then started focusing on items from a word class that was to become
my main preoccupation for over a decade: prepositions. The first I looked at more
closely was beside, which attracted my attention by its capacity to enter
constructions varying along a cline from most concrete to most abstract: His glass is
beside the ashtray/His remark is beside the point/His brother is beside himself... (A
detailed analysis of these and related sentences was later offered in Bugarski 1968).
I was particularly amused by the idiomatic phrase beside himself, which I compared
with Serbo-Croatian van sebe (lit. ‘outside himself’): why beside in one language
and outside in the other, and in any case why should an extremely angry person be
depicted as having departed from his body, whether staying next to it or being just
out of it, the two generalizable as ‘not (quite) there’? Additionally, was van sebe
quite the same as izvan sebe, and if so why should we have these alternatives in the
first place?
Rather than searching for a definitive answer to such questions, I delved much
more deeply into a subsystem of English spatial prepositions covering the vertical
dimension, which became the subject of my dissertation (over, under, above, below,
beneath: cf. Bugarski 1969a,b; incidentally, the latter article was considered by
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Quirk et al. worthy of citing in both their big grammars, od 1972 and 1985, a fact I
was not a little proud of!). For this purpose I developed and consistently applied an
analytical framework which I will not expound here beyond noting its close affinity,
in important respects, with what was some dozen years later to become known as
cognitive linguistics. Let me merely mention that my favourite and most extensively
studied preposition, over, was destined to figure prominently in cognitivist studies,
which did not surprise me in the least. I subsequently compared this system with its
corresponding Serbo-Croatian one, finding some illuminating parallels but also
differences, the latter mainly concerning the pairs iznad/nad and ispod/pod
(Bugarski 1973).
While mentioning all these exploits may seem to stray too far from the general
topic of this presentation, I would insist that I was all the time aware also of the
humorous aspects of many of the examples in my extensive corpus, especially those
taking off from their local base towards extended metaphorical and idiomatic
meanings. And secondly, such an account, however sketchy, illustrates my explicit
or implied observations about the role of experimentation, comparison and
generalization as major methodological pillars supporting and enriching scientific
investigation, including linguistic analysis. Before concluding, however, I must
return more directly to my main concern, this time in the form of anecdotes and
jokes about linguistics and linguists. There is naturally no dearth of such, but I will
select only a few which carry a pedagogically relevant linguistic message, and are
thus more than just funny.
6. Learning as we laugh
That humour can be a useful aid in foreign language teaching has long been
known, of course, and many successful teachers can testify to this from their own
experiences. My concern here, however, is not the teaching of languages but of
linguistics. Some enlightened professionals have insisted on stimulating the interest
of their audiences by sprinkling their lectures with funny stories. Thus Professor
A.C.Gimson, successor of Daniel Jones in the chair of phonetics at University
College London and a popular guest lecturer worldwide, once told me that his
preparations for lectures mainly consisted in deciding which jokes went with which
topic. (Needless to say, I have myself tried, throughout my academic career, to
enliven the teaching process in this way). And I recall how, during my postgraduate
studies at the same institution, we amused ourselves while practicing linguistic
terminology by reciting, for example, the following string of questions: “How many
allophones to a phoneme? How many allomorphs to a morpheme? How many
alloblasphs to a blaspheme?”...
Some years later, in the United States, witty but also highly instructive parodies
of current notions and prominent linguistic personages were circulated in the form of
underground pamphlets. One which I have managed to preserve was entitled
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Language, Journal of the Debating Society of America (a takeoff of the subtitle of
the official journal of the Linguistic Society of America), and carried
characteristically titled articles and reviews attributed to prominent American
linguists of the time. In fact, this two-page makeshift manual, to which a “Linguist’s
Songbook” playing on their names was appended, could even now, over forty years
later, be used as a unique source of information on the history of modern linguistics
in America!
Turning now to anecdotes about linguists, I will concentrate on only one of
them, the hero of most such stories, the best of which are cherished collectors’
items: Roman Jakobson. My favourite here goes back to the time when he was
formulating his theory of the phonology of child language acquisition, known as
“Why Mama and Papa?” after the title of Jakobson (1962). This theory attempted to
explain the well-known empirical fact that the first words of children acquiring
genetically unrelated languages (European, African or whatever) regularly include
items like mama, papa, baba, nana, by positing that what is acquired first are
syllables containing maximally contrasting units – usually a plosive or nasal
consonant involving complete closure followed by the most open vowel, whereas
combinations more difficult to articulate and less salient perceptually are mastered
later on. Well, the story goes that Jakobson, in search of ever more confirmations
from different languages, once asked his Columbia University colleague John Lotz,
a native Hungarian, if he remembered what his own first word had been. Knowing
what this was all about and somewhat weary of such experimentation, Lotz decided
to crack a joke and readily replied that his first word was krač, a form equally
impossible in Hungarian and as an early word of any language. But the “Russian
bear” wouldn’t be put off, and he triumphantly exclaimed, “A-ha, fonétikali krač,
bat fonjímikali papa!”
Now this story, besides being hilariously funny to anyone familiar with the
linguistics of the period, is also highly instructive, in that it carries to absurd
extremes the then current distinction between the ‘etic’ (physical) and the ‘emic’
(functional) levels of phonological structure, whereby the latter tended, often
dogmatically, to be favoured at the expense of the former. I would claim that anyone
who has heard and grasped this anecdote will forever remember both the essence of
Jakobson’s theory of child language development and the basic distinction between
phonetics and phonology. But there is also a side effect here: you will notice
Jakobson’s heavy Russian accent (the French linguist Emile Benveniste is credited
with the observation that “Professor Jakobson speaks five languages fluently – in
Russian”). Having actually heard Jakobson lecture on several occasions, I was struck
by the fact that the author of arguably the most theoretically sophisticated modern
phonological theory, known as binarism, should have so little control over his own
accent in languages other than his native one. If, as it seems to me, this sharp
contrast can be interpreted as a peculiar instance of the Chomskyan distinction
between competence and performance, then the story is doubly useful
pedagogically, helping people remember another major conceptual pair of modern
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linguistics. (More stories, anecdotes and jokes with linguisic import can now be
found in the autobiographical sections of Bugarski 2010b).
7. Conclusion: A word to the wise
In the belief that the points I have made, and those inherent in the stories told,
speak for themselves, I can make my concluding statement quite short. The
humorous potentials of both language and linguistics can and should be exploited
pedagogically. A good way of unveiling the deeper secrets of language is by
investigating its apparently less serious but in fact quite revealing aspects. We
already know that linguistics, in teaching us about language, opens many windows
on ourselves and the world we live in; what seems to me to bear emphasizing is that
it can also be fun. Take my word for it!
References
Bell, R.T. (1976). Sociolinguistics: Goals, Approaches and Problems. London:
Batsford.
Bell, R.T. (1991). Translation and Translating: Theory and Practice. London and
New York: Longman.
Bugarski, D.Đ. (1938). Anglicizmi i fraze za englesku konverzaciju/Everyday
English Phrases and Idioms. Sarajevo: Državna štamparija.
Bugarski, R. (1968). “On the Interrelatedness of Grammar and Lexis in the Structure
of English”. Lingua 19:3, 233-263.
Bugarski, R. (1969a). Predlozi over, under, above, below i beneath u savremenom
engleskom jeziku. Beograd: Filološki fakultet (Monografije, knj. XXXII).
[Reprinted with corrections in: Sabrana dela, 1. Beograd: Čigoja štampa i XX
vek, 1996].
Bugarski, R. (1969b). “Symmetry and Asymmetry in Prepositional Systems”. In:
Zbornik radova povodom četrdesetogodišnjice osnivanja Katedre za engleski
jezik i književnost. Beograd: Filološki fakultet, 57-69.
Bugarski, R. (1973). “A System of English Prepositions and Their Serbo-Croatian
Equivalents“. In: The Yugoslav Serbo-Croatian-English Contrastive Project
(R.Filipović, ed.). Zagreb: Institute of Linguistics and Washington, D.C.:
Center for Applied Linguistcs. Reports 8, 3-20.
Bugarski, R. (1991). “Translation as Creation“. In: Prevođenje kao stvaralački čin –
Zbornik radova, XII svetski kongres FIT-e, Beograd 1990 (ur. M.Jovanović).
Beograd: Prevodilac, 29-38.
Bugarski, R. (1996). „Beleške o prevođenju težih tekstova“. In: R.Bugarski,
Lingvistika o čoveku. Sabrana dela, 3. Beograd: Čigoja štampa i XX vek, 195212.
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Bugarski, R. (2006). Žargon – lingvistička studija. Drugo, prerađeno i prošireno
izdanje. Beograd: Biblioteka XX vek.
Bugarski, R. (2010a). „Multiple Language Identities in Southeastern Europe (with a
Focus on Serbo-Croatian)“. In: M.Könönen and J.Nuorluoto (eds.). EuropeEvropa: Cross-Cultural Dialogues between the West, Russia, and Southeastern
Europe. Uppsala: Acta Universitatis Upsaliensis, Studia Multiethnica
Upsaliensia 18, 34-49.
Bugarski, R. (2010b). Jezik i identitet. Beograd: Biblioteka XX vek.
Jakobson, R. (1962). „Why ‘mama’ and ‘papa’?” In: Selected Writings, Vol. I:
Phonological Studies. The Hague: Mouton, 538-545.
Quirk, R., et al. (1972). A Grammar of Contemporary English. London: Longman.
Quirk, R., et al. (1985). A Comprehensive Grammar of the English Language.
London and New York: Longman.
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Nataša Bikicki / Jelena Jerković
Novi Sad, Serbia
tadon@sbb.rs; jemit@uns.ac.rs
THE PERCEPTION OF TELICITY IN TRANSPARENT PHRASAL
VERBS
Abstract This paper presents the results of the first phase of an intended
longitudinal study designed to test how Serbian students perceive the meaning of
telicity in transparent phrasal verbs. Previous research (Bikicki 2010) showed that
the students had considerable difficulties in determining when to use particles which
had only telic function. The research presented in this paper incorporates
quantitative (including 200 students) and qualitative study (including 10 students).
The participants are the first year students of Novi Sad Business School and The
Faculty of Technology in Novi Sad. The quantitative study consists of translation,
multiple choice test and gap filling, while the qualitative research comprises
interviews and stimulated recall.
Key words: telicity, phrasal verbs, particle, telic, atelic, perfective, imperfective,
metaphor
1. Introduction
In the literature on English phrasal verbs (the combinations of a verb and an
adverbial particle) there are claims that the particle expresses a telic notion (Bolinger
1971, Brinton 1985). With a few exceptions when the particle does not add a telic
feature, and even fewer cases when the particle removes the feature as shown in the
study by Giddings (2001), this is generally true. The studies in cognitive linguistics
also show that the spatial domain of the particle is a source of a large variety of
semantic extensions to non-locative domains through metaphor, and that this feature
of the particles is often perceived by foreign learners (Kovacses and Szabó 1996,
Boers 2000, Neagu 2007). Bolinger wrote: “… there is no real borderline between
non-aspectual and aspectual uses of the particles, but rather a gradient” (Bolinger
1971: 98).
Phrasal verbs are notoriously difficult for foreign language learners. There are
few reasons for this: (i) restrictions on the place of the particle, (ii) learners often
perceive the particle to be arbitrary, (iii) the particles are in most cases markers of
telicity. Bolinger (1971) claims that the object has reached a resultant condition and
that the process has been started or completed. Lastly, the particles can specify that a
process has gained high intensity. Previous classroom experience has indicated that
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students are not always aware of the aspectual nature of the particle and its
semantics. This has also been confirmed in one of the studies on phrasal verbs
(Bikicki 2010, unpublished doctoral thesis).
A linguist can often find a link between the spatial meaning of the particle and
its extension. However, for a student this link is often difficult or impossible to
perceive. Thus, it is expected that the verbs with the particle up such as dry up, give
up, etc. will be more easily perceived to denote telic activities as the spatial meaning
of the particle is less obvious unless explicitly taught to the student by using
Bolinger’s well-known example of filling a glass (Bolinger 1971: 98).
This paper reports the results of the first phase of an intended long-term study
which aims to investigate how students perceive the meaning of the particle of a
phrasal verb; in particular the study is designed to investigate whether they perceive
it as a marker of telicity without any explicit instruction apart from the one they
received during previous education. In order to better understand the effects of
future explicit teaching of the phrasal verbs, the emphasis is on determining the
characteristics of the sample. First the students’ overall achievement of both groups
(Novi Sad Business School first year students and Faculty of Technology first year
students) on the test was analysed and compared. Second, an attempt was made to
ascertain whether there are any differences between the achievement of males and
females on the test and whether the number of years a student has spent learning
English affects the understanding of the particle’s meaning. Finally, as it has been
noticed in the course of our practice, the students who had attended grammar
schools have better command of English compared to the students who come from
vocational schools. Thus, the fourth aim was to determine whether this is really true
by examining whether former grammar school students cope better with phrasal
verbs. Relying on Boers’s claim (Boers 2000: 563) that better knowledge of English
is essential for metaphorical awareness, it can be hypothesised that these students
will perform better.
2. Previous studies
The theoretical framework for this study is based on the research of the notion
of aktionsart (Vendler 1967, Dowty 1979, Comrie 1985, Brinton 1985, Jackendoff
1996, Novakov 2005, Giddings 2001, Caudal 1999) and metaphor (Lakoff and
Johnson 1980, Boers 2000, Kovaces and Szabó 1996, Neagu 2007).
The term aktionsart denotes the inherent temporal nature of the situation
named. It can be either completed whole (perfective) or ongoing, incomplete
(imperfective), also beginning, ending or continuing (Brinton 1985). The best
known categorization of aktionsart is Vendler’s distinction of state, activity,
accomplishment and achievement (Dowty 1979: 54). States do not occur in
progressive, as complements of the verbs force and persuade, imperatives or with
19
adverbs deliberately and carefully. The opposite is true of non-stative verbs:
activities, achievements and accomplishments (Dowty 1979 : 55).
States and activities are atelic, whereas achievements and accomplishments are
telic. The terms atelic and telic both refer to durative situations. However, the
situation described by a telic verb is the one involving a process that leads up to a
well-defined terminal point, beyond which the process cannot continue (Comrie
1985: 45). Telic and atelic situations are distinguished by restrictions on the form of
the temporal adverbials they can take. Following Dowty (1979: 56-57), only
activities allow adverbials with for, while accomplishments take adverbial
prepositional phrases with in, for instance, John walked for an hour vs. John painted
a picture in an hour. Accomplishment verbs occur with the structure take an hour to
V: It took John an hour to paint a picture, whereas the same construction with
activities only denotes the time that elapsed before someone actually began to
perform the activity. Finally if someone stops Ving, he has Ved. For example John
stopped walking means John did walk, while John stopped painting the picture
doesn’t tell us whether the painting is finished or not. Only accomplishments occur
as complements of finish: *John finished walking (Dowty 1979: 57).
However, the situations are not described by verbs alone. The whole verb
phrases must be taken into account (verbs together with their arguments - subjects
and objects) to distinguish atelic from telic situations. For instance,
accomplishments which take an indefinite plural direct object or a mass-noun
behave as activities. Similarly, if a subject of an achievement is an indefinite plural
noun or a mass noun, the sentence is atelic (Dowty 1979: 62, 63). Jackendoff
observes that the choice of prepositional phrase also affects telicity (Jackendoff
1996: 309), whereas Hay et al. (1999: 134) note that degree modifiers like
significantly, completely give rise to telic interpretations.
Sometimes, a verb itself can have two readings, which is the case with degree
achievement verbs. Degree achievement verbs display both telic and atelic
properties: The soup cooled for/in an hour. When the scalar structure associated
with the base adjective has a natural bound, the derived verb is telic; when the
adjective’s scalar structure has no such bound, the verb is atelic (Hay et al. 1999).
With telic reading the soup cooled to a room temperature, whereas with atelic
reading the soup cooled to an unspecified degree. Hay et al. (1999: 138) classify
adjectives according to the structure of the scale onto which they map their
arguments into two classes: closed-range adjectives associated with a scale with a
maximal value (straight, empty, dry) and open-range adjectives which do not have
maximal values on the scale (long, wide, short). Degree achievements derived from
closed-range adjectives typically behave telically. However, much depends on the
context. They give the following examples: Kim lowered the blind, and Kim lowered
the heat. Based on real-world knowledge we know that there is a conventional
maximal length for lowering the blinds, while heat can be lowered indefinitely.
Finally, as pointed by Hay et al. (1999: 139), telic interpretations can be
cancelled when linguistically specified. In the example: She ate the sandwich, it is
20
implied that the situation is telic. However, the telic interpretation can be cancelled
as in the following example of Hay et al.: She ate the sandwich but as usual she left
a few bites.
In the case of phrasal verbs, as briefly mentioned in the introduction of this
paper, it is the particle which turns an atelic event into a telic one. “They (the
particles) may add the concept of a goal or an endpoint to durative situations which
otherwise have no necessary terminus” (Brinton 1985: 160). The research
performed by Giddings (2001) shows that there are exceptions. Her analysis of the
data collected for the particles down and out showed that the particles do not add the
feature of telicity to an atelic verb if the verb already encodes a directed motion
event. This can be seen in the following examples: It rained (down) for hours, Blood
gushed (out) from the wound. She reports a few cases in which the particles remove
an aspectual feature from the verb, but does not give examples.
As becomes clear from a few examples given above, the phrasal verb particle
irrespective of its telic function can retain its spatial meaning. More frequently,
though, it becomes the source of a large variety of semantic extensions through
metonymy and metaphor. To what extent its meaning is easy to understand depends
a lot on the learner’s ability to perceive the conceptual metaphor behind the phrasal
verb. Several studies (Boers 2000, Kovecses and Szabó 1996) have shown that
learners are capable of recognizing metaphors behind phrasal verbs. It is in the
present study that we attempt to investigate students’ awareness of phrasal verb
particles’ telic nature.
3. Methodology
3.1. Procedure
To collect data for this phase of the study, quantitative and qualitative methods
were used. The quantitative data was obtained by a test consisting of three tasks. The
first task was a multiple-choice task (three options given) which comprised of five
sentences each containing a different verb. The participants had to circle the answer
they thought best fitted the missing part in the English sentence, and for each
sentence they were given a Serbian translation. In the second task the participants
had to circle the correct English translation of the given Serbian sentences. Two
options were given: one English sentence contained a phrasal verb, while the other
one contained a lexical verb only. The third task was a gap filling exercise. There
were fifteen sentences to be completed with either a lexical or phrasal verb provided.
Half and hour of a regular class was allowed for the completion of the test. A week
later a questionnaire was administered for the purposes of establishing the
participants’ use of strategies for the discovery of a new word’s meaning relevant for
this research. Although the researchers intended to use a postponed think aloud
protocol for obtaining results for the qualitative research, the actual circumstances
21
did not allow the use of that technique, so they used stimulated recall instead, and an
interview, again a week after the test. Think-aloud protocols and stimulated recall
are introspective measures available to second language researcher. Through thinkaloud protocols, researchers can gather information about what is going through
learners’ minds as they are concurrently solving a problem. Stimulated recall is used
to explore learners’ thought processes by prompting them to recall and report
thoughts that they had while performing a task. They may be given their written
products so that they can comment on their linguistic revisions, motivations and
thought processes along the way (Gass and Mackey 2007: 53-55).
Several factors affected the choice of verbs stimuli. Firstly, an attempt was
made to incorporate particles up, down, out, off as they are “most frequently
associated with aspectual meaning” (Brinton 1985: 159). Secondly, verbs of motion
needed to be included in the test to determine whether students wrongly perceive the
particle in this intensifying function as a marker of telicity. Lastly, the meaning of
the lexical verb needed to be clear to the subjects so as not to interfere with the task
in hand. We consulted with several English teachers and checked a few textbooks.
This confirmed our assumption that the verbs used had been taught to the students
during their time in secondary schools. The sentences used in the test were taken
from Macmillan Phrasal Verbs plus, Longman Phrasal Verbs Dictionary and
Longman Exams Dictionary. Some of them were slightly modified to make them
more practicable.
3.2. Participants
The participants were first year students. The number of students taking part in
the study was 104 students (33 male, 71 female) from Novi Sad Business School
(NSBS) and 108 students (34 male, 74 female) from Faculty of Technology (FT).
Thus the overall number of participants was 212 (67 male (31.6%), 145 female
(68.39%)). The number of students who attended grammar schools amounted to 59
(27.8%), while 153 (72.2%) participants had previously attended a vocational
school. The questionnaire results were obtained from 158 subjects in total (65 male,
93 female) as not all students attended classes when the questionnaire was
administered and were unwilling to do it at a later time. A group of 10 students were
chosen for the qualitative part of the research (5 from NSBS and 5 from FT, 5 male
and 5 female students in total). Besides their names, the students were supposed to
write the number of years they had studied English on the top of the first page of the
test. It was established that 75 students (35.37%) had studied English for only 1 to 5
years, 121 participants (57.07%) had studied English from 6 to 10 years, while only
16 students (7.54%) had studied it for the period of 11 to 15 years.
As the participants were first year students who have just begun the course, an
attempt was made to choose students who seemed committed (attentive during
classes, hard-working, responsible, etc.) and whose command of English was
22
estimated to be at an intermediate level. The chosen NSBS participants all finished
vocational secondary schools, while the five FT students came from grammar
schools. As an incentive, the interviewed participants were guaranteed 10 pre-exam
requirement points given otherwise for continual application during classes.
Participants were promised (not in written form, though) that the absolute
confidentiality of the obtained answers was ensured.
4. Results/findings
To analyse quantitative data SPSS 12.0 was used.
The questionnaire results are presented first as they indicate how students cope
with unfamiliar words. Next the main results of the test will be presented. The
answers which contained the right verb but were in the wrong form were regarded as
correct. All students completed the test before the assigned time limit.
The questionnaire results showed that all participants most frequently (48.33%
NSBS, 74% FT) used context to arrive at the correct meaning of the word. However,
if they fail in their first attempt to arrive at the meaning they feel is acceptable, the
majority of NSBS students consult a dictionary (26.31%), whereas the majority of
FT students try to analyse the word parts (54.16%). If they fail again, they seek peer
help first or turn to the teacher second. Word analysis is the final resort for 49.05%
of the NSBS participants, while for FT students it is the dictionary (26.04%). Both
groups of participants use bilingual dictionaries as they find it easier (70.68% of
NSBS students and 65% of FT students). If they get the general meaning of the
sentence by inferring the meaning of the unfamiliar word from the context or by
analysing word parts, 48.61% of NSBS students and 55% of the FT students are not
going to check their supposition in the dictionary.
The results of the test containing 25 items showed the average score of
M=13.1745, the extreme scores being one correct answer, and the maximum score
21 correct answers. The overall achievement thus only just exceeds 50%. T-test
showed that there was a significant difference in scores for males (M= 14.4776,
SD=3.78337) and females (M=12.5724, SD=3.60506, t=3.522, p<.001). The results
of the T-test further showed that the length of studying language has effect on the
perception of telicity in phrasal verbs. There was a significant difference in the
achievement between the first group of students who had studied English one to five
years and two other groups (6-10 and 11-15), p<.005 and p<0.18. The previous type
of school has an effect on students’ achievement as grammar school students did
significantly better (M= 14.8305, SD=3.41978) compared to students who attended
other types of schools (M=12.5359, SD=3.69926, t=4.131, p<.000). As for the
difference in overall achievement on the test between the two groups of participants
NSBS and FT, none has been found (p<.658).
23
5. Discussion
The English sentences in the first task were generally acceptable both with telic
and atelic verb as the difference in meaning is slight. In this task, both lexical and
phrasal verbs were acceptable, but the phrasal verbs were preferable.
However, the provided Serbian translation contained the perfective verb in four
sentences, so the telic verb was considered to be the precise translation and thus a
correct answer. The researchers were interested to see if the students perceived the
different nuances in meanings, the answers to which were obtained by means of a
stimulated recall.
One phrasal verb, though, contained a particle which was a pure intensifier:
pour down. It was included so as to determine whether the students could tell the
difference between this meaning of the particle and all the rest. Though 49.5% of the
participants thought that the phrasal verb pour down was the best translation for the
sentence Kiša je pljuštala, only one student (FT) said: “…poured has less intensity”.
All the other students opted for the phrasal verbs as: “It always rains downwards”.
Only one student (NSBS) wrongly concluded that the phrasal verb denoted finished
activity.
Although in all other sentences the phrasal verbs were expected, as they
emphasized the endpoint and thus telic situations, and were the best translations of
the given Serbian sentences, both groups of students showed preference (67.5%)
for the simple verb in the case of check/check out in the sentence: I made a phone
call to ………. his address. The analysis of the answers indicated that the
interference of another meaning of the same phrasal verb, leave a hotel, hospital, etc
after paying the bill played a crucial part in their choice of the correct answer.
However, with phrasal verbs containing the verb dry, it becomes clear that the
students, besides the particle semantics, notice that there is a telic feature to it,
although they do not use the term as such. The following was given:
Oprala je salatu i ostavila je da se osuši.
She washed the salad and left it to ............
a) dry b) dry up c) dry off
Test results showed that in 47.6% of the participants chose the correct answer
dry off. Three students said they chose dry off as it indicated that the activity is
completed. Two participants (FT) used degree modifier completely, which as Hay et
al., quoted above, point out indicates telicity. For the majority of other students the
spatial meaning which denotes separation is dominant, but it is clear that most of
them understand the situation to be telic. One of them (NSBS) explained “… off
means getting rid of everything unnecessary”, while another NSBS student said:
“You can’t use dry up, as you can’t dry upwards… You need to remove water from
the salad”. Two FT students said: “The water slid from the salad”. The verbs dry
occurred once more in the example below:
24
Preterana upotreba vode u domaćinstvu će isušiti reku.
Taking too much water for household use will .......... the river.
a) dry up
b) dry out c) dry
According to Longman Phrasal Verbs Dictionary if a river of lake dries up, the
water in it disappears. In Macmillan Phrasal Verbs plus the following can be found:
if something dries up, all the water comes out of it and it becomes too dry or too
hard, and then marks it as synonymous with dry out, for which we find: if something
dries out, some or all the water comes out of it. Accordingly, both dry up and dry out
are acceptable answers. It was expected that the students would choose the verb dry
up as they already know grow up, shut up, etc. But only a few students thought dry
up was possible, as “the water from the river goes out. It doesn’t go up, which would
mean it evaporated”, said one student (FT). The majority selected the verb dry out,
but while FT students tried to compare the intensity of out and up, or showed that
they conceptualized it as a container from which the water was supposed to
eventually leak out, NSBS students could not explain their choice and admitted they
hesitated between dry out and dry, although the majority of them chose dry out. This
shows that some students do not perceive the telic feature of the particle up.
When faced with the sentence When I was unemployed my parents helped me
(out), 37,3% of the participants opted for the phrasal verb. Those interviewed who
chose the verb help out explained that “the parents helped me to find a way out of a
difficult situation /a problem”, or used perfective prefixed Serbian verb ispomoći.
One student said he felt the phrasal verb meant they offered financial help.
Interestingly, only 3 out of 212 students chose help off in this particular sentence.
The students who were interviewed said off means exclusion, and in their opinion it
was definitely the wrong answer.
In the second task the least problematic seemed to be the translation of the
sentence Sekla je krastavce celo poslepodne. Thus, in 85.8% of the cases, the
participants selected the correct translation She sliced cucumbers all afternoon, as
opposed to the translation with the phrasal verb slice off. Several explanations were
obtained: “off finishes the activity” (NSBS students), “whole afternoon” (NSBS),
“slowly, the activity lasted for some time” (FT, 3 students), “the activity lasted” (FT,
2 students), “for some time” (FT students).
Again, fewer NSBS students could offer any other explanation except that it
sounded right.
The most problematic seemed to be the verb write out in It took a police officer
a minute to write out my ticket. As many as 59.9% of the total number of
participants opted for the verb write. However, three FT students thought write out
collocated with a form, whereas write is used for a ticket as it takes no time at all.
One FT student mistook it for write off (a wreck). Only two FT students and three
out of five NSBS students perceived the telic nature of out in write out. Three of the
students could not tell the difference as the following answers were obtained: “write
out doesn’t sound right”, “write out makes no sense”, “write, write off – pisati”.
25
Extremely interesting results were obtained for the phrasal verb cool off, which
was tested for two different meanings become cooler (lower the temperature) and
calm down. When used idiomatically, the percentage of the correct answer was
76.9%. Seven out of ten interviewed students said that cool off denoted the finished
activity. However, when the phrasal verb was used in a literal sense to mean that the
cookies have become cooler, only 49.1% of the participants answered correctly. All
five FT students perceived the difference, and only one NSBS student did so. While
the mentioned five students said they did not see the difference, one student believed
cool off was used idiomatically, while only cool could be used to denote the literal
cooling of the cookies.
As for the verb hunt down, although the results of the test showed that 56.1%
of the participants gave the wrong answer, nine out of ten students taking part in the
qualitative research differentiated correctly between the telic and atelic meaning of
the verbs hunt down and hunt respectively.
In the third task the students were supposed to fill in the gaps using either the
given verb or verb particle construction, e.g. eat/eat up. The least problematic was
the sentence No chicken for me. I don’t eat meat (90.6% of the participants answered
correctly). Two other sentences were given in this task requiring the verb eat or eat
up: ______ your vegetables and then go to bed and She has made a cake herself and
wants us to help her ______ it _____. The second sentence seemed to be less
problematic as there were 161 correct answers (75.9%). These results were
supported by the students’ explanation of the meaning: “the whole cake”, “they’ll
eat the whole of it”, etc. The first sentence, on the other hand, posed a problem.
Only 28.3% of the students chose the phrasal verb. This turned out to be caused by
the way in which students interpreted the situation. Six of the interviewed students
explained that they did not understand the sentence to mean Eat all the vegetables
before you go to bed as in their experience it is never necessary to eat everything
that is on your plate. However, all the interviewed students did understand the
phrasal verb to be telic, as they translated it with the Serbian verb with a prefix
pojesti.
Second on the list of the least problematic sentences in the third task seemed to
be the sentence My parents use the house as a holiday home (75.9% correct
answers). However, the interviews revealed again, that NSBS students thought that
there was some sort of aspectual /aktionsart difference, but they were not really
certain what it was. One of the NSBS interviewees said, “the building of the house is
over”, while another one said “use up ….it is used only for the weekends, use would
mean every day”. Still another one said: “What does up mean? I can’t explain, like
eat, eat up… The end.” It’s interesting to notice that the verb use was correctly used
in the sentence Most of the wood in developing countries is used for fuel (103
answers (48.6%)), while the phrasal verb use up in the sentence Who has ______ all
the milk was found in 72 answers (34%). Though the quantitative results were worse
in these two cases, all the interviewed students gave right answers and accurate
explanations, e.g. “All the milk has been spent; There’s nothing left; The fuel is still
being used and will be used in the future, etc.”
26
As regards the pair pump/pump up, for the sentence My heart pumped fast
before the exam 142 correct answers were obtained (67%), whereas in the case The
heart pumped blood around the body there were fewer correct answers (51.9%).
While the interviewed FT students explained that pump denotes iterative activity
(“repetition”, “all the time”), three of the NSBS participants mentioned, “upwards
through the body”, “it pushes the blood upwards”, even ispumpava (“it pumps it out
of the heart”). This clearly shows that not all students understand the verb
pump/pump up to denote a circular movement, but rather each heartbeat. The phrasal
verb pump up was used in 55.2% of all the answers. All interviewed students
correctly used the phrasal verb. What determined their choice was the fact that when
you pump the tyres their volume increases, the air fills the space of the tyres, tyres
visibly move upwards as they become inflated. One FT students said that to pump
denoted an iterative activity, while another student pointed out that to pump
indicated that the activity was not completed. Several other students compared it to
the perfective and imperfective Serbian equivalents napumpati vs. pumpati.
Understanding of the situation affected the choice of the verbs in the sentences
containing verbs squeeze/squeeze out. In the sentence He _________ the oranges to
make an orange juice 65.1% of the participants decided to use just the verb squeeze,
which was the expected answer as Longman Exams Dictionary gives the definition
press out liquid for the verb squeeze, and the example Squeeze the oranges. Still, if
Bolinger’s example of blowing up the balloons is anything to go by (see Bolinger
1971: 97), the same could be applied to this situation, thus making squeeze out also
possible to denote the completion of the series (note, however, that the particles are
different). One of the NSBS students explicitly said, “I used squeeze as he did it one
by one”, while several FT students explained “He squeezed an orange”, or “the
activity is not over”. It is not clear why they perceive the activity as still in progress,
as there is an endpoint given by to make an orange juice which pragmatically does
not require tons of oranges to be squeezed.
According to the test results, it turned out that even more problematic was the
sentence She __________ the toothpaste but she didn’t put the cap back on. Only
48.1% of the tested students filled the gap with a phrasal verb. The answers obtained
during the interviews were also mixed. Some students chose the phrasal verb
because the activity was accomplished as “some of the paste got out”, while others
compared it to the Serbian equivalent iscediti. There were also students who thought
that as the cap was not screwed back on the paste it meant that it was probably used
up. Those who opted for the verb squeeze (two of them) said that not all of the paste
was used. Three of the NSBS students gave no explanation.
In the sentence Can you do anything to _______ the building work 59.4% of
the participants rightly assumed that the phrasal verb was missing, but in the
sentence I______ at 150 kph on the motorway and got caught only 87 students
(41%) supplied the phrasal verbs. In the sentence Can you do anything to
_________ the building work? 59.4% of the participants used the phrasal verb.
Although the majority of interviewed students translated the verb speed up as
27
ubrzati, brzo voziti (increase the speed, drive fast), five of them claimed that speed is
a noun (brzina), and speed up is a verb (ubrzati). The answers to the question How
would you translate “juriti”? were: speeding, drive or “I can’t remember right
now.” Two of the interviewed students used the phrasal verb in the sentence
I______ at 150 kph on the motorway…. They explained that they used speed up as
“I speeded up to 150 kph and then continued at that speed”.
6. Conclusions
The analysis of the quantitative results, as well as the answers obtained from
the interviewed students, showed that students can perceive the telic nature of the
particle. However, several factors interfere with the clear understanding of each verb
and its particle. First of all, it seems that the perception of the spatial meaning of the
verb comes first, as shown in sentences with the verbs dry off, dry out, dry up,
squeeze out. When the particle up is clearly not connected with the upward
movement and when it denotes disappearance, as in eat up, use up, the
understanding of the telic meaning is made easier.
The results indicated that if the idiomatic meaning of a verb is too dominant in
the students’ minds (frequently used or acquired first) it blocks the use of the verb
with another meaning as exemplified by phrasal verbs check out and cool off.
A collocation can possibly influence the learner’s choice as in the case of write
out the ticket. However, this needs further research.
The results also suggest that pragmatic choices play a crucial role in deciding
which verb to use. How students perceive the situation, and whether they discern the
goal or endpoint in a given situation, affects their decision of which verb to use.
Most strikingly, however, the results confirmed that the school
(grammar/vocational), the participants have previously attended, plays a great part in
how they cope with phrasal verbs, which was supported by the results of the
qualitative research.
The results of the quantitative research showed that the length of learning the
English language has an impact on students understanding of the semantics of the
phrasal verb particle.
Finally, it can be claimed that males are somewhat better when faced with the
problem of choosing between atelic and telic verb forms.
7. Pedagogical implications
The results of the study are important in several ways. Firstly, it can be
claimed that students are not always confident what the meaning(s) of the particle is
(are). It also becomes clear from the students’ responses that quite often the correct
answers are based on false reasoning, most notably speed/speed up. Secondly,
explicit instruction is needed to make students aware of the fact that the particle can
28
have more than just a spatial meaning. Students also need to realize that extended
meaning of the particle does not necessarily rob it of its telic feature. Finally, as
pointed out by Brinton (1985: 160), perfectivity cannot be identified with telicity
which, as pointed above, gives goal to a durative notion. The difference between
perfectivity and telicity, however, does not seem to be clear to the students.
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Snežana Bilbija
Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina
snezana.bilbija@gmail.com
THE PRAGMATIC ROLE OF VAGUE MEANINGS IN THE EU
DISCOURSE
Abstract This paper examines the political valences of the purposefully vague uses
of certain adjectival forms such as new, better, stronger, greater as well as other
members of the English lexicon in the public discourse of various EU bodies, and,
more specifically, in their documents relating to the EU Enlargement. By drawing
on the theoretical framework of Critical Discourse Analysis, this paper will try to
prove that the EU bodies exploit the vagueness of certain adjectival paradigms in
order to demonstrate to the Other (i.e. the non-member states) that the power to
dispose of the ultimate interpretation of adjectival indeterminacy, which, together
with other linguistic means that shape the EU discourse, rests entirely with those
who can actively create this discourse simply because they hold all the political and
economic power.
Key words: vague adjectives, the EU, the Enlargement, public discourse, the Other.
1. Introduction
In the past five or more years, one of the most pressing concerns of the former
Yugoslav countries has been obtaining the EU membership. From their newspaper
articles to political roundtables in prominent TV shows, to government-funded
conferences and training sessions, all the Enlargement countries have extensively
discussed their comparative “readiness” for entry into the EU. In their subsequent
addresses to the EU they would plead their case and demonstrate their competencies,
all in hope that one day (ideally sooner, rather than later) they would be part of this
much sought-after Union. In response to these addresses, the EU issued a number of
reports tracing the countries’ progress in their various endeavors to obtain
membership.
For example, this statement contained in the Enlargement Reports, “The
Western Balkans have moved closer to the EU over the past year, as the region
made progress, albeit unevenly, in reforms and in meeting established criteria and
conditions” (p.15), seems, at first glance to offer a positive evaluation of the state of
things in the Western Balkans, while, in fact, it gives very little substantial
information on exactly what kind of progress has been made, how progress is being
defined and, most importantly, against and towards what is this progress being
measured? When the author states that “the Western Balkans have moved closer to
the EU”, he does not explain what exactly this phrase “closer to the EU” means –
31
that is to say “closer than what”? Does this mean that it was originally at a vast
distance from “meeting established criteria and conditions” and is now slowly
trudging towards this goal; or does this bode well for the Western Balkans because
they are now very close to meeting these criteria? Similarly, what exactly is meant
by “uneven progress” in this context? Finally, what does the EU's use of such vague
language as this ultimately say about its attitudes towards the non-member states
that it is so opaquely evaluating?
This paper is concerned with tracing and explicating vagueness in the EU's
political discourse on its enlargement and its putative inclusion of non-member
states. More specifically, it examines the political valences of the purposefully vague
uses of various linguistic forms. Vagueness, as I am using it, is an important
linguistic term , and I draw most of my definitions of it from Timothy Williamson
(1997,1996), one of the most cited philosophers and authorities on vagueness.
According to Williamson:
An unspecific term may be associated with a wide range of cases but it is not
vague unless its boundary is blurred (Williamson 1997:204).
It can be inferred from Williamson's definition that a vague term is not the
same as an unspecific one. Along the same lines, Williamson introduces
“ambiguous terms“as the third subset of terms lacking clarity or precision. In his
earlier more extensive study on vagueness Williamson writes on vagueness “as a
precondition of the flexibility of ordinary language” (1996:70).
Contributing to the discussion of vagueness in the second edition of The
Encyclopedia of Language and Linguistics, R. Keefe insists that “other elements of
language besides predicates are also vague: consider, for example, hurries, quickly,
many, very, the nicest man“ (2006: 299).
At this point it is also important to note that the philosophical or
epistemological discussion of vagueness has not been a primary concern in my
research. Instead, I have shifted the focus to the ethical status of vagueness, namely
to vagueness in discourse i.e. in use.
2.The data
My data consisted of a body of extensive progress reports (75 pages) on nonmember states aspiring to admission to the European Union in a foreseeable future.
The reports referred to a wide range of countries including Western Balkan states,
Turkey and Iceland. The corpus collected for the current investigation pertains
solely to the EU Enlargement process and exists in the form of a collection of
European Commisssion Working Documents entitled Enlargement Strategy and
Main Challenges 2010-2011. These Working Documents, addressed to the Council
and the European Parliament, are, in fact, a series of Reports on Progress and are
accessible through the EU official website www. europa.eu.
32
The creators of the Enlargement narrative are top European Union politicians
aided by an army of Eurocrats while the narrrative itself is a textbook example of
political discourse. I claim this because the narrative, like any political discourse,
contains the following properties:
1. unequal power1 relations
<the EU as a powerful political and economic organization initiates the
possibility to enlarge itself with much less powerful non-member European
countries>
2. imposition of ideology
< Only if those non-member countries adopt the norms and values of the EU,
can they be considered worthy of joining the EU.The imposition of an
ideology is carried out by applying strategies of self-glorification (the EU) and
negative Other -presentation (non-member countries)>
3. legitimation of the EU's imposition of ideology for the purpose of maintaining the
relations of power inequality.
< How the EU is assessing the pace of change and transformation of the nonmember countries is legitimate and cannot be questioned >.
The following example from the data exemplifies the presence of all three
features mentioned above:
(1) Enlargement countries are required to take over the acquis2 of the Union
and to demonstrate their capacity to implement it fully. (p.3)
[the Union : Enlargement countries = unequal power relation]
[ to take over the acquis = imposition of ideology ]
[Enlargement countries are required to take over = legitimation of imposition
of ideology ]
3.Theoretical framework
CDA is a particularly suitable theoretical framework within which to discuss
the exploitation of semantic vagueness3 precisely because it offers a variety of
strategies and tools for detecting abuse of power in political discourse. Indeed,
CDA's primary concern are the strategies through which political discourse either
1
In this paper the concept of power is taken over from Wilson who defines it as „the ability to
get an individual to behave or not to behave in a particular manner„ (Wilson 2009:744).
2
This is a French word whose meaning, accessible on the internet, should be interpreted as
follows: When a new member country is to be admitted to the EU, the point of departure is that it must
satisfy the entire body of rules and regulations, i.e. the ‘acquis communautaire’ or the ‘acquis’ as it is
also known, from the first day of membership. www.eu-oplysningen.dk/euo_en/spsv/all/70 .
3
Van Dijk included vagueness in the list of categories of ideological discourse defining vague
expressions as „expressions that do not have well-defined referents, or which refer to fuzzy sets“ (Van
Dijk 2006:739)-
33
reproduces or challenges political dominance. From the range of numerous
definitions of CDA produced by its many advocates I opted for Van Dijk’s
formulation :
Critical Discourse Analysis (CDA) is a type of discourse analytical research
that primarily studies the way social power abuse, dominance, and inequality are
enacted, reproduced, and resisted by text and talk in the social and political context.
With such dissident research, critical discourse analysts take explicit position, and
thus want to understand, expose, and ultimately resist social inequality (van Dijk
2001: 352).
It has long been established in CDA that political discourse cannot be
dissociated from ideologies which, as a set of beliefs and ideas, the group with
power wants to impose on those it dominates. In order to represent and account for
the underpinnings of political discourse van Dijk (2006) introduced something
called The Ideological Square, a formation based on the employment of four
strategies: two for positive self-presentation and two other for Other-presentation.
1. Emphasize Our good things
2. Emphasize Their bad things
3. De-emphasize Our bad things
4. De-emphasize Their good things (van Dijk 2006 :734)
The following examples from the data illustrate each of the four mentioned
strategies:
Emphasize Their bad things
(2) Aspirant countries and their citizens need a clear perspective of accession,
once conditions are met, and should see tangible benefits along the way. (p.4)
Emphasize Our good things
(3) The EU, together with the international financial institutions, helped
alleviate the impact of the crisis. (p.5)
De-emphasize Their good things
(4) The Western Balkans have moved closer to the EU over the past year, as
the region made progress, albeit unevenly, in reforms and in meeting establishe
criteria and conditions. ( p.15)
De-emphasize Our bad things
(5) As economic governance within the EU is reinforced, economic dialogue
with the enlargement countries will also be intensified, enabling us to focus
together on putting the crisis behind us and creating jobs. (p.4)
From its very beginnings, CDA's adherents have foregrounded its
interdisciplinarity as one of the basic concepts underpinning CDA.Wodak and
Chilton (2005) thus define CDA's interdisciplinarity as “blending elements of social
theory and elements of linguistic science” (Chilton and Wodak 2005: xiii). In their
attempts to delineate the future of CDA,Wodak and Chilton (2005) also see it as an
open-ended system capable of embracing other disciplines ranging from psychology
to cognitive science, to new bio- sciences and their respective discourses. ( Chilton
and Wodak 2005). A quick survey of recent article titles including “Activity
34
Contracts and Directives in Everyday Family Politics”; “‘This is jist my life noo’:
Marriage, Children and Choice in a Scottish Fishing Community”; “Discourse
Analysis and Disability: Some Topics and Issues”, that appeared in the 2011 issues
of Discourse and Society4, reveals that CDA linguistic methods are equally suitable
for disclosing “discursive power abuse” (van Dijk 2006: 360) and injustices
generated by it not only in the social, but also in private domain of human
interaction. Given this openendedness, CDA is able to easily respond and adjust to
the changing realities of the 21st century. In other words, it can broaden its existing
agenda (terrorism, immigration, gender, racism, ecological issues) to include new
discourse-generated injustices affecting the AIDS population, individuals with
disabilities or citizens with different sexual orientation.
Marking CDA's thirtieth anniversary in 2005, its two leading CDA scholars,
Chilton and Wodak (2005), proudly noted that CDA was now being used globally,
and that its analytical tools and procedures had become applicable in a wider range
of different social and political contexts, ranging from a superstate such as the EU to
former communist and socialist countries in transition to China's economic boom.
4. Data analysis
The principal hypothesis of my investigation of the EU's political discourse on
its expansion is that detectable instances of linguistic vagueness should be assessed
from an ethical rather than an epistemological point of view.To put it differently, the
objective of the research presented here is to identify instances of linguistic
realization of vagueness, as a semantic phenomenon, and prove that it is used as a
strategy to shape the Enlargement discourse. My intention is to prove that vagueness
should be treated as equal to other linguistic phenomena of political discourse
including presuppositions, implicatures, metaphorical expressions.
Identification and linguistic categorization of concrete instances of vagueness
in the vocabulary of our data, that is, in the Enlargement Reports, assists an
understanding of the reasons for such linguistic options as:
quantifiers
most of (implying not all)
(6) Strengthening the rule of law, in particular the judiciary and the fight
against organised crime and corruption is a crucial challenge for most of the
countries in the enlargement process. (p.8)
much of (not all )
(7) In much of the Western Balkans, state-building, consolidation of institutions
as well as better governance constitute priority concerns. (p.20).
4
The first two articles appeared in March 2011; Vol.22, No.2: available online
http://das.sagepub.com/content/vol22/issue2/?etoc while the third appeared in September 2011; Vol.
22, No. 5 available online http://das.sagepub.com/content/vol22/issue5/?etoc
35
some (not complete)
(8) Some progress has been made with the reconstruction of damaged houses.
(p.30)
comparative adjectives
wider (than what?)
(9) A wider regional support would contribute to reconciliation. (p.10)
more open (than what?)
(10) By contributing to a more open, participatory and dynamic democracy, a
lively and vibrant civil society is also conducive to tolerance and
reconciliation. (p.14)
further (from what?)
(11) Further progress has been made in key reform areas. (p.21)
adverbs
poorly (insufficiently developed or undeveloped)
(12) The access of civil society to government support is frequently hindered by
a lack of transparency and poorly developed allocation criteria. (p.29)
closer
(13) The Western Balkans have moved closer to the EU over the past year, as
the region made progress, albeit unevenly, in reforms and in meeting
established criteria and conditions. (p.15)
seriously
(14) ... that rule of law issues must be addressed seriously before accession.
(p.9)
nouns
progress
(15) The country needs to make further progress in relation to dialogue among
political actors, judiciary and public administration. (p.11)
reforms
(16) The use of benchmarks in the accession negotiations serves as an
important catalyst for reforms.(p.9)
efforts
(17) Further efforts are necessary to bring the legislation in line with the
acquis. (p.5)
verbs
improve (with respect to what previous state of affairs?)
(18) The dialogue between major political parties and actors needs to improve
so as to permit the normal functioning of institutions and accelerate the pace of
reforms. (p.15)
strengthen (with respect to what previous state of affairs?)
(19) The protection of women and children against violence needs to be
strengthened. (p.4)
upgrade (with respect to what previous state of affairs?)
(20) Cooperation with civil society needs to be upgraded. (p.29)
36
Besides the noticeable presence of semantically vague terms ranging from
adjectives to verbs (whose borderline cases are not known or are difficult to know )
the Enlargement discourse is also replete with terms typically classified as
disclaimers (Van Dijk 2006:206).5
(21) Fiscal tightening measures involving budget have been implemented in the
Western Balkans. However,6 this has not been sufficient to prevent a widening
of fiscal deficit.
(22) Accession negotiations advanced, albeit rather slowly.
Disclaimers (like however, albeit etc.) in tandem with vagueness define the EU
as the politically dominant party in the Enlargement process. The fact that vagueness
inhabits the lexis of EU narratives on Enlargement, should not be interpreted as “a
stylistic accident” but rather as a set of calculated strategies intended to confuse the
Other, namely the non-member countries, and to delay them in their efforts to join
the EU. For example by referring frequently to the non-member countries'
achievements as noteworthy yet never quite satisfactory, that is to say: in need of
further improvements, the EU discourse–creators manipulate non-member countries.
They do so by not specifying the points, actions or goals which they deem to require
improvements and thus hold them in a state of suspense or even suspension.
Upon closer examination of these examples we see that relations of comparison
are commonly cloaked in vague language. In other words these statements tend to
draw a comparison between two states, two qualities (progress and further progress)
or two intensities (close and closer) yet they do not specify the basis or standard of
this comparison. By blurring the standard of comparison, they similarly obfuscate its
expected result–what has specifically been achieved by this so-called “progress”;
and what this stage of progress represents in reality. It can thus be inferred that this
steady reliance on vague terms is a strategy through which the authors of these
statements impose their sovereignty and their power over the duration of this state of
suspension. In other words, the Other (the non-member states) may be stalled
indefinitely.
5. Conclusion
In conclusion we can say that this vagueness strategy is instrumental in
perpetuating the perception of the self (the “we” of the EU discourse) as someone
with the upper hand in the political discourse, while at the same time upholding an
5
Van Dijk defines disclaimers as: „a well-known combination of the ideologically based strategy
of positive self-presentation and negative other-presentaton..Rather, disclaimers briefly save face by
mentioning Our positive characteristics, but then focus exclusively on Their negative attributes.(Van
Dijk 2006:736).
6
In my data I found examples like „Alignment with the acquis is on track. (zero disclaimer)
Further efforts are needed in the area of auditing „ (p.33) without an overt disclaimer form. However,
zero- disclaimer or implicit disclaimer had equal effect of denial of the claim expressed in the
preceding text .
37
appearance of openness and helpfulness towards the Other (the Other being the
states wishing to join the EU).
As noted earlier, this strategy is particularly insidious because it leaves its
addressees in limbo.The proliferation of comparative statements regarding these
countries' progression into “better, newer, greater” states indicates a constant
prolongation of this state of limbo since the original referent (better, newer, greater
than what) is always effaced. By emphasizing the ongoing process rather than
clearly marking the finite duration of this period or the concrete and context-bound
achievements (or lack thereof) of these countries, the EU may, in effect, extend this
state of suspension indefinitely.
References
Brown, K. (ed.).(2006). Encyclopedia of Language and Linguistics .2nd edition.
Oxford: Elsevier.
Chilton, P. and Wodak, R. (2005). “Preface: A New Agenda in (Critical) Discourse
Analysis’’. In: R.Wodak and P. Chilton (eds.). A New Agenda in (Critical)
Discourse Analysis. Amsterdam / Philadelphia: John Benjamins Publishing
Company. 10-18.
Keefe, R. (2006).”Vagueness: Philosophical Aspect”. In: K.Brown (ed.).
Encyclopedia of Language and Linguistics. Oxford: Elsevier,298-230.
Lamarque, P.V. (ed.). (1997). Concise Encyclopedia of Philosophy of Language.
Oxford: Elsevier.
Mey, J.L. (ed). (2009). Concise Encyclopedia of Philosophy of Language. Oxford:
Elsevier.
Schiffrin, D., et al. (2001). Handbook of Discourse Analysis. Oxford: Blackwell
Publishers.
van Dijk, T.A. (2001).“Critical Discourse Analysis”. In: D.Schiffrin et al. The
Handbook of Discourse Analysis . 352-371.
van Dijk, T.A. (2006).”Politics, Ideology, and Discourse”. In: K.Brown (ed.).
Encyclopedia of Language and Linguistics. 2nd edition, 728-740.
Williamson, T. (1996). Vagueness. New York: Routledge.
Wilson, J. (2009). “Power and Pragmatics”. In: J .L .Mey (ed.). Concise
Encyclopedia of Pragmatics. 2nd edition. Oxford: Elsevier,744-746.
Wodak, R. and Chilton, P.(eds.). (2005). A New Agenda in (Critical) Discourse
Analysis. Amsterdam / Philadelphia : John Benjamins Publishing Company.
Online sources
www.eu-oplysningen.dk/euo_en/spsv/all/70. retrieved 7 July 2011
http://das.sagepub.com/content/vol22/issue2/?etoc retrieved 19 Sept2011
http://das.sagepub.com/content/vol22/issue5/?etoc retrieved 19 Sept 2001
38
Maja Bjelica
Novi Sad, Serbia
bjelicamaja@gmail.com
PHONOLOGICAL AND MORPHOLOGICAL ADAPTATION OF ENGLISH
WORDS IN THE TV SHOW ŽIVOT U TRENDU
Abstract The paper aims to explain and exemplify the principles of formal
(phonological and morphological) adaptation of English words which enter Serbian
through television shows. The corpus draws on the abundance of English words
used frequently by a host of a popular television show, who constantly tries to sound
“trendy” and more “Western”-like. Very often, the use of English words in this
context is unjustified, either because Serbian already has words for notions at issue
or it can easily form equivalents from its own language inventory. It has been
noticed that, under such constant influence of formal features of English words,
Serbian has started “importing” not only phonological segments and their
combinations from English, but also certain morphological markers typical of
English. As a result, Serbian has been forming new words which do not originate
from English but only look like they do, and their categorization is offered in the
paper.
Key words: language borrowing, adaptation, substitution, importation, phonology,
morphology, transphonemization, transmorphemization
1.
Introduction: theoretical framework
The process of language borrowing can be defined as a tendency to accept the
word from another language in order to fill in the lexical gap and adapt it according
to the rules of the receiving language in order to naturalize it (Prćić 2005). It
includes the processes of substitution and importation on all linguistic levels
(Filipović 1986: 68). This paper deals with both of these processes on the two
formal levels: phonological and morphological, while putting aside the semantic
level and the justification of loanwords in the corpus.
Substitution is a process which aims to replace every element of the English
model with corresponding elements from the Serbian language system in order to
naturalize it and start treating the loanword as any other word in the system. On the
other hand, importation is a process which aims to preserve original formal elements
of the English model by importing those elements into Serbian. Since loanwords
usually tend to integrate into the system of a receiving language, the process of
substitution is said to be a far more common operation in the process of language
borrowing than importation.
39
Furthermore, the process of substitution on the two formal levels presented in
the paper includes different adaptations on these two levels. Phonological adaptation
involves the process of substituting phonological properties of the English model
with their Serbian equivalents, or as Prćić (1991, cited in Filipović S. 2004: 21) calls
them “approximants” (which is a more appropriate term giving that there are no
phonemes in the two languages which are phonetically same, only similar). On the
other hand, morphological adaptation involves the process of substituting English
morphological markers with the corresponding elements from the Serbian language
system which have the same (or similar) function and meaning. Moreover,
morphological adaptation includes the process of adapting the English model to the
Serbian inflectional morphology due to the fact that Serbian and English
considerably differ in this area. Thus loanwords become a part of the Serbian
language system by receiving different affixes for different lexical categories.
When a word enters Serbian for various reasons (very often there is no other
reason than to sound “in” and modern), it undergoes two stages of adaptation. The
first stage begins once the word comes from English and lasts until it is fully
integrated into the Serbian language system. This stage is called primary adaptation.
At this stage, the word undergoes adaptations on the level of phonology and
sometimes morphology. After the word is fully integrated, the rules of the receiving
language are applied to the new loanword. This stage is called secondary adaptation
and at this point the word receives morphological markers characteristic for different
parts of speech in Serbian (Filipović 1986: 57).
2.
Corpus selection
The corpus was created from the examples found in the lifestyle television
magazine called Život u trendu, hosted by Snežana Dakić-Mikić, a Serbian journalist
who is famous for using too many English words in her speech in order to sound
“modern” and “trendy”. Around 20 episodes of this show were analyzed and the
corpus consists of words from the register of everyday life – related to health, food,
cosmetics, make-up, fashion, music, as well as computers, sports, business, and
tourism, among others. The examples selected mostly illustrate English words used
by the host and her guests in the show but which are either not integrated into
Serbian at all or not fully integrated yet. Prćić (2005) makes distinction between
“anglicisms” (examples 3 and 4) and “englishisms” (examples 1 and 2), the latter
being the ones which are used in Serbian but are not fully integrated on various
levels. Here are some examples from the corpus:
(1) “[...] mašna koja je vrlo lejdilajk.” (E. [...] a bow which is very ladylike)
(Život u trendu, 19th
January 2008)
(2) “Ove sezone lak je masthev takoreći.” (E. Lacquer is sort of a must-have
this season)
(Život u trendu, 19th January 2008)
40
(3) “[To] je odlična zamena za džoging. “ (E. [It] is an excellent replacement
for jogging)
(Život u trendu, 2nd February 2008)
(4) “Te mlade generacije izričito su fokusirane na biznis.“ (E. Those young
generations are only focused on business.)
(Život u trendu, 19th January 2008)
The first two examples have gone only through primary adaptation on
phonological level, but lack any other adaptation at this point: they still have
morphological markers of English originals, and they have not yet become a part of
the Serbian lexical inventory. These are the examples of people trying to sound
“trendy”, instead of sounding “old-fashioned” and too “Serbian” by using Serbian
terms ženstveno or damski in the second example (lejdilajk, E. ladylike), or using too
many words to explain the English term “a must-have” in the first example, which
could be translated only by using an explanation like “Ove sezone lak je nešto što
morate imati na sebi” (E. Lacquer is something you have to wear this season).
On the other hand, the other two examples are the examples of English words
which have already become a part of the Serbian lexical system and are used
frequently. They have gone through both primary and secondary adaptations on both
phonological and morphological levels, and they now behave as any other Serbian
lexeme. The word džoging/ džogiranje (E. jogging) is used as a hyponym of the
Serbian term trčanje (E. running), and has thus filled in the lexical gap which would
be otherwise filled in with the Serbian noun phrase “rekreativno lagano trčanje”
(Vasić, Prćić, Nejgebauer 2001: 79). In the last example, words fokusirane (E.
focused) and biznis (E. business) can easily be replaced with Serbian equivalents
usresređene and posao, but they have been so widely used in business terminology
that they have become a part of the Serbian lexical system over the years. However,
this is where the discussion about the justification of the loanwords will stop and
where the paper intends to focus on the formal aspects of such words, paying special
attention to the words which have recently entered Serbian language through the
abovementioned television show, and which are not fully adapted according to the
rules of the Serbian language system. Their classification will be offered later and
special attention will be paid to the most interesting and most illustrating examples.
What also needs to be mentioned here briefly is the fact that this topic is also
interesting from a sociolinguistic point of view. Namely, our society is well-known
for a tendency to import different aspects of Western cultures in order to be “trendi,
fensi i poš” (E. trendy, fancy, and posh). So, by using as many English words as
possible, we feel “closer” to the Western countries and a part of Europe and the
world. Filipović (1986) recognized this phenomenon many years ago and named it
“anglomania”, while Prćić (2005) goes one step further and explains our
“intoxication” with everything that comes from “the West” by using the term
“angloholism”.
41
3.
Phonological adaptation
The substitution on phonological level is called transphonemization (Filipović
1986) and is defined as the process of forming the phonological shape of a loanword
(Filipović S. 2004: 21). It is a result of the fact that phonological systems of English
and Serbian differ in all three aspects: 1) inventory of phonemes (English has more
phonemes than Serbian), 2) distribution of phonemes, and 3) accent or stress, its
nature and a position within a word. However, only the segmental layer of
phonological structure will be dealt with here. The process of substitution replaces
English phonemes with their Serbian approximants (Filipović S. 2004: 21, according
to Prćić 1991). Primary adaptation takes place here since it starts happening from the
moment the English model enters Serbian and goes until its integration into the
Serbian language system.
According to Filipović (1986), there are two principles of adaptation of the
words that come from English: phonological and orthographic approach. The
difference between the two approaches is based on the difference between English
orthography and pronunciation. Tables 1 and 2 illustrate the difference between the
two approaches by using the examples found in the corpus1:
Example from Serbian
plejboj
disrapšn (priznanje)
bjuti (proizvod)
(to je vrlo) lejdilajk
mejkap artista
hendmejd (proizvod)
tajming
English model
playboy
disruption
beauty
ladylike
make-up artist
handmade
timing
English pronunciation
.!okzHaNH.
.cHr!qUoR?m.
.!ait9sh.
.!kdHchk`Hj.
.$ldHjUo!@9sHrs.
.$gzmc!ldHc.
.s`HlHM.
Table 1: Phonological approach – based on the phonological properties of the
English model
Example from Serbian
laptop
klijent
fan
reprogramirati
Australijan open
English model
laptop
client
fan
reprogram
Australian Open
English pronunciation
.!kzosPo.
.!jk`H?ms.
.ezm.
.$qh9!oqNTfqzl.
.P!rsqdHkh?m!?To?m.
Table 2: Orthographic approach – based on the orthographic properties of the English model
If we take a closer look at the examples presented in the two tables, it can be
concluded that the words which have been adapted according to the orthographic
1
42
Život u trendu, December 2007 – Apil 2011
approach are mostly the words which were borrowed from English earlier than the
ones adapted according to the phonological approach. This can be explained by the
fact that in times when these words made their “impact” onto the Serbian language,
people were less exposed to spoken English and thus words were adapted on the
basis of their orthography. That is why we have words like klijent (E. client) and fan
(E. fan). The more spoken language was available to people, especially through
mass media, the more words were adapted on the basis of their pronunciation, rather
than orthography. Thus we have examples like hendmejd proizvod (E. handmade
product) or tajming (E. timing) instead of *handmade proizvod and *timing which
would be the case if the two words have been adapted according to their
orthography.
There are also examples where the two principles of adaptation were combined
either in a noun phrase or even in one lexeme. Such examples from the corpus are
presented in Table 3:
Example from Serbian
English model
Dejvis kup
The Davis Cup
English pronunciation
.cdHuHrjUo.
Rotari klub
The Rotary Club
.qNTs?qhjkUa.
Balkan prodžekt
The Balkan Project
.aN9kj?moqPcYdjs.
flawless
.!ekN9k?r.
emoušn (senzor)
emotion
.H!l?TR?m.
(turistički) risort
resort
.qH!yN9'q(s.
šoping raport
shopping report
.RPoHMqH!oN9'q(s.
džins
jeans
.cYh9my.
mafins
muffins
.lUeHmy.
flovles
rumenilo)
(perfekšn
Table 3: Combination of the two approaches
It can be seen in examples like emoušn (E. emotion) and risort (E. resort), and
especially in examples which have the English bound morpheme for plural -s and
which is pronounced as /-z/ in English while Serbian adaptation preserves /-s/ due to
the orthography of the word (mafins, E. muffins and džins, E. jeans, to name some).
Moreover, due to different principles of adaptation being used by different
people and in different circumstances, we also have parallel forms used at the same
time. Two examples which were found in the corpus are presented in Table 4 and
they include reality show/ realiti šou/ rijeliti šou (E. reality show), all three used in
written media, while the last two used in the show this paper focuses on:
43
Compromise
replica
Principle
original English spelling
preserved
orthographic approach
phonological approach
original English spelling
preserved
orthographic approach
phonological approach
English model
English
pronunciation
reality show
.qh!zk?shRNT.
chat
.sRzs.
reality show
realiti šou
rijeliti šou
chatovati
čatovati
četovati
Table 4: Parallel forms (variations in compromise replicas)
Filipović (1986) mentions three levels of transphonemization on the basis of to
which extent English and Serbian phonemic systems differ. Thus he talks about
complete, partial (or compromise), and free transphonemization. Complete
transphonemization is said to take place when phonemes of the English model are
replaced with their Serbian equivalents which have the same distinctive features.
However, Filipović, S. (2004: 22) finds this categorization inappropriate since there
are no pairs of phonemes that are completely the same, phonetically speaking, which
denies the existence of complete transphonemization – thus transphonemization can
be either partial or completely free. That is why Tables 5 and 6 will illustrate the
latter two types of transphonemization on the basis of Filipović’s (1986) comparison
of the two sound systems (English and Serbian):
Phonemes
English
.a.+.N9.
.a.+.t9.
.H.
.a.+.H.+.y.
.o.+.P.+.s.
.s.+.d.+.c.
.cY.+.h9.
.cY.+.z.+.f.
.j.+.U.+.l.+.z.
.r.+.k.
.l.+.g.+.z.
.sR.+.z.
.z.
Serbian
.a.+.n.
.a.+.t.
.h.
.a.+.h.+.y.
.o.+.n.+.s.
.s.+.d.+.c.
.cž., .h.
.cž., .d.+.f.
.j.+.U.+.l.+.d.
.r.+.k.
.l.+.g.+.d.
/č/, .d.
d
Examples
English model
billboard .!aHkaN9c.
beauty .!ait9sh.
lift.kHes.
business .!aHymHr.
project.oqPcYdjs.
trend.sqdmc.
jeans .cYh9my.
jet lag.$cYds!kzf.
comeback.!jUlazj.
slip .rkHo.
must-have .$lUrs!gzu.
chat .sRzs.
brand.aqzmc.
Serbian form
bilbord
bjuti (proizvodi)
lift
biznis
prodžekt
trend
džins
džetleg
kambek
slip (gaćice)
(lak je) masthev
čet
brend
Table 5: Partial or compromise transphonemization – phonemes of the English model are
replaced with their Serbian equivalents which share some distinctive features, but differ in
others
44
Phonemes
English
.NH.
.?T.+.`H.
.?T.
.dH.+.`H.
.D?.
.S.
Serbian
.d.
.h.
.`.
.dq.
.dq.
.ni.
.nt.+.`i.
.nt.
.di.+.`i.
.dq.
.s.
.M.
.mf.
.v.
.u.
.?.
Examples
English model
Serbian form
celebrity.r?!kdaq?sh.
selebriti
adviser .?c!u`Hy?.
(art) advajzer
charter .!sR`9s?.
boys’ bend /aNHyazmc.
smoky eyes.rl?Tjh`Hy.
emotion .H!l?TR?m.
ladylike .!kdHchk`Hj.
fair .eD?.
Men!s Health .$ldmy!gdkS.
jogging .!cYPfHM.
screening.!rjqh9mHM.
wellness .!vdkm?r.
čarter (letovi)
bojz bend
smouki ajs
emoušn (senzor)
lejdilajk
fer
Mens helt
džoging
skrining
velnes (centar)
Table 6: Free transphonemization – phonemes of the English model are replaced with their
Serbian approximants more or less freely since they do not have their Serbian pairs which
would have the same distinctive features; the orthography of the model plays an important
role here
When two languages differ in the inventory of phonemes, the receiving
language faces the problem of substituting the phoneme from the model which does
not exist in its phonological system. In that case, the orthography of the model plays
an important role in the adaptation of the model. It is especially evident in the
examples with the English vowel schwa .?..
4.
Importation on phonological level: tendencies
In order for a language to import a certain element from another language
whose influence it has been exposed to, the receiving language has to have a lack of
such element in its system. Since phonological systems of Serbian and English differ
considerably, which can be seen from the two tables showing partial and free
transphonemization, Serbian is prone to importing some elements from English to
which it has been highly exposed. When it comes to phonology, this paper will only
deal with importations related to the inventory of phonemes, although prosody can
also be influenced by a giving language (Filipović 1986: 58, Filipović S. 2004: 164).
Examples from the corpus presented in Table 7 show a tendency of importing
especially the bilabial semi-vowel .v. and the central vowel “schwa” .?., the sounds
which do not exist in the Serbian sound system, but are frequent in English everyday vocabulary:
45
Phoneme
/v/
/M/
.?.
English model
Wow!
wellness centre
website
sweetheart
screening
single
fashion week
fashion selection
passion
workaholic
English pronunciation
/v`T/
/vdkm?rrdms?/
/vdar`Hs/
/rvh9sg`9'q(s/
/rjqh9mHM/
/rHMf?k/
/ezR?mvh9j/
/ezR?mr?!kdjR?m/
.ozR?m.
/v?9j`gNkHj/
Serbian compromised replica
/wau/
/welnes centar/
/websajt/
(baš si) /swithart/
skrining /skriniMg/
(da li si još uvek) singl /siMgl/
/fešən vik/ or /fešən wik/
/fešən selekšən/
(to je taj) /pešən/
(pravi si) /wərkaholik/
Table 7: Importation on phonological level
The exclamation “Wow!” has already become a part of every child’s
vocabulary influenced by the plethora of foreign (especially English-speaking)
cartoons and cartoon channels, and alongside this imported exclamation came the
bilabial semi-vowel .v.. Since this sound is no longer a mystery to an average
Serbian speaker, people (as well as the show-host mentioned previously) tend to
preserve it in words like /websajt/, E. website, /(fešən) wik/, E. (fashion) week, and
/welnes (centar)/, E. wellness (centre), instead of replacing it with its Serbian
approximant /v/. On the other hand, the velar nasal /M/, presented in the Table 7 as
well, is already a part of the Serbian allophonic system (Filipović S. 2004: 63 calls it
“a positional allophone” since it appears in Serbian only when followed by velar
consonants /g/ and /k/ and never makes lexical contrasts). However, the question is:
can this allophone become a phoneme in Serbian due to the constant borrowing of
English words ending in –ing, as it was the case in French (Filipović 1986: 81)?
The importation of the vowel “schwa” seems to be inevitable as well,
especially due to the expansion in use of words like /fešən (vik)/, E. fashion (week),
/fešən selekšən/, E. fashion selection, and /pešən/, E. passion. If we try to replace it
with one of the Serbian vowels, the result sounds rather odd (*fešin, *fešon, *fešen).
Even if we leave the consonant cluster –šn (fešn), which is a possible consonant
cluster in Serbian, especially in words like šnajder, šnala, mašna, it still sounds
rather odd to a native speaker since this consonant cluster is rarely found at word
boundaries in Serbian.
5.
Morphological adaptation
Once a loan word undergoes the phonological adaptation, it becomes suitable
for further changes, but this time on morphological level. The substitution on
morphological level is called transmorphemization (Filipović 1986). This is a
process of substituting English bound morphemes with their Serbian correspondents
46
in order for a word to become a part of the Serbian language system. It is necessary
for English loanwords to undergo this type of adaptation since English and Serbian
differ considerably in the area of morphology as well, especially the inflectional one
since Serbian has a wide range of inflections (for case, person, number, tense, etc),
while English does not.
Filipović (1986: 119) recognizes three stages of morphological adaptation:
zero, compromise, and complete transmorphemization, which are illustrated in
Tables 8, 9, and 10 with examples from the corpus:
NOUNS
English
models
trend
brand
party
finish
outfit
cup
puzzle
ADJECTIVES
Serbian
English
Serbian
forms
models
forms
trend
fair
fer
brend
fit
fit
parti
retro
retro
finiš
autfit
kup
pazl
pazla (“žurim da slažem svoju pazlu“)
VERBS
English
models
Serbian
forms
* There are no verbs in
this
category
since
Serbian language assigns
markers for infinitive
forms
(secondary
adaptation).
Table 8: Zero-transmorphemization – when a free morpheme from English is combined with
a zero (Ø) bound morpheme, there is no need for morphological adaptation. This is the
domain of primary adaptation since it is enough for a word to go through phonological
adaptation and it is ready to receive Serbian inflectional markers.
Both replicas of the noun “puzzle” are found in the corpus (pazl and pazla),
which is a perfect example of one word undergoing either only primary (pazl) or
both primary and secondary adaptation (pazla). The loanword even changes some of
its properties when it undergoes secondary adaptation. Namely, it receives the
inflection –a since Serbian does not allow the consonant cluster -zl at word
boundaries and the word changes its gender properties (taj pazl – masculine, ta
pazla – feminine).
What is interesting about adjectives in this category is that they do not have any
markers for person, number, gender, or case and are always the same regardless of
nouns they are used with. They practically preserve their English properties. For
example, (taj) retro luk (E. retro look), and (te) retro naočare (E. retro sunglasses).
However, there is one example of the adjective fer (E. fair) undergoing secondary
adaptation as well, but still not making distinctions in the abovementioned
categories. It only receives a negative prefix ne- (E. un-): nefer (ponašanje) (E.
unfair behaviour), which will be mentioned later (see Table 10).
Verbs obviously do not undergo this stage of adaptation since all the verbs in
Serbian automatically receive inflections to mark their infinitive form, while English
verbs do not have such inflections.
47
NOUNS
English
models
styling
jogging
lifting
shopping
screening
advertising
adviser
old timer
shaker
(make-up)
artist
Serbian
forms
stajling
džoging
lifting
šoping
šopingovanje
skrining
advertajzing
advajzer
oltajmer
šejker
(mejkap) artist
(mejkap) artista
ADJECTIVES
English
Serbian
forms
models
trendy
trendi
sexy
seksi
VERBS
English
models
Serbian
forms
* This is still a domain of
primary adaptation.
Table 9: Compromise transmorphemization – a free morpheme from English is combined
with a bound morpheme from English, which means that Serbian, instead of replacing the
bound morpheme of the model with the corresponding bound morpheme from its own
system, imports the bound morpheme from English alongside the free morpheme. This is still
the domain of primary adaptation.
Since the second stage of transmorphemization is still the domain of primary
adaptation, it is quite obvious why there are no verbs at this stage either. However,
many nouns and adjectives can be found at this stage of adaptation. English bound
morphemes, like –ing, -er, -ist for forming nouns, and –y for forming adjectives, are
still not replaced by their Serbian correspondents, but are imported along with the
English free morphemes they are attached to. Some examples, like džoging (E.
jogging), have their parallel forms which have already undergone secondary
adaptation and the English bound morpheme used for forming verbal nouns –ing is
replaced with its Serbian correspondent –iranje (džogiranje). However, there are
also some examples in which the bound morpheme has not been replaced but the
Serbian bound morpheme has been attached to the whole compromised replica, for
example the word šoping (E. shopping) did not become *šopovanje but
šopingovanje after attaching the Serbian bound morpheme for forming verbal nouns
–ovanje.
Adjectives in this category import the English adjectival suffix –y but still do
not make distinction in person, gender, number, or case, so we have examples like
(taj) seksi video (E. sexy video), and (te) seksi fotografije (E. sexy photographs).
48
NOUNS
English
Serbian
models
forms
chatting
čatovanje
četovanje
ADJECTIVES
English
Serbian
models
forms
an
offofbrodvejsk
Broadway
a predstava
play
gentlemanl džentlmensk
y
i
nefer
unfair
(ponašanje)
VERBS
English
models
focus
fokusirati
biznis)
mark
markirati
reprogramm
e
jog
check
reprogramirati(ćelije
)
džogirati
čekirati (zdravlje)
minglovati
(sa
gostima)
teleportovati se
brands
bands
minglovanj
e
džogiranje
džoging
brendovi
bendovi
fans
fanovi
mingle
jets
timings
trend
laptop
džetovi
tajminzi (< tajming + -i)
trendovanje
laptopaši
teleport
mingling
jogging
Serbian
forms
(se
na
Table 10: Complete transmorphemization – a free morpheme from English is combined with
a bound morpheme from Serbian. There has thus been a replacement of bound morphemes,
which is now the domain of secondary adaptation, since the rules of the Serbian language
system are being imposed onto phonologically adapted English loanword.
At this stage of transmorphemization loanwords undergo first primary and then
secondary adaptation. After the word has gone through the adaptation on the
phonological level and the English phonemes have been substituted by the
corresponding phonemes from Serbian (either with the acoustically similar
phonemes or on the basis of the word’s orthography in case Serbian does not have a
similar phoneme to replace it with), the loanword is ready to be fully integrated into
the Serbian language system. At this point, rules of Serbian are applied to the
loanwords and the words start behaving like any other word from Serbian: it
receives morphological markers for different word categories (nouns, verbs,
adjectives, etc), inflections for number, gender, person, and cases (since Serbian has
a wide range of different inflections), etc. Bound morphemes from the English
model which mark word categories in English are replaced with the corresponding
morphemes from Serbian (verbal nouns: E.mingling > S. minglovanje; adjectives: E.
gentlemanly > S. džentlmenski; verbs: E. check(Ø) > S. čekirati). Sometimes, one
loanword can be found both partially and completely transmorphemized and both
replicas are frequently used (E. jogging > S. džoging > S. džogiranje; E. shopping >
S. šoping > S. šopingovanje).
Moreover, the plural marker –s is substituted by its Serbian equivalents –ovi (E.
bands > S. bendovi) and –i (E. timings > S. tajminzi). Examples from the corpus also
show that some words are further derived, which means that they have been so
integrated into the Serbian language system that they have become productive (E.
49
laptop > S. laptopaši = people who use their laptops a lot and know everything about
using them).
The adjective nefer (E. unfair) is particularly interesting here since it obviously
undergoes secondary adaptation as well (the bound morpheme un- for expressing
negation has been substituted by its Serbian equivalent ne-), but it still does not
make distinctions in number, person, gender, or case (same as its positive pair
mentioned in the Table 8): S. (to) nefer ponašanje, E. the unfair behaviour; S. (u toj)
nefer igri, E. (in) the unfair play; S. (ti) nefer odnosi (među zaposlenima), E. the
unfair relations (among employees).
6. Importation on morphological level: pseudo-anglicisms (Filipović 1986)
The importation of free morphemes is an every-day phenomenon since the
system of free morphemes is open and is constantly being broadened due to the
necessities of naming new phenomena in language. On the other hand, the
importation of bound morphemes is very rare since the system of bound morphemes
is a closed system. In order for such importation to take place, the two languages
need to be in close contact, which is the case with English and Serbian. We are
constantly exposed to English especially via mass media that, very often, we
subconsciously treat some English words as they were a part of our language
system. Moreover, there is also the abovementioned sociolinguistic phenomenon,
widespread among Serbian people, that everything which is new and foreign is far
better than anything that we have. However, that should be a subject of a completely
different study. Table 11 classifies examples found in the corpus on the basis of
which elements (both Serbian and English) are combined:
Morpheme
-ing
English
free
morpheme
+
English
bound
morpheme
the word
exists in
English
-ist
-y
the word
does not
exist in
English (a
50
-er
-er
English model
shopping
styling
face-lifting
body-lifting
pealing
freelancer
art adviser
filler
artist
perfectionist
sexy
trendy
double
tennis player
a man who fancies
himself (infml)
Serbian replica
šoping
stajling
fejslifting
bodilifting
piling (krvnih sudova)
frilenser
art advajzer
filer
artist
perfekcionist
seksi
trendi
dubler
teniser
fenser
pseudoanglicism)
-ist
water polo player
vaterpolist/ vaterpolista
worker
šljaker (old slang!)
šljak(ati)+ -er > šljaker
(E. to work)
hair-stylist
frizer
friz(irati) + -er > frizer
(E. to style one’s hair)
workaholic
radoholik
rad(iti)+-oholic >radoholik
also: radoholičar
shopaholic
kupoholik
kup(iti)+-oholic>kupoholik
also: kupoholičar
-er
Serbian
free
morpheme
+
English
bound
morpheme
-aholic
Table 11: Importation of English bound morphemes: classification of examples
The most interesting are the examples of words which do not exist in English,
but only look like they do. Those words are called pseudo-anglicisms and are
constructed of English elements (free and bound morphemes), but the word as such
does not exist in English and is not borrowed from it, for example: S. teniser – E.
tennis player (*tenniser). They are also called secondary anglicisms since they only
undergo secondary adaptation, while anglicisms undergo both primary and
secondary adaptations. Here are some more examples from the corpus: dubler
(E.double + E.-er > E. *doubler), fenser (E. fancy + E.-er > E. *fancer), frizer (S.
friz(irati) + E.-er), kupoholik (E. shopaholic => E. shop = S. kupo(vati) + E.-aholic =
S.-oholik), radoholik (E.workaholic => E. work = S. rad(iti) + E.-aholic = S.oholik), vaterpolist(a) (E. waterpolo > S.vaterpol(o) + E.-ist(a) = E. *waterpolist).
Such words are combined either of English elements completely but a combination
as such does not exist in English (for example, E. double > S. dubler), or English
bound morphemes have been imported and thus combined with Serbian elements
(for example, E. worker > S. šljaker – in slang). In the latter group of words, very
often, the free morpheme of the model is translated into Serbian, while the bound
morpheme is imported from the English model (in Serbian slang šljakati means ‘to
work’, and thus a worker is called šljaker). However, sometimes, a free morpheme is
translated but a bound morpheme is not imported from the model but some other
English bound morpheme is used which has the same function: in Serbian frizirati
means ‘to style one’s hair’, and thus a hair-stylist is called frizer, and not *frizist, as
one might expect following the previous analogy.
51
6.
Conclusion
The paper aims to present and exemplify some general characteristics of
phonological and morphological adaptations of words which come from English
through television shows such as the one described above. The corpus was
constructed mostly of words which have not yet been fully adapted according to the
rules of Serbian nor become a part of the Serbian lexicon. It offers classification of
examples from the corpus according to some general rules presented by Filipović
(1986). Moreover, it discusses gradual importation of English formal elements into
Serbian and offers examples which illustrate this phenomenon. Although examples
of importation on both formal levels discussed in the paper have been found in the
corpus, the importation of English formal properties, as presented in the paper, is
still within the domain of speculation, but there are some very obvious tendencies
towards the language change which could be expected in the future. The imported
elements are still not in accordance with the Serbian language system, which is the
opposite of what language borrowing should be, but are an inevitable consequence
of the impact English has had on Serbian especially in the past several decades with
the development of mass media. Unfortunately, the process of language borrowing,
which originally had the purpose of naming certain phenomena that had not existed
in our language or culture, has been replaced with the process of borrowing almost
anything that can sound more “trendy, fancy, and posh” than what our language has
to offer. Consequently, that has led to an inevitable process of English influencing
not only Serbian inventory of lexemes but also the two formal linguistic levels
(phonological and morphological) and this paper is an attempt to draw attention to
what such uncontrolled language borrowing has done to modern Serbian language.
References
Filipović, R. (1986). Teorija jezika u kontaktu. Uvod u lingvistiku jezičnih dodira.
Zagreb: Jugoslavenska akademija znanosti i umjetnosti, Školska knjiga.
Filipović, S. (2004). “Fonološka i grafološka recepcija anglicizama u srpskom jeziku
u jeziku računarstva.“ MA Thesis. University of Novi Sad, Faculty of
Philosophy.
Prćić, T. (1991). “Adaptacija antroponima iz engleskog jezika u srpskohrvatskom.”
MA Thesis. University of Belgrade, Faculty of Philology.
Prćić, T. (2005). Engleski u srpskom. Novi Sad: Zmaj.
Prćić, T. (2008). Novi transkripcioni rečnik engleskih ličnih imena. Drugo izdanje.
Novi Sad: Zmaj.
Vasić, V., et al (2001). Du yu speak anglosrpski? Rečnik novijih anglicizama. Novi
Sad: Zmaj.
52
Tomislav Bukatarević
Novi Sad, Serbia
tbukatarevic@gmail.com
Passive and Aktionsart in English
Abstract The scope of this paper is the analysis of the English passive with relation
to Aktionsart, or the type of verb situation. The analysis is based on a corpus
excerpted from the novel The DaVinci Code by Dan Brown (2003), which consists
of 58 units containing one or more passive constructions. With primarily semantic
approach, the aim was to determine if passivisation can result in a change of
situation types and which situation types are involved in the process. Additionally,
by establishing the link between the traditional theory on passive and its use in a
recent piece of literature, the paper seeks to give a complete overview of the
contemporary uses of passive and syntactic functions affected by voice shift.
Key words: passive, Aktionsart, activities, states, achievements, accomplishments,
thematic roles, syntactic functions.
1.
Introductory notes
This paper is based on the research for the purposes of a doctoral exam paper at
the Faculty of Philosophy in Novi Sad, titled English and Serbian Passive
Constructions – Type of Passive and Type of Verb Situation, for the doctoral course
of Contrastive Language Studies. The scope of the exam paper was a contrastive
analysis of English and Serbian passive construction on a parallel corpus excerpted
from the novel The DaVinci Code (Dan Brown, 2003) and its Serbian translation.
The English part of the corpus consists of 58 units containing one or more passive
constructions. The principal approach to the passive in this paper was semantic, with
the primary goal of determining the influence of passivisation on Aktionsart; the
paper also serves to give a thorough account of using passive in contemporary
English. The grammaticality of the examples and differences in meaning were
verified by a native speaker of English.
The term passive refers to the marked member of the binary division of voice,
the unmarked being the active. The grammatical category of voice concerns the
morphological change of the verb phrase along with the reassignment of syntactic
functions of verb arguments with certain thematic roles. As Quirk et al. (1985:159)
put it: the category of voice concerns not only verb phrases, but other constituents in
the clause.
53
The verb phrase (VP), being central to the category, is most affected by
passivisation. The verb head is converted into its past participle form (Ven) and
assigned the auxiliary be that contains the active verb’s features of tense–aspect (t-a).
The syntactic functions affected by the shift are those of subject and object. The
active object becomes the passive subject, while the active subject may or may not
be realised in the passive as the prepositional agentive phrase (the by-phrase).
Basically, the prototypical voice shift can be explained through the formula:
S Vt-a O
O to be t-a Ven (by S)
Active
Passive
The thematic roles represent the roles assigned to verb arguments according to
their semantic relations with the verb. The most frequent thematic roles (cf.
Haegeman) are the following: 1) AGENT/ACTOR – the one who intentionally
initiates the dynamic situation expressed by the predicate; 2) THEME – the entity
affected by the situation expressed by the predicate; 3) EXPERIENCER – the entity
that experiences some psychological state expressed by the predicate, 4)
BENEFICIARY (RECEPIENT) – the entity that benefits from the dynamic situation
expressed by the predicate; 5) GOAL – the entity towards which the dynamic
situation expressed by the predicate is directed; 6) SOURCE – the entity from which
something is moved as a result of the dynamic situation expressed by the predicate;
7) LOCATION – the place of the situation, and 8) INSTRUMENT – a means for
realising the dynamic situation expressed by the predicate.
1.1. Types of passive
Following Quirk et al. (1985) and, more recently, Huddleston and Pullum
(2002), the following classification of passives can be established:
54
I.
According to the presence of the by-phrase, two passive types can be
distinguished:
A) Long passives – the by-phrase is included, e.g. He was found in the
woods by his cousins.
B) Short passives (agentless) – the by-phrase is excluded, e.g. He was
found in the woods.
II.
According to the type of auxiliary with the Ven the passive can be:
A) Be passive – the structure is: be + Ven, e.g. He was wounded in the
fight.
B) Get passive – the structure is: get + Ven , e.g. He got wounded in the
fight.
C) Bare passive – the standalone Ven – in the non-finite participial clause,
e.g. He tried to run with his leg wounded in the fight.
According to the lexical properties of the Ven, the passive can be:
A) Verbal (regular, or true passive) – where the Ven is a past participle verb.
B) Adjectival – where the Ven is actually an adjective, be is copular, thus
the structure is complex intransitive. There are two subtypes of
adjectival passives:
i.
Semi-passives – with possible active transformation or agentive
phrase addition, e.g. They were surprised by her attitude/Her
attitude surprised them.
ii.
Pseudo-passives – there is no active counterpart; agentive
phrase addition is impossible, e.g. The statue is now broken (the
resulting state).
Furthermore, following the verb semantics, an additional type can be discussed:
C) Lexical (notional) passive – the VP is active intransitive, yet the subject
is the theme, rather than the agent, which is excluded. The verbs that are
normally transitive, but used intransitively without the agent include:
break, close, drive, divide, open, polish, pull, read, sail, sell, steer, tear,
wash, wind up. There is usually an adverbial complement and implied
modality in verb meaning (cf. Quirk et al. (1985: 1565)).
III.
1.2. Aktionsart
The type of verb situation (Aktionsart) represents the semantic properties of the
verb, the way the verb situation is realised; it is a purely lexical category, nongrammatical, optional, and unsystematic, defined in very special terms as inceptive
or resumptive (Binnick 1991: 170). Following Vendler (1967), Brinton (1988) and
Novakov (2005), the types can be defined as:
1. Activities – the situation is a structure consisting of sequential segments,
equal in quality. Its features are: [–stative], [+durative] and [–durative].
2. States – the situation is not segmented; it is not any process, but a
characteristics lasting for some time. Its features are: [+stative], [+durative]
and [–telic].
3. Accomplishments – the situation is a structure consisting of segments, but
unequal in quality, since the last segment represents the goal, the point at
which the situation normally ends. Its features are: [–stative], [+durative]
and [+telic].
4. Achievements – the situation is a structure consisting of a single segment
which represents the goal, the single point for the realisation of the
situation. Its features are: [–stative], [–durative] and [+telic].
55
2.
Passive types and aktionsart
2.1. Verbal passives
The regular passives tend to keep the situation type regardless of voice. The
majority of attested regular passives were telic situations – achievements or
accomplishments, the goal being most often assigned by the theme argument – the
semantic role, rather than the syntactic function, as with passivisation functions
shift, but semantic roles remain unaffected.
Activities with true passives are attested when the theme argument is a
mass/indefinite plural NP (cf. Brinton, 2008: 146), yet the context is the ultimate
means to perceive the situation telic or atelic.
1. His wisdom lived on, his words still whispered by thousands of faithful
servants around the globe. (ACT/ACC).
There are transitive verbs belonging to states that can be passivised as well. In
this case, the theme argument has no influence on the telicity because of the nonvoluntary nature of the verb:
2. The correlation between this symbol and the sacred feminine is widely
known by art historians and symbologists. (STA)
Sometimes although the verb itself appears to belong to
achievements/accomplishments regardless of voice, epistemic modality assigns it
duration and removes telicity:
3. Its residence halls, teaching centers, and even universities could be found
in almost every major metropolis on earth. (STA)
Aktionsart affected by passivisation is attested with the following verbs:
schedule, slate, disappoint and stun. With these verbs, the active form belongs to
achievements, being a momentary process leading to a result, yet the passive form
with the recipient subject involves some duration and behaves like a state the subject
got in and does not behave like an adjective:
4. a) You were scheduled to meet with the curator…(STA)
b) X scheduled you to meet with the curator. (ACH)
5. a) He and the revered curator Jacques Saunière had been slated to meet for
drinks. (STA)
b) X had slated you and the curator to meet for drinks. (ACH)
6. a) He was disappointed when the curator had not shown. (STA)
b) The curator disappointed him when he had not shown. (ACH)
7. a) Langdon had been stunned to learn the planet Venus traced a perfect
pentacle across the ecliptic sky every four years. (STA)
b) Learning the fact stunned Langdon. (ACH)
This adjective/verb ambiguity could lead us to consider the possibility of the
Ven somehow being adjectival and verbal at the same time, which would mean that
the situation type does not change at all.
56
Polysemous verbs do not necessarily have voice counterparts for each type of
verb situation:
8. a) The late French president who had commissioned the pyramid was said
to have suffered from a "Pharaoh complex". (STA)
b) People said that the president had suffered… (?STA)
9. a) John said that Alice didn’t call. (ACH)
b) ? Alice was said not to have called. (ACH)
2.2. Adjectival passive
When a VP consists be + Ven, it does not necessarily mean that it is the regular
passive construction. Instead of being the passive auxiliary, be may be a copular
verb, while Ven can actually be its adjectival complement: the adjectival passive.
What follows is that the structure is complex intransitive – actually not passive. As
mentioned above, there are two principal types of adjectival passives – the semi
passives and the pseudo-passives. With the latter, the adjectival/verbal ambiguities
are easily resolved, since no active paraphrase or agent introduction is possible.
With the former, there are several cases when it is easy to distinguish them from the
verbal passives and such instances are used as basic tests to resolve ambiguities in
other cases. The adjectivity tests used in this paper for making adjectival/verbal
distinction are the following (cf. Huddleston and Pullum, 2002: 1436-1437):
10. Forgiveness was assured.
1. Premodification by an intensifier (10a. Forgiveness was quite assured); 2.
Replacement of be with another copular verb (10b. Forgiveness remained assured);
3. Coordination with another adjective (10c. Forgiveness was assured and
promising).
When the verbal/adjectival status of the passive construction cannot be
determined by adjectivity tests, considering Aktionsart and its relation to the context
could resolve the ambiguity:
11. He was trapped, and the doors could not be reopened for at least twenty
minutes. (STA)
All adjectival be-passives are states, since the Ven is actually an adjective
which, in combination with the copular be, has the features of a state resulting from
a prior process (achievement or accomplishment). The distinction can be
summarised as:
A PROCESS LEADING TO A STATE vs. A STATE RESULTING FROM A PROCESS
Adjectival get-passives (get pseudo-passives) cannot be states because of the
semantic features get introduces to the situation being a dynamic resultative copula,
the goal of the situation is found in the adjectival complement to get. In this way, all
get-passives, whether verbal or adjectival, belong to either achievements or
accomplishments.
12. I cannot get involved. (ACH, adjectival)
57
13. Legaludec is probably a live-in here to avoid getting picked up. (ACH,
verbal)
2.3. Lexical passive
With lexical passives, an active verb, prototypically transitive, occurs without
its internal argument and its external argument is semantically non-agentive.
14. The seventy-six-year-old man heaved the masterpiece toward himself until
it tore from the wall…(ACH)
The dynamic situation appears more subtle, being more indirect, yet more
dramatic and sudden, since it is active without an agent expressed; compare, for
instance the following two sentences:
15. a) As the Citroën accelerated southward across the city...(ACH/ACT)
b) As the driver accelerated the Citroën southward across the city...
In the regular active sentence (15b), the situation appears to go out at a normal
pace; we would expect the theme argument to be internal to the active verb. Moving
it externally, while keeping the verb active, we somehow accelerate the process,
making it appear more sudden (15a).
In some cases, the agent of the lexical passive verb can be recovered from the
subject phrase, having the same referent with the possessive adjective premodifying
the NP representing his/her integral part:
16. Fache's enormous palm wrapped around Langdon's with crushing force.
(ACC)
Aktionsart is unaffected by lexical passivisation, even though there is one verb
argument less than with the true active verb, for instance:
17. a) For an instant, his eyes refocused… ([–stative], [+durative], [+telic]) →
ACC
b) For an instant, he refocused his eyes. ([–stative], [+durative],
[+telic]) → ACC
When depending on arguments for successful interpretation, telicity is not
conditioned by the syntactic category (object), but by the semantic role (theme),
since lexical passives have the theme argument functioning as the subject (examples
14–17)
Based on some of the attested examples another category of passive can be
established:
Lexical active – the structure is syntactically passive yet semantically active:
18. She glanced playfully at Langdon, who was seated onstage. (STA)
19. His last correspondence from Vittoria had been in December — a postcard
saying she was headed to the Java Sea…(ACH)
The syntactic structure consists of be + Ven, the V being prototypically
intransitive. There is no theme; the external argument may have some agentive
properties, but its involvement in the situation is less direct.
58
Other examples for the category would include: be drowned, the adjectival be
gone, and a lexical get-passive: get started.
20. She was drowned at sea.
21. He is gone.
22. Let’s get started.
It is possible to replace the structure with the true active, although there would
be no argument movement:
18a. She glanced playfully at Langdon, who was seated / seated himself /
was sitting onstage. (STA; ACH; STA).
20a. She drowned / was drowned. (ACH; ACH)
In some cases, like in 18a, the true active verb may not fully correspond to the
lexically active verb, the difference showing in the Aktionsart as well, so a better
equivalent in true active would be a verb formally different, yet semantically
equivalent in situation type.
When considering differences between lexical active constructions and their
true active counterparts, it can be established that the lexical active is more indirect –
presenting an active situation as if it were a passive one would imply less
involvement from the subject, as if it were caused by some external factors.
Consider the example 20a: in the true active situation (She drowned) it may appear
that the subject is more responsible for the situation, while the lexical active (She
was drowned) distances the subject from it; in this particular case, it is reducing the
possibility that it was the subject’s doing that caused the drowning.
3. Syntactic functions and voice shift
Upon examining the attested passive sentences and their active counterparts,
while concerning syntactic functions shifting in passive with the process of
subjectivisation, it has been established that potential candidates for the passive
subject are:
I.
Object direct NP:
23. a) X sprawled his arms and legs.
b) His arms and legs were sprawled.
II.
Object direct clause (via formal subject):
24. a) Langdon decided to help the girl.
b) It was decided by Langdon to help the girl.
III.
Object indirect NP:
25. a) X had entrusted them with a mission.
b) The mission with which they had all been entrusted.
IV.
Complement NP in Object indirect PP:
26. a) X gave all the letters to the girl.
b) The girl was given all the letters.
V.
Complement NP in place Adverbial PP (prepositional passives):
27. a) X has slept in the bed.
59
b. The bed has been slept in.
VI.
Non-finite object clause Subject:
28. a) X scheduled you to meet with the curator.
b)You were scheduled to meet with the curator
Object Complement cannot be made the passive subject, nor can it be
externalised together with the Object, thus remains stranded in the passive,
now complementing the Subject:
29. a) The girls consider Langdon a genius.
b) Langdon is considered a genius by the girl
c) *A genius is considered Langdon by the girls.
d)*Langdon a genius is considered by the girls.
With prepositional passives, the preposition remains stranded after its
complement is made the subject, but only with PPs denoting location (example 27
above). Furthermore, such passivisation is possible only when the referent of the
candidate for the subject is affected by the situation (cf. Huddleston & Pullum,
2002: 1446–1447).
When it comes to the other direction of the voice shift, the potential candidates
for the subject when shifting to the active voice are:
I.
NP in the agentive PP (having the thematic role of the
agent/experiencer/source/cause).
30. a) The keystone was hidden by the Templars.
b) The Templars hid the keystone.
II.
NP in the agentive PP instrument, only in the absence of the previous type
of PP.
31. a) The pain caused by/with the device.
b) *The pain caused by the device by the enemy.
c) The pain caused with the device by the enemy.
d) The device caused the pain
e)*The device caused the pain by the enemy.
With cognitive passive verbs, though, the instrument cannot be made
active subject:
32. a) The goddess had a place in the night time sky and was known by many
names...
b) *Many names knew the goddess.
III.
NP in the agentive PP location, only in the absence of any of the previous
two types of PP and intentionality markers.
33. a) The keystone was (ingeniously) hidden at the location.
b) The location (*ingeniously) hid the keystone.
c) The keystone was hidden at the location by a secret panel/the
Templars.
d)*The location hid the keystone by a secret panel/the Templars.
60
Syntactic roles do not influence Aktionsart, as can be seen with passivisation.
Consider a typical pair of sentences used for distinguishing accomplishments from
achievements:
paint (ACT) vs. paint a picture (ACC)
The object (a picture) introduces telicity to the situation, so it changes from an
activity to an accomplishment. However, this can no longer be claimed with
passivisation, since the active object becomes the passive subject. What remains
unchanged is the semantic role; in this case, that of the theme:
A picture is painted (ACC)
The passive verb here (is painted) is sufficient for determining situation type,
since the form presupposes the theme argument being the subject, unlike the active
where one must turn to the internal argument for a successful interpretation.
4. Concluding remarks
Concerning Aktionsart, i.e. type of verb situation, the analysis has shown that
all the types can be found in the passive. All adjectival be-passives are states, since
the Ven is actually an adjective which, in combination with the copular be, has the
features of a state resulting from a prior process (achievement or accomplishment).
On the other hand, adjectival get-passives (get pseudo-passives) cannot be states
because of the semantic features get introduces to the situation being dynamic
resultative copula. In this way, all get-passives, whether verbal or adjectival, belong
to either achievements or accomplishments. The telicity of adjectival get-passives is
primarily conditioned by the complement (the adjectival Ven), while with regular
get-passives it is conditioned by the theme NP.
The regular passives tend to keep the situation type regardless of voice. Most
often, those are telic situations – achievements or accomplishments. The telicity of
these situations is not conditioned by the presence of the object (the syntactic
function), but rather by the thematic role of the theme, constant through the voice
shift. This can be observed best in the passive voice, since the object can be made
the subject, and with lexical passives – active verbs used intransitively with the
subject being the theme. Activities can be found, though, despite the presence of the
theme. It normally occurs when the theme is a plural/non-count NP, yet the context
is the ultimate means to perceive the process telic or atelic.
Furthermore, some verbs tend to show different behaviour in situation type
tests when in the passive; such verbs are schedule, slate, disappoint, stun, where the
active form is an achievement, being a momentary process leading to a result, yet
the passive form with the recipient subject involves some duration and behaves like
a state the subject got in. In that case, it remains a question how to treat telicity.
Another possibility exists with such verbs, though, which is about the situation type
not changing at all, but the Ven simultaneously behaving as a verb and an adjective.
Concerning the differences in type of situation through voice shift, it was noticed
61
that polysemous verbs which, accordingly, have different types of verb situations, do
not necessarily have passive counterparts for each type of situation (e.g. say).
Concerning discrepancies between form and meaning in terms of voice, it has
been observed that lexical passives, although having a theme in the subject position,
could have an agent expressed in some cases. Most notably, when the theme NP in
the subject represents some person’s integral part, the premodifying possessive
adjective is the agent, for example: Helen’s finger moved back and forth = Helen
moved her finger back and forth.
Furthermore, another voice subtype can be established. Based on the analogy
with lexical passives, i.e. formally active and semantically passive verbs, one could
discuss lexical actives – the VP consists of be + Ven, yet the subject has agentive
properties, as it is the case with the verbs be seated, be gone, be drowned, get
started, be headed. It is possible to replace these constructions with real actives. The
difference, however, is that the lexical active is more indirect, distancing the subject
from the situation, unlike with the true active where the subject is agentive.
References
Binnick, R. I. (1991). Time and the Verb: A Guide to Tense & Aspect. Oxford:
Oxford University Press.
Braun, D. (2003). The DaVinci Code. New York: Doubleday.
Brinton, L (1988). The Development of English Aspectual Systems. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press.
Haegeman, L. 1991. Introduction to Government and Binding Theory. Oxford:
Blackwell Publishing.
Huddleston, R. D. and Pullum, G. K. (2002). The Cambridge Grammar of the
English Language. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Novakov, P. (2005). Glagolski vidi tip glagolske situacije. Futura, Novi Sad.
Quirk, R. et al. (1985). A Comprehensive Grammar of the English Language.
Harlow: Longman.
Vendler, Z. (1967). Linguistics in Philosophy. Ithaca: Cornell University Press.
62
Jovana Dimitrijević Savić / Danica Jerotijević
Kragujevac, Serbia
j.dimitrijevic.savic@gmail.com / danicajerotijevic@gmail.com
FACTORS INFLUENCING SERBIAN LEARNERS’ PRODUCTION
ACCURACY OF ENGLISH INTERDENTAL FRICATIVES
Abstract This study investigates the effects of speech style on production accuracy
of English interdental fricatives by Serbian L1 learners of English. In this, it
continues an established research tradition in SLA focusing on variation in
interlanguage (IL) and, in particular, in IL phonology, developed as a response to
conventional studies which tend to assume that a single fixed variant will be
categorically substituted for a given L2 target variant by an L1 group. A multivariate
account of variation patterns in the production of English interdental fricatives by
high school students was used to discover which combinations of internal and
external factors (e.g. Preston, 2002; Fasold and Preston, 2007) best account for
accurate production of the English interdental fricatives by Serbian learners across
three different speech styles.
Key words: speech style, English interdental fricatives, SLA, interlanguage
phonology
1.
Introduction
After a brief account of the most relevant theoretical considerations on which
the present study is based, research results are presented and discussed. The paper is
conceived as a preliminary study which should lead into a more exhaustive
investigation of interlanguage phonology, especially Serbian EFL learners’
production of English interdental fricatives /θ/ and /ð/. As such, it represents a
continuation of a well established research tradition in SLA, focusing primarily on
interlanguage variation.
The idea for the paper derives from a similar study conducted in China, by Rau,
Chang & Tarone (2009), which investigated Chinese EFL learners’ pronunciation of
the English voiceless interdental fricative /θ/. Immediate phonetic environment and
speech style proved to be the two factors accounting for accurate production of
target [θ], whereas lexical frequency seemed to facilitate target pronunciation only
slightly. Learners who pronounced the target sound more accurately tended to rely
on monitoring strategies, whereas those whose pronunciation was less precise relied
on phonetic salience strategies. As will be demonstrated by the data presented
below, our study yielded similar, as well as some divergent results. The paper
concludes with a discussion of possible explanations for the results obtained.
63
2.
Background and rationale
Variationist linguistics has much to offer to SLA research, yet only recently has
the interconnectedness of the two fields come to be explicitly recognized and
explored. Contrary to traditional approaches which explain variation in learners’
language through reference to a single contextual factor, the variationist framework
tends to assume that interlanguage variation is subject to multiple contextual
influences (Bayley & Preston, 1996). Traditional studies focusing on the influence
of L1 on interlanguage phonology suppose that speakers frequently substitute each
target variant for a single variant in L1. However, numerous studies yielded results
that better supported a variationist explanation.
Phonological variation seems to be highly structured and orderly. Although we
cannot categorically predict the surface realization of an utterance, it is evident that
specific phonological contexts prefer particular realizations (Guy, 2007).English
interdental fricatives are acquired late by L1 speakers of English and usually have
the following variants [t], [f] and [d], [v] for [θ] and [ð], respectively (Lee, 2006).
Plausible factors influencing L1 speakers’ tendency to articulate an interdental
fricative as either of the variants are markedness, faithfulness, auditory salience and
weight (Lombardi, 2003; Brannen, 2002). Of course, the sounds previously
mentioned tend to have even more variants in the pronunciation of English L2
speakers, namely [t], [f] and [s] for [θ] and [d], [v] and [z] for [ð] (Rau, Chang &
Tarone, 2009). Following results obtained in previous studies, we assumed that
Serbian L1 EFL learners’ pronunciation of the English interdental fricatives might
be realized in the form of several variables: e.g.[t], [f], [ts], [z] or [θ] for target /θ/
(Lee, 2006; Rau, Chang and Tarone, 2009).
Quantitative sociolinguistic studies have identified the influence of both
internal and external factors on interlanguage variation. According to the model
developed by Fasold & Preston (2007), patterns of linguistic change can be related
to both the socio-cultural context, i.e. external factors, such as age, style, geographic
region, ethnicity and social status of the speaker, and to various types of internal or
linguistic factors, such as transfer of L1 variational constraints (Schmidt, 1987), the
interaction between L1 transfer and universal developmental factors (Major, 2001),
or the immediate phonetic environment in which a sound occurs (Romaine, 2003)
when speaking of interlanguage phonology in particular.
Bearing in mind the theoretical considerations presented above, we attempted
to address the following research questions:
a) Which factors affect production accuracy of /θ/, that is, /ð/ by Serbian L1
learners?
• What is the role of external factors, primarily speech style? What is
the role of vocabulary level?
64
•
What is the role of internal factors, i.e. the immediate phonetic
environment?
b) Can a constraint hierarchy be identified, and if so, which internal and/or
external factor groups impose the greatest effect on variation?
3.
Data Collection
The data analyzed for the purposes of this present paper was collected in the
period from April to June 2010.
3.1. Participants
The subjects participating in the study were Serbian L1 learners of English at
the intermediate to upper-intermediate level, with a vocabulary range from 20003000 words (13 students), that is, 3000-5000 words (5 students). The vocabulary
range of participants had previously been measured according to the vocabulary size
test of controlled productive ability by Laufer & Nation (1999).
3.2. Data Collection
The participants were engaged in two tasks adapted from Rau, Chang & Tarone
(2009). The first task the participants were engaged in was the retelling of a wellknown children’s story, Three little pigs. The participants read the story fifteen
minutes before elicitation. In order to facilitate their recollection of the story, they
were provided with a set of pictures illustrating key segments of the plot. The
second task consisted of reading the words provided on a pre-planned list of
examples focusing on various contexts for both /ð/ and /θ/ identical to those
represented in the story retelling task. Subsequently, the data were recorded and
transcribed.
3.3. Data Analysis
In order to investigate interlanguage variationa VarbRul (Sankoff, Tagliamonte
& Smith, 2005) analysis was selected as most appropriate to the research design.
Tokens for the variables /ð/ and /θ/ were coded for GoldVarb X as dependent
variables (accurate, inaccurate).The independent variables were grouped into factor
groups, internal and external. A step-up/step-down (multivariate) analysis was
performed.
65
4.
Results
The analysis yielded somewhat unexpected results, some of them contrary to
previous findings. For the sake of convenience, the obtained results are presented in
tables to follow.
4.1. Factors with a significant effect on target pronunciation of /θ/
The VARBRUL analysis identified internal factors only, i.e. the immediate
phonetic environment, as having a significant effect on target pronunciation of /θ/, p
< 0.01.Speech style, however, was not found to have a significant effect on the
latter. The statistical significance of the effect of vocabulary level is questionable what may be at issue is the less-than-well-balanced distribution of participants
across vocabulary levels.
TASK
Word list reading
Story retelling
% OVERALL
% ACCURATE
54.5
51.2
53.2
% INACCURATE
45.5
48.8
46.8
Table 1: Accuracy across Tasks
Vocabulary level
2000-3000
3000-5000
% OVERALL
% ACCURATE
39
80.1
53.2
% INACCURATE
61
19.9
46.8
Table 2: Accuracy across Vocabulary Level
Factor group: Vowel
Percentage Target
VARBRUL Weight (Pi)
following an onset /θ/
Low front
70.6
0.82
Back mid round
58.8
0.58
Low mid
52.9
0.52
High front
56.2
0.51
Mid/rhotacized
44.7
0.45
Table 3: Factor group – Vowel following an onset /θ/
Factor group: Vowel
following onset /θr/
High back
High front
Mid front
Percentage Target
VARBRUL Weight (Pi)
71.4
60.0
50.0
0.69
0.63
0.48
Table 4: Factor group – Vowel following onset /θr/
66
range = 0.37
range = 0.21
Factor group: Vowel
preceding a coda /θ/
High back
Closing diphthong
High front
Mid front
Mid/rhotacized
Percentage Target
VARBRUL Weight (Pi)
60.7
59.3
51.6
50.0
19.2
0.64
0.62
0.53
0.48
0.06
range = 0.58
Table 5: Factor group – Vowel preceding a coda /θ/
Factor group:
Consonant preceding a
coda /θ/
/l/
/n, ŋ/
/r/
Percentage Target
VARBRUL Weight (Pi)
68.0
45.1
39.4
0.71
0.41
0.31
range = 0.40
Table 6: Factor group – Consonant preceding a coda /θ/
The ordering of different phonetic contexts in the tables was performed based
on the contexts provided in the word list and the retelling task, thus some other
possible phonetic environments are excluded from the tables since there were no
examples of them either in the word list or in the story retelling task. Furthermore,
non-rhotic accents exhibit no occurrence of coda /θ/ preceded by /r/ and the
instances pronounced this way by the participants in the present study are
examplified in tables by the context “a vowel preceding a coda”.
Based on the differences in range between different factor groups we conclude
that factor groups facilitating target pronunciation of /θ/ demonstrate a constraint
hierarchy: segments preceding a coda /θ/ impose the greatest influence (with range
for vowels at 0.58 and range for consonants at 0.40), followed by segments
following an onset /θ/ (with range at 0.37 for vowels and range at 0.21 for the
consonant cluster /θr/ in onset position).
4.2. Effects on target pronunciation of /ð/
An insufficient amount of variation was found in the corpus, in other words,
too many participants consistently replaced the target pronunciation [ð] with [d] in
all environments across styles (although this was not the only realization of /ð/
encountered). This resulted in a multitude of knockouts, i.e. too many instances of
all tokens being accounted for by one or the other of the application values
(‘accurate’ and ‘inaccurate’ in this case). Hence, multiple regression analysis could
not be performed.
67
5. Discussion
In the present study considerable variation was attested in learners’
pronunciation of the voiceless interdental fricative /θ/, but practically no variation
was found in learners’ pronunciation of its voiced counterpart /ð/. Furthermore,
target /ð/ was realized as [d] in an overwhelming majority of cases, across phonetic
environments and across styles. Thus it may be possible that at this stage, target
pronunciation of /θ/ is in the process of being acquired, while target pronunciation of
/ð/ begins to be acquired at a later stage for the majority of learners. In order to
obtain more evidence, further research might engage with a larger number of
learners at various proficiency levels.
Contrary to findings reported in the literature, none of which, to the best of our
knowledge, address the acquisition of English interdental fricatives by Serbian L1
learners of English, speech style does not have a significant effect on the
pronunciation of /θ/ for this particular group of Serbian L1 English learners. Such a
situation may have resulted from a methodological issue: the monitoring strategies
engaged in by participants during the word list reading task and story retelling task
may not have been dissimilar enough. Future research might employ semi-structured
interviews instead of story retelling. A potential problem, however, could well be
eliciting a sufficient number of target tokens in an interview situation and, moreover,
a sufficient number of target tokens in a sufficient range of different phonetic
environments.
Vocabulary level was not found to have a significant effect on pronunciation
accuracy of /θ/ for this group of learners. Again, this is potentially a methodological
concern: future research might do well to engage with learners at more varied
proficiency and vocabulary levels and a more balanced sample.
Internal factors have a significant effect on target pronunciation of /θ/: a
constraint hierarchy was attested, with segments preceding a coda /θ/ imposing the
greatest influence. The results further point to privilege of high vowels and closing
diphthongs over other phonetic environments in promoting accurate production of
/θ/ as they are closer to the interdental position compared to other vowels. A
rhotacized vowel preceding a coda /θ/ and, to a lesser extent, the consonant /r/
preceding a coda /θ/ inhibit the accurate production of /θ/. In this respect, our results
are very similar to those reported in Rau et al. (2009). Accurate production of /θ/ is
consistent with the implicational typology or markedness principle with ease of
articulation as an additional facilitator of accurate production.
6. Conclusion
Following a concise overview of the relevant theoretical framework, the paper
presented the results of a study of Serbian EFL learners’ production of English
interdental fricatives.
68
Judging by the results, a greater degree of variation can be found in the
learners’ pronunciation of the voiceless interdental fricative than in their
pronunciation of its voiced counterpart, which may be due to some developmental as
well as methodological issues, as stated previously. Future studies involving a larger
number of participants may provide us with further insights leading to clarification
of such an outcome. Moreover, future research may account for the influence, or the
lack of influence of speech style which proved to be a significant factor affecting the
accurate production of /θ/ in previous studies.
Adhering to the initial presuppositions, internal factors seem to have a
significant effect on the target pronunciation of /θ/, yet more elaborate future studies
including participants from diverse cultural backgrounds, belonging to different
social statuses, age or ethnic groups may lead to novel conclusions, thus enabling
powerful insights into the development of theoretical issues regarding interlanguage
phonology, especially in the Serbian EFL context.
References
Bayley, R., Preston, D. (Eds.). (1996). Second language acquisition and linguistic
variation. Amsterdam: Benjamins.
Brannen, K. (2002). “The role of perception in differential substitution”. Canadian
Journal of Linguistics, 47, 1–46.
Guy, G. R. (2007). “The Variation and Phonological Theory”. In R. Bayley & C.
Lucas (Eds.), Sociolinguistic variation: Theories, methods, and applications.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 5-23.
Laufer, B., Nation, P. (1999). “A vocabulary size test of controlled productive
ability”. Language Testing 16(1), 33-51.
Lee, J. (2006). Typology of interdental fricatives with reference to loanword
adaptation. Studies in Phonetics, Phonology and Morphology.v.12, n.1, 127148.
Lombardi, L. (2003). “Second language data and constraints on manner: Explaining
substitutions for the English inter-dentals”. Second Language Research, 19(3),
225–250.
Major, R. C. (2001). Foreign accent: The ontology and phylogeny of second
language phonology. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum.
Preston, D. R. (1989). Sociolinguistics and second language acquisition. Oxford:
Blackwell.
Preston, D. R. (2002). “A variationist perspective on SLA: Psycholinguistic
concerns”. In R. Kaplan. (Ed.), Oxford handbook of applied linguistics.
Oxford: Oxford University Press, 141–159.
Rau, V., Chang H., Tarone E. (2009). “Think or Sink: Chinese Learners’
Acquisition of the English Voiceless Interdental Fricative”. Language Learning
59:3, 581–621.
69
Romaine, S. (2003). “Variation”. In C.G. Doughty & M.H. Long (Eds.), The
Handbook of Second Language Acquisition. The UK: Blackwell Publishing
Ltd, 409-435.
Sankoff, D., Tagliamonte, S., Smith, E. (2005). “Goldvarb X: A variable rule
application for Macintosh and Windows”. Department of Linguistics,
University of Toronto.
Schmidt, R. W. (1987). “Sociolinguistic variation and language transfer in
phonology”. In G. Ioup & S. H. Weinberger (Eds.), Interlanguage phonology:
The acquisition of a second language sound system. Cambridge, MA: Newbury
House, 365–377.
Tarone, E. (2007). “Sociolinguistic approaches to second language acquisition
research, 1997–2007”. Modern Language Journal, 91, 835–846.
70
Jasmina Đorđević
Niš, Srbija
djordjevic.jasmina@gmail.com
WEB 2.0 TOOLS IN THE ELT CLASSROOM – HOT POTATOES AND
DVOLVER
Abstract The aim of this article is to offer an overview of two very effective Web
2.0 applications, Hot Potatoes and Dvolver, which may easily be incorporated into
the English language teaching process at all levels to further the acquisition of
particular segments of a planned syllabus. In order to show how these two
applications may influence the teaching process, they have been tested in real
classroom conditions for the teaching of a portion of Legal English with students at
tertiary level. At the end of the class, the students were asked to complete a
questionnaire regarding their attitude to the way the class had been conducted. The
qualitative and quantitative analysis of their answers will show that the
incorporation of Web 2.0 in general may positively influence the process of ELT.
Key words: Web 2.0, improve ELT, Hot Potatoes, Dvolver, grammar of English.
1.
Introduction
Web 2.0 tools refer to a combination of applications, tools and technologies
(programs and other software solutions), business strategies (blogs, wikis, etc.) and
social trends (chat rooms, forums, etc.), which may improve individual content
creation on the internet as well as their sharing in electronic media. For the sake of
simplification, the term ‘tool’ shall be used throughout this article.
The necessity of incorporating Information Communication Technology (ICT)
into the English language classroom (ELC) was recognised quite a while ago.
However, the proper understanding, planning and realisation of the process of
incorporating ICT as a complete and structured system should be based on more
than just recognition. Any change occurring in the education system has to be
preceded by thorough planning, testing, research and justifications. The financial
and the economic background are almost irrelevant at the beginning. What is
relevant is why change anything. What benefit will the system have? What will the
objectives and the outcomes be? Who should the changes be introduced to? At
which level should changes occur first? The list of questions may go on forever. In
brief, if Web 2.0 tools are to become a regular teaching device in the ELC, it is the
ELC that will have to test them first.
71
The aim of this theoretical and empirical research is to review and present the
results of an experiment which was conducted to test two Web 2.0 tools, Hot
Potatoes and Dvolver, in order to investigate the possibility of applying them in the
process of teaching grammar as part of the English Language Teaching (ELT)
process at tertiary level of studying English as a foreign language at the Department
of English. For the purpose of illustration, the two tools have been tested in real
classroom conditions with one grammatical segment – the meaning of Modal Verbs
in Legal English.1
2.
Background
The starting point of this research would be the possibility of modernising the
process of ELT by implementing ICT into the process. This idea is not a new
concept and it has been the subject of research for quite some time both abroad
(Anderson, 2008; Brown, 1988; Erben et al., 2008; Mariott et al., 2009; Thomas,
2009; etc.) and in Serbia (Bajčetić & Lazarević, 2007; Mandić, 2003, 2006;
Dovedan et al., 2002; Mandić, 2003; Mandić & Ristić, 2006; Milanović &
Milosavljević, 2006; Mišić Ilić, 2007; Ristić, 2006; Seljan et al., 2004; etc.).
Furthermore, there are several examples of conferences in Serbia (ELTA “Have we
got what it takes“, 2007; Press conference “Information technologies and the
education system in Serbia“, 2009; Metropolitan University “Electronic learning
towards a society of knowledge“, 2010, etc.), cooperation programmes (Microsoft
education programme “Partner in studying“) and competitions (Institute of
Education Improvement “Creative school“), all targeting the aim to direct modern
education to a future with ICT.
The modernisation of the teaching process would have to be based on a
scientific and practically assessed concept of using ICT in the EL classroom. A
generally accepted and well-established concept is that of Computer Assisted
Language Learning or CALL. The first ideas related to this concept appeared as
early as in the 60s of the last century2 but were fully recognised only during the last
decade as potentially beneficial to education in general and to foreign language
1
The research presented in this article is part of an ongoing PhD research, Mogućnost primene
tehnologije Veb 2.0 u nastavi gramatike engleskog jezika (The Possibility of Using Web 2.0
Technology in the Teaching of English Grammar), the application for which has been accepted at the
Faculty of Philosophy in Niš and is currently being conducted by the author of this article under the
mentorship of Professor Biljana Mišić Ilić, PhD, full professor at the Department of English Language
and Literature, Faculty of Philosophy, Niš.
2
The first official attempt was the PLATO project, initiated at the University of Illinois in 1960.
Because repeated exposure to material was considered to be beneficial or even essential, computers
were considered ideal for this aspect of learning as the machines did not get bored or impatient with
learners and the computer could present material to the student at his/her own pace and even adapt the
drills to the level of the student. Hence, CALL programs of this era presented a stimulus to which the
learner provided a response.
72
study in particular (Warschauer, 1996, 1998, 2000; Delcloque, 2000). Although the
term itself changed several times, the concept has been defined in more or less the
same way. One of the many established definitions of CALL is that it is "the search
for and study of applications of the computer in language teaching and learning"
(Levy 1997:1). However, in the process of actual implementation of ICT, a more
important resource is the project ICT4LT (Information and Communication
Technology for Language Teaching)3. The project is said to be “pedagogy-driven,
and the emphasis is on language teaching methodologies that can be implemented
successfully with the aid of new technologies.” (ICT4LT, subtitle “Aims of the
ICT4LT project”).
Just as in the case of applying other media in ELT, the main assumption of this
research is that for the implementation and incorporation of Web 2.0, a series of
research has to be conducted. Therefore, methods and techniques have to be chosen
or improved, appropriate Web 2.0 tools have to be selected, their characteristics
evaluated, their influence examined and their usefulness tested in real classroom
conditions because "the use of the computer does not constitute a method... it is a
medium in which a variety of methods, approaches, and pedagogical philosophies
may be implemented" (Garrett, 1991: 75). Since the scope of this article does not
allow an elaborate review of potential benefits and advantages related to the
implementation of ICT in ELT, the summary in Table 1 shall be deemed sufficient at
this point (further reading regarding this topic can be found in Đorđević, 2007,
2010a, 2010b, Radić-Bojanić & Đorđević, 2010).
Premise
Technology
motivates
Advantage
Teacher and students benefit
from the fresh approach
Unlimited choice
of multimedia
resources
Unlimited choice
of applications
Texts, pictures, video and audio
recordings can be combined
Expected result
A completely new dimension to the
process of teaching and learning is
created
Students are exposed to truly
interactive teaching and learning
Facebook, Twitter, YouTube,
Yahoo, Google, Wikipedia, etc.
are familiar concepts
Any topic that might be
interesting to the students can be
found on the Internet
Students can be taught to use their
computer literacy in a more
purposeful way
Students are stimulated to read on
their own and get to know more
about language and culture
Unlimited choice
of authentic
material
3
The project was started with the financial aid of the European Commission in the period from
1999-2000. Though no longer financed, it is still being updated successfully. ICT4LT
http://www.ict4lt.org/index.htm
73
Greater
individuality and
autonomy for the
student
Material can be updated
constantly, students can
participate in the syllabus
Faster feedback
Teachers can provide feedback
in a more intimate, yet more
efficient way by answering
promptly
Less exposure to peers’ scrutiny
boosts self-assuredness
Direct
communication
via the Internet
Students are motivated to participate
in the process by actively
contributing to it in the form of
finding and/ or suggesting material,
content, etc. and they are in charge
of their own study and research
time.
Students have the opportunity for
immediate self-correction and error
management
Students feel more comfortable to
ask questions and are less afraid of
the answers
Table 1: Summary of potential results of ICT implementation in ELT
For the purpose of this article, two examples of Web 2.0 have been tested in a
small-scale experiment. A small segment of grammar, the meaning of modal verbs
in Legal English was presented, practiced and tested by means of two Web 2.0 tools,
Hot Potatoes (http://hotpot.uvic.ca/) and Dvolver (http://www.dvolver.com/live/
moviemaker.html) via PBworks (http://pbworks.com/content/edu+overview?utm_
campaign=nav-tracking&utm_source=Home%20navigation), an online workspace,
at tertiary level at the Department of English, Faculty of Law and Business Studies
Dr Lazar Vrkatic.
The following sections of this article shall provide a short overview of the basic
features of the tools used in the experiment (further reading regarding this topic can
be found in Đorđević, 2007, 2010a, 2010b, Radić-Bojanić & Đorđević, 2010), the
description of the conducted experiment as well as a discussion of the obtained
results.
2.1. Hot Potatoes
The basic characteristic of Hot Potatoes (HP) is that it is actually a package of
five types of exercises: Multiple-choice questions, Cloze test, Jumbled sentences,
Crosswords and Mixed exercises. The advantage of HP is that answers can be
supplied either in the exercise or in a separate file, entire tests can be created with
multiple features in quite an easy way, it saves time, the exercises can easily be
hyperlinked (Figure 1) enabling the students to retrieve the exercise over and over
again. Students can save the files and keep them on their own PCs for future
reference. The key can be incorporated or offered in a separate file, peer assessment
and self-evaluation are possible and feedback is provided almost instantly.
74
Fig
guree 1: Exaamp
ple of wind
w dow
w in Hoot Po
otatooes – th
he crea
c ationn off hyp
perllinkks to
o extternnal URL
U Ls
2.2
2. Dvo
D olve
er
This
T s onnlin
ne aappllicaation iss acctuaallyy a colllection
n off diiffeeren
nt apppllicattionns and
a d is
also
o reeferrredd to
o ass a typpe of
o a widg
get4, an
n ap
ppliicattionn co
omm
mon
nly useed for creeatiing
animaated
d fillms. Thhis toool is atttraactiv
ve ffor thee EL
LT proocess bec
b causse the
t teaacheer ccan
n annimaatedd fiilm in jusst a few
w sstep
ps to
o illusttratte a grram
mmaaticaal poin
p nt, whi
w ich
create an
would
d ottherrwisse bbe creeateed in
i tthe forrm of a dial
d loguue. Th
he film
f m ittself hhas to be
o ne but
b t thee liink to it ccan be sav
ved
d an
nd used
u d reepeeatedlyy. The
T teaacheer ccan
created onlin
nd the
t linkk to
o thhe film
f m to
o alll stuudeentss by
y co
ontaacting theem direectlly (Fig
( guree 2)). T
The
sen
insttrucctio
ons aree ppreccise an
nd the
t co
omppletted film
m is
i oonly
y a feew steeps aw
way. T
The
diaalog
gue itsselff m
may vaary fro
om sh
horteer discou
ursees tto larg
ger coonversaatioons.. T
The
app
plicatio
on ooffeers thee poossib
biliity oof crea
c atin
ng scen
nes, whhich
h migh
m ht hhapp
pen at diff
ffereent
4
(1) Widdget is a gen
nericc terrm for
fo thhe part oof a Graaphiccal User
U r Intterfaace (GU
( UI) th
hat allow
a ws th
he uuser
to in
nterffacee witth th
he apppliccatioon and
a the
t ooperratinng systeem. Wid
dgets displaay in
nform
matiion andd inv
vite the
userr to act in a num
mbeer off waays. Typ
picall wid
dgetts in
nclud
de butto
ons, ddialog boxe
b es, ppop-u
up wind
w dows, puulldow
wn men
nus, icon
ns, sscro
oll bbarss, resiz
r zablee wiindo
ow edgess, prog
p gress in
ndiccatorrs, seleectioon boxxes,
win
ndow
ws, teear-off men
m nus, mennu bars, toggle swittchees an
nd fo
ormss.
(2
2) The
T tterm
m alsso reeferss to the proggram
m thaat iss wrritten
n in ordder to
o maake the grap
phicc widdgett in the
GUI loo
ok and
a perfform
m in a sppeciified
d waay, depe
d endiing on
o what
w t acttion thee useer taakes wh
hile iinterrfacing
h thee GU
UI.
with
The
T term
t m wid
dgett is used
u d to refeer too eith
her tthe grap
phicc com
mpoonen
nt or its conttrollling program
m orr to
refeer to the com
mbin
natioon off booth. (http
( p://w
www
w.weebop
pediaa.co
om/T
TER
RM/W
W/w
widgeet.httml))
75
points in time and the gallery of characters, backgrounds, sceneries and music
themes makes the dialogue more interesting without much extra effort.
Figure 2: Window in Dvolver illustrating the last step – creating recipient addresses
3.
Research hypothesis and methodology
The main aim of this research was to propose a way to modernise and improve
ELT by incorporating user-friendly, cheap and available forms of ICT into the
teaching process. It has been established so far that Web 2.0 tools are simple and
quite suitable for this purpose as they are free of charge, widely available on the
Web and quite simple to implement. As no new methodology is needed, they can
simply be introduced without validation or verification.
The basic premise of the research presented in this article is that Hot Potatoes
and Dvolver are two Web 2.0 tools, which can improve the presentation, practice
and production of rather specific grammar segments in the EL classroom
considerably. For the purpose of this article, the grammar segment referring to the
meaning of modal verbs in Legal English has been tested as based on the mentioned
tools with 15 third-year English language students at the Faculty of Law and
Business Studies Dr Lazar Vrkatic in Novi Sad (see Table 2 for detailed summary of
the experiment). The results were then analysed both quantitatively and qualitatively
as based on the students’ performance tested first in the practice examples and then
in a grammar test.
76
Methodology
Qualitative and quantitative research
Techniques
Performance analysis and Statistical analysis
Aim
Test two types of Web 2.0 applications in simulated EFL classroom
conditions
Date
21 December 2010, scheduled at 18:00 (open till noon the following day)
Site
Faculty of Law and Business Studies Dr Lazar Vrkatic, Novi Sad
Sample
15 students, III year, Department of English
Procedure
Ss downloaded material and Answer sheet and worked through the
material individually by supplying feedback on the Answer sheet:
1.
Presentation (Modal verbs in LE, Dvolver and Hot Potatoes via an
existing workspace on PBworks)
2.
Practice (Hot Potatoes: Cloze test, Jumbled sentences)
3.
Production (Fill-in-the-blanks, use the correct MV, rewrite the
sentences)
Hypothesis
Introducing ICT in language teaching may improve EFL and ELT
Conclusions
1.
2.
3.
4.
Students very motivated
No pressure (pace and duration within framework of 12 hours)
Communication, feedback and evaluation considerably improved
Good performance reflected in the results of the test
Table 2: Summary of the experiment
3.1. Techniques and procedure
The empirical verification of Hot Potatoes and Dvolver has been performed by
means of an experiment based on the following procedure:
1. The participating students agreed to be ready on a particular day at a
particular time, sit at their computers at home and do the following:
a) open a folder in their ‘Documents’ library on their PCs,
b) at the scheduled time, download the Experimental class material and
the Answer Sheet from the PBworks workspace, which is already in
use for their regular Legal English classes, and save the material in
the prepared folder on their computers.
2. The students were expected to work through the presentation of Modal verbs
in Legal English. The presentation table, the examples and explanations had
been prepared as regular Word documents whereas the short presentation
exercises, the comprehension questions and the sample sentences had been
prepared in the Hot Potatoes tool and hyperlinked in the Word presentation
document posted on the PB workspace. The presentation dialogue had been
77
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
prepared in Dvolver and the link to it pasted into the Word document
containing the explanations.
Аfter completing the presentation part, the students had to complete the
practice part prepared in the same way as the presentation part. They could
check their answers by requesting the key from the teacher two hours later.
The Key was then posted on the PB workspace.
The students then took the production test, which had been prepared in the
Hot Potatoes tool and hyperlinked on the PB workspace.
Finally, the students had to submit their Answer sheet by sending it to the
teacher’s e-mail. The submission deadline expired 12 hours after the class
had started.
Two hours after the deadline had expired, the key for the production test
was posted on the PB pages allowing immediate self-evaluation.
A follow-up was a questionnaire and a discussion in class evaluating the
experimental class, the flaws, the advantages and the results.
3.2. Discussion and results
As already pointed out, the two suggested tools were tested in classroom
conditions through a regular teaching procedure including presentation, practice and
production with the only difference that the class was not conducted in a regular
classroom but online. In the follow-up discussion with the participants, as well as
based on their answers provided in the questionnaire they had to complete, not only
was the experiment evaluated in terms of being interesting, fun and new, the
students were also asked to suggest flaws and shortcomings as perceived by them.
Therefore, the following conclusions can be drawn from their answers:
1. The presentation activities were highly interactive motivating the students to
compare and contrast, make inferences, draw conclusions, apply analogies
and critical thinking.
2. The students believed that this segment could be based on self-studying
probably because they had some pre-knowledge on modal verbs. However,
they pointed out that some other segment, an unfamiliar one, might cause
difficulty in a self-study procedure.
3. The students liked the practice part primarily because of the possibility for
self-evaluation. They had clear instructions referring to the exact source of
reference in the presentation material, which made it easier to get to the
right answer.
4. Since the production part based on the performance test followed the
previous two parts almost immediately, the students had no time to study the
segment in greater detail. Generally, they said they were satisfied with their
results considering the circumstances but thought that this type of teaching
and studying should be performed during a longer period.
78
5. T
The geenerral connclu
usio
on w
wass thhat thee ex
xperrim
mentt was funn, very
v y inntereestiing
a difffereent in com
and
mpaarisson to wh
hat they
t y usua
u ally do
o. They
T y allso com
mm
mentted
o tthe facct th
on
hat thee claass waas nnot dem
man
ndin
ng as far as ICT
T was
w coonceerneed.
O thee coontrraryy, th
On
hey
y staated
d thhat thee to
oolss w
weree usser-frieendlly and
a d eaasy to
u ersttandd.
unde
parrate quualitatiive and
d qquan
ntittativ
ve ana
a alyssis w
wass perfo
orm
med
d regarrdin
ng tthe
A sep
studen
nts’ perrforrmaancee, w
whicch was
w s ev
valuuateed and
a asssesssed on two
o leevells:
a) in
n thhe prac
p ctice paart and
d
n thhe prod
p ductionn paart.
b)) in
Th
he prac
p cticce ppart connsissted
d off tw
wo steps:
Steep A:
A
Thee studdentts hhad to co
omp
pletee sentencces witth moodall veerb
phrrasees thhat hadd beeen
n pro
ovidedd.
Steep B:
B
Thee studdentts hhad to co
omp
plete sent
s tencces wh
heree nno mod
m dal
verrb phra
p asess haad been
b n prrov
videed so th
hey
y haad to
o in
nferr theem as
bassed on thee materriall in thee preesentation
n paart.
As
A pres
p sentted in Chhart 1, the
t stu
udennts’’ peerfo
ormancce was
w gen
nerrally
y beetteer in
n Sttep
w ere thee moda
m al verb
v b ph
hraases haad bbeen
n prov
videed. Hallf th
he studen
nts man
m nag
ged to
A whe
com
mpllete alll the seenteencces succcesssfu
ullyy in Steep A;
A how
h wev
ver, no
one of them m
man
nagged
to com
mpllete alll thhe sent
s tencces succeessfu
fully
y in
n Step B.. Conv
versselyy, all
a the
t stu
udennts
mplleted aat leeastt 2/3
3 off th
he exer
e rcisse inn Sttep B, bu
ut noonee off theem com
mplleteed all
a tthe
com
sen
nten
ncess suucceessffully inn Step
p B. Step B bein
b ng the
t moore diffficu
ult exeercise seems to
hav
ve cau
c usedd th
hem
m diifficcultty in
i tthe sennse thaat they
t y had to com
mpaare theeir exaampple
sen
nten
ncess w
with thee mean
m ning
gs in tthe tabble preesen
nted
d inn th
he pres
p senttation parrt. Wh
When
ask
ked abo
outt thiis in th
he disccusssion, they
t y adm
mitteed that
t t theey had
d beeen
n cu
urious aboout
the wh
holee exxpeerim
men
nt annd thaat thhey didd not
n hav
h ve the
t pattien
nce to wo
ork throoug
gh tthe
enttire exeerciise as tthorroughlly as
a innstru
ructed.
10
00
100
1
90
80
70
50
0
60
50
50
Step
S
A
40
Step
S
B
30
20
10
0
0
0
up
p to 1
1/3
0
up to 2//3
all co
orrect
Ch
hartt 1: Studennts’ perf
p form
man
nce in
i th
he ppraccticee paart
79
Th
he prod
ducttion
n paart con
c nsistted of tthreee step
s ps:
S
Step
p A::
Th
he stud
s den
nts hhad
d to com
mplletee a text
t t with corrrecct m
mod
dal vverb
b
ph
hrasses by
y ussing
g lex
xical verb
v bs offe
o ered
d inn brrack
ketss fo
or eeach
h
bllank
k linne.
S
Step
p B:
Th
he stuuden
nts had
d to
o co
omp
plette a teext witth a correect moodaal
veerb phrrasee byy ch
hoo
osin
ng from
fr m a listt prroviided
d ab
bovve th
he ttextt.
S
Step
p C:
he studden
nts hhad
d to rew
writte pprov
videed sent
s tencces byy usingg thee
Th
m al vverb
moda
b prrom
mptss suggeesteed for
fo each
e h seenteence.
Th
he sttudents’ perf
p form
man
nce in the pro
odu
uction parrt iss illu
ustrrateed in Char
C rt 2.
2 W
Whaat
caan be
b not
n ticed
d im
mm
mediiateely is tthatt thhe exer
e rcisse in
nS
Step
p A seem
ms to
o havee beeen thee
m t diifficcultt onne. Hooweeverr, tthe bad perf
most
p form
man
nce waas not
n t onnly a resuult of thee
stu
udeentss m
making mistakkes in thee seensee off ch
hoossing
g thhe wro
w ong moodaal veerb ph
hrase or
no
ot appl
a lyinng a coorreect ten
nse. Soomee off th
hem
m acctuaally did
d no
ot use
u mo
odaal verb
bs; tthey
y
ju
ust tried
t d too pu
ut thhe verb
v bs in
i brac
b cketts innto thee co
orreect ttensse. Wh
When ask
ked aboout thaat in
n
th
he disc
d usssion
n, thhey saiid they
t y diid not
n eveen thin
t nk of
o w
whaat th
hey
y were sup
ppoosed
d too do
o
bu
ut simp
s plyy did
dw
whaat thhey haad aalwaayss beeen exp
pecctedd to
o do
o in
n thheir graamm
marr exxam
m
teests..
onccernned,, whhich
h had beeen ddeem
med
d th
he eeasiiest exeerciise duee
Ass farr ass Sttep B is co
to
o the faact theey hhad
d to choosse m
mod
dal verrbs fro
om an alreead
dy prov
p videed list
l , it turrned
d
ou
ut that onnly hallf of thhem
m co
omppletted thee en
ntiree ex
xercisee su
uccessfullly. Surrpriisinngly
y,
th
he best
b t peerformaancce w
was reaalised in S
Step
p C,
C whe
w ere tthey
y had
h to do thee rew
wriitingg of
th
he prov
p videed sent
s tencces. When
W n askeed aabou
ut this
t in thee discu
ussio
on, theey all
a sstatted thaat
paarap
phraasinng andd reewrritin
ng was
w s so
omething
g th
hey gennerrally
y conssideered
d diifficcultt so
o
th
hey inv
vested
d a litttle mo
ore tim
me annd effo
e ort hop
pinng to
t sub
s bmitt as man
m ny corrrecct
seenteencees aas pos
p ssib
ble. Ass fo
or S
Step
p B
B, they
t y asssum
med th
hey
y haad tak
ken thee ex
xerrcisee
lig
ghtlly beli
b eving it to
o bee siimp
ple, wh
hichh is wh
hy th
hey
y didd no
ot pay
p enooug
gh atten
a ntio
on.
80
0
7
75
6 5
62.5
70
0
60
0
50
0
50
0
50
S
Step
A
37..5
40
0
S
Step
B
25
5
30
0
S
Step
C
20
0
10
0
0
0 0
up to 1/3
3
0
u to 2/3
up
all corre
c ect
Ch
hartt 2: Stud
dennts’ perf
p form
man
nce in
i th
he pprod
ducttion parrt
80
0
4.
Conclusion
The experiment described in this article is just a small segment of a larger and
more elaborate research5 and should thus be accepted only as a small attempt to
investigate the possibility of modernising and improving modern ELT by means of
incorporating ICT into the process. Much more research as well as extensive
experiments and testing will be needed to evaluate possible flaws and potential
advantages of ICT in ELT. Furthermore, Web 2.0 tools will have to be tested on
different segments of the ELT process, across all the skills the process focuses on
including vocabulary, grammar and cultural elements. Finally, ICT in ELT cannot
be evaluated as an isolated area of usage. All testing and investigations will have to
be put into the context of modern education in general including all levels,
elementary, secondary and tertiary.
Nevertheless, as small-scale as it may seem, this experiment has proven that
ICT can be put into effective use in the ELT classroom. The two user-friendly and
simple Web 2.0 tools, Hot Potatoes and Dvolver, have proven benefits exceeding the
fact of being free of charge. Generally, the fact that many tools are free of charge
alleviates the financial impact of the first stages in the process of incorporating ICT
as they allow both teachers and students to practice as much as needed, investigate
and try out, select and verify, without worrying about the cost-effectiveness of these
activities. In the experiment conducted for the purpose of the research described in
this article, the set outcome to teach and practice the segment covering the meaning
of modal verbs in Legal English has been accomplished by means of two Web 2.0
tools. The performance of the students was within average limits, thus not exceeding
results they regularly show. It may be said that the experiment showed that ICT may
and should be incorporated into the ELT process.
However, what should most certainly be done in the future is evaluate the
potential outcomes and results students achieve with ICT incorporated into the ELT
process in comparison to currently achieved results in ordinarily conducted EL
classes. A substantially broader research6 should attempt to establish the benefits
and advantages of ELT with ICT and without it. Only then may it be determined
how much, where, at what level and to what extent the incorporation of ICT might
prove necessary and beneficial to the ELT process.
5
6
Refer to note 1.
As mentioned in note 1, such a research is on its way.
81
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83
Biljana Đorić Francuski
Belgrade, Republic of Serbia
bdjoric@sezampro.rs
WHAT’S IN A NAME?
Adopting Ancient Indian Practices in 21st Century
Cross-Cultural Translation Studies1
Abstract In the Indian literary tradition transcreation denotes creative translations
of culturally-oriented classic Sanskrit texts or, in other words, reinterpreting rather
than literally translating the ST in such a way that it should suit the TT readers
culturally, socially and aesthetically. The purpose of this paper is to advocate, in line
with Susan Bassnett’s ‘cultural turn’ in translation studies, transcreation in the sense
of interpreting, transposing and recreating the ST, instead of translating it word-forword, in the case of rendering contemporary Indian English literature into languages
of limited diffusion. The fundamental hypothesis is that the translator of crosscultural texts has a viable option of moving beyond fidelity and using the power of a
creator to destabilize the ST and adapt it to the TC, by twisting André Lefevere’s
conceptual and textual grids, in an original and imaginary way through a cultureinformed approach.
Key words: transcreation, creative translation, literal translation, culturally-oriented
text, Indian English literature, languages of limited diffusion, cross-cultural
translation, Susan Bassnett, G. Gopinathan, Purushottama Lal.
“All my life I have had more than one language in my head.
I translate to build bridges between languages and cultures and
I write to understand the processes of bridge construction, today and in
previous ages.”
(Susan Bassnett)
1. Introduction: Defining translation
Though the concept of translation as cultural negotiation, resulting from the
recognition of its cultural function, appeared not long ago – in the eighties, we can
trace the germ of understanding its hermeneutical dimension and the mission of the
translator as a cross-cultural mediator to as early as the Authorised King James
1
This paper is part of the research project “National, Regional, European and Global Framework
of Social Crises, and Contemporary Serbian Literature and Culture”, financed by the Serbian Ministry
of Education and Science for the period of 2011–2014 (Project No. 178018).
84
Version of The Bible, whose translators wisely said: “Translation it is that openeth
the window, to let in the light; that breaketh the shell, that we may eat the kernel;
that putteth aside the curtaine, that we may look into the most holy place; that
remooveth the cover of the well, that we may come by the water […]” (Carroll and
Prickett 2008: lvii).
At an early age of translation studies, in his book After Babel: Aspects of
Language and Translation, George Steiner defines this activity “as an interpretation
of a foreign text that is at once profoundly sympathetic and violent, exploitive and
ethically restorative” (Chatterjee 2010: 13), and draws attention to the translator’s
‘hermeneutic incursion’, which he describes as “the thrust of understanding into the
neighbouring or kindred language or cultural context” (Steiner 1998: 380, my
emphasis).
Among the theoreticians who significantly moved the borders of appreciating
the true importance of translation, the one who certainly deserves being mentioned
in this context is Walter Benjamin, who pointed to the following crucial difference
between the TT2 and its respective ST: “translation issues from the original – not so
much from its life as from its afterlife. For a translation comes later than the original,
and since the important works of world literature never find their chosen translators
at the time of their origin, their translation marks their stage of continued life.”
(Benjamin 1992: 73)
This dual rapport between the ST and the TT is also mirrored in Lawrence
Venuti’s definition: “Translating is generally seen as a process of communicating
the foreign text by establishing a relationship of identity or analogy with it.” (Venuti
2000: 121)
Similarly, Christiane Nord insists on a broader scope of translation, defining it
“as an intentional, intercultural, partly verbal communicative interaction involving a
source text” (Nord 1997: 44, my emphasis), and underlines the important roles of
intentionality and the intended communicative purpose of the TT in the translation
process.
On the other hand, the dispute about the need of the TT to be ‘faithful’, as well
as the essence of that ‘faithfulness’ – whether it means to transmit ‘the message’ of
the ST, to evoke ‘the same feelings’ or to provoke ‘the same effects’ on the TT
receivers as on the ST readers – has been going on for ages, as is witnessed by these
Venuti’s words: “traditional dichotomies between ‘sense-for-sense’ and ‘word-forword’ translating […] date back to antiquity, to Horace, Jerome, Augustine.”
(Venuti 2000: 122)
But it was only with Derrida’s concept of deconstruction that an entirely novel
approach to translation could gain momentum. For the purposes of this paper, it is
important that Derrida’s deconstruction undermines the ways in which translation
used to be understood in the western tradition of metaphysics, which implicitly
2
In this paper, the following abbreviations will often be used: SC = source culture, SL = source
language, ST = source text, TC = target culture, TL = target language, TT = target text.
85
suggested limits and categorizing, elements that will in this paper be opposed to a
more open and liberal eastern viewpoint, along these lines: “Derrida challenges the
reader to think and rethink every moment a translation solution is posed, an item
named, an identity fixed, or a sentence inscribed. With each naming gesture Derrida
suggests a footnote, a note in the margin, or a preface also is in order to retrieve
those subtle differing supplementary meanings and tangential notions lost in the
process of transcription.” (Chatterjee 2010: 14, my emphasis)
Fortunately, in the twenty-first century the following two key points are no
longer disputed: that translating is a creative endeavour and that it crosses cultural
borders. Thus, Susan Bassnett defines translation as “a creative activity that is in no
way lesser than the so-called original writing” (Bassnett 2010), and draws attention
to its cross-cultural function: “Translation is a particular kind of writing because it
necessarily involves the crossing of a frontier and is, in consequence, dual,
containing both the point of departure and the point of arrival.” (Bassnett 2009: 18)
2. Transcreation in Occidental translation studies
With a view to both these features of translation, Bassnett has appealed for a
basically new term that would encompass its many functions and forms (Bassnett
2010). The terms used so far instead of translation include the following: recreation,
rendering, transformation, transposition, transcription, transliteration, reading,
version[ing], interlingual rendition, adaptation, and many others. Haroldo de
Campos, famous Brazilian writer and translator, even coined some new terms in
order to replace the word translation, because he thought it “could no longer define a
complex practice of interpenetration between two cultures” (Di Giovanni 2008).
Among these terms, the most interesting ones are: “translumination,
transparadisation, transluciferation, transtextualization and, most importantly,
transcreation” (Di Giovanni 2008, my emphasis).
However, transcreation is in no way a new concept, either in the West: “It is
interesting to note how as early as Horace there is a hint in translation of what in the
twentieth century would be termed a process of ‘trans-creation’.” (Chatterjee 2010:
4), or in the East: “The term was coined long ago with reference to the creative
translation of the Bible in order to make it accessible all over India.” (Bollettieri
Bosinelli 2010: 178)
It basically consists of the aforementioned deconstruction of the ST and then its
recreation in the TL, with the aim of reflecting cultural meanings implied in the ST,
transmitting the local colour and capturing cultural elements and associations with
which the target reader is not quite familiar. Otherwise, the translation lacking this
liaison with the SC would not have the same meaning as the original, and sometimes
it does not have any meaning at all, as will be seen from examples in this paper.
86
Therefore, in such situations the translator cannot remain invisible,3 because what he
or she has to make is “crucial intervention in the foreign text” (Venuti 2004: 1).
Thus, to transcreate means much more than to translate – it is the process of
transferring a text from one cultural environment into another. In fact, according to
their etymology the verbs to translate and to transfer have exactly the same
meaning, because their roots are identical: latum is just another form of the verb
ferre – its past participle. The ST is transcreated by being first deconstructed and
then transferred to the TC to be retextualized or recreated. In other words, first the
ST is dislocated and then the TT is relocated: “The dislocation happens in the source
language/culture and its relocation in the target language/culture.” (Chatterjee 2010:
4)
Speaking about adaptation of literary works onto film, Brian McFarlane
highlights a fact which is crucial for this activity: that no text has one single
meaning, so the translator has to be very creative when responding to the
intertextuality of the ST; therefore, instead of respecting a fixed version which is to
be translated correctly, the translator should respect its polysemy and transcreate it.4
As of lately, in western media the word transcreation can be seen more and
more frequently in advertisements announcing services of translation companies and
agencies, where it is used as a marketing and advertising tool. Basically offering
translation services, for purely marketing purposes these firms purport that
transcreation is something different and better, that it is translation which is valueadded because it reflects all the aspects of the ST: “Transcreation is used to make
sure that the target text is the same as the source text in every aspect: the message it
conveys, style, the images and emotions it evokes and its cultural background.”
(Balemans 2010, my emphasis)
If they wish to become professional transcreators, “it is important for
translators to possess not only translational – that is, linguistic – but also
intercultural competencies” (Đorić Francuski 2008: 158). A first-class transcreator is
expected not only to be an expert in both languages, the SL and the TL, but also to
possess excellent knowledge of both cultures, the SC and the TC, because: “[I]f
language is an integral part of culture, the translator needs not only proficiency in
two languages, he must also be at home in two cultures.” (Snell-Hornby 2006: 42)
3. Transcreation in Oriental translation studies
On the opposite side of the globe – in the Orient, transcreation has a longstanding tradition in translating old texts from Sanskrit into Hindi and other Indian
languages.
3
4
See more about this in Venuti’s book The Translator’s Invisibility.
See more in McFarlane 1996: “Part I: Backgrounds, Issues, and a New Agenda”, 3-29.
87
In his article “Translation, Transcreation and Culture: The Evolving Theories
of Translation in Hindi and Other Modern Indian Languages”, G. Gopinathan talks
about translation theory in the Indian languages, in which “creative writing and
translation were never considered as two separate processes.” (Gopinathan 2006: 1)
The author of the article further explicates in these words the fact that translation is
also a form of original literature: “As a shadow can differ from its original object,
depending on the intensity and the angle of light falling on it, a translation may also
have a different form depending on the nature of light thrown on it by the translator
by his interpretation.” (Gopinathan 2006: 1-2)
In the first chapter – “The tradition of Transcreation”, Gopinathan emphasizes
that this “has been the general mode of translation in modern Indian languages from
the olden days”. (Gopinathan 2006: 2) Highlighting the three crucial elements that
can be said to add value to transcreation as compared with translation and which can
help us differentiate between these two activities, he supplies the following
definition: “The people oriented and the time oriented creative translations of the
ancient Sanskrit spiritual texts are generally termed as ‘Transcreation’.” (Gopinathan
2006: 2)
This term is applicable to “the whole tradition of creative translation of great
classics like Ramayana, Bhagarata and Mahabharata in the regional languages from
Sanskrit” (Gopinathan 2006: 2), explains Gopinathan, who thinks that transcreation
seems to be the best word to express this literary tradition of India, but also adds that
some other authors, like Sujeet Mukherji, prefer to call it ‘Translation as New
writing’.5
Gopinathan further underlines that “[T]ranscreation can offer the best possible
solution for the problems of culturally oriented literary texts.” (Gopinathan 2006: 3)
The justification for this statement is that, when the ST is transcreated, it is reinterpreted in such a way as to satisfy the needs of the readers who live in the
specific cultural environment, at a specific time. This aesthetic re-interpretation,
adds Gopinathan, “is performed with suitable interpolations, explanations,
expansions, summarising and aesthetic innovations in style and techniques.”
(Gopinathan 2006: 3)
Therefore, the reason for making such radical changes while translating a text
from another culture, which is not so well-known to the target audience – and
especially in the case of distant cultures, is the need to make that text not only
comprehensible for but also more culturally accessible to the new readers, in spite of
the existing cultural differences. Thus we can say that the output of translation is
improved by the process of transcreation, which contributes to the cross-cultural
exchange precisely because it is not linear but implies another, creative dimension.
Talking about the history of transcreation, Elena Di Giovanni explains that in
the first translations of sacred Sanskrit texts in India transcreation “allowed for a
number of even radical changes to the original texts, which went well beyond the
5
88
See more about this in Mukherjee 1994: Chapter 6 - “Translation as New writing”, 77-85.
concept of ‘translation proper’ as it was and is still perceived within translation
studies. The transcreated text had to be entirely fluent and, most importantly, it had
to be fully understandable to its target audience.” (Di Giovanni 2008)
But all this does not mean that transcreation is perceived as an unfaithful
translation of the ST, quite the contrary. In his classic work Transcreation, one of
the most famous contemporary Indian authors and scholars who wrote transcreations
in the twentieth century, Purushottama Lal,6 discusses the English translations of
some of Rabindranath Tagore’s poems and underlines that “these ‘transcreations’
[…] are faithful to an extreme” (Lal 1996: 87). In the section about the translation of
Hindi literature into English, Lal says that the purpose of transcreation is “to recreate
for the English reader something of the experience of the Hindi reader” (Lal 1996:
69, my italics). Or more precisely – which is extremely important for the purposes of
this paper, the reader he later calls “non-Indian English-speaking reader” (Lal 1996:
70, my emphasis).
On the other hand, in another canonical work – Translation as Discovery, Sujit
Mukherjee makes a distinction between translating old Indian texts into modern
languages and translating Modern Indo-English literature. The translators of ancient
and medieval texts were permitted to indulge in many changes and liberties, because
fidelity was not demanded as much as appropriation into the TL and domestication
into the TC, so that Mukherjee concludes: “In such works we have travelled much
beyond the realm of translation” (Mukherjee 1994: 78). As for contemporary works,
however, the primary aim of the translator should be fidelity to the ST, while
allowances can be made “only for the unavoidable lexical or linguistic, cultural or
environmental adjustments with the original” (Mukherjee 1994: 9).
4. Where East and West meet
Those cultural adjustments, however, are extremely important when Indian
English literature is presented to readers in a remote country, where Indian culture is
still essentially unknown, and when these works are translated into languages of
limited diffusion, for instance Serbian. In such cases, a new translation strategy is
needed in order to stress cultural specificity by translational choices, as well as to
arouse the readers’ curiosity and their wish to discover more about that culture. My
crucial line of argument is the fact that these works belong to the realm of the socalled multilingual or heterolingual literature, because they are genuine hybrid
literary texts.
Heterolingualism or textual multilingualism in Indian English literature is
reflected in the use of several foreign languages in the text which is basically written
in English, as well as of numerous culture-bound words or culture-specific terms,7
6
7
Who unfortunately died in November 2010.
See more about the concept of culture-bound words in Đorić Francuski 2008: 147-149.
89
which are in this case words and phrases from languages other than English, mostly
Punjabi, Urdu and Hindi. This hybrid language – a mélange of these several SouthAsian languages and English – was in use in the Indian Subcontinent already at the
time of the British Raj. Later on, with the advent of Indian immigrants on the British
soil, the blending of these languages with English became so popular there as well,
both in the immigrant community and with the local population, that it was named
Hinglish.
The use of Hinglish in Indian English literature has a particular aim: to create
for the audience the multicultural atmosphere of life in an environment in which
several ethnic communities live together. Such a context is conjured up by the use of
code mixing between different languages spoken by the members of these
communities. Code mixing is defined as “a type of insertional code switching, where
a constituent from language A is embedded into an utterance in language B, and
where language B is clearly the dominant language” (Van Dulm 2007: 10-11), and it
usually involves a single word or a stereotypical expression, unlike code switching,
in which elements from different languages that are interchanged are often much
longer.
And that is exactly what happens in Indian English writing: the dominant
language is obviously English, while there are hardly any long conversations
conducted solely in Hinglish, and when it is used in a text, it is usually a short
sentence or a single word. Generally speaking, it is very difficult to reproduce code
mixing in translation, and therefore I advocate the option that such cross-cultural
works should be transcreated instead of translated word-for-word.
In fact, transcreation in the sense of Gopinathan’s interpolations, explanations
and expansions is something that has been done by some of the Indian English
authors themselves, as well as by the translators and researchers of their works.
Thus, within the very text of some of his works, like for example in Midnight’s
Children, Salman Rushdie explains certain words and expressions, not only those
whose meaning is not clear from the context, but even some universally
recognizable terms, such as the word in the first example:
– “only Hajis, men who had made the pilgrimage to Mecca” (Rushdie 1991: 8)
– although all the readers worldwide probably know who Hajis are;
– “Hartal! Which is to say, literally speaking, a day of mourning, of stillness,
of silence.” (Rushdie 1991: 30) – this name may have needed some
explaining, although its meaning would have been clear from the context
alone.
However, here is an extremely interesting term, which could have caused
confusion to the Serbian reader – a shikara. In Serbian that word: šikara (шикара)
means underbush, underbrush, or undergrowth. A particularly important fact is that
the real meaning of this Urdu word cannot be deduced from the context, the more so
as Rushdie uses it metaphorically – as a personification. Luckily, Rushdie himself
first explains the term and then provides it in an apposition:
90
“The lake was no longer frozen over. The thaw had come rapidly, as
usual; many of the small boats, the shikaras, had been caught napping, which
was also normal. But while these sluggards slept on, on dry land, snoring
peacefully beside their owners, the oldest boat was up at the crack as old folk
often are, and was therefore the first craft to move across the unfrozen lake.”
(Rushdie 1991: 7)
Shikara is an excellent example for justifying the act of transcreation, because
had Rushdie not explained this term, the translator should have done so anyway.
Of course, there are plenty of similar illustrations, in which the difference
between false friends or the additional meanings (Baker 2004: 25) of a word that
exists in both the SL and the TL should be explained, and the two pairs of such
words which are certainly most often an obstacle to the Serbian translators are:
– pajama (in Serbian pidžama), a word which originally came into English
from Hindi, in which it denotes a type of loose trousers, worn in Southeast Asia not
only as a common item of nightwear but also as everyday clothes. However, in
Serbia this piece of clothing is used only as nightwear, so when Serbian translators
use that loan word, without any additional explanation it can be understood in the
wrong sense, and thus our readers must be confused when they discover that some
people in India go to work or even to some formal occasions wearing pajamas; and
– curry (kari), which is a popular Indian dish, resembling stew, but in the
Serbian language this loan word is used only with one of its original meanings, and
that is curry powder – a kind of spice. For that reason, Serbian translators who are
not aware of this distinction make the following mistakes: they translate lamb curry
as ‘lamb with curry’, vegetable curry as ‘vegetables with curry’, chicken curry as
‘chicken with curry’, while fish curry is even translated as ‘fish stew with curry’ (in
Serbian: “riblji paprikaš s karijem” - where the word curry is redundantly translated
twice, by using its cultural equivalent and in its meaning as a spice).8
However, when the translator attempts to transcreate a text, serious mistakes
can occur if he or she is not well-acquainted with the SC. For instance, in this
phrase: “beneath a Jesus in a dhoti” (Desai 2006: 28), the translator uses the loan
word: “ispod Hrista obučenog u doti” (Desai 2007: 38), but also adds a footnote
explaining that a dhoti is ‘a garment similar to trousers’: “Deo nošnje sličan
pantalonama” (Desai 2007: 38). Well, if Jesus was in a dhoti, and a dhoti is a kind of
trousers, that means that Jesus was wearing trousers.
Similarly as Rushdie, another famous Indian English writer, Vikram Seth,
inserts at times some additional clarifications in his book From Heaven Lake, in
which foreign words are mixed with English, with the aim of pointing to the existing
cultural differences: “the situation is aggravated by the ever-present phenomenon of
lianxi – a word as fundamental to an understanding of China as guiding
8
These examples have been found in numerous translated works over many years of research,
some of them several times in various texts, so the sources are not mentioned because that would take a
lot of place and burden the text.
91
(regulations), or guanxi (personal connections in official places). Roughly
translatable as ‘contact’ or ‘liaison’, lianxi is absolutely essential for effective
action” (Seth 1993: 6).
On the other hand, many translators also choose to make a glossary for the
book they translate, in order to clarify for the reader of the TT some culture-bound
terms that are not widely known. Thus, for instance, the translator of a Japanese
author Soseki Natsume’s novel The Wayfarer compiled a “Glossary of Japanese
Words” on two pages, but emphasized that “[W]ords whose meanings are apparent
in the context are not included.” (Natsume 1977: 321) Serbian translators of Indian
English literature rarely make such an effort, so it is praiseworthy that Professor
Svetozar Koljević in his excellent translation of Rushdie’s Midnight’s Children
provides a glossary which includes the terms repeated several times in the text,
while the culture-bound words which are mentioned just once are explained in
footnotes (Rušdi 1987: 593-598).
Also, for the readers of Rushdie’s works, there is an on-line “Glossary to
accompany Salman Rushdie”, including both the familiar words like ashram or
Avatar, and those with which Serbian readers are almost certainly not acquainted,
usually regarding the Indian caste system, like chandala, or the Hindu religion, like
darshan or prem.9
Such glossaries are also often made by scholars researching the work of a
certain author, like in the case of professor Paul Brians,10 who composed what he
called “Notes for Anita Desai's Baumgartner's Bombay”.11
As regards the usual practice of translators into Serbian, even a few decades
ago they used to insert footnotes in order to clarify the meaning of foreign words,
phrases or culture-specific items. I shall just quote here one out of many examples
from an English text with French words which are left in the translation and then
explained in footnotes, with an emphasis on the fact that at the time this translation
was published, in the seventies, many people in Serbia could understand French,
unlike Hindi at the moment.
“– Oh, qu’elle y sera mal – peu comfortable.1 I kada joj se odelo podere, kako
ćete joj nabaviti novo?
1
Oh, kako će joj tamo biti rđavo – tako neugodno! – Prim. prev.” (Bronte
1973: 322)
9
This glossary is available at: http://www.subir.com/rushdie/glossary.html, while another helpful
device when reading Indian English works is “Glossary of Indian Terms” available at:
http://www.timelessindia.us/glossary.htm.
10
Paul Brians is a professor of postcolonial literature in the Department of English, Washington
State University, the author of Modern South Asian Literature in English (2003).
11
This glossary is available at: http://www.wsu.edu/~brians/anglophone/baumgartner.html.
92
5. Transcreating Indian English literature
“Translation is not a matter of words only:
it is a matter of making intelligible a whole culture”
(Anthony Burgess)
Talking about the process of translation in his essay “Composing the Other”,
André Lefevere claims that translators “do not, first and foremost, think on the
linguistic level, the level of the translation of individual words and phrases”
(Lefevere 1999: 75). When they translate a text, they rather think in terms of two
intertwined grids, which are equally important, and Lefevere calls them ‘a conceptual
grid’ and ‘a textual grid’. Therefore, the problems in translating are not caused only by
discrepancies in languages but also by discrepancies in the two grids. According to
Lefevere, the consequence of this hypothesis is that both the ST writer and its
translator are faced with the conceptual and the textual grid, which is something they
have to deal with. (Lefevere 1999: 75-77) And that is also the element Lefevere sees
as “an argument in favour of the creativity of translators: like writers of originals, they
too have to find ways of manipulating the grids in such a way that communication
becomes not only possible, but interesting and attractive.” (Lefevere 1999: 77)
Consequently, we can conclude that the translator of cross-cultural texts has a
viable option of moving beyond fidelity and using the power of a creator to
destabilize the ST and adapt it to the TC, by twisting Lefevere’s grids, in an original
and imaginary way through a culture-informed approach. This is especially
important when a non-Western ST is translated into a Western culture, such as the
case is when Indian English literature is translated into the Serbian language, and
that is why it calls for transcreation instead of mere translation, because: “Western
cultures ‘translated’ (and ‘translate’) non-Western cultures into Western categories to
be able to come to an understanding of them and, therefore, to come to terms with
them.” (Lefevere 1999: 77)
When we discuss the practical viewpoint, transcreation is rendered possible by
numerous translation methods that have been defined in translation studies, and the
choice would depend on several factors, of which the ST historical setting and the
type of the TT audience are the most important ones. The translation techniques that
are available to the Serbian translator range from the ones that are clearly aimed at
domestication of the ST because they replace the SC elements by their TC
equivalents, to those aimed at foreignization that keep the TT close to the SC. The
following are the procedures suggested by several translation studies experts, mixed
together and ranged from the most domesticating to the most foreignizing ones:
cultural equivalence, substitution, neutralisation, literal translation,
adaptation, omission or reduction, addition, supplementation or amplification,
expansion, compensation, paraphrasing, using a related word or a
superordinate, doublet, lexical creation, neologism, borrowing or loan word,
93
calque, label, mapping, naturalisation, transference, transcription or
transliteration.12
According to the analysis of a large corpus of translated Indian English texts
and the respective originals, gathered and examined over many years, I have
concluded that the best solution for the Serbian translator is to revert to using as
often as possible the so-called doublet, which is defined by Newmark as the
combination of transference, label or naturalisation – to put it more simply: a loan
word, with additional explanation (notes, glossing, definition, explicating,
interpretative description). (Newmark 1988: 103) The explanations, which supply
the additional cultural, technical or linguistic information, can be inserted within the
text as an “adjectival clause, noun in apposition, participial group, classifier”
(Newmark 1988: 92), or provided in the form of footnotes or endnotes, as well as
given in a glossary at end of the book. Now then, if we go back to the hypothesis
about The Translator’s Invisibility, we can see that Newmark concludes just the
opposite: “The artistic illusion of your non-existence is unnecessary.” (Newmark
1988: 93)
Newmark suggests that the additional explanation should be given in the text
itself whenever and wherever that is possible, in order to avoid interrupting the
reader’s thoughts, and this is something that was already frequently done in
Professor Svetozar Koljević’s translation of Salman Rushdie’s Midnight’s Children.
For lack of space, only one example will be presented here,13 but it will be enough to
clarify the essence of the translation technique called doublet:
– the phrase in which the author himself explained the first culture-bound
word: “the fishermen – who were called Kolis – sailed in Arab dhows”
(Rushdie 1991: 101, my italics)
– is thus translated, or even better said – transcreated into Serbian:
“ribari – koji su se zvali Koli – jedrili su u doima, arapskim brodicama sa
širokom krmom” (Rušdi 1987: 117, my italics)
We can see from this example that the second culture-specific term was
translated by a loan word plus explanation in the form of a parenthetical nonrestrictive apposition. It is also worth mentioning that Professor Koljević regularly
supplies footnotes, which are sometimes rather long and exhaustive, for all the
culture-bound items with which the TT audience is probably not acquainted, and that
is the practice that should be adopted by all Serbian translators of Indian English
texts.
Instead of a conclusion, let me quote the words of Goethe, who observes the
following:
“There are two principles of translation. The translator can bring to his
fellow countrymen a true and clear picture of the foreign author and foreign
12
These are the translation techniques found in the works by Peter Newmark, Susan Bassnett,
Mona Baker, Mary Snell-Hornby and Lawrence Venuti.
13
Many more examples of this sort can be seen in Đorić Francuski 2010.
94
circumstances, keeping strictly to the original; but he can also treat the foreign
work as a writer treats his material, altering it after his own tastes and
convictions, so that it is brought closer to his fellow countrymen, who can then
accept it as if it were an original work.”
(Cited by Thriveni 2002)
The choice is the translator’s, or shall we say, transcreator’s.
References
Baker, M. (2004). In Other Words: a coursebook on translation. London and New
York: Routledge.
Balemans, P. (2010). “Transcreation: translating and recreating”. Available at:
http://pbtranslations.wordpress.com/. Retrieved on: 12 June 2011.
Bassnett, S. (2009). “Travelling through Translation”. Comparative Critical Studies
6, 1: 7–19.
Bassnett, S. (2010). “The Translator’s Creativity”. Keynote Speech at Plenary
Session of “The Author-Translator in the European Literary Tradition”
Conference at Swansea University, June 28-July 1, 2010. Available at:
http://www.author-translator.net/videos.html. Retrieved on: 12 June 2011.
Benjamin, W. (1992). “The Task of the Translator”. In: R. Schulte and J. Biguenet
(eds.). Theories of Translation. An Anthology of Essays from Dryden to
Derrida. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 71–82.
Bollettieri Bosinelli, R.M. (2010). “Transcreative Joyce”. Scientia Traductionis 8:
178-181.
Bronte, Š. (1973). Džejn Ejr. Trans. R. Todorović. Beograd: Narodna knjiga.
Caroll, R. and Prickett, S. (eds.). (2008). The Bible. Authorised King James Version
with Apocryphapha. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Available at:
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Chatterjee, C. (2010). Translation Reconsidered: Culture, Genre and the “Colonial
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Scholars Publishing.
Desai, K. (2006). The Inheritance of Loss. Harmondsworth: Penguin Books.
Desai, K. (2007). Nasleđeni gubitak. Trans. T. Bižić. Beograd: Mono i Manjana.
Di Giovanni, E. (2008). "Translations, Transcreations and Transrepresentations of
India in the Italian Media". META 53, 1: 26-43. Available at:
http://id.erudit.org/revue/meta/2008/v53/n1/017972ar.html?vue=integral.
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Đorić Francuski, B. (2008). “And What’s Culture Got to Do with It?”. In: R.
Vukčević and A. Jovanović (eds.). ELLSSAC, Vol. II. Beograd: Filološki
fakultet, 145-160.
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Đorić Francuski, B. (2010). “Prenošenje kulturološkog značenja izvornog teksta:
slučaj pripovedaka Ruth Prawer Jhabvale”. Anali Filološkog fakulteta 22: 141165.
Gopinathan G. (2006). “Translation, Transcreation and Culture. Theories of
Translation in Indian Languages”. In: T. Hermans (ed.). Translating Others,
Vol. 1. Manchester: St Jerome, 236-246. Available at: http://www.soas.ac.uk/
literatures/satranslations/Gopin.pdf. Retrieved on: 12 June 2011.
Lal, P. (1996). Transcreation. Calcutta: Writers Workshop.
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Post-colonial Translation: Theory and practice. London and New York:
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Rušdi, S. (1987). Deca ponoći. Trans. S. Koljević and Z. Mutić. Beograd:
Beogradski izdavačko-grafički zavod.
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96
Tatjana Đurović
Belgrade, Serbia
tdjurovic@sbb.rs
ENGLISHISATION OF THE EUROPEAN UNION VIEWED THROUGH
METAPHORICAL LENSES
Abstract The paper investigates how metaphors used to describe the prevalent role
of English in the European language policy shape the issue of multilingualism in the
European Union. Analysing the discursive strength of the metaphorical expressions,
such as lingua frankensteinia, cuckoo, linguicide, linguistic capital dispossession,
balanced language ecology, linguascape, etc., selected from both academic papers
and official EU documents, we explore the structure of the conceptual metaphors,
LANGUAGE IS AN ANIMATE/LIVING ORGANISM, LANGUAGE IS AN OBJECT and
LANGUAGE IS ECOLOGY, and examine their consequences for social practice. In
other words, we try to find out whether the implicit language policy in the European
Union is rather slanted towards the use of English in spite of the EU language policy
officials’ pursuit of constructing a modern ‘tower of Babel’, at the risk of creating
unintelligible European language space.
Key words: Conceptual metaphor; LANGUAGE metaphors; European language
policy.
1. Introduction
The concept of language is of dual nature. On the one hand, language is the
generic, biological capacity of people for acquiring and using a complex system of
communication initiated and controlled by the brain. “[I]t is a distinct piece of the
biological makeup of our brains.” (Pinker 1995: 18). Language, on the other hand, is
a specific system of a highly elaborate structure and a set of rules relating to any
particular instance of this common human faculty. In addition, language is an
inseparable part of the culture that it represents with accumulated tradition, set of
values and identity. All this makes language an elusive and hard-to-understand
concept. “Language is inadequate as an object of knowledge both because there is
too little information available, and because there is too much…” (see Seargeant
2009: 393). One of the most efficient ways of understanding abstract concepts is by
applying a cognitive perspective which hinges on, inter alia, conceptual metaphor
that helps us grasp how our mind is structured and how we use more comprehensible
concepts to explain less comprehensible concepts.
In this paper we deal with the prevalent role of the English language in the
European Union from a metaphorical viewpoint. We explore the LANGUAGE
97
conceptual metaphors as exemplified with a number of metaphorical expressions
selected from both academic papers and official EU documents in order to show
how metaphors structure the language imbalance in the European language policy
and what implications this may have on multilingualism, as one of the major issues
on the European agenda. The paper is divided into four parts: what follows in this
introductory part is a general background against which we will give a cursory view
of the current language situation in the European Union. The second part contains a
description of the theoretical framework in which the paper is set. In the third part
we provide examples of metaphors and their metaphorical expressions related to
LANGUAGE and discuss their possible implications. The last part comprises a
conclusion which summarises our analysis.
The European Union founded as the European Coal and Steel Community in
1951 has undoubtedly been marked as a “big bang” in political, economic, and
cultural sense. It primarily rests on the European member states’ resolution to join
the project of political unification and economic integration. A particularly sensitive
issue of defining the European identity pertains to language as the most valuable
heritage of each member state. The common official stance has been taken up –
languages are the European identity card1, which should frame “pan-European
linguistic policy, aiming at the cross-cultural diffusion of all languages in all
countries, through the education system at all levels, via Internet, by cultural
programs etc.”2 Although a single currency serves as the most notable example of
economic and monetary integration, languages, not a single language, as well as the
preservation and enhancement of cultural and linguistic diversity lie, according to
the Union’s officials, at the core of the European Union, leading to building up the
European integration. This means that all languages spoken in the member countries
deserve to be heard and represented on an equal footing – “there cannot be double
standards, say, between big and small countries or between those with well-known
and lesser-known languages.”3 Translated into numbers this means that the EU
language chart encompasses “23 official languages; some 60 regional and minority
languages; and some 175 migrant languages.”4 In other words, the European identity
should be recognisable by multilingualism and two interrelated concepts – unity in
diversity.
1
According to the title of the speech, “Languages – the European Identity Card.”, delivered by
the former European Commissioner for Multilingualism, Leonard Orban, at the Vilnius Book Fair.
Available
at:
http://ec.europa.eu/commission_barroso/orban/news/docs/speeches/080221_speech_Vilnius/Languages
_the_European_Identity_Card_EN.pdf
2
URL: http://chet.org.za/webfm_send/327
3
URL: http://ec.europa.eu/publications/booklets/move/45/en.pdf
4
URL:
http://ec.europa.eu/commission_barroso/orban/news/docs/speeches/081205_VUB_speech/Speec
h_VUB_05_Dec_2008_EN.pdf
98
Yet, the situation on the ground is not quite in compliance with the proposals
and guidelines of EU language policy makers. According to Special Eurobarometer
2435, the balance weighs heavily in favour of English. It is rated as the most-widely
spoken foreign language throughout Europe – 38% of EU citizens state that they
have sufficient skills in English to have a conversation. English is also perceived by
Europeans to be by far the most useful language to know for personal development
and career, accounting for 68% and being well ahead of French (25%), German
(22%), or Spanish (16%). Even more so, “English is probably the only natural
language today, and certainly the only major language, with (far) less native
speakers than people who learned it as a second language.” (van Parijs 2003: 9).
Rogerson-Revell also states that “[t]he spread of English is commonly seen as a
‘language problem’ threatening to engulf and replace indigenous European
languages.” (2007: 106). Furthermore, the overwhelming dominance of English is
spreading beyond the European borders, which makes Phillipson conclude that
“[e]xternally the EU has become monolingual.” (Phillipson 2008b: 257).
Hence on the one hand, there is a noticeable language imbalance with English
which will surely remain a lingua franca for some time, and the commitment of
relevant EU bodies to multilingualism and the active promotion of using and
learning all EU official languages equally, on the other. That is why we try to
establish in this paper whether the implicit language policy in the European Union
viewed through metaphorical spectacles is rather slanted towards the use of English
which is grabbing much more ‘market share’ than French and German in spite of the
EU language policy officials’ pursuit of constructing a modern ‘tower of Babel’ and
running the risk of creating an unintelligible European language space. Indeed, fears
that proclaimed insistence on an equal dispersion of national languages at the
supranational level will lead to a new Babel seem to be far-fetched since English,
rather distantly accompanied by French and German, is dominating the very
backdrop of the EU language scene.
2. Theoretical framework
The small-scale analysis is set in a theoretical framework compounded of the
main tenets of Conceptual Metaphor Theory (CMT) and Critical Discourse Analysis
(CDA). Conceptual Metaphor Theory is a convenient and very plausible mode of
rationalising less tangible, abstract concepts, such as LANGUAGE. This stems from
one of the top postulates of CMT that complex and hard-to-understand concepts are
predominantly metaphorical, and it is conceptual metaphor or the relationship
between the two domains which make up conceptual metaphor that provides the
structure to reason about these concepts and understand them better. More precisely,
according to CMT originators Lakoff and Johnson (1980) conceptual metaphor lives
5
URL: http://ec.europa.eu/public_opinion/archives/ebs/ebs_243_en.pdf
99
by the dichotomy of the source (‘donor’) domain – the more concrete and physical
conceptual domain, and the target (‘recipient’) domain – the more abstract domain to
which the knowledge of the source domain is transferred by way of the systematic
and most relevant mappings or perceived structural similarities between the two
domains. Lakoff and Johnson explain this in a pervasive metaphoric way: “Abstract
concepts have two parts: (1) an inherent, literal, nonmetaphoric skeleton, which is
simply not rich enough to serve as a full-fledged concept; and (2) a collection of
stable, conventional metaphorical extensions that flesh out the conceptual skeleton
in a variety of ways.” (1999: 128). It is these mappings, or a set of systematic
correspondences, between the source and the target domain that allow us to talk and
reason about the abstract target domain in terms of the conceptual structure of the
more concrete source domain. The cognitive theory of figurativeness hinges on the
idea that metaphor plays a pivotal role in our cognition and overall experience, while
its role in language is subsidiary. Hence when contemporary metaphor theorists use
the term metaphor they refer to conceptual metaphor, or rather conceptual mappings
as a way of decoding the metaphorical connection that exists between the source and
the target domains, whereas what was previously thought of as a metaphor is
designated now as a metaphorical expression – the language and terminology as
linguistic vehicles of the conceptual domain for which they stand (the source
domain). The corollary of this is that it is our conceptual system that is metaphorical
in nature, not the language itself. However, contemporary metaphor research from
the late 1990s onwards has completely shifted focus from viewing metaphor as a
primarily cognitive phenomenon, placing great emphasis on “the importance of
language use in understanding metaphor” (Cameron and Deignan 2006: 672), which
has led in turn to regarding metaphor as an equally cognitive and linguistic
phenomenon. In this new perspective, metaphor is viewed as a blend of linguistic,
conceptual and socio-cultural aspects (see Cameron and Deignan 2006).
Critical Discourse Analysis (CDA), on the other hand, “sees language as
‘social practice’ and considers the context of language use to be crucial” (Wodak
2007: 209). This may explain why conceptual approaches have not been adequately
represented in CDA so far. But if, according to Hart, “CL [Cognitive Linguistics]
like sociocognitive CDA, explores the relation between language, cognition and
society.” (Hart 2008a: 107), i.e. “provides insights into pervasiveness and
persuasiveness of metaphor” (Hart 2008b: 93), then metaphor becomes “central to
critical discourse analysis since it is concerned with forming a coherent view of
reality.” (Charteris-Black 2004: 28). The main focus in CDA is on the selections
made in constructing texts, which presupposes that “texts are not as neutral as they
at first appear” since “the social processes that lead to conscious choices being
made” are couched “in their linguistic encoding”. (Charteris-Black 2004: 30).
Metaphors, treated as discourse in CDA, also become one of the deliberate linguistic
choices. Opting for one metaphor over another may conceal or reveal a potentially
conscious intention which may ask for metaphor interpretation. This is in line with
Charteris-Black’s claim that one of the facets of metaphor is a pragmatic one which
100
arises from “the underlying purpose of [metaphor] influencing opinions and
judgements by persuasion” (Charteris-Black 2004: 21). This argumentation relates
to one of the most significant functions of metaphors – highlighting or
foregrounding one aspect of a concept in terms of another, which necessarily leads
to hiding or leaving other aspects of the concept in dark. By choosing via metaphors
what aspects of a concept they will emphasise, text producers, more or less
consciously, reveal their value-judgements, which in turn may expose their
ideological stance. Metaphors in this paper are considered to be a discursive tool
which aids in understanding and shaping certain social issues, more specifically the
prevalent role of English in the European language policy and the aspect of
multilingualism in the European Union.
We have explained elsewhere (Ðurović 2009) what lies behind metaphorical
expressions that depict the issue of multilingualism as one of the key ideas around
which the European Union and the relationship between the member states are
organised. We have centred our analysis on the following conceptual metaphors –
LANGUAGE IS A CONSTRUCTION, LANGUAGE IS BUSINESS, and LANGUAGE IS A
PERSON – in an attempt to show that the guided choices of metaphorical mappings,
i.e. foregrounding only the positive evaluations of LANGUAGE metaphors aims at
providing the pool of values around which all the EU nations may gather. However,
what is usually more important is what metaphors tend to downplay, which is in line
with Lakoff and Johnson’s principle of metaphorical systematicity, which states that
applying the structure of the source domain to the target domain necessarily results
in focusing on some aspects of the chosen target concept obscuring some other
aspects, viewed by the metaphor creators as less relevant (Lakoff and Johnson 1980:
10-14). For example, in pursuit of emphasising only positive evaluations of
LANGUAGE (LEARNING) as the CONSTRUCTION/BUILDING, metaphor authors keep
other legitimate connotations hidden, such as various costs entailed in building, in
terms of material, people, time. While the issue of multilingualism is per se
positively evaluated, desirable and should be encouraged, what is problematic is the
discourse strategy manifested in the public addresses of EU officials and the
underlying values and meaning they convey. This will be discussed in greater detail
in the part that follows.
The analysis in this paper is conducted on a small data collection of both
academic papers, particularly those written by one of the sharpest critics of unequal
status of languages and adamant supporter of linguistic human rights Robert
Phillipson6 and official EU documents, such as the press releases and speeches of
the former EU Commissioner for Multilingualism Leonard Orban in the so-called
Barroso’s I Commission (2007-2010), as well as several reports on multilingualism
issued in the period of 2005-2009.7 The goal of this paper is not to offer a
6
Cited Phillipson’s papers are listed in the reference list.
The examples have been collected from the official site of the EU, http://europa.eu/, as well as
the following sites: http://europa.eu/languages/; http://ec.europa.eu/education/languages/;
7
101
quantitative analysis of the LANGUAGE metaphor nor is it to establish absolute or
relative frequencies of metaphorical expressions or metaphor density in the data
collection. Our main focus is on the qualitative analysis of the examples of the
LANGUAGE metaphor in question and its contextual usage within the frameworks of
Conceptual Metaphor Theory and Critical Discourse Analysis. Therefore, our
collection of texts provides us with a broader academic and institutional backdrop
against which metaphors are established and open to particular interpretations.
3. LANGUAGE metaphors
A more or less visible thread that can be traced in the writing on the issue of
multilingualism in the EU points to the role of English and its position to other EU
languages. Following this issue more closely, particularly by reading the papers of
Robert Phillipson, we have noted several conceptual metaphors, three of which have
been chosen for this paper: LANGUAGE IS AN ANIMATE/LIVING ORGANISM,
LANGUAGE IS AN OBJECT, and LANGUAGE IS ECOLOGY. In all three metaphors,
English stands metonymically for the concept of LANGUAGE. The selected
metaphors are exemplified by their metaphorical expressions, or surface linguistic
instantiations of more profound concepts, and a good deal of them seem to foster
“English linguistic hegemony.” (Phillipson 2008a: 12). More generally,
conceptualising “language qua language” aims to show how the selected conceptual
metaphors “give actual shape to the multiple and diverse practices which constitute
human linguistic behaviour.” (Seargeant 2009: 384).
The selected conceptual metaphors revolve around either animising abstract
entity such as LANGUAGE (LANGUAGE IS AN ANIMATE/LIVING ORGANISM and
LANGUAGE IS ECOLOGY), i.e. “referring to something that is inanimate using a word
or phrase that in other contexts refers to something that is animate” (Charteris-Black
2004: 21), or concretising, reifying abstract entities and seeing them as concrete
objects (LANGUAGE IS AN OBJECT). Both processes, personification and reification,
are forms of ontological metaphors which allow us to “identify our experiences as
entities or substances” (Lakoff and Johnson 1980: 25) in order to reason about them.
3.1. Language is an animate/living organism
One of the most striking metaphors that portray the present state of affairs
regarding English is the (ENGLISH) LANGUAGE IS AN ANIMATE ORGANISM metaphor
as exemplified by Phillipson’s originally Latin expression – lingua frankensteinia
http://ec.europa.eu/commission_barroso/orban/keydoc/keydoc_en.htm;
http://ec.europa.eu/commission_barroso/orban/news/news_en.htm.
102
(Phillipson 2008b; 2008c). Though the expression linked with the original one,
Frankenstein's monster, draws on the idea that monsters are qualified by the feelings
they arouse in people, at a deeper level lingua frankensteinia aims to label ‘the
person’ who created the monster, not the monster itself. In other words, the blame
for an unequal dispersion of languages in the EU rests with both people and
circumstances that helped reinforce the prevalent role of English within the
European borders. Overt implications are no doubt negative – English is a monster
language that terrifies and kills other indigenous European languages, perceived as
human beings. Viewing English in this way introduces elements which make it
different from other creatures. Thus the expression lingua frankensteinia underlies
the aspect of exclusion of English compared to other languages, even to English as a
native language, and serves to foster its dominance, due to the implied notion that
monsters, being powerful and hideous, defy all social norms, which strangely gives
them the freedom to act in any way they like, thus highlighting their
uncontrollability. But, at the same time this may be regarded as a way of inclusion –
knowing this ‘monster’ language opens numerous possibilities, arising from its
dominance in international communication in the fields of business, science and the
media, which, on the other hand, reverses inherently negative evaluation of the
expression lingua frankensteinia. Still, the conditions that have generated and
facilitated the growth of English, many of which have not been induced by any
planned activities of national governments (e.g. the training of EU officials at either
the American and British universities or at the English-language universities in
Europe), have only been evolved in such a way to pinpoint a growing prevalence of
English inside and outside the EU institutions and a lack of ability to control the
monster. Hence opinions of the EU officials that “in order to partake in Europe, i.e.
both contribute to and benefit from the European Union politically, economically
and socially, it is now highly desirable to have English.” (Hoffmann 2000: 20), do
not contribute much to revoking the (ENGLISH) LANGUAGE IS AN ANIMATE
ORGANISM metaphor soon.
Equally contestable is another expression of the LANGUAGE IS A LIVING
ORGANISM metaphor, that of tyrannosaurus rex (Swales 1997) or lingua
tyrannosaura (Phillipson 2008b; 2009), which addresses the excessive use of
English in international professional communication such as higher education and
research, likening the present situation in that domain to the one that existed some
several million years ago when The King Tyrant Lizard lived and by its size
exercised complete dominance over other species of the time. The size (although it
was not the biggest dinosaur at the time) of T-rex and its predator style of behaviour
when mapped onto non-native English (be it English as a global language – Crystal
1997, English as an International language – Jenkins 2000, World English – BruttGriffler 2002, or European lingua franca – James 2000: 22), portrays it as a creature
or an organism that may bring about termination and extinction of other living
organisms – languages. That English behaves as “a powerful carnivore gobbling up
the other denizens of the linguistic grazing grounds” (Swales 1997: 374) and spreads
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linguistic cannibalism (Phillipson 2009: 146) is witnessed in the fact that “more than
90 per cent of the journal literature in some scientific domains is printed in English
and the most prestigious and cited journals are in English” (Hyland 2006: 24), which
leaves other languages far behind. The situation is equally disturbing in the EU. For
example, “[t]he organisation of research at a European level also tends to promote
the use of English in academic circles and in publications, networks, programmes
and institutions.” (Truchot 2002: 11), while the project of a single European higher
education actually entails “English-medium higher education” (Phillipson 2006: 16).
Thus, given the current trend of overwhelming influence of English in the EU
scientific and educational arena, the originator of this expression applied to language
probably did not instantly draw on the notion of extinction of T-rex such as the one
in paleontological terms as to make parallelism with the potential fate of English.
Though the expression lingua tyrannosaura remotely invokes the future in which
English/es may be superseded by some other language, this image is still highly
unlikely. In the meantime, it is crucially important to curb the insatiable appetite of
T-rex by genuinely promoting linguistic diversity in the EU, especially in the
education domain with wise national language policies which would primarily
advertise university programs in the native languages, as well as exert pressure on
relevant bodies that published papers can be equally available and rated in both the
native language and English.
Closely linked with the previous expression is linguicide (Skutnabb-Kangas
2000) – composed of two words, language and genocide, indicating extermination
and vanishing of languages perceived as living organisms. A superficial analysis of
linguicide or linguistic genocide would suggest that language, in this case English
(or, non-native English) murders other indigenous European languages with the
intention of the deliberate elimination of these languages, akin to physical genocide.
Still, languages do not kill languages, this is what people do willingly, in order to
accommodate to ever growing demands of being a part of the globalised world with
all the benefits it offers, or unwillingly, when due to wrong national language
policies some languages are simply given up by their speakers, the reasons again
being pretty much economic and political ones. Hence when using evaluatively
loaded phrases which are linked to linguicide, such as killer language or language
murder, we have to ask ourselves when the seeds for cultivating ‘killing instincts’
were sown and who sowed them. In addition, equating a language with the killer of
other languages may potentially stir negative and biased feelings towards a culture
that nurtures such allegedly ‘genocidal’ aspirations. However, non-native English,
i.e. Euro-English has long ceased to be exponent of one particular culture. It has a
supranational character and “it is being jointly developed by its users for their
communicative needs and cultural practices as citizens of Europe, transcending
particular nationalist ideologies and biases, and these people are to that extent its
authentic ‘owners’.” (Bugarski 2009: 115).
On the other hand, in order to prevent language death of moribund languages,
where the selected metaphorical expressions aim at labelling the extent of
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deteriorated language status, i.e. their health, language policy makers may exercise
different practices of language regenesis which should result in language revival
and revitalisation of endangered languages. The performance of various procedures
of this treatment is contingent on noticing the right symptoms of Englishisation of
the EU, indicating that the language situation in the EU is not healthy, but it is in no
way beyond repair. A cure should be directed at preventing monolingual myopia and
letting other European languages be adequately represented, but it cannot be
wrongly substituted for English as a panacea (see Phillipson 2008d), without
generating some unwanted side effects. As there is no universal medicine for all our
illnesses, there cannot be one language of communication we can be identified with
without any constraints. No-one denies that English superseded French as a
vehicular language in the EU discourse, but what needs to be changed, lest English
in the EU become pandemic and life-threatening, the way we see it, is the prevailing
rhetoric with its symbols and values which covertly favouritises English while
overtly votes for an equal diffusion of national languages which shape the common
European space.
Cuckoos (Phillipson 2006) and mongrels (Jenner 1996) are yet additional
expressions used to more closely structure the concept of the English language. The
expression language cuckoo – lingua cucula describes how the ever growing
presence of English in the EU is affecting other languages of the same topos.
Drawing on a cuckoo who parasitically lays its eggs into other animals’ nests and
depends on these hosts to raise its young, language cuckoo once again highlights the
‘devious’ character of English which heedlessly conquers the territories inhabited
with other species, i.e. languages (e.g. French, German, etc.). The expressions
devilish linguistic cuckoo, invading English cuckoo, which should be tamed, rather
address the need and insight of other European languages and their users to notice
this ‘symbiosis of English with other species’ so that English should not infiltrate
that much and expel other languages from their habitat. Equalising English with the
mother of mongrels that has spawned independent offspring and is by instinct an
acutely cosmopolitan creature (see Jenner 1996) hinges again on the predominance
of English and its use in different spheres of life and knowledge.
3.2. Language is an object
Apart from animating (English) language and viewing it as a creature or a
living organism, (English) language is also perceived as a commodity. Hence the
LANGUAGE IS AN OBJECT metaphor, which is in line with Lakoff and Johnson’s
(1980: 25) views about the motivation to conceptualise abstract phenomena in terms
of objects. We reify the concept of language and reason about it in ways similar to
those we use for physical entities. If language is an object, it means that one can
possess it, it can be assigned a certain value, belong to an individual or group, in
other words it becomes a resource. Thus, the EU officials say that “[w]ith English
105
you can buy anything in the world: But if you have something to sell, you had better
learn you client’s language…”8, they speak about English as added value,
competitive or precious asset, while multilingualism in general is a source of
richness or wealth, and it does not only make sense, it makes money. Research
papers describe domain loss in some European languages because of the prevalent
use of English, loss of languages, English is labelled a ‘worldly’ global commodity
and the main culprit for linguistic capital dispossession of national languages or for
linguistic capital accumulation by dispossession.
In each of these expressions, the domain of possession is mapped onto a
particular aspect of language. LANGUAGE IS AN OBJECT, via LANGUAGE IS A
POSSESSION, becomes LANGUAGE IS A RESOURCE. Equating the English language
with the concept of RESOURCE underlines a high value of this resource as a social
goal. If language is a resource, then we can use it (similar to a literal resource) to
increase not only our wealth in terms of our knowledge, but also our material
wealth, in terms of what that knowledge may bring. This is in line with the idea of
linguistic market originally developed by Bourdieu (1993) and adopted by Wodak
(2010). A linguistic market exists “whenever someone produces an utterance for
receivers capable of assessing it, evaluating it and setting a price on it” (Bourdieu
1993: 78). Those who make most of the linguistic market may be characterised as
those who hold capital in that market and generate linguistic profit by having control
over the rules of price formation. If Bourdieu’s ideas are applied to EU market and
multilingualism in particular, Wodak writes, the corollary is that “when a market is
unified, those products which hold less value on the market will be discontinued by
their ‘producers’ (speakers) because they are not being ‘bought’ (valued) by
‘consumers’ (interlocutors).” (Wodak 2010: 26), which aptly serves to justify the
leading position of English. In other words, some languages have more prestige or
resources (capital) than other, supposedly equal languages on the EU language map.
Given the present situation in the EU language policy it seems that what the
LANGUAGE IS AN OBJECT/RESOURCE metaphor hides – the fact that some resources
are scarce, non-renewable or that they may be depleted, is related to a vast majority
of European languages, exclusive of English which is distantly followed by French,
German or Spanish.
3.3. Language is ecology
metaphor appears to be derived from both
and LANGUAGE IS AN OBJECT metaphors. One
part of this metaphor draws on the conceptualisation of language as a living being or
species. The interrelationship of languages is likened to the interrelationship of
organisms with and within their environments. Generally, we owe the concept of the
The LANGUAGE IS ECOLOGY
LANGUAGE IS A LIVING ORGANISM
8
106
See the following link: http://www.celelc.org/docs/china_speech_conference_0.pdf
ecology of language to Haugen who defined it as “the study of interactions between
any given language and its environment,” where the environment of the language
includes both psychological – “its interaction with other languages in the minds of
bi- and multilingual speakers”, and sociological aspects – “its interaction with the
society in which it functions as a medium of communication” (Haugen 1972: 325).
Thus, the main implication of the LANGUAGE IS ECOLOGY metaphor is the
cultivation and preservation of languages, where languages are understood to live
and evolve in an eco-system along with other languages, interact with their
sociopolitical and cultural environments and become endangered if there is an
inadequate environmental support for them in relation to other languages in the ecosystem (see Hornberger 2002: 35-36). What causes unbalanced language ecology in
the EU? According to Phillipson and Skutnabb-Kangas (1996), it arises from the
promotion of the English language as the major tool of market economy, democracy,
human rights, as well as ideological globalisation and transnationalisation. In this
regard, (the English) language becomes equated with a valuable object or resource
(the LANGUAGE IS AN OBJECT metaphor) and it serves as a benchmark to other
nations and their languages. In other words, “‘free-market’ theory of unfettered
capitalism” is likened to a linguistic geostrategy which embodies the race for
‘market share’ among the governments representing the major international
languages, English being a case in point in the EU. This in turn calls for
implementation of “‘green’ theory of ecological protection” of endangered
languages (see Kibbee 2003: 47), via sound language policy and planning, taking
into account the ideologies that pervade and influence the language choice.
The continuing ascendancy of English in the EU distorts the usual balance that
exists between languages, or balanced language ecology, and accelerates language
disappearance. A loss of languages, similar to a loss of plant or animal, leads to a loss
of certain cultural heritage, which necessitates a balanced cohabitation with English,
i.e. with additive English (English plus or English in addition to other languages), as
opposed to subtractive English (oppressive monolingualism, or English Only aspect)
(see Phillipson and Skutnabb-Kangas 1996). In order to preserve (bio)linguistic
diversity, akin to biological diversity, which entails the relationship of languages with
their social environments, English should be restricted so as not to jeopardise the
natural order that exists. The European linguascape needs to foster language-friendly
environment and linguistic sustainability in spite of the evident tendency of the
growing use of English at the EU supranational level,9 which seriously questions the
aspect of linguistic rights. It looks as if English has been chosen in the process of
natural selection to be the one that dominates other language species, by being the
major exponent of capitalism, globalisation, “Americanization and homogenization of
world culture” (Phillipson and Skutnabb-Kangas 1996: 436), and increasingly
becoming an eco-linguistic threat (see Skutnabb-Kangas and Phillipson 2007). The
9
“[T]hough not yet in the European Commission in Brussels, where French still dominates.”
(Phillipson and Skutnabb-Kangas 1996: 444).
107
LANGUAGE IS ECOLOGY metaphor is thus heavily imbued with negative implications
(identified in case of the previous two metaphors as well) such as the following: any
language has the right to grow and develop and deserves to be treated as equal to other
languages (including English); attempts to forcibly dominate other languages or even
worse, cause language death or loss, are wrong, so that supremacy of one language (in
this case English in the EU) over other unprotected languages, perceived as living
species, should not be tolerated.
4. Conclusion
In this paper an attempt has been made to analyse three conceptual metaphors,
LANGUAGE IS AN ANIMATE/LIVING ORGANISM, LANGUAGE IS AN OBJECT, and
LANGUAGE IS ECOLOGY, exemplified with the selected metaphorical expressions so
as to point out how prevalent the English language is in the European language
space, though the official language policy makers seem to be declaratively
advocating equal representation and distribution of all European languages. We
think that generally negative implications of the selected metaphorical expressions
related to English and its position to other EU languages only serve to reinforce the
predominance of English. This particularly refers to equating the English language
with a valuable object which competes for its share of the European linguistic
market. In an attempt to establish genuine linguistic diversity the EU officials tend
to resort to loaded rhetoric that invokes images of European member states as
companies competing with their languages as assets, which in turn, though
surprisingly, serves to reaffirm the already present language imbalance in the EU,
with English still holding the lead. It appears that the so-called traditional European
values which constituted and constitute European identity narratives have been
extended and multilingualism policy redefined to embrace new values, stemming
from neo-liberal policies, “obsessed with competitiveness” (see Krugman 1994),
which seriously affects language policy in the European Union. Thus, as
Lichtkoppler (2010: 194) argues, if we cannot change which languages are spoken in
the European Union, we could try to change how they are spoken, and ask ourselves
how to be the responsible users of English, rather than whether or not to be the users
of English. The restoration of linguistic diversity through wise national and
supranational language policies in the EU on which language planning of the
countries yet to join the EU may be modelled without fear of losing their linguistic
and cultural distinctiveness, is urgently needed. Creating a new metaphorical
imagery to counteract the present EU linguistic hierarchy may be, inter alia, a step
in that direction.
108
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111
Borislava Eraković
Novi Sad, Serbia
bobaerakovic@yahoo.com
THE ROLE OF EXTRATEXTUAL FACTORS IN THE ACQUISITION OF
TRANSLATION COMPETENCE
Abstract This paper deals with problems in the acquisition of pragmatic aspects of
bilingual translation competence, as exemplified by students' inadequate decisions
and choice of translation strategies when confronted with particular extralinguistic
problems in translation. Fifteen final year students of English participated in the
study. The students’ answers to the questions concerning the importance of
extralinguistic factors in translation and translations of a newspaper advertisement
demonstrated that their theoretical awareness of the importance of pragmatic factors
is not internalized to the extent that would empower them to apply adequate
translation strategies when confronted with extralinguistic problems in actual
translation assignments. A possible etiology of the students’ answers is discussed
and then a proposal is made to make better use of translation assignments which
focus on the skopos of translation.
Key words: translation from English into Serbian, skopos theory, extratextual
factors, Translation Competence.
1.
Skopos theory and strategic subcompetence
As one of the core theories within the functional approach to translation, the
skopos theory offers an analytical apparatus that is most suitable for the analysis of
the translation of technical and scientific texts. The traditional demand of literary
translations that the target text should achieve an equivalent effect as the original is
usually not relevant for the translation of technical texts. The functionalist approach
to translation has undergone many modifications since Vermeer first postulated the
skopos theory in 1978 (Baker and Saldanha 2009: 115-116). As opposed to the
paradigms that center around the concept of equivalence, according to the skopos
theory, the importance of the elements of the source text is dependant on the
requirements of the target communicative situation at hand. It allows for the target
text to have a different function from the source text, and therefore may exhibit a
number of new features more suited to the needs of the target context. The
translator's choices and strategies are conditioned by the extratextual factors such as
the brief defined by the client as well as by the features of the genre and type of text
in the receiving culture.
112
The translator is therefore no longer regarded as an imitator, but rather as an
autonomous text producer. The translator needs to recognize the purpose, define the
goal, and choose strategies that will accomplish this. The translator is predominantly
a communicator, and, in order to be successful, he needs to be able to think
strategically about his task. In a pedagogical setting, the development of Don
Kiraly's (2000:3) notion of a 'translator self-concept' as a "psychological identity that
the translator creates through learning and experience with translation activites, the
individual's understanding of him- or herself as a translational information
processor" is a goal that could be tested by looking at the way students think about
extratextual factors in translation before and after a project-based course.
The methodological approach applied in a course on Scientific Translation at
the English Department, University of Novi Sad, is aimed at developing all
translation subcompetences. Having adapted Laswell’s New Rhetoric formula for
the purposes of translation-oriented text analysis, Nord (2005:41) offers one possible
model for the analysis of the source text. It begins with the analysis of the
communicative situation of the source text, the interaction of extratextual1 and
intratextual2 factors of analysis and the recognition of the communicative function of
the text. In the following step, the relationship between the source communicative
situation and the translation skopos or the purpose of the target text is established.
On the basis of this perceived relationship, students choose the main strategy and
adequate translation techniques to solve recognized problems, and all of these are
elements of strategic subcompetence.
Strategic competence features all componential models of translation
competence. The Spanish research group, Pacte, which has been experimentally
researching the components of translation competence for the last eleven years,
defines it as (2008:107) predominantly procedural knowledge which ensures the
efficacy of the translation process and the search for a solution to a problem through
adequate strategies and techniques. This component is crucial because it coordinates
other subcompetences (bilingual, extralinguistc, theoretical and instrumental),
activates them when necessary and compensates for the deficiencies in each of them.
It is also actively involved in the evaluation of both the process and the product of
translation.
This paper will discuss one unexpected finding in one part of the author's
research3 into the acquisition of translation competence: that the exact nature of the
1
Who transmits [the message/text] to whom, what for, by which medium, where, when, why, with
what function?
(Nord 2005:41, 43-86)
2
On what subject matter does s/he say what, (what not), in what order, using which non-verbal
elements, in which words, in what kind of sentences in which tone to what effect? (Nord 2005:41, 87142)
3
This research is part of a PhD research on Translation Competence for the Language Pair
English – Serbian (the role of cooperative and collaborative models of teaching) which is underway.
113
role of extratextual factors in translation is difficult for students who are within the
learning environment of a project-based course on Translation of Scientific Texts to
grasp, even if they are constantly made aware of the needs of the client and the
recipient of the commissioned translation.
2.
Research methodology
2.1 Subjects
The subjects were 16 fourth- year students of English Language and Literature
who volunteered to do a pre-test at the beginning of October 2008, before the course
on scientific translation started, and a post-test in February 2009 at the end of the
course. All subjects had previously attended both direct and inverse courses dealing
with the translation of literary and general texts for the language pair English –
Serbian as well as a course on General Principles of Translation. Translation of
Scientific Texts was their first project-based course, which included a client, a
deadline and expert advisers and was held in a computerized room with good access
to the internet. The internet was used for terminology searches in parallel Serbian
texts.
2.2 Measuring instrument
The Pacte research group (2000, 2005, 2008) created, tested and validated three
instruments for measuring the acquisition of direct translation competence (L1-L2)
which they define as "the underlying system of knowledge and skills needed to be
able to translate" (2000: 100). The instruments4 developed for repeated measurement
designs are supposed to test subjects' knowledge about translation (Translation
Notion Instrument), how they recognize/deal with translation problems (Translation
Problem Instrument) and translation errors (Translation Error Instrument). The
subjects Pacte targeted in pilot tests were students in their first year of Translation
Studies programs at three Spanish universities with three different language
combinations (English-Spanish, French-Spanish and German-Spanish), but the
instruments can also be used to test the effectiveness of different training
methodologies.
In our research we used the English version of the instruments published in
Orozco and Hurtado Albir 2002. The only change we introduced concerned the
What is presented here are some findings pertaining to the students' ability to recognize and
successfully deal with pragmatic problems.
4
The instruments, their description and detailed account of verification procedures they were
exposed to can be found in Orozco & Hurtado Albir 2002, and the grading system in Orozco 2000.
114
names of the source and target languages, which in the original were EnglishSpanish, and in our study English-Serbian. Students wrote their answers in the
language of their choosing, either Serbian or English, and they had a selection of
monolingual English and Serbian lexicological resources available, as well as Rečnik
jezičkih nedoumica by Ivan Klajn, Pravopis srpskog jezika and Transkripcioni
rečnik engleskih ličnih imena by Tvrtko Prćić.
For the purpose of this paper we will only present the answers to the questions
about extratextual factors in translation, which are questions 8 and 9 of the
Translation Notion Instrument and questions 10, 11 and 12 of the Translation
Problem Instrument.
3.
The results
Two questions from the Translation Notion Instrument showed that, although
extratextual factors were regularly considered during the source text analysis in all
previous translation courses, students neither gave the accurate answer to the
question regarding the factors which influence translation, nor did they manage to
successfully solve a concrete problem taken from professional translation practice.
The first question on extratextual factors in translation demanded that students
underline factors that intervene in the process of translation. The factors were:
client,
original author,
socio-cultural environment of the original text,
date of the original text,
socio-cultural environment of the translated text,
date of the translation,
original reader,
final reader,
function of the original text,
function of the translation.
The correct answer would have been that all factors influence the process of
translation. Out of 16 subjects, only one student underlined all the factors in the pretest, and four in the post-test measurement. Nine students underlined more factors in
the post-test than in the pre-test, three underlined less, and one underlined the same
number of factors. The Table 1 shows which factors students underlined (+) in the
pre-test, and which in the post-test.
In the second task, the students had to decide whether the following situation
was T(rue) or F(alse):
Your translation of a sales contract for the British company, WHL Inc., will be
different if
you are translating it for a lawyer who wants to use it as proof in a trial, or for
a Serbian
115
subsidiary company, attached to WHL Inc. that needs the translation to
sign contracts with other Serbian companies.
Contracts are an example of a rigid text type that is culture specific. The most
obvious differences relate to its macrostructure, the graphic layout of the text, the
number and type of information they contain as well as the register. The relevant
extratextual factors here are:
a) the purpose of a piece of evidence presented in court is to give a precise
and exact account of all the information from the source text literally and
in the original layout.
b) the purpose of a contract is to facilitate the conclusion of a business
agreement and in order to do that, it has to respect the norms of the target
culture for this text type.
Since the first text was supposed to be a literal translation of the original
document and the second a translation-adaptation in compliance with target norms,
the correct answer would have been to circle letter T(rue). This question was
accurately answered by 6 students in the pre-test, and 7 in the post-test. The table 3
shows the correct (+) and incorrect (-) answers to this question.
Student translations of the selected text in the Translation Problems Instrument
serve as a good illustration of the same issue. Students were given an hour to
translate an advertisement with the following brief:
A Serbian company has decided to start a business like The Writers’
Bureau, with offices in Novi Sad, to teach writing in Serbian. You have been
asked to translate the following advertisement, taken from the front page of The
Guardian. Your translation will be published in Dnevnik exactly as you have
delivered it to the newspaper.
ORIGINAL TEXT:
Advertisement
Would you like to be a writer?
by NICK DAWS
Freelance writing can be creative, fulfilling and a lot of fun, with excellent
money to be made as well. What’s more, anyone can become a writer. No special
qualifications or experience are required.
The market for writers is huge. In Britain alone there are around 1,000 daily,
Sunday and weekly papers, and more than 8,000 magazines. The Writers Bureau
runs a comprehensive correspondence course covering every aspect of fiction and
non-fiction writing. The 140,000-word course is written by professional writers and
has been acclaimed by experts.
Why not be a writer?
116
First-class home study course gets you a flying start. Earn while you learn.
Expert tutors, personal guidance, help to sell your writing, and much more! It’s ideal
for beginners. Details free. No cost. No obligation. Send the coupon.
Name___________________________________________________________
Address ________________________________________________________
Telephone_______________Postcode ___________________________
The goal here was to ascertain whether students would recognize the linguistic
(flying start), extralinguistic (Sunday papers), transfer (Details free. No cost. No
obligation. Send the coupon.) and pragmatic (Great Britain) translation problems, if
they could solve them and what strategy they would apply. Upon finishing their
translations, students were asked to circle answer Yes or No to the following
questions:
12. Do you think the following segments of the text are a translation problem
(not just for you, but in general?)
a. flying
yes
no
b. Sunday and weekly papers
yes
no
c. It's ideal for beginners. Details free. No cost. No obligation. Send the
coupon
yes
no
d. Britain
yes
no
12. Did you find the following segments of the text a problem to translate?
a. flying
yes
no
b. Sunday and weekly papers
yes
no
c. It's ideal for beginners. Details free. No cost. No obligation. Send the
coupon
yes
no
d. Britain
yes
no
117
The answers could show whether a student recognized the problem even if the
solution that was implemented was not adequate. We will now see how students
dealt with the extralinguistic/cultural (The Sunday Paper), and pragmatic (Great
Britain) translation problems in the advertisement (Table 4).
Extralinguistic problems have been noted in the literature in Translation
Studies as problems with the translation of cultural realia. Pacte (Orozco & Hurtado
Albir 2002:381) make a difference here between an extralinguistic problem which
stems from nonexistant cultural realia of Sunday paper in Spanish, and the
pragmatic problem, Britain, which involoves an adaptation of the source text item
for the target text receiver (Hansen 2006:7, Nord 2005:174). Sunday papers does
not have an exact equivalent among Serbian newspapers either; there is only an
approximate cultural equivalent in the weekend editions of some papers. Therefore,
an adequate strategy in this case would be to translate the phrase by using a
generalization (dnevne i nedeljne novine). Since the brief stated that the translation
was to be made for a local daily, it was necessary to consider the relevance of data
about Great Britain and conclude that it could have been left out completely or
replaced with, at least, imaginary data for Serbia.
Almost all students (14 in the pre-test, 15 in the post-test) recognized that
Sunday papers constituted a translation problem, but only a small number of them (3
in the pre-test, 4 in the post-test) solved it adequately (Table 4).
That Britain was also a translation problem was recognized by 5 students in the
pre-test and 9 students in the post-test, and 3 students solved it successfully at both
testing times (Table 4).
4.
Analysis of the results and conclusions
The Translation Notion and Problem Instrument and the translation of a
preselected text that exhibited extralinguistic and pragmatic problems clearly
indicated which factors in translation need more attention if translation trainees are
to master strategic subcompetence.
An analysis of the question about extratextual factors in translation (Table 1)
showed that students underlined different factors at two testing times. In the pre-test,
most students underlined the sociocultural environment of the source text (14), then
function of the original text (12), original author and reader (9 each), function of the
translation (8), client (6), date of the translation (4) and the final reader (3).
118
client
original sociocult. date of
author
environm. the
of
the original
original
text
pre post pre post pre post pre post
s.
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
total
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
10
+
+
+
+
+
14
+
+
+
+
6
10
+
+
+
+
+
9
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
12
+
+
9
+
+
8
+
sociocult. date of the original
environm. translation reader
of
the
translation
final
reader
function function of
of
the the
original translation
text
pre post pre post pre post pre post pre post pre post
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
10
7
4
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
7
3
+
+
+
+
+
6
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
9
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
15
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ +
+ +
12 13
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
8
10
Table 1: Extratextual factors
In the post-test, the most underlined factors were final reader (15), followed by
the function of the original text (13), sociocultural environment of the original text
(12), client and the function of the translation (10 each), original author (9), date of
the original (8), sociocultural environment and date of the translation (7 each) and
finally, the original reader (6).
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
pre-test
original/sc environment
original /function
original /author
translation/sc environment
original /date
translation /reader
translation/function
translation /client
translation /date
original /reader
↓
=
↓
↓
↓
↑
↑
↑
=
=
post-test
translation / reader
original / function
original / sc environment
translation / client
translation / function
original / author
original / date
translation / sc environment
translation / date
original / reader
Table 2: Rank order of important factors based on the students answers in the two tests
Considering that translation motivated text analysis in previous translation
courses always included all extratextual elements listed in this question, it is not
likely that students were unaware that all of them may affect translation.
Furthermore, while they were completing the test, some even commented out loud
119
that the question did not make sense because all the factors are important. These
comments, as well as different answers from the same students in the two tests
suggest that what may have interfered in this case were the students' expectations of
what an answer to this particular type of question should look like. They expected
that a multiple choice question should contain some answers that were correct and
some false and, correspondingly, that they were supposed to circle only some of the
factors offered, not all of them. Therefore, regardless of the clear written and oral
instruction that said Underline the elements you think intervene in translation, what
the students did was guess which elements were more influential than others.
However, even if their answers did not truly reflect what they knew, the answers
also indicated a certain lack of confidence and that the functional approach was not
firmly set in their comprehension of what translation depends on. Therefore, it
could be concluded that the importance of the elements that were underlined by the
fewest number of students (client, function, sociocultural envirnoment and date of
translation) had not been demonstrated clearly enough in previous translation
courses and also that it could not be established by virtue of a project-based course
alone.
The ranking of the elements in Table 2 indicates a certain change in the way
students comprehended the role of the final reader (it moved from the 6th to the 1st
place). The answers to the second question (Table 3), however, show that they do
not fully understand the impact of the final reader, and the way the function/purpose
of the translation influences a translator's choices. Since the answers from the two
testing periods were almost identical (Table 3), the project-based course did not help
students form a clear perception of the role of the target-end user, even though the
final reader perspective had constantly been used as a yardstick for stylistic choices.
It seems that, regardless of whether we base the course around a project or a
selection of texts varied in terms of subject matter or text type, what usually gets
stressed in these learning environments is the importance of the source
communicative situation. This would indicate that the choices in the target text are
based on the hierarchy of factors in the source text and that the full measure of target
impact does not become evident.
A useful approach that can establish a balance between the source and target
factors, according to Nord (2005:162-163), is a small but important correction in the
formulation of the translation task: it should always be accompanied by a brief
which explicitly states the characteristics of the target communicative situation
relevant to the assignment. In addition to this, different translation briefs for one and
the same source text help students realize the implications of different target
situations. An example of such a realistic translation brief could be a translation of
the same source text for a popular internet site, a newspaper and an expert in the
subject matter. An economic text could be translated for a radio programme, a TV
documentary, a daily newspaper or a bank.
120
student
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
pre-test
+
+
+
+
+
+
post-test
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
Table 3: Extratextual element – client (+is important; -is not important)
It is also interesting to analyze why most students recognized a problem in
Sunday paper, but not in Britain (Table 4). It seems that previous translation courses
sensitized them to cultural elements in translation, and a small number of adequate
solutions could be attributed to their fragmentary knowledge of the types of papers
published in Serbia.
student
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
problem recognized
Sunday paper
Britain
pre-test postpre-test
test
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
-
posttest
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
problem solved
Sunday paper
Britain
pre-test postpre-test
test
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
-
posttest
+
+
-
121
15
16
ukupno
+
+
14
+
+
15
+
+
5
+
9
3
4
+
3
+
3
Table 4: Extralinguistic and pragmatic problems
In order to solve the pragmatic problem Britain, the students had to recognize it
as a problem in the first place. A conspicously small number of students managed to
do this. A possible reason could be that they are still thinking as language teachers
and not as translators and that their 'translator self-concept', i.e., 'their understanding
of themselves as translation information processors' has not fully developed.
Bilingual linguistic competence is not the same as translation competence.
Translation competence rests on familiarity with a theoretical framework that makes
it possible to recognize problems and search for solutions, an ability to appraise the
target situation and move away not only from the wording, but also from the
purpose of the source text if the target situation so demands. Students' answers show
that their concept of a translation problem is restricted to linguistic unfamiliarity, i.e.
not knowing a word or a phrase. They do not single out transfer issues as problems
which can be competently solved through the application of adequate strategies and
techniques.
Another reason could also lie in the type of text presented in the assignement.
Students had not been exposed to advertisements in previous courses. Most of the
texts they had encountered were literary or general non-fiction, with no natural
variation in terms of translation purpose, target readers and sociocultural
circumstances. The most common skopoi/purposes of the source texts were careful
rendering of the meaning and style of a work of art or informing the target reader
about an unfamiliar aspect of life. In this light, it should not come as a surprise that
students had not recognized Britain as pragmatic translation problem in the pre-test.
The fact that they could not successfully solve it in the post-test indicates that the
project-based organization of the course is not enough to foster the development of
this aspect of strategic thinking: recognition of translation problems and
consideration of extratextual factors of the target situation. Although a project-based
course is indispensable in making students aware of the complexity of a translation
task as a whole, they also need to be exposed to a considerable number of cases
which would more explicitly show what functional orientation in translation entails
so that they can arrive at solutions to pragmatic translation problems in a variety of
situations they will find themselves in the professional life of a translator.
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123
Sonja Filipović-Kovačević
Novi Sad, Serbia
sonjaf@eunet.rs
NAMES OF ADVERTIZED PRODUCTS AS MINI ADVERTISEMENTS:
A COGNITIVE LINGUISTIC VIEW1
Abstract This paper studies creative aspects of language use in advertising. It
focuses on attention-grabbing names of advertised products in English which do not
relate either directly or solely to the product advertised. For example, Spyware
Doctor names a program against spyware, Turboccino names coffee. The aim is to
show that these very simple linguistic structures “hide” the implied meanings meant
by advertisers, and as such function as mini advertisements themselves. In order to
show how meaning is inferred from these simple linguistic structures the theoretical
framework of conceptual integration is applied. This theory accounts for dynamic,
online construction of meaning by showing how mental spaces are activated and
blended in specific ways. The results of the research show how names of advertised
products prompt particular mental spaces and their blending, which results in
inferred meanings. Also, different types of linguistic prompting of meaning
organised in mental spaces are determined.
Key words: advertisement, advertized product, name, cognitive linguistics,
conceptual integration, meaning.
1. Introduction
The modern culture at the end of the 20th and the beginning of the 21st century
is marked by three defining features – globalization, material prospect and speed. In
such circumstances and with such modern standards different new modes of
communication developed, the most widespread being E-mailing and text
messaging. It is interesting that language in these modern modes of communication
has altered – it is short and focuses on key lexical words which carry the crucial
information. This is in line with speed as the most characteristic feature of modern
culture. Advertising fits into this modern framework as well.
One might wonder why begin a paper on language, specifically the language of
advertising by writing about culture. As Bugarski (2005: 16–26) explains it, there is
strong, deep link between language and culture. To start with, culture emerged from
1
This paper was written as part of the project number 178002 (Languages and Cultures in Time
and Space (Jezici i kulture u vremenu i prostoru)) financially supported by the Ministry of Education
and Science of the Republic of Serbia.
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man`s unique ability to create and use symbols, and language is the basic, and most
developed symbolic system (Bugarski 2005: 16). He also points to the fact that
language itself is a cultural system, and moreover the most structured one (Bugarski
2005: 17–18). Furthermore, Bugarski (2005: 19–20) says that the peculiarities of
local or regional cultures are reflected in localisms, regionalisms and dialects,
whereas on the other hand, international, world and even planet cultures are
reflected in the general vocabulary. Apart from this, different socio-economic,
educational, professional, age and cultural groups in the modern society show
linguistic differences in the form of different sociolects, jargons, technical language,
functional styles, etc.
In modern advertising the practice of directly praising the advertized product is
more and more giving way to the practice of indirect and subtle promotion. Thus,
modern advertisements feature metaphors, metonymies, both linguistically and
visually expressed, analogies, puns, counterfactuals, and the like, which is testified
by different studies (Ward and Gaidis 1990, Leigh 1994, Forceville 1996,
McQuarrie and Phillips 2005, van Mulken et. al 2005, ...). As Klikovac (2008: 131)
puts it, modern advertisements often do not inform at all, but rather affect potential
buyers by stimulating their emotions and subconsciousness. Similarly, Ramone
(2001, according to Klikovac 2008: 132) points out that advertisements provoke the
feeling of satisfaction; for example, smoking is often associated with the feeling of
freedom.
Advertizing is such a unique way of establishing communication that Cook
(1992), who dedicated a whole book examining the discourse of advertizing, starts
with the premise that advertizing is a contemporary genre in its own right due to its
specific purpose and function, specific way of communicating information, different
media used for that purpose, the language used, and the like. Similarly, Myers
(1994) in his book on advertizing lists six key assumptions which run through the
book, one of them being: “Advertisements are stereotypical acts of communication –
a genre” (Myers 1994: 6). Furthermore, focusing on describing the language of
advertizing, Klikovac (2008: 131) points out that it is simple because the message
has to be imprinted on the mind of the receiver quickly and efficiently. Thus,
Klikovac concludes that the language of advertizing is so special that it represents a
special functional style.
The phenomenon of advertising is an important part of modern culture.
Advertisements are everywhere; whether we are walking, watching TV, reading
newspapers, surfing the Internet, and the like; they are always present. Thus, they
form an important, though mostly intrusive, part of our lives that deserves special
attention.
As already said, advertisements are mostly intrusive since they are never the
focus of our activities. They are considered to be a peripheral creation (Cook 1992:
1). For example, when going for a walk, we want to relax, or when reading, we want
to get information from certain articles, and the like. This affects the very concept
behind the structure of advertisements. Namely, since we are not interested in
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advertisements in the first place, they have to attract our attention by being
interesting in some way. At the same time, they should not contain many words
since reading takes time and patience, which we are not ready to risk for
advertisements. In a similar vein, Joan Crook (2004: 733) concludes that advertising
has two main aims: salience and memorability. Actually, these aims stem from the
main formula regulating successful advertizing conceived by Strong (1925) AIDA.
The AIDA advertizing formula is an acronym which stands for: attention, interest,
desire and action. In other words, it marks four stages in the sale process – first, one
should attract the attention of potential buyers, then arouse their interest and keep
their attention, then create in them a crave for the advertized product or service, and
finally comes their action, i.e. the purchase, which satisfies their need.
There are different ways in which the AIDA requirement is fulfilled, for
example, making use of interesting headlines and pictures. Thus, in the
advertisement for Restylane, a cosmetic product against scars and lines, in the
headline there is no mention of anything related to cosmetics: Every face tells a
story. Edit yours. In this way readers are made to think of lines and scars on their
faces as showing their life stories. On the other hand, the pictorial component in
advertisements plays a very important role. For example, in an advertisement
promoting milk with strawberry taste, there is a picture of a cow`s white fur with
black spots shaped as strawberries.
However, apart from interesting or provocative headlines and pictures, very
often unusual product names themselves function as attention-grabbers2: Spyware
Doctor (anti-spyware program), Crocs (boots), Turboccino (coffee), Toughbook
(computer), ... In this paper the focus is on the mentioned unusual product names.
An unusual product name is a product name which prompts concepts not (directly)
related to the very product. It brings together different objectively unrelated domains
of experience. Thus, the anti-spyware progam (Spyware Doctor) is related to
doctors, the boots (Crocs) are related to crocodiles, the coffee (Turboccino) is
related to turbines, or anything having the `turbo`quality and the computer
(Toughbook) is related to things which have the `tough` quality.3
Unusual product names deserve special attention for three reasons: (1) the
language affects our attitude towards the advertized product, (2) the language is
most economical and (3) the language is most creative at the same time. The first
cited reason needs explaining. As Geis (1982: 109) explains it, human perception is
selective and thus, the language we use to refer to things influences our perception
and judgment of things. He illustrates this saying that few people were ready to buy
2
When mentioning product names in the context of attracting attention Geis (1982: 109–110)
differentiates between two types: those that serve as mini advertisements (e.g. The Dry Look (men`s
hair spray)) and those that attract attention by virtue of being unusual in some way (e.g. Vanquish (pain
reliever)).
3
Thus, product names as mini-advertisements in this paper refer to names which are unusual and
`hide` messages which need to be inferred.
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and eat horse mackerel, but once the same fish came to be called tuna, the product
gained popularity, i.e. it seems it started to taste better. A very good example for the
claim that words affect our perception are anglicisms which are swarming in the
languages of the modern world. As for the other two reasons mentioned, on the one
hand, unusual product names are very short; mostly they contain one or two words.
On the other hand, they evoke various positive associations at first glance unrelated
to the product itself. It is hypothesized that it is in the product name that the essential
information about the product is hidden, i.e. that unusual product names are like
mini advertisements. In this research three issues will be studied:
(1) how unusual product names relate to the very products,
(2) how intended meanings are inferred from unusual product names, and
(3) what types of linguistic structures are used.
2. Cognitive linguistic approach
Since the starting point in this research is the hypothesis that complex layers of
meaning are hidden behind unusual product names, and since it is the paper`s aim to
show how message recipients mentally arrive at these meanings, it is only logical
that the cognitive linguistic framework is applied here. Thus, before embarking on
the very analysis, the most important postulates of this approach relevant for this
research will be presented.
(1) Linguistic units prompt concepts. Meaning is at the level of concepts (not
language) and it is encyclopedic; language acts in such a way that it activates
concepts associated with words. For example the meaning of the word Saturday
according to a dictionary definition is “the day between Friday and Sunday”.
However, Saturday means more than what is written in a dictionary and its real
meaning varies from person to person depending on their encyclopedic, world, i.e.
cultural knowledge, or in other words the concept of Saturday that they have in their
minds. Thus, for most young people Saturday also means the first day of the
weekend when they can sleep as long as they want; for people who have children
Saturday is the day on which they play with children all day; for some people
Saturday is the day when they have lunch at their parents` place; for some people,
Saturday is the day when they get up early and do the weekly shopping, etc.
(2) Metaphor and metonymy are conceptual devices, not just rhetorical figures.
They represent the way we think and help us conceptualize the world. Conceptual
metaphor is defined as understanding one conceptual domain (target domain), which
is abstract, in terms of another conceptual domain (source domain), which is
concrete. For example, we think of ideas in terms of food, via the conceptual
metaphor IDEAS ARE FOOD, as is testified by the following everyday expressions:
raw facts, half-baked ideas, to digest facts, to swallow a claim, to devour a book,
food for thought, ... (Kövecses 2002: 5).
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Conceptual metonymy makes it possible for one entity, vehicle entity, to
indicate or provide mental access to another entity, target entity, within the same
conceptual domain. For example, the metonymy THE PART FOR THE WHOLE makes it
possible for a part of the body to refer to the whole person, as in the following
examples (Lakoff and Johnson 2003: 38): Get your butt over here! We don`t hire
longhairs. The Giants need a stronger arm in the right field.
(3) Meaning is constructed. Conventional, dictionary meaning associated with
a particular word is just a prompt for the process of meaning construction, i.e. the
‘selection’ of an appropriate interpretation against the context of the utterance
(Fauconnier 1997: 1–5, Evans and Green 2006: 161). For example, the word safe
has a range of meanings rather than just a single fixed property. Thus, the utterance
The beach is safe (Evans and Green 2006: 161–162) against the context of a child
playing on the beach means that the beach is an environment in which the risk of the
child coming to harm is minimized. Otherwise, the same utterance could be
interpreted differently. For example: the beach has avoided the impact of a recent oil
spill; or, this beach is not going to be dug up by property developers; or, due to its
location in a temperate climate, you will not suffer from sunburn here; or, there are
no jellyfish in the sea, ... Thus, the correct interpretation depends on the context of
the utterance.
(4) Conceptual blending or conceptual integration is a mental operation for
dynamic, online construction of meaning (Fauconnier and Turner 2002). In this
process different concepts organized as elements with particular relations in mental
spaces get blended, i.e. integrated in specific ways, whereby a new structure, with
new, emergent meaning is created. Conceptual blending operates with mental
spaces, mappings, and projections, which will be briefly explained and subsequently
illustrated. Mental spaces are conceptual units with elements and relations created
for the purpose of local understanding an action (Turner and Fauconnier 1995: 184).
They are partial structures that proliferate when we think and talk, allowing a finegrained partitioning of our discourse and knowledge structures (Fauconnier 1997:
11). According to the Conceptual Blending Theory, there are at least four mental
spaces: at least two input spaces, one blended space, which contains selective and
partial projections of elements and relations from input spaces which are integrated
in such a way that they yield new, emergent structure not existing as such in any of
the input spaces. Finally, there is a generic space, a highly schematic structure which
encompasses all the other mental spaces, and allows their integration. For the
process of blending to begin, it is necessary to establish mappings, i.e. counterpart
relations between elements in input spaces. After that, particular elements and
relations from input spaces are projected into the blended space, depending on the
very context in which the communication takes place. The process of conceptual
blending is often represented graphically as a diagram, where mental spaces are
circles, dots elements and relations, full lines cross-space mappings between input
spaces, and dotted lines projections form the generic space to input spaces, as well
as from input spaces to the blended space, as represented in the following figure:
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Figure 1: The basic diagram of conceptual integration (Fauconnier and Turner 2002: 46).
Conceptual blending will be briefly explained taking one example, which is
often quoted in the relevant literature – land yacht. Namely, this compound does not
designate a type of yacht, but a ‘luxurious car’ (Fauconnier and Turner 2002: 356–
357, Coulson 2001: 155–156). The question is how we get this meaning. The theory
of conceptual blending provides the answer. There are two input spaces, one relating
to moving in a vehicle on the land and the other relating to moving in a vehicle on
the water. The corresponding elements in the two input spaces are: land and water,
driver and captain, road and course, car and yacht, car owner and tycoon. In
addition to this, our encyclopedic knowledge in the input space water tells us that
yacht ownership is associated with higher social status and wealth. In the blended
space the following elements and relations are projected: car, driver, highway,
driving, i.e. mostly elements from the land space. However, the water space
provides a useful frame for this blend, too, because from there the status, i.e. luxury
that goes with yacht ownership is projected, which is crucial for the new meaning.
Luxury is associated with a car, not a yacht. The elements involved in conceptual
blending in land yacht are represented below:
Generic space: moving in a vehicle
Input space 1 Land: land, driver, road, car, car owner
Input space 2 Water: water, captain, course, yacht, tycoon + encyclopedic
knowledge: status, higher class, wealth
Blended space: car, driver, highway, driving + luxury, wealth, status
symbol
► luxurious car
The represented conceptual blending theory will be applied to the analysis of
unusual product names since it is supposed to show how we, interpreters, get the
most important inferences, i.e. advertized messages from blended spaces.
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3. Material and method
The material analyzed consists of advertisements collected mainly from
popular magazines in English: Vogue, Glamour and Elle, since they typically
include a lot of advertisements for a wide range of products. In addition to this, one
specialized magazine, PC World, was chosen as a source of advertisements for
computer-related products to make up for their lack in the popular magazines, since
computing has become an essential part of our lives.
As a first step in the selection procedure of advertisements, I looked for
products with names which are unrelated to the functions of the products themselves
and thus look puzzling and provocative (e.g. Crocs for boots). The corpus resulted in
40 product names (containing 1 – 4 words) used to label the following product
categories: technical products – computers and computer-related products (e.g.
ClearSky – Bluetooth phone kit), cars (e.g. Ford Taurus), mobile phones (Android
Siemens), watches (e.g. Pulsar), cosmetic products – hair-care products, perfumes,
lipsticks, correction fluids, toothpastes (e.g. Euphoria – perfume), medicines (e.g.
Canesten Oasis), drinks – coffee, juices and alcoholic drinks (Peels – alcoholic
drink) and food (e.g. Galaxy Caramel).
In corpus analysis, in line with the applied cognitive linguistic framework, I
first identified mappings between different mental spaces activated by the analyzed
product names and considered the processes of conceptual integration involved.
Then I established three main categories depending on the types of mental spaces
activated by the product names, and within each category typical linguistic prompts
for mental space activation.
4. Research results and analysis
In this section, in line with the cognitive linguistic framework described, the
results of the research will be presented; they address the following issues: the types
of cognitive links between the product names and the products they designate and
the types of linguistic prompts activating conceptual blending, as the process of
meaning inference.
4.1. The types of cognitive links between unusual product names and
products
The first question posed is: How do product names relate to the very products?
In other words, what is the cognitive link between the name of the product and the
product itself? The results of the analysis show that the mentioned link is either
metaphorical or metonymical, or both metaphorical and metonymical.
(A) Metaphorical cognitive link means that the product is equated with the
concept denoted by the product name. For example:
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Infusium – a hair-care product for dry hair: A HAIR-CARE PRODUCT IS INFUSION.
‘It works like infusion, i.e. instantly revitalizes’.
Ford Taurus – A CAR IS A TAURUS. ‘Ford has the characteristic typical of the
bull: strong’.
(B) Metonymic cognitive link between the name and the product is realized in
several ways:
(i) It indicates the emotional effect of the product on the consumer, i.e. it shows
the way you feel after using the product. For example:
Euphoria, Touch of Pink – perfumes. ‘When wearing Euphoria, you feel
euphoric, whereas when wearing Touch of Pink, you feel well and are optimistic’. In
the latter case metaphor is also involved, because pink means being in good
condition, and optimistic.
(ii) It indicates the product`s internal characteristic or quality. For example:
Smart – a car. ‘The car has the feature of being smart.’ Here, metaphor is
involved, too, since smart is a human characteristic, now applied to cars (OBJECTS
ARE PEOPLE).
(iii) It indicates containment, i.e. what the product contains. For example:
Garnier Fructis – hair shampoo. ‘The shampoo contains fruit, i.e. vitamins, and
is thus, very good.’
Absolut Mandrin – vodka. ‘The vodka contains mandarin; thus, it is very
delicious and healthy’.
(iv) It indicates the manner in which the product works and the result. For
example:
ThermaSilk – hair-conditioner. ‘It turns hair into silk. In other words, hair is
smooth and glistening.’ Metaphor is also involved: HAIR IS SILK.
Smoothliner – a hair straightener. ‘It makes hair smooth. ’
(v) It indicates that the consumer of the product becomes X. For example:
Princess – a perfume. ‘You become a princess. In other words you feel great
and other people appreciate you’. Metaphor is involved here, too, because a princess
metaphorically means someone with a special status.
4.2. Linguistic prompting of conceptual blending
The second issue addressed in this research is: How are intended meanings
inferred from unusual product names? It is shown that the cognitive mechanism of
conceptual blending is ``responsible`` for this. In this section of the paper a
connection is made between surface linguistic structures and inner cognitive
mechanisms. Namely, three main categories of unusual product names are
established depending on two criteria: (1) whether the activated mental spaces are
related and/or unrelated to the product advertised and (2) whether the mappings
between mental spaces are semantic and/or formal. Furthermore, within each
category linguistic structures of unusual product names are classified.
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(1) The first category encompasses unusual brand names which activate just
one unrelated mental space, i.e. a mental space containing a concept not directly
relating to the advertized product. For example, Peels is a name of an alcoholic
drink with fruit taste. The name of the product evokes fruit, rather than alcohol.
Here, one mental space is granted linguistically, whereas the other is activated by the
concept of the product that we have in our minds (semantic mapping).
Linguistic structures involved are already existing words, neologisms and
exocentic compounds:
(i)
Already existing words:
Euphoria (perfume), Inspire (perfume), Apricorn (portable hard disk),
Ovation (power point), Allure (lipstick), Smart (car), Citizen (watch), Shape
(Danone yoghurt), Pulsar
(watch)
(ii)
Neologisms, new words or expressions, or words used with a new
meaning.They appear as (morphological) adaptations of existing words,
results of homonymy or exocentric compounds. These three
subcategories will be illustrated and explained:
(a) (morphological) adaptations of existing words:
Infusium (haircare product). This is a pseudo-Latin word. Pseudo-Latin and
Latin words, which are found in many product names (e.g. Euphoria, Apricorn,
Taurus, ...) make anything seem scientific. Infusium should evoke the English
word infusion, and the inferred meaning is: ‘it instantly revives’.
Spector (program for monitoring employees` computer activities). Inspect,
v → spect (by clipping4) + -or (agent, doer) spector, n. This name is probably
coined by analogy with the word specter ‘a ghostly apparition; a phantom’ to
refer to the fact that the computer program operates so that employees do not
know about it.
Crocs (shoes). Croc(odile)s, n → crocs, n (by clipping) Crocodiles are
dangerous, strong and resistant, and so are the shoes named after them.
Ultraviolet (perfume): ultra, prefix + violet, n. The name of the product is
metonymically related to the product. The one who wears the perfume feels very
rich. In the United Kingdom the color royal purple is associated with luxury
(Wikipedia).
(b) result of homophony:
Cingular (mobile broadband network) – homophonous with singular
/sINgjUl@/. The focus is on the uniqueness of the product.
Breil (watch; the headline: Don`t touch my breil. It seems that there is
allusion to the Holy Grail) – homophonous with grail /greIl/. The focus is on the
holiness, i.e. significance of the product.
4
Clipping is the process of shortening a word without changing its meaning or part of speech
(Bauer 1988: 33).
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(iii)
Exocentric compounds. They denote something which is not a sub-class
of either of the elements in the compound (Bauer 1988: 35). For
example, piggy-bank is neither a pig nor a bank, but a container in
which children can save coins.
ClearSky (Bluetooth Phone Kit, which makes skyping easy): clear, adj +
sky, n. The name of the product is metonymically related to the product;
clearsky is not sky, but a phone kit which works effectively because the channel
of communication, sky, is clear, i.e. there is no noise.
Skinflash (correction fluid): skin, n + flash, n. The name of the product is
metonymically related to the product. It gives skin light, i.e. new radiance, in
just seconds.
Aquafresh (toothpaste): aqua5, initial combining form + fresh. The name of
the product is metonymically related to the product. It gives teeth the feeling of
freshness.
(2) The second category encompasses unusual brand names which activate two
(or more) mental spaces, one related and the other unrelated to the advertised
product. For example, Ford Taurus is a name of a car. The product name evokes a
car (Ford; the make of a car is metonymically related to the very car) and an animal,
a taurus, i.e. a bull (semantic mapping).
Linguistic structures involved are phrasal lexemes and blends:
(i) Phrasal lexemes – hybrid lexical units formally realized as phrases, but in
terms of function, content and use like lexemes. In other words, they name
one entity in the world (e.g. personal computer, behind closed doors, let
down, of course, ...) (Prćić 2008: 162–166). Mostly, it is phrasal lexemes
that signal this category of conceptual blends, which, in turn, are the result
of integration at the level of the content (i.e. semantic mapping),
accomplished by existing linguistic forms. There are two types of phrasal
lexemes regarding the order of linguistic elements:
(a) The element referring to the advertised product6 on the left, whereas the
element referring to the unrelated concept is on the right. This is typical. For
example: Ford Taurus (car), Garnier Fructis (shampoo), Canesten Oasis7
(medicine against cystitis), Samsung Sprint (mobile phone), Spyware Doctor
(anti-spyware program), Absolut Mandrin (vodka).
Such ordering of linguistic elements suggests that the unrelated
concept with which the product is equated is in focus.
5
Prćić (2008:88–89) recognizes the existence of initial combining forms, i.e. elements which
have characteristics of both affixes and bases, originating from Old Greek and Latin. These are for
example: biblio-, zoo-, -phile, but also aqua- and ultra- in these advertising examples. The process of
word-building with initial combining forms is a type of composition or compounding, referred to as
neoclassical composition (e.g. bibliophile, zoology).
6
In the product name, the advertized product is often metonymically given.
7
The example of this product name is taken from Lundmark (2005: 164–168).
133
(b) The element referring to the advertised product is on the right, whereas the
element referring to the unrelated concept is on the left: Android Siemens
(mobile phone), Galaxy Caramel8 (chocolate), Ferrari 4000 Technology
Driver (laptop).
(ii) Blends or portmanteau word, which contain two meanings packed up into
one word (Bauer 1988: 39). Thus, ‘linguistic’ blends are the result of
integration happening at the levels of the content and form simultaneously,
i.e. the mapping is both formal and semantic.
Toughbook (laptop) – tough + book. Meaning: the focus is on the following
characteristics of the computer: it is portable and resistant.
Netbook (laptop) – network + book. Meaning: the focus is on the following
characteristics of the computer: it is portable and provides good Internet services and
connection.
Crystalens (intraocular lenses against cataract) – crystal + lens. Meaning: with
these lenses your sight is extremely good, clear like crystal.
Turboccino (coffee) – turbine/turbo + capuccino. Meaning: this capuccino
gives you extra energy.
(3) The third category encompasses unusual product names which activate two
(or more) mental spaces, but the mapping is accomplished between form and
content. Namely, a characteristic form of the linguistic unit, as a matrix, indicates a
particular concept and activates one mental space. On the other hand, the very
content of the linguistic unit, which is fitted into the chosen form, activates the other
mental space. For example:
NOD32 (antivirus program) – the form of this linguistic unit, letters + number,
is characteristic of labelling highways (like M40), whereas the content fitted into
that form indicates the name of an anti-virus program.
the MacBooks (laptop) – the form of this linguistic unit, the definite article and
a name in the plural, is characteristic of labelling families (like the Johnsons),
whereas the content fitted into that form indicates computers.
4.3. Conceptual blending at work in unusual product names
Now follows a description of the process of conceptual blending on examples
representative of the three established categories of unusual product names. It will
be presented how linguistic units serve as prompts for activating mental spaces, how
these mental spaces are integrated to yield blended spaces with a `strange` structure,
and, finally, how we construct inferences, i.e. real, intended meanings, from them.
The elements involved in conceptual blending in Infusium 23 are represented below:
(1) Conceptual blending in Infusium (hair-care product)
8
134
The example of this product name is taken from Lundmark (2005: 89–92).
Input Space 1: patient, feeling very bad, infusion + encyclopedic knowledge:
dangerous condition, instantly revives
Input Space 2: hair in a bad state, hair-care product
Blended Space: hair in a bad state, hair-care product / infusion, curing,
works instantly
Inferences: ‘This hair product works very fast and thus, is very effective.’
In Input Space 1 there is a scenario involving a patient feeling very bad and
thus, getting infusion. Our encyclopedic knowledge tells us that if infusion is
needed, the health condition must be very serious and in need of instant medical
response; also, we know that infusion works effectively, i.e. instantly revives. In
input space 2, there is a scenario which involves dry, matted hair, and the
advertized hair-care product. In the blended space, though, the curing scenario is
projected from one input space, whereas the elements are projected from the
other input space, i.e. hair in a bad state is cured by applying the cosmetic
product as infusion. The main inferences drawn from this fictitious blended
space are the following: the advertized hair-care product is very effective (since
it “cures hair instantly”).
(2) Conceptual blending in Spyware Doctor (anti-spyware program)
Input Space 1: patient, illness, doctor + encyclopedic knowledge: illness –
can be dangerous, with serious consequences, has to be treated; doctor –
great knowledge, expertise, the best, feel reverence; medical treatment –
something serious, already tested, reliable, efficient
Input Space 2: computer, spyware, program against spyware
Blended Space: computer / patient, curing, spyware / illness, antispyware
program / doctor
Inferences: ‘The program against spyware is reliable, efficient, the best, ... ’
In Input Space 1 there is a scenario involving a patient suffering from an illness
and a doctor treating it. Our encyclopedic knowledge tells us that illnesses can be
dangerous, with serious consequences. Apart from that we know that doctors are
people with great knowledge, and expertise; they are the best and we feel reverence
for them; also a medical treatment is something serious, but already tested, reliable
and efficient. In Input Space 2 there is a scenario where a computer is threatened by
spyware, and there is a program against spyware as protection.
In the blended space, though, the curing scenario is projected from one input
space, whereas the elements are projected from the other input space, i.e. spyware is
cured by undergoing medical treatement by the advertized antispyware program
The main inferences drawn from this fictitious blended space are the following:
‘the advertized antispyware program is reliable, efficient, the best, ... (since it is has
the characteristics of a doctor).’
(2) Conceptual blending in NOD32 (anti-virus program)
Input Space 1: man, air, viruses, hospital and doctors, curing illness +
encyclopedic knowledge: professional help, treatment of various infections
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Input Space 2: computer, the Internet, malicious programs, NOD32,
protection against malicious programs + encyclopedic knowledge: viruses
hinder surfing
Input Space 3: vehicle, highway, dangers on the road + encyclopedic
knowledge: great speed, many cars
Blended Space: computer/man/vehicle, the Internet/highway/air, malicious
programs/dangers on the road/viruses, NOD32/hospital.
Inferences: ‘NOD32 anti-virus protection is very good; it deals with various
types of malicious computer programs (like a hospital, where various
infections are cured).’
There are three input spaces here and two conceptual metaphors holding the
relationships between them. In Input Space 1 there is a medical scenario involving a
man being infected by viruses in the air and treated at a hospital, where various
infections are cured. This medical scenario is prompted by NOD, which originally
stood for the name of a popular Czechoslovak TV series, Nemocnica na Okraji
Mesta (eng. Hospital at the Edge of the City). The first viruses attacked disk book
sectors, which are located at the edge of a disk. That is why the then newly created
virus was named NOD (http://www.wilderssecurity.com/showthread.php?t=25585).
In Input Space 2 there is a scenario with the computer affected by malicious
programs while surfing on the Internet. The mappings between the two input spaces
are initiated by the conceptual metaphor DESTRUCTIVE COMPUTER CODE IS A VIRUS
(Lakoff, Espenson, Schwartz 1991: 181). In Input Space 3 there is a road scenario
involving a vehicle driving on a highway. Our encyclopedic knowledge tells us that
on highways there are many cars driving very fast, which makes greater chances for
accidents. Input spaces 2 and 3 are associated by the metaphor INTERNET IS A
HIGHWAY (Rohrer 1997). In the blended space, there is a computer, searching for
web locations (from Input Space 2) on the highway (from Input Space 3). On its way
it is infected by malicious computer programs and treated in NOD32 hospital
(projected from Input Spaces 1 and 2). Thus, in the blend NOD32 is a hospital,
which offers professional treatment for computer accidents.
5. Conclusion
In this paper unusual product names are treated and analyzed as a special type
of conceptual blends. The cognitive mechanism discussed helps us understand at
first puzzling phenomena, such as unusual product names, which seem quite vaguely
related to the products they name. At the textual or linguistic level of analysis it is
shown that unusual product names are quite simple linguistic structures which
contain between 1 and 4 words (Euphoria, Turboccino, Ford Taurus, Ferrari 4000
Technology Driver). In terms of structure they are: already existing words,
neologisms, exocentric compounds, phrasal lexemes or blends. Although they are
simple on the surface, there is a lot of meaning hidden in them, which is illustrated
136
by applying conceptual blending theory to get inferences. Unpacking the meaning
requires huge, but unconscious both linguistic and encyclopedic knowledge on the
part of message recipients.
Further thinking about how the issue of conceptual blends and their linguistic
realization could be developed, leads to the conclusion that it would be interesting to
see what kind of positive associations unusual product names of various products
evoke in potential buyers in order to provoke a desire for possession in them.
Another line of research would be to focus on one identified type of linguistic
structure in product names and analyze their hidden creativity. Finally, it would be
interesting to see how the conceptual blending theory works with product names
which mix elements from two different languages, for example Serbian and English.
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September 2011.
138
Tatjana Glušac
Novi Sad, Serbia
tatjana.glusac@gmail.com
TEAMING UP TO OVERCOME 21ST CENTURY CLASSROOM
CHALLENGES
Abstract The 21st century classroom is an increasingly changeable environment in
which teachers are required to update their knowledge and skills constantly.
Professional development should therefore become a continuous activity rather than
a single event. In a situation when opportunities for professional development are
scarce, inadequate or costly, peer coaching, as a form of classroom supervision, may
be a valuable solution. The aim of the paper is to indicate the need for teacher
cooperation for overcoming classroom challenges. The paper is based on the results
of a yearlong research project in which twelve English language teachers attempted
to overcome their teaching difficulties by transforming their personal knowledge
into a collective, shared and cohesive professional knowledge. The results obtained
clearly indicate that peer coaching yields desired changes related to the teaching
practice and students' knowledge even though it is a lengthy process entailing
extensive logistics.
Key words: ELT, 21stcentury classroom, professional development, peer coaching.
1. Introduction
People from fields other than education could wrongly assume that teaching in
general, especially teaching in the 21st century, is an easy job. With all the
technology advancements at hand, all available internet and printed sources of
information, entertaining course books and various interactive teaching aids,
teaching seems to be quite an enjoyable profession and learning seems to be real fun.
However, the reality is, more often than not, quite the opposite. Many schools in
Serbia struggle with insufficient funding and cannot afford many “education
luxuries” (Internet access, computer, data projector, etc.). In such a situation,
teachers often escape to the “teaching tradition” – lecturing. Many would probably
say that it is, after all, what teaching and education should be all about. Is that really
so?
Several decades ago, when the teacher was the only source of information,
lecturing as the only teaching practice was indisputably appropriate. Today, when
students are exposed to a myriad of different sources of information, traditional
lecturing is no longer an acceptable mode of teaching. Students of all ages come to
school with good basic knowledge in many fields, which calls for teachers’
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redesigning instruction and the learning environment. Therefore, the 21st century
teaching is a much more complex issue and more demanding job than it appears to
be at first sight. Above all, the 21st century teaching should provide learning that is
learner-centered, problem-based, holistic, experiential, collaborative and applicable.
Some countries, such as the USA and Australia, have recognized these
sweeping educational changes and have thus created national strategies to help the
schools in their countries overcome the transitions they are facing. The have
recognized four key elements to focus on and work towards: quality teachers, quality
leaders, quality school management and recognition of quality (Department of
Education, Science and Training, 2000). Other countries have not responded to these
changes quickly and adequately enough.
2. The new millennium education
The 21st century classroom is a highly interactive environment suited to all
students, who are usually of markedly differing interests, needs and abilities. The
one-size-fits-all approach yields no results. The imperative of the modern classroom
is searching for and creating one’s own truth that works for an individual beyond
classroom walls. Students today are exposed to numerous sources of information
and can thus broaden their knowledge more easily than students could do it before.
As they are skilled at searching for information and manipulating it, students
nowadays expect to create their own knowledge and understanding while doing a
task set rather than being given knowledge. The modern learner is expected to
become a critical thinker, a problem solver, a good communicator, a good
collaborator, as well as information and technology literate, flexible and adaptable,
innovative and creative, globally competent, and financially literate (The Partnership
for 21st Century Skills, 2009). Besides that, the learner today needs to become
environmentally conscious and socially responsible. Perhaps the most challenging
task teachers are facing is the need to teach those skills within the context of
academic subjects.
According to “21st Century Skills English Map” (2008: 2-16) published by the
Partnership for 21st Century Skills, a US national organization that advocates for 21st
century readiness for every student, 21st century learning presupposes mastering and
developing the following skills and characteristics: (1) creativity and innovation, (2)
creative thinking, (3) communication, (4) collaboration (5) information literacy, (6)
media literacy, (7) ICT literacy, (8) flexibility and adaptability, (8) initiative and
self-direction, (9) social and cross cultural skills, (10) productivity and
accountability and (11) leadership and responsibility. Moreover, in her book Tween
Crayons and Curfews: Tips for Middle School Teachers (2011) Heather WolpertGawron presents the findings of her research project conducted among higher
education stakeholders with the aim to find out what skills they expect their future
candidates to have. The list of the skills that Wolpert-Gawron advocates includes the
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following: (1) collaboration, (2) communication (3) problem solving, (4)
questioning, (5) independent learning, (6) decision-making, (7) understanding bias,
(8) leadership, (9) compromise, (10) summarize, (11) share the air (students need to
develop the habit of learning from others), (12) persuasion (students need to be
convincing in speaking and writing) and (13) goal setting.
Above all, the 21st century teacher should be aware of the great millennium
change in education and thus willing to accommodate his teaching to the change.
The change presupposes, above all, heavy reliance on modern tools that have found
their way into education, and are thus used for searching for information, analyzing,
synthesizing and presenting it. The 21st century teacher by no means blames his
students for their “unusual” or “inappropriate” learning style, but he understands
from where those changes stem. Today it is the teacher’s most challenging role to
find ways to infuse and foster the 21st century knowledge and skills in, more often
than not, poor conditions and a threatening environment.
The 21st century educator is required to assume different roles at the same time.
According to Churches (2008), the educator needs to be:
(1) Adaptor – The 21st century teacher is an adaptor in that he constantly
adapts the curriculum to students’ needs and thus bridges an everlasting
gap between the old and the new. He always needs to find ways to present
the content in a technology savvy way and thus make learning more
interesting. He also needs to adapt constantly to the increasingly changing
teaching and learning environment.
(2) Learner – The teacher, just like his students, should take every
opportunity to learn. The teacher must come to the understanding that
professional development is an ongoing process rather than a single
activity. By setting the example of the need to become a life-long learner,
students will realize that one can never learn and know everything and
that living in this dynamic and ever-changing world presupposes learning
as a mode of living.
(3) Visionary – The 21st century teacher is visionary in that he needs to
foresee what skills and types of knowledge his students will need in the
future and provide them with those. The visionary teacher is imaginative
and creative and recognizes an opportunity for enjoyable learning even in
the most uninteresting content.
(4) Leader – The teacher needs to have the vision he wants to accomplish. He
uses all available resources to attain his goal.
(5) Model – The teacher needs to work on developing his own personal and
academic traits that he will model for his students, including integrity,
responsibility, reliability, social responsibility, environmental concern,
global awareness, etc.
(6) Collaborator – The teacher is expected to set an example of how
collaboration is important for one’s learning and social networking. The
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teacher needs to use different means of communication to search for
information, present it, share it and keep in touch with other people.
(7) Risk-taker – The teacher needs to show leadership skills in that he has a
vision he wants to attain, which sometimes presupposes being at the
forefront and stepping into the unknown.
In its report “What Matters Most: Teaching for America’s Future” (1996: 6),
the US National Commission on Teaching and America’s Future states categorically
that, “in terms of student achievement, the teacher is a more significant factor than
any other kind of school resource,” owing to the fact that it is no longer enough to
learn things, but to learn how to search for information and manipulate it so as to
transform it into knowledge. Students expect to be provided with knowledge that is
not at their fingertips; they also expect the teacher to present knowledge from
different fields and make it applicable and life-related.
All the previously mentioned requirements imposed on teachers due to the
new millennium change in education presuppose the change of teacher’s beliefs,
values and practices so that he can conform to the needs of new age students. In
order to respond to the increasingly changeable teaching and learning environment,
teachers need good quality, continuous professional development probably more
than ever.
4. Professional development
Studies done in the US show that teachers spend 93% of their working time in
isolation from their colleagues (Metropolitan Life Insurance Company, 2010).
Extensive literature (DuFour, 2004; Kissock, 2003; Guo, 2005; Scott & Miner,
2008) shows that working in isolation is a common practice among many teachers
worldwide. Teachers go into their classroom, face challenges, solve them to the best
of their ability (if they solve them at all), and usually remain silent before colleagues
about those challenges as if they were not customary of every classroom. The
existing model of schooling supports neither continuous individual teacher learning
nor collaborative teacher learning.
Based on the aforementioned, it is obvious that the teaching profession has
become highly skilled and very demanding. Moreover, in the increasingly
changeable teaching and learning environment, it has become the teacher’s
responsibility to pursue continuous professional development so as to respond
adequately to ever-changing educational challenges. The teacher who fails to
embrace change as a component part of his profession, will undoubtedly turn his
class today into a group of bored, non-ambitious, indifferent and disinterested young
people. A logical question ensues from this: How possibly can a teacher face the 21st
century challenges successfully? It is undeniably a daunting task to do on one’s own,
so the answer may lie in collaborative teacher learning as a professional
development activity. According to Richards (2008: 12), “Although much teacher
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development can occur through a teacher’s own initiative, collaboration with others
both enhances individual learning and serves the collective goals of an institution.”
By working in teams, however big or small they are, a teacher ensures
accomplishing more than he could accomplish on his own. Ample research in the
US (Metropolitan Life Insurance Company, 2010; Neufeld & Roper, 2002;
Honigsfeld & Dove, 2010; Liston, Peterson & Ragan, 2008) shows that
collaborative teams positively affect the rewards of the teaching profession, improve
instructional practice, enhance teaching effectiveness and increase student
achievement. It is now a well-known fact that teachers benefit from the creative
power of collaborative learning, enjoy the sense of increased efficacy and
professionalism.
Because of all the new millennium demands imposed on teachers, it is quite
obvious that teachers need opportunities to refine their skills and broaden their
knowledge of technology, the content, etc. There are various forms of professional
development in which teachers can engage. These include: workshops, seminars,
conferences, summer and winter schools, teacher development curses (CELTA,
DELTA, etc.), teaching logs, classroom action research, teacher observation,
reflective teaching, peer coaching and the like. When the current situation regarding
professional development opportunities in Serbia is analyzed, it is quite obvious that
they are scarce, inadequate and mostly commercial. The major flaw of the currently
available and accredited professional development events in Serbia is that they are
not continuous, but rather separate, individual events, and they do not address
teachers’ real classroom-related problems due to which they are ineffective in
helping teachers overcome everyday classroom challenges.
5. Peer coaching
In a situation in which the established educational system cannot respond
adequately to the emerging needs of its students and teachers, teachers are left to
overcome the challenges they are facing on their own. In such a situation, teacher
collaboration may be a viable solution, especially that known as peer coaching.
Peer coaching is engaged by pairs of practicing teachers who are well aware of
the necessity to create an opportunity for an ongoing professional development
process to take place. They also need to be ready to try to overcome classroomrelated challenges by disclosing their teaching practice and talking about it openly. It
is important that each pair of teachers establish trust as an invaluable prerequisite for
desired peer coaching results to be attained. Peer coaching is aimed at assisting
teachers in refining their present skills, improving instructional strategies, analyzing
the existing situation, seeking solutions for classroom-related problems and
improving their relationships. Eventually, the coaching process has the potential to
boost student learning by contributing to teachers’ professional growth. It is a nonevaluative process and the teacher who is being observed directs the supervision.
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The partner visits the classroom to collect data on an issue the observed teacher
finds important after which they engage in a constructive, meaningful dialogue
about the findings, trying to find the best possible solution to implement.
However, if explained and understood properly, peer coaching is an
indispensable strategy for making classroom-based decisions based on data, rather
than making assumptions and implementing decisions based on them.
According to Nolan and Hoover (2005), the peer coaching process comprises
the following stages:
(1) Espoused platform – prior to commencing the peer coaching process,
teachers discuss their teaching beliefs, repertoire of teaching practices
and techniques they use, changes in their practice so as to be able to
interpret data and find viable solutions more easily.
(2) Pre-observation conference – before each classroom observation
teachers do pre-observation conferencing in order to get acquainted with
the aim of the lesson, activities planned, what needs to observed, data
collection technique the observed teacher would like the observer to
employ, etc.
(3) Observation – the observer collects data on what the observed teacher
regards important for him to find about.
(4) Interpretation and analysis of data gathered – each teacher takes time to
interpret the data gathered so as to understand them and list his
observations and possible solutions.
(5) Post-observation conference - teachers meet to discuss the data gathered
and try to draw a conclusion regarding a possible solution worthy to be
implemented as a means of aiding the existing situation
(6) Cycle evaluation – after the agreed upon solution has been
implemented, the observer collects data on the same issue again this
time to examine whether there have been any changes issuing from the
implemented solution.
Peer coaching is a professional development activity that enhances not only
teaching and learning that take place within the classroom, but the overall school
environment as it requires teachers’ collegial relationships based on trust. Even
though its advantages clearly outweigh its disadvantages (Glušac, 2011; Vacilotto &
Cummings, 2007; Wong & Nicotera, 2003), it is a very rarely performed
professional development activity.
Based on what the observed teacher wishes to improve about his own teaching
practice, different authors recognize different types of feedback. Garmston (cited in
Nolan and Hoover, 2005), Ackland (1991), Becker (1996), Galbraith and Anstrom
(1995) and Showers and Joyce (1996) identify the following types of peer coaching:
technical coaching and collegial coaching. The former is a follow-up to some other
type of professional development, its primary aim being to aid the teacher in
implementing new knowledge or skills the teacher learned in that other professional
development activity. The observer’s role is to collect data as to how successfully
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the teacher has implemented the new knowledge and skills and what effect they have
on his students. This type of coaching should thus help the teacher introduce
novelties into his repertoire of practices. The former, on the other hand, presupposes
a teacher’s attempt to find a solution to a problem or an answer to a question related
to a concrete classroom situation. This type of coaching is therefore aimed at
teacher’s refining his practices and thus helping students improve their knowledge.
Costa and Garmston (2002) call this type of coaching cognitive coaching as it
presupposes teacher’s reflecting on his practice and changing it as a result of the
change of their beliefs and values.
Ackland (Ibid.), Becker (Ibid.) and Galbraith and Anstrom (Ibid.) agree that
there is also challenge coaching whose primary aim is to identify problems beyond
the classroom level and attempt to solve it. The problem may be school-wide or
related to a particular grade of students. This type of coaching presupposes
participation of more teachers and even school administrators, all of whom can
contribute to devising a solution with their different expertise and experience.
Galbraith and Anstrom (Ibid.) add also team coaching as another type of peer
coaching. In team coaching two teachers do peer coaching and team teaching at the
same time. In other words, a teacher who is an expert in a field joins his colleague in
teaching a lesson. At the same time, the visiting teacher acts as an observer and
helps the observed teacher assess the effectiveness of the methods employed and the
like.
6. The model implemented
In order to experiment with this form of professional development and find out
how feasible and effective it is in our teaching context, an attempt was made to carry
out the research described below.
In September 2009 six pairs of volunteer English language teachers were
selected. Relying exclusively on personal contacts, it was important to find teachers
willing enough to undertake quite a demanding task of engaging in a new,
experimental, professional development activity. Those teachers who consented to
participation needed to choose a colleague with whom they had a good, collegial
relationship as they were going to work with him/her during the course of the
research. All teacher-participants held a university degree in English language and
literature. Moreover, three pairs taught at primary and the remaining three at
secondary schools. A two-day workshop was organized for them so as to provide
them with necessary knowledge and equip them with the skills needed to participate
successfully. The workshop was given in November 2009.
At the beginning of the research, the teachers were given a questionnaire to
complete regarding their professional development engagement and preferences. For
the purposes of this research each teacher needed to choose one class he/she taught
in which he/she wanted to improve certain aspects by exploring them in greater
detail by having the colleague to observe and help in devising good enough
145
solutions. During the course of eight months each teacher needed to ask the peer
coach to do seven observations in his/her chosen class.
The participants were asked to make a portfolio and keep a journal so as to
collect data. The portfolio needed to contain information regarding all the stages of
an observation they would go through (pre-conference, observation, interpretation of
data, post-observation conference and cycle evaluation). Moreover, it was important
that teachers document evidence of students’ reactions to an implemented solution,
be it more or less favorable, as well as any additional material they consulted when
seeking for a solution. As regards the journal, it was important that teachers keep
records of their feelings, reflections, and impressions before and after an
observation, ask themselves questions, enter comments regarding their students’
progress and the like.
7. Findings
As described in the previous part of the paper, the data were gathered in
different ways – through portfolio, journal, questionnaire, students’ pieces of work
and interview with participants. Owing to the fact that the aim of this paper is to
investigate the need for teachers to cooperate to meet the demands of the new
millennium education as viewed from the teachers’ perspective, only those data
gathered through teachers’ journals and the interview with them at the end of the
research project were analyzed. Those data best identify teachers’ feelings when
teaming up with a colleague, their attitudes to peer coaching, as well as teachers’
perception of its benefits and drawbacks.
All the teachers agree that peer coaching requires extensive logistics. The
participant teachers hardly managed to fit peer coaching meetings into their busy
schedules as it required from them to meet several times to complete a coaching
cycle. Despite that, their overall impression was that peer coaching helped them find
answers to the questions they had long had - it helped them refine their skills
(collegial / cognitive coaching) and introduce novelties into their teaching (technical
coaching). Irrespective of their teaching experience, there was no significant
difference among the issues the teachers wanted their colleagues to observe. The
most commonly used type of peer coaching was collegial / cognitive coaching.
Teachers mainly wanted to inquire into their practice and explore how well they
taught, what teaching strategies they employed, how effective they were, etc. Some
of the issues the participant teachers listed were: students’ use of L1 and L2 in class,
efficacy of the teacher’s questions, clarity of teach instruction, how well the teacher
monitors the students’ class work, whether the teacher uses any non-verbal methods,
etc. As far as technical coaching is concerned, a few teachers wanted to introduce
novelties into their teaching practice. They included the introduction of new formats
of work and portfolio assessment. There were no examples of the teachers’
engagement in challenge or team coaching.
146
The participant teachers appreciated the opportunity to learn and improve,
especially to learn in collaboration with a colleague with whom they had a good
relationship. All the teachers stated they improved in a certain way due to their
collaboration with their colleague. They all regard peer coaching to be an
indispensable tool for reflecting on their own practice. Having a colleague to “hold a
mirror” for them while they taught was of significant importance for the teachers to
get an insight into their practice. Conferencing with the colleague also helped them
raise awareness of many aspects of their teaching. Collaboration with a colleague
eventually helped the teachers learn about the effectiveness of the techniques they
employed, assumptions they supposed their teaching was based upon, as well as
those they were unaware of, etc.
Having a colleague observe their classes also helped them learn the importance
of self-observation and self-assessment. Never before had they had a chance to
reflect on their instruction and their students’ learning characteristics using data. Not
only were the participant teachers able to focus on their performance, but that of
individual learner’s as well. They were eager to investigate individual student’s
participation in class, their specific reactions, the effect of certain teaching methods
on them and the like. The teachers felt empowered in the sense that they had data
available to make decisions, as it was not the case before.
The participant teachers were especially proud of assuming the ownership and
responsibility of their own professional development (Nolan and Hoover, 2005).
Most of them stated that peer coaching finally helped them find answers to many
questions they had long searched for. Namely, the teachers said that peer coaching
differs from other forms of professional development in that it helps them deal with
real problems. They felt excited about having found a possible way to finally solve
their classroom problems and queries. Also, the teachers appreciated the opportunity
to work at their own pace having no specific deadlines to meet.
The opportunity to choose their peer coaching partner made most of them feel
relaxed. The initial feeling of uneasiness due to having an observer in class was
alleviated gradually as the observer soon became a source of ideas and solutions,
motivation, etc. Moreover, that contributed to mutual trust and confidence between
partners being improved during the research.
These findings are in concert with the findings on collaborative continuing
professional development published in Team Up for 21st Century Teaching and
Learning (2010: 34): “The reported changes in teacher behavior included: greater
confidence; enhanced beliefs among teachers of their power to make a difference to
pupils’ learning; development of enthusiasm for collaborative working despite initial
anxiety about classroom observation; and, greater commitment to changing practice
and willingness to try new things”. Being a comprehensive professional
development activity, peer coaching provides grounds for constant improvement and
introduction of new practices.
147
8. Conclusion
The participant teachers found peer coaching helpful as it aided them in
assessing, modifying and altering their present practices, as well as in introducing
new ones. Moreover, the teachers valued collaborative learning as it shed new light
on their teaching and helped them find answers to doubts they had long had. They
regard peer coaching as an indispensable strategy in the pursuit of improved
teaching and learning. Above all, peer coaching enabled teachers to take control of
their own and their student learning by relying on data collected through
collaboration with a colleague. The data helped teachers face the reality of their
classroom, inquire into their own practice, search for and find solutions to the
problems that had long troubled them. Owing to the solutions they found, the
teachers altered and/or changed their practices having one goal in mind – improved
student learning. However, what concerned teachers was the lack of time and the
fact that results were not immediately visible.
All in all, despite the fact that it is time-consuming and that it presupposes
extensive logistics, peer coaching has proved to be a valuable professional
development activity. If implemented properly and engaged in willingly, peer
coaching benefits not only teachers and students, but the whole school environment.
References
Ackland, R. (1991). “A review of peer coaching literature”. The Journal of Staff
Development, 12(1): 22-27.
Becker, J. M. (1996). Peer coaching for improvement of teaching and learning.
Available
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Ana Halas
Novi Sad, Serbia
anahalas@gmail.com
THE TREATMENT OF POLYSEMOUS LEXEMES
IN ENGLISH-SERBIAN DICTIONARIES1
Abstract The aim of the research described in this paper is to gain an insight into
the ways in which different dictionaries deal with lexicographic difficulties related
to the treatment of polysemous lexemes: the number of senses a dictionary offers,
sense discrimination, the structure and organisation of an entry, the typical context
of a sense illustrated by example phrases and sentences and labelling of different
senses and subsenses. These are five criteria on the basis of which three polysemous
and synonymous verbs (drive, ride and fly) were analysed as the entries in three
English-Serbian dictionaries: Englesko-srpskohrvatski rečnik (Benson: 1986),
Englesko-hrvatski ili srpski rečnik (Filipović: 1993) and ESSE rečnik (Kovačević:
1998). The comparison of the entries in the three dictionaries reveals potential
irregularities in the strategies for dealing with the relevant lexicographic issues and
contributes to the development of an optimal strategy for the treatment of
polysemous lexemes in English-Serbian dictionaries.
Key words: lexicography, polysemy, English-Serbian dictionaries, entries, senses.
1. Introduction
While compiling a dictionary entry, one of the main difficulties a lexicographer
encounters is an adequate treatment of polysemous lexemes. This challenging task
boils down to finding the way for distinguishing among senses of a polysemous
lexeme and then, presenting them within the framework of a dictionary entry as a list
of neatly separated and consecutively numbered senses. Thus, the issue of selection
is accompanied by the problems of organisation and representation, which should be
clear and comprehensive so that a dictionary fulfills its pragmatic purpose by
enabling its users to grasp different senses of a lexeme easily.
This paper deals with the analysis of the treatment of polysemous lexemes in
three English-Serbian dictionaries with the aim of examining the adequacy of their
lexicographic practice taking into account the reliance on linguistic theory,
1
This paper has been written within the project no. 178002 Languages and Cultures in Time and
Space, which is financed by the Ministry of Science and Technological Development of the Republic
of Serbia.
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systematic selection, structure, organisation and representation of senses as well as
the degree of user-friendliness. The results of the analysis provide the firm basis for
developing a set of strategies for the optimal arrangement of senses within
dictionary entries.
2. Polysemy
Polysemy is a linguistic phenomenon referring to the ability of a lexeme to
have several senses all of which are mutually connected and presented within one
dictionary entry. As Dragićević claims (2007: 130), the main cause of polysemy lies
in the fact that the number of objects and notions around us is considerably larger
than the number of different lexemes for denoting them. If every object were
denoted by a different lexeme, speakers would not be able to memorise all of them.
This would cause difficulties in communication among speakers of the same
language. Polysemy can be regarded as a tool based on linguistic economy that a
language uses to respond to new situations keeping to a minimum its demands on
speakers' memory capacity.
One of the main characteristics of polysemy is relatedness of meaning, the term
given by Lyons (1990: 551) referring to the fact that all the senses of a single
polysemous lexeme are mutually related since they are derived from the same basic
sense by means of various mechanisms. For the purpose of illustrating this claim,
the same author (1990: 551) provides an example of the noun mouth as a lexeme
with several related senses including the ones that this lexeme has in the expressions
the mouth of the river, the mouth of the bottle or speak with somebody's mouth full.
The last expression reveals the basic or literal meaning of the lexeme mouth that can
be defined as the part of the face which men and animals put food into or which they
use for speaking (Longman Dictionary of Contemporary English, new ed. 2003).
Due to the figurative extension of meaning, this lexeme is also used for the reference
to the part of the river where it joins the sea, or the open part at the top of a bottle.
These examples support Dragićević's claim (2007: 131-132) that the set of all
the senses of one lexeme forms its polysemantic structure consisting of the primary
sense and secondary senses which are derived from it by means of various
productive mechanisms including specialization, generalization, metaphor and
metonymy.
The primary sense is also known as a direct sense (Zgusta 1971: 61), which is
usually the dominant one so that is the first meaning to be thought of by the majority
of speakers if they see the given word outside any context.
2.1. Linear Polysemy
As it has already been mentioned above, new senses of a lexeme are often
developed through the mechanism of specialization that refers to the process in
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which the use of a lexeme becomes progressively narrower, as it is shown in the
following set of examples:
(1) She raised the cup to her mouth and drank. (to swallow a liquid)2
(2) Jack doesn’t drink, so I ordered him a Coke. (to drink alcohol)
(3) She left her first husband because he drank. (to drink alcohol excessively)
The new senses of the verb drink are derived from the basic and most general
one present in the example (1) through the specification of the liquid, as in the
example (2) or both the liquid and way of drinking it, as in the example (3) leading
to the enrichment of the given polysemous structure.
The related senses of a lexeme are also developed in the process of
generalization in which the lexeme's basic sense becomes broader. For instance, the
word cat primarily refers to a domestic cat that people often keep as a pet, but also it
can refer to the whole cat family including lions, tigers, etc in which case the sense
of the lexeme cat is generalized.
It is obvious that the relation among polysemous senses is motivated. If the
relationship among senses in a polysemous structure of a lexeme is based on
generalization or specialization of meaning, it is regarded as an instance of a linear
relation, i.e. linear polysemy (Cruse 2004: 108).
2.2. Non-linear Polysemy
Secondary senses of a polysemous lexeme can also be generated through
metaphor, a mechanism characterised by Cruse (2004: 110) as figurative usage
based on resemblance. Actually, a transferred sense is derived from the basic one by
means of conceptual metaphor, which involves figurative extension of meaning
based on the similarity between two unrelated conceptual domains. The similarity
between the two domains is not absolute. It is based on a common feature including
shape, position, use, characteristic, ability, etc. Thus, there is an implied
resemblance between primary and secondary senses. Atkins, B.T. and Rundell, M.
(2008: 287) refer to the examples in which an abstract sense is derived from a literal
or physical one:
(1) They climbed the mountain.
(2) The stock market climbed to a new high.
Moving upwards is the common semantic feature for the two examples, which
the metaphoric transfer of meaning is based on so that the basic meaning of physical
upward movement is developed into a new sense implying an increase in amount,
number or level.
While metaphor is based on similarity, metonymy, another mechanism
involved in the development of new senses within a polysemous structure is based
on contiguity. The essential idea of metonymy is that one entity is used for
2
These examples are given by Atkins, B.T. and Rundell, M. (2008: 284).
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indicating another entity related to it. Generally speaking, one of the most frequent
relations between the entities in metonymy is of part-and-whole nature. The word
for a part of something is used to refer to the whole or the whole is referred to in
terms of something associated with it. Also, the whole can be used to refer to one of
its parts, attributes, or aspects. This definition of metonymy is illustrated by the
following examples:
(3) There were just too many mouths to feed. (the mouth refers to a person)3
(4) He wanted everyone to admire his new wheels. (the wheels stand for the car)
(5) The kettle's boiling. (the kettle stands for the water in it)
(6) Would you mind if I used your bathroom? (the bathroom stands for the toilet
in it)
A polysemantic structure containing senses developed by means of metaphor or
metonymy, according to Cruse (2004: 110), exemplifies non-linear polysemy.
Transferred senses of a lexeme produced by means of metaphor and metonymy
can often be of a technical or terminological nature meaning that such senses reveal
themselves in specialized contexts dealing with a particular subject matter (e.g. a
branch of science, technology, etc). In that way, certain senses get their
terminological value becoming terms of a particular area of knowledge.
Thus, the secondary senses developed from the primary one by means of
previously mentioned mechanisms involve narrower or specialized senses,
generalized senses, transferred or figurative senses and technical terms.
2.3. Lexicographers' task
As for polysemy, the primary task of a lexicographer is to arrive at an
inventory of senses for each polysemous word and to organise them into a structured
dictionary entry, which means an entry consisting of a list of separated,
consecutively numbered senses with the definition of the typical context for each of
the senses illustrated by example sentences.
In dictionaries, within one dictionary entry, the primary (basic) sense is the first
one, while the secondary ones are listed after it according to their semantic closeness
to the basic meaning. Semantically related or close senses are grouped under the
same number but clearly separated by the use of various bullet symbols in front of
them.
When dealing with polysemous words, lexicographers encounter two main
difficulties: sense discrimination and structuring of a dictionary entry. Sense
discrimination is related to the number of senses a dictionary offers as well as the
criterion according to which these senses are established (syntax, collocation,
morphology, etymology, specific context, etc). The problem of structuring a
dictionary entry boils down to finding the way for the most effective presentation of
3
154
These examples are given by Atkins, B.T. and Rundell, M. (2008: 291-292).
a lexeme's different senses. A lexicographer's task is to decide on the structure of the
senses (flat4 or hierarchical) as well as the order of senses (historical5, logical or
based on frequency). Also, the attention of a lexicographer has to be drawn to the
explanation of each sense including the context in which it typically appears, such as
collocations or specific syntactic conditions, which are to be supported by
illustrative example sentences or phrases showing a lexeme's particular sense
realised in a characteristic environment. The visual representation of an entry is an
equally important aspect of its structure referring to labelling of different senses so
that they can be easily distinguished one from another, which greatly contributes to
the dictionary's user-friendliness.
3. Corpus analysis
The aim of the reasearch described in this paper is to gain an insight into the
treatment of polysemous lexemes in English-Serbian dictionaries, i.e. the
comparison of how different dictionaries deal with the lexicographic difficulties
related to verbs and polysemy and summarised as five criteria: the number of senses
a dictionary offers, sense discrimination, the structure and organisation of an entry
(which subsumes the structure of senses and their ordering), the typical context of a
sense illustrated by example phrases and sentences and labelling of different senses
and subsenses. These are the criteria on the basis of which three polysemous and
synonymous verbs (drive, ride and fly) were analysed as the entries in three EnglishSerbian dictionaries: Englesko-srpskohrvatski rečnik (1986), Englesko-hrvatski ili
srpski rečnik (1993) and ESSE rečnik (1998). The aim was to find several highly
polysemous lexemes that are semantically related. Since in English, verbs are often
highly-polysemous, this word class is suitable for this research. The verbs
mentioned above were selected on the basis of their rich polysemous structure
consisting of a list of more than ten different senses including a number of specific
and figurative ones so that such entries provide a good insight into the organisation
and structure of polysemous entries in English-Serbian dictionaries. The given
entries of each dictionary were examined with the purpose of revealing the strategies
for dealing with the relevant lexicographic issues, which were, then, compared so
that the overall picture on the treatment of polysemous verbs in English-Serbian
dictionaries could be built up.
The New Oxford Dictionary of English (NODE) was used as a source of all the
possible senses of the given verbs taking into account the organisation of the entries.
4
In a flat structure, senses are listed without labelling the primary or dominant sense and
secondary ones as it is the case in a hierarchical structure.
5
A historical order implies that the first sense is the one which all the others originated from;
when senses are given according to frequency, the first sense is the most frequent one; a logical order is
based on the list of the core and extensional meanings according to a lexicographer's judgment.
155
The sense inventory of the selected verbs given in NODE is presented below:
DRIVE Primary sense: 1 [no obj.,usu. with adverbial of direction] operate and
control the direction and speed of a motor speed of a motor vehicle ▪ [with obj.] own
or use (a specified type of motor vehicle); ▪ [no obj.] be licensed or competent to
drive a motor vehicle ▪ [with obj.] convey (someone) in a vehicle, especially a
private car
Secondary senses: 2 [with obj. and adverbial of direction] propel or carry along
by force in a specified direction ▪ [no obj.] (of wind, water, or snow) move or fall
with great force ▪ [with obj.] (of a source of power) provide the energy to set and
keep (an engine or a piece of machinery) in motion ▪ Electronics (of a device)
power or operate (another device) ▪ [with obj.] force (a stake or nail) into place by
hitting or pushing it ▪ [with obj. and adverbial] bore (a tunnel) ▪ (in ball games) hit
or kick (the ball) hard with a free swing of the bat, racket, or foot ▪ [with obj.] Golf
strike (a ball) from the tee, typically with a driver
3 [with obj. and adverbial of direction] urge or force (animals or people) to
move in a specified direction ▪ [with obj.] urge forward and direct the course of (an
animal drawing a vehicle or plough) ▪ [with obj.] chase or frighten (wild animals)
into nets, traps, or into a small area where they can be killed or captured ▪ compel to
leave
4 [with obj.] (usu. be driven) (of a fact or feeling) compel (someone) to act in a
particular way, especially one that is considered undesirable or inappropriate ▪ [with
obj.] bring (someone) forcibly into a specified negative state ▪ [with obj.] force
(someone) to work to an excessive extent
RIDE Primary sense: [with obj.] 1 sit on and control the movement of (an
animal, especially a horse), typically as a recreation or sport ▪ [no obj., with
adverbial] travel on a horse or other animal ▪ sit on and control (a bicycle or
motorcycle) for recereation or as a means of transport ▪ [no obj.] (ride in/on) travel
in or on (a vehicle) as a passenger ▪ chiefly N. Amer. travel (in a vehicle) or on (a
public transport system) as a passenger ▪ go through or over (an area) on horseback,
a bicycle, etc. ▪ compete in (a race) on horseback or on a bicycle or motorcycle ▪ N.
Amer. travel up or down in (a lift) ▪ S. African transport (goods) ▪ [no obj., with
adverbial or complement] (of a vehicle, animal, racetrack, etc.) be of a particular
character for riding on or in ▪ informal transport (someone) in a vehicle
Secondary senses: 2 [with obj.] be carried or supported by (something with a
great deal of momentum) ▪ [no obj.] project or overlap ▪ [no obj.] (of a vessel) sail or
float ▪ [no obj., with adverbial of place] float or seem to float ▪ yield to (a blow) so
as to reduce its impact ▪ vulgar slang have sexual intercourse with ▪ (of a
supernatural being) take spiritual possession of (someone) ▪ N. Amer. annoy, pester,
or tease
3 (be ridden) be full of or dominated by
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FLY Primary sense: [no obj.] 1 (of a bird or other winged creature) move
through the air under control ▪ (of an aircraft or its occupants) travel through the air ▪
[with obj.] control the flight of (an aircraft); pilot ▪ [with obj. and adverbial of
direction] transport in an aircraft ▪ [with obj.] accomplish (a purpose) in an aircraft ▪
[with obj.] release (a bird) to fly, especially a hawk for hunting or a pigeon for
racing.
Secondary senses: 2 move or be hurled quickly through the air ▪ [with adverbial
of direction] Baseball hit a ball high into the air ▪ [with adverbial of direction] go or
move quickly ▪ informal depart hastily ▪ (of time) pass swiftly ▪ (of a report) be
circulated among many people ▪ (of accusations or insults) be exchanged swiftly and
heatedly
3 [with adverbial] (especially of hair) wave or flutter in the wind ▪ (of a flag) be
displayed, especially on a flagpole ▪ [with obj.] display (a flag).
4 archaic flee; run away ▪ [with obj.] flee from; escape from in haste
NODE gives a clear division of senses into one primary or basic sense and
several secondary senses, which are derived from it by means of metaphor or
metonymy. They are ordered according to the degree of their semantic closeness to
the primary sense ranging from the semantically closest sense to the one which is
least related to the basic meaning.
The total numbers of senses and related subsenses of each verb in NODE are
the following: DRIVE: 20; RIDE: 20; FLY: 18. However, the total number of senses in
the selected English-Serbian dictionaries varies from dictionary to dictionary.
The inventories of senses for the verbs in question found in the three
dictionaries are listed below:
ENGLESKO-SRPSKOHRVATSKI REČNIK (1986)
DRIVE 1. tr terati (tjerati); oterati (otjerati); doterati (dotjerati); 2. tr uterati
(utjerati); 3. tr voziti, upravljati; 4. tr odvesti (odvezem); 5. tr dovesti (dovezem); 6.
tr provozati, provesti (provezem); 7. tr dovesti (dovedem), naterati (natjerati); 8. tr
ukucati; zabiti; udariti; probiti; 9. intr voziti; 10 intr odvesti (odvezem) se; 11. intr
provesti (provezem) se; provozati se; 12. misc.6
RIDE 1. tr jahati; 2. tr voziti; 3. tr (colloq.) kinjiti, jahati; 4. tr ploviti (na, po);
5. intr jahati; 6. intr voziti se; 7. intr voziti; 8. intr držati se na vodi; 9. misc.
FLY 1. tr pilotirati; 2. tr preleteti (preletjeti); 3. tr istaći; 4. intr leteti (letjeti); 5.
misc.
6
The last sense that Englesko-srpskohrvatski rečnik (1986) offers within each of the entries
carries the label misc. (miscelaneous) and includes the list of idioms related to the given verb as well as
their translations, e.g. DRIVE what is he ~ing at? na šta (što) cilja? *to ~ a point home uliti činjenicu u
glavu, dokazati nešto; to ~ a hard bargain napraviti dobar pazar. However, this section is not taken
into account as one of the distinct senses of the given verbs.
157
ENGLESKO-HRVATSKI ILI SRPSKI REČNIK (1993)
DRIVE I vt 1. goniti, tjerati; 2. zabiti (čavao), zatjerati (klin), zagnati, potjerati
3. baciti (loptu) 4. otjerati, rastjerati 5. hunt hajkati 6. upravljati, voditi, voziti (kola,
stroj); kočijašiti; šofirati 7. fig natjerati, prisiliti, skloniti, navesti, nagovoriti 8. voditi
(posao), vršiti (zanimanje) 9. zaključiti (posao) 10. odgoditi 11. bušiti (tunel); graditi
(cestu) II vi 1. biti gonjen, nošen, trčati, žuriti se, hitjeti 2. nasrnuti, navaliti; udariti,
udarati 3. voziti se; izvesti se 4. ciljati, nišaniti; misliti
RIDE I vi 1. jahati 2. voziti se 3. (o brodovima, stvarima) biti nošen, kretati se;
usidriti se; juriti; lebdjeti (on na) 4. (o terenu) biti podesan; prikladan za jahanje II vt
1. sjediti jašeći; jahati (konja i sl.); upravljati (konjem) (at na, prema); dostići,
prestići 2. (često pasivno) svladati; tlačiti; mučiti; sjediti na; voziti (bicikl); ležati;
počivati; plivati na, lebdjeti 3. pustiti koga da jaše 4. vs prevoziti kolima, voziti 5.
(udaljenost, zemlju itd.) projahati
FLY I vi 1. letjeti; uzletjeti; nastaviti let; odletjeti; žuriti se, hitjeti, juriti,
pojuriti, srnuti; (fly, flying zamjenjuje flee, fleeing) 2. bježati, pobjeći 3. lepršati,
vijoriti se 4. odmicati; promicati II vt 1. prelijetati, preletjeti 2. kloniti se, izbjegavati
3. loviti (sokolom, jastrebom); dići, natjerati da uzleti (pticu) 4. izvjesiti (zastavu) 5.
sport prijeći preko čega 6. aero upravljati avionom, voziti avionom 7. fam poslati,
nabaciti (npr.| will ~ you a line)
ESSE REČNIK (1998)
DRIVE 1 voziti (se), upravljati; odvesti (kolima) 2 terati, goniti; rasterati; to ~
oneself too hard preterivati (s radom); he was ~n to despair doteran je do očaja; to ~
sb out of one's mind dovesti do ludila 3 (takođe ~ in) ukucati, zabiti, (fig.) utuviti; to
~ a home point razjasniti 4 (sport) udariti, uputiti (loptu) 5 teh. startovati
RIDE 1 jahati (konja); uzjahati (na ramena) 2 voziti (bicikl); AE voziti se
(kolima i sl.) 3 (pom.) plutati, biti nošen (na talasima); (fig.) to be riding high biti
ponesen (uspehom) 4 (AE kol.) maltretirati 5 (boks) eskivirati
FLY 1 leteti, preleteti (avion, ptica); (fig.) to ~ high biti ambiciozan 2 pilotirati;
prevesti (avionom) 3 (po)juriti; I must ~ moram da požurim; to ~ by/past prohujati
(vreme); time flies vreme leti; to ~ open naglo otvoriti 4 lepršati (se); rumours are
~ing čuju se glasine; to ~ into a rage razbesneti se; (fig.) to ~ in the face of
suprotstaviti se 5 umaći; to ~ the country pobeći iz zemlje
The examination of the three entries following the criteria described above has
revealed certain inconsistencies in relation to the number of the given senses as well
as other aspects of the organisation of these polysemous entries.
3.1. Number of senses
The analysis of the number of senses included in the three dictionaries has
shown that the entries do not contain all the possible senses of the given verbs. This
is understable taking into account the scope of the dictionaries in question. However,
158
the senses are not systematically and consistently selected. Thus, certain secondary
main senses are not included into the inventories or if they are, they are not marked
as such. As for the subsenses included into the inventory, mainly those that represent
figurative extensions, it can be said that they are selected according to the
lexicographer's judgement on their frequency in language usage. For instance, in
Englesko-srpskohrvatski rečnik (1986), the excluded main senses and subsenses are
the ones that are perceived by the lexicographer as less frequent ones, e.g. RIDE 2 ▪
[no obj.] project or overlap, ▪ (of a supernatural being) take spiritual possession of
(someone); FLY 2 ▪ [with adverbial of direction] go or move quickly, ▪ (of a report)
be circulated among many people.
Moreover, most of the omitted subsenses are those that are related to quite
specific contexts, such as special areas of knowledge, technical terms, informal
register, vulgar expressions, particular dialects or, if they are included, as in ESSE
rečnik (1998), there are only traces of such examples. ESSE rečnik (1998) involves
the senses related to specific varieties and registers (e.g. RIDE 4 (AE kol.)
maltretirati), as well as technical terms (e.g. DRIVE 5 teh. startovati) and the senses
related to specific areas of knowledge (e.g. DRIVE 4 (sport) udariti, uputiti loptu)
although they are quite rare.
Englesko-hrvatski ili srpski rečnik (1993) even includes the senses that do not
belong to the inventory of senses of the given verbs according to NODE, which is
misleading for users since they are introduced with the senses that a particular verb
does not have. These senses are highlighted in the entry.
In order to be in accordance with users' needs, lexicographic practice should
involve the systematic selection and labelling of senses including main senses and
the most frequent subsenses related to them.
3.2. Sense discrimination
The criteria used for sense discrimination vary from dictionary to dictionary.
They include: transitivity, specific context, morphology, etymology, figurative
extension, etc. The problem lies in the fact that several different criteria are used in
one and the same dictionary. For instance, in Englesko-srpskohrvatski rečnik (1986),
all three entries contain two distinct groups of senses based on the distinction
transitive-intransitive use of the given verbs. Thus, transitivity is taken as the main
indicator of meaning. Furthermore, morphology is one of the criteria used, as in the
case of the verb drive, e.g. 1. tr terati (tjerati); oterati (otjerati); doterati (dotjerati);
2. tr uterati (utjerati); 3. tr voziti, upravljati; 4. tr odvesti (odvezem); 5 tr dovesti
(dovezem); 9. intr voziti; 10. intr odvesti (odvezem) se; 11. intr provesti (provezem)
se; provozati se. It seems that there is a basic sense in both groups of senses from
which several other senses are developed by means of prefixation. In this way, the
aspect of the verb is modified, which causes the change in meaning. Moreover, the
senses are often discriminated on the basis of the specific context in which they
appear involving a specific object that the verb takes, e.g. RIDE 1. tr jahati (an
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animal); 2. tr voziti (a bicycle or motorbycle); an adverbial, e.g. DRIVE 9. intr voziti
(in a motor vehicle); RIDE 5. intr jahati (on an animal); or a subject DRIVE 7. intr
voziti (of a motor vehicle). In Englesko-hrvatski ili srpski rečnik (1993), it is often
the case that one section involves a list of senses which are not mutually related, e.g.
RIDE II vt 2. (često pasivno) svladati; tlačiti; mučiti; sjediti na; voziti (bicikl); ležati;
počivati; plivati na, lebdjeti, so that the common feature on the basis of which these
senses are grouped together is completely unclear as well as the criterion on the
basis of which this section marked as a distinct sense is established. As for ESSE
rečnik (1998), the starting point in the sense discrimination was obviously the
primary, basic or core sense, while all the other senses present in the inventories are
developed from it by means of figurative extension. Thus, the recognition of an
example of figurative extension is a signal of a new distinct meaning.
It can be concluded that various criteria are used for establishing different
senses of the verbs that are often inconsistently applied so that it cannot be said that
there is a clear sense discrimination system present in these dictionaries. This also
leads to the conclusion that the senses are not established following an objective,
predefined criterion, but rather the lexicographer's impression and subjective
judgement, which, obviously, cannot be taken as a reliable criterion.
3.3. Structure and organisation
The flat structure of senses is present in all three dictionaries so that the
distinctions primary sense - secondary senses and main sense - subsenses are not
clearly indicated.
The primary, unmarked sense (not characterized by added connotation,
figurative extension, special restricted language, etc) should be listed as the first
sense and followed by the secondary senses derived from it. The primary and, at the
same time, dominant senses of the verbs drive, ride and fly are voziti, jahati and
leteti, but they are not given as the first ones in all the dictionaries. For example,
Englesko-srpskohrvatski rečnik (1986) offers terati, goniti as the first sense of the
verb drive and pilotirati as the first sense of the verb fly. Terati and goniti are,
etymologically speaking, the original senses of the verb drive. However, taking into
account users' needs, the primary sense should be determined, at least in this case,
on the basis of the modern language usage in which voziti is clearly the primary and
dominant sense, while terati, goniti is today perceived as the sense derived from it
by means of metaphor. Pilotirati is a subsense of the primary sense leteti derived by
means of metonymy so that it should be positioned accordingly.
In order to reflect the real relation among senses in an inventory, the order of
secondary senses should be based on the declining scale of semantic closeness to the
primary meaning, i.e. their position depends on how specific and restricted the
context in which they appear is. However, this strategy was not adopted in
Englesko-hrvatski ili srpski rečnik (1993). Namely, in the entry of the verb drive, the
160
dominant sense operate a motor vehicle is positioned as the sixth one so that it is
preceeded by its transferred senses 1. goniti, tjerati; 2. zabiti (čavao), zatjerati (klin),
zagnati, potjerati; 3. baciti (loptu) that should be regarded as the secondary senses
and ordered appropriately.
On the other hand, ESSE rečnik (1998) offers a clear distinction between the
primary and secondary senses. The sense listed first is the primary one and it is
established either as a basic sense from which other senses are developed (e.g. RIDE
1 jahati) or as a dominant one in contemporary language usage (e.g. DRIVE 1 voziti).
However, the senses belonging to the same numbered section are often grouped
together as the verbs with the same base and one derived from another by means of
prefixation, e.g. DRIVE 1 voziti (se), odvesti (kolima); 2 terati, rasterati; RIDE 1 jahati
(konja); uzjahati (na ramena); FLY 1 leteti, preleteti (avion, ptica). Although they
are represented as such, these senses do not have an equal status. For instance,
odvesti (kolima) is a narrower sense in relation to voziti and should be positioned as
its subsense. The following pairs of senses examplify the same relation: terati –
rasterati, leteti - preleteti. The second verb is derived from the first one by means of
prefixation getting a modified meaning so that it should be marked as a subsense.
Taking into account the overall picture of the organisation of senses in the
dictionaries, it can be said that, in most cases, there is no hierarchy among senses
that are listed and grouped together according to an unclear criterion. Consequently,
users are not able to distinguish between the main senses of the verbs and their
subsenses realised in specific contexts. The main senses can be ordered according to
the frequency of their use or the relation core-extended senses. Both criteria impose
certain order among senses providing users with the possibility to uderstand the
existing relations among them. However, the entries of the verbs in these
dictionaries offer a pretty exhaustive, but chaotic lists of possible translation
equivalents.
3.4. Illustration of the context
Although example sentences are needed, especially in the cases where the
relations among the offered senses are not quite clear, none of the examined
dictionaries contain them. In most cases, the listed senses are supported by short
verb phrases including a typical object, e.g. DRIVE 2. zabiti (čavao), zatjerati (klin),
adverbial, e.g. 1 voziti (se), upravljati; odvesti (kolima) or even subject, e.g. 1 leteti,
preleteti (avion, ptica) given in brackets. This kind of explanation is sometimes
sufficient to clarify the sense and syntactic behaviour. In Englesko-srpskohrvatski
rečnik (1986), every distinct sense is followed by phrases or even sentences that
illustrate typical, possible and the most frequent contexts in which a particular sense
appears as well as their translations, as it is shown in the following example: e.g.
DRIVE 2. tr uterati (utjerati); to ~ cattle into a stall uterati stoku u štalu; to ~ a car
into a garage uterati auto u garažu.
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However, example sentences are needed since they clarify senses more
precisely, which helps users to grasp meaning more easily.
3.5. Labelling
In Englesko-srpskohrvatski rečnik (1986), different senses are continuously
numbered carrying the labels tr or intr and being separated by semicolons. The two
groups of senses within each entry in Englesko-hrvatski ili srpski rečnik (1993) are
marked with the roman numerals I, II and labels vt and vi. The senses are separately
numbered and marked with arabic numerals within each group of senses. Except for
the division of the entries into two groups of senses marked with roman numerals,
the system of labelling in ESSE rečnik (1998) is the same as in Englesko-hrvatski ili
srpski rečnik (1993).
In the three dictionaries, distinct senses are separated by semicolons, while
senses perceived by the lexicographer as more closely related to each other are
separated by a comma probably to mark them as the members of the same group of
related senses. However, this kind of labelling is not prominent enough and does not
appropriately correspond to the relations among the senses.
4. Conclusion
Summarising the results obtained by examining the three dictionaries presented
above according to the criteria relevant for the research on the treatment of
polysemous lexemes, it can be concluded that there are various inconsistences
regarding different aspects of tailoring the entries.
The reliance on various indicators of meaning implies inconsistency in the
methodology for determining different senses of a polysemous lexeme. Different
criteria can be used for sense discrimination, but for distinguishing distinct
subsenses of the main ones. The change in transitivity of a verb or the introduction
of a typical adverbial brings about the change in meaning. However, a derived sense
still remains closely related to the core one and as such it should be positioned as the
subsense of the corresponding main sense within an entry, e.g. main (dominant)
sense: DRIVE tr voziti (motorno vozilo); subsenses: intr voziti (umeti voziti), intr voziti
(kola voze), intr voziti (se), tr voziti (kolima). The same holds for derivative forms,
e.g. main (dominant) sense: FLY intr leteti; subsenses: preleteti, doleteti, odleteti,
uzleteti. The specific context indicated by an object or typical adverbial can be a
signal of a distinct sense possibly recognised as a result of a sense extension
mechanism distinguishing it from other possible senses. The senses which share the
same common feature on the basis of which they are derived from the core sense can
be grouped together. The most general one can be extracted as their superordinate
main sense, while the others are marked as its subsenses, e.g. DRIVE secondary main
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sense: pokretati, nositi, gurati silom u nekom pravcu; related subsenses: pokretati
(mašinu), zakucati (ekser), zabiti (kolac), kopati (tunel), udariti (loptu), etc.
As it has already been stated, main senses and their related subsenses should be
clearly distinguished. However, the flat structure of senses present in all three
dictionaries does not allow this. Thus, for polysemous verbs, a hierarchical structure
is more suitable since it provides more scope for arranging and grouping of senses.
However, it also requires a new system of labelling that would involve numbered
senses as well as subsenses following the model: 1.a, 1.b; 2.a, 2.b, e.g. FLY 1 (ptica)
leteti; 1.a leteti (letelica ili putnici u njoj); 1.b voziti avion, pilotirati; 1.c prevoziti
(nekoga avionom), etc. In this way, the distinction between the main sense and its
subsenses as well as among the subsenses themselves is more prominent in
comparison to the distinction made only by using commas and semicolons. Also,
such a system enables grouping of closely related senses under one numbered item
so that they are easily perceived as semantically close senses distinguished from
other groups of related senses. The other useful labels necessarily involve
grammatical labels vi, vt marking the transitivity of verbs, which can affect their
meanings considerably as it has been shown. Furthermore, the appropriate labels
should be put in front of the senses marked as belonging to specific areas of
knowledge, particular dialect or register. If transferred senses are marked, for
example by the label fig, it should be done consistently so that all such senses are
marked in this way.
The illustration of a typical context is indisputably required in the case of
polysemous lexemes. The precise definition of the environment in which a sense
appears is, in some cases, achieved by giving a typical subject (e.g. leteti –ptica,
avion), object (e.g. jahati – konja), adverbial (prevoziti – avionom) or a syntactic
configuration (goniti, terati sth nešto into sth u nešto, towards sth ka nečemu) in
brackets next to the sense definition. Italicising makes the illustrative items more
prominent and clearly distinguished from definitions. Sometimes additional
explanations of a sense are necessary besides a Serbian equivalent in order to make
it distinguishable from other similar senses often belonging to some other verb, e.g.
DRIVE voziti (ob. vozilo na četiri točka); RIDE voziti (voziti bicikl, motocikl).
However, example sentences and phrases are necessary to clarify more semantically
remoted transferred senses, e.g. DRIVE terati, goniti: They drove the sheep into the
field. Isterali su ovce na polje; ▪ dovoditi nekoga do nekog stanja: dovoditi nekoga
do ludila, očaja: Her stupid questions drive me mad. Njena glupa pitanja dovode
me do ludila.
The examination in question has provided an insight into the problematic issues
related to lexicographic treatment of polysemous lexemes, but also pointed to the
strategies for more efficient and user-friendlier structure and organisation of these
entries, which are illustrated by a suggested entry for an English-Serbian dictionary:
drive /draIv/, pt drove /dr@Uv/, pp driven /'drIvn/ 1. vt voziti (vehicle
motorno vozilo ob. na četiri točka), upravljati (motornim vozilom); 1.a vi voziti
(umeti voziti); 1.b vi voziti se (in a car u automobilu); 1.c vt voziti (sb nekoga),
163
povesti (sb nekoga), odvesti/odvoziti (sb somewhere nekoga nekuda) 2. vt
pokretati, nositi, gurati silom u određenom pravcu; 2.a vt pokretati, stavljati u
pogon (motor ili mašinu); 2.b vt zakucavati (ekser); 2.c vt zabijati (kolac); 2.d vt
kopati (tunel); 2.e vt udariti (loptu palicom, reketom, nogom); 2.f vt teh. startovati
(uređaj) 3. vt terati, goniti (ljude, životinje into sth u nešto, towards sth ka
nečemu): They drove the sheep into the field. Isterali su ovce na polje. 4. vt
naterati, nagnati (sb nekoga to do sth, into doing sth da (u)čini nešto ob.
nepoželjno, neprikladno): The voices in my head have nearly driven me to suicide.
Glasovi u mojoj glavi su me gotovo nagnali na samoubistvo. 4.a vt dovoditi
nekoga do nekog stanja: Her stupid questions drive me mad. Njena glupa pitanja
dovode me do ludila. drive sb to despair dovesti/dovoditi nekoga do očaja; 4b. vt
terati (nekoga na težak rad), iscrpljivati: You shouldn't drive yourself so hard. Ne
bi trebalo da se toliko iscrpljuješ.
Tailoring the entries of polysemous verbs requires precise, systematic and
consistent discrimination, structuring and organisation of senses which are, as it has
been shown, heavily context dependent. Constant adherence to the profile of users
and their needs is equally important since it ensures the user-friendliness of a
dictionary involving the easy access to distinct senses supported by the precise and
reliable information about the context in which they appear.
References
Atkins, B. T. S. and Rundell, M. (2008). The Oxford Guide to Practical
Lexicography. Oxford: OUP.
Benson, M. (ed.). (1986). Englesko-srpskohrvatski rečnik. Beograd: Prosveta.
Cruse, A. (2004). Meaning in Language. An Introduction to Semantics and
Pragmatics. 2nd edition. Oxford: OUP.
Dragićević, R. (2007). Leksikologija srpskog jezika. Beograd: Zavod za udžbenike.
Filipović, R. (ed.). (1993). Englesko-hrvatski ili srpski rečnik. Zagreb: Školska
knjiga.
Hartmann, R. R. K. (2001). Teaching and Researching Lexicography. London:
Longman.
Kovačević, J. (ed.). (1998). ESSE rečnik. Beograd: Institut za strane jezike.
Kövecses, Z. (2002). Metaphor. A Practical Introduction. Oxford: OUP.
Lyons, J. (1990). Semantics. Vol. 2. Cambridge: CUP.
Pearsall, J. (ed.) (1998). The New Oxford Dictionary of English. Oxford: OUP.
Summers, D. (ed.). (2003). Longman Dictionary of Contemporary English. Harlow:
Pearson Education.
Zgusta, L. (1971). Manual of Lexicography. Paris: Mouton.
164
Sabina Halupka-Rešetar
Novi Sad, Serbia
halupka.resetar@ff.uns.ac.rs
CLEFTS, PSEUDO-CLEFTS AND REVERSE PSEUDO-CLEFTS AS
MAJOR CONSTRUCTIONS FOR EXPRESSING INFORMATION
STRUCTURE IN ENGLISH
Abstract The present paper gives an account of cleft (e.g. It is John who I want to
marry), pseudo-cleft (Who I want to marry is John) and reverse pseudo-cleft
constructions (John is who I want to marry) in terms of their information structure
potential, i.e. whether they serve the purpose of expressing the theme or the focus of
the sentence and, in the latter case, whether it is the information focus or the
contrastive focus that each of these structures emphasizes. The second part of the
paper aims at establishing the degree of prototypicality of each of these
constructions as a means of achieving topic-focus articulation.
Keywords: cleft, pseudo-cleft, reverse pseudo-cleft, information structure, topic,
information focus, identificational focus.
1. Introduction
The aim of this paper is to give an analysis of the information structure
potential of cleft, pseudo-cleft and reverse pseudo-cleft constructions in English,
exemplified by sentences (1) to (3), respectively:
(1) It is John who I want to marry.
(2) Who I want to marry is John.
(3) John is who I want to marry.
As the above examples illustrate, English allows the option of splitting the
proposition of a simple, monoclausal sentence like (4) and expressing it with a more
complex structure.
(4) I want to marry John.
The proposition of (4) is, thus, split into John, on the one hand and I want to
marry, on the other. Some pragmatically-oriented authors, e.g. Prince (1978),
Hedberg (1990), Hedberg and Fadden 2007), among others, term the former ‘the
clefted constituent’, and refer to the latter as ‘the cleft clause’. Other, syntactically
oriented authors, like Akmajian (1970), call John the focus and the wh-clause simply
165
‘the clause’; Bošković (1997), Meinunger (1997, 1998), den Dikken (et al. 2000,
2005) and others talk about the distinction ‘counterweight’ and ‘wh-clause’, etc. For
ease of exposition and for various other reasons to be made explicit in what follows,
we shall commit ourselves to this last distinction and in our analysis of all three
constructions refer to the counterweight as set apart from the wh-clause.
The examples in (1)-(3) are clearly marked versions of the unmarked example
in (4). What is also clear is that not all three marked versions of the same sentence
will always be possible, let alone be equally appropriate in all contexts. The first
goal of this paper will be to establish whether each of the three constructions under
scrutiny serves to express the topic or the focus of the sentence. In the latter case, a
distinction will be made between information focus, which merely marks the
nonpresupposed nature of the information it carries, and identificational focus,
which expresses exhaustive information (É. Kiss 1998: 248). Secondly, the paper
aims to establish the degree of prototypicality of each of these constructions as a
means of achieving topic-focus articulation, which will be shown to follow from
pragmatic factors.
The presentation is organized in the following way: Section 2 introduces tests
which help to establish whether a given structure (any structure, not just a (subtype
of a) cleft construction) is most readily used to highlight the topic, the information
focus or the identificational focus of the sentence; Section 3 examines cleft, pseudocleft and reverse pseudo-cleft constructions in terms of the syntactic type of the
counterweight (cf. Delin 1989, Hedberg and Fadden 2007). Section 4 analyses the
(possible) topic-comment structure(s) of all three constructions (‘relational
givenness’ in terms of Gundel 1974, Gundel et al. 1993 and Gundel and Fretheim
2004). Section 5 aims to determine the degree of prototypicality of clefts as a means
of achieving topic-focus articulation. The results of the study are summarized in
Section 6.
2. The information structure potential of cleft, pseudo-cleft and reverse
pseudo-cleft constructions
Generally speaking, information structure encodes which part of an utterance is
informative in which way, in relation to a particular context. The two primitive
dichotomies of information structure are the discoursal aspect (‘givenness’) and the
sentential aspect (‘aboutness’). The former dichotomy concerns the distinction
between what is new information, advancing the discourse (‘new’ in Halliday 1967,
Chafe 1976; ‘focus’ in Dahl 1969, Chomsky 1971, Jackendoff 1972; ‘contextually
non-bound’ in Sgall et al. 1986, Hajičová 1994, Kruijff-Korbayová 1998; ‘topic’ in
Gundel 1974) and what is known, anchoring the utterance in existing knowledge or
discourse (‘old/given’ in Halliday 1967, Chafe 1976; ‘background’ in Dahl 1969;
‘presupposition’ in Chomsky 1971, Jackendoff 1972; ‘contextually bound’ in Sgall
et al. 1986, Hajičová 1994, Kruijff-Korbayová 1998; ‘comment’ in Gundel 1974).
166
The latter, the sentential aspect, distinguishes between what the utterance is about
(‘theme’ in Firbas 1964, Bolinger 1965, Halliday 1967, Vallduví and Vilkuna 1998;
‘topic’ in Sgall et al. 1986, Hajičová et al. 1998; ‘ground’ in Vallduví 1990) and
what the speaker has to say about it (‘rheme’ in Firbas 1964, Bolinger 1965,
Halliday 1967, Vallduví and Vilkuna 1998; ‘focus’ in Sgall et al. 1986, Hajičová et
al. 1998, Vallduví 1990).
Since various authors use different terms to refer to the same or similar things,
it is very important to be explicit about the terminology that will be used in this
paper. In what follows, the term ‘topic’ will be used when talking about that part of
the utterance that connects it with the preceding discourse, the point of departure for
the utterance. The standard topic tests are the “What about X?” question test and the
“as for” test: since topics are necessarily known, they can be asked about, as in (5):
(5) A: What about John? Which exam did he take?
B: (John/He took) the Phonology exam.
B’: (As for John, he took) the Phonology exam.
As the two responses in the above example illustrate, the topic, already
contained in A’s question, can be left out altogether (in fact, the answer to any
question obligatorily supplies only the part that answers the question word).
Whether overtly realized or not, it serves the purpose of connecting B’s answer to
A’s question, i.e. the context. Note that the “as for” test predicts that indefinite noun
phrases cannot be topics unless they are used with generic reference:
(6) As for a crocodile, it is a bloodthirtsty animal.
(7) *As for a pupil, she came to see me yesterday.
As already mentioned in Section 1, ‘focus’ will be specified: the label
‘information focus’ will be used when talking about that part of the utterance which
intoroduces some new information (with capitals marking this in the examples),
whereas ‘contrastive focus’ will refer to the parts of the utterance which negate
something previously said and supply a new value for it or which reinforce what was
previously said (marked by bold face print). Wh-questions are the most commonly
used to determine the information focus of an utterance. The part of the response
which corresponds to the question word in the context question or statement and
supplies new information is the information focus, as illustrated by the following
examples:
(8) A: What did John tell you?
B: He told me THE TRUTH.
Lastly, the test that will be used to decide whether an element is the contrastive
focus of the sentence is providing a context sentence or question and checking if the
167
relevant structure can be employed to negate part of it and assert something
different, as in the following example:
(9) A: Did John take the Phonology exam?
B: No, he took the Semantics exam.
Let us now apply all three tests to all the three constructions examined in order
to see what the information structure potential of each individual structure is.
It-cleft construction
(10) a. (Tell me about Peter.) – It was Peter who asked the girl out.
b. (Who asked her out?) – ?It was PETER who asked her out.
c. (John asked her out.) – (No,) it was Peter who asked her out.
Pseudo-cleft construction
(11) a. (Tell me about Peter.) – #(The one) who asked the girl out was Peter.
b. (Who asked her out?) – (The one) who asked her out was PETER.
c. (John asked her out.) – (No,) (the one) who asked her out was Peter.
Reverse pseudo-cleft construction
(12) a. (Tell me about Peter.) – Peter was (the one) who asked the girl out.
b. (Who asked her out?) – PETER was (the one) who asked her out.
c. (John asked her out.) – (No,) Peter was (the one) who asked her out.
Although the above examples conclusively demonstrate that of the structures
we are interested in here it-clefts and reverse psedoclefts pass the topic test, and all
three constructions pass the contrastive focus test, things are less clear with respect
to the information focus test. It could be the case that the marked status of the it-cleft
in (10b) is attributable to an independent factor, such as the syntactic category of the
counterweight. In order to check if this is the case, in the next section we try to
establish the differences between the three constructions in this respect.
3. The syntactic type of the counterweught in cleft, pseudo-cleft and
reverse pseudo-cleft constructions
In the previous section we showed that the it-cleft and the reverse pseudo-cleft
construction pass the topic test, and that it-clefts are less approapriate in answer to
wh-questions than the other two constructions, while all three types of clefts can be
used in contrastive contexts.
Let us now us turn to the syntactic category of the counterweight. Based on a
corpus study, Delin (1989) and Hedberg and Fadden (2007) reach similar
conclusions with respect to this issue. The former author finds that the vast majority
of reverse wh-clefts have the demonstrative pronouns that or this as the
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counterweight (or ’clefted constituent’), while VPs and clauses never occur in this
position. The situation is exactly the opposite with pseudo-clefts, while in it-clefts,
the counterweight is most frequently an NP. The results the Hedberg and Fadden
(2007) research, obtained by examining 98 cleft sentences of all three types, are
presented in the following adapted table:
question word
relative pronoun
personal pronoun
that
this
full NP
adverb
VP
clause
gerund
it-cleft
2
6
-
pseudo (wh)-cleft
7
6
11
1
reverse wh-cleft
8
4
44
3
5
1
-
Table 1: Syntactic type of counterweight (adapted from Hedberg and Fadden 2007)
While the above results are doubtlessly true, the fact that no personal pronouns
appeared as the counterweight in an it-cleft, or that no nominal clause, infinitival
clause or NP occured as the counterweight in the pseudocleft examples in a corpus
tells us little about whether these elements can indeed occur in these environments.
The impossiblity of a relative pronoun ocurring as the counterweight in it-clefts
is expected under the classical Doubly filled COMP filter of Chomsky and Lasnik
(1977), as well as more recent attempts to explain this phenomenon (e.g. Koopman
2000, Baltin 2010), which all reduce to the ungrammaticality of the sequence
*[CPWH that]. Similarly, the fact the demonstrative that fails to occur as the
counterweight of it-clefts is reducible to the general tendency of languages to avoid
sequences of homophonous words (cf. Bošković 2002). However, a simple Google
Scholar search provides us with numerous examples of the other syntactic types of
counterweights, not attested in the corpus studies mentioned above:
It-clefts
(13) It is him that I blame.
(14)
What is futile is the alternative approach, and it is this that must
now be explained.
(15)
He alone survives the shipwrecks. Alone he sets out again upon the
raft he builds. It is alone that he finally sets foot on his native soil.
(16) It was without delay that he made his bed.
(17) It is in Rome that this competition will finsally take place.
Example (13) illustrates the use of a personal pronoun as the counterweight in
an it-cleft construction; in the underlined sentence of (14), the demonstrative
169
pronoun this is clefted, whereas in (15) the adverb alone occurs in this position. A
manner and a locative PP are clefted in (16) and (17), respectively. It seems that
clauses and gerunds indeed cannot be the counterweight in it-clefts.
While it is exactly the latter three syntactic types of counterweight that
Hedberg and Fadden (2007) report to be found in pseudoclefts, in addition to NPs,
the following examples aim to complete this account. Using a wh-word as the
counterweight of a pseudocleft (18) results in a construction similar to what is
referred to as sluicing (e.g. I’d love to book one of these trips but I don’t know
which), regardless of whether it is a question word or a relativizer. However, with
the appropriate context, personal pronouns (19), demonstrative pronouns like this or
that in the underlined parts of (20) and (21), respectively, perhaps even adverbial
APs (22) or PPs (23) seem to be possible candidates for a counterweight:
Pseudo-clefts
(18)
He knows he put the keys in one of his pockets. What he doesn’t
know is which.
(19) He expected to inherit her fortune once she dies. But who died first was
him.
(20) What I dreamt was this. I was running in a cornfield, ...
(21)
I don’t like any of the jobs you’re offering. What I want to do is that
(points to a picture representing a chef cooking in a state-of-the-art
kitchen)
(22) ?How he waited for the guests was very patiently.
(23) ?Where he forgot his keys was on the cupboard.1
Reverse pseudo-clefts, which in Hedberg and Fadden’s (2007) account
appeared to be least resctrictive with respect to the syntactic type of the
counterweight, can be shown to allow also VPs and gerunds in this position:
Reverse pseudo-clefts
(24) Take up French is what I intend to do next.
(25) Going swimming is what I enjoy most.
Naturally, heavy constituents are more likely to occur in sentence final
position, which predicts that the acceptability of examples like (24) and (25) will
decrease if the counterweight is a heavier, longer or more complex structure. This,
presumably, is also the reason why that-clauses are banned from being the
counterweight of reverse cleft constructions (e.g. #That I love you is that I wanted to
say.)
1
Pseudoclefts in which the counterweight is a PP are somewhat tilted, but they sound more
natural if the wh-word in sentence initial position is preceded by the phrase the way/the manner for sa
manner adverbial, the place for a locative adverbial, or the time for a temporal adverbial (cf. Adger
2003).
170
Based on the above data and discussion, we suggest that the account of the
syntactic types of counterweight given in Table 1 be complemented as shown in
Table 2:
question word
relative pronoun
personal pronoun
that
this
full NP
adverb
VP
clause
gerund
it-cleft
+
+
+
+
+
+
-
pseudo (wh)-cleft
?
?
+
+
+
+
?
+
+
+
reverse wh-cleft
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
Table 2: An overview of the syntactic types of counterweight allowed in cleft, pseudocleft
and reverse pseudocleft constructions in English
4. The topic-comment structure of clefts
Next, we shall try to establish other similarities and differences between the
three structures and see if we can relate them to the properties of these constructions.
It was noted in Delin (1989) and summarized in Delin and Oberlander (1995) that
while clefts cannot be united a class, some generalisations based on usage can be
made about them. All clefts must convey some new information, at least by
specifying the relationship between the wh-clause and the counterweight, although
no cleft may carry only new information, even in cases where a simple declarative
might. Clefts are not good ’out of the blue’ sentences because they serve to make
special and specific links with the preceding discourse. Different types of clefts
relate to contexts in different ways (cf. Prince 1978, Delin 1989): it is not always the
counterweight that conveys new information, as was supposed in the early literature
on clefts (Akmajian 1970, Keenan 1971). In fact, if we take the topic to be what the
utterance is about and to be given in the sense that both interlocutors have previous
knowledge of it or familiarity with it, while the comment is what is said or asserted
about the topic, the new bit of information in the utterance (roughly corresponding
to É. Kiss’s ’information focus’), we find that it-clefts pattern with reverse wh-clefts
in that they allow either a topic-comment (26) or a comment-topic structure (27), i.e.
it is either the counterweight or the wh-clause that carries new information while whclefts always have a topic-comment structure (28), i.e. only the counterweight may
provide new information (or, alternatively, contrast):
(26) a. A: And does the Head know?
171
B: No. Oh, wait a minute. It was the head who arrANGED it.
(Prince 1978)
b. Mr. McLaughlin: Don’t you think resources are really being
redirected, for example, into security and into counterterrorism?
That’s where the resources are GOING. Those are going to be
the economic winners. (Hedberg & Fadden 2007)
(27)
a. Well we can do lower-level specifications of what’s needed. I
mean it’s basically PROtocols you’re specifying. (Prince 1978)
b. THIS is what I want. I want to go to Dubai.
(28) a. A: Is this what you wanted?
B: # What I ASKed for is this.
b. What I want is THIS. I want to go to Dubai.
In (26a), the counterweight the head is the topic and the verbal part of the whclause conveys new information. Similarly, in the reverse cleft example in (26b),
primary stress falls on the verb of the wh-clause, the provider of new information
(even though the counterweight is clearly also stressed, but less, according to
Hedberg and Fadden 2007). In the two clefts in (27), the situation is reverse: here,
the counterweight protocols in (27a) and the demonstrative pronoun this in (27b) is
what bears sentential stress.2 In the former example, the lower-level specifications
mentioned in the preceding sentence make the act of specifying already available in
the cleft construction, which in turn implies that the protocols represent the new bit
of information; in the latter sentence, the cataphoric counterweight this and its
referent are new to the discourse, e.g. in a situation in which friends are discussing
their wishes, so that the wh-clause what I want is already available in the discourse.
However, as the unacceptability of B’s reply suggests in the context of A’s question
in (28a), the wh-clause of pseudo-clefts may not contain the focus of the sentence.
There are various other facts that support the claim that it-clefts and reverse
wh-clefts can have a focus-topic or topic-focus organization, while pseudo-clefts can
only have a topic-focus organization. For example, the unstressed pronoun it may
occur as the counterweight in reverse pseudo-clefts, but not in pseudo-clefts,
because the counterweight of these latter has to bring new information:
(29)
a. You might not like the fact that I just called you names, but
it’s what you have been doing to ME for the past 5 years.
b. # You might not like the fact that I just called you names, but
what you have been doing to ME for the past 5 years is it.
2
While Chafe (1976) and Creider (1979) suggest that the head constituent of any cleft is focal
and that focus is marked by nuclear accent, Delin (1990) claims that in most cases a nucleus frequently
exists in both the counterweight and the wh-clause, which is closer to the view advocated in Quirk et al.
(1985). Delin (1990) thus concludes that syntax and accent “do not correlate in the way that would be
required to support the view that cleft constructions indicate the position of an accentually-marked
focal element.”
172
Thus, in the above examples, it is clearly not an expletive, but a pronoun
referring to the fact that I just called you names of the preceding sentence, and as
such, it is banned from the counterweight position of a pseudo-cleft construction.
For another example to illustrate the same point imagine the following situation: the
father arrives home only to find that his two sons have got into a fight with each
other earlier that day. One of the boys asks the father to let him play with his friends
outside, so the father consults his wife:
(30) Father: Do you think I should let him go out with his friends?
a. Mother: No, he was the one who STARted the fight!
b. Mother: # No, the one who STARted the fight was he!
Obviously, he, referring to one of the sons, is not new to the father, therefore
the infelicity of the response in (30b) is expected.
Another point, noted in Horn (1969) is that while clefting is generally
taken to specify uniqueness or exhaustiveness, like only, also and even presupposed
non-uniqueness and so they cannot be clefted, as shown in the following examples:
(31) a. It is only John who Mary kissed.
b. It is *even / *also John who Mary kissed.
However, with the appropriate context, also can occur in the topic part of itclefts and reverse wh-clefts, but not pseudo-clefts (cf. É. Kiss 1998, Hedberg and
Fadden 2007, inter alia).
(32) Why do you think John is the murderer?
a. It was John who had the motive. It was John who had the
opportunity. It was also John who found the BODY.
b. John was the one who had the motive. John was the one who had
the opportunity. John was also the one who found the BODY.
c. (The one) who had the motive was John. (The one) who had the
opportunity was John. ??(The one) who found the BODY was
also John. (Hedberg 2008)
In fact, also can occur even in the comment part of an it-cleft (33), as well as in
the topic part, but associated with the focus in the wh-clause, as in (34):
(33) A: Bill danced with Mary.
B: No, it was SAM that danced with Mary.
C: It was also JOHN that danced with her. (É. Kiss 1998)
(34) It was the President, in a rare departure from the diplomacy of caution,
who
173
initiated the successful Panama invasion. It was also Bush who
came up with the ideas of having an early, informal Malta summit
with Gorbachev and a second round of troop cuts in Europe after the
fall of the Berlin wall. [M. Dowd and T.L. Friedman, ‘The
Fabulous Bush and Baker Boys, The New York Times Magazine,
5/6/90, p. 64]. (adapted from Hedberg and Fadden 2007)
In the comment-topic it-cleft in (33), speaker B’s utterance is understood to
identify a member of the relevant set as such for which the predicate danced with
Mary holds, whereas C’s utterance adds another member to the one identified in the
previous sentence, while still excluding all other members of the relevant set (e.g. all
the other people at the party who did not dance with Mary). The underlined it-cleft
construction of (34) illustrates the fact that while also is is the topical counterweight
of the sentence, it associates with the focus in the wh-clause, resulting in the
interpretation that the President, i.e. Bush, initiated the Panama invasion as well as
the Malta summit and troop cuts.
Another consequence of the fact that it-clefts and reverse wh-clefts may have
either a topic-focus or focus-topic organization, whereas reverse clefts may have
only the former, is that it-clefts and reverse wh-clefts can have ‘vice versa’
counterparts, as in the following example:
(35) It’s not John who shot Mary. It’s Mary who shot John. (Ball and Prince
1977)
As can be observed in this example, in addition to the presupposition that clefts
obligatorily carry, as illustrated by (37) for the clefts in (36), provided both the
counterweight John and Mary of the wh-clause in (36) are stressed, as in (38), the
stressed item from the presupposition is released, when there is a matrix negation.
Thus, the presupposition of (38) is not (39a), but (39b):
(36) a. It is JOHN who shot Mary.
b. The one who I want to marry is PETER.
c. Take up FRENCH is what I intend to do.
(37) a. Somebody shot Mary.
b. I want to marry someone.
c. I intend to do something.
(38) It’s not JOHN who shot MARY. It’s MARY who shot JOHN.
(39) a. Someone shot Mary.
b. Someone shot someone.
Similarly, the presupposition carried by a reverse wh-cleft like (40), given in
(41), will change by adding extra stress within the wh-clause (42), as illustrated in
(43):
174
(40)
(41)
(42)
(43)
JOHN is the one who slapped me.
Somebody slapped me.
JOHN is the one who slapped ME.
Somebody slapped somebody.
This behaviour cannot be observed in pseudo-clefts, where extra stress does not
seem to change the presupposition. Notice in this sense the oddity of (45) and the
fact that the presupposition carried by this utterance is the same as that carried by
(44), i.e. (41) above, but not (43).
(44) The one who slapped me is JOHN.
(45) # The one who slapped ME is JOHN, not vice versa.
All the above ‘vice versa’ clefts seem to have a ‘double’ focus which, however,
is reducible to contrastive topic in the counterweight and contrastive focus in the whclause. Since in pseudo-clefts the wh-clause is necessarily the topic, it is clear that in
this construction there can be no ‘double’ focus, i.e. the topic cannot be contrastive.
Having illustrated several differences between the it-cleft and the reverse whcleft construction as opposed to the pseudo-cleft construction in English, in what
follows we shall concentrate on trying to establish the degree of prototypicality of
each of these three structures as a means of expressing topic-focus articulation.
5. Which one is more prototypical than the other(s)?
In order to decide which of the three constructions under investigation is the
most prototypical means of expressing topic-focus articulation, several factors must
be taken into account: the range of syntactic categories to which each of these can be
applied, whether they are most readily used to highlight the topic, the information
focus and/or the identificational focus of the sentence, how they relate to the context,
i.e. whether they impose any contraints onto which part of the cleft construction
must carry the new bit of information, and so on. On the basis of the data discussed
in the previous sections of this paper, one may conclude that while pseudoclefts are
less restrictive in terms of the syntactic types of counterweight, as shown in Table 2,
they only allow a topic-comment, but not a comment-topic organization, i.e. only the
counterweight may convey new information. This explains also why pseudoclefts
may never be used to highlight the topic, i.e. why they fail the topic test discussed in
Section 2. On the other hand, while it-clefts are perfect for the latter purpose, they
sound somewhat tilted in expressing information focus, unless used in a special
context, as is the case in example (27). It seems, then, that reverse pseudoclefts are
the most prototypical means of expressing topic-focus articulation, not just because
they provide a felicitous answer to the topic, information focus and contrastive focus
context question/statement, but also because it allows most syntactic types of
175
counterweight. Yet it is exactly this construction of the three that is syntactically the
most complex, which calls for additional explanation.
In order to test the conclusions reached in this paper and to determine the
frequency of usage of it-cleft, pseudocleft and reverse pseduocleft constructions in
English, a comprehensive corpus study needs to be conducted. The corpus which
would best serve the purposes of such a study should contain spontaneous speech
and should be analysed not only in syntactic and information-structure terms, but
also in prosodic terms, by identifying stress and intonation. Needless to say, such a
corpus is extremely difficult to collect, not only because cleft constructions are
marked in their very nature, but also because most of the spoken data available (TV
shows, radio programmes, etc.) do not represent spontaneous speech but rather
adhere to a script, thereby reflecting the author’s style rather than the speaker’s
discourse strategies.
6. Conclusion
The paper explores three similar constructions found in English: it-clefts,
pseudo-clefts and reverse pseudo-clefts. While at first sight they all appear to be
‘focusing’ constructions, a closer look at these reveals that ‘focusing’ can only be
understood in a very loose sense and that there is considerable difference among
them with respect to whether they express topic, information focus or contrastive
focus, in the syntactic type of elements they allow as the counterweight, and in the
topic-comment organization of information. The necessity of conducting an in-depth
research is emphasized, which will, hopefully, provide support for the ideas
expressed in this paper and reveal more about these curious constructions in English.
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178
Ana Ivandekić
Belgrade, Serbia
moj.potpis@gmail.com
SIMILES IN ENGLISH: SEMANTIC AND PRAGMATIC ASPECTS
Abstract A considerable number of current cognitive linguistic studies of similes
reduce them to metaphors, without much further analysis of the meanings and uses
involved. This paper aims to shed fresh light on the semantic and pragmatic aspects
of similes, including underlying conceptual metaphors, their typical source and
target domains, and the creative ways similes are used in fiction. It uses a corpus
analysis of 470 similes of two structural types: similes containing the linking word
as, e.g. as strong as a horse, and similes containing the linking word like, e.g. to
drop like a stone. These have been collected from seventeen modern British literary
works of different genres. The results of the research are expected to show the
existence of more diversity in the semantics and pragmatics of similes than is at
present recognized.
Key words: simile, conceptual metaphor, semantics, pragmatics, cognitive
linguistics.
1. Introduction
More often than not, similes have been somewhat neglected by linguists. This
is due to the simple structure by which they explicitly compare two entities.
Nevertheless, metaphors have been explored at great length and similes have
sometimes fallen in the same category. This paper aims to look into the semantic
and pragmatic aspects of similes from a cognitive point of view, including
underlying conceptual metaphors.
A simile is defined as a figure of speech by which two unlike entities are
compared using copulas as and like. In addition to the member which we compare
(i.e. the target domain) and the member by which we compare it (i.e. the source
domain), similes contain ‘tertium comparationis’ – the part that expresses the feature
by which we compare the two entities. The target domain is actually the domain
which we try to understand through the source domain. The semantic-pragmatic
distinction is made in general terms, relying mostly on the standpoint that semantics
refers to the stable meaning of language, whereas “pragmatics is about the
interaction of semantic knowledge with our knowledge of the world, taking into
account contexts of use” (Griffiths 2006: 1).
As for the cognitive approach to the research, it needs to be said that cognitive
linguistic theorists believe that in a linguistic sense, similes are not at all different
from metaphors - that is to say, similes are based on metaphors as a cognitive
179
mechanism. This means that not only metaphors but also similes contain an
underlying conceptual metaphor in their structure. For example, if we say Peter is as
stubborn as a mule, the conceptual metaphor we have used is HUMAN IS ANIMAL,
but at the level of linguistic expressions this conceptual metaphor is expressed in
language by means of a simile. Given the fact that metaphors and similes function
on the same bases, their source and target domains should be the same; however, the
conceptual metaphor in similes is much more explicit.
There is also a certain level of dilemma regarding the difference between
similes and comparison and the extent to which they actually differ. Comparison is a
linguistic mechanism that covers a wide range of linguistic expressions through
which it can be conveyed, and simile is one of them. For instance, we can see in the
examples she had eyes shaped like almonds, a cheetah is faster than a rabbit and
this place reminds me of my home town, that although comparing two entities is
evident, these do not involve similes, as similes compare two unlike entities - a
feature that puts them closer to metaphor. This leads us to make a distinction
between direct (i.e. literal) comparisons, e.g. she had eyes shaped like almonds, and
similes, e.g. her eyes were as blue as sapphires. While not all comparisons are
similes, all similes are comparisons (Bredin 1998: 73). Literal similes are actually
direct comparisons (e.g. roses are as expensive as violets), whereas metaphoric
similes are ‘real’ similes (e.g. my love is like a red, red rose), namely comparisons
involving conceptual metaphors, which is the distinction the paper is based on.
A corpus of 470 similes has been collected from seventeen modern British
literary works of various genres and authors, including Julian Barnes, Helen
Fielding, Terry Pratchett and Sue Townsend, to name a few1. All of the examples
used in the analysis belong to this corpus. Similes which contain clauses such as go
on like some clockwork toy that won’t change direction until it bumps into
something or beam like a flower blossoming in the sun have not been included as a
part of this study due to their complex structure, with the exception of a few
examples used mainly to illustrate their function and diversity.
As Black (1979: 20) points out, even today, we still encounter the problem that
figures of speech in general are considered metaphorical. This disregards substantial
differences between metaphor and other figures, such as simile, metonymy,
synecdoche and others. Therefore, one of the aims of this paper is to try to account
for viewing simile as a separate category.
2. Semantic aspects of similes
The semantic aspects of similes dealt with in this paper are mainly semantic
idiomatization and sense relations which involve synonymy and antonymy.
1
For the full list of literary works included in the corpus as well as the corpus itself, see:
Ivandekić (2009: 107-118).
180
According to the level of idiomatization, there are two types of similes: (1) creative
similes, which emerge on a daily basis in speech as well as in written texts
(especially literature); (2) conventionalized similes, which are often semantically
lexicalized. Conventionalized similes are sometimes called dead similes; creative
similes are called alive similes. This refers to the fact that conventionalized similes
have lost their figurativeness and have become literal – that is, they only one
meaning (Bredin 1998: 77).
2.1. Semantic idiomatization of similes
Semantic idiomatization involves 'semantic restructuring', a process in which a
phrase or a part of its components gets a new meaning. Idiomatization can take place
at any one element of the expression; however, idiomatization of the left part of the
simile is extremely rare. One example of this type is the simile as nutty as a
fruitcake (meaning 'crazy'). Decrementation of the right part is much more common.
Similes most often undergo partial idiomatization when at least one of the elements
retains its meaning on the basis of which the whole phrase can be defined. Some
examples of this are dumb as a heifer, as crazy as a bedbug, dotty as doughnut, as
sick as a parrot, right as rain and get on like a house on fire. A considerable number
of these similes refer to adjectives with negative associative meaning, such as
stupidity and craziness. Despite a lack of logical connection between the source and
its target domain, these expressions fulfil their function and their meaning is easily
understood.
There is another type of idiomatization of similes, which refers to a few
conventionalized phrases used to intensify the meaning of the expression by
intensifying the meaning of tertium comparationis. Source domains in these phrases
have lost their meaning up to a certain extent. The examples include lexical links
like hell, like mad, like a lunatic, like a maniac, like a madman. These expressions in
most cases do not carry negative connotations (e.g. like hell, like mad and like a
lunatic), although the possibility is not excluded, especially in creative links (e.g.
smoke and snivel like mad psychopath, grin/simper like an idiot).
2.2. Lexical relations
Lexical relations presented in this chapter involve synonymy and antonymy.
Synonymy represents equivalence in meaning, whereas antonymy embodies the
opposite meaning of two lexemes or lexical link.
Synonymy among similes is rarely complete because each source domain (even
when describing the same target domain) maps its features in a specific way
depending on the characteristics of the target domain. Thus by highlighting certain
target domains, different elements are given to the meaning of the simile. For
example, talk like a movie has the meaning 'to talk a lot'; talk like a dictionary can
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have the same meaning, however it also implies that the person uses specific
vocabulary and words not so common in everyday communication. The similes
sharp as a knife and sharp as scimitars mean ‘very sharp’, as do sharp as a needle
and sharp as icicles, but depending on the physical characteristics and appearance of
the target domain, the appropriate source domain is chosen. Some of the choices are
the result of a wish to convey a certain effect (e.g. grin like a Cheshire cat/ an idiot/
a necrophiliac in a morgue), such as to add humour or a negative feeling. Finally,
there are similes in which differences are not so obvious: stand like a statue/ a
beacon/ waxworks; tremble like a harpstring/ an aspen leaf; as thin as wet crepe/ a
whistle/a straw/a wire/ a stick insect; as pale as ghouls/ glaciers/ snow/ smoke; as
blind as bat/ a kitten; as bald as a newt/ an egg, etc.
It is worth noting that similes with the source domain of PIG often appear as
synonymous pairs of other similes, but entailing additional negative connotative
meaning. Moreover, since they are closely related to the qualities such as excessive
weight, dirtiness and an untidy way of life, these animals are almost seen as an
embodiment of negative qualities in a rather wide sense. Describing a big eater can
be done using two similes - eat like a horse and eat like a pig, but bearing in mind
that eat like a pig involves an element of voracity and sloppiness. For the same
reason, together with the expression as drunk as a lord (meaning ’very drunk’) there
is also as drunk as a pig, which is a way to transfer a lack of measure in eating to
drinking as well, implying a possibly indecent way of behaviour in the state of
drunkenness. Although fatness generally carries negative implications and in spite of
the fact that the following expressions both mean 'very fat', that of fat like a pig is
still more pejorative than fat as a pincushion.
Antonymy among similes also exists, but the number of examples found in the
corpus is considerably smaller. In addition, the number of similes in which
antonymy is related to the change of only one element is insignificant, as shown in
phrases get on like a house on fire and get along as easily as cats in the sack. Other
examples involve completely different lexemes in an antonymous relation, e.g.
vanish like smoke and appear like a ghost; a face as white as snow and a face like a
furnace. Nevertheless, most examples were adjectival similes: as brainy as Einstein;
as dumb as a heifer/ a stump; as cool as paint; as alert and jittery as a long-tailed
cat in a rocking chair factory.
3. Pragmatic aspects of similes
As has already been implied, pragmatic features of similes are quite deeply
intertwined with their semantic features. As Anna Papafragou puts it, “The issue of
adjudicating between semantic and pragmatic aspects of lexical meaning is one of
the most thorny ones in theoretical linguistics” (Papafragou, 1996: 11).
Similes very often involve some extralinguistic elements, i.e. ‘knowledge of
the world’. These are elements which speakers incorporate into their language
depending on the culture or background which they belong to, and/ or some other
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social or psychological reality. Knowledge of the world can vary in terms of
generality and therefore so can similes that comprise elements of such knowledge
(Prćić 1998: 87, according to Leech 1981: 158).
Some similes are more general in character, as they refer either to world history
or are conditioned by religion. The reference can be made towards either world or
national history, e.g. behave like a proper little cave-person or fallen like the stock
market in 1929. Similes with reference to religion originate mainly in the Bible, e.g.:
as rich as Creosote; as bedinized as Jezebel; fallen like Lucifer; part like the Red
Sea; fall like mighty Daedalus; tumble down like the walls of Jericho.
They can also be motivated by cultural or social causes so comprehension of
them requires knowing these elements. Examples include the phrases as brainy as
Einstein, look like Ken, as frequently as the passing of Halley’s Comet and charmed
like (so many) cobras. Within this category we can also recognize similes created
under the influence of literary works, such as grin like a Cheshire cat or feel like
Dorothy, the latter depending on the listener’s/ reader’s knowledge of the world (i.e.
the knowledge of the main character of The Wizard of Oz). In the process, the target
domain is 'enriched' by adding new features, whereas the source domain retains all
its characteristics. Some similes are so specific to the society in which they
originated that they are unlikely to be recognized outside of them (examples include
as-subtle-as-a-Frankie-Howerd-sexual-innuendo style, as happy as sand boys,
drunk as lords, go off like a Claymore mine and come on like Old Bill).
On the other hand, all that is needed at times is a general impression. For
instance, the expression grin like a necrophiliac in a morgue clearly carries a
negative connotation which is sound enough to be immediately understood, although
the reader is invited to create an image of the situation. Examples like these do not
refer to our general knowledge or experience, but leave it to our imagination to infer
the actual meaning of the expression (Hanks 2005). Likewise with the simile that
describes someone like a monkey with a key to banana plantation. While it is highly
unlikely that someone has ever seen such a monkey, or that a monkey would even
behave in this way, this simile draws on our (stereotypical) knowledge of monkeys
and creates an image of a person who is exhilarated to the point of acting in a silly
way. Similarly, the simile as alert and jittery as a long-tailed cat in a rocking chair
factory creates an image in our mind based primarily on our imagination. Despite
not being based on specific knowledge or experience, the image is so selfexplanatory that the intended message is conveyed and thus its communication
successful.
One of the pragmatic elements of similes is the already-mentioned use of the
source domain PIG. Although a drunken pig is not a common part of a person’s
experience (or ever likely to be, for that matter), the image is descriptive enough to
help us connect it with general knowledge and imagination, creating a picture of a
dirty person who is misbehaving and greatly under the influence of alcohol.
In addition, similes are influenced by the culture in which they originated to the
extent that creating links and phrases will depend more on people's subjective beliefs
than on objective facts. This can be seen in the examples blind as a bat, keen-eyed
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as an owl or crazy as a coot. In spite of the fact that bats are not blind or that coots
are not crazier than any other animal, speakers will understand each other and
communication will flow (since these are common beliefs that both speaker and
listener/s are aware of).
Similes are quite often used in an ironic way and for humorous effects. In these
cases it is necessary to perceive them in their context and thus decide on their
meaning. For instance, the expression as internally likely as a lead lifebelt is clearly
not a literal one, as we know from our experience that lead cannot float, so we
automatically look for other possible interpretations of the utterance.
The pragmatic features of similes, and more importantly, our world and
linguistic knowledge together, enable us to decipher them even when they are not
full or explicitly stated. This can be seen in the following examples:
Using a metaphor in front of a man as unimaginative as Ridcully was like a red
rag to a bu- was like putting something very annoying in front of someone who was
annoyed by it.2
When you're a single mother, you're far more likely to end up thinking in
feminist clichés. You know, all men are bastards, a woman without a man is like a
. . . a . . . something without a something that doesn't have any relation to the first
something;
all that stuff.3
By relying on readers’ cultural knowledge, authors play with words in
unexpected ways, creating humorous effects without impeding the communication.
Indeed, even if the reader does not specifically know the phrase the allusion is made
to but is familiar with the English-speaking culture, the effect is still achieved.
4. Conceptual analysis
Conceptual analysis focuses on identifying the conceptual metaphors that are
used most frequently and through which source and target domains. Furthermore, it
would be interesting to determine the relationship between conventionalized and
creative similes in literature, as well the extent to which creative similes (as opposed
to conventionalized similes) are used in this type of texts.
A great majority of similes from the corpus refer to descriptions of human
beings, their general characteristics and feelings. After this, the most frequent are
those that refer to abstract notions and things, with many fewer referring to animals
and some to situations in life. For the sake of easier study, these areas are divided
into five categories, according to the target domain (the categorisation is based on
the one used by Prodanović-Stankić (2008) and Fink-Arsovski (2002)): the domain
of human being, the domain of animals, the domain of objects, the domain of the
abstract and other domains.
2
3
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Pratchet, T. (1993). Lords and Ladies. Corgi Books, London
Hornby, N. (2002). How to be Good. Riverhead Books, New York
4.1. The domain of human being
The most diverse domain by far is that of the human being, with similes
referring to physical characteristics, character, feelings and states, behaviour and
interpersonal relationships. Amongst these, the most significant parts tend to be the
ones with the underlying conceptual metaphor HUMAN IS ANIMAL and HUMAN IS
THING, which are found in all subgroups.
The domain of physical appearance comprises various similes, from ones that
describe general physical appearance and elements (such as height and build or
beauty and ugliness), to ones that focus on specific characteristics or parts of the
body (such as the face and body or senses and bodily functions). The following
examples illustrate each category: as strong as a horse, as shrivelled as prunes, look
like death, (have) eyes like ancient seas, go from red to green faster than a set of
traffic lights, a stare like a diamond drill, (a grip) as tough as tempered steel. The
examples in the domain of physical appearance are much more numerous with
respect to the pattern HUMAN IS THING than the same domain within the pattern
HUMAN IS ANIMAL - in other words, when illustrating physical appearance, things
are used in the process rather than animals. Likewise, within the same conceptual
metaphor, the target domain contains parts of human body more frequently than
human being as a whole.
The domain of character is not as diverse as the domain of physical appearance.
The dominating conceptual metaphors are the same insofar as similes that describe
human character through animals in target domains are more numerous than the
ones with objects. The character traits depicted are tenderness, agility, stubbornness,
attitude to work and others (e.g. as gentle as a lamb, as frisky as a ferret, cunning as
a fox, as patient as a brick); two categories in which animals prevail as source
domains that are especially frequent are stupidity and craziness, as can be seen in the
examples dumb as a heifer/ a stump, crazy as a coot/ bedbug, stubborn as a mule/
pig and as direct as a lorry.
The domain of human feelings and states illustrates health, attraction,
happiness and unhappiness, love, sexual attraction, anger and fear (where fear makes
up a rather broad category), as well as sleeping and death. Examples include as sick
as a dog, fly as high as a kite, wretched as the grass beneath the foot, cling to
somebody like a wet shower-curtain and frown like thunder. Some other interesting
metaphors observed were GOOD IS UP, SAD IS DOWN, HUMAN IS NATURAL FORCE,
FALLING ASLEEP IS DYING. Within the domain, feelings also appear as target
domains and are described through animals and things, but besides these common
patterns (HUMAN IS ANIMAL/THING), there are also metaphors EMOTION IS HOT
FLUID IN CONTAINER or BODY IS CONTAINER FOR EMOTIONS (e.g. anger rose in me
like boiling milk), as well as ABSTRACT IS CONCRETE (e.g. suck in happiness like a
long flexible, infragible strand of pasta) and EMOTIONS ARE HUMAN. These are used
to describe hate, shame, hope, gratitude, love.
185
The domain of behaviour and interpersonal relationships contains examples
which illustrate posture and movement, speech, attitude towards food, drink and
work, and relationships with other people. Besides the usual conceptual metaphors
(e.g. stand out like a copper lighthouse, pace around the room like a rattled lion,
demand food like cuckoos), this domain comprises some less common ones such as
HUMAN IS NATURAL FORCE when describing the speed of movement (e.g. travel
rapidly as lightening), or HUMAN IS MACHINE when describing work (e.g. puff like
the largest railway engine).
The illustration of interpersonal relationships includes two examples with the
underlying metaphor HUMAN IS THING. One of them describes people who get along
extremely well (get on like a house on fire) and the other describes people who are
completely different (as different as chalk from cheese/ (be) like chalk and cheese).
The same characteristics described by the latter can also be represented by the simile
get along as easily as cats in the sack with the underlying metaphor HUMAN IS
ANIMAL, whereas closeness is shown with the expression as close as a heartbeat.
The domain of human mind and thought involves several different metaphors.
The human mind is most often compared to a machine - therefore the conceptual
metaphor in question is HUMAN MIND IS A MACHINE. By using this metaphor, the
way of functioning of a machine is mapped to the way of functioning of the human
mind (as in the example powerful like a locomotive (target domain: INTELLECT)). In
addition, the mind can be also compared to a sharp object to highlight its
perceptiveness and quick-wittedness (e.g. mind like an arrowhead), as well as being
compared to animals (as cool as a bald mammoth, flip around like a fish) when
describing its calmness or lethargy and worry or restlessness.
4.2. The domains of animals and objects
Animals and objects are not common elements of description in similes. While
is quite a productive metaphor, the opposite (ANIMAL IS HUMAN)
is not the case. The most frequently used is ANIMAL IS THING, followed by ANIMAL
IS MACHINE (e.g. bright little birds pecking away between their teeth like distraught
dental hygienists; (run) straight as a bullet (target domain: ASLAN, THE LION); purr
like an engine (target domain: TOM, THE CAT)). When describing animals, the most
common source domain is SPEED, so the adequate underlying metaphor is ANIMAL IS
NATURAL PHENOMENON – e.g. spring like a spark of lightning.
Objects are rarely described through living beings, be it animals or people, for
which reason the number of examples noted in this group is quite small. Amongst
those recorded are: cling to the sea anchors like a mountain climber to a rope (target
domain: THE BOAT); leap like a salmon (target domain: THE SWORD); fly down like
rain (target domain: ARROWS). A certain number of examples contain the conceptual
metaphor CONCRETE IS ABSTRACT (e.g. crush as easily as timid love (target domain:
LINEN)), but objects tend to be represented through objects, thus constructing direct
comparisons and not similes.
HUMAN IS ANIMAL
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4.3. The domain of the abstract
The domain of the abstract encompasses general abstract notions as well as
linguistic notions and fantastic elements. Since these notions are impalpable and
seen as remote, they are described through more concrete concepts so as to be more
easily understood. This is why we find here target domains such as NATURE,
CHILDHOOD, SILENCE, IDEAS, MEMORIES, RUMOURS, most of which are described
through conceptual metaphor ABSTRACT IS CONCRETE (e.g. take over like the
automatic pilot on an airplane (target domain: NATURE); heavy as a greatcoat (target
domain: SILENCE)). The situation is similar when linguistic notions are represented,
involving notions such as phrases, arguments, questions, comments, and even plots,
as illustrated in the following examples: fall over themselves like dominoes in a line
(target domain: WORDS); explode inside head like fireworks (target domain:
QUESTIONS); be like rusted machinery (target domain: PLOTS). As the corpus
compiles a few works of popular literature with fantastic elements, some similes
reflect these features, too. The concepts mentioned are magic and spells, both of
which contain underlying metaphor ABSTRACT IS CONCRETE, as well as ABSTRACT
IS ANIMATE when referring to spells (rise through the university like a tide (target
domain: MAGIC); sit like an old toad at the bottom of a pond (target domain:
SPELL)). They are both often given characteristics of living beings.
4.4. Other domains
This category includes the domains of geographic notions, natural phenomena
and situations. Within the domain of geographic notions, the source domains noted
are MOUNTAINS, RIVERS, GROUND, LAKES and STARS (e.g. wind away like a silver
snake (target domain: RIVER); have a halo like an angel (target domain: MOUNTAIN).
The domain of situations includes only a few examples, as these were not in the
focus of this research but serve rather as an illustration (e.g. Every time I catch his
eye or hear his voice, it's like a dart to my chest). While neither of the
aforementioned domains is particularly productive, the domain of NATURAL
PHENOMENA is much more diverse. This is not surprising because people have been
trying to explain natural phenomena since the ancient times as something remote
and unattainable, so this tendency is reflected in the language even today. The notion
of natural phenomena is used here in a rather wide sense since it includes day and
night, light and darkness, natural disasters, and life and death. The most common
underlying metaphor is ABSTRACT IS CONCRETE as seen in the following: drop like
jewels through the fresh foliage (target domain: LIGHT), sharp as icicles (target
domain: CHILL), spread out like ripples in a puddle (target domain: SILENCE).
187
5. Function of similes in literary texts
The main motivation for creating similes is a similarity between two concepts.
This does not necessarily need to be objective; it depends largely on human
experience, cultural background and on the general knowledge of the person
creating it. Therefore, it is not surprising that similes are sometimes used to
highlight the differences as much as similarities between two entities.
Similes give us insight into a culture or mentality of a people, since in many
cases they take their inspiration from deeply-rooted beliefs, emphasize values, or
criticize flaws. These are expressed through conceptual metaphors in the underlying
structure of similes and are of course especially characteristic for dead similes.
Besides enabling us to see the world from a different perspective by creating
new links between entities, similes also help us express ourselves more precisely
and more vividly, as well as broadening the use of linguistic devices.
Similes in popular texts are used for establishing direct links with the reader’s
general knowledge, and in journalism as an illustration of behaviour as well as
experience (e.g. it was, she says, like belonging to a very exclusive, exciting club).
However, they are perhaps used most in literature where, aside from their aesthetic
function, they are often creative and used in such a way as to surprise the reader and
make common things unusual (Pierini 2007: 24). As such, they create countless
possibilities for playing with words and meanings:
The sorcerer had offered to replace everything as good as new, all wood
sparkling, all stone unstained, but the Librarian had been very firm on the subject.
He wanted everything replaced as good as old.4
On the other hand, unlike metaphors, which are mainly used to describe human
character and behaviour, similes often describe physical appearance. Their role is
also to intensify the meaning expressed by tertium comparationis, or to determine it
more closely. For example, the simile as stubborn as a mule has the meaning 'very
stubborn', 'eat like a horse' means 'to eat a lot' and 'get on like a house on fire' means
'to get on very well'.
Similes can have humorous effect too, especially the ones that appear in
literary texts:
It was Twoflower. Since early morning he had been like a monkey with the key
to the banana plantation after discovering he was breathing the same air as the
greatest hero of all time.5
In this sense, authors can compare the most unusual notions, such as [the] sun
dawned like a badly poached egg or grin like a necrophiliac in a morgue. More
often than not, humorous effects are achieved by using irony, so that a phrase
expresses completely the opposite meaning from the one seen on the surface something that can be noted in the following examples: as-subtle-as-a-Frankie-
4
5
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Pratchet, T. (1993). Lords and Ladies. Corgi Books, London
Pratchet, T. (1986). The Light Fantastic. Corgi Books, London
Howard-sexual-innuendo style (meaning 'not subtle at all'); as exciting and
dangerous as a bedroom slipper ('not exciting at all); as internally likely as a lead
lifebelt ('not likely at all').
Similes can be used creatively in a wide variety of forms, with the user's aims
ranging from producing the most beautiful descriptions to one-off puns.
We can build dams, like a beaver, without love. We can organize complex
societies, like the bee, without love. We can travel long distances, like the albatross
without love. We can put our head in the sand, like the ostrich without love. We
can die out as a species, like the dodo without love.6
The use of simile when describing an entity is often much more than just the
mere comparison of a characteristic - it gives a more complete picture of the target
domain. This can be seen for example in the phrase yawn like a lion, where the
source domain can attribute mainly tiredness and boredom to the target domain, but
also indirectly calmness, power, physical strength or insensibility/ apathy to
influence from the environment. In situations like this, the attributes do not exclude
each other but serve the same purpose (a feature especially characteristic of literary
similes). In addition, besides giving more freedom to the author in the sense of way
and purpose of their usage, readers also have more freedom when interpreting them.
6. Results
The analysis showed that the two most productive metaphors by far are HUMAN
IS ANIMAL and HUMAN IS THING, as more than half of the examples from the corpus
contain people as the target domain. Besides people, abstract notions can work as
target domains, too. Similes are also used to describe animals and things but to a
much lesser degree; there were also some examples which contained notions related
to language and to fantastic elements in target domains; in addition, situations can be
the target domain of similes.
While all these elements can be found in source domains as well, it is clear that
some tendencies do exist. When depicting people, animals prevail in similes
describing behaviour, whereas things are mostly used to illustrate physical
appearance (especially parts of human body) where the conceptual metaphor HUMAN
PROPERTIES ARE PROPERTIES OF INANIMATE THINGS is quite prominent. Moreover,
animals are more numerous in the case of human character or emotions.
Furthermore, despite the fact that source domains are mostly concrete and palpable
notions (e.g. animals and objects), they can also be abstract notions like feelings, or
more commonly, natural phenomena.
It is remarkable how we emphasize and criticize negative characteristics more
often than praise positive ones, no matter which conceptual metaphor is used.
Domestic animals are a more frequent source domain than wild animals when
6
Barnes, J. (1990). History of the World in 10½ Chapters. Picador, London
189
illustrating negative character or physical traits - in this sense the pig is particularly
exploited, as it never appears in similes with positive traits, and even in negative
ones, it appears just as often in logical links as it does in completely illogical ones.
There are a number of other conceptual metaphors which are not so frequent.
Some of them are HUMAN IS ABSTRACT and CONCRETE IS ABSTRACT. Natural
phenomena can describe feelings, e.g. anger is described through a storm and
calmness through a breeze, so the metaphor is HUMAN IS NATURAL FORCE. Other
conceptual metaphors related to feelings are HAPPY IS UP (i.e. BEING HAPPY IS BEING
OFF THE GROUND), SAD IS DOWN, EMOTION IS HOT FLUID IN CONTAINER or BODY IS
CONTAINER FOR EMOTIONS, and CLOSENESS IS AFFECTION. Additionally, man is
compared to a machine, giving us HUMAN IS A MACHINE and HUMAN MIND IS A
MACHINE. Other interesting metaphors are: FALLING ASLEEP IS DYING, LOVE IS
COMMODITY, QUANTITY IS VERTICALITY, WORDS ARE SHARP OBJECTS. These are not
illustrated with a lot of examples, but they obviously exist in our minds as such.
It also needs to be said that there is a relatively high level of overlap between
simile and metaphor in literature, and that this connection represents a rather
powerful means of communication:
He had quite a powerful intellect, but it was powerful like a locomotive, and
ran on railscand was therefore almost impossible to steer.7
In comparison with the typical source and target domains in conceptual
metaphors which were established by Kövecses (2004), the results obtained in this
research are somewhat different. It appears that in regards to similes the human body
is rarely present as a source domain, but it is a common target domain. In addition,
the domains of ILLNESS, GAMES AND SPORT, BUYING and SELLING are not as
frequent, yet in both investigations we find ANIMALS, MACHINES, BUILDINGS, LIGHT
and DARKNESS, HEAT and COLD. On the topic of target domains, the mutual ones are
the domains of EMOTIONS, WISHES, MORAL CATEGORIES, THINKING and
COMMUNICATION, HUMAN RELATIONS, EVENTS and TIME; in contrast to Kövecses’s
(2004) conclusion, similes rarely contain domains of life, and religion, politics and
economy are almost non-existent. It is worth mentioning however that the nature of
the corpus researched must be taken into account, so in this sense these differences
are not quite unexpected.
The research carried out by Omazić (2002) (which involved looking into
conventionalized similes in English and Croatian on the corpus gathered mainly
from dictionaries) indicated that verbal similes in English are by and large limited to
verbs such as be, have, feel, eat, drink and look like. On the other hand, while these
similes are indeed more numerous than others, judging by the corpus gathered from
modern British literature, creative similes involve a much wider and more diverse
range of verbs being used to express the left part of a simile.
7
190
Pratchet, T. (1993). Lords and Ladies. Corgi Books, London
7. Conclusions
It is quite difficult to come to general conclusions on source and target domains
in similes, since everything is allowed so long as the author of the text manages
successfully to illustrate the link between two notions without causing a break in
communication. Furthermore, the situation in literature is considerably different to
that of speech, where dead similes are much more present. In addition, besides
poetic (i.e. creative) similes being much more frequently used, the extent to which
they are used is largely dependent on the author and his/ her literary style.
Some authors consider similes to be clichés and as such a feature of bad style.
This is particularly true of conventionalized similes for this reason such authors do
not use them (Omazić 2002). However, since they are quite an illustrative device,
other authors use similes in creative ways, modifying them transforming them to
create new, powerful and expressive pictures. Terry Pratchett wittily explains the
essence of understanding (or misunderstanding) similes: “Poets always get it wrong.
'S’ like ’she had lips like cherries.' Small, round, and got a stone in the middle?
Hah!”. It is precisely because of this creativity that the limitations on similes have
moved, causing creative similes to be less idiomatic and more prone to changes and
transformations. In literary texts, even conventionalized similes often get different
shapes, as they are decorated with additional elements and so made novel and
creative.
The research has shown some implications for why we should reconsider
defining similes as widened metaphors, as well as implications for their usage.
Unfortunately, this study has not taken into account more complex similes
containing clauses; however, they would certainly provide some interesting bases for
another research. Another area that has been rather under-explored are similes in the
Serbian language, particularly creative similes and their equivalents in English. The
comparison of these two languages might indicate if and how the mechanisms for
creating similes are the same, and may also provide some implications relevant for
language learning.
References
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Thought. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 19-43.
Bredin, H. (1998). “Comparisons and similes”. Lingua 105: 67-78.
Fink-Arsovski, Ž. i dr. (2006). Hrvatsko-slavenski rječnik poredbenih frazema.
Zagreb: KNJIGRA.
Grifiths, P. (2006). An Introduction to English Semantics and Pragmatics.
Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press
Hanks, P. (2005). “Similes and Sets”. Available at http://www.patrickhanks.com/
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Ivandekić, A. (2009). Poredbe u engleskom jeziku: strukturni i sadržinski aspekti.
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Lakoff, G. and Johnson, M. (1980). Metaphors We Live By. Chicago: The
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Omazić, M. (2002). “O poredbenom frazemu u engleskom i hrvatskom jeziku“.
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Pierini, P. (2007). “Simile in English: From description to translation“. Círculo de
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Prćić, T. (1997). Semantika i pragmatika reči. Sremski Karlovci, Novi Sad:
Izdavačka knjižarnica Zorana Stojanovića.
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jeziku. Beograd: Zadužbina Adrejević.
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Tamara Jevrić
Belgrade, Serbia
tamarajevric@yahoo.com
THE STUDY OF THE PROBLEM OF ABSOLUTE SYNONYMS
IN RELATION TO THEIR COLLOCATIONAL BEHAVIOUR
Abstract Absolute synonyms are defined as words which pass the test of
substitutability or interchangeability. This diagnostic tool for synonymy
theoretically allows the possibility of existence of absolute synonyms. The
immediate objective of this study was to prove absolute synonymy an impossibility.
For this purpose we created the corpus by collecting the synonyms explicitly given
in the so-called ‘extra column’ in two dictionaries: the Collins Cobuild Dictionary
for Advanced Learners and the Oxford Advanced Learner’s Dictionary. We
analysed the circumstances in which these words appear by examining their
collocational behaviour. For this purpose the Oxford Collocations Dictionary was
used. In the examination we have not encountered pairs of synonyms with all
matching collocational attributes. This discovery demonstrates that absolute
synonymy is non-existent and it completes our understanding about the complexity
of the issue.
Key words: absolute synonymy, collocational behaviour of synonyms,
existence of absolute synonyms.
non-
1. Introduction to synonymy
The term ‘synonymy’ comes from the Greek word sunōnumon meaning
‘having the same name’. Synonymy refers to the phenomenon of different words
having the same or nearly the same meaning. Such words are called synonymous,
namely they are synonyms of each other. Thus for stare we can provide a litany of
synonyms such as gape, gawp, gaze, glare, goggle, look fixedly, peer. Similarly, for
argument we can list altercation, bickering, dispute, feud, quarrel, row, squabble,
wrangle and many more. From these examples we can say that for words to be
called synonymous they need to have the same (or nearly the same) basic meaning.
The basic meaning of the above-mentioned examples is: looking at something for an
extended period and a disagreement which varies in intensity.
Synonymy is a salient linguistic phenomenon and many distinguished linguists
have given significant attention to it. However, for people who approach the subject
without much care, synonymy seems to be quite simple. The idea about the same or
virtually the same meaning sounds perfectly sustainable. This explanation is
satisfactory, but beneath this uncomplicated definition there is an underlying
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complexity of the issue. This is the reason why we have chosen this subject. We
want to show that synonymy and lexical synonymy in particular are anything but
simple. Synonymous words can, in fact, differ on many levels. Their shades and
nuances of meaning, however subtle, can create an important alteration, if we
attempt to use two synonymous words interchangeably in one sentence. We will
now produce the levels on which we distinguish between synonyms, showing that
they vary in meaning.
native – foreign
geographical dialects
temporal dialects
social dialects
register
euphemisms – dysphemisms
collocations
denotation – connotation
freedom – liberty
aerial – antenna
girl – damsel
man – dude
pulchritudinous – beautiful
stupid – dumb as a box/bucket of hair
blossom – flower
public servant – bureaucrat
Table 1: Synonym classification
As previously shown, there are enumerating ways in which synonyms may
differ, thereby when we speak of synonymy, we mean varying degrees of synonymy.
Does that mean that a synonym pair must contain two words which are different in
some regard or that synonymy requires that two words be identical in every possible
sense and context? The rule is this: two words that are synonymous would have to
be interchangeable in all their possible (sentential) contexts of use. The choice
would have no effect on the register, connotation or any other attribute already
shown, or in any way change what was being said or written. This diagnostic tool
for synonymy is called substitutability or interchangeability and it is accepted by
many theorists. Two words are interchangeable as long as all their meanings match.
As soon as one meaning falls outside the shared area, they are no longer considered
synonyms. Synonyms that fit into this definition are known as absolute synonyms.
Cruse contrasts them with cognitive synonyms. Some choose categorical synonyms,
others decide on strict synonyms.
Another type of synonyms is called near-synonyms. Cruse uses the term
plesionyms instead. The term pseudo-synonyms is also used. Near-synonyms are
words that are close but not identical in meaning. All the synonyms that we have
introduced are near-synonyms and they are found in dictionaries of synonymy and
thesauri, and when people think of synonyms, they actually think of near-synonyms.
The most important feature two near-synonyms should have in common is
denotation. The more features they share, the more similar they are, until they reach
the point of absolute similarity. Near-synonyms may be similar from a lesser to a
higher degree.
Some linguists speak of analytic synonymy being opposed to synthetic
synonymy but since these types are more connected with sentential synonymy (with
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comparison of expressions and the individual words within them, to be more
precise), their meaning and analysis do not concern us.
After establishing the basic division of synonyms, without going into too much
detail (since linguists approach synonymy types in different ways, contrasting them
would be of no relevance to our matter at hand) we will now concentrate on the most
salient issue. The issue we will have to resolve, and which is the subject of this
thesis, is the problem of absolute synonyms. Do they exist? How common or
uncommon are they? Is it possible to have absolute synonyms in natural languages?
Are they superfluous? Can we have two words that match in every possible sense?
At this point it is important to emphasise that we are well aware that the concept of
absolute synonymy is theoretical. However, we believe that studying absolute
synonymy in practice is of interest to readers because different ways of analysing the
concept always leads to the refutation of the idea. We opted for one of those ways
which we will introduce shortly.
It has long been believed that the only two members of a pair of absolute
synonyms in British English are gorse and furze (a type of bush with sharp thorns
and small yellow flowers) (Spark Jones, 1986: 106). True as this may be and despite
the fact that these two words belong to a special-purpose vocabulary, we still need to
represent and prove our leading hypothesis, which is as follows: absolute synonyms
are non-existent in natural languages. In our hypothesis we appeal to Lyons’ stance
in his book Language and Linguistics where he opines: “They may be described as
absolutely synonymous if and only if they have the same distribution and are
completely synonymous in all their meanings and in all their contexts of occurrence
[…] and that absolute synonymy, as it here defined, is almost non-existent”. We will
try, to the best of our knowledge, to pay special attention to the circumstances in
which synonyms occur and elucidate how words that are given as synonyms
collocate with far too many different words to be viewed as such. And with this, we
will try to give sufficient evidence in favour of our hypothesis.
2. Creating the Corpus
In this research we created the corpus by randomly collecting the synonyms
explicitly given in the so-called ‘extra column’ in the Collins Cobuild English
Dictionary for Advanced Learners and within entries in the Oxford Advanced
Learner’s Dictionary. We analysed the circumstances in which these words appear
by examining their collocational behaviour. For this purpose the Oxford
Collocations Dictionary was being used. We examined thirty six words and their
synonyms. They include twelve nouns, twelve adjectives and twelve verbs and their
equivalents. Here is the list of the analysed synonyms from the CCEDAL: 1) ability
– capability, 2) backlash – revolt, 3) elation – delight, 4) fad – craze, 5) gadget –
appliance, 6) paradise – heaven, 7) candid – frank, 8) dazed – confused, 9) harmful
– damaging, 10) ordinary – normal, 11) ornate – elaborate, 12) acceptable –
satisfactory, 13) identify – recognise, 14) magnify – enlarge, 15) navigate – sail, 16)
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oversee – supervise, 17) perspire – sweat, and 18) improve – upgrade. The OALD
offers: 19) zest – appetite, 20) tablet – pill, 21) waist – waistline, 22) welfare – wellbeing, 23) scarcity – shortage, 24) valour – bravery, 25) unbearable – intolerable,
26) wary – cautious, 27) tired – weary, 28) rich – wealthy, 29) boring – tedious, 30)
conventional – traditional, 31) moan – wail, 32) drift – waft, 33) tackle – confront,
34) yearn – long, 35) gape – yawn, and 36) prohibit – prevent. Due to the word limit
of the publication, we will only provide the analysis of a few examples.
1) a. the following adjectives precede ability: exceptional, extraordinary, great,
outstanding, remarkable, uncanny; inherent, innate, natural, proven,
academic, acting, artistic, athletic, creative, intellectual, linguistic,
mathematical, musical, reading, technical, mental, physical, high, limited,
low, average, mixed
verbs that accompany ability are: have, demonstrate, show, acquire,
develop, lack, lose, appreciate, recognise
phrases: a level of ability, a range of ability/abilities, to the best of your
ability
b. capability is preceded by these adjectives: enormous, limited,
potential, proven, human, intellectual, mental, technical, technological,
manufacturing, production, research, computing, design, graphics,
multimedia, networking, printing, processing, sound, video, defence,
fighting, military, missile, nuclear, offensive, weapons
verbs that accompany capability are: have, increase, lose
prepositions: beyond your ~, within your ~, ~for
Ability and capability share only four adjectives: limited, mental, proven and
technical. They also share two verbs: have and lose. Capability cannot be used in
the phrases with ability. Based on these examples ability is neither followed nor
preceded by prepositions. We may have to view this with an element of skepticism
because examples of ‘beyond your ability’, ‘within your ability’ and ‘ability for’ can
be found. Moreover, ‘beyond your ability’ is much more common in contemporary
English than ‘beyond your capability’. The OCD seems to be inconsistent and a
more detailed analysis of these instances would otherwise be required. When we
observe the adjectives we notice that ability is more commonly used for people and
that some of the adjectives have abstract meaning. Capability is used for people and
devices, and it collocates with fewer abstract adjectives.
2) a. dazed
adverbs: almost, half, a bit, a little, slightly
verbs: appear, be, feel, look, seem, sound, leave sb
prepositions: by
b. confused
adverbs: extremely, highly, hopelessly, very, completely, highly, totally,
utterly,
increasingly, a bit, a little, rather, slightly, somewhat, further
verbs: appear, be, feel, look, seem, sound, become, get, remain, leave
sb prepositions: about, by
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Shared features are: adverbs – a bit, a little, slightly; verbs – appear, be, feel,
look, seem; preposition – by. All the verbs that dazed collocates with match those of
confused. Confused has a few extra verbs.
3) a. navigate
adverbs: accurately, successfully
prepositions: across, by, through
phrases: navigate your way
b. sail
adverbs: serenely, single-handed, away, back, on, out, past
verb + sail: learn to, teach sb to
prepositions: across, down, for, from, into, on out of, to, up
Shared features: preposition – across.
4) a. scarcity
adjectives: great, relative
noun: value
prepositions: ~ of
phrases: in times/years of scarcity
b. shortage
adjectives: acute, desperate, dire, serious, severe, growing, increasing,
chronic, general, national, world, current, wartime, cash, energy, food, fuel,
housing, labour, manpower, skill/skills ,staff, water
verbs + shortage: cause, create, lead to, result in, be affected by, be
hampered by, face, have, suffer (from), alleviate, deal with, ease, meet,
overcome, solve, tackle, exacerbate
shortage + verbs: occur, cause sth, lead to sth
prepositions: because of/due to a/the ~, ~ in, ~ of
Shared features: preposition – of. These two synonyms have very little in
common, not a single adjective and not a single verb.
5) a. conventional
adverbs: highly, very, entirely, quite, strictly, largely, fairly, pretty,
rather, relatively, somewhat
verbs: be, seem
b. traditional
adverbs: very, almost, fairly, pretty, quite, rather, essentially
verbs: be, become
Shared features: adverbs – very, fairly, quite, pretty, rather; verb – be.
6) a. tackle
adverbs: properly, seriously, directly, head-on, effectively, successfully
verb + tackle: attempt to, try to, help (to), fail to
prepositions: with
phrases: a way of tackling sth
b. confront
adverbs: directly, immediately, suddenly
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phrases: be confronted with sth, find yourself confronted by sth
Shared features: adverb – directly.
3. Conclusion
“…languages abhor absolute synonyms just as nature abhors a vacuum…”
(Cruse, 1986: 270)
The conclusion of this paper could not be complete without this famous and
much quoted line. There is an important distinction between synonyms that needs to
be noted. The OALD at times behaves as a collocations dictionary. It provides lists
of synonyms, explicating the differences among them and then gives patterns and
collocations. For example, after we have been introduced to moist, damp, soaked,
drenched, dripping, saturated as synonyms for wet, we are then supplied with the
definitions for each of these synonyms which are given in order of frequency, from
the most common to the least common. In the end, like in a collocations dictionary,
we get their collocational behaviour. This is a much better and more painstaking
description of a set of synonyms than the one found in the CCEDAL where
synonyms are provided with no further explications. With this in mind, when we are
given bored as a synonym for jaded and when we read the definitions of these two
words, we wonder how they could have been given as synonyms in the first place.
The OALD at same time serves the same purpose as other dictionaries. It introduces
synonyms in the same way as the CCEDAL. This unprincipled treatment of
synonyms leads to a discrepancy in a number of synonyms. The OALD gives 7,000
synonyms and antonyms and the CCEDAL has more than 16,000.
Regardless of the disparity, when looking at the corpus more closely we notice
that adjectives tend to be the most synonymous, followed by nouns and then verbs.
All these examples of nouns, adjectives and verbs share at least one feature, i.e. one
word that they collocate with. Verbs usually do not exceed that number. There are
six verbs in the corpus that have only one shared feature. The word that two
synonymous verbs have in common is usually a preposition, or an adverb. In the
corpus, we have only encountered pairs of synonyms with common features. This
proves the concept that two synonyms must have at least one feature in common.
There is also another idea which manifests itself in the corpus, that of two
synonymous words being examined in detail, and found to be more different than
they are alike. This by default refutes any claims about the possible existence of
absolute synonyms.
By looking at what the corpus has shown us, we can now declare absolute
synonymy to be an impossibility in natural languages. Absolute synonymy is
inefficient, redundant and uneconomical. And natural languages (as opposed to
special-purpose languages) need to be economical. Otherwise, one would just have
to learn far too many symbols. Also, why would there even be a need for two words
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absolutely identical in meaning? One of them would indubitably become redundant,
or it would acquire new senses. We can exemplify this with spirit and ghost. Spirit is
a word of Latin origin, and when it was adopted by English through French, it coexisted with ghost for a while. Today spirit has a more general and ghost more
specific meaning: ‘spirit of a dead person’ (Jackson, H. and Zé Amvela, E., 2000:
109 ). The trinitarian formula ‘in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy
Spirit’ was once ‘in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost’.
Therefore, while we dismiss absolute synonymy as being non-existent and
unnecessary, we embrace other variations of it because they are essential to a
language as they contribute to its efficiency. They also have a great communicative
value among speakers and writers because of the possibility of conveying the same
or slightly different information through different form.
We started this research by exploring Lyons’ stance from his book Language
and Linguistics. Through the examples from the corpus we have demonstrated that
no two words can match in every possible sense and that absolute synonyms are
therefore redundant and unmanageable in natural languages. By observing the
circumstances in which they appear we have shown that words deemed absolutely
synonymous in actual fact are not. We have reached the same conclusion as Lyons
and we hereby confirm his stance to be correct.
It is our hope that we have offered satisfactory explanations regarding the
problem of this paper. We believe that it will give helpful guidance to professors of
English and their students whenever they encounter the matter and that it will
become their useful and indispensable tool.
References
Cruse, D. A. (1986). Lexical Semantics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Jackson, H. and Zé Amvela, E. (2000). Words, Meaning and Vocabulary. London:
Athenum Press, Gateshead, Tyne & Wear.
Lea, D. (ed.), et al. (2002). Collocations Dictionary. Oxford: Oxford University
Press.
Lyons, J. (1981). Language and Linguistics. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press.
Sinclair, J. (ed.). (2001). Collins Cobuild English Dictionary for Advanced Learners.
Glasgow: Harper- Collins.
Spark Jones, K. (1986). Synonymy and Semantic Classification. Edinburgh:
Edinburgh University Press.
Wehmeier, S. (ed.). (2005). Oxford Advanced Learner’s Dictionary. Oxford: Oxford
University Press.
199
Aleksandar Kavgić / Olga Panić Kavgić
Novi Sad, Serbia
kavgic@ff.uns.ac.rs / olgapk@sbb.rs
COMPUTER-RELATED TERMINOLOGY IN SERBIAN:
A DIACHRONIC ANALYSIS OF BORROWING TRENDS,
TRANSLATION AND ADAPTATION STRATEGIES
Abstract The aim of this pilot research was to determine certain general trends in
translation and adaptation strategies within the lexical field of English computerrelated terms employed by Serbian journalists in different temporal segments
spanning from 1986 to 2010. The secondary aim of the research was to establish the
chronology of borrowing, periods of mass borrowing and to determine the
predominant trends for each period. The analysis was based on the corpus consisting
of one issue of the Serbian computer magazine Svet kompjutera for every four-year
period from the temporal frame being analyzed. The research employed the
quantitative methodology of corpus linguistics paired with a theoretical analysis
based on the frameworks of pragmatics and translation studies. The research
identified two periods of mass borrowing, as well as predominant translation and
adaptation strategies used in each of those periods.
Keywords: computer terminology, diachronic analysis, corpus linguistics,
borrowing, translation, lexical analysis, Svet kompjutera.
1. Introduction
At the very beginning it is important to note that this research, which applies
the methodology of corpus linguistics in order to analyze diachronic lexical
variation, represents a pilot study and, as such, its purpose was to test the feasibility
of the chosen dataset and methodology for a more detailed future research study.
Hence, its findings represent merely the tip of the iceberg, i.e. a starting point for a
more in-depth analysis.
The goals of the research were set at two separate levels: the theoretical level
and the methodological level. Within the theoretical plane, the goals were twofold.
The primary theoretical goal was to determine general diachronic trends in
translation and adaptation strategies within the lexical field of English computerrelated terms employed by Serbian journalists in different temporal segments
spanning from 1986 to 2010. The secondary theoretical goal was to try to establish
the chronology of borrowing, periods of mass borrowing (if any) and to determine
the predominant trends for each period. Within the methodological plane, the goal of
the research was to develop a methodology for a more elaborate and wider research
project in the future.
200
The primary theoretical goal of the research actually consisted of three separate
theoretical analyses: a quantitative diachronic analysis of borrowing trends, a
quantitative diachronic analysis of translation strategies, and a quantitative
diachronic analysis of adaptation strategies.
In relation to the theoretical goal, it is necessary to define the term diachronic
and diachrony. Namely, the 24-year period between 1986 and 2010 that this
research analyzes may not make it eligible for the attribute “diachronic”, according
to some definitions of the term. However, the research employs the quantitative
methodology of corpus linguistics and the term diachronic has a specific meaning in
corpus linguistics. As early as 1982, Sinclair referred to the future possibility of
“vast, slowly changing stores of text,” providing “detailed evidence of language
evolution” (Sinclair 1982, cited in Renouf 2002). According to Renouf, there is also
a delay in cross-disciplinary fertilization of this idea, as many linguists take
diachrony for granted only in relation to earlier Englishes (Renouf 2002). Recently,
historical corpus linguists have begun to differentiate between the traditional scope
of their field, which covers more centuries and is referred to as long diachrony
(Rissanen 2000: 9), and “the recent scholarly interest in ‘short-term change in
diachrony’” (Kytö, Rudanko, Smitterberg 2000: 85), covering the last century
(Renouf 2002). For modern corpus linguists, diachronic linguistics is typically the
study of change in one or more aspects of language use just within (or across) a time
span of 10–30 years (Renouf 2002, Kehoe 2005). This relatively brief span of time
has sometimes also been termed brachychrony (Mair 1997). In this research, the
above definition of diachrony is used, although the term brachychrony could have
been used as well.
Regarding previous research on the topic, in all probability there is none. To be
exact, GoogleScholar, COBISS and EBSCO searches did not yield any relevant
articles for the keywords specified in this paper. In other words, this research seems
to be a step into terra incognita.
2. Methodology
The research employed the quantitative methodology of corpus linguistics
paired with a theoretical analysis based on the frameworks of pragmatics and
translation studies. The fact that there were, and still are, no readily available
collections of short-term diachronic texts in Serbian presented a momentous
problem. Actually, it was necessary to first create suitable Serbian language
resources and then develop a methodology fitting to the resources.
Considering that the primary theoretical focus of the research was diachronic
lexical variation in computer-related terminology in Serbian, the frequency of
anglicisms and patterns of borrowing from English into Serbian, it was of utmost
importance to find a reliable and representative data source. After searching
COBISS, it became obvious that there was only one suitable choice: the magazine
Svet kompjutera (literally translated into English as Computer World). The reasons
201
why Svet kompjutera presented itself as the only viable data source were
representativeness and continuity. Namely, Svet kompjutera is the only Serbian
computer magazine with a tradition longer than 10 years, since it was first published
in 1985, which makes it the most representative sample of Serbian computer-related
terminology. Additionally, many of the current (2011) contributors wrote articles in
Svet kompjutera as early as 1992, which means that some articles in the magazine
reflect changes, if any, in the journalists’ idiolects and, thus, overall diachronic
trends in borrowing from English in the domain of computer-related terminology.
Having in mind that this was a pilot research project, only a small dataset was
chosen, i.e. the corpus for the research consisted of articles from 9 January issues of
Svet kompjutera separated by a time period of 3 years. The exact issues of the
magazine and the number of words (rounded to 500) contained in each issue are
given in Table 1 below.
Issue of Svet kompjutera (year/month)
Svet kompjutera 1986/01
Svet kompjutera 1989/01
Svet kompjutera 1992/01
Svet kompjutera 1995/01
Svet kompjutera 1998/01
Svet kompjutera 2001/01
Svet kompjutera 2004/01
Svet kompjutera 2007/01
Svet kompjutera 2010/01
TOTAL NUMBER OF WORDS:
Number of words in the issue
50,000 words
63,000 words
63,500 words
44,000 words
29,000 words
32,000 words
41,000 words
62,000 words
65,000 words
449,500 words
Table 1: Composition of the corpus used for the research, i.e. the issues of Svet kompjutera
analyzed in the research and the number of words (rounded to 500) contained in each issue.
The decision to use January issues was one intended to increase the
representativeness of the corpus, as January issues of Svet kompjutera feature
articles that summarize new developments and emerging trends from the year before
and, as such, usually contain all the terminology that emerged during that year.
The biggest obstacle in the initial stage of the research – corpus compilation –
was the digitalization of text materials. To elaborate, although all issues of Svet
kompjutera are available online as free downloads, almost half of them are not
available in the format which is suitable for linguistic research. Namely, the issues
from the period 1985–1997 are only available as scanned low-resolution JPG images
via a Slovenian retro-gaming site1, whereas the issues from the period 1998–2011
can be found on the official site of the magazine2 in HTML format.
1
2
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http://pc.sux.org/indexSK.html
http://www.sk.rs
Since it would have been methodologically erroneous to have left the 1986,
1989, 1992 and 1995 issues out of the corpus and since it would have rendered the
corpus unrepresentative, it was decided that it was necessary to convert the relevant
1986–1995 issues into a linguistically usable text format. Initially it was attempted
to conduct the image-to-text conversion using the Abbyy Finereader3 opticalcharacter recognition (OCR) program. However, because of the low resolution4 of
the JPG images, the results were unusable, as more than 50% of the words contained
errors. Therefore, all the original JPG images were resized using a professional
photo enlargement program Alienskin Blow Up 25, which uses special algorithms to
increase the resolution of images without losing any details, without blurring sharp
edges and without any noticeable pixelization. It was only after this image
enlargement procedure that Abbyy Finereader produced relatively usable results.
The text output still contained a number of errors, but the error rate was below 10%.
The text output was then manually proofread and corrected in MS Word 2010 with
the help of Serbian proofreading tools. The more recent issues from the 1998–2010
period were downloaded using a copy of MetaProducts Offline Explorer6 after
which each issue was manually converted to plain text format.
Once the corpus was compiled using the methodology outlined above, it was
necessary to develop an automatic or semi-automatic method of extracting and/or
identifying English borrowings and anglicisms in the corpus and analyzing them
quantitatively. The initial idea for corpus analysis was manual excerption and
annotation, however it was soon deemed extremely time-consuming and inefficient.
The next idea was to compile a list of anglicisms and compare it with the list of
words for each of the analyzed issues of Svet kompjutera using programs AntConc7
(to create respective wordlists) and UltraCompare8 (to compare the wordlists). The
list with approximately 1000 anglicisms was compiled on the basis of Rečnik novijih
anglicizama: Du yu speak anglosrpski? (Vasić, Prćić, Nejgebauer 2001). However,
since the list did not contain inflected forms and the dictionary on which it was
based, because of its nature, did not include a number of computer terms, this
approach was abandoned as many computer terms were skipped during comparison
in Ultra Compare. Furthermore, which was equally important, this approach did not
offer an easy way of comparing two different strategies in filling lexical gaps in
Serbian computer-related terminology: borrowing and translation / creating new
words via word-formation processes.
In order to facilitate both a relatively quick and easy quantification of English
borrowings and anglicisms, on the one hand, and comparison of different strategies
in filling lexical gaps, on the other, yet another methodological approach was
3
http://finereader.abbyy.com/
The resolution of scanned JPG images was usually 848 x 1167 pixels.
5
http://www.alienskin.com/blowup/index.aspx
6
http://www.metaproducts.com/mp/Offline_Explorer_Enterprise.htm
7
http://www.antlab.sci.waseda.ac.jp/software.html
8
http://www.ultraedit.com/products/ultracompare.html
4
203
devised. The idea was to use the stop-word function in AntConc, as a means of
finding only English borrowings and anglicisms and then to compare the results of
the AntConc analysis with individual wordlists for each analyzed issue of Svet
kompjutera. Naturally, for this approach to work as planned, it was necessary to
create a stop-word list containing Serbian words that are neither English borrowings
nor anglicisms: in other words, it was necessary to create an as exhaustive as
possible Serbian wordlist that only lacked English borrowings and anglicisms.
Having this end in mind, an appropriate Serbian wordlist was compiled on the basis
of open-source Serbian dictionaries for GNU aspell and OpenOffice (hunspell)
spell-checkers9: all words and word forms were extracted from the spelling
dictionaries and combined into a large wordlist from which all recent anglicisms
were then removed together with (rare) Serbian translations of computer terms (e.g.
štampač (printer), datoteka (file) and računar (computer)). Serbian translations of
computer terms were removed in order to compare diachronic trends regarding the
predominant mechanism of filling computer-related lexical gaps by either borrowing
terms or coining new terms using Serbian word-formation processes. The final
version of the Serbian wordlist contained 337,268 word forms (i.e. tokens), which,
according to aspell and OpenOffice online documentation, amounts to roughly
135,000 individual words, i.e. lexemes. This Serbian-only wordlist was then used,
by comparing it with the wordlists from the analyzed issues of Svet kompjutera, to
extract words from the corpus which represented either potential English borrowings
or potential anglicisms. In the final methodological step, the results obtained by
filtering out non-English words and non-anglicisms by using a Serbian-only stopword list were then manually annotated with two sets of tags: tags for the type of
anglicism and tags for the type of translation strategy used for a particular lexeme.
The annotation scheme and the tags used in it are described in the theoretical section
of the paper. From the purely methodological perspective, it is relevant to mention
that the annotation was inserted in the UltraEdit program, since it supports XML
files and provides syntax highlighting for all tagged file formats, including XML.
The flowchart of the methodology used in the research is given in Chart 1
below.
9
The original GNU aspell Serbian dictionary was compiled and released by Goran Rakić. The
original wordlist also includes 133,986 words from the Corpus of Contemporary Serbian Language,
built at the Faculty of Mathematics, University of Belgrade, with a total size of 25MW (mega words),
created by Natural Language Processing Group, Faculty of Mathematics, University of Belgrade. The
GNU aspell wordlist is given under the GNU LGPL license and is available at
http://srpski.org/aspell/index-en.html. The OpenOffice spelling dictionary/wordlist is available at
http://wiki.services.openoffice.org/wiki/Dictionaries#Serbian_.28Serbia.2C_Republic_Srpska.29.
204
Chart 1: The flowchart showing the methodology used in the research.
3. Theoretical framework
As it has already been mentioned in the introduction, the goals of the research,
from the theoretical point of view, were twofold: the primary goal being to
determine general diachronic trends in translation and adaptation strategies within
the lexical field of English computer-related terms employed by Serbian journalists
in different temporal segments spanning from 1986 to 2010, and the secondary goal
being to establish the chronology of borrowing. More specifically, the primary
theoretical goal of the research focused on three separate theoretical analyses: a
quantitative diachronic analysis of borrowing trends and influx of anglicisms, a
quantitative diachronic analysis of translation strategies, and a quantitative
diachronic analysis of adaptation strategies.
The theoretical foundation of the research, in that respect, is the definition of
the term ‘anglicism’, as given by Prćić 2005, which identifies an anglicism as a
lexeme or bound morpheme from English which is used in Serbian, with varying
degrees of integration into its system (Prćić 2005).
The analysis included only monomorphemic and polymorphemic lexemes, not
phrasal lexemes, phrases or clauses. The reason for this is purely methodological in
its nature. Namely, main-stream concordancing and wordlisting programs (e.g.
AntConc) and file-comparison programs (e.g. UltraCompare) operate on individual
words, hence they are unsuitable for creating n-grams necessary for the analysis of
phrases and clauses.
Having in mind that another goal of the theoretical analysis was to identify
translation procedures used by journalists in order to fill computer-related lexical
gaps in Serbian, it was also necessary to define the theoretical framework for
designing the annotation scheme for types of translation procedures. The
205
classification of translation procedures was taken from Prćić 2005 and distinguishes
three basic types of translation procedures: direct translation, structural translation
(calque) and functional approximation (Prćić 2005: 178–180). According to Prćić,
direct translation is a translation procedure which refers to the process of direct
translation of literal or metaphorical meaning of monomorphemic or polymorphemic
words from L1 into L2 and could be exemplified by the Serbian word ‘miš’,
referring to a computer mouse. Structural translation (calque) is a translation
procedure which refers to the process of literal translation of elements of
polymorphemic words from L1 by using corresponding elements from L2, as
exemplified by the Serbian words ‘štampač’ and ‘računar’ in the sense of a
computer-attached printer and computer, respectively. Functional approximation is a
translation procedure which refers to the process of translating the meaning of an
expression from L1 by using the lexical means available in L2, in order to convey,
as closely as possible, the function of the referent of the L1 expression, as can be
exemplified by the Serbian word ‘sabirnica’ in the sense of the computer term FSB
(Front-Side Bus).
Since translation is only one of the options that are at the journalist’s disposal
as a means of filling computer-related lexical gaps in Serbian, it was essential to
include other options in the annotation scheme. A random excerption of Serbian
computer-related terminology from the corpus showed that a considerable number of
them were actually borrowings. The classification of borrowings used in the
annotation scheme was taken from Prćić 2005 and is based on the criterion of their
form in Serbian texts (Prćić 2005: 120–123). After detailed annotation of the corpus,
it was discovered that borrowing yielded the following kinds of anglicisms: obvious
anglicisms, hidden anglicisms and raw anglicisms. Obvious anglicisms are all
lexical elements that have, to a greater or lesser extent, become integrated into the
system of the Serbian language – at the levels of orthography, phonology,
morphosyntax, semantics and pragmatics and are in the process of becoming, or are
already felt to be, words belonging to the Serbian language (Prćić 2005: 121);
examples from the corpus include: modem (modem), skener (scanner), kompjuter
(computer), atačment (attachment), DVD, USB, ulogovan (logged-in),
daunloudovati (download), četovati (chat) and sajber- (cyber-). Hidden anglicisms
are lexical elements whose form is, on the surface, that of a Serbian lexeme, while
reflecting the meaning and/or use typical of the corresponding form in English
(Prćić 2005: 121–122); examples from the corpus include: miš (mouse, in the sense
of a computer mouse), meni (menu, referring to a menu in a computer program),
platforma (platform – computer components integrated into a working computer
system), izađi (exit – quit a program), prozor (window – the central element of
modern computer-user interfaces). Raw anglicisms are lexemes which were copied
from English, without any adaptation to the system of the Serbian language at the
level of orthography, partially adapted at the levels of morphosyntax and phonology
and adapted only at the levels of semantics and pragmatics (Prćić 2005: 122–123);
examples from the corpus include: e-mail, attachment, rooter, screen and roleplay.
206
In accordance with the theoretical framework outlined above, each wordlist
was manually edited in order to delete non-anglicisms (Serbian words, numbers,
common anglicisms, general acronyms, etc.) and then each anglicism was annotated
with one of the tags described in Table 2 below.
TAG
!o
!r
!s
!p
MEANING OF THE TAG
OBVIOUS ANGLICISM
RAW ANGLICISM
HIDDEN (“skriveni”) ANGLICISM
TRANSLATED ENGLISH TERM (“prevod”)
Table 2: General annotation scheme for all anglicisms
Additionally, each hidden anglicism and each translated term were further
annotated with one of the tags described in Table 3 below.
TAG
!d
!f
!k
MEANING OF THE TAG
DIRECT TRANSLATION
FUNCTIONAL APPROXIMATION
STRUCTURAL TRANSLATION / CALQUE (“kalk”)
Table 3: Specific annotation scheme for additional tagging of hidden anglicisms and
translated terms
At this point, it is worth mentioning that the kind of annotation used in this
research is often extremely complicated. For example, “PC” is a raw anglicism,
because it is pronounced as /pi:si:/, however AI is an obvious anglicism, because it
is pronounced as /a - i/. It is also important to note that personal names were not
analyzed (Villenuve, Voigt, Balmer, etc.) and neither were common and noncomputer-related anglicisms, e.g. flight, free, low, design, etc.
4. Research findings
Once the wordlists, i.e. the corpus, have been fully analyzed and annotated, and
once the quantification of the data provided by the annotation has been looked at in
MS Excel, it was possible to gain theoretical insights into the phenomena that were
the focus of the research and to answer the fundamental question of diachronic
linguistic patterns of filling computer-related lexical gaps in Serbian.
The basic assumption prior to the data analysis was that the number of
anglicisms had increased steadily over a decade or more until it stabilized two or
three years into the 21st century when, according to the subjective opinion of the
researchers, the majority of computer-related terminology became an integral part of
the Serbian computer jargon. A detailed analysis of the corpus has, however, shown
that the initial assumption was not correct.
207
The data from the corpus show that a considerable number of anglicisms were
present even at the very beginning of the time period being observed (1986– 2010).
Namely, in the earliest of the analyzed issues (Svet kompjutera 1986/01), there are
3180 occurrences of anglicisms, which constitutes 6.36% of words in the entire
issue, which is the figure that could be termed ‘anglicism saturation’. In the next
analyzed issues (Svet kompjutera 1989/01), contrary to the initial hypothesis, one
can notice a decrease both in the absolute frequency of anglicism occurrence and
anglicism saturation, as this issue contains 2943 occurrences of anglicisms, which
amounts to a 3.96% anglicism saturation. The next issue (Svet kompjutera 1992/01)
contains a slightly smaller number of anglicism occurrences (2541), but in relation
to the total number of words in that issue, this frequency amounts to a 4.00%
anglicism saturation, which is a meager 0.04% increase in comparison to the
1989/01 issue. The next issue in the chronological order, Svet kompjutera 1992/01,
however, displays a considerably greater total number of anglicisms, 3630
occurrences, but, in relation to the total number of words in the issue, that amounts
to a 8.25% anglicism saturation, which is more than a twofold increase in
comparison with the previously analyzed issue from three years before. The 1998,
2001, 2004 and 2007 issues, on the other hand, follow a slow decreasing trend with
anglicism saturation of 4.07%, 3.82%, 3.55% and 3.31%, respectively. It is only the
2010 issue where there is a slight increase in anglicism saturation, as anglicisms
constitute 3.43% of all the words in this issue. However, that amounts to an
extremely modest increase of only 0.12%; hence, it is safe to say that in the period
between January 2001 and January 2010, the average anglicism saturation is 3.52%
with a generally decreasing trend, with the exception of the 2010 issue, in which
there is a slight increase in anglicism saturation.
These findings are in contradiction with the initial assumption, since there is no
steady increase in anglicism saturation. On the contrary, one can notice two peaks:
the 1986 issue and the 1995 issue, with a 6.36% and 8.25% anglicism saturation,
respectively, which are followed by shorter or longer periods of steady decrease in
anglicism saturation. These two peaks in anglicism saturation could be interpreted as
periods of mass influx of anglicisms, whereas the periods of steady decrease
probably correspond to the time when newly introduced anglicisms were either fully
integrated into the Serbian computer jargon or rejected either because of linguistic or
extralinguistic factors (e.g. a particular type of technology got out of use or was
superseded with a new type of technology).
208
2.232
2 232
SK 2010/01
3.43
2.055
3.31
SK 2007/01
3.55
1 456
1.456
SK 2004/01
3.82
1.223
SK 2001/01
4 07
4.07
1.181
1 181
SK 1998/01
8.25
3.631
SK 1995/01
SK 1992/01
4.00
3.180
3 180
6 36 2
6.36
2.493
493
3 96 2.541
3.96
SK 1989/01
SK 1986/01
/
10000
0
1 0
1000
100
0
10
0
1
ANGLICISM
MS
Charrt 2:: Diiach
C
hronnic abso
a olutee freequuenccy off an
ngliccism
m occcurrren
nce in
i th
he aanallyzeed isssuees off
‘Sveet ko
omppjuteera’’ and thhe reespeectivve angl
a licissm satu
s uratiion (rellativ
ve frequ
fr uency). Thhe chartt
usses a loggariithm
mic scalle
The
T finndin
ngs preesented in
n thhe prev
p vio
ous parragrraphhs are
a vissually rep
pressentted in
Chart 2 abov
a ve, in tthe forrm of 3D
3 barr chhartts. The
T e firrst rrow
w off baars ccorrresp
ponnds to tthe
abssolu
ute freqqueencyy (i.e. thee tottal nnum
mbeer of
o occu
o urreencees) of ang
glicism
ms, whe
w ereaas tthe
seccond
d corr
c resp
ponnds too th
he rellativ
ve freequ
uenccy of an
ngliicissms, i.e.
i
‘aangllicissm
satu
urattion
n’. A
Angliccism
m saturratiion is, acttuallly, thee reelatiive freequeenccy of
o angl
a licissmss –
the tottal num
mbeer oof angl
a licismss inn an
n isssuee diivid
ded by thee to
otal nuumb
ber of w
worrds in
p icullar issue. Thhe barr chhartt is drraw
wn on
o a logaarith
hmiic sscalle, so thaat tthe
thaat parti
diff
ffereences iin angl
a licissm saturaationn arre nnot par
p rticu
ularrly nnotticeaablee.
Sinc
S ce tthe loggaritthm
mic scaale useed in Cha
C art 2 do
oes no
ot ad
deq
quattely
y sh
how
w the tw
wo
peaaks off anngliicism infflux
x an
nd thee tw
wo period
ds of steeady
y decl
d linee off aangllicissm
occcurrrencce ((bu
ut it veery well show
s ws thee ov
veraall tren
nd), th
he 3D
3 barr ch
hartt inn Ch
hartt 3
usees a no
on-llogaarithhmiic, i.e. pro
opoortio
onaate, scaale, wiith tthe purpo
ose of sho
s owinng in
i tthe
besst poss
p sible man
m nnerr thhe shar
s rp iincrreasse in
i the
t freequeenccy of
o angl
a licism occcurrrennce
(an
ngliccism
m ssatu
urattion
n), wh
hich
h occcu
urred in
i 198
86 andd, aga
a in, in 19
995. T
The noonlog
garitthm
mic scaale also
o ccleaarly shoowss thhe slow
s w decl
d linee in
n an
nglicism
m satu
s urattion
n ovver
the ten
n yeear perriodd beetweeen
n 19
998 and
d 20007
7.
2209
10
5
0
6.36
3.9
96 4.0
00
8.2
25
4.07
3 2
3.82
3.5
55
3.31
3.4
43
C rt 3:: Diach
Char
hronnic angl
a licissm satu
s uratiion ((relativ
ve frrequ
uenccy of
o an
ngliicism
m occu
o urrennce)) in thee
a lyzeed issuees oof ‘S
anal
Svett koompjjuteera’.. Th
he ch
hartt uses a no
on-lo
ogarrithm
micc scaale
At thiis poinnt it is w
worrth notting
g thhat the
t two peakks in
n an
nglicissm satu
urattion
n occcu
ur
in
n thee peerioods of imp
porrtan
nt neew dev
veloopm
men
nts in
i th
he ccom
mpu
uterr maarkeet. 19885 was
w s thee
yeear wh
hen tw
wo eextrrem
mely
y in
nfluuenttial co
onsu
umeer-o
oriented pers
p sonal com
c mpuuterrs w
weree
in
ntroducced: Amig
A ga 10000 and
a dA
Atarii ST
T, whi
w ich alsso iintro
odu
uced
d uuserrs to
o a graaphhicaal
usser inteerfaace and all
a tthe new
w cconccepts that
t t su
uch a fform
m of
o a useer inte
i erfaace carrried
d
w it. Thee yeear of 19995 mar
with
m rks thee off
fficiial rele
r easee off Miicro
osoft W
Win
ndow
ws 95,, whhich
h
reepreesen
ntedd a quantu
um
m leaap in
i ttech
hnoolog
gicaal caapaabiliity and
d user--friend
dlinness off PC
C
sy
ysteemss. H
How
weveer, beta
b a versiions were
w e av
vaillablle as
a eaarly
y ass Seepteemb
ber 1994, so thee
teermiinologgy of
o tthe neew graaphicall user intterffacee foor PC
P co
ompputeers waas alre
a eady
y
av
vaillablle tto Serb
S bian
n joourn
nalistss in
n Jaanuaary
y 19
995, as was
w thee bbetaa veersiion of thee
op
peraatin
ng ssysttem
m itself (beearing in min
m nd that
t t thee co
ompputeer soft
s twarre mar
m rkett in Serbiaa
w at the
was,
t tim
me, vvirttuallly enti
e irelly base
b ed on
o pira
p ated
d copies off so
oftw
waree prroduuctss).
Ho
oweeverr, siincee onne of
o the
t priimaary aim
ms of
o th
he rreseearcch was
w s to
o deeterm
min
ne hhow
w
jo
ourn
nalists bo
orroow term
min
nolo
ogyy an
nd wh
hat tran
nslaatioon pro
p ced
durees they
t y uuse in thee
prroceess,, alll an
nglicism
ms in the
t corrpus w
weree an
nnottateed w
with
h tag
gs that
t t ideentiifieed th
he ttypee
off an
ngliicism
m and
a d, in
n thhe case
c e of trransslateed term
ms andd hidd
h den anggliccism
ms, alsso w
with
h
taags thatt iddenttifieed the
t tran
nslaatioon proc
p cedu
uree used in tthatt paarticculaar word
w d. D
Duee too thee
tim
me--con
nsuumin
ng natturee of th
he ann
notaatio
on pro
p cesss aand thee fact
f
that the
t peeakss of
an
ngliicism
m iinflu
ux occcurrred in 19885 and
a 1995,, it was
w s deecid
ded not too an
nnottatee alll isssues
in
n th
he corp
c pus foor patte
p erns of
o bborrrow
wing
g an
nd tran
nslaatio
on proc
p ceddurees, butt on
nly thee
fo
ollow
win
ng issu
uess: Svet
S t ko
omp
pjutera
a 11986/0
01, Sveet kkom
mpju
uterra 199
98/01 an
nd SSveet
ko
omp
pjutteraa 20
0100/01. T
Thesse isssues spa
s an th
he who
w ole tim
me peri
p iod undderr inv
vesttigaatioon at
a
an
n equaal iinteervaal of
o 12 yeaars an
nd also
o clos
c sely
y coorreespo
ond
d too perio
p odss off m
mass
an
ngliicism
m iinflu
ux.
Ass caan be seeen fro
om Chhartt 4, in
nitially
y, the
t
vaast maajorrity off boorro
owiings
(5
56.6
63%
%) w
werre rraw
w annglicissmss (ee.g. flo
oppy
py disc
d c), witth obv
o viouus ang
a gliciism
ms ((e.g
g.
džžojsstik (jooysttickk)) beiing thee seeco
ond mo
ost freequeent typ
pe of anggliccism
ms (21
1.266%)).
H weveer, ooveer thhe cou
How
c ursee off tim
me, as mo
ore and
d more
m e co
omp
puteer-rrelaated
d terrminollogy
y
w beiing inttegrrated innto the S
was
Serb
biann co
omp
puteer jarg
j gon, th
his bal
b ancce shif
s fted
d in thee
21
10
opposite direction, so that in 2010 the majority (41.12%) of anglicisms were obvious
anglicisms, while raw anglicism were now the second most frequent type (33.64%).
The frequency of hidden anglicisms (e.g. meni (menu)) increased from 15.37% in
1986 to 21.03% in 2010, albeit after a drop to 11.25% in 1998. This increase
highlights the effort on the part of the journalists to assign new meanings to readily
available Serbian lexemes. The fact that borrowing without any form of adaptation,
i.e. introducing raw anglicisms, is slowly becoming less popular can be interpreted
either as an effort on the part of the journalists to translate new terms or find
corresponding Serbian terms, or, simply, as an indicator that most computer-related
terminology has already been integrated into Serbian in the form of now
predominant obvious anglicisms. The fact that the frequency of translated terms
decreased from 6.74% in 1986 to 4.21% in 2010 seems to point to a conclusion that
word-formation processes are seen as the last resort by Serbian computer journalists.
In terms of translation procedures used in the forming of hidden anglicisms and
translated terms, as can be seen in Chart 5, the predominant procedure is that of
direct translation (e.g. miš (mouse)) and the second most frequent is functional
approximation (e.g. sabirnica (frontside bus)), whereas structural translation
(calquing) (e.g. štampač (printer)) completely vanished from use in 2010 as a means
of introducing new terms, although the terms already introduced in that way
continue to be used. This is rather unfortunate, since the analysis of the frequency of
two pairs of competing lexemes in the corpus, where one lexeme in each pair is a
calque (računar and štampač) and the other either an obvious anglicism (kompjuter)
or a raw anglicism (printer), clearly shows that it is always the calque which
ultimately becomes the predominant form (probably because its meaning is more
transparent than that of an anglicism), as can be seen in Chart 6.
100%
50%
0%
6.74
56.63
15.37
21.26
2.67
55.68
11.25
30.40
4.21
33.64
21.03
41.12
SK 1986/01
SK 1998/01
SK 2010/01
TRANSLATION
RAW ANGLICISMS
HIDDEN ANGLICISMS
Chart 4: Patterns of borrowing in Serbian computer-related terminology
100%
50%
26.26
5.05
17.07
5.69
4.55
0.00
68.69
77.24
95.45
SK 1986/01
SK 1998/01
SK 2010/01
CALQUE
0%
Chart 5: Translation procedures used in the forming of hidden anglicisms
and translated terms
211
400
350
300
147
250
KOMPJUTER
205
200
141
25
150
100
50
0
212
RAČUNAR
118
215
32
47
33
129 116
25
114
63
57
46
47
58
Chaart 6:
6 ‘K
Kom
mpjuuterr’ vss. ‘rraču
unarr’ (ccom
mputeer) and
d ‘prrinteer’ vs.
v ‘štaampaač’ (priinteer): the
t
prefferen
p
nce tow
wardds trransslateed leexem
mess in com
mpaariso
on with
w h compeetin
ng borro
oweed leexem
mess
55. Closing
g reema
arkss
As
A it
i hhas alre
a eady
y bbeen
n ment
m tion
ned in thee inttrod
ducction
n, this
t waas a pilot ressearrch
and
d ass su
uch it hass fu
ulfillled
d all its in
nitiaal goa
g als: it has
h beeen sho
ownn th
hat a rrelativeely
sim
mplee meth
m hod
doloogy caan be ussed to ex
xtraact valluabble daata forr th
he anaalyssis of
diaachrroniic llexiical vaariattion
n; it haas also
a o been
n deemo
onstratted thaat eeven
n a veery sm
mall
corrpuss caan pro
ovidde valluab
ble inssigh
hts intto the
t un
nderrlyin
ng meechaanissmss of leexiccal
borrrow
win
ng; fin
nallyy, the
t reseaarchh haas also reve
r ealeed thee prredom
minaant pattterrns of
borrrow
win
ng oof Engl
E lish
h coomp
puteer-relatted terrmin
nolo
ogy
y innto Ser
S rbiaan, aas wel
w l ass th
he tw
wo
maain per
p riodds of
o m
masss innflu
ux of ang
gliccism
ms. Ho
oweeverr, th
his beingg a pilo
ot rreseearcch,
there rem
r mainns a lott to be do
one. Onne of
o thhe mo
m st imp
portaant asp
pects ffor futu
f ure ressearrch
g ng to bbe thee ex
xpannsio
on of
o tthe annnottatio
on sch
hem
me, as
a it
i has
h beeen noti
n iced
d thhat
is goin
som
me lex
xem
mes caanno
ot be claassiified iin a sati
s sfacctorry maanneer acccord
dingg to tthe
ann
notaatio
on scheemee prreseenteed in
n thhis pap
p per, as theey seeem
m to
o bee prroduuctss off whhat couuld
be callled
d ‘sseco
onddary
y aadap
ptattionn’, for ex
xam
mplee: dvo
d oklikk (dou
ubleecliick)), ččeto
ovannje
(ch
hattiing)) annd doo
d molik (ressem
mbliing thee co
omp
puteer gam
g me ‘D
Doo
om’).
2213
References
Kehoe, A. (2005). “Diachronic linguistic analysis on the web with WebCorp“. In: A.
Renouf and A. Kehoe (eds.). The Changing Face of Corpus Linguistics.
Amsterdam/Atlanta GA: Rodopi, 297-308.
Kytö, M., Rudanko, J. and Smitterberg, E. (2000). “Building a Bridge between the
Present and the Past: A Corpus of 19th-century English”. ICAME Journal 24:
85-97.
Mair, C. (1997). “Corpora and the Study of the Major Varieties of English: Issues
and Results”. In: H. Lindquist, S. Klintborg, M. Levin and M. Estling (eds.).
Papers from MAVEN 97. Växjo: Växjo Universitet, 139-158.
Prćić, Т. (2005). Engleski u srpskom. Novi Sad: Zmaj.
Renouf, A. (2002). “The Time Dimension in Modern Corpus Linguistics“. In: B.
Kettemann and G. Marko (eds.). Teaching and Learning by Doing Corpus
Analysis. Papers from the Fourth International Conference on Teaching and
Learning Corpora. Amsterdam/Atlanta GA: Rodopi, 27-41.
Rissanen, M. (2000). “The World of English Historical Corpora”. Journal of English
Linguistics 28: 7-20.
Sinclair, J. (1982). “Reflections on Computer Corpora in English Language
Research”. In: S. Johansson (ed.). Computer Corpora in English Language
Research. Bergen: NAVF, 1-6.
Vasić, V., et al. (2001). Du yu speak anglosrpski? Rečnik novijih anglicizama. Novi
Sad: Zmaj.
214
Sanja Krimer−Gaborović
Novi Sad, Serbia
krimers@eunet.rs
SEMANTICS AND PRAGMATICS OF ENGLISH AND SERBIAN
COLOUR NAMING LEXEMES
Abstract This paper explores both the universal and culture−specific aspects of the
meaning of
English and Serbian lexemes expressing basic colour terms (Berlin and Kay, 1969).
Their semantics are explained in terms of the interaction of lexical meaning with
lexical pragmatics. Pragmatic phenomena connected with the semantic
under−specification of lexical items are illustrated by the pragmatics of colour
naming adjectives, systematic polysemy, lexical blocking, etc. The universal human
concepts are isolated by removing the culture−dependant analytical framework.
These concepts are most obvious in black and white, stemming from the universal
distinction between dark and light respectively, as well as red and green, based on
the colour of human/animal blood and of nature respectively. The conclusion which
arises is that from a cross−cultural perspective, pragmatics often fail to actually
describe lexical meaning, since it is semantics which is the key to understanding
cross−cultural pragmatics not the other way round.
Key words: semantics, pragmatics, basic colour terms, cross−cultural perspective.
1. Introduction
Differentiating between the semantic content (meaning) of colour naming
lexemes,1 and their use to communicate on particular occasions and in particular
contexts (pragmatics) basically implies differentiating between the idea of what
words mean, and the use speakers make of words (King & Stanley: 2005: 113).
According to the lexical semantics’ postulates, colour naming lexemes represent
‘content’, rather than ‘form or grammatical’ words. This paper is, therefore, an
exploration into the semantic nature of colour vocabulary, as well as a window into
the ruling pragmatic principles it is subject to.
1
The paper deals with cognitive semantics approach where meaning is perceived as concepts, or
‘things in the mind’, rather than a limited number of semantic building blocks closely studied by
componential semantics (Cruse, 2006: 3).
215
2. Colour terms are a domain of both lexis and culture
Since meaning is of no sense except in the context of communication involving
a speaker and an addressee, ‘’the notion of communication herefore provides as
good a place as any to start an exploration of meaning’’ (Cruse, 2011: 5). What is
more, if a language is recognized as a social practice, its use can no longer be
separated from the creation and transmission of cultures, e.g. in Europe and America
the colour of death and mourning is black but in China the colour of death and
mourning is white. Therefore, MacLaury (1991), argues that colour is far from being
a universal human concept as it is so strongly tied to cultural symbolism and values.
In line with the universalistic views, however, first put forward by Berlin and Kay
(1969), colour perception is universalistic, namely in a language with a fully
developed colour term system the maximum number of basic colour terms (BCTs) is
11, embracing black, white, red, green, yellow, blue, brown, grey, purple, pink and
orange.2 Whether a language has/has not a name expressing one of the
aforementioned hues depends solely on the fact whether speakers of the language
have/have not had a personal experience of a particular colour, not whether there
is/isn’t a concept for it.3 In other words, insisting on the idea that colour categories
are not arbitrary products of human cognition, universalists speak in favour of the
cross−cultural congruity between colour lexemes in different languages, e.g. English
red, blue, green and Serbian CRVEN, PLAV, ZELEN. As always, the truth lies
somewhere in between these two contradictory approaches (the relativistic and the
universalistic), hence there is both the universal and culture−specific nature of the
colour vocabulary. In short, in spite of the most probable universality of the
underlying cognitive structures, languages do vary with respect to different encoding
of similar meaning with different colours. For lack of space and time, however, our
discussion on the basic colour terms will be narrowed down to merely four terms
naming two achromatic and two chromatic hues, namely English black and white,
and red and green, equivalent to Serbian CRN and BEO, and CRVEN and ZELEN,
respectively.
3. Colour dichotomy
Without any doubt, the most frequent classification in the human category is
based on black and white. It mirrors the eternal dichotomy of night and day,
2
Interestingly though, Berlin and Kay do allow for the possibility that some languages can have
more than 11 basic colour terms. As established by their followers, Russian has SINIY, dark blue, and
GOLUBOĬ, light blue (Van Brakel, 1993: Wierzbicka, 1990), and in Hungarian there are PIROS, lighter
shade of the red hue, and VÖRÖS, darker shade of the red hue (Moss, 1988, 1989; Wierzbicka, 1990),
both pairs being two basic terms for blue and red respectively. Moreover, Roberson and Hanley
(2010), come up with the amazing 22 BCTs.
3
For details on Berlin and Kay’s typology of the BCTs please refer to Krimer−Gaborović, 2008
(pp. 220−1).
216
darkness and light, evil and good, death and life. All humans in the world are
familiar with the phenomena if not linguistically, than surely empirically. The
negative connotation of English black and Serbian CRN stems from the following
verbalized meanings, (1) misfortune, misery, malice, banishment, e.g. English black
Friday, any Friday on which a public disaster has occurred, black−hearted, evil,
black sheep, an odd or disreputable member of a group, especially within a family;
and Serbian U CRNO ZAVITI, to make unhappy; lit. to wrap in black, CRNA GUJA, an
evil person, lit. a black adder, CRNA LISTA, the list of unwanted/undesired
individuals (cf. Englich black list); (2) negative psychological conditions (fear,
anger, grief, anxiety, etc.), e.g. English to black out, to lose consciousness; and
Serbian ZACRNELO MU SE PRED OČIMA, to become frantic, lit. to see black; (3)
disease, e.g. English black death, plague; Serbian CRNI PRIŠT, anthrax, lit. a black
boil, etc. In stark contrast to this, both English white and Serbian BEO imply a series
of positive qualities such as (1) innocence, docility, chastity, e.g. white lamb and
BELE MISLI, innocent thoughts, lit. white thoughts; (2) beauty, youth, good health.
e.g. clear, white skin, and BELO DEVOJAČKO TELO, a young female’s beautiful body,
lit. a young female’s white body; (3) wisdom, experience, e.g. white/grey hair, also
available in Serbian as BELE/SEDE KOSE. The general negative attitude to BLACK and
the positive one to WHITE is perhaps best condensed into Serbian idiomatic phrase
ČUVATI BELE NOVCE ZA CRNE DANE, to save money for rainy days, lit. to save white
money for black days.
Nevertheless, in spite of a certain correspondence across cultures, here AngloSaxon and Serbian, there are also considerable differences. Certain meanings
common to Serbian basic colour terms are practically nonexistent in English, e.g.
(OTIĆI U) BELI SVET, (to go) abroad, lit. (to go to the) white world,4 and vice versa.
In fact, in English white world is most commonly a colour metaphor for the
supremacy of the white race. At the same time, English white death and white
plague, both having the meaning ‘tuberculosis’, formally do, but semantically do not
correspond to the Serbian metaphors BELA SMRT, death of freezing, and BELA KUGA,
low birth rate, respectively. Serbian CRNI OBLAK, meaning (a) a cloud that brings
rain; (b) a forthcoming misfortune/disaster, literally translates into English black
cloud, which usually refers to ‘the cloud of exhaust’, or possibly ‘the seasonal
smog’. The English equivalent of Serbian CRNI OBLAK should be dark cloud, the
adjective dark being recognized here to be a different shade of the achromatic black.
Such occurrences of false cognates (words that appear to be cognates but have
different meanings in two languages) have been known to cause major stumbling
block to a quality translation. Furthermore, black can also have the positive and
white negative meaning. Therefore, a black limo (equivalent to Serbian CRNA
LIMUZINA) sends off the message of elegance and influence similarly to a little black
dress (equivalent to Serbian MALA CRNA HALJINA); or a person can get described as
4
Corresponds to the English phrasal expression into the blue (cf. also out of the blue, completely
unexpected, out of nowhere).
217
dead white, if s/he is sick (seriously anemic or others), terrified or dead; whereas a
defeat is commonly indicated by waving a white flag to the enemy. Moreover, in
Serbian NEMATI NI BELOG DINARA, means ‘to be penniless/broke’, lit. not to have
one penny/dime; and BITI NA BELOM HLEBU implies the idea of ‘a life on death row’,
lit. to live/survive on white bread alone.
Taking into consideration all the difficulties with the semantic flexibility of
basic colour terms, such as a relation of synonymy/antonymy, systematic polysemy,
collocations, false cognates, lexical gaps, lexical blocking, etc., that need to be
explained in terms of the interaction of lexical meaning with lexical pragmatics,
Lipka (1992: 48) rightfully concludes that ‘’words are not simply names for
pre−existing extralinguistic categories’’. If this were true all translations would be
natural, accurate and with maximum effectiveness, and they are certainly not such.
As a result, colour terms must be studied in a context which implies that the colour
words are not analysed in isolation but in conjuction with other words. In view of
lexical pragmatics, pragmatic phenomena are studied in relation to the
semantic−underspecification of lexical items. Pragmatics can account for the reasons
that we can speak of ‘the blacks’ and ‘the whites’ even though the former are not
really black, and the latter are not really white. Neither do the phrases redskin and
yellow people which demonstrate a clearly pejorative attitude towards the two racial
groups (American Indians and Asians) provide a true description of the actual colour
of the peoples’ skin. Moreover, ‘the blacks’ can be said to ‘turn white’ when
grief/fear stricken and both blacks and whites as well as red and yellow people can
be said to ‘turn green with envy’ or ‘turn red’ when angry and/or ashamed.
Pragmatics is also useful when dealing with polysemy of the BCTs, the phenomenon
most commonly being recognized as a property of single lexemes implying
‘’multiple meaning’’ (Lyons, 1995: 58), or ‘semantic ambiguity’ (Prćić, 2008: 31).
Therefore, depending on the context, English blue, can refer either to ‘the colour of
the sky without clouds on a bright day’, e.g. a blue shirt that matched his pale blue
eyes; ‘feeling or showing sadness’, e.g. He’s been feeling really blue since he failed
his exams; or ‘showing or mentioning sexual activity in an offensive way’, e.g. a
blue joke, sexually explicit, pornographic joke. In the same manner, Serbian PLAV,
can actually suggest both the ‘blue colour’ in PLAVA TORBA, a blue bag, and ‘blond
colour’ in PLAVA KOSA, blond hair, its disambiguation always being
context−dependant.
4. Basic terms and their shades: a pattern of domain preference
The semantic variations of the basic colour terms are even more evident in
English red and green on one hand, and Serbian CRVEN and ZELEN on the other
hand, where the difference between a prototypical realisation of the BCT, that is to
say, between (1) the focal point of the spectrum at which the hue is claimed to be the
‘best example’ of the colour which is linguistically expressed by English and
Serbian collocations blood red and grass green, and KRV−CRVENO and
218
TRAVA−ZELENO
respectively; and (2) a variety of different basic colour shades and
tones associated with afore mentioned terms, namely e.g. English burgundy,
carmine, crimson, scarlet, vermillion (all different tones of the red hue), and
emerald, aquamarine, turquoise (all different tones of the green hue); as well as
Serbian RUMEN, RUJAN, RIĐ, RUS (all different tones of the red hue), and REZEDO,
5
SMARAGDNI, TIRKIZAN (all different tones of the green hue). When asked to use any
of the adjectives from the lists to describe a collection of objects, native speakers of
English will, for example use crimson in the field of plants, and emerald, also as
emerald−green, to talk about eyes or water(s). Similarly to this Serbian informants
will turn to RUS and RIĐ to speak of hair, and REZEDO to describe the interior colours
(e.g. walls, fabrics, etc.). This suggests that with different shades of a particular hue,
there is always a clear pattern of domain preference. Languages, furthermore supply
numerous examples that indicate a clear stretching to the limit of the prototypical
reference of a BCT. Thus, e.g. English brown sugar, is not really brown, nor is
Serbian CRNO GROŽĐE, black grapes, really black in colour.
5. Conclusion
This paper sheds some light on English and Serbian basic colour categories
providing insights into their similarities and/or differences. The examples discussed
do not illustrate only the prototypical, but also the extended meanings of colour
adjectives putting an emphasis on the importance of studying these words in context,
namely in conjuction with other linguistic units.
Apparently, out of context, a BCT is anything but semantically precise.
References
Berlin, B. & Kay, P. (1991). Basic color terms: Their universality and evolution.
Second
Edition. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press.
Cruse, A. (2006). A Glossary of Semantics and Pragmatics. Edinburgh: Edinburgh
University
Press.
Cruse, A. (2011). Meaning in Language. An Introduction to Semantics and
Pragmatics.
Third Edition. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
King, C. J. & and Stanley Jason (2005). ’’Semantics. Pragmatics, and the Role of
Semantic Content.’’ In: Z. Gendler Szabó (ed.). Semantics vs. Pragmatics. Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 111−64.
5
These are no more but some shades of red and green, and CRVEN and ZELEN.
219
Krimer−Gaborović, S. (2008). ‘’Productivity of English and Serbian
Morphologically
Complex Lexemes Expressing Basic Colour Terms.’’ In: K. Rasulić & I.
Trbojević (eds.). English Language and Literature Studies: Structures across
Cultures. ELLSSAC Proceedings. Volume I. Belgrade: Čigoja štampa, 217−29.
Lipka, L. (1992). An Outline of English Lexicology. Second Edition. Tübingen:
Max Niemeyer Verlag.
Lyons, J (1995). Linguistic Semantics. An Introduction. New York: Cambridge
University Press.
MacLaury, R. E. (1991). ‘’ Social and Cognitive Motivations of Change: Measuring
Variability
in Color Semantics.’’ In: Language 67/1, 34−62.
Moss, A. E. (1988). ''Russian blues and purples: a tentative hypothesis''. In:
Quinquereme 11/1,
164−77.
Moss, A. E. (1989). ''Basic Colour Terms: Problems and Hypotheses''. In: Lingua
78, 313−20.
Prćić, T. (2008). Semantika i pragmatika reči. Drugo, dopunjeno izdanje. Zmaj.
Novi Sad.
Roberson, D. & Hanley, J. R. (2010). ''Relatively speaking: An account of the
relationship
between language and thought in the color domain. '' U: B.C. Malt & P. Wolff (ur.).
Words and the mind: How words capture human experience. New York: Oxford
University Press, 183−98.
Steinvall, A. (2002). English Colour Terms in Context. Institutionen för moderna
språk. Umea
universitet.
(available
at:
www.mos.umu.se/forskning/publikationer/anders_steinvall.asp
Retrieved on 2 May 2006)
Van Brakel, J. (1993). ''The Plasticity of Categories: The Case of Colour''. In: The
British
Journal for the Philosophy of Science 44/1, 103−35.
Wierzbicka, A. (1990). ''The Meanings of Color Terms: Semantics, Culture and
Cognition''. In:
Cognitive Linguistics 1, 99−150.
Wierzbicka, A. (2003). Cross−Cultural Pragmatics. The Semantics of Human
Interaction.
Berlin. New York: Mouton de Gruyter.
Wierzbicka, A. (2006). ‘’The Semantics of Colour: A New Paradigm.’’ In: C.P.
Biggam,
C. Kay, N. Pitchford (eds.). Progress in Colour Studies 1: Language and Culture.
Amsterdam: John Benjamins Publishing. Amsterdam, 1−24.
220
Mihaela Lazović
Novi Sad, Serbia
laz_13@yahoo.com
THE STRUCTURE AND SEMANTICS OF ACCOMPLISHMENTS IN
ENGLISH AND ROMANIAN
Abstract This paper aims to define the structure and the meaning of
accomplishments in English and Romanian by comparing progressive achievements
and accomplishments and analyzing the influence of resultative predication on
activity verbs. The analysis of the corpus is expected to show that accomplishments
are not progressive achievements since they have different internal structure; rather
accomplishments include an activity event and a change of state indicating the
terminal point of the situation.
Key words: Accomplishments, resultative predication, progressive achievements,
activities, telicity.
Introduction
This paper studies the semantics of accomplishments. One of the aims of this
research is to give a more detailed analysis of the meaning and internal structure of
accomplishments in English and Romanian language.
The introduction of the paper offers an overview of English and Romanian
verbal classes and their semantic characteristics. It also creates the basis for defining
Romanian accomplishments since they have not yet been identified in Romanian
language. The second part of the paper analyzes the internal structure and meaning
of accomplishments in both languages. It also distinguishes the notion of telicity
proving that the goal is an essential aspectual characteristic for distinguishing verb
classes in both English and Romanian language. The semantics of accomplishments
is dealt with in the final part of the paper which offers a new insight to lexical and
derived accomplishments and makes a clear distinction between progressive
achievements and progressive accomplishments in English and their translation
equivalents in Romanian.
The basis for this study is Vendler’s semantic classification of verbs and verb
phrases into activities, states, achievements and accomplishments (Vendler 1967:97121). This classification is based on semantic characteristics of verbs and the way
the situation is realized.
In order to classify situations into verbs classes or verb types, it is important to
determine whether the situation implies a process or development or not, whether
221
the situation can be divided into segments and whether they are of equal quality or
there is a segment which denotes a culmination or goal after which the situation
naturally ends and cannot be continued. As a result, verbs can be classified into verb
classes based on their semantic characteristics or distinctive features.
Brinton (1988) and Novakov (2005) argue that the Vendlerian verb types can
be defined according to general distinctive features which are considered a part of
verbal semantics. The features in question are [+/- stativity], [+/- duration], [+/telicity]. On the other hand, Rothstein (2004:6-35) distinguishes [+/- telicity] and
[+/- phases] as two basic distinctive features which are crucial for the semantic
classification of verbs. These distinctive features are also important in determining
the internal structure of a situation.
In order to define accomplishments more accurately, the distinctive features
relevant for semantic classification of verbs will be presented as follows. The
distinctive feature [+ stativity] is a characteristic of situations which do not imply
process and development, such situations simply last in time. Only states are
described by the feature [+ stativity], whilst activities, achievements and
accomplishments by the feature [- stativity]. The distinctive feature [+ duration] is
attributed to situations which last shorter or longer period of time like activities,
states and accomplishments. On the other hand, the feature [- duration] is a
characteristic of momentary situations, i.e. achievements. The distinctive feature [+
telicity] is ascribed to situations which tend towards a goal or a terminal point after
which the situation naturally ends like accomplishments and achievements. The
situation itself determines the goal. In other words, the situation can denote a
process consisting of different phases which lead up to a natural goal (Novakov
2009, Vendler 1967). Such situations are considered telic. Nevertheless, the analysis
of the corpus has shown that the existence of a goal does not necessarily imply that
the goal will be reached, since there are situations which tend towards a goal, but do
not reached it.
Furthermore, Declerck’s analysis (1979:761-793) revealed that telic situations
always imply a goal, but can be bounded or unbounded depending on whether the
goal is actually reached or not. Thus, bounded telic situations tend towards a goal
and reach it, while unbounded telic situations tend towards a goal but do not reach it.
There are atelic unbounded situations which do not imply a goal, thus the goal is not
reached. Such situations are activities and states.
The distinctive feature [+/- phases] determines whether the situation consists of
smaller segments and can be used in the progressive or not. The fact that activities
and accomplishments have internal structure makes them divisible into phases and
dynamic, thus they can be used in the progressive (Rothstein 2004:194).
Verbal classification (Aktionsart) and the semantic characteristics it is based on
in English language can be presented as follows:
222
Stativity
Duration
Telicity
Boundedness
Stages
Activities
-
+
-
-
+
States
+
+
-
-
-
Achievements
-
-
+
+/-
-
Accomplishments
-
+
+
+/-
+
Table 1: Verb classes and their distinctive features in English language
Therefore, it can be argued that English activities imply process and
development and thus last in time. They have homogenous segments which means
that any part of the process is of the same nature as the whole, in the sense that there
is no terminal point or goal to be reached. Thus, activities are atelic and dynamic,
they consist of different stages and can occur in the progressive. Activities are verbs
such as: run (a alerga), swim (a înota), walk (a se plimba)...
States last in time, they cannot be divided into segments, they do not denote a
process and development, and therefore they do not tend towards a goal. States
simply indicate that a characteristic or a situation exists. They are stative and
homogeneous, which means that all parts of a state are of equal quality. Thus, states
have only one stage, and they do not imply any change. States are verbs such as:
know (a şti), believe (a crede), love (a iubi)...
Achievements are punctual and telic. The whole situation expressed by an
achievement verb happens in one moment. Achievements are verbs and phrases such
as: find (a afla), lose (a pierde), reach the summit (a se urca pe vârful muntelui), win
a race (a învinge în cursă / alergare)...
Based on their semantic characteristics, it can be argued that English
accomplishments represent situations which last in time and tend towards a specified
goal. They are not homogeneous since there is a final point which introduces a
qualitative change or a natural end of the situation. The distinctive features of
accomplishments are [- stativity, + duration, + telicity, +/- boundedness, + phases].
Accomplishments are verbs and phrases such as: paint a picture (a picta o
pictură), run a mile (a fugi o milă), draw a circle (a desena un cerc), etc.
Accomplishments as such are not analyzed in Romanian linguistic literature.
Namely, the contemporary semantic classification of Romanian verbs is based on
two distinctive features [change] and [agentivity]. The distinctive feature [+ change]
implies some sort of a change, i.e. a change of state due to achievement of a goal or
simply a change of position. On the other hand, the distinctive feature [+ agentivity]
implies a conscious agent. According to this criterion we can distinguish three verb
classes: states (stări), events (evenimente) and activities (activităţi).
Verbal classification (Aktionsart) and the semantic characteristics it is based on
in Romanian language can be presented as follows:
223
Change
Agentivity
States
-
-
Events
+
-
Activities
+
+
Table 2: Verb classes and their distinctive features in Romanian language
For the purpose of this research, only Romanian events and activities were
analyzed since they show similarities with English accomplishments.
Romanian events (verbe de eveniment) denote situations with distinctive
features [+ change] and [- agentivity]. For example: a săca (dry), a creşte (grow), a
îmbătrâni (grow old), etc.
(1) a. Râul a secat.
b. The river dried.
Thus, events involve a change from one state to another, but they do not require
a conscious agent. Thus, very often Romanian events involve an inanimate subject
or a process which happens independently of the subject’s volition:
(2) a. Ion îmbătrâneşte.
b. Ion is growing old.
Romanian events show similarities with English achievements (1) and
accomplishments (2), but English achievements and accomplishments may also
occur with a conscious agent.
Romanian activities (verbe de acţiune) have the following distinctive features:
[+ change] and [+ agentivity]. For example: a alerga (run), a înota (swim), a învăţa
(study), a mânca (eat), a reapara (fix), strânge (collect), a tirmite (send), etc. It can
be argued that Romanian activities involve a change, which must not necessarily be
a change of state, but a change of position as well. Conscious agent is the crucial
element. Such verb classes are similar to Vendler’s activities, achievements and
accomplishments.
It must be pointed out that it is only in the grammar published by the Romanian
Academy of Science (Brăescu et al. 2005:326) that we can find similar verb classes
to those in English linguistic literature.
The analysis has shown that, based upon the relevant semantic characteristics,
we can distinguish a verb class which denotes a process tending towards a goal in
Romanian language as well. Consequently, some Romanian verbs do have identical
characteristics as English accomplishments.
Therefore, the distinctive features stativity, duration, telicity, boundedness and
stages can also represent characteristics of Romanian verbs, this leads to the
conclusion that the mentioned distinctive features may be prototypical and can be
applicable in other languages as well. Therefore, Romanian verbs can be described
as follows:
224
Stativity
Duration
Telicity
Boundedness
Stages
States
+
+
-
-
-
Events
-
+/-
+/-
+/-
+/-
Activities
-
+/-
+/-
+/-
+
Table 3: Reinterpreted verb classes and their distinctive features in Romanian language
Syntactic tests (Vendler 1967, Dowty 1979, Rothstein 2004, Novakov 2005)
which are used to distinguish accomplishments from other verb classes are:
1. How long did it take to V (cât timp a trebuit să V) and for how long did one
V (în cât timp cineva a V). This test implies the existence of a goal:
(3) a. How long did it take to make a chair?
b. Cât timp a trebuit să construiască un scaun?
2. The adverbial in X time (în X timp), also implies that a situation has a natural
end:
(4) a. He made a chair in ten hours.
b. A construit un scaun în zece ore.
3. The syntactic test if one stops Ving, one did not (dacă cineva încetează să V,
el nu a V), is commonly used with accomplishments to denote that the goal must be
reached in order to denote the quality of the whole situation. For example:
(5) a. If he stops making a chair, he did not make it.
b. Dacă încetează să construiască un scaun, ea nu la construit.
2. The structure of accomplishments
There are many different hypothesis and theories about the internal structure
and meaning of accomplishments in the relevant linguistic literature. Namely, it is
an indisputable fact that accomplishments are situations which consist of a
preparatory activity and a goal. For example:
(6) a. John made a chair.
b. John a construit un scaun.
The whole situation consists of the activity of making the chair and the goal
represented by the finished or made chair. The segments which constitute this
situation are structurally different because the activity of making the chair is a
process of putting the parts together, which implies successive progress towards the
realization of the goal, i.e. the made chair. The activity and the goal create a
semantic entity which defines the accomplishment.
Nevertheless, linguists disagree with respect to the correlation between the
activity and the goal which constitute the accomplishment. Namely, some linguists
(Rothstein 2004:59) consider accomplishments to be derived form activities which
are made telic by resultative predicate. For example:
(7) a. Mary hammered the metal.
225
b. Mary a bătut metalul cu ciocanul.
(8) a. Mary hammered the metal flat.
b. Mary a bătut metalul cu ciocanul până nu l-a făcut drept.
In example (7) activity implies that the subject was hammering the metal, while
the example (8) implies a qualitative change of the state of the metal in the sense
that it became flat as a result of the activity. On contrast, example (7) does not
involve such a change of the metal.
Other linguists (Verkuyl 1989, Mittwoch 1991) argue that accomplishments are
in fact achievements preceded by a preparatory activity which is activated in the
progressive:
(9) a. The train was arriving to the station.
b. Trenul sosea în gară.
Both achievements and accomplishments involve a change of state. The change
is connected to the goal or the culmination of the situation, i.e. to telicity. Thus, telic
situations have a goal which is lexically expressed. Direct object usually introduces
the notion of telicity with accomplishments. It can be argued that the direct object
plays an important role in determining the aspectual characteristics. For example:
(10) a. Mary built the house *for a year / in a year.
b. Mary a clădit casa ?un an / într-un an.
(11) a. Mary built houses for a year / *in a year.
b. Mary a clădit case un an / *într-un an.
(12) a. John pushed the cart for an hour / *in an hour.
b. John a împins carul o oră / * într-o oră.
(13) a. John pushed carts for an hour / *in an hour.
b. John a împins carele o oră /* într-o oră.
Namely, the examples show that accomplishments can show characteristics of
activities if the direct object is a plural or mass noun (example 11), while with
activities the structure of the direct object does not modify the aspectual
characteristics (examples 12 and 13).
However, the examples (11a,b) can be considered accomplishments since they
imply a goal which is clearly expressed and hypothetically can be reached. Thus, the
examples (11a,b) can be defined as unbounded telic situation.
In Romanian language, accomplishments can occur with both adverbials which
imply telicity and those which imply atelicity (example 10b), because telicity does
not depend on the meaning of the verb and its correlation with the direct object, but
on context.
It can be argued that the correlation between the verb and the direct object is
very important, especially when the progression of phases of the direct object is
concerned:
(14) a. Mary ate the apple.
b. Mary a mâncat mărul.
The examples (14a,b) show the progression of the situation of Mary eating an
apple by observing the changes on the apple. This situation will last until Mary eats
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the whole apple, i.e. until the situation reaches its culmination (the moment when the
whole apple is eaten).
Such accomplishments can be contrasted to activities such as run (a alerga, a
fugi) which can be telic if the length of running is determined by an adverbial, but
not the direct object:
(15) a. John ran for an hour.
b. John a alergat o oră întreagă.
(16) a. John ran a mile in an hour.
b. John a alergat o milă intr-o oră.
(17) a. John ran to the store in ten minutes.
b. John a alergat până la prăvălie în zece minute.
The examples show that both English and Romanian accomplishment verbs can
denote atelic situations like in examples (11), and the activity verbs can denote telic
situations like in examples (16 and 17). It must be pointed out that, in both
languages, the telicity of verb phrases containing accomplishment verbs depend on
the characteristics of direct objects, while the direct object does not influence the
telicity of verb phrases containing activity verbs. This is one of the basic differences
between activities and accomplishments.
The semantic correlation between the activity and the goal is crucial. With
accomplishment verbs, the verb implies that the goal will probably be reached. With
activity verbs there is not such implication since activities do not involve a goal. For
example, if somebody is building a house it is probable that he or she will build it
and if somebody is running towards a store, he will arrive there, as oppose to the
situation of running without a specified goal.
3. The goal
The terminology concerning telicity is very diverse. Some of the terms in
relevant linguistic literature are: goal, final point, terminal point, culmination,
natural end of the situation, telicity, boundedness, etc. Even though, the terminology
may cause problems, all the mention terms are based on the idea of a goal as a final
or end point which represents a qualitative change of a situation. After the goal has
been reached the situation cannot continue, it can only be repeated.
The goal is a very important aspectual characteristic for distinguishing verb
classes in both English and Romanian language.
The culmination or goal of a situation can be determined by the direct object in
the sense that the culmination occurs when the direct object is “used up”.
Nevertheless, culmination can be a result state or the beginning of a result state.
Namely, Rothstein (2004:103) argues that the core meaning of an accomplishment is
that it implies a change of a situation or a state of a situation. With lexical
accomplishments the result state of a situation is implied by the meaning of the verb.
However, this is not always the case. For example, with accomplishments derived
227
from resultative activities, where the activity itself does not influence the change of
the state of the situation:
(18) a. Every night the neighbour’s dog barks me asleep.
b. În fiecare seară câinile lui vecinu mă adoarme lătrând.
Thus, accomplishments are not always causative.
On the other hand, some achievements can be causative (for example: break
the vase / a sparge vaza). Thus, it can be argued that culmination is in fact
achievement or a minimal change of state connected with the end point, not a state
which is a result of a situation expressed by an activity verb. This means that an
accomplishment consists of and activity and an achievement. Furthermore, the
activity and achievement which create an accomplishment must be connected by an
incremental process, which indicates that something became something else
(BECOME event). The incremental process represents a qualitative change of a
situation and implies that the situation can be divided into smaller elements which
have a specified order (Rothstein 2004:103).
For that reason, culmination can be defined as the final minimal element in the
incremental process.
Situations can be telic or atelic depending on the existence of a goal. Telic
situations head towards a specified goal or final point after which the situation
naturally ends. In other words, the situation expresses by a telic verb or verb phrase
has a well defined end point which is a crucial part of the situation (Novakov 2008,
Smith 1986). Telic situations are always dynamic, which means that a constant input
of energy is needed in order to reach the goal.
In the Romanian linguistic literature, there is no such definition of telicity, only
Avram et al. (2001:65-68) mention telic/atelic distinction. This aspectual opposition
illustrates the way the situation is realized, but it is not analyzed nor discussed any
further. Telicity can be connected to Romanian distinctive feature [change] which in
some contexts denotes a change of the state of the situation, while in other a change
of position.
Hence, telic situations head towards a specified goal and have a natural final
point, while atelic do not. Since this aspectual distinction is considered one of
fundamental semantic characteristics of verbs, it exists in Romanian language as
well, but it has not yet been defined and analyzed in detail.
Telic and atelic situations can be illustrated by the following examples:
(19) a. John was singing.
b.
John cânta.
(20) a. John made a chair.
b. John a construit un scaun.
The examples show that both telic and atelic situations can last in time, but
their internal structure differs. Situations which tend towards a goal have a natural
end point or terminal point, after which the situation cannot be continued. In other
words, when the chair is made, the making of the chair cannot be continued. The
subject can start making another chair. Telic situations represent a process which
leads up to a goal, as oppose to atelic situations (example 19).
228
However, telicity only indicates the existence of a goal. It does not specify
whether the goal is actually reached or not. Declerck (1979:761-793) offers some
solutions to this problem. In his article: Aspect and the Bounded/Unbounded
(Telic/Atelic) Distinction, he analyzes the semantic category of telicity and
differentiates between bounded and unbounded situations.
Bounded situations tend towards a goal and reach it, while unbounded do not
reach a goal, but may tend towards it. If an unbounded situation does not tend
towards a goal, it is atelic, whereas if it does, it is telic, but the goal is never reached.
Thus, bounded situations are always telic and always reach a goal. On the other
hand, unbounded situations can be telic or atelic depending on whether the goal is
reached or not. It can be argued that telic situations may be bounded or unbounded
depending or whether the goal is reached or not. Given that bounded and unbounded
situations are based upon basic semantic characteristics of verbs, it can be argued
that such situations exist in Romanian language as well, but they have not yet been
analyzed and defined in literature.
The difference between bounded and unbounded situations can be illustrated by
the following examples:
(21) a. He drank beer.
b. El a băut bere.
(22) a. He drank three glasses of beer.
b. El a băut trei pahare de bere.
The activity in sentences (21) is unbounded since the goal is not reached, while
the situations in (22) are bounded because the goal is reached (Declerck 1979:761).
Consequently, bounded and unbounded distinction, as well as telic and atelic
one does not depend on the meaning of the verb itself, but may be dependent on
other syntactic elements such as the direct object, subject, context, etc.
It can be argued that both telicity and boundedness can be connected to the
goal. Boundedness involves a linear progression towards a specified goal and the
attainment of that goal. Since there are telic situations where the goal in not actually
reached, it can be argued that there are significant differences between telicity and
boundedness: telic situations imply a goal, but do not specify whether the goal is
actually reached, while bounded situations state that the goal is reached, while
unbounded situations state that the goal is not attained. Therefore, telicity and
boundedness should be treated as different semantic characteristics of verbs and verb
phrases.
Should these definitions be implemented to different verb classes, it can be
argued that accomplishments in English and Romanian represent telic situations
which can be bounded or unbounded. Accomplishments which are bounded by a
goal are situations which attain that goal (examples 22), while unbounded
accomplishments are situations which imply a goal but do not reach it (examples
23). Unbounded accomplishments are often expressed by the progressive:
(23) a. He was drinking three glasses of beer.
b. El bea trei pahare de bere.
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4. Lexical accomplishments
With lexical accomplishments the correlation between the activity and the goal
is lexically determined. Accomplishments such as build a house (a clădi o casă) and
read the book (a citi cartea) are lexical accomplishments since the very meaning of
the verbs build (a clădi) and read (a citi) imply that the process involves progression
of the direct object towards a specified goal, i.e. progress in building of the house
and reading of the book.
Rothstein (2004:108) writes that accomplishments are generated when process
and goal are imposed on activities. Accomplishment inherits the characteristics of an
activity and involves a change (BECOME event) which affects the direct object
during the course of the activity. The activity part of an accomplishment can be
simple or complex. For example, the verb build (a clădi) is complex because the
activity event consists of a multitude of different kind of activities which compose a
building event. This situation is telic since it culminates in the moment the house is
built. On the other hand, an event of reading involves a reading activity which
consists of a string of appropriately defined “minimal reading activity events”,
where a minimal reading event is an event of associating a perceived symbol, be it a
word or a morpheme, with a meaning. The activity is simple because it consists of
identical minimal elements which are repeated over and over again and determined
by the order of the given text. For instance, the situation read the story of Rapunzel
consists of minimal segments, which have a specified order and result in the read
story (Rothstein 2004:109).
On the other hand, in both languages, there are ambiguous verbs which can
have characteristic of both activities and accomplishments. Such are verbs
wipe/polish:
(24) a. John wiped/polished the table in five minutes.
b. John a șters masa în cinci minute.
(25) a. John wiped/polished the table for five minutes.
b. John a șters masa cinci minute.
Situations in (25) are considered activities consisting of a string of simple
minimal activities, while situations in (24) are accomplishments consisting of an
activity and a become event. These two meanings depend on whether a change of
state can be observed on the direct object after the activity took place. If there is no
change on the direct object the situation is considered an activity, if a change occurs
it is an accomplishment. Nevertheless, only examples in (24) can have a resultative
meaning:
(26) a. John wiped the table clean.
b. John a șters masa să fie curată.
To sum up, the structure of the situation is crucial in the semantics of
accomplishments, not just the relation between the verb and the direct object.
230
5. Derived accomplishments
With derived accomplishments there is no lexical information which implies a
change of state of the direct object. This paper will analyze two hypotheses
concerning the structure of accomplishments. The first hypothesis is introduced by
Rothstein (2004:108) who argues that accomplishments generate when development
and culmination are imposed to activity verbs. According to the second hypothesis
(Verkuyl 1989, Mittwoch 1991, Smith 1991) accomplishments are achievements
preceded by a very short preparatory activity.
5.1. Accomplishments derived from activities
With derived accomplishments, the correlation between the activity and the
goal is neither lexically nor semantically implied, as oppose to lexical
accomplishments where the meaning of the verb implies telicity. In other words,
reading a book or building a house implies the possibility that the house will be
built and the book will be read, whereas there is no such implication with situations
such as hammer the metal, since one can hammer the metal without causing any
change to the metal. Thus, the activity verb (hammer / bate) and the direct object
(metal / metalul) do not imply any change of state. Thus, there is no lexical
implication concerning the change of the state of the metal in both languages.
However:
(27) a. John hammered the metal flat.
b. John a bătut metalul cu ciocanul până nu l-a făcut drept.
In sentences (27) the resultative predicate (flat) in English or time clause (până
nu l-a făcut drept) in Romanian introduce the goal and give information about the
state of the direct object after the activity took place.
It can be concluded that the meaning of the accomplishment is not based on the
relationship between the activity verb and the direct object, but on the change of
state or the BECOME event which may be indicated by a resultative predicate in
English or time clause in Romanian.
Some problems may occur with intransitive predicates since a direct object
must be introduced:
(28) a. John sang the baby asleep.
b. John a cântat bebelușului până n-a adormit.
In this example, there is no lexical information about the semantic correlation
between the direct object and the verb. The resultative predicate asleep and the time
clause până n-a adormit denote the state the baby is in after the goal has been
reached. Thus, the resultative predicate in English and the time clause in Romanian
indicate the change of state (BECOME event) and their minimal elements represent
the phases of the change. The very meaning of the activity verbs (sing / a cânta)
does not imply any change of state or culmination. Thus, it can be argued that the
direct object (baby / bebelușul) becomes involved in the situation of singing in the
231
sense that the activity verb can influence its change of state. Thus, the crucial
characteristic of accomplishments is the fact that the activity verb can introduce a
change of state of the direct object.
5.2. Accomplishments derived from achievements
Some linguists (Verkuyl 1989, Mittwoch 1991) argue that accomplishments are
derived from progressive achievements. As it was pointed out earlier, the correlation
between the direct object and the activity verb is very important with progressive
accomplishments; however it is not the case with progressive achievements. For
example:
(29) a. Mary was reaching the summit.
b. Mary ajungea pe vârful muntelui.
(30) a. Mary was climbing the mountain.
b. Mary se urca pe munte.
Examples (29a,b) show that the preparatory activity includes Mary, but not the
summit. Furthermore, unlike in lexical accomplishments, the direct object of reach /
a ajunge cannot be used directly in measuring the progress of the progressive
achievement. Namely, with progressive accomplishments (30a,b) the direct object is
“involved” in the situation in the sense that we can measure the progress of the
situation by measuring the mountain and see how much the subject has climbed. On
the other hand, the progressive achievement does not involve the summit, since we
cannot measure the summit.
6. Progressive achievements and progressive accomplishments
Achievements are momentary situations which are finished a soon as they start
and as such they should not occur in the progressive since the use of the progressive
implies that the situation is in progress. However, achievement verbs do occur in the
progressive (examples 31a,b). The analysis of progressive achievements can shed
light on the structure of both progressive achievements and progressive
accomplishments in both languages.
(31) a. Susan was arriving at the station when she saw John.
b. Susan ajungea la gară, când l-a văzut pe John.
It seems that the structure of progressive achievements is not much different
from the structure of progressive accomplishments:
(32) a. Dafna was painting a picture.
b. Dafna picta o pictură.
Many linguists (Verkuyl 1989, Mittwoch 1991, Smith 1991) argue that
accomplishments are in fact achievements preceded by a very short preparatory
activity which is activated in the progressive and that achievements used in the
232
progressive modify into accomplishments, which means that progressive
achievements and progressive accomplishments have the same characteristics.
However, Rothstein (2004:36-58) claims quite the opposite. She argues that
achievements interact with time adverbials in a different way than accomplishments.
Namely, accomplishments can occur with adverbials such as for X time (X timp) and
spend X time (a petrece X timp) and take over atelic meaning and consequently
modify into activities. Achievements, however, are ungrammatical with such
adverbials. For example:
(33) a. *The guests arrived for ten minutes.
b. *Oaspeții a sosit zece minute. / *timp de zece minute.
(34) a. Dafna read a book for an hour.
b. Dafna a citit cartea zece minute. / *timp de o oră.
(35) a. *The guests spent an hour arriving.
b. * Oaspeții au petrecu o oră sosind.
(36) a. Dafna spent an hour reading a book.
b. Dafna a petrecut o oră citind.
Thus, it can be concluded that, unlike accomplishments, achievements do not
include a preparatory activity.
(37) a. John painted a picture in an hour ENTAILS John was painting a
picture during that hour.
b. John a pictat o pictură într-o oră ENTAILS John picta o
pictură tot timpul în ora respectivă.
(38) a. The helicopter landed in an hour DOES NOT ENTAIL The
helicopter was landing during that hour.
b. Helicopterul a aterizat într-o oră DOES NOT ENTAIL
Helicopterul ateriza tot timpul în ora respectivă.
With accomplishments the preparatory activity is lexically expressed, with
achievements it is contextually implied and it is not a part of the meaning of the
verb. Consequently, progressive achievements cannot be considered a part of a
bigger situation. This is why the progressive achievements and activities which
precede them can be easily separated and paraphrased. This is not the case with
progressive accomplishments since they represent a semantic whole with the
preparatory activity:
(39) a. It was very turbulent while the plane was landing, but we (actually)
landed smoothly.
b. A fost foarte turbulent in timp ce avionul ateriza, dar noi (de fapt)
am aterizat lin.
(40) a. *Mary was writing a book slowly, but she actually wrote it quickly.
b. Mary scria o carte incet, dar ea de fapt a scris-o repede.
On the other hand, in both languages, achievements but not accomplishments
may occur with adverbials which denote a specified moment like at X time (la X
timp):
(41) a. The guests arrived in an hour / at ten o’clock.
233
b. Oaspeții a ajuns într-o oră / la ora zece.
Both achievements and accomplishments are grammatical with adverbials
such as in X time (în X timp) which denote the moment the goal is reached:
(42) a. Dafna read a book in an hour / *at ten o’clock.
b. Dafna a citit cartea într-o oră / * la ora zece.
Furthermore, as oppose to progressive accomplishments, progressive
achievements can be used with adverbials which denote that the situation is in
progress (halfway through / la mijloc de, la jumătate de):
(43) a. She is halfway through walking to the station.
b. ?Ea este la jumătate de drum (de mers) spre gară. / Ea este la
mijloc de drum (de mers) spre gară
(44) a. *She is halfway through arriving at the station.
b. ?Ea este la jumătate de drum de sosire la gară. / Ea este la mijloc de
drum de sosire la gară.
Also, achievements occur with adverbials denoting a situation about to happen:
(45) a. The vase is falling. → The vase is about to fall.
b. Vaza cade. → Vaza tocmai cade.
(46) a. The train is arriving at the station. → The train is about to arrive at
the station.
b. Trenul sosește în gară. → Trenul tocmai sosește în gară.
But:
(44) a. Jane was building a house.
b. Jane clădea o casă.
is not the same as:
(45) a. Jane was about to build a house.
b. Jane tocmai a clădit o casă.
It can be concluded that there are differences in the meanings of
accomplishments and achievements, as well as in their use with certain adverbials,
and as a result accomplishments and achievements have different structures and
aspectual meanings. Achievements denote a momentary change of state, while
accomplishments last in time and include a preparatory activity. Thus, it can be
argued that progressive accomplishments are not the same as progressive
achievements.
7. Conclusion
This research is based on Vendler’s classification of verbs into activities, states,
achievements and accomplishments (Vendler 1967:97-121). The Romanian
literature offers a different semantic classification of verbs into states (verbe de
stare), events (verbe de eveniment) and activities (verbe de acţiune). The research
included the analysis of Romanian events and activities since they show similarities
with English accomplishments.
234
The analysis has proven that English accomplishments show similarities with
Romanian events and activities since they share the distinctive feature [+ goal] or [+
change] which denote a change of state of the situation in both languages. Thus, the
concept of a goal which determines a final point or natural end of a situation exists
both in Romanian and in English.
The research has shown that a verb class denoting a process leading up to a
goal can be distinguished in Romanian as well. Therefore, accomplishments as such
exist in Romanian language since verbal classification is based on the meaning of
verbs and verb phrases.
In can be concluded that accomplishments in both languages denote a process
which lasts in time and tends towards a goal which represents a qualitative change of
a situation i.e. its natural final point. The distinctive features of accomplishments are
[- stativity, + duration, + telic, +/- bounded, + phases].
The analysis of the corpus has proven that the culmination or the goal can be
specified by the direct object in the sense that the goal is reached once the direct
object is “used up”. Culmination can also denote a state or the beginning of a state
which is the result of the situation expressed by the main verb.
The essential question considered in this paper was whether accomplishments
are derived from activates modified by resultative predication or from achievements
modified by preparatory activity.
A detailed analysis of the structure of accomplishments in English and
Romanian has shown that accomplishments consist of a preparatory activity and a
goal which represents a natural end of the situation after which the situation in
question cannot continue.
Nevertheless, the correlation of the activity and the goal is of great importance
in defining accomplishments especially when progression and phases of the direct
object are considered. The analysis had shown that apart form the semantic
correlation between the activity and the goal, the structure of the situation s very
important. Namely, with derived accomplishments the correlation between the
activity and the goal is not determined by the meaning of the verb, as oppose to
lexical accomplishments where the notion of telicity is included in the verbal
semantics. Thus, it can be pointed out that the meaning of accomplishments is not
based on the correlation between the activity and the goal, but rather on the change
of state (BECOME event) which can be expressed by resultative predicate in English
or temporal clauses in Romanian. Therefore, accomplishments are derived from
activities which can become telic when a resultative predicate is added. In other
words, resultative predicates can appear with activity verbs and trigger a shift from
an activity to an accomplishment reading.
The paper also analyzed the hypothesis of accomplishments being derived form
achievements. Namely, some linguists argue that accomplishments are in fact
achievements preceded by a very short preparatory activity which is activated in the
progressive and that progressive achievements modify into progressive
accomplishments. But, the research had proven that achievements do not include the
235
preparatory activity before reaching the goal like accomplishments do. With
accomplishments the preparatory activity is lexically expressed, thus it is a part of
the verbal semantics. On the other hand, with achievements the preparatory activity
in contextually implied and it is not a part of the meaning of the verb. In addition,
the achievement and the preparatory activity can easily be distinguished and
separately paraphrased. This is not the case with accomplishments since the activity
and the goal make a semantic whole. The corpus has also shown differences of
adverbial use with achievements and accomplishments which implies that they have
different aspectual meanings and structure. Achievements represent momentary
changes of state, while accomplishments last and include the preparatory activity.
Therefore it can be concluded that progressive achievements are not the same as
progressive accomplishments.
Since accomplishments have not yet been analyzed nor defined in the
Romanian literature, one of the major contributions of this paper is the fact that it
detected the existence of this verb class in Romanian and defined it as well.
What is crucial, the paper defined the notion of telicity in Romanian language,
which has so far been identified as a distinctive feature [+ change] and considered a
distinction between the change of state of a situation and a change of position. Once
these binary distinctions have been separated and defined as telic and atelic a clear
distinction between Romanian activities and events was made which consequently
resulted in distinction of accomplishments from other verb classes in Romanian
language.
Since accomplishments are defined according to semantic features of verbs it
was expected that Romanian accomplishments are very similar to English
accomplishments. Nevertheless, differences do exist: the notion of telicity which is
one of the crucial parts of the meaning of accomplishments in Romanian is not
indicated by a resultative predicate, but via temporal clauses.
The fact that this paper proved the existence of accomplishments in Romanian
language as well may lead to the assumption that such verb class is a universal
language characteristic and may be considered a part of a universal grammar. The
fact that Romanian accomplishments are very similar to English accomplishments
further supports this claim.
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Maja Marković
University of Novi Sad
majamarkovic@ff.uns.ac.rs
ACQUIRING SECOND LANGUAGE PROSODY: FUNDAMENTAL
FREQUENCY1
Abstract The study investigates the differences between prosodic aspects of speech
by native speakers of English and foreign learners whose native language is Serbian.
The paper is primarily concerned with fundamental frequency (F0) in terms of pitch
range, main stress and tunes. The study was carried out on the recorded material of
15 first year university students of English and a control native speaker of British
English. The recorded material was acoustically analyzed, compared and presented
statistically. The results indicate that (a) the non-native speakers’ speech is
characterized by a narrower pitch range, (b) the native speaker and the learners use
different prosodic cues to indicate main stress and (c) the tunes of the native
speaker’s utterances significantly differ from those of the learners’.
Key words: intonation, Autosegmental-Metrical
differences, suprasegmenal features.
Phonology,
typological
1. Introduction
Although a great amount of work in the field of intonation research has been
done for various languages, comparative studies are rather scarce. Research on the
acquisition of L2 intonation is mainly concerned with comparisons of the L2
learners’ production to that of native speakers in the target language. The emergence
of a new, phonological model of intonation in the 1980s, namely, the
Autosegmental-Metrical model of intonational phonology, enabled a different
approach to the study of prosody cross-linguistically. Within this framework,
prosody is viewed in terms of structure and distinctive tonal categories (e.g.
Pierrehumbert 1980; Gussenhoven 1984; Liberman and Pierrehumbert 1984;
Beckman and Pierrehumbert 1986; Pierrehumbert and Hirschberg 1990; Ladd 1992,
1996). This approach has enabled to compare the prosody of languages in terms of
categorical, or typological differences, and prepared the ground for establishing
prosodic typology for most diversified languages.
1
The research presented in the paper is supported by the technological project “The Development of Dialogue Systems for Serbian and Other South Slavic Languages” (TR32035) of the Ministry
of Science and Technological Development of the Republic of Serbia.
238
On the other hand, determining some of the differences between languages has
remained ‘notoriously’ difficult (Mennen et al. 2007, 2008), especially when dealing
with experimental study of prosody of actual utterances, their fundamental
frequency and other suprasegmental features. What is more, pointing precisely to the
features that indicate the influence of one’s L1 prosody on acquiring L2 intonation
has remained even more difficult.
Many of the comparative studies focused only on the comparison of native
speakers’ intonation and the imperfect achievements by non-native speakers (e.g.
Klein and Perdue 1997: 306). From the standpoint of language teaching
methodology, such an approach has certain relevance, because it helps overcome a
‘foreign accent’. Yet, it fails to capture the learner’s system, i.e. the principles
governing the process of acquiring L2 prosody.
The research inevitably has to start from the real-life data produced by
speakers/learners, but the findings should be generalized so as to reveal the
principles behind the raw data, i.e. the categorical nature of the acquisition process.
2. Some theoretical notions
The term ‘prosody’ refers to two aspects of spoken language: the prosodic
structure of an utterance and the prominence relations within the structure (Jun, SunAh 2006, Beckman 1996; Ladd 1996; Shattuck-Hufnagel and Turk 1996). The
prosodic structure is a hierarchical organization of prosodic units from the lowest
(mora or syllable) to the highest (intonational phrase (IP) or utterance). The role of a
unit in a prosodic structure determines the choice of a particular segment and the
realization of segments (vowels and consonants).
Prominence relations refer to the fact that within the given structure some units
are perceived as more prominent than others. Prominence is a perceptual
phenomenon, which combines various acoustic and auditory cues, such as intensity
(or loudness), duration (or length of a segment) and various events in the domain of
fundamental frequency – usually in terms of pitch height and pitch movement.
Another important feature of prosody is that everything counts: the prosodic
property of an utterance is a combination of prosody at the word level (lexical
prosody) and prosody at higher levels: phonological phrase, intonational phrase and
utterance. The prosodic properties of lower-level prosodic segments (syllables and
moras) are language specific, and so are the ways they combine into higher-level
units (phonological word, phonological phrase, intonational phrase and utterance).
The suprasegmental features listed above together provide the basis of a
prosodic typology of languages. Languages may differ in the way they employ some
of the features – whether the difference between low and high pitched syllables
occurs at the lexical or postlexical level, whether the prominent syllable is associated
with stress (in terms of intensity, i.e. loudness), whether there is a specific boundary
tone on the lexical level, whether the temporal organization is created around the
239
syllable or foot, as well as in terms of distinct higher organizational prosodic units
(cf. Jun, Sun-Ah 2006: 431-433).
A detailed list of typological features for 21 languages is proposed in Jun, SunAh (2006), summarized in a table where the features are given as a matrix of more
or less binary features, i.e. a language may or may not be marked for a specific
feature. The matrix can be used as the basis of comparing and contrasting prosodic
properties of different languages may. In addition, it provides an invaluable device
for predicting the potential difficulties a foreign learner may encounter while
mastering L2 prosody. In Table 1 below we give the matrices of prosodic features of
English and Serbian.
Prosody
Language
English
Serbian
Prominence
Lexical
Tone Stress
x
x
Postlexical
LPA Head
x
x
x
Rhythmic/prosodic unit
Lexical
Edge Mora Syll foot
x
x
x
Poslexical
ip
IP
x
x
x
Table 1: Typological prosodic features of English and Serbian. Symbol ‘x’ marks the
presence of a feature. LPA stands for lexical pitch accent, ‘ip’ for intermediary phrase, IP for
intonational phrase (on the basis of Jun, Sun-Ah 2006: 444)
By providing such an elegant account, the differences and similarities between
the prosody of English and Serbian are rather obvious: the features shared by the
two languages are: (a) stress, as a significant component of prominence; (b) in both
languages the head of a unit bears prominence; (c) the rhythm of both languages is
organized around phonological feet; (d) both languages have IP as a higher unit of
prosodic organization.
Based on the features which are different between the two languages, we can
predict the difficulties that the native speaker of Serbian may encounter while
acquiring the prosody of English as a second language. The differences, which are
expected to be the source of transfer in acquiring the other language, are the
following:
(a) The existence of a lexical pitch accent in Serbian, which does not exist in
English. Lexical pitch accents are the falling and rising tones at the word
level, traditionally divided into four categories – short falling, long falling,
short rising and short rising accents.2
(b) Serbian words are demarcated by a significant low tone at the beginning
(marked %L), as was first proposed by Godjevac (2000, 2006). Godjevac
(2006: 155) explains this tone on the basis of combining words into higher
prosodic units. It shows as a dip between two accented words, while in
English there is rather a straight pitch curve.
2
In Standard Serbian the term ‘rising’ is somewhat misleading, because it does not indicate a
rising tone, but rather the fact that the syllable following this accent has a higher pitch.
240
(c) In English, there is evidence for the existence of an intermediate prosodic
constituent, i.e. phonological phrase (also called minor phrase, intermediate
phrase – a prosodic unit containing more than one lexical word). According
to Godjevac, the units above the foot are the phonological word, and then
intonational phrase. This is reflected in the different organization of units in
the two languages.
3. Analysis of raw data: Acoustic measurements
Quantification of concrete prosodic events, however, has to be based on precise
acoustic measurements of utterances produced by speakers, and is therefore much
less elegant. The prosodic features regarding fundamental frequency (F0) are
realized along two dimensions: pitch range and pitch level. Pitch range is defined as
the span between the highest and lowest frequencies of an utterance. Pitch level is
used in two different ways, either as register, i.e. the median value of frequencies, or
in the sense of pitch height and movement.
Pitch range is, more or less anecdotally, usually blamed for some of the
perceived differences in the intonation of different languages, but the actual research
data seem to persistently counter such claims (Mennen et al.2007, 2008). Pitch level,
in the sense of typical pitch height or register, also seems to play an important role
in the perception of intonation. Apparently, the predominance of higher or lower
tones is to a great extent language specific.
In addition, seemingly identical prosodic structures may be demarcated by
different pitch events in different languages.
The question that inevitably arises when one ventures to carry out laboratory
research on prosody in different languages is where to draw a line between the so
called ‘phonetic differences’, and the differences which are actually typological.
One could argue that differences are generally ‘phonetic’, i.e., resulting merely from
the differences in the habits of speakers of a language. However, the results of our
research indicate that sometimes it is difficult to show precisely where phonetics
ends and phonology takes over: the two are interrelated, and the differences in the
phonetic realization in many cases stem from the typological, i.e. categorical
differences between two languages.
4. Research: methods, subjects, material
4.1. The scope and goals of the research
The goal of the study presented here was to compare the prosodic features of
English produced by native speakers of Serbian to those of native speakers. Bearing
in mind that the two languages are typologically different, we set the following
goals: (a) to find out which prosodic elements can be attributed to the transfer of
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native language prosody; (b) to determine which of the features are due to the
typological, i.e. phonological/categorical differences between the two languages,
both in terms of the inventory of phonologically distinct intonational elements and in
terms of their distribution; (c) to determine which of the features are not categorical,
but simply arise from the differences in the phonetic realization.
According to Ladd (1996: 119) there are four areas where languages differ in
intonation: ‘semantic’ differences – differences in the meaning of tunes; ‘systemic’
differences – differences in the inventory of phonologically distinct types;
‘realizational’ differences – differences of phonetic detail; and ‘phonotactic’
differences – differences in tune-text association and the permitted structure of
tunes.
The problems of acquiring L2 intonation arise along the same lines. We have
not taken into account the first dimension of Ladd’s classification (semantic
difference), because it is not relevant in terms of linguistic prosodic structure, but is
rather extra-linguistic in its nature.
The choice of material is therefore a narrative text, which does not allow
considerable variation in the semantic interpretation. At the same time, we chose to
analyze intonation in read text, because it serves as the best basis of comparison.
4.2. Participants and material
The participants of the research were 15 first year female students of English at
the University of Novi Sad. They are rather proficient in English, as the entrance
exam requirement at the English Department is the B2 level in the Common
European Framework of Reference for Languages. The average length of learning
English for all participants is nine years. The subjects were chosen on the basis of
their regional background, so that they speak the same variety of Standard Serbian.
The material analyzed consisted of six declarative sentences, the first part of a
narrative text the subjects read aloud. The same material was read by two female
speakers of British English, whose utterances were used as control values. For the
sake of our analysis, the material was further broken into 8 intonational units.
4.3. Procedure
The participants were recorded in the sound-proof room at the Faculty of
Philosophy in Novi Sad and the recordings were sampled at 44.1 Hz sampling rate.
The tool used for the analysis of the acoustic values was Praat software for the
analysis of speech (Version 5.1.23, Boersma and Weenink 2010).
In this analysis we used the option of speech resynthesis and pitch stylization,
where the original pitch contour is approximated by resynthesized contour, based on
pitch targets, changes in slope and interpolation between targets. Due to the great
inconsistences between the native speakers’ and learners’ prosody, it was concluded
242
that the only relevant results could be obtained by comparing significant prosodic
landmarks (boundary tones at word and IP level). All of the landmark frequencies
were measured and compared in Hz and semitones (ST). The results of
measurements were analyzed statistically and compared for each intonational unit.
5. Results and discussion
Table 2 summarizes the mean values of the following measurements: the
median value of frequencies (abbr. Mean F0), the highest fundamental frequency
(Max). the lowest fundamental frequency (Min) and pitch range, i.e. the span
between the two, calculated as the difference between the maximum and minimum
F0 (Max-Min). The table also contains the information on standard deviation in the
F0 values. The values were analyzed for each intonational unit of the recorded text.
Value
Native speakers
It seemed to take an age to get there
MEAN F0
ST.DEV.
MAX
MIN
MAX-MIN (SPAN)
but eventually the bus stopped
MEAN F0
ST.DEV.
MAX
MIN
MAX-MIN (SPAN)
We'd got to the terminus and everyone got out
MEAN F0
ST.DEV.
MAX
MIN
MAX-MIN (SPAN)
We were somewhere in the commercial district
MEAN F0
ST.DEV.
MAX
MIN
MAX-MIN (SPAN)
but I wasn't sure where
MEAN F0
Average for Serbian speakers
210.4
67.5
321.9
103.7
218.2
222.2
52.5
301.4
144.6
156.8
189.7
75.7
289.5
91.9
197.6
210.5
36.8
272.4
171.3
101.1
210.8
60.9
323.9
116.3
207.6
213.8
50.8
271.7
117.8
153.9
221.4
74.8
317.8
93.9
223.9
223.2
39.2
288.3
180.3
108.0
203.0
185.0
243
ST.DEV.
MAX
MIN
MAX-MIN (SPAN)
I couldn't recognize anything
MEAN F0
ST.DEV.
MAX
MIN
MAX-MIN (SPAN)
The others hurried off
MEAN F0
ST.DEV.
MAX
MIN
MAX-MIN (SPAN)
I hesitated wondering which way to start
MEAN F0
ST.DEV.
MAX
MIN
MAX-MIN (SPAN)
61.4
250.4
81.1
169.3
64.0
271.6
92.4
179.2
200.3
69.7
281.0
90.6
190.4
214.5
46.9
275.2
147.8
127.4
221.6
63.9
329.8
136.9
192.9
181.1
52.5
246.1
96.4
149.7
218.0
71.0
324.0
83.2
240.8
222.5
41.8
285.3
154.8
130.6
Table 2: The results of F0 measurements – the median value of frequencies (Mean F0), the
highest fundamental frequency (Max), the lowest fundamental frequency (Min) and the span
(the difference between the maximum and minimum F0)
The results indicate consistent differences between the native speakers’
prosody and that of the subjects of our research.
There is clear evidence for pitch range differences between SBE speaker and
native speakers of Serbian. While the average value of the difference between the
highest and lowest F0 values is 205 Hz in the production of the native speakers, it
does not exceed 138 Hz in the learners’ production. However, the measurements
indicate that this difference is not conclusively a consequence of higher H* in
English, but rather the consistently lower L* in Serbian, and also a greater variability
between H* and L*. This is also obvious from the greater values of STDEV in the
native speaker’s pronuniation throughout the analyzed material.
However, the most significant difference between the subjects’ and native
speakers’ prosody perceived seems to be the consequence of typological differences.
As was noted in Table 1, one of the typological differences between Serbian and
English prosody is the fact that Serbian is marked for a lexical boundary (or edge)
tone, %L. In terms of Metrical-Autosegmental Phonology, it is a low tone occurring
at the left edge (beginning) of each accented lexical item (cf. Godjevac 2006, in Jun,
244
Sun-Ah 2006). The presence of a low boundary tone at the left edge of words –
clearly transferred from the subjects L1 into L2 – seems to correlate greatly with the
perceived level of proficiency in L2 (although this correlation was not systematically
dealt with in this study).
The low left edge boundary tone is a typological feature of Serbian, and it does
not occur in English. This particular feature is responsible for the auditory
impression of a kind of ‘jagged’ intonation in the production of English by L2
speakers of Serbian (and other South Slavic languages): while in English the
prosody of words is ‘computed’ into the prosody of phrases, in Serbian, every
lexical word is marked for the prosodic features at word level, including the L% tone
at the left word edge. If this feature is transferred into English, there is a strong
impression of foreign accent.
This difference can be seen in the pitch contours of the same recorded extracts
of native English speakers and Serbian learners of English. Figures 1 and 2 illustrate
the intonational contour of the sentence ‘It seemed to take an age to get there’,
produced by a native speaker of Serbian (Figure 1) and a native English speaker
(Figure 2). While the native English speaker gives single intonational contours to the
phrases [seemed to take] and [get there] (Fig. 1), the learner uses a single intonatonal
slope for each of the lexical items [seemed], [take], [get] and [there] (Fig. 2).
Figure 1: Intonational contour of the sentence ‘It seemed to take an age to get there’
produced by one of the native speakers
245
Figure 2: Intonational contour of the sentence ‘It seemed to take an age to get there’
produced by one of the subjects
Another difference present throughout the recorded material was found at the
right boundaries of intonational phrases signalling incompleteness. The presence of
a LH% tone at the right boundaries of sentence medial IP’s, is transferred from L1,
where this kind of tone is generally used to signal incompleteness, or continuation.
The native speaker uses either falling tone (HL%) or falling rising tone
(HLH%) tone in the same context. This is illustrated by Figures 3 and 4, which show
the pitch contour at the ending portion of the first clause of the sentence ‘We were
somewhere in the commercial district [but I wasn’t sure where]’.
246
Figure 3: Intonational contour of the clause ‘We were somewhere in the commercial district’,
produced by one of the subjects. The IP right boundary tone is a typical falling tone (HL%)
Figure 4: Intonational contour of the clause ‘We were somewhere in the commercial district’,
produced by one of the subjects. The IP right boundary tone is transferred from Serbian,
being a typical rising tone (LH%) used to signal continuation
247
Another difference perceived refers to the sentence stress. Native speakers of
Serbian commonly fail to mark the most strongly stressed words in the same way as
the native speakers do. These words tend to be less prominent and distinct than in
the production of native speakers: they are lower pitched, they have a shorter
duration and lower intensity in the foreign speakers’ production. It can be seen in
Figures 1 and 2 on the example of the word ‘age’, and in Figures 3 and 4 in the
second syllable of the word ‘commercial’.
6. Conclusions and further lines of research
It may be tempting to claim that among the differences observed, only the
boundary tones and nuclear stress properties are phonological (categorical), whereas
the other characteristics are ‘phonetic’, i.e. the matter of detail. However, things are
obviously not so clear-cut, and they certainly require a much closer scrutiny.
Among the differences that can undoubtedly be classified as categorical are the
word edge tone in Serbian and the difference in the IP boundary tone in the two
languages. We believe that the analysis provides strong evidence for the existence of
the word boundary %L tone at the left edge of stressed words in Serbian, which also
correlates with the observed intonational transfer in L2. Being part of the systematic
prosodic structure in Serbian, it is certainly not simply the matter of phonetic
difference, but rather of phonological/categorical nature. The IP which consistently
indicates transfer is the sentence internal IP tone indicating continuation – while the
English speakers use either HL% or HLH% IP boundary tones, the speakers of
Serbian tend to use LH%.
The research has also shown that the values of F0 per se seem not to be a
relevant factor of intonational transfer: native speakers of Serbian seem to use a
repertoire of low and high pitch on a par with the native speakers, regardless of the
perceived transfer, i.e. a strong foreign accent.
The research presented here has opened up many new questions related to the
acquisition of prosodic features, but also the questions of need for a more refined
typological account of Serbian.
Further work is under way in order to investigate the reasons for perceived
‘higher pitch’ in English, especially BE, as well as to determine the correlation
between the level of proficiency in English as L2, the perceived intonational
‘imperfection’ and the presence of the observed aspects of transfer.
References
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English, Phonology Yearbook 3. 255-309.
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Godjevac, S. (2000), 'Intonation, Word Order, and Focus Projection in SerboCroatian', Ph.D. dissertation (Ohio State University).
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Davor Menzildžić
Novi Sad, Serbia
davormen@gmail.com
AN ERROR ANALYSIS OF SERBIAN ENGLISH MAJORS’ WRITTEN
PRODUCTIONS
Abstract This paper aims to provide a classification and analysis of errors found in
the written production of three different generations of students at the English
Department of Novi Sad University, as well as determine whether there is a
significant variance in error count or type between different generations of students.
The ratio of interlingual to intralingual errors in the students’ interlanguages is
determined through a quantitative and qualitative analysis of grammatical, lexical
and orthographical errors. In addition to confirming the hypotheses that grammatical
errors most often occur when there is a gap in the native language grammar (mainly
determiners / articles) and that the students commit more intralingual than
interlingual errors (as is expected of advanced EFL learners), the paper will try to
shed some light on the factors that might be held responsible for the occurrence of
some types of errors and propose ways to overcome them.
Key words: Error analysis, EFL / ESL, advanced learners, interlanguage,
intralingual errors, interlingual errors.
1.
Introduction
Ellis (1985) defines second language acquisition (SLA) as the subconscious or
conscious process by which a non-native language is learnt in a natural or a tutored
setting. Error analysis had been used by language teachers all over the world even
before the advent of SLA literature. These informal studies were used to determine
learner progress in acquiring a foreign language and to establish language areas to
focus on. Drawing parallels and distinctions between L1 and L2 has also been a
useful tool in a language teacher’s arsenal.
Both of these intuitive concepts were formalized by Corder (1967), along with
the notion of “transitional competence,” which was used to denote each individual
learner’s independent system of language. Later, Selinker (1972) formulated the
interlanguage theory, wherein interlanguage is defined as “the separateness of a
second language learners’ system, a system that has a structurally intermediate status
between the native and target languages.”
Nemser (1971) used the term “approximative systems” and Corder (1971)
further refined the transitional competence concept into the term “idiosyncratic
250
dialect.” All of these contain the notion that second language learners develop their
own language system that is independent of, but contains features of both L1 and
L2.
Brown (1994) states that there are four stages of interlanguage development:
random errors, emergent, systematic stage, and the stabilization stage, each with a
higher consistency of error-free production than the last, with the fourth stage being
the first one where learner self-correction is evident. This, however, does not apply
to the language system as a whole. Hence, a learner could be in the fourth stage of
the passive voice, yet in the third stage of determiner use.
2.
Error types
The first important distinction in error analysis made by Corder (1967) is the
one between errors and mistakes. Mistakes are inadvertently caused by a lapse of
concentration, lack of attention, fatigue, or similar factors, while errors represent
gaps in the acquisition of the target language system. Thus, mistaking an error for a
mistake would be an error.
The main processes that cause learner errors in their intermediate language
systems are interlingual and intralingual transfer. The former refers to the
inappropriate use of patterns from the mother tongue in the target language, or L1
interference. The latter is caused by over-generalizations or a partial or incomplete
application of the rules of the target language system.
Brown (1994) categorizes errors as ones of addition, omission, substitution,
and ordering at the word, sentence or discourse level. Further classification is
achieved through considering different aspects of the language system such as
lexicon, orthography, grammar, phonology, discourse, etc. Additionally, errors can
be classified as global or local, according to whether they hinder communication or
not, respectively. There are more proposed categories and classifications of errors in
SLA literature; however, the aforementioned distinctions are the only ones that
pertain to this study.
3.
The present study
This article will present the results of a quantitative and qualitative error
analysis of the written productions of three different generations of students at the
English Department of Novi Sad University enrolled in consecutive years, namely
2007, 2008, and 2009. Most students accepted to the English Language and
Literature program at Novi Sad University are advanced learners with a high English
language competence. However, the test administered prior to their acceptance is in
greater part designed for determining receptive language competence, with only
intermittent productive competence components. Thus, written productions were
251
chosen as the target for error analysis, as producing an English text requires the
amalgamation of various aspects of the language system.
The aims of the study are threefold. The first aim is to determine the types and
frequency of errors the students commit in a productive task. The second goal is to
discover how many of their errors stem from L1 interference. Finally, the third aim
is to compare the error count and error types between the different generations of
students in order to establish whether there are any differences and whether any
trends can be noted.
The hypotheses are that grammatical errors will most often occur when there is
a gap in the native language grammar, that the students will commit considerably
more intralingual than interlingual errors, as is expected of advanced EFL learners,
and that there will be no statistically significant differences in error count or type
between the different generations of students.
4.
Method
The subjects chosen for this study are 45 adult native speakers of the Serbian
language and students at the English Department of Novi Sad University. At the
time of producing the English texts analyzed in this study, they were all in their third
semester of studies.
The instrument is a writing task that is a regular part of the Integrated
Language Skills 3 course. The task selected was writing about a hobby in the form
of an article. This topic was deemed suitable because it enabled the students to use
vocabulary related to fields and matters with which they were already familiar. The
expected word count was approximately 250 words and the suggested register
neutral. The use of writing and editing aids, such as grammar books and dictionaries,
was allowed, with the only restriction being a time limit of 75 minutes, which should
have afforded them ample time for editing and revising their work.
Anything outside the boundaries of standard English use was marked as an
error due to the availability of editing aids and for maintaining objectivity. Although
some of the errors may well have been mistakes, ascertaining whether a deviation
from accepted language use is an error or a mistake requires analyzing a particular
subject’s multiple productions and even then retains a component of subjectivity.
There were very few irregularities where the likelihood of them being mistakes was
high, but even those cases showed an even spread in the research sample, so they
could not have had a measurable impact on the results.
The data collection process started with a random selection of 15 written
productions from each generation of students (2007, 2008, and 2009). These 45
hand-written texts were converted into Microsoft Word documents with the help of
speech recognition software. The written productions were not altered in any way,
thus preserving all errors and deviations. Microsoft Word provided the readability
statistics for each text.
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Next, the errors were marked, categorized and counted. For the purposes of this
study, discourse-level and stylistic errors were ignored, as students in their third
semester of studies are not expected to have mastered these aspects, and some of
these could be somewhat subjective in nature. The errors were categorized into
grammatical (G), lexical (L), and orthographic (O) for the quantitative analysis, with
a qualitative breakdown of each of these categories performed to find specific
problems in language use and to establish the ratio of interlingual to intralingual
errors.
Finally, analyses of variance (anovas) in the form of two-tailed student’s t-tests
were performed to ensure that the datasets were comparable and to determine
whether there were any statistically significant differences between the datasets.
5.
Results
2007
2008
2009
Overall
Words
303.0
256.9
284.7
281.5
Characters
1377
1143
1270
1263
Paragraphs
4.60
4.27
4.40
4.42
Sentences
20.00
15.33
15.80
17.04
Sentences per Paragraph
4.54
3.83
3.75
4.04
Words per Sentence
15.54
17.14
18.91
17.20
Characters per Word
4.37
4.30
4.32
4.33
Passive Sentences
3.53%
2.60%
6.00%
4.04%
Flesch Reading Ease
68.11
69.60
67.81
68.51
Flesch-Kincaid
Level
7.55
7.79
8.42
7.92
Grade
Table 2: Readability statistics
Table 1 shows the readability statistics, as provided by Microsoft Word.
Anovas indicated no significant differences between the datasets in most cases.
Statistically significant differences (p < 0.05) between datasets 2007 and 2008 were
detected in word count, character count and the number of sentences; datasets 2007
and 2009 showed differences in the number of sentences and words per sentence,
while a comparison of datasets 2008 and 2009 yielded no significant differences
whatsoever.
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Since the research sample was chosen randomly, it reflects a variety of marks.
The articles were marked on a scale of 0 to 100, and the average marks were 86.73,
84.60, and 78.40 for datasets 2007, 2008, and 2009, respectively. While the gap
between datasets 2007 and 2009 seems somewhat large, the anova showed no
significant difference (p > 0.1).
The total number of errors in the study was 703. However, in order to minimize
the impact of diverse word counts, all the error counts reported henceforth will be in
a standardized measure of errors per 100 words. Table 2 shows the errors counts
(grammatical, lexical, orthographic, and total) for each generation of students, as
well as the averages for the entire research sample.
G
L
O
Total
2007
2.07
1.43
1.30
4.80
2008
2.21
1.09
2.34
5.63
2009
2.15
1.05
3.07
6.27
Average
2.14
1.20
2.21
5.55
Table 3: Error counts
In the interest of establishing whether the types of errors were similar in all the
datasets, a qualitative breakdown of the grammatical, lexical, and orthographic
categories was performed. In the grammatical category, four main problem areas
were noted: the use of determiners, prepositions, verbs, and problems with sentence
structure. The lexical category was broken down into: inappropriate word sense,
collocation, L1 interference, and word use. The category of orthographic errors was
subdivided into punctuation and spelling errors. The ratio of these error subcategories for each dataset is shown in Tables 3, 4, and 5. A further breakdown of
these sub-categories with error examples is addressed in the next section of the
article.
2007
2008
2009
Determiners
54%
47%
49%
Prepositions
16%
12%
11%
Verbs
9%
16%
14%
Structure
21%
25%
26%
Table 4: Grammatical ratios
254
2007
2008
2009
Sense
55%
62%
71%
Collocation
19%
10%
9%
L1 interference
20%
17%
18%
Word use
6%
11%
2%
2007
2008
2009
Punctuation
51%
54%
58%
Spelling
49%
46%
42%
Table 5: Lexical ratios
Table 6: Orthographic ratios
Finally, a qualitative analysis was used to establish the amount of L1
interference in the written productions. This was not the result of labeling whole
categories or sub-categories as interlingual or intralingual (with the exception of the
one lexical error sub-category); each error was scrutinized individually and L1
interference determined on a case-by-case basis. The resulting interlingual to
intralingual error ratio for each dataset and the research sample as a whole is shown
in Table 6.
2007
2008
2009
Total
Interlingual
28%
21%
20%
23%
Intralingual
72%
79%
80%
77%
Table 7: L1 interference ratios
6.
Discussion
The goal for students at the English Department of Novi Sad University, as far
as proficiency in the English language is concerned, is native-like competence. In a
similar study featuring native English speakers as some of the subjects,
Ehrensberger-Dow and Ricketts (2003) note that “3 or 4 errors per 100 words can be
considered native-like for this type of text.” That study, however, takes into account
errors in style and coherence and cohesion in addition to grammatical, lexical and
orthographic errors. By subtracting the error counts of errors not featured in this
255
study, a new baseline of 2 errors per 100 words (most of which are orthographic)
can be established. The results of this study indicate room for improvement, with the
only metric approaching the native-like baseline being the orthographic errors in
dataset 2007. However, the subjects were only in their third semester of studies, and
their results are comparable to the results of Italian and German speakers featured in
the aforementioned study, all of whom were in their final semester of a translation
program.
Only one somewhat disconcerting trend can be noted, namely the steady
increase in orthographic errors in successive generations. The most probable reason
for this is the influence of the media. In Serbia, adoption rates for cable TV and
Internet use have been increasing yearly, allowing an ever-greater percent of the
population to acquire parts of the English language exclusively through aural
stimuli, which creates spelling problems for native English speakers as well. The
Internet, due to its abundance of user-created and unscreened content, is not exactly
a bastion of correct spelling, let alone punctuation, yet punctuation errors can also be
attributed to disparate standards and simple carelessness.
The qualitative breakdown of the main error categories showed no significant
differences in error types between the different generations of students. As
hypothesized, errors in the use of determiners dominate the category of grammatical
errors. The misuse of articles (e.g. change the world from political standpoint)
accounts for nearly all determiner errors, with other irregularities involving
determiners (e.g. too much paper animals) appearing only sporadically. Preposition
errors (e.g. go into incredible adventures) did not feature prominently in the
grammatical error category, which only reinforces the notion that the subject are
advanced EFL learners. In the sub-category of errors in verb use, the most common
were errors in tense (e.g. Previously, type of games help us), while errors concerning
aspect (e.g. Then, you may be feeling full and satisfied.), voice (e.g. Another reason
to involve in this activity), and form (e.g. to lost some time in traffic) had an even
distribution. The wide-ranging sub-category of sentence structure consisted in equal
parts of word order errors (e.g. asks you where is the center), various agreement
errors (e.g. you like writing songs, and you like to about its melody), using the wrong
word class (e.g. help you think positive.), errors where certain sentential or clausal
elements were omitted entirely (e.g. Your hobby is measured in centimeters, or
smaller.), and other errors too few in number to warrant categorization.
In the lexical category, errors involving the use of a word the sense of which is
inappropriate to the context (e.g. this article would pursue you to try) constituted a
majority, which is surprising given the level of the learners. However, the lines
between the sub-categories of lexical errors are somewhat blurry as there is some
overlap between them. Errors due to L1 interference (e.g. learn us how to function)
were next in frequency. The interlingual nature of the error in the example is evident
from the fact that, in Serbian, the verb “naučiti” means both “to teach” and “to
learn” depending on the arguments it takes. Inappropriate collocations (e.g. to
practice exercise) were not featured heavily in the research sample, while word use
errors, such as attempting to use an uncountable noun as a countable one (e.g. there
256
are many researchs), were rarer still. The category of lexical errors consistently
showed the lowest error counts, which could be explained by students writing about
topics they were intimately familiar with and their vocabulary choices being “safe,”
and of limited range.
Spelling errors (e.g. searching for bigger chalanges) were the most numerous
ones in the orthographic category, which is somewhat surprising as the students
were allowed the use of dictionaries. The punctuation sub-category consisted mainly
of errors in comma use (e.g. If you accept this challenge you won’t regret it), the
main source of which was a failure to mark off a main clause after a long initial
sentence element, be it an adverbial or a dependent clause. While these cannot be
considered grievous errors by most standards, the comma misuse that was next in
frequency, namely the comma splice, can be a cause for concern. Run-on sentences
were not an infrequent occurrence, indicating that some of the students still struggle
with complex sentence structure. Other punctuation errors included comma use in
lists and with relative clauses, irregularities in quotations, and omitted apostrophes.
Orthographic error counts could be reduced by increasing student exposure to highquality English texts, as well as adopting department-wide punctuation standards
that would be strictly enforced.
The qualitative analysis pertaining to interlingual and intralingual transfer
yielded a high ratio of intralingual to interlingual errors, confirming the initial
hypothesis, which was predicated on the fact that interlingual errors abound only in
the early stages of interlanguage development. Of interest in this study were the
type, source, and frequency of interlingual errors in the students’ interlanguages.
Expectedly, the overwhelming majority of L1 interference errors (68%) appeared in
the form of article misuse, as Serbian grammar lacks this category altogether.
However, labeling the whole sub-category of article errors as interlingual in nature
would be remiss, so only instances of article omission, where the transfer from
Serbian is straightforward, were treated as such. Examples where a superfluous
article was used were considered cases of learners over-generalizing L2 rules and, as
such, moved to the intralingual category. The next most frequent source of
interlingual errors (20%) were word choices influenced by the mother tongue, which
came in various guises, but it seems that a more thorough introduction to “false
friend” word pairings in Serbian and English could effect an improvement. The
remainder of the interlingual category consisted of dependent prepositions, the use
of the determiner “some” where the indefinite article would have been the preferred
choice, punctuation within quotations, and even some L1-influenced spelling errors,
along with other error types appearing too infrequently to be of importance.
A distinct lack of variety and range, both in syntax and lexis, was noted
throughout the research sample, which could mean that the students were focused on
accuracy rather than complexity. This is not necessarily detrimental early in their
studies, as complexity can be added after accuracy has been achieved. However, if
the tasks they are given contain varying complexity demands, accuracy will suffer as
a result. One of the ways of adding complexity without sacrificing accuracy could be
peer review, along with redrafting or rewriting their own work. Nunan (1991) states
257
that students are challenged to reassess what they are trying to achieve when they
are asked to rewrite or redraft their written productions. Having their first draft
judged by peers instead of teachers could allow them to test more freely their
hypotheses about the target language, leading to increased complexity. During the
rewriting phase, some of their hypotheses are rejected, while others are confirmed,
and this gradual process leads to a better approximation of the target language in the
learner’s interlanguage.
7.
Conclusion
The results of this analysis offer an overview of the students’ L2 competence in
their third semester of studies, highlighting areas that need further attention. Thus,
the deficiencies in their L2 knowledge can be addressed by developing exercises and
tasks that target the weaknesses noted. The only appreciable difference between the
different generations of students was that younger generations seemingly place less
emphasis on orthography, a trend that should not be exceedingly challenging to
reverse. The rest of the results are comparable to their peers or seniors in another
study, although the frequency of interlingual errors could stand to be reduced.
The limitations of this study are in the types of errors covered. The inclusion of
supra-sentential and stylistic errors would have provided a more comprehensive
insight into learner competence levels. Another problem is the students’ focus on
accuracy, as their avoidance of complex language use prevents the true state of their
interlanguages from being ascertained. The peer review method proposed in this
article could alleviate this issue for a future study.
Post-task follow up activities coupled with clear feedback could make the
language acquisition process more efficient. Less insistence on grammatical rules,
with more attention paid to the communicative purposes of the various language
aspects, could also be helpful in achieving the goal of native-like competence.
References
Brown, H. D. (1994). Principles of Language Learning and Teaching. Englewood
Cliffs, New Jersey: Prentice Hall.
Corder, S. P. (1967). “The Significance of Learners’ Errors”. International Review
of Applied Linguistics 5: 161-170.
Corder, S. P. (1971). “Idiosyncratic dialects and error analysis”. International
Review of Applied Linguistics 9: 147-159.
Ehrensberger-Dow M. and Ricketts C. (2003). “What’s wrong with our Swiss
students’ English? An analysis of advanced learners’written productions”.
Bulletin VALS-ASLA (Vereinigung für angewandte Linguistik in der
Schweiz) 77: 103-121.
258
Ellis, R. (1985). Understanding Second Language Acquisition. Oxford: Oxford
University Press.
Nemser, W. (1971). “Approximative Systems of Foreign Language Learners”.
International Review of Applied Linguistics 9: 115-123.
Nunan, D. (1991). Language Teaching Methodology: A Textbook for Teachers.
London: Prentice Hall International.
Selinker, L. (1972). “Interlanguage”. International Review of Applied Linguistics 10:
209-231.
259
Mira Milić
Novi Sad, Serbia
mbmilic@EUnet.rs
HINDSIGHT ANALYSIS OF A BILINGUAL DICTIONARY OF
STANDARDISED SPORTS TERMS
Abstract The fact that lexicographic work is a reflection of lexicological thought
and constantly changing requirements of the society imposes a need for repeated
evaluation of dictionaries and improving them accordingly. Given that this is an
open-ended issue, the aim of this paper is to do a hindsight analysis of an EnglishSerbian dictionary of sports terms Englesko-srpski rečnik sportskih termina, 2006.
Upon a brief presentation of a terminographic model and goals governing its
implementation, this paper highlights qualities that have stood the test of time, as
well as potential upgrades complying with new technologies.
Key words: lexicology, lexicography, translation.
1. Introduction
The purpose of this analysis is to reevaluate the model of terminological
standardisation applied in the bilingual dictionary of sports terms Englesko-srpski
rečnik sportskih termina (Milić 2006), further referred to as ESRST. Aiming at
elegance of expression, lexicographic codification of terms will be further referred
to as terminography. In the light of the fact that ESRST includes only terms of five
ball games (basketball, football, handball, volleyball, and water polo), this analysis
will also show whether the proposed model is applicable to terminologies of other
sports events, as well as whether new technologies impose additional requirements
related to terminographic codification standard. Besides introductory section, the
remaining presentation includes four sections. Section 2 deals with terminographic
model of ESRST, including the principles of standardisation, all of which are both
defined and exemplified. Sections 3 and 4 present ESRST’s macrostructure and
microstructure respectively. Section 5 deals with advantages and disadvantages of
ESRST from the aspect of new technologies, and Section 6 summarises conclusions
in terms of the model sustainability and actions to be taken in near future.
2. Terminographic model of standardised terms in ESRST
The process of terminological standardisation involves two essential
requirements. These are matching various features of an entity (object, event, idea,
260
process, etc.) and normativeness of a set standard. The former implies creation of
terms referring to particular concepts, and the latter are linguistic, technical and
pragmatic characteristics of terms. Owing to the fact that the term is a linguistic sign
it must be in accordance with linguistic standard of a given language, whereas the
fact that it is a part of a particular thematic register sets a prerequisite of its
preciseness and transparency. Eventually, pragmatic aspect of the term calls for its
acceptability in terms of language economy and frequency of usage in written and
oral communication. The process of standardisation is not easily accomplished, as it
involves a number of interrelated stages to be implemented by linguistic and
technical specialists on one side and by the community on the other. The former are
expected to select a language variant, set a code, elaborate the code and compile a
prescriptive grammar or a dictionary. The latter are supposed to take care of
acceptance of the standard in public and its updating according to the new
requirements of a language, thematic register, and the society in general.
In the light of the above, a terminographic standard has been proposed for
sports terminology in Serbian, which includes a hierarchically ordered set of six
principles, all of which are dealt with below. They are preciseness (2.1),
transparency (2.2), systematicity (2. 3), productivity (2.4), concision (2.5) and
frequency (2.6). Due to the fact that sports terms in Serbian are created by the
process of borrowing and translation of English terms, application of the model
resulted in reordering or modification of the existing translation equivalents, in such
a manner that the standard term is always listed first with the designation (1) in
front.
2.1. Preciseness
Preciseness of a term sets the requirement that the term should represent only
one concept in a thematic register (Dubuc 1997: 156). This principle mostly applies
to two issues: terminological variants referring to the same concept and translation
equivalents of synonymous terms with minor differences in denotative meaning,
which refer to different concepts. According to this principle one of the
interchangeable terminological variants is marked as standard term with the
designation (1), e.g. (1) pivot-noga ‘pivot foot’ (calque which involves literal
translation into L2 of L1 elements of complex, compound and phrasal words (Prćić
2007: 418)) and (2) stajna noga ‘pivot foot’ (direct translation which involves direct
translation of L1 literal or transferred meaning into L2 (Prćić (2005: 179). Synonyms
which differ in denotative meaning are distinguished by expansion or modification
of the existing single translation equivalents, each of which is allocated a proper
gloss. For example, polaganje u koš ‘layin’ and polaganje od table ’layup’ are
standard terms versus the existing one polaganje that used to be the same translation
equivalent for both English terms.
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2.2. Transparency
This principle is defined as the requirement that the term should reflect
characteristics of a concept which it represents (Šipka 1998: 129), which means that
it should be motivated etymologically, semantically or morphologically (Dubuc
1997: 156). Analysis of sports terminology proves that sports terms are satisfactorily
motivated at the level of etymology and morphology, but not at the level of
semantics. This is due to several reasons: (i) loss of a diagnostic feature, (ii) shift of
a functional or collocation feature, (iii) use of non-standard language variant or
archaic word and (iv) use of acronyms or initialisms. Application of this principle
resulted in the following changes: (i) extra or missing diagnostic features are omitted
or added respectively, (ii) shifted functional or collocation features are adapted to
the original term, (iii) archaic terms are replaced by non-archaic ones, and (iv)
acronyms are kept unchanged but initialisms and abbreviations are replaced by full
words. Accordingly, (i) površina četverca (length-width) ‘4-meter area’ (lengthwidth) is standard term versus the existing translation equivalent (prostor četverca)
with extra diagnostic feature (length-width-height), (ii) bacanje za loptom ‘diving’ is
standard term versus the former suvanje (archaic), (iii) srednji bek ‘CB’ (‘central
backcourt player’) is standard term versus the former abbreviation SB composed of
initial letters of words making up a translation equivalent in Serbian, and (iv)
golmanova zamena (modifier + noun) ‘substitute goalkeeper’ (modifier + noun) is
standard term versus the existing one zamena golmana (nounnominative + nounaccusative.),
which is ambiguous.
2.3. Systematicity
The term is systematic if it is adapted to the linguistic system of Serbian, which
implies the levels of: (i) orthography, (ii) phonology, (iii) morpho-syntax, and (iv)
terminography (Milić 2004: 75). The existing terminology of ball games shows the
following deviations: (i) writing compounds, semi-compounds, anglicisms, numbers
and mathematical signs, (ii) phonological adaptation of anglicisms, which is based
on spelling or mixed spelling and pronunciation, (iii) hyphenated inflectional
endings of anglicisms, and (iv) non-unified codification of lexical entries in
dictionaries and glossaries. The following text deals with standardisation relative to
deviations (i), (ii) and (iii), whereas (iv) is dealt with in Section 4 of this paper.
Accordingly, compounds and semi-compounds are written either hyphenated or nonhyphenated as per A Book of Orthographic Rules for Serbian, 1995, item 41, except
for anglicisms of this type which are in accordance with the standard of Vasić et al.
(2001:11), e.g. (i) aut-linija ‘out line’ is standard term versus the former nonhyphenated form aut linija and raspored igrača 5 prema 1 ‘formation 5:1’ is
standard term versus the fomer raspored 5 : 1. Phonological adaptation of
translation equivalents is applied to certain terms deviating from A Book of
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Orthographic Rules for Serbian, 1995, item 76, e.g. (ii) tobdžija ‘goalcapable
player’ standard term versus the fomer topdžija. Finally, morphosyntactic adaptation
is applied to terms consisting of noninflectional noun modifiers, such as (iii) pravila
vaterpola Fine (oblique case) ‘FINA water polo rules’ as standard term versus the
former Fina vaterpolo pravila (noninflectional noun modifier).
2.4. Productivity
For the requirements of terminological standardisation, a modified Prćić’s
(1997: 5) general definition of productivity is used. Accordingly, productivity is
defined as a characteristic of the language system which enables communicators
(especially if it is their mother tongue) to encode and decode maximum number of
higher-order terminological units, including those which they haven't come across
earlier. At the level of single-word entries, productivity is explained in terms of
derivation and composition, which is generally established in the ball game
terminology. At the level of multiple-worded entries, this principle may partially be
treated as derivation potential of the headword, but more likely in terms of a number
of words of a phrase or collocation. Generally, phrases are productive if they contain
fewer words in a collocational/phrasal lexeme. As per the term used by Lipka (1992:
74) and Lyons (1977: 23), phrasal lexeme implies hybrid lexical units which are
syntagms according to their form, but according to their function, meaning and
usage they are undoubtedly words (Prćić 1999: 16). Application of this principle
resulted in the following changes: omission of extra words (e.g. isključenje s pravom
zamene ‘exclusion of a player with substitution’ standard term versus the former
isključenje igrača s pravom zamene), direct translation instead of a functional
approximation, which according to Prćić (2007: 418), involves expression of L1
content with L2 lexical resources, so as to reflect as closely as possible the function
of the referent, either by keeping or by changing the original conceptualisation. For
example, nošena lopta ‘held ball’ is standard term versus the former drugi kontakt s
loptom and izvođač auta ‘thrower’ is standard single-word term versus the former
igrač koji ubacuje loptu u igru, which is a relative clause.
2.5. Concision
Concision of the term implies that it should not be too long, that it is preferably
single-worded or with a fewer number of words (Šipka 1998: 129). Multiwordedness is often the result of adding extra words in translation equivalents due to
a lexical gap, insufficient understanding of the lexical meaning of a term, or the need
to avoid associating the term with another thematic register. If resulting from a
lexical gap, it is advisable to use another lexical resources based on analysis of the
meaning of the term (e.g. cikcak raspored ‘w-formation’ standard term versus the
fomer igrač u cikcak formaciji), apply derivation potential of the head word (e.g.
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prekršilac ‘guilty player’ standard term versus the fomer igrač koji je učinio
prekršaj) or, lastly, borrow the term (e.g. dabl-futer ‘double-footed player’ adapted
borrowed term versus the former translation equivalent igrač koji dobro igra obema
nogama).
2.6. Frequency
Frequency implies how often a particular term is used in the relevant
documents and oral communication of professionals in a thematic register (Milić
2004: 85). This principle is applied to terminological doublets i.e. two
terminologically marked lexemes sharing the same meaning and parallel usage
(Gortan-Premk (2004: 122), created by direct translation of terminological doublets
from English (i) or by double-adaptation of English terms, usually borrowing plus
direct translation or calque plus direct translation (ii). This principle is also applied
to synonymous terms for which there is only one translation equivalent (iii). As
translation equivalents of terminological doublets have parallel usage, they can only
be treated as double standard terms for a single concept. If resulting from translation
of terminological doublets from English (i), standard term is the one whose
translation equivalent matches the terminological entry and the gloss is given only
for the term which comes first in alphabetical sequence (e.g. (1) linija napada
‘attack line’ (+ gloss) and (2) linija smečiranja ‘spike line’ (– gloss)). If resulting
from double adaptation of an English term (ii), it is proposed to rearrange such units
in the order of frequency, provided the most frequent and most adapted one is at the
first place as the standard term with the designation (1), e.g. (1) kapiten tima ‘team
captain’, (2) kapiten ekipe ‘team captain’. English terms with a minor difference in
denotative meaning, both of which are originally matched by the same translation
equivalent in Serbian (iii), are distinguished at lexical and gloss levels alike, which
means that there are two translation equivalents and two glosses, e.g. polaganje u
koš ‘layin’ versus polaganje od table ‘layup’ are standard terms for the former
polaganje that used to be the same translation equivalent for both English terms.
Due to the fact that electronic corpus does not exist in Serbian this principle is based
on the personal judgement of the author of the dictionary.
3. Macrostructure of ESRST
ESRST includes terms of a limited number of sports events, i.e. five ball games
being constituent parts of curricula of faculties of sport and physical education in
Serbia. They are: basketball, football, handball, volleyball, and water polo. Limited
number of sports events is justified by the fact that the goal of the initial research in
the field of terminological standardisation was to set up a model to be applicable not
only to the sports register but to non-sports registers too. Judging from its
recognition by the research team of the project Fizička aktivnost devojčica i dečaka
264
predškolskog uzrasta ’Physical activity of girls and boys of preschool age’ (Bala et
al. 2006), the model has proved good enough for sports terminology in general.
However, further standardisation work in sport is still due.
Even though entries of a terminological dictionary are best organised according
to thematic fields, being the usual practice in thesaurus-like approach, ESRST
entries are ordered alphabetically. However, conceptual aspect is preserved by
introducing thematising signposts (symbols of specific thematic fields (as per Prćić
2005: 254), which stand for specific sports events. These labels have been applied
consistently to headword English terms, translation equivalents and glosses
throughout the dictionary. In addition, the conceptual level is also preserved at the
level of definitions of meaning, the key words of which are hyperonyms referring to
particular subconcepts of ball games, such as: field, officials, official’s signals,
penalty, and play.
In order to enhance ESRST’s user-friendliness, the dictionary also includes
standard descriptions of each ball game followed by field/court illustrations, given in
Dodatak ‘Apendix’ at the end. Sequence of description details is kept the same for
all ball games: history, field/court of play, goals of play, rules of play, scoring,
penalties, and officials.
4. Microstructure of the ESRST
As shown in the Figure 1 below, typical lexical entry (Milić 2006: 115)
consists of the following elements: English term (1), thematising signpost (2),
grammatical word class (3), cross references for synonyms, antonyms and variants
(4), translation equivalent/s (5) and gloss (6).
1
2
3
5
4
6
left wing R (im), sin. LW, ant. right wing
(1) levo krilo, (2) LK
Igrač u napadu, koji igra između linije slobodnog bacanja na
9 m i linije golmanovog prostora, sa leve strane.
Figure 1
Terminographic entry in ESRST
Figure 1: Terminographic entry in ESRST
English term (1) being the headword is clearly marked using a different
typographic convention from the remaining part of a lexical entry. If a term is
polysemous, it is reentered and given additional subscripts in front of an entry, e.g.
265
‘ApostF,R,V’ (stativa), ‘BpostK’ (centar), and ‘CpostO’ (stub), (Milić 2006: 146). The
same code applies to terminological entries with multiple grammatical functions.
Thematising signpost (2), which is a symbol of a specific sports event, is
introduced due to the complexity of a thematic register. This information is codified
in ESRST in the form of subscripted initial letters of translation equivalents of five
ball games (F ‘football’, K’basketball’, R ‘handball’, O ‘volleyball’ and V ‘water
polo’).
Grammatical information (3) in this dictionary is abbreviation of a grammatical
word class: gl ‘verb’, im ‘noun’, prid ‘adjective’) and pril ‘adverb’. Even though
easily accomplished with single-worded terms, it required a pragmatic approach
when dealing with phrasal terms. Assuming an author wishes to fulfil the criterion of
user-friendliness, abbreviations such as fr. im ‘phrasal noun’ or fr.gl ‘phrasal verb’
might be unwelcome in the technical language. For this reason, it is recommended to
disregard the phrasal character of multi-worded terms and use the same codes of
grammatical word classes as those of single-worded terminographic entries. In case
when the same entry performs double grammatical function, i.e. when it is both a
noun and a verb, terminological entry is entered twice with subscripted codes ‘A’ and
‘B’ in front, e.g. ‘Aplay’ and ‘Bplay’ (ESRST: 141), the first of which is a verb and
the second is a noun. The same code applies when an entry is a polysemous term, as
illustrated in paragraph (1) dealing with codification of English terms.
Cross-references (4) for synonyms, antonyms and language variants are
included in order to comply with the terminographic requirement of userfriendliness. Synonyms in ESRST are lexical units usually referred to in semantic
theories as propositional synonyms (Cruse 1986: 267), which share the same central
semantic traits but not necessarily the same peripheral ones. Synonymous
terminological entries in this dictionary are mostly mutually interchangeable
translation equivalents functioning as terminiological doublets (kapiten tima ‘captain
team’ versus kapiten ekipe ‘captain team’), stylistically marked terms (kuvanje
‘dink’ (informal) versus lopta gurnuta preko bloka ‘dink’ (neutral)), and temporally
marked terms (suvanje ‘diving’ (archaic) versus bacanje za loptom ‘diving’ (neutral).
However, Serbian terms are not labelled accordingly due to the fact that standardised
terminology according to this model implies ordered set of translation equivalents
starting with the standard term which is followed by terms progressively deviating
from the specified linguistic, technical, and pragmatic requirements. With regard to
a high potential of terms for developing antonymous relations, ESRST includes
antonyms too, which imply lexical units functioning as ‘opposites’ par excellence
(Lyons 1968: 463), such as mrtva lopta ‘dead ball’ versus živa lopta ‘live ball’.
Language variants are codified for British and American English, using the symbols
£ and $ respectively.
Translation equivalents (5) are either single or multiple units. The former are
entered without a designation (1), whereas the latter are coded using bracketed
numbers (1), (2) etc., provided the standard term is always designated as (1).
Sequence of translation equivalents designated with numbers other than (1) depends
on the extent of compliance with the proposed standard.
266
Gloss (6) includes a concise definition of meaning which explains the main
characteristics of a concept. The usual type of the definition applied in Serbian
dictionaries fits the model which Atkins and Rundell (2008: 436) refer to as ‘genusand-differentia’ defining model, according to which a word is described in terms of
its superordinate or ‘genus’ expression and its additional features or ‘differentiae’,
which distinguish the particular meaning from other category members.
Accordingly, the definition of meaning in ESRST is based on previously analysed
hyponymic relations within a given thematic register. This means that each thematic
register is divided into a number of hyperoyms according to which the remaining
terminographic entries i.e. hyponyms are arranged. Thus the wording of a definition
consists of a hyperonym followed by additional features which distinguish a
particular meaning from other category members. As an example, an individual ball
game register consists of the following hyperonyms: field/court, equipment, play,
players, scoring, penalty, officials, official's signals, violations etc. Accordingly, the
terminographic entry live-time foul (hyponym) in water polo has the following
definition: Prekršaj koji se napravi dok je lopta u igri ‘A violation made while the
ball is in play.’ (Milić 2006: 117). Examples of usage are not given as
complementary parts of the gloss even though lexicographers (cf. Atkins and
Rundell 2008: 453) claim that they have important functions: to prove the existence
of words, to serve as complements to definitions, as well as to illustrate contextual
features such as syntax, collocation, and register. Their exclusion is justified by the
fact that the ESRST is based on official rules of ball games in English and Serbian
as the only reference source of terms.
5. Advantages and disadvantages of ESRST terminographic model
According to Radovanović (1979: 86), standard language is the result of ten
operations. They are: (1) selection, (2) description, (3) codification, (4) elaboration,
(5) acceptance, (6) implementation, (7) expansion, (8) cultivation, (9) evaluation and
(10) recapitulation. The first four operations are performed by linguists and technical
specialists, operations (5), (6), (7), and (8) require efforts of a wider social
community, whereas the last two operations can be viewed as new requirements
feedback for linguists and technical specialists. Using these operations as a checklist,
ESRST has passed operations (1) through (8). This paper proves that terminological
standardisation has reached the final stages of evaluation and improvement of the set
standard according to the current requirements of the society. Recognition of the
standard in sports world and its encouragement by linguists prove its sustainability
after five years. However, new technologies put certain requirements to be dealt
with in future terminographic work.
Easy access to online English-Serbian and Serbian-English dictionaries turns
hard-copy dictionaries to second-hand reference sources. With this being the case,
the final stage of standardisation is unfulfilled, as the standard fails to be
disseminated and accepted by a wider language community. Given that the proposed
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model of standardisation includes contact and contrastive aspects of English and
Serbian, its wider acceptance is highly desired due to repeated warnings by language
specialists (Prćić 2007: 66) about the phenomenon of superficialism in EnglishSerbian translation, which results in mechanical transference into Serbian of forms
from English in their basic literal sense. This is also pointed out by Riđanović (2006:
1) who says that most English-Serbian translation failures are due to unconscious
word-for-word translations. Certain level of overcoming these problems can
smoothly be realised by means of a computer accessible standardised dictionary,
which allows an instant retrieval of the required information.
In the light of the conclusion reached by DiMarco and Hirst (1995: 1), that the
construction f a set of ‘computational usage notes’ adequate for text generation is a
major task of future lexicographic work, a terminological dictionary is bound to be a
computer-readable one. As a denotational differentiation in terminology is at the
language-independent conceptual level, electronic data base would enable an easy
retrieval of lexicographic information in the target language. According to these
authors, this can be achieved by codification of existing lexicographic information in
the form of computational usage notes. Due to the fact that machine-readable
dictionaries are based on electronic corpora, they offer an extra advantage of
allowing an exact judgement of frequency of usage, which happens to be impossible
in the classical procedure relaying on a personal judgement of an author.
In the light of the aforementioned, the proposed terminological standard might
be further coded in the form of a machine-readable database, while future
terminographic codification should be based on electronic corpora or largely
machine-readable ones.
6. Conclusions
Terminographic model of ESRST has reached the desired goals of
terminological standardisation in the field of sport, owing to the fact that linguistic
and technical standards have not changed substantially so far. However, new
technologies have put additional requirements implying electronic codification of
the set standard, which essentially means that this is an issue of form of the proposed
standard rather than its content. New form of the proposed standard will result not
only in time saving but also in more precise application of proposed principles of
terminological standardisation and more effective dissemination of the implemented
standard.
References
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ekvivalenti u srpskom [Ball Game Terms in English and Their Translation
Equivalents in Serbian]. Master's thesis, unpublished. Novi Sad: Faculty of
Philosophy.
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Dictionary of Sports Terms]. Novi Sad: Zmaj.
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sredstva.
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Predrag Novakov
Novi Sad, Serbia
predragnovakov@sbb.rs
LINGUISTIC AND EXTRALINGUISTIC COMPONENT IN
TRANSLATION: ENGLISH–SERBIAN EXAMPLES1
Abstract As a complex multi-layered process, translation includes both linguistic
and extralinguistic knowledge and skills. Namely, a successful translation should
reflect both translator’s linguistic competence (in at least two languages) and
familiarity with the broadly understood cultural component of the text translated.
The latter component could be also further subdivided into general knowledge
acquired during regular education and insights into one or more specific
professional fields (like history, biology etc). Neglect of this component, necessary
for a successful translation, almost always leads to mistranslations or inadequate
translations; having that in mind, the paper discusses extralinguistic and linguistic
components when the language of the original text is English and the language into
which this text is translated is Serbian and vice versa.
Key words: English, extralinguistic component, Serbian, translation.
1.
Introduction
As a complex multi-layered process, translation requires both talent and learnt
skills, both linguistic and extralinguistic components. Namely, a successful
translation should reflect both translator’s linguistic competence (in at least two
languages) and familiarity with the broadly understood cultural component of the
text translated. The latter component could be also further subdivided into general
knowledge acquired during regular education and insights into one or more specific
professional fields (like history, biology etc). Neglect of this component, necessary
for a successful translation, almost always leads to mistranslations or inadequate
translations; having that in mind, the paper discusses extralinguistic and linguistic
components when the language of the original text is English and the language into
which this text is translated is Serbian and vice versa.
As far as the compositionality of the translator’s competence is concerned, this
paper would concentrate on the two basic components – the linguistic and
1
Rad je napisan u okviru naučnog projekta Jezici i kulture u vremenu i prostoru koji finansira
Ministarstvo za nauku i tehnološki razvoj Republike Srbije (broj projekta 178002, period 2011-2014.
godine), a zasniva se na neobjavljenom saopštenju sa međunarodne konferencije English Language and
Anglophone Literatures Today održane u Novom Sadu 19. marta 2011. godine.
270
extralinguistic one (leaving aside, for example, the psychological features included
in the translator’s psychological competence). These two basic components are
themselves complex and imply sub-components, that is subcompetences. Moreover,
they can be also studied at the level of general, theoretical competence and actual
performance (Pym 2003: 484). As far the linguistic competence is concerned, it is
sometimes viewed as a specific kind of bilingualism (Pym 2003: 481), that is the
knowledge and skill to use two language codes more or less with the same
familiarity; this competence thus includes grammatical morpho-syntactic
knowledge, lexical sets and structural features related to lexemes (for example,
valency, irregularities) and semantic distinctive features of lexemes, as well as a
sub-component related to the contextual use of linguistic units (pragmatics). Another
significant sub-component is the textual component (Hlebec 2009: 19) – the
translator’s competence to carry out a comprehensive analysis of the text to be
translated before fully understanding the text and starting actual translation.
Extralinguistic or broadly understood cultural component, generally speaking,
is also complex and has sub-components. For example, such components include
general extralinguistic or encyclopedic knowledge, particular professional
knowledge (for a given field), literature-genre competence, that is competence to
interpret the works of art when translating novels, poetry etc. (Hlebec 2009: 19),
familiarity with the extralinguistic context significant for the translation and other
components.
Both of these components are relevant if one wants to avoid over-translation,
under-translation or simplification. However, on the one hand a certain level of
subjectivity in translator’s decisions is always present, and on the other the linguistic
and extralinguistic components are often mixed and are difficult to separate. The
examples in this paper would point to some of these cases, starting from the
assumption in the relevant literature (cf. Hlebec 2009) that the translating process is
a multicomponent process consisting of several stages in which specific skills and
knowledge are required and implemented. Thus, for example, these stages include
interpretation of the text in the source language by the translator, translator’s
precoding of the source text (creating the first versions of translation, coding of the
translator’s intentions during translation, cf. Hlebec 2009: 25), contrasting the
source text with the precoded target text, final recoding of the source text.
2.
Examples and comments
To illustrate at the very beginning numerous layers and traps related to
translation, one can, among other things, refer to the novel which won the prize for
the best novel in 2010 in Serbia - Ono što oduvek želiš (2010) by Gordana Ćirjanić.
Ćirjanić, herself an accomplished translator from Spanish and English, included in
the novel a brilliant brief section about translation: hearing a short sentence in
Spanish, the main character in the novel thinks about its possible translation into
Serbian (pages 215-216); he first translates it literally, but he is not satisfied with
271
this translation, saying that it is not colloquial enough; then he analyzes Spanish
words and phrases, finding their idiomatic meanings, takes into account the
pragmatic value of the sentence and translates it again correctly. He was so absorbed
in trying to find the best solution that he forgot to have lunch at his usual time. This
is a great summary of a translating process, revealing both the effort and satisfaction
with the right solution. However, only about 10 pages after these passages one of the
characters says the following sentence in English, which is followed by the main
character’s comment:
(1) Wow!!! – rekao je saznavši da je došla. – Tell her I am her fun. .... Prvo
je morao da mi objasni šta znači fun, pa tako saznah da je Rouz idol
klincima... (Ćirjanić 2010: 224)
(Translation in the footnote: Kaži joj da sam njen obožavalac. (engl.))
The novel which itself in some sections illustrates certain aspects of translation
provides an example of a rather significant mistake: fun instead of fan; fan, as
pronounced in contemporary informal Serbian, sounds like the English word fun,
making them almost a false pair – that could be the reason for this mistake.
However, generally speaking, it seems that the awareness about different
components necessary for successful translation is much higher in our environment,
at least in the media with the highest number of readers/viewers/listeners. About 15
to 20 years ago (Novakov 2008), it was possible to find examples like:
(2) a) ...jednu godinu na nekom crvenocigljarskom univerzitetu. (Fauls 1988:
166)
b) ...od tada je ona bila moja srećna magija. (Kazan 1998: 9)
c) ...neki doktori ...prepisali mu silne droge... (Kazan 1998: 314)
These mistakes are so rudely obvious that they do not require a specific
comment; let us just add that in (2a) the English phrase is a red-brick university,
which is only metaphorically related to red bricks and this should be taken into
account in the translation. In (2b) lucky charm was translated literally, even though it
does not make much sense in this context. Finally, in (2c) drugs actually means
medicine, because the context implies a hospitalized patient and doctors.
That the awareness has at least slightly improved could be seen from the fact
that some journalists (at least in the major Serbian newspapers) are more sensitive to
the use of Anglicisms, for example:
(3) ...a čiji autori već godinama od sebe prave takozvani ,,brend’’, koliko god
se taj izraz već
raspada od preterane upotrebe. (Politika, March 4, 2011, TV revija,
page 6)
The author of this text used quotation marks for a relatively recent Anglicism
and added a comment about its very frequent use.
However, some mistranslations still occur in the journalist register; for
example:
(4) Požar u postrojenju za preradu ulja. (TV station B92, March 10, 2011,
about 11 p.m.)
272
This TV comment related to recent news from Libya was certainly not meant to
refer to cooking oil, but to petrol.
Extralinguistic component is particularly pronounced in professional texts
requiring specific terminology, which again forces the translator to make decisions
about equivalents, particularly when one bears in mind internationalisms, for
example borrowing Anglicisms, or trying to find the domestic equivalent. The
following examples from a business journal would illustrate some of these issues:
(5) a) ...transformišući ih u vrlo propulzivnu naučnu disciplinu... (IS 69)
b) ...science of production systems made very propulsive...
(6) a) ...uslovi za implementaciju koncepata... (IS 69)
b) ...conditions for implementation of production systems...
(7) a) ...organizovanja fraktalnih kompanija ... ((IS 71)
b) ...approach of fractal companies...
The above examples are taken from the journal Industrijski sistemi vol 1, No 3,
December 1999, published in Novi Sad (abbreviated here as IS); articles in this
journal are published both in English and in Serbian, so they offer a possibility to
compare these two languages. If we start from the five-point scale based on the
degree of justification proposed by Prćić (2005: 130-133) which includes completely
unjustified, unjustified, conditionally justified, justified and completely justified
Anglicisms, we may state that propulzivan in (5a) is a completely unjustified
Anglicism, even though it cannot be translated literally into Serbian as pogonski,
pokretan and requires a creative approach in translating. The Anglicism in (6a) is
also completely unjustified, because there is a domestic word with the same general
meaning (primena); however, if one bears in mind an extralinguistic level, one may
add that this Anglicism has been used so often that it almost acquired the status of a
professional business term, which would make its use in this register justified.
Finally, the example in (7a) presents a recent Anglicism, denoting a decentralized
organization of business (central service and decentralized production units); it may
be justified as a specific, new term in the business register or a posssible Serbian
translation should be sought (for example, fragmentirana kompanija).
The following examples are excerpted from the same journal:
(8) a) pouzdane klijent/server usluge (IS 83)
b) reliable client/server services
(9) a) kontinualno učenje (IS 93)
b) continuous education
(10) a) ...moderni računarski-zasnovani sistemi su ...(IS 113)
b) ...advanced computer-based systems are...
The quoted examples also indicate some of the problems in professional texts.
In (8a) the nouns in premodification should follow the head noun (usluge
klijent/server) and the noun server is difficult to translate except descriptively (with
a rather long structure meaning ‘those who offer services’); still, the noun server is
unjustified in this context even though it may fill a lexical gap and be accepted in
frequent use. The adjective in (9a) illustrates another problem: an incorrect
273
morphological adaptation of an English adjective, because there is an adjective
kontinuiran. Finally, (10a) contains a literally translated English phrase computerbased, which should have been translated with a relative clause sistemi zasnovani na
kompjuterima/računarima.
The last group of examples relevant for the discussion about linguistic and
extralinguistic components in translation is the one related to religion and religious
art. When it comes to the Serbian and English tradition, this field represents a
particular challenge for the translator, who has to make difficult decisions and often
try to offer best solutions. The following examples are taken from the book Srpsko
zidno slikarstvo (abbreviated as SZS) by Leposava Šelmić which was published in
Serbian and English. This Serbian text was translated into English by the author of
this paper, so the following examples would point to personal translation experience
and dilemmas:
(11) a) ...delatnosti istaknutog vizantijskog umetnika Manojla Panselina ...
(SZS 53)
b) ...outstanding Byzantine artist Manuel Panselinos...
(12) a) ... Bogorodice Kukuzelise u manastiru Lavri... (SZS 53)
b) ...the Virgin Koukouzeles ...in the Lavra Monastery...
(13) a) ...slovenskh svetitelja tzv. Sedmočislenika ... (SZS 61)
b) ...Slavic saints, the so-called Seven...
These examples illustrate several problems. Thus a small research on the
Internet was necessary to find the English equivalent and spelling for the name of
the artist in (11a); in (12a) the translator should familiarize with the story to be able
to translate the attribute Kukuzelisa – namely, that the Byzantine chanter Ioannis
(John) Koukouzeles once fell asleep in front of the icon of the Virgin and had a
vision of the Virgin in his sleep; upon waking up, he found a golden coin in his
hand, so this miraculous icon is called the Virgin Koukouzeles (Sveta Gora –
čudotvorne ikone, www.atlantserbs.com/earnmore/library/cudotvorne-ikone.html).
Finally, the name Sedmočislenici refers to Slavic saints Cyril, Methodius and their
five disciples, which one should know before translating the term (Enciklopedija
pravoslavlja 2002: 1725).
The following examples are also excerpted from Šelmić 2004 (abbreviated as
SZS):
(14) a) ...monumentalno slikanim Priugotovljenim prestolom ... (SZS 039)
b) ...with the monumentally painted Prepared Empty Throne
(Hetoimasia)... (SZS 038)
(15) a) ...u Srpskom Kovinu i Stonom Beogradu... (SZS 063)
b) ...in Srpski Kovin and Stoni Beograd... (SZS 062)
(16) a) ...kao poreznik u Jegri. (SZS 065)
b) ...as a tax-collector in Eger (Jergra). (SZS 064)
(17)a) ...Biblija Ektipa Kristofa Vajgla ... (SZS 081)
b) ...Christoph Weigel’s Biblia Ectypa... (SZS 080)
(18) a) Nedremano oko (SZS 170)
b) The Unsleeping Eye (SZS 170)
274
These examples point to the need to search for extralinguistic data, first in
order to clarify the expression in the source language to be translated into English,
and then to find the correct translation. The name of one part of the fresco painting
mentioned in (14a), priugotovljeni presto, indicates a notion from eastern, Orthodox
Christianity: actually, the reference book Enciklopedija pravoslavlja (2002: 2010)
has the entry hetimasija (Greek: hetoimasia) which indicates ugotovljeni presto, the
empty throne on which the signs of Christ’s passion are placed. Thus the English
translation in (14b) includes a description which should help the readers from the
English-speaking world to grasp it, and then adds the original Greek term (Novakov
2008:123). Translational problem or dilemma in (15a) and (16a) relates to the names
of geographical places in Hungary. In (15a), these are the names of two places in
which the Serbs were settled: Srpski Kovin and Stoni Beograd. The names could be
left as they stand in the translation (15b), but it could be also useful to add the
Hungarian names in brackets – Ráckeve for the first, and Székesfehérvár for the
second name (Wikipedia, Novakov 2008:125, Enciklopedija pravoslavlja 2002).
Jegra in (16a) refers to the town of Eger; in this case, it is not necessary to mention
both the Serbian and the Hungarian name in the translation, because the Serbian
name is just a morpho-phonological adaptation of the original Hungarian name, but
the Serbian name can be optionally mentioned in brackets. The example (17a)
contains a personal name and the name of a particular edition of the Bible; the
translator has to find the original spelling of the personal name and the original title
of the edition, which requires a search for extralinguistic information; so it is Biblia
Ectypa designed by Christoph Weigel, the Bible with engravings as illustrations
(Novakov 2008: 125). Finally, in (18a) the phrase nedremano oko was to be
translated into English; clarification of the phrase can be found in Enciklopedija
pravoslavlja (2002: 1295) – it indicates protective vigilance of Christ and its
translation is the unsleeping eye (18b), not the all-seeing eye (svevideće oko) which
is a similar, but not equal concept (eye of god watching over humankind, cf.
Wikipedia).
Finally, one of the translational challenges to be mentioned in this paper is the
attribute of the saints in the Serbian Orthodox tradition, which is particularly
pronounced when translating the names of icons and saints depicted in these icons.
The following examples and their translations are taken from Rečnik pravoslavlja
(Vukičević 2004, abbreviated as RP):
(19) a) Jovan Močalnik/Jovan Ćutljivi
b) John the Silent (RP)
(20) a) Jovan Lestvičnik
b) John Climacus (RP)
(21) a) Teodor Lektor
b) Theodore the Reader (RP)
(22) a) Ilija Gromovnik
b) Elijah the Thunderer (RP)
(23) a) Teodor Osvećeni
b) Theodore the Sanctified (RP)
275
The translation problems with these attributes may stem from the archaic
expressions not transparent to the contemporary reader or from the necessity to find
the English word typically used in this register. For example, Ćutljivi in (19a) is
transparent, but its older version Močalnik is not; one should know some Russian to
be able to understand it. The attribute in (20a) is a real translation problem, because
one should know the story about Jovan Lestvičnik, which belongs to the common
Christian tradition (for example, it can be found in Enciklopedija pravoslavlja
2002), to be able to understand the meaning of the attribute; moreover, the translator
has to find the term used in the English tradition. So the Internet search (for
example, Wikipedia) shows that this saint is also known as John of the Ladder
because of his work Ladder of Divine Ascent (Wikipedia); however, his attribute is
typically not translated with this English word, but with a Latinized original Greek
attribute (Vukičević 2004, Wikipedia). The examples in (21a), (22a) and (23a) are
easier to grasp and translate, but one still has to choose the attribute actually used by
the Church, not just invent the possible translation equivalent (even though it may be
correct).
3.
Conclusion
Starting from the assumption that translation is a multicomponent process, this
paper tried to underline the role of extralinguistic component for a successful
translation (English–Serbian and vice versa). To that end, the paper presented groups
of examples which illustrated several typical contexts with the interaction of
linguistic and extralinguistic insights. Thus the paper pointed to literal translations
related to the lack of extralinguistic knowledge (example 2a) and possibly
insufficient linguistic knowledge (examples 2b, 2c and 4). The second group of
examples discussed some relatively recent Anglicisms in the business register,
stating that some of them are unjustified and some could develop into fully accepted
professional terms which cover a lexical gap or offer a shorter expression for a given
concept. The third group of examples was related to the terms and names belonging
to religious art (wall painting and icons); to find the best translation equivalents in
these cases it was often necessary to conduct a small research and find out the story
behind a name or a phrase.
Therefore, this discussion underlined the complexity of translation and the
usual phases and procedures the translator goes through in order to find the best
solutions, as well as the decisions he or she has to make while evaluating pragmatic
and stylistic components in the original text. Among other difficult choices, it seems
that the decisions related to using Anglicisms (internationally recognized, but still
not completely adopted in the Serbian language) or to trying to find the best
domestic equivalent cause some of the most difficult choices: the translators have to
weigh nuances applying sometimes subjective assessments according to their
linguistic and extralinguistic knowledge.
276
References
Ćirjanić, G. (2010). Ono što oduvek želiš. Beograd: Narodna knjiga.
Enciklopedija pravoslavlja (2002). Beograd: Savremena administracija.
Fauls, Dž. (1988). Kula od slonovače. Novi Sad: Književna zajednica Novog Sada.
Hlebec, B. (2009). Opšta načela prevođenja. Beograd: Beogradska knjiga.
Industrijski sistemi (1999). vol. 1. No. 3, Novi Sad.
Kazan, E. (1998), Aranžman. Novi Sad: Matica srpska.
Novakov, P. (2008). Anglističke teme. Novi Sad: Futura publikacije.
Prćić, T. (2005). Engleski u srpskom. Novi Sad: Zmaj.
Pym, A. (2003). ‘’Redefining Translation Competence in an Electronic Age. In
Defence of a Minimalist Approach’’. Meta XLVIII, 4: 481-497.
Sveta Gora – čudotvorne ikone. Available at: http://www.atlantserbs.com/earnmore/
library/cudotvorne-ikone.html. Retrieved on: 25 July 2011.
Šelmić, L. (2004). Srpsko zidno slikarstvo XVIII veka. Novi Sad: Galerija Matice
srpske.
Vukičević, B. (2004). Rečnik pravoslavlja (englesko-srpski, srpsko-engleski).
Beograd: Jezikoslovac.
Wikipedia. Available at: http://en.wikipedia.org. Retrieved on: 25 July 2011.
277
Melisa Okičić
Sarajevo, Bosnia
okicic.melisa@gmail.com
FUNCTION OF NON-HEADS IN ENGLISH ADJECTIVAL
COMPOUNDS WITH DEVERBATIVE HEAD WORDS
Abstract Adjectival synthetic compounds consist of a deverbative head word (HW)
and the non-head which is linked to the verb argument structure, as the non-head
functions as the internal argument of the verb (complement): time-consuming (job)
> consuming > to consume > to consume time > time-consuming. However, the
presence of a deverbative HW is not necessarily an indicator of a synthetic
compound, as the non-head may also be a projection of an adjunct, cf. winterflowering (plant) > *to flower winter > to flower in the winter (in the winter >
adjunct). Therefore, the main goal of this paper is to provide a new classification of
adjectival compounds in light of synthetic-deverbative distinction. The primary
source of data is the British National Corpus (BNC), from which 200 endocentric
adjectival compounds with deverbative HWs were collected and analysed.
Key words: synthetic compound, complement, adjunct, function, head, non-head.
1. Introduction
Compounding is acknowledged to be a very productive word-formation
process in English. In addition, compounds are words with a precisely-defined
internal structure, based on the relationship between the head word (HW) and the
dependent (the non-head). Based on the morphological profile of the HW,
compounds can be divided into root (or primary) and synthetic compounds. Root
compounds have non-deverbative HWs, e.g. house in doghouse, or yellow in lemonyellow (coat), while the HWs of synthetic compounds are deverbative words, such
as maker in money-maker and consuming in time-consuming (job) etc. In the
linguistic literature, the term synthetic is usually linked to the verb argument
structure (Roeper and Siegel 1978, Selkirk 1982, Di Sciullo and Williams 1987), as
the non-head is the internal argument of the verb, i.e. it fulfils the function of the
complement of the verb, cf. truck driver > to drive a truck. Bearing in mind the high
level of productivity of nominal compounds, it is not surprising at all that synthetic
compounds of this type are frequently the focus of various linguistic studies (Selkirk
1982, Lieber 2004, Plag 2003, Radford 1997, Haspelmath 2002, Katamba 1993,
Spencer 1991). On the other hand, it is quite surprising that the linguistic literature
often neglects other types of synthetic compound, and does not say much about the
distinction between synthetic vs. deverbative compounds. This may be misleading,
278
as the term synthetic might be understood as a synonym for a deverbative
compound, which is certainly not the case. In other words, the presence of a
deverbative HW in either nominal or adjectival synthetic compounds is not
necessarily a guarantee that the non-head is a projection of the complement, cf.
hand-writing > to write by hand, cf. * to write hand or winter-flowering > to flower
in the winter, cf. * to flower winter.
2. Corpus, goal and criteria
In this paper, we analyse the group of adjectival compounds with deverbative
HWs. The primary source of data is the British National Corpus (hereinafter BNC),
from which 200 endocentric adjectival compounds have been collected and
analysed. In this paper, we present selected examples which represent a summary of
our findings and final conclusions. The main goal of this analysis is to produce a
new classification of adjectival compounds in light of a synthetic-deverbative
distinction. The following criteria were employed:
1. An adjectival -ing/-ed/-en compound is considered to be synthetic if and
only if:
a) the non-head functions as a complement of the verb (following X-bar rules),
cf. time-consuming > to consume time > time = complement;
b) the HW (-ing or -ed/-en participial adjective) cannot be found as a single
pre-modifier of a noun in the BNC, cf. *killed (people) > brutally-killed (people); *a
looking (man) > a good-looking (man). In such cases, the status of the non-head is
considered ‘obligatory’.
2. An adjectival -ing or -ed/-en compound is considered non-synthetic if and
only if:
a) the non-head does not function as a complement of the verb (following Xbar rules): cf. winter-flowering (plant) > to flower in the winter > in the winter =
adjunct. Bearing in mind that adjuncts are usually optional elements, cf. They have
found a suitcase (recently) > a recently-found (suitcase), but also the fact that
sometimes, as in A child behaves well > a well-behaved (child), an adverb may be
required by the verb, in such cases, adjuncts are considered to be obligatory adjuncts
(Hasselgård 2010: 124);
b) the HW (-ing or -ed/-en participial adjective) can be found as a single premodifier of a noun in the BNC, cf. a computer-controlled system > a controlled
system. In such cases, the status of the non-head is considered to be ‘optional’.
3. Synthetic compounds
According to the criteria defined in the previous section, typical examples of
synthetic adjectival compounds are given in (2):
279
(2) Noun + -ing participial adjective
(a) time-consuming (job) > to consume time
(b) guitar-playing (singer) > to play a guitar
(c) wine-producing (country) > to produce wine
The non-heads in (2), as they are usually non-derived nouns (time, guitar and
wine), function as a complement of a transitive verb, as illustrated by the example of
time-consuming (job) and the tree diagram in Figure 1:
Figure 1
In addition to the examples given in (2), the examples shown in (4) may also be
considered synthetic, due to the complement-oriented function of the non-head:
(4) Adjective + -ing participial adjective
(a) good-looking (man) > to look good
(b) foul-smelling (shirt) > to smell foul
(c) lovely-sounding (song) > to sound lovely
Namely, if we look at the examples in (4), we can see that the -ing participial
adjectives looking, smelling and sounding are derived from linking verbs (to look, to
smell, to sound). In addition, as the linking verbs are not transitive but verbs of
incomplete predication, which require either a noun phrase (NP) or an adjective
phrase (AdjP) to realise their respective meanings, this group of compounds may be
considered synthetic due to the fact that in (4), the non-head functions as a
(predicative) complement which is realised by the AdjP.
As the examples in (2) and (4) are, on the one hand, different due to their use
of different types of complementation (copular vs. transitive), but also, on the other
hand, similar because the non-head is a projection of the complement, this group of
compounds may be further divided into two sub-groups: (a) a group of typical
synthetic adjectival compounds, in which the HW is derived from a transitive verb;
and (b) a group of atypical synthetic adjectival compounds, in which the HW is
derived from a linking verb.
280
The non-heads in (2) and (4) have an obligatory status, as no examples of *a
consuming job, *a producing country, *a playing singer, *a looking man, *a
smelling shirt or *a sounding song1 were found in the BNC.
4. Non-synthetic compounds
As previously mentioned, the presence of a deverbative adjective is not
automatically an indicator of a synthetic compound. In other words, if the non-head
within a compound does not function as a complement, such compounds are called
non-synthetic.
Typical examples of non-synthetic compounds are given in (5) and (6):
(5) Noun/adverb + -ing participial adjective
(a) winter-flowering (plant) > *to flower winter > to flower in the
winter
(b) floor-standing (lamp) > *to stand floor > to stand on the floor
(c) hard-working (mother) > to work hard
(d) gradually-weakening (economy) > to weaken gradually
(e) rapidly-rising employment (rate) > to rise rapidly
(f) fast-moving (train) > to move fast
(6) Noun/adverb + -ed/-en participial adjective
(a) computer-controlled (system) > to control X2 by computer
(b) malaria-infected (man) > to infect X with malaria
(c) now retired (schoolmaster) > to retire X now
(d) barely deserved (victory) > to deserve X barely
The non-heads in (5) and (6) function as adjuncts, as illustrated by the example
of winter-flowering (plant) and the tree diagram (Figure 2):
1
Not to be confused with highly lexicalised expressions such as looking glass, sounding board,
etc. According to the BNC, looking is rarely combined with word classes other than nouns (only one
example of a noun + -ing (looking) participial adjective was found in the BNC: evil-looking bloke –
BNC/J1J 1222).
2
X stands for an NP.
281
Figure 2
Morphologically speaking, the non-heads in (5) and (6) are usually non-derived
nouns, e.g. winter, floor, computer or malaria, or -ly adverbs, e.g. rapidly, barely or
gradually. In terms of their status, the non-heads are considered to be optional
because, as confirmed by the BNC, the participial adjectives in (5) and (6) can be
used as single pre-modifiers of nouns, as given in Tables (8) - (11):
-ing participial adjective with a noun
modifier (optional pre-modification)
winter-flowering (plant)
floor-standing (lamp)
-ing participial adjective as a single premodifier of a noun (BNC)
a flowering plant (BNC/B06 1894)
a standing lamp C60103-13 (BNC/BMT
985)
(8) -ing participial adjectives with/without a noun modifier
-ing participial adjective with an adverb
modifier (optional pre-modification)
hard-working mother
gradually weakening economy
rapidly rising employment
fast moving train
-ing participial adjective as a single premodifier of a noun (BNC)
a working mother (BNC/AKU 670)
a weakening economy (BNC/HL7 4655)
rising employment (BNC/HLR 1771)
a moving train (BNC/AHP 45)
(9) -ing participial adjectives with/without an adverb modifier
-ed/-en participial adjective with a noun
modifier (optional pre-modification)
computer-controlled system
malaria-infected man
-ed/-en participial adjective as a single premodifier of a noun (BNC)
a controlled system (BNC/J53 101 )
an infected person (BNC/A0J 801)
(10) -ed/-en participial adjectives with/without a noun modifier
282
-ed/-en participial adjective with an adverb
modifier (optional pre-modification)
now retired schoolmaster
barely deserved victory
-ed/-en participial adjective as a single premodifier of a noun (BNC)
a retired schoolmaster (BNC/A1U 97)
a deserved victory (BNC/KS7 1123)
(11) -ed/-en participial adjectives with/without an adverb modifier
In addition, the examples in (12) and (13) may also be considered to be nonsynthetic, as the non-heads in all of the examples apart from (12c) function as an
adjunct at the phrase level, while the non-head in (12c) is a projection of an external
argument of the verb, i.e. the subject:
(12) Noun + -ed/-en participial adjective
(a) London-based (company) > to base X in London > * X based.
(b) job-oriented (person) > to orient X towards a job > * X oriented.
(c) state-owned (company) > the state3 owns X > * X owns a state4.
(13) Adverb + -ed/-en participial adjective
(a) recently-found (suitcase) > to find X recently > * X
has/have found recently.
(b) mistakenly-killed (secretary) > to kill X mistakenly > * X
has killed mistakenly.
(c) recently-obtained (permission) > to obtain X recently > * X
has obtained recently.
(d) well-behaved (child) > to behave well > *X behaves.
(e) well-spoken (woman) > to speak well > *X speaks.
However, it is interesting that the non-heads in (12) and (13) actually have an
obligatory status because the participial adjectives in (12) and (13) were not found as
single pre-modifiers of nouns in the BNC, as illustrated in Tables (14) and (15):
-ed/-en participial adjective with a noun
modifier
-ed/-en participial adjective as a single premodifier of a noun (BNC)
state-owned company
*a/the/Ø owned (NP5) (not found)
London-based company
*a/the/Ø based (NP) (not found)
job-oriented person
*a/the/Ø oriented (NP) (not found)
(14) -ed/-en participial adjectives with a noun modifier (obligatory pre-modification)
3
For more information, see Plag (2003).
As the verb to own is a transitive verb, and therefore it is possible to say to own a house or to
own a car (in some specific contexts, to own a state might be acceptable). However, in the case of
compounds with HWs derived from the verb to own, the non-head functions as the external argument,
and not the complement, cf. to own a car > * a car-owned (person) vs. the state owns a car > a stateowned car.
5
(NP) - Noun Phrase
4
283
-ed/-en participial adjective with an adverb
modifier
recently-found (suitcase)
mistakenly-killed (secretary)
recently-obtained (permission)
well-behaved (child)
well-spoken (woman)
-ed/-en participial adjective as a single premodifier of a noun (BNC)
*a/the/Ø found (NP) (not found)
*a/the/Ø killed (NP) (not found)
*a/the/Ø made (NP) (not found)
*a/the/Ø behaved (NP) (not found)
*a/the/Ø spoken (NP) (not found)
(15) -ed/-en participial adjectives with an adverb modifier (obligatory pre-modification)
Although these examples have been recognised in contemporary grammar
books as participial adjectives which ‘become acceptable when modified by
adverbs,’ such as: *a sold car > a recently sold car and *a built house > a well-built
house (Quirk et al. 1985: 1328), the obligatory status of the non-head in (13) is fairly
surprising, especially if we take into consideration the completely optional status of
an adjunct at the phrase/sentence level: They have found a suitcase (recently) > a
recently-found suitcase > *a found-suitcase > *a suitcase-found (person). However,
as pointed out by Quirk et al. (1985: 1328), ‘exceptions to the general rule suggest
that the semantic and aspectual factors are more complicated than we have
indicated,’ meaning that the key issue is not the unacceptability of examples such as
*a sold car or *a found suitcase, but their linguistic interpretation. In line with this
theory, it is worth mentioning that this group of participial adjectives has been
discussed in detail in A Contrastive Study of Passive Participle in English and
Bosnian (Arnaut-Karović 2008), in which this group of participial adjectives is
considered to constitute a passive participial phrase in which the specifier of the
maximal projection must be occupied by a certain pre-modifier in order to allow
participles such as killed or lost to be used attributively. However, as the main
purpose of this paper is not to analyse the compound groups in (14) and (15), but to
produce a classification of all adjectival compounds with a deverbative HW, we will
close this discussion by summarising the newly-proposed classification groups in
accordance with our findings and conclusions, as follows:
Figure 3
284
5. Conclusions
In line with the results of our analysis, we conclude that English endocentric
adjectival compounds with deverbative HWs (-ing or -ed/-en participial adjectives)
may be divided into two large groups: synthetic and non-synthetic adjectival
compounds.
Synthetic adjectival compounds are those in which:
a) the HW is derived from either transitive or linking verbs (typical vs. atypical
synthetic compounds),
b) the non-head functions as the complement at the phrase level (copulative vs.
transitive complementation), and
c) the non-head has an obligatory status within a compound, meaning that the
participial adjectives acting as the HW of such compounds cannot be used
attributively as single pre-modifiers of nouns.
Examples of such compounds include time-consuming (job), cf. *consuming
(job) and good-looking (man), cf. *a looking (man), etc.
In contrast to synthetic compounds, non-synthetic compounds are those in
which:
a) the HW is derived from either transitive or intransitive verbs (but not linking
verbs),
b) the non-head does not function as a complement but rather as an adjunct, or
occasionally as an agent argument of the verb (as in state-owned (company)), and
c) the non-head may have either an optional or an obligatory status, depending
on whether or not the participial adjective acting as the HW of the compound may
be used as a single pre-modifier of a noun, cf. a winter-flowering (plant) > a
flowering plant; vs. a London-based (company) > *a based company.
References
Arnaut-Karović, K. (2008). Konstrastivna analiza pasivnog participa u atributivnoj
poziciju u engleskom i bosanskom jeziku. (M.A. thesis, University of Sarajevo).
Di Sciullo, A. M. and Williams, E. (1987). On the Definition of Word. Cambridge,
MA: MIT Press.
Haspelmath, M. (2002). Understanding Morphology. New York: Oxford University
Press.
Hasselgård, H. (2010). Adjunct adverbials in English. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
Katamba, F. (1993). Morphology. The Macmillan Press Ltd: Houndmills,
Basingstoke and London.
Lieber, R. (2004). Morphology and Lexical Semantics. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
285
Plag, I. (2003). Word-formation in English. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press.
Quirk, R, Greenbaum, S., Leech, G. and Svartvik, J. (1985). A Comprehensive
Grammar of the English Language. London: Longman
Radford, A. (1997). Syntactic theory and the structure of English. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press.
Roeper, T. and Siegel D. (1978). “A Lexical Transformation for Verbal Compounds”.
Linguistic Inquiry 9: 199-260.
Selkirk, E. (1982). The syntax of words. Cambridge, Mass: The MTT Press.
Spencer, A. (1991). Morphological theory: an introduction to word structure in
generative grammar. Oxford: Basil - Blackwell.
286
Merima Osmankadić
Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina
merima_o@yahoo.com
NEGATION AS A MEANS OF CONTRASTING OR CHALLENGING
ELEMENTS OF INTERTEXTUAL CONTEXT
Abstract The aim of this paper is to analyse negation in intertextual context. We
adopt the view that negation is inherently marked and that it is used in more
complex presuppositional contexts in which corresponding affirmatives have already
been discussed or in which the speaker/writer assumes the hearer's/reader's belief in
and familiarity with corresponding affirmative. In order to show this, we must take
into account both explicit and implicit negation. The methodology used in this
research is corpus analysis. The corpus consists of reports sent by the High
Representative in Bosnia-Herzegovina to the Secretary General of the United
Nations. These documents will be analysed as part of a wider extra-linguistic context
set in the post-Dayton Bosnia and Herzegovina. This study is expected to show that
negation in natural language does not operate according to the rules of logic, but has
rather distinct discoursal functions such as denying presuppositions, beliefs, and
expectations.
Key Words: negation, discourse, genre, intertextuality, presupposition, context,
post-Dayton Bosnia and Herzegovina.
1. Introduction
According to Larry Horn, who has dealt with different aspects of negation
throughout his linguistic career and who successfully continues to do so, producing
some of the most illuminating insights when semantic and pragmatic theory in
general is concerned, negation is “to the linguist and linguistic philosopher as fruit to
Tantalus: waving seductively, alluringly palpable, yet just out of reach, within the
grasp only to escape once more”. (Horn 1989: xiv) With this, Horn manages to
capture the true nature of negation, which has been seducing both philosophers and
linguists ever since the earliest beginnings of logic and philosophy, both East and
West. However, in spite of this complexity and elusiveness, we will try to pinpoint
one aspect of negation and concentrate on it, rather than on the whole of negation,
which would be an almost impossible task. Thus, the aim of this paper is to focus on
the function of negation in discourse, more precisely on one of the numerous
functions that negation can have in discourse, and that is the function of denying
287
presuppositions, beliefs, and expectations in intertextual context.1 In order to do this,
we had to take into consideration both explicit and implicit negation, as well as
linguistic and extra-linguistic context in which it appears. Assuming that meaning is
not a constant but that it is generated in the context, we take the context to be one of
the variables that have to be taken into consideration when determining the function
and meaning of negation in natural languages. Before we go any further in the
analysis, we would like to define in somewhat general terms the subject matter of
this paper and that is negation, then a theoretical framework within which the
analysis will be undertaken, and finally the corpus and the context in which negation
has been analysed.
2. Definition of negation and its relationship with presupposition
There is a dramatic contrast between the superficial simplicity of logical
negation (reversing the truth value of a proposition, i.e. not-p is true if and only if p
is false) and the complexity of the form and function of negative sentences in actual
use.2 (Horn, Kato 2000:1) In natural language, negation has, in addition to its strictly
logical aspect, a huge pragmatic component that cannot be predicted from logic.
(Givón 1978, 2002) Many authors agree that negation is inherently more marked in
terms of pragmatic-discoursal presuppositions, in addition to its being
morphologically, syntactically and semantically marked (languages apply different
syntactic devices to express negation, and in terms of semantics, negatives are
generally less informative than their positive counterparts). (Israel 2004). This
means that negatives are uttered in a context where corresponding affirmatives have
been discussed or where the speaker assumes the hearer’s belief in and familiarity
with the corresponding affirmative. (Givón 1978, 2002; Horn 1978a, 1978b)
Psycholinguistic and combined pragmatic, discourse and psycholinguistic research
1
Giora (2006) mentions a number of discourse roles or functions of negation. Apart from the
denial of propositions asserted in the text and denial of presuppositions, beliefs, and expectations, there
are also rejection, implicating the opposite of what is said, eliminating concepts within the scope of
negation so that their accessibility is reduced, producing metalinguistic negation, effecting mitigation
rather than elimination of concepts, intensifying, suggesting comparisons, etc. (Giora 2006: 982) Tottie
(1991) mentions, besides denial and rejection, also the use of negatives as supports in conversation, use
of negatives in direct questions to express speaker’s opinion, self-correction or repair as causes for
repetition, repetition for emphasis, etc. (Tottie 1991: 35-36)
2
Logical negation (in terms of classical logic) can be presented in the truth table:
A
~A
T
F
F
T
#
#
which reads: if A is true ~A (~ is a symbol for a negative operator) is false, and if A is false ~A
is true; if A is neither true nor false (symbolized by #) then ~A is neither true nor false. (McCawley
1993: 327) See also Allwood et al. 1977; Horn 1989.
288
has successfully demonstrated that the processing of negation depends on the
context and on the fact whether true or false propositions have been affirmed or
negated respectively. As Fraenkel and Schul say, the context may be the most potent
factor in explaining the function and meaning of negation, with the least amount of
research to uncover its effect.3 (Fraenkel, Schul 2008: 537) There have been,
however, studies other than psycholinguistic experiments, in which negation has
been analysed in context and in which very interesting results have been obtained,
most notably Giora 1994, Pagano 1994, Jordan 1998, Hidalgo-Downing 2000 and
Nahajec 2009.
Giora (1994) analysed negation in mainly political contexts (e.g. Menachem
Begin’s speech in Israel in 1981, Anwar Sadat’s peace speech before the Israeli
Knesset in 1977, etc.), and she concluded that negation, among other things, can be
used as a means to imply without asserting and that is why it is often employed in
political discourse. Thus, saying “it isn’t the case that X” may pragmatically imply
“it’s the case that Y”. (Giora 1994: 111) As Giora says, messages are politically
advantageous if they are easy for the speaker to deny or difficult for the addressee to
reject, and this is what sometimes can be achieved by the use of negation. (Giora
1994: 104)
Hidalgo-Downing (2000) and Nahajec (2009) analyse negation in the context
of fiction (Heller’s Catch-22) and poetry respectively. Hidalgo-Downing (2000)
studies negation within the framework of text world theory, and concludes that, in
terms of cognitive organization of the discourse, negation projects a non-factual
domain triggered by a negative word which contrasts with the states of affairs
described in the text world. From the point of view of its function as a discourse
element, negation contributes to the general function of updating information, and
thus it determines the direction of the ongoing discourse. (Hidalgo-Downing 2000:
222)
Nahajec (2009) agrees with Giora when she observes that, viewed as a
pragmatic phenomenon, negation operates to activate implied rather than explicit
meaning. Furthermore, she claims that negation is essentially context-dependent.
Namely, in order to understand a negated proposition, a reader or hearer must
cognitively process both the semantic content of the proposition, and also its context
of use, both the local context of the preceding text and the larger context of the text’s
production including the social and cultural knowledge shared by writer or speaker
on the one hand and reader and hearer on the other. (Nahajec 2009: 109-110)
Pagano (1994) uses Tottie’s (1991) terminology when it comes to two types of
negation in natural languages, and these are rejection and denial. According to Tottie
3
But see Beltrán et al. 2008 for context effects on negation, where one of the main conclusions
of their experiments is that when people are prompted to describe a state of affairs and it is not
accessible in an affirmative way, they are most likely to produce negative utterances even though there
is no expected presupposition do deny. Thus, besides rejecting presuppositions, negations may also be
triggered by other contexts, such as the context that involves some degree of uncertainty or low
informativeness. (Beltrán et al. 2008: 418)
289
(1991), rejection includes refusals as well, and it is used to reject explicit
suggestions. Denial, on the other hand, can be divided into explicit and implicit
denial, depending on whether what is denied has been explicitly asserted or not in
the preceding text. (Tottie 1991: 16) Implicit denial is thus not a denial that is
implicit in a particular context, but a denial that denies what has been implied in that
context. Pagano (1994) raises interesting questions as regards implicit denials as to
what the producer has in mind to cause him to produce a denial, why a particular
assertion should be implicit in a particular situation and why a denial fits the context
in which it appears. (Pagano 1994: 253) She classifies the reasons why writers make
implicit denials in 4 categories: denials of background information, denials of textprocessed information, unfulfilled expectations, and contrasts. (Pagano 1994: 258)
Jordan (1998) also claims that many denials are involved with the negation of a
presupposition in the mind of readers and listeners at the moment the
communication is made (what Tottie and Pagano call implicit denials), and that
pragmatic understanding of negation must not be restricted to an assumption that the
readers’ presupposition has been created earlier in the text. (Jordan 1998: 711-712)
What all these authors have in common is the recognition of the importance of
context in understanding negation and the fact that one of the most common
functions of negation in context is to deny presupposition.
In this place it would be appropriate to briefly comment on the difference
between semantic and pragmatic presupposition in order not to stir up confusion as
to what is meant when presupposition is mentioned in this paper. According to
McCawley (1993), semantic presupposition is a relationship between two
propositions, whereas pragmatic presupposition is a relationship between an
utterance and a proposition. (McCawley 1993: 328-329) According to most accounts
of presupposition, presuppositions cannot be cancelled, i.e. they are not vulnerable
to negation. Thus the negation of the verb regret does not cancel the presupposition
that such a verb triggers. I will borrow an example from McCawley:
(1) Bush regrets that he named Noriega attorney general.
(2) Bush does not regret that he named Noriega attorney general.
(McCawley 1993: 329)
Both (1) and (2) presuppose that Bush named Noriega attorney general.
However, Leech (1981) claims that despite the oddity of the following example, it
must be acknowledged to make sense:
(3) I don’t regret leaving London – actually I have never left it.
(Leech 1981: 287)
Leech says that according to the negation test sentences like (3) ought to be
nonsensical, and yet, at least when uttered with the special contrastive stress, they
are not.4 (Leech 1981: 286) As presupposition triggers many authors mention the
4
Cf. in this sense the concept of metalinguistic negation as discussed in Horn 1985; 1989: 362444; van der Sandt 1991; Foolen 1991; Carston 1996; 2002; Chapman 1996; Geurts 1998; Burton-
290
relation of possession, premodification by participles, pseudo-cleft and cleft
sentences, adverbial clauses, comparative clauses, factive verbs, implicative verbs,
nominalisations.5 Leech (1981) argues for a set of conditions for a presupposition.
These conditions are in part semantic in that they derive from a semantic
representation X the potential presuppositions of X. But the set of conditions also
includes pragmatic conditions. In a pragmatic view of presupposition, a distinction
is made between presupposition and assertion, where presupposition is that part of
the content of an utterance which is treated as if it is familiar, and assertion is that
part which is treated as if unfamiliar, new, or informative, and this is exactly the
position that will be taken in this paper.6 (Leech 1981: 286-287) Leech (1981) also
claims that pragmatic presupposition can be thought of as basic to the progress of
communicative discourse. When two people engage in communication they share all
kinds of background knowledge, and as the conversation progresses, its context
progresses, in the sense that new elements are added to the pool of knowledge that
can be taken for granted. Any utterance belonging to a discourse will tend to contain
elements of meaning which are presupposed in that they are already part of the
context or pragmatic universe of discourse, and elements that are asserted, i.e. they
are not part of that context. (Leech 1981: 288) In addition to this, Leech states
something that is also widely discussed in both discourse and critical discourse
analysis, and that is the fact that the common ground between speaker and hearer is
not what is actually shared by the minds of speaker and hearer, but what the speaker,
for the purpose of the discourse, assumes that they share. Hence a speaker may
(either by mistake, or by design – which is what critical discourse analysts claim)
inappropriately presuppose something of which the hearer may be ignorant. (Leech
1981: 289) In this way, a speaker may actually create presuppositions, even if they
do not really correspond to the actual state of affairs, in order to manipulate the
hearer or reader into taking something for granted. According to Fairclough (1989),
presuppositions are not properties of texts but an aspect of text producers’
interpretations of intertextual context. (Fairclough 1989: 152) He says that
presuppositions can be sincere or manipulative. They can also have ideological
functions, when what they assume has the character of “common sense in the service
of power”. Fairclough (1989) illustrates his point with expressions like the Soviet
Roberts 1999. For more recent discussions about metalinguistic negation see Davis 2011 and Pitts
2011.
5
Cf. Karttunen 1973; Leech 1981: 283-284; Levinson 1983: 167-225; McCawley 1993: 330-346.
Cf. also Karttunen and Peters 1976, who treat all these syntactic structures not as presuppositiontriggers but as triggers of conventional implicature. (Karttunen, Peters 1976: 11)
6
Note that Levinson (1983) says that general pragmatic effects of foregrounding and
backgrounding information within a sentence can be achieved in many ways that are not
presuppositional in a narrow sense (i.e. philosophical and linguistic treatments of presupposition deal
with a much narrower range of phenomena than are included within the ordinary language sense of the
term), e.g. by changing word order, utilizing syntactic subordination, prosodic emphasis or the
emphatic particles. There is considerable overlap, but no equivalence, between presuppositional
accounts and accounts in terms of the topic / comment distinction. (Levinson 1983: 225)
291
threat, which become frequently repeated formulae in newspaper reports, and can
help to naturalize highly contentious propositions which are presupposed, in this
case that there is a threat (to “the West”) from the Soviet Union. Such
presuppositions do not evoke specific texts or textual series, but are rather attributed
to readers’ textual experience in a vague way – they make a general appeal to
“background knowledge”. (Fairclough 1989: 154)
3. Theoretical framework
The complex nature of negation in natural language demands that it be
analysed within a very broad theoretical framework, which would comprise
semantics, pragmatics and (critical) discourse analysis. Starting from Bolinger’s
(1980) claim that it is necessary, in describing any part of language, to take it on its
own terms, we adopted an eclectic approach towards negation in this paper, trying to
take negation on its own terms and trying not to ignore its huge pragmatic
component in order for it to fit in a selected theoretical framework. As Bolinger
says, a theory can get in the way of explanation, (Bolinger 1980: 53) so we would
not like to reduce the multi-faceted richness of negation for the sake of theoretical
clarity. This is why it is very important to combine the results as regards negation
that have been obtained within a general semantic and pragmatic theory with the
results of discourse analysis concerning the importance of contextual effects in
generating meaning. According to Bhatia et al. (2008), discourse analysis is the
analysis of linguistic behavior, written and spoken, beyond the limits of individual
sentences, focusing primarily on the meaning constructed and interpreted as
language is used in a particular social context. (Bhatia et al. 2008: 1) Van Dijk’s
(2006b) sociocognitive account of context defines contexts not as objective and
deterministic constraints of society and culture, but as subjective participant
interpretations, constructions or definitions of such aspects of the social
environment. Contexts are thus understood as mental constructs, which function as
the interface between situational and societal structure on the one hand and
discourse structure on the other. (van Dijk 2006b: 163) Contextual control over
discourse production and understanding affects all levels and dimensions of text and
talk: deictic pronouns, politeness formulas, conditions of speech acts, the selection
of appropriate topics or the change of topics, levels of semantic description (i.e.
general vs. specific), the distribution of knowledge in assertions and
presuppositions, lexicalisation, syntactic structure and intonation. (van Dijk 2006b:
171) Van Dijk (2001) divides context into global and local context. Global contexts
are defined by the social, political, cultural and historical structures in which a
communicative event takes place, while local contexts are defined in terms of
properties of the immediate, interactional situation in which a communicative event
takes place. Properties of a local context are its overall domain (i.e. politics,
business, etc.), an overall action (legislation, propaganda, etc.), participants in
292
various communicative and social roles and their intentions, goals, knowledge,
norms and other beliefs. (van Dijk 2001: 108) What is important for the present
paper is van Dijk’s definition of local contexts as a form of mental model of a
communicative situation, i.e. as a context model. Such a formulation of a local
context allows subjective interpretations of social situations and differences between
language users in the same situation, strategically incomplete models, and in general
a flexible adaptation of discourse to the social situation, in other words, not the
various properties of the local situation that control and constrain text and talk, but
the ways language users interpret or define these properties in their mental context
models. (van Dijk 2001: 108-109) Context models are crucial in discourse analysis
because they represent the interface between mental information (knowledge,
beliefs, etc.) about an event and actual meaning being constructed in discourse. (van
Dijk 2001: 110) Van Dijk claims that understanding a discourse basically means
being able to construct a model for it, and in production it is the mental model of
events and situation that forms the starting point of all text and talk. What we
usually remember of a discourse is not so much its meaning, as the mental model we
construct during comprehension. (van Dijk 2001: 112)
4. Data
The corpus on which the present analysis has been made consists of twenty
reports (approximately 100, 000 words) that the High Representative in BosniaHerzegovina sent to the Secretary-General of the United Nations in the period
between 14 March 1996 and 13 September 2001. The global context in which this
discourse is situated is the post-Dayton Bosnia-Herzegovina in which, at least for
the period immediately after the war in BiH, the High Representative, according to
the UN Resolution from 15 December 1995, has been “the final authority in theatre
regarding interpretation of Annex 10 on the civilian implementation of the Peace
Agreement”, and the person who has enjoyed “such legal capacity as may be
necessary for the exercise of his functions, including the capacity to contract and to
acquire and dispose of real and personal property” (Acts 27, 28, UN Resolution
S/RES/1031 (1995). The reports he sends to the Secretary-General of the United
Nations, and as of 2002 to the European Parliament (as an EU Special
Representative for BiH), belong to the institutional genre, except that they are
accessible to the general public on the OHR web page (www.ohr.int), unlike many
other types of institutional genre, e.g. different contracts, government documents,
international treaties, etc.7 Also, these reports can be said to be part of the political
7
“Genres are conventionalized discursive actions, in which participating individuals or
institutions have shared perceptions of communicative purposes as well as those of constraints
operating on their construction, interpretation and conditions of use. In this sense, genres are socially
constructed, interpreted and used in specific academic, social, institutional and professional contexts,
and have their own individual identity.” (Bhatia 2004: 87)
293
discourse, although the real addressee is not the public in general but the SecretaryGeneral of the United Nations and the European Parliament. In sending the reports
and thus describing the situation in BiH, the High Representative is creating a
mental model or a representation of the reality for his superiors, upon which they
make their decisions regarding Bosnia-Herzegovina. According to Chilton (2004),
political discourse involves, among other things, the promotion of representations. It
involves the use of language oriented to the communication of conceptualisations of
“the world”. People communicate among themselves partly in order to coordinate
their world conceptions. (Chilton 2004: 201) The local context of the reports that the
High Representative sends to his superiors looks like this: its overall domain is
politics, its overall action is reporting about HR’s work and the work of his Office in
Bosnia-Herzegovina during a certain period of time, and its immediate participants
are the High Representative and the Secretary-General of the United Nations, while
indirect participants are other members of the International Community in BosniaHerzegovina, politicians and political parties in Bosnia-Herzegovina, and, of course,
its citizens. The High Representatives in the said period were Carl Bildt (19961997), a Swedish diplomat, Carlos Westendorp (1997-1999), a Spanish diplomat,
and Wolfgang Petritsch (1999-2002), an Austrian UN representative and diplomat.8
All the HR’s reports have identical wording in their title, except for the number of
the report and the period of time which the report covers, as illustrated below:
11th Report of the High Representative for Implementation of the Peace
Agreement to the Secretary-General of the United Nations
Pursuant to Security Council Resolution 1031 of 15 December 1995, which
requested the Secretary General to submit reports from the High Representative in
accordance with Annex 10 of the Peace Agreement and the Conclusions of the
London Peace Implementation Conference of 8-9 December 1995, 1 herewith
present the eleventh report to the Council
The Report covers the activities of the Office of the High Representative and
developments in the areas listed below during the period from the beginning of July
1998 to the end of September 1998
As Bilbija (2005) says, the presence of this preamble is very important because
it marks the entire body of text as legitimised discourse. (Bilbija 2005: 53) As far as
the format of the reports is concerned, it changed slightly during the said period of
time, but in general the reports contain sections on the developments in different
areas, such as law, return of displaced persons and refugees, elections, media, human
rights, mine clearance, etc. in both the Federation and the Republic of Srpska, as
well as in Brčko District.
8
See also Majstorović 2007 for an overview of the High Representative’s discourse in BosniaHerzegovina.
294
5. Negation as a means of challenging or contrasting elements from
intertextual context – some examples from the data
In order to illustrate how negation functions as a means of challenging or
contrasting elements of intertextual context by denying expectations, beliefs, and
presuppositions, we need to look at both explicit and implicit negation. In explicit
negation a negative marker not or some other overt negative device is used (no,
nothing, never, none, nowhere, nobody, no one, neither, nor, negative affixes),
alongside with adverbs that are negative in meaning but not in form (barely, hardly,
scarcely; rarely, seldom), and quantifiers (few, little). The latter are called
approximate negators by Huddleston and Pullum (2002) because they denote
imprecise quantification, which is close to zero or approximate to zero in contrast to
absolute negators (never, no, etc.) and verbal negation expressed by not, which
denote the zero point.9 (Huddleston, Pullum 2002: 815-816). Implicit negation
includes covertly negative lexical items that trigger entailments or implicatures
involving negation of the subordinate clause (avoid, fail, forget, lack; ban, hinder,
prevent; deny, reject; doubt, be skeptical; amaze, shock, surprise; absurd,
ridiculous); prepositions against, before, without; adverb only; degree adverb too;
comparative and superlative constructions; overt and covert conditionals
(Huddleston, Pullum, 2002: 835). In the group of covertly negative lexical items
Seuren (2009) differentiates between those where the negation incorporated into
predicates actually follows the main verb and thus has scope over the subordinate
complement clause (deny, dissuade, etc.), and those where the negation takes scope
over the main verb (lose sth, forget, etc.). (Seuren, 2009: 321). In the following two
examples we can see the scopal difference between these two groups of lexical items
that are covertly negative:
(4) 86. On 15 November, I issued a Decision annulling the RSNA Conclusion
from November 10, which suspended evictions of certain categories of
persons between 1 November 1999 and 1 April 2000. If allowed to take
effect, this RSNA Conclusion would have denied refugees and displaced
persons their right to return to their homes during winter. Other than
Kiseljak and Kakanj however, where major improvements resulted from my
removal of the respective Mayors in November, there has been little
progress in Croat-majority areas.
(16th Report, 3 May 2000)
(5) Certain key conditions for elections must be improved during the weeks and
months ahead. I am particularly concerned with the lack of objectivity of
existing media, and my office in cooperation with the OSCE and key
countries is trying to facilitate the development of independent media
networks across the country in order to improve the climate for the
elections.
9
Barely, hardly, few, little, etc. are called approximate negatives by Jespersen (1917) as well.
295
(2nd Report, 10 July 1996)
In example (4) the negation incorporated into the predicate deny has scope over
the complement noun phrase their right to return to their homes during winter. If we
take Seuren’s (2009) analysis of the verb deny (deny = assert that not) to be correct,
we could paraphrase the sentence from example (4) as follows: “The RSNA
Conclusion would have asserted that refugees and displaced persons do not have the
right to return to their homes during winter”. As opposed to that, the negation
incorporated into the nominalisation lack (lack = not have) in example (5) has scope
over the noun itself, and this sentence could be paraphrased in the following way: “I
am particularly concerned with existing media not being objective”, or “Existing
media do not have objectivity and that concerns me”.
In our corpus, we have observed additional examples of implicit negation, e.g.
the construction of the type is/has yet/still to do sth/to be done, idiomatic
expressions like go down the road of partition, pay lip service to, certain uses of the
modal and lexical verb need, as well as the noun need, the modal verbs should,
ought to, and constructions such as rather than, far from, instead of, etc. To have a
clearer view of how these structures and constructions can have inherent negative
meaning, let us look at the following two examples:
(6) 32. With the gradual transfer of authority now underway, it is a cause of
great concern to me that a large number of Serbs have chosen to leave
Sarajevo. The reasons for this are many. The wounds left by 42 months of
bitter and brutal war cannot be healed in two or three months. It is also my
view that stronger political measures should have been taken by the Bosnian
authorities to win Serb confidence in their commitment to a multi-ethnic
Sarajevo and Bosnia, and encourage the Serbs to stay. There has also been
irresponsible propaganda by key Republika Srpska personalities advocating
the ethnic division of the country. Events during the weeks preceding and at
the beginning of the transition also fuelled Serb fears and accelerated the
exodus.
st
(1 Report, 14 March 1996)
(7) 78. A lack of response from the international community in funding of the
Department of Civil Aviation as a joint institution has slowed further
progress. This will hinder economic recovery in the aviation sector.
International efforts centred on the physical development of Sarajevo
airfield, minor passenger terminal improvements in Mostar and limited
Sarajevo terminal air traffic systems, but have largely ignored safety and
support activities that are central to operating the aviation system to
International Civil Aviation Organization (ICAO) standards. In addition,
the Department's field staff requirement of approximately 160 persons has
yet to be implemented.
(8th Report, 16 January 1998)
The underlined verb phrase in example (6) implies that Bosnian authorities did
not take political measures that would be strong enough to win Serb confidence in
296
their commitment to a multi-ethnic Sarajevo and Bosnia. The underlined
construction in example (7) implies that the Department’s field staff requirement has
not been implemented.
Out of 2960 examples excerpted from the corpus, more than half of them
belong to implicit negation (1967 examples), while there are only 892 examples of
explicit negation. Such a low percentage of explicit negation (30.1%) is due to the
fact that negation is used much less frequently in written than in spoken discourse.
Biber et al. (1999) mention different factors that contribute to the very high
frequency of negatives in spoken discourse, and one of the most prominent factors
among them is the fact that conversation is interactive and invites both agreement
and disagreement, while writing generally presents the perspective of a single
author. (Biber et al. 1999: 159) Tottie (1991) conducted a quantitative corpus
analysis of negation in both speech and writing, and her findings show that the
frequency of negative expressions was more than twice as high in the spoken texts
as in the written texts.10 (Tottie 1991: 17) She too attributes such high frequency of
negatives in spoken discourse to the fact that spoken communication is highly
interactive, i.e. there is a constant reversal of roles, whereas written communication
is characterized by its low degree of direct interaction between sender and receiver
and no role-shifting. (Tottie 1999: 18-19) However, as Tottie herself admits, a
receiver is normally present in the mind of the sender, and the absence of “mutual
monitoring possibilities” does not preclude cooperation on the part of the sender.
(Tottie 1991: 19) What is more, research in discourse analysis demonstrates that the
flow of discourse in written texts is basically interactive, and that what is denied by
the use of negation does not necessarily have to be explicitly asserted in the text but
can also be presupposed.
In the analysed corpus there are also 101 examples of double negation, where
two negatives occur cancelling each other and thus expressing an array of
meanings.11 The following example from the corpus contains two instances of
double negation:
(8) 6. But almost all progress has required continued and intensive efforts from
the international community and in several cases I have had to resort to
making interim binding decisions in accordance with my authority under
Annex 10 of the Peace Agreement. A crucial moment in the peace
implementation process has now been reached. As we approach the end of
the consolidation period, the progress made thus far, although substantial,
is still not irreversible. Civilian peace implementation in BiH cannot yet
proceed without continued international military support.
(10th Report, 14 July 1998)
10
She analysed only explicit negatives because it is difficult to list all inherent negatives, spot
them in texts, and make a computerized lexical search for them. (Tottie 1991: 6)
11
For one of the earlier pragmatic treatments of double negation see Horn (1991).
297
On the surface, the first instance of double negation in example (8), not
irreversible, yields the following reading “the situation in Bosnia-Herzegovina is not
stable yet, and BiH can still return to the condition in which it was during the war
and immediately after it”. The implicature that can be discerned here is that the
presence of the International Community in BiH is still very much needed if we do
not want this country to return to war-like circumstances. At the same time, the
progress made in implementing the peace process is explicitly mentioned in the
sentence, because the HR has to justify all the financial resources that were spent in
the implementation of the Dayton Agreement. The implicature that the International
Community should stay in BiH in spite of the substantial progress it had made until
then is reinforced by the double negation in the next sentence, cannot yet proceed
without, which, according to the law of double negation, would be interpreted as
“can only proceed with”. However, when we take both the textual and extralinguistic context into consideration, we see that this double negation implicates the
necessity of the presence of military forces in BiH. Both instances of double
negation in example (8) are used to mitigate the fact that both civilian and military
segments of the International Community should remain in BiH, and to create the
presupposition that without the International Community BiH would return to the
previous war-like condition. This presupposition is created with the intention to keep
the citizens of BiH in constant fear of war and its consequences, and for the
International Community to remain in BiH as long as possible.
The present analysis has further shown that for the purpose of challenging or
contrasting elements of intertextual context mainly explicit negation is used (out of
619 examples that illustrate this function of negation in discourse, 453 of them
belong to explicit, which is approximately 73%, and only 166 to implicit negation).
These findings correspond to claims of many authors that negation is mainly used in
more complex presuppositional contexts, i.e. in those contexts in which it is
felicitous to deny, challenge, or contrast elements either of textual or intertextual
discourse. Fairclough (1989) argues that participants in any discourse operate on the
basis of assumptions about which previous discourses the current one is connected
to, and their assumptions determine what can be taken as given in the sense of part
of common experience, what can be alluded to, disagreed with, challenged, denied,
etc. (Fairclough 1989: 145)
With this in mind, let us consider the following example. In it, Carlos
Westendorp does not deny the fact that his intention was to introduce superficial
changes (which, he admits, is true), but he denies what people might have thought
his sole intentions were when he took up the position of HR. In addition to that
intention, he intended to do other things as well. In this way, he challenges
something which is taken for granted in the present discourse, and not the truth of
the fact.
(9) When I arrived in Sarajevo in the early summer of 1997, my intention was
not merely to introduce superficial changes by tackling the minutiae of
outstanding small-scale problems. Instead I pledged to identify the
298
structures that underpinned radical nationalism, and to transform those
structures into the neutral equivalents that exist in Western-style
democracies.
(14th Report, 16 July 1999, Annex 1: Assessment of Developments During My
Tenure)12
Example (9) also illustrates what many linguists call metalinguistic negation,
which is, in short, a special or marked use of negation. It is irreducible to the
ordinary truth-functional operator, and is presupposition-cancelling. (Horn 1985:
132) It has been usually assumed that metalinguistic negation is used to deny or
object to any aspect of a previous utterance – from the conventional or
conversational implicata that may be associated with it, to its syntactic,
morphological, or phonetic form. (Horn 1985: 144) However, we see here that it can
also be used to challenge or object to elements of intertextual context, i.e. to
elements that are not present in the text in which negation is used.
In example (10), negation is used to state the fact that expectations regarding
paying compensation and complying with different orders had not been met. What
relates this example to the previous one is the fact that these expectations are not
raised or explicitly mentioned in the text (the RS was expected to pay compensation
in the three cases because it was required to do so; the RS was expected to comply
with the order of the Human Rights Chamber to provide information on the Father
Matanovic case, because it is common knowledge that one should comply with
orders since complying with orders is part of felicity conditions of the speech act of
ordering; the RS was expected to comply with the order in the Islamic Community
case of the Human Rights Chamber for the same reason as in the previous instance).
The participants in the discourse are nonetheless familiar with what is being denied,
since all these events are part of participants’ background or common knowledge
and they are therefore taken for granted by the writer of the report.
(10) 70. Continued difficulties are expected, however, in the implementation of
the Institutions' recent decisions which require the eviction of current
occupants of previously abandoned accommodation. In six of the eight
Chamber decisions requiring the payment of compensation from the
Federation, relatively large amounts of compensation have been paid.
Orders for payment have been given by the Prime Minister to the Minister of
Finance in the remaining cases. I remain deeply concerned, however, that
the RS has not yet paid compensation in the three cases in which payment
has been required. In addition, the RS has not complied with the order of the
Human Rights Chamber to provide all available information on the Father
Matanovic case involving the disappearance of a priest and his family near
the end of the war. In addition, the RS has not complied with the order in the
Islamic community case of the Human Rights Chamber in which it must
12
The 14th Report contains an annex, which is not a usual part of HR’s reports, and which in this
case is written by the HR Carlos Westendorp in his last report as HR.
299
allow for the construction of enclosures and issue permits for the building of
mosques in the RS. The deadline for compliance in this case has expired.
(15th Report, 1 November 1999)
In this example, negation is used to express unfulfilled expectations, and these
expectations are not explicitly expressed in the text, but are taken for granted.
Example (10) is thus another illustration of the fact that explicit negation is for the
most part used in more complex presuppositional contexts.13
Although implicit negation has not to my knowledge been dealt with regarding
its functions in the context, the present analysis shows that it can, though rarely,
function as a denial of intertextual elements. Let us look at the following example:
(11) 50. Some practical steps in this direction have been achieved, including
the participation of Serbs in the Ilidza Municipal Council and the
resumption of the educational program for Serb children in that
municipality. However, many of the other arrangements agreed to in the
JCC for Sarajevo have yet to be fulfilled by the local authorities; the result
is that there has not been a substantial return of Serbs to the Sarajevo area.
Federation authorities are not doing enough to regulate the occupation of
empty houses by refugees or displaced persons from other parts of Bosnia
and Herzegovina, nor are they taking sufficient steps to protect Serbs who
have chosen to remain in Sarajevo from threats and occasional violent
incidents.
(2nd Report, 10 July 1996)
The underlined phrase in example (11) implies that many of the arrangements
agreed to in the JCC for Sarajevo have not been fulfilled, thus denying the
expectation that they would be. It is to be noted that most examples of implicit
negation from the corpus used in this function interact with concessive
constructions, and so confirm Jordan’s (1998) claim that in concession there are
semantic given-new concepts involved, but also deduction and denial. The main
clause in a concessive relation is a denial and/or correction of the expected
deduction based on the information presented in the subordinate clause. (Jordan
1998: 727) In example (11), we have a concessive conjunct however introducing the
sentence in which implicit negation has been used. The first two sentences from
example (11) can be paraphrased as “Although some practical steps in this direction
have been achieved, many of the other arrangements agreed to in the JCC for
Sarajevo have not been fulfilled”, which means that based on practical steps in this
direction that have been achieved it could have been expected that the arrangements
13
Cf. now famous example by Givón (1978, 1979). He remarks on the oddness of a discourseinitial utterance Oh, my wife is not pregnant, when the hearer cannot be expected to assume “that there
was some likelihood that my wife was pregnant, that the subject has been under discussion, that it had
been considered as a probability, etc.” If the hearer cannot make this assumption, Givón notes that he is
likely to respond accordingly, Wait a minute – was she supposed to be pregnant? The affirmative
counterpart (My wife is pregnant) is not comparably restricted. (Givón 1978: 79-81; 1979: 103-104)
300
agreed to would be fulfilled. This expectation is nevertheless denied by the use of
implicit negation in the text.
6. Conclusion
In conclusion, we can say that the intuitive hypothesis about the
presupposition-cancelling function of explicit negation has been fully confirmed by
the present analysis of political discourse, with implicit negation also taking part in
this function, albeit to a much lesser degree. The main function of implicit negation
seems to be more of a descriptive nature, being used very often as a strategy of what
van Dijk (2006a) calls positive self-presentation and negative other-presentation in
discourse. (van Dijk 2006a: 370-374) Negation in general seems to require a more
complex presuppositional context in order to be used felicitously, with the concepts
being denied, challenged or contrasted by the use of negation present as part of the
background knowledge of all discourse participants, both direct and indirect. This
presence makes it possible for the speaker to use negation to challenge these
elements, and for the hearer to understand what the speaker is actually referring to.
There is a whole network of different texts and discourses which participants can
refer to without having mentioned them explicitly, exactly because of
presupposition. Presupposition can also be created by the speaker by using certain
syntactic constructions that are called presupposition-triggers, such as participles in
premodifying position, cleft and pseudo-cleft sentences, nominalisations, to mention
just a few of them. Negation is also a very useful tool for creating presuppositions,
because of the general assumption that one would not deny something that has not
been either mentioned explicitly in the discourse or assumed to be part of the general
background knowledge of discourse participants. The aim of the paper was to single
out one specific function of negation in a specific political discourse – and that
function is to challenge elements of intertextual discourse. We have been able to
show that besides explicit negation, implicit negation can also have this function in
discourse, and that what is being denied has either to be asserted or presupposed in
order for negation to be used felicitously.
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Communication. Oxford: Blackwell.
Chapman, S. (1996). “Some observations on metalinguistic negation”. Journal of
Linguistics 32: 387-402.
Chilton, P. (2004). Analysing Political Discourse: Theory and practice. London,
New York: Routledge.
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Biljana Radić-Bojanić
Novi Sad, Serbia
radic.bojanic@gmail.com
ANIMAL METAPHORS IN EFL VOCABULARY ACQUISITION1
Abstract Leaning on the theory of applied cognitive linguistics, the paper
investigates how a group of EFL university students understand metaphorically used
animal names in sentential contexts and how they apply the knowledge of
stereotypes connected with various animals to solve problems at the level of
vocabulary. Using the qualitative research paradigm, the author relies on classroom
observation and interaction with students to closely examine their processes of
reasoning, which reveals a variety of language learning strategies. Two different
types of exercises, one unguided and another one teacher-guided, are in fact
examples of the approach that gives the best results in EFL metaphor-based
vocabulary acquisition.
Key words: applied cognitive linguistics, animal metaphors, figurative thinking,
inductive approach, qualitative research, observation.
1.
Introduction
Metaphor has proven to be a useful tool in the field of foreign language
learning. Its potential was first elaborated by Lazar (1996), who claims that
figurative meaning is inevitable in the lexicon of native speakers, enabling them to
understand and produce metaphorical expressions. Furthermore, she concludes that
this ability is also a skill of great importance for foreign language learners, who
should be able to handle metaphoricity as their knowledge of the foreign language
grows. In a similar vein, Littlemore (2001) asserts that metaphorical input in the
foreign language classroom improves the linguistic production of foreign learners,
whose communicative competence increases in tandem with their understanding of
metaphorical expressions in the foreign language.
Because they lack native competence, learners are not always able to process
figurative meanings in the same way as native speakers. Nevertheless, they benefit
from the analytical, ‘enquiring’ approach called figurative thinking (Littlemore and
Low 2006). This is defined as “the use of a query routine which assumes that an
unknown expression might be figurative, or which asks what the implications of
1
The paper is the result of research conducted within project no. 178002 “Languages and
cultures in space and time” funded by the Ministry of Education and Science of Republic Serbia.
305
using a figurative expression might be” (Littlemore and Low 2006: 6). In other
words, when non-native speakers encounter words or phrases that they do not
understand, they must slow down if reading, or engage in extensive online analysis
if listening, and ask themselves a series of questions to decipher the unknown
segments of a sentence.
In order for non-native speakers to understand figurative meaning, they must
connect two different elements, and draw several inferences, as they decode the
connections between source and target domains. This is a challenging task that
requires help from the teacher. The consensus is that foreign language teaching
should focus on raising metaphor awareness by demonstrating that metaphor is not
merely a poetic form, but a pervasive linguistic and conceptual mechanism. As with
any theoretical linguistic construct introduced in foreign language teaching, the
question arises: how much exposure to theory will benefit the students? Littlemore
(2004) shows that the theory-based approach clutters the teaching process with
unnecessary information, especially when learners lack specialized linguistic
knowledge; and that the practice-based inductive approach is more appealing to
foreign language students, who correspondingly achieve a deeper understanding of
metaphors.
In their detailed account of the inductive approach, Littlemore and Low (2006:
24-25) show that basic questions regarding the appearance, function or position of
an entity can greatly help students to grasp the metaphorical meanings of words and
phrases in the foreign language, especially in simple transfers of meaning. Other
expressions, however, will remain unknown, often because students do not know the
basic meaning of the word, or because the word itself is archaic or obsolete. The
query routine includes simple, direct questions concerning the basic meaning of the
words, and can point the students in the right direction. In addition, such questions
can also trigger deeper understanding and information processing, during which
students actively tackle the given topic, ask questions and make meaningful
connections with other topics. This approach has proven to be necessary for students
to integrate new meanings with existing knowledge. Furthermore, it enhances the
learning process and aids the retention of new information, with the ultimate result
of greater learner autonomy. To conclude, this method of vocabulary acquisition
does not aim to replace other methods as a separate, special programme. Instead, it is
meant to be integrated with other approaches in foreign language teaching so that
both students and teachers can achieve better results (Boers 2000).
2.
Research methodology
The research investigates how a group of EFL university students understand
metaphors. Because the human conceptual system cannot be observed externally,
testing and statistical analysis of test results would not yield useful data. Rather, the
research employs the naturalistic paradigm, focusing on the behaviour of people in
their natural surroundings (Tullis Owen 2008). One of the main tenets of this
306
paradigm is that reality is subjective and socially conditioned (Lincoln and Guba
1985: 24-32), and that human communication should therefore be observed in its
natural setting. Context is essential, with genuine knowledge about human
interaction or mental processes best acquired not in controlled laboratory conditions,
but in everyday settings, (Eisner 1991: 32-33).
Data collection in naturalistic research implies face-to-face interaction between
researcher and informants. The researcher is considered to be the most important
instrument in data collection, which can be conducted by observation (in which
researchers make notes about what they see) or by questionnaires and interviews (in
which researchers make notes about what informants tell them).
Because context is vital for understanding human behaviour, it is imperative
to observe human interaction on a daily basis (Eisner 1991: 32-33), which
emphasizes the role of the observer as a research instrument. Observation is one of
the oldest research methods which relies on collecting impressions about the world
that surrounds the researcher/observer. In qualitative research observation is used to
describe the experiences of research participants, because it relies on the
presupposition that human behaviour is purposeful and reflects deeper values and
convictions (Richards 2003: 106). Observation is usually noted in a journal (or
sometimes recorded by camera or tape recorder) and comprises detailed descriptions
of external events in which the informants participated, the reactions of both
informants and observer, and the observer’s reflections, which later serve as a
framework for the interpretation of research results (Patton 2002: 302-304).
The research presented in this article is part of a larger project which lasted for
one academic year, and was organized as follows: during the 2007/08 academic
year, first-year students of English language and literature at the Department of
English, University of Novi Sad, were divided into two groups. One group was
designated as the experimental group, the other as the control group. Both groups
attended the same English language classes at the B2 level of the Common European
Framework of Reference, using the same coursebook with the same teacher. The
only difference was that the experimental group was given structured metaphorical
input during the whole year, while the control group was not. The metaphorical
input followed all the tenets of the inductive approach, which means that the
teacher/observer presented various metaphors through tasks which enabled the
students to make inferences and use query routines. During the two semesters of
classes the teacher/observer kept a detailed class journal noting all activities and
student answers and reactions to various tasks. This is the source of the material
analysed in this paper. A small selection of material was chosen in order to
demonstrate the efficiency both of the metaphorical input and the inductive
approach.
307
3.
Animal metaphors
Throughout the entire course the teacher/observer attempted to incorporate
metaphorical input into the coursebook material, seeking metaphors to match the
topics and vocabulary of individual units. One illustration used in this paper is a
group of metaphorical expressions stemming from the metaphor PEOPLE ARE
ANIMALS, which was covered in Unit 11, whose focus was on the natural
environment.
This metaphor has been researched by a number of linguists (Wierzbicka 1985,
Barcelona 1998, Martsa 1999, Halupka and Radić 2003, Prodanović-Stankić 2008),
who have established that a basis for the transfer of meaning is the fact that some
characteristics of animals (aggressive behaviour, living place, etc.) are mapped onto
human characteristics (anger, meeting point, etc.). Some examples are shown below:
source domain
size
→
appearance
→
behaviour
target domain
human size
human appearance
→
relation to people
human behaviour
→
relation to other people
example
Oprah Winfrey feels like a fat cow.
Kathy had a date with a fox last
night.
Sometimes, she can be a complete
and utter bitch.
Full of courage, he is as faithful as a
dog to his officers.
In the first example the transfer of meaning relies primarily on the size of the
cow, which is normally a big, bulky animal, regardless of whether it is fat or skinny.
The meaning is emphasized by the use of the adjective fat, the result being a
description of the weight of popular television host Oprah Winfrey. The second
example is based on the appearance of the fox, an animal with reddish brown fur and
a bushy tail, which is perceived as beautiful and whose fur is often used for human
garments. Foxes are also perceived as sly and cunning, traits which provide the basis
for another transfer of meaning (also found in the simile as cunning as a fox). The
third example rests on the behaviour of female dogs, bitches, especially their
territorial conduct when protecting offspring. The final example is a clear
demonstration of how dogs relate to people, as the first tamed and domesticated
animals, whose nature is generally very friendly, protective and faithful.
It is fairly obvious that most of the metaphorical meanings exemplified in this
section are common knowledge, usually stemming either from folk etymology
(foxes are sly) or some objective animal characteristics. That is why in the research
the teacher presupposed that metaphors with animal names would pose few major
problems for the students. This proved to be only partly true.
308
4.
Animal metaphors – unguided practice
The tasks selected for this paper were covered at the end of the course, when
the effects of the inductive approach and metaphorical input were noticeable. The
unit focused on the natural environment, which was an adequate introduction for
animal metaphors that would be covered over the next few classes.
The material that was brought to the first class is given in Box 1. Students read
all sentences individually and tried to complete them with the animal names they
thought were correct.
You might have noticed that animals are very frequently present in metaphors to describe
people's characteristics as well as actions. In some cases, animal names can be used as
verbs to describe actions, making the language much more vivid.
Example.
He was so hungry that as soon as the food was put on the dinner table, he wolfed
everything down.
Now you try to finish the exercises below by writing the correct animal names in the
boxes.
1. Two boys seemed to be fighting. A man went to stop them. One of the boys said, "Do
not worry. We are just _____ (1) around. Nobody is going to get hurt".
2. According to the newspapers, the demonstrators were _____ (2) by the armed police
and did not reach the government headquarters.
3. He was simply caught in a sea of people. He had no choice but to _____ (3) his way
through to get away from the crowds.
4. Jimmy is curious about machines and has taken apart everything he can lay his hands on
at home. Only yesterday he was _____ (4) around with my new clock and ended up
breaking it.
5. I agreed to go hiking with my friends, but when we arrived at the foot of the mountain I
_____ (5) out and ended up waiting there for six hours for my friends to come back.
6. Mrs. Dursley is always craning her long neck over the garden fence to spy on her
neighbours. Whenever somebody new moves to the neighbourhood, she always manages
to _____ (6) out the new person's background.
Box 1: Sentences with animal names
Although students gave many incorrect answers, it is still interesting to analyse
why they chose certain animal names to fill in the blanks. The majority said the
answer for the first gap was monkeying around because they had heard that phrase
before, and because they considered monkeys playful creatures. Some students
opted for bulled in the second sentence, describing the police as big and strong like
bulls, forcing demonstrators to step back. The answer proposed for the third
sentence was beaver his way, explained by the beaver traits of dexterity and skill.
The fourth and fifth sentences posed no problem for the students, whereas the sixth
309
was highly problematic. Most of the students could provide no answer, until one
student suggested giraffe – explaining that Mrs. Dursley was like a giraffe with a
long neck, craning over the fence.
Although it is clear that most student answers were incorrect collocations, the
query routines were in most cases appropriate. In essence, they either relied on the
physical appearance of animals (e.g. bull, giraffe) or their behaviour (e.g. monkey,
beaver), which are steps in the right direction, thereby indicating that the students
had internalized the basic tenets of figurative language comprehension and applied
them to the best of their knowledge.
In a follow-up activity the teacher explained the correct answers, sparking a
discussion of different animals and the possible metaphors that could stem from
their names.
5.
Animal metaphors – guided practice
Over the following week, the students completed another exercise with
metaphorical input consisting of animal names, this time guided by their teacher.
She wrote the following adjectives on the board: catty, cocky, mousy, mulish, owlish,
sheepish, and asked them what human characteristics or types of behaviour they
described. Most of the students gave similar answers, explaining that they had relied
on the most prominent characteristics of the animals in question as well as on
familiar stereotypes:
catty – seductive or secretive woman
cocky – over-confident man
mousy – easily scared person
mulish – stubborn person
owlish – someone who likes to read and study
sheepish – stupid, timid or meek person
After a short discussion the students were given the task in Box 2, in which
they had to connect these adjectives with the given sentences.
a.
b.
c.
d.
e.
f.
310
My brother’s one of those people who simply refuses to change his plans or his
attitude for anyone else. Stubborn? Yes. Unreasonable? Definitely. __________
He had a faintly professorial look to him with his round, intelligent face, horn-rimmed
glasses and serious expression. __________
He annoys all the staff, because for a trainee he’s too confident about his own
abilities, and as result frequently unpleasant and rude. __________
I’ve no time for her because she often makes spiteful remarks to other people, which
are intended to hurt them. __________
I must have looked a bit uncomfortable, because I felt rather foolish after doing
something as silly as that! __________
She was a shy, quiet and attractive woman who was dominated by her elderly mother.
__________
Box 2: Sentences with adjectives derived from animal names
This exercise was very easy for the students. They explained that all of their
expectations regarding the meanings of adjectives were realized, which again can be
explained by the fact that they used appropriate query routines.
The follow-up activity, meant to reinforce the material covered, consisted of
short dialogues which the students acted out. They were supposed to use the
adjectives from the exercise to describe or characterize someone they knew. The
underlying assumption was that the personalization and humour achieved in this task
would make this activity funny and entertaining, ultimately working on the affective
level and increasing student receptivity to new information, words and meanings.
6.
Conclusion
The exercises presented in this paper, with the accompanying student reactions
and answers, illustrate the success of the inductive approach and discovery learning.
The students from the experimental group relied on their own previous world
knowledge and experience with animals, their behaviour, appearance and relation to
people; and they also employed a variety of query routines which they had been
implicitly taught throughout one academic year. This resulted in an increased level
of vocabulary knowledge and their ability to tackle metaphorical meanings in
English as a foreign lanugage. The students in the control group, on the other hand,
did not show any significant progress in terms of the comprehension of metaphorical
vocabulary.
Although such an approach requires greater effort from both teacher and
students, it proves more successful in the long term, with the effort invested
ensuring longer retention of the learned material and aiding vocabulary acquisition,
comprehension and, ultimately, production. Furthermore, it can be applied not just
to the field of vocabulary acquisiton per se, but also to other areas in foreign
language teaching, such as the use of prepositions, articles, tenses, modal verbs, etc.
All of these areas present potential for further research of how applied cognitive
linguistics may enhance the learning process and shed new light on some of the
greatest problems that EFL students face in the classroom today.
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Nadežda Silaški
Belgrade, Serbia
silaskin@sbb.rs
CLIMBING THE CORPORATE LADDER OR BEING STUCK ON THE
MOMMY TRACK – CAREER METAPHORS IN ENGLISH1
Abstract The paper is set within the theoretical framework of Conceptual Metaphor
Theory as initiated by Lakoff and Johnson (1980) and later modified to better
accommodate metaphors that occur in authentic discourse, as well as that of Critical
Metaphor Analysis (Charteris-Black 2004), whose main tenet is that discourse
constructs the world from a particular perspective and that it is closely linked to
cognition. The main aim of the paper is to offer insight into the metaphors used for
the conceptualisation of CAREER in English. We classify and exemplify the CAREER
metaphors, also dealing with the differences between the ways male and female
careers are conceptualised in the culture determined by the English language.
Finally, we point out that metaphors, due to their ability to be used as powerful
persuasive devices, may have an important role in constraining women’s career
thinking to potentially damaging stereotypes.
Key words: Conceptual metaphor, CAREER metaphors, Critical Metaphor Analysis,
gendered metaphors.
1. Introduction
Careers are abstract and complex phenomena and their conceptualisation
frequently requires framing in vivid and more familiar metaphorical terms, which on
the one hand, may assist in the cognitive structuring of this important concept in our
lives, while, on the other hand, may also constrain our career thinking. Our aim in
this paper is to classify and exemplify the CAREER metaphors in English, particularly
emphasising the differences between the ways male and female careers are
conceptualised in the culture determined by the English language, and pointing out
that metaphors, due to their ability to be used as powerful persuasive devices, may
have an important role in the structuring of the women’s perceived place in today’s
society and in constraining women’s career thinking to potentially damaging
stereotypes. We believe that the mere fact that there are special metaphors for
1
The paper is the result of research conducted within project no. 178002 – Languages and
cultures across space and time funded by the Ministry of Science and Technological Development of
the Republic of Serbia.
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women’s careers, as opposed to those of men, may reveal ideologies subtly hidden
behind the metaphorical veil.
In the paper we combine two theoretical frameworks – Conceptual Metaphor
Theory, as developed by Lakoff and Johnson (1980) but later modified to better
accommodate metaphors that occur in authentic discourse (e.g. Semino 2008;
Deignan 2005), and Critical Metaphor Analysis (Charteris-Black 2004), a version of
Critical Discourse Analysis (CDA) which draws heavily not only on the main
insights of CDA but also on the cognitive theory of metaphor. According to the
proponents of Conceptual Metaphor Theory, conceptual metaphor refers to the
understanding of one, usually abstract and less structured, concept, expressed by the
target conceptual domain, in terms of another, more physical and more easily
comprehensible concept, expressed by the source conceptual domain. In their
seminal work Metaphors we live by, Lakoff and Johnson (1980) suggest that
metaphors are much more than a mere rhetorical or poetic device used for decorative
purposes, but that they are pervasive throughout everyday language. They structure
the way we think and act, not only the way we talk – therefore, metaphor is a matter
of mind, not only and not predominantly that of language. This claim is a radical
shift from previous traditional approaches to metaphor, which stated that the main
role metaphor plays in a text is ornamental.
This main tenet of Conceptual Metaphor Theory – that metaphors shape the
way we not only talk but think and even act as well – provides the basis for a view
according to which metaphors play a vital role in cultivating and reinforcing
ideologies. As Deignan (2005: 23) claims, “[t]he case for metaphor as ideological is
developed from the observation that the interpretation of situations and events
presented by any metaphor is only partial, and therefore flawed”, which stems from
the principle of metaphorical highlighting (Kövecses 2002), according to which the
metaphorical source domain focuses on a single aspect of the concept, while at the
same time hides some other aspects of the concept. This allows for metaphor to
serve as a potentially ideological tool, presenting “a particular interpretation of
situations and events” (Deignan 2005: 23), desired by their creators. Moreover,
metaphors often distort “because they are over-simplifications” (Deignan 2005: 23),
since target domains are much more complex than they are presented by means of
source domains, thus suggesting “an artificially simple understanding” (Deignan
2005: 23) of concepts. Being “among our principal vehicles of understanding”,
metaphors “play a central role in the construction of social and political reality”
(Lakoff & Johnson 1980: 159). Charteris-Black (2004: 21), the originator of Critical
Metaphor Analysis, argues that metaphor, viewed as a blend of semantic, cognitive
and pragmatic dimensions, serves the purpose “of influencing opinions and
judgements by persuasion” (Charteris-Black 2004: 21). Since most metaphors are
rarely void of any evaluative stance, they are charged with an ideological
component, “which reflects a bias on the part of a speech community towards other
groups of peoples, mores, situations and events” (López Rodríguez 2007: 18). This
is why metaphors are regarded in this paper as, among other things, carriers of
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ideology, when they serve as powerful tools of either presenting the reality in the
desired manner or of distorting the picture of the reality we live in.
2. Data collection and methodology
The data collection for our analysis has been gathered by means of an Internet
search. Namely, we collected a number of texts in English published on web sites
giving advice on the most appropriate ways of choosing and managing someone’s
career, in order to establish how these texts make sense of and conceptualise the
abstract concept of career. The texts obtained in this way were extracted and
compiled in one Word file, totalling around 85,000 words. The research then
proceeded in the following way: the texts were read carefully in order to manually
search for and identify those metaphorical expressions which we intuitively felt
provided instantiations of CAREER metaphors. We then applied the metaphor
identification procedure (MIP) proposed by the Pragglejaz Group (2007) in order to
check the metaphoricity of the lexical units relating to various CAREER metaphors as
well as to establish their contextual and basic meaning. MIP is claimed to be a
reliable method as it eliminates any subjective criteria for metaphor identification.
Having established the presence of metaphoricity, we then extracted the parts
(sentences, parts of sentences or titles of texts) containing those expressions which
we judged to be metaphorical. Some of these sentences will be used to illustrate our
points in the analysis that follows. Finally, we classified the data according to the
source domains found to structure the target domain CAREER, which will be
discussed in the text which follows. This paper may hopefully offer a deeper
understanding of career discourse as well as some critical observations which may
help to metaphorically better structure women’s careers.
3. Conceptualisations of career
According to Kövecses (2002: 127), career as an abstract and intangible
concept is a target domain in the process of metaphorisation which fits nicely into
the concept of (ABSTRACT) COMPLEX SYSTEMS, whose major properties include the
function, stability, development, and condition of the system. This in turn causes the
use of source domains which best metaphorically structure these properties. In the
following sections we focus on three main ways careers, understood as abstract
complex system, are conceptualised in our data collection.2
2
In addition to those which will be discussed here, careers have been found in our data collection
to be structured by a number of other source domains (e.g. as a race, a dream, a sports competition, a
valuable possession, etc.). Due to a space constraint, however, only the most frequent source domains
will be the focus of the paper.
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3.1. Career as a plant
According to Kövecses (2002: 98), complex abstract systems, among which
this author also sorts out career, are frequently structured in terms of a plant, giving
rise to the COMPLEX ABSTRACT SYSTEMS ARE PLANTS metaphor, based on a small
number of constituent mappings, such as TO START OR CREATE A COMPLEX SYSTEM
IS TO SOW A SEED, THE QUICK DEVELOPMENT OF A LARGE NUMBER OF THINGS IS
THE QUICK GROWTH OF A LARGE NUMBER OF SHOOTS OR LEAVES, THE INITIAL
STAGES OF DEVELOPMENT ARE THE BEGINNINGS OF GROWTH, TO MAINTAIN OR
TAKE CARE OF A COMPLEX SYSTEM IS TO CULTIVATE A PLANT, THE BENEFICIAL
CONSEQUENCES OF A PROCESS ARE THE FRUITS OR THE CROP OF A PLANT, etc.
(Kövecses (2002: 100-101). The CAREER IS A PLANT metaphor highlights the
development of our careers, i.e. the natural growth of a plant, stemming from the
overarching ABSTRACT DEVELOPMENT OR PROGRESS IS NATURAL PHYSICAL
GROWTH metaphor. Thus, in the career perceived of as a plant, a plant lends itself
well to describing a career’s life cycle as going through a plant’s life cycle. This
metaphor rests on “everyday knowledge that we as ordinary people (as opposed to
experts such as biologists) have about plants” (Kövecses (2002: 101), which is
mapped onto the target domain career. Here are some examples of metaphorical
expressions which illustrate the CAREER IS A PLANT metaphor:
1. If you want to build a strong, integrated network of contacts and friends,
you must begin planting the seeds of your career now.
2. Efficiency with high quality results is a great combination to add more
seeds to sprout your career.
3. For any plant to grow, it needs water. In the same way, your talents and
skills need to be nourished.
4. If you want a job tomorrow, cultivate your career today.
5. Pregnancy may put a budding career at risk.
6. Remember that more than one promising career has been nipped in the bud.
7. What are the main branches of careers you can choose from?
8. A gardener will prune a tree to produce a strong, healthy, attractive plant.
Here are a few tips (...) to help grow your career.
9. You’ll find plenty of tips, techniques, tools, and resources that will help
you to build a fruitful career.
10. Follow these guidelines and reap the fruits of a well-managed career.
Career as a target domain is characterised by “an inherent structure that
includes an element of development” (Deignan 2005: 175). Consequently, the most
important mapping present in the CAREER IS A PLANT metaphor is the one which
refers to the best stage in the progress or development of someone’s career, the
flowering of a plant, as illustrated by the following examples from our data
collection:
11. Make a lucrative and flourishing career for yourself by helping others
choose a successful and productive professional life.
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12. So if you want you career to blossom, you may have to just take a deep
breath and go for it.
Thus, the flowering of a plant, when mapped onto career, connotes the best
stage in its progress or development, connoting professional success and
achievement, whereas the general CAREER IS A PLANT metaphor highlights the
development of someone’s career, highlighting the stages in the process. At the
same time, this metaphor emphasises “the controlling and disciplining capacities of
the ‘gardener’ or manager” (El-Sawad 2005: 29), who takes an active role in and is
able to control the growth and cultivate the plant, making it grow, blossom and
flourish by means of their own efforts, skills and achievements. Moreover, some
negative career images may be conjured by the CAREER IS A PLANT metaphor, such
as pruning or cutting back, which serve to metaphorically structure the stunting of a
career-as-a-plant growth. Also, a plant may whither despite the care and
nourishment (e.g. due to bad weather or some other external factors beyond human
control). Similarly, the CAREER IS A PLANT metaphor downplays the importance of
other factors (attitudinal or organisational) which may hinder the growth of
someone’s career, such as the working environment, gender bias and stereotyping,
etc.
3.2. Career as a building
At a lower level of conceptualisation (a higher one being realised via the
ABSTRACT COMPLEX SYSTEMS metaphor) careers turn out to be frequently
conceptualised by means of the BUILDING metaphor, which emphasises the stability
of the system. In the CAREER IS A BUILDING metaphor, as Kövecses (2002: 131)
claims, “[t]he main theme, or meaning focus, [...] seems to be the creation of a wellstructured and stable or lasting complex system, whereas three interrelated aspects
of buildings this metaphor highlights are its construction, structure and strength.”
The mapping which characterises the CAREER IS A BUILDING metaphor is
CREATING A WELL-STRUCTURED AND LASTING CAREER IS MAKING A WELLSTRUCTURED, STRONG BUILDING, which consists of several conceptual mappings,
such as CREATING A CAREER IS BUILDING, THE STRUCTURE OF A CAREER IS THE
PHYSICAL STRUCTURE OF A BUILDING, and A LASTING CAREER IS A STRONG
BUILDING. We shall illustrate these mappings with several examples from our data
collection:
13. Like a house, in order to build your future career, you need the right
foundation.
14. Remember that your qualification is the absolute bedrock of your career.
15. A career structure is an important part of a satisfying career so set some
goals and plan ahead.
16. Not only are these moves a great way to expand your experience, but also
lay the foundation for incredible career growth.
317
17. To build a strong career foundation you may have to accept a first job with
heavy travel or other features that people sometimes find unpleasant.
18. How to build a strong career in HR
19. I felt my career was in ruins.
According to Inkson (2004: 101), the CAREER IS A BUILDING metaphor
“emphasize[s] the role of the individual in creating his or her own career” as well as
the role of career planning, which is likened to a well-thought out process of
building a house, with a number of preconditions which must be fulfilled (such as
information gathering, goal setting, logical and rational choices, etc.) before the
actual structure is built. In using the CAREER IS A BUILDING metaphor, we stress the
process of designing, planning, and building, conceptualising ourselves as
ingenious, apt and hard-working architects and masons, able to lay the foundation,
design and build the structure of our careers. What this metaphor seems to hide, in
line with the principle of metaphorical highlighting and hiding (Kövecses 2002), is
the role of external factors which may seriously constrain and even block the
building of our imagined career structure.
3.3. Career as a journey
“Building and travelling are conceptually related3, as they are both activities in
which progress takes place in stages towards a predetermined goal.” (CharterisBlack 2004: 95). As Deignan claims (2005: 17), “[m]ajor life events are talked about
as landmarks along a journey, and developments in someone’s career or personal life
are talked about as physical progress towards a destination.” Since it has become “an
essentially unquestioned assumption that career is a valuable possession and its
pursuit a worthwhile activity” (El-Sawad 2005: 35), it should come as no surprise
that the JOURNEY source domain fits well into the metaphorical structuring of a
career. The CAREER IS A JOURNEY4 metaphor rests on the conceptually higher
PURPOSEFUL ACTIVITIES ARE JOURNEYS metaphor, inheriting its basic structure of
the even higher-order JOURNEY metaphor, which in turn is embedded in the
SOURCE-PATH-GOAL image schema. Lakoff (1993) claims that the CAREER IS A
JOURNEY metaphor rests on the EVENT STRUCTURE metaphor, in which purposes are
destinations and purposeful action is self-propelled motion toward a destination. As
3
This is clearly made manifest in several metaphorical expressions which tend to co-occur in the
same sentence, drawing from the source domains of BUILDING and JOURNEY, e.g. building the
foundations of fast tracking; smart moves can open new, fast-track career doors; building your career
path; etc. Other source domains may also be combined in the same sentence, e.g. How career training
helps in building a flourishing career; etc.
4
Interestingly, the word career is derived from the Latin word carraria meaning a road or
carriageway (Online Etymology Dictionary), conceptually and semantically related to the concept of
journey, which may partly explain the widespread use of the JOURNEY metaphor in career
conceptualisations.
318
“purposes are conventionally constructed as destinations to be reached [...] actions
and strategies aimed at the achievement of goals are conventionally constructed in
terms of movement forwards or travel” (Semino 2008: 109). Arguing that because
STATUS IS UP, a career is actually a journey upward and career goals are special
cases of life goals, Lakoff proceeds to say that in the CAREER IS A JOURNEY
metaphor, a careerist is conceptualised as a traveller who strives towards the
achievement of career goals, aiming to go as high, far and fast as possible, as
illustrated by the following examples: He clawed his way to the top; He’s over the
hill; She’s on the fast track; He’s climbing the corporate ladder; She’s moving up in
the ranks quickly. (Lakoff 1992).
The CAREER IS A JOURNEY metaphor, therefore, is based on “the assumption
that we want to attain a predetermined end.” (Charteris-Black 2004: 93). It is replete
with metaphorical expressions linguistically realising it, among which the most
obvious is career path, which highlights a planned, logical progression through a
career and charts a course of someone’s professional life. However, this may not and
frequently is not a straight line from point A to point B. Career paths may be of
several types (implying vertical, horizontal, sideways, zigzag, or even backwards
movement5). As Inkson (2008: 5) claims, “[a] journey can be a drive along a fixed
route to a predetermined destination, or a wander in the jungle by a traveller who has
no idea where she is.” As far as the speed of travelling is concerned, a career journey
“can be a slow, sure walk or a swift erratic flight. It can be physical and therefore
observable to others – the objective career – or a projection of imagination known
only of the traveller – the subjective career.” (Inkson 2008: 5). IThe CAREER IS A
JOURNEY metaphor gives rise to a number of conceptual mappings, linguistically
instantiated by various metaphorical expressions. Let us illustrate only several from
our data collection:
20. Every career path, at some stage or another, reaches a crossroads. If the
decision and timing is under your control, your new direction is clear or
can be made so by talking to friends or colleagues.
21. These items are your road map to finding the career path that’s right for
you
22. Defining your career goals will help you make necessary steps toward a
satisfying work life.
23. As you move on in your career you need to build leadership skills at every
opportunity you can get.
24. One final thing to consider is that your career goals should evolve as you
move through your career.
25. The point is, the clear route is not always the most productive one.
26. Still, making a decision and following a set pathway leading to the outcome
is not as easy as you might think.
5
As instantiated by the following metaphorical expressions: a rollercoaster career, career lattice,
a career plateau, career shifters, a boundaryless career, a protean career, backtrackers, plateauers, etc.
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27. Is your career heading in the right direction?
28. Most people don’t think about another career until they reach the end of
their career path.
In the CAREER IS A JOURNEY METAPHOR, people (careerists) are perceived of as
travellers along the path, who strive to hopefully reach a defined and predetermined
destination. However, particularly important in the conceptualisation of a career as a
journey are notions of vertical mobility. Thus, the metaphor A CAREER IS AN
UPWARD JOURNEY is cognitively intertwined with spatial metaphors MORE IS UP and
STATUS IS UP (or ACHIEVEMENT/SUCCESS IS HIGH [Goatley 2006: 26]), since “to
acquire a socially higher position is comprehended as upward physical movement in
the course of a journey.” (Kövecses (2002: 214). The CAREER IS AN UPWARD
JOURNEY metaphor may be illustrated by the following examples from our data
collection:
29. How to work your way up the corporate ladder
30. Getting to the peak of your career
31. 12 Steps for Climbing to the Top of Your Career
32. Whether you are job searching or you are at the height of your career,
here are five ways to electrify your personal brand.
33. On the other hand, if your vision is to rise through the ranks with your
current employer...
34. Personal Principles: What It Takes to Rise to The Top
35. The career plan is designed to easily move up in the ranks, making it easy
to achieve success
36. Career planning is for core people as well as high flyers.
37. Career іѕ a wider phrase thаn shifting upwards іn thе hierarchy οf positions
іn an organization.
Therefore, despite the fact that career paths may not be linear and may
purposefully be chosen in such a way as to suit the needs of a particular person, as
well as the fact that some people deliberately choose not to climb the career ladder
(the so-called backtrackers or plateauers), the upward journey still most frequently
structures a successful career, because STATUS IS UP.
4. Gendered CAREER metaphors
One of the mappings of the CAREER IS A JOURNEY metaphor is that the
difficulties one comes across trying to reach the desired career goal, which block
one’s upward journey towards the desired metaphorical destination, are understood
as impediments to travel (see Lakoff 1993: 224). This mapping may be linguistically
instantiated by the following examples:
38. To be successful in changing career paths, you need to learn to overcome
obstacles you will encounter along the way.
39. The IT Career Path: A Dead End Or An Avenue To The Exec Suite?
40. Avoiding Dead End Career Paths
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The obstacles that people come across on their career paths, however, seem to
be much more serious when it comes to women than to their male colleagues. Thus a
number of gendered metaphorical expressions belonging to the CAREER IS AN
UPWARD JOURNEY metaphor suggest that the female career journey is much more
burdened with obstacles and barriers compared to that of men. For example, the
glass ceiling metaphor, depicting “the invisible barrier that women experience in
their upward career mobility which prevents them from reaching the top of an
organization” (Draulans 2003: 66), is subtly intertwined with the corporate ladder
metaphor. Women, similarly to men, climb the corporate ladder in order to reach a
desired destination, but in ascending the hierarchy of an organisation or company,
they are frequently confronted with often extremely stringent requirements for
promotion, which prevents them from being appointed to senior positions. The
metaphor of the glass ceiling6 conveys the idea that although women can see the
opportunities and positions at the higher levels of the organisational hierarchy, there
is a barrier denying them access to these positions. Therefore, while trying to ascend
the corporate ladder, women face a transparent yet real limit which prescribes how
far they can climb, as implied by the word ‘ceiling’, the metaphorical end of their
upward career journey.7
Similarly, right from the start of their metaphorical upward journey, which
begins from the lowest corporate levels, women are often faced with a sticky floor,
a metaphor which depicts unglamorous, low-paid and low upward mobility
clerical jobs with limited opportunities for advancement, where women experience
career stagnation and where their ability to perform well at senior positions is
questioned, which particularly refers to those women with children or caring
responsibilities. The sticky floor even prevents the beginning of a female career
journey, hindering women’s attempts to move out of certain low-level positions.
Even if they do try to reach the top-management positions, i.e. the top of the
corporate ladder, women often get stuck on the middle rungs of the ladder due to a
sticky ladder. The sticky ladder metaphor again refers to latent barriers originating
from deep-seated gender bias and stereotypical assumptions that “men are leaders
and women are followers”, still persisting in many English-speaking countries.
Gender-based discrimination at work place is further linguistically (and
conceptually) instantiated by the glass elevator (alternatively called glass escalator)
metaphor, which captures the view according to which there is an invisible vehicle
(escalator or elevator) which transports men working in traditionally female
professions up through the ranks of corporate power at the expense of women. This
metaphor highlights the view that it should be embarrassing for men to do female,
low-level low-paid jobs, so that they are encouraged (and pressurised) to quickly
move up to managerial positions.
6
The corresponding expressions metaphorically depicting career barriers for minorities in
English-speaking countries are e.g. bamboo ceiling, concrete ceiling, and ivory ceiling.
7
Glass walls is another gendered metaphor used to describe the situation in which a woman is
prevented from moving laterally within an organisation.
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Another extension of the glass ceiling metaphor is glass cliff. This metaphor,
grounded in the conceptually higher CAREER IS AN UPWARD JOURNEY metaphor,
refers to a situation which some women who dare to break through the glass ceiling
and take on positions of leadership encounter – they are promoted into risky,
precarious and insecure positions, where a risk of failure, leading to a professional
disaster, is much higher. Cliffs are high (metaphorically implying that women are
allowed to reach the top management positions) but very steep and slippery
(metaphorically implying that they are put in a position of constant teetering on the
edge, where any wrong, inattentive or imprudent move may result in a catastrophic
and fatal fall).
The expression fast track in the physical world was used to refer to a railroad
track reserved for express trains or a track in horse racing. If they travel the fast
track, it takes passengers (or horses) much less time to reach their destination.
Metaphorically speaking, however, and when applied to the concept of career, a fast
track now refers to the quickest and most direct route to the achievement of a career
or a life goal, as exemplified by the following examples:
41. What can you do to get on the fast track of career advancement?
42. Take every opportunity to improve yourself, increase your skills and
knowledge, and demonstrate your work ethic and ambition and you will be
on the fast track to success.
43. Nine tips to get on the career fast track
Its antipode, however, is applied only to women – only female employees may
take the mommy track, which is supposed to be a career route determined by work
arrangements offering mothers certain benefits such as flexible hours, but may
seriously reduce their chances of career advancement. Women frequently get stuck
on the slower moving mommy track, characterised by low pay and low career
prospects, which implies that the apparently advantageous treatment of women who
must juggle work and family and parental responsibilities turns out to be an
impediment on female career path, reducing women’s pay after giving birth so that it
never recovers after the mommy track stage in their career development has passed.
Here are some examples:
44. Subtle ways to help avoid the mommy track
45. In the end, whether the mommy track is a positive or negative path
depends on you
46. Avoiding the Mommy Track: Returning to a Career After Maternity Leave
47. Many part time mothers complain about being stuck on the “mummy track”
and overlooked for promotions
These metaphors may suggest that the career journey is much more difficult for
women compared to that of men, as well as that the travel along the chosen path
“may not be the result of a deliberate decision” (Semino 2008: 112), but an activity
which is imposed by power elites in organisations and companies. The existence of
the above metaphors, characterised by deeply ingrained gender stereotypes, may
322
serve as evidence that a certain stigma is placed on women after they give birth to a
child, when they are perceived of as lacking commitment necessary to maintain their
competitive edge in the workplace, which in turn may seriously hamper their career
progression.
5. Conclusion
Our analysis has shown that the abstract concept career is mainly
conceptualised via three most common source domains: BUILDING and PLANT, which
are mainly gender-neutral, and JOURNEY, which lends itself to a number of gendered
metaphors, implying that women are not allowed to reach the top, or that their
upward career journey may be hampered by factors beyond their control. Since the
proponents of Conceptual Metaphor Theory claim that metaphor structures our
everyday knowledge, “it follows that frequently-used conceptual metaphors will
help to organize the everyday knowledge of large numbers of people” (Deignan
2005: 24). Eventually, as we are thus forced “to focus only on those aspects of our
experience that [metaphor] highlights, [it] leads us to view the entailments of the
metaphor as being true.” (Lakoff & Johnson 1980: 157). The main issue, however,
“is not the truth or falsity of a metaphor but the perceptions and inferences that
follow from it and the actions that are sanctioned by it”, since “we define our reality
in terms of metaphors and then proceed to act on the basis of the metaphors.”
(Lakoff & Johnson 1980: 158).
Therefore, if female careers are perceived of as different from those of men,
through metaphors which reinforce the view according to which women are
incapable of committing themselves to serious and demanding managerial positions
due to their family commitments and the need for combining careers and
motherhood, which in turn may reduce their chances of career opportunities and
advancement, then this may not only disrupt women’s perceptions and thoughts
about themselves, but also detrimentally affect their career progression, thus
perpetuating ingrained stereotypes and gender inferiority. The existence of special
metaphors for women’s careers may reinforce and perpetuate socially and culturally
imposed thinking that women are forced to choose such working arrangements
which will not conflict with their primary responsibility to their children, while at
the same time, these metaphors may function, to quote Lakoff and Johnson, as “selffulfilling prophecies” (1980: 156).
Namely, metaphors “may create realities for us” and “serve as a guide for
future action” (1980: 156). The creation of a new reality happens “when we start to
comprehend our experience in terms of a metaphor, and it becomes a deeper reality
when we begin to act in terms of it” (Lakoff & Johnson 1980: 145). This means, in
line with Lakoff and Johnson’s main idea, that metaphors artificially impose the way
we think about women’s careers. Of course, “words alone don’t change reality. But
changes in our conceptual system do change what is real for us and affect how we
perceive the world and act upon those perceptions.” (Lakoff & Johnson 1980:145323
146). According to such a constructivist view of metaphor, metaphor builds our
conceptual system, shapes our everyday experience and structures our world view. It
is, therefore, of the utmost importance to introduce new metaphors which will help
remove any bias, prejudice and stereotypical thinking about men’s and women’s
careers alike and eliminate any unacceptable and distortive cognitive framing. We
argue that the discrimination that still exists against women in the workplace will be
hard to remove if, among other things, discriminatory metaphors still persevere and
constrain career thinking.
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inskson.pdf. Retrieved on: 15 July 2010.
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and Thought (2nd Ed.). New York and Cambridge: Cambridge University
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Lakoff, G. and Johnson, M. (1980). Metaphors We Live By. Chicago: The University
of Chicago Press.
López Rodríguez, I. (2007). “The representation of women in teenage and women’s
magazines: Recurring metaphors in English”. Estudios Ingleses de la
Universidad Complutense 15: 15-42.
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in discourse. Metaphor and Symbol 22(1), 1–39.
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http://www.ptilearningandperformance.com/personal/
http://www.careercrossroads.net
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http://www.careerstr8talk.com/2010/07/29/career-detour-keeping-yourselfopen-to-a-variety-of-careers/
http://www.careermanagement.com/
www.careers-in-finance.com
http://www.your-career-change.com/help.html
http://www.careeroutlook.in/
http://www.free-daily-motivational-self-improvement.com/avoid-thesepersonal-habits-that-can-ruin-your-career.html
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www.career-success-for-newbies.com
325
Dušan Stamenković
Niš, Serbia
dstamenkovic@filfak.ni.ac.rs
VERBS AND PROTOTYPE THEORY: STATE OF THE ART AND
POSSIBILITIES1
Abstract This paper investigates some of the possibilities of applying Prototype
Theory to the categorization of English verbs. Throughout its development,
Prototype Theory has been mainly focused on nouns, adjectives and prepositions
with very few excursions into the realms of the other parts of speech. The paper will
include a short summary of the existing attempts to approach verbs from a
prototypical perspective. Using verb frequency tests, it will try to find those
semantic features of verbs that might be relevant to the process of categorization.
This will be done by means of analysing two classes of verbs and finding their
appropriate semantic features. The result of this analysis will be presented in two
columns and graphs, showing how the verbs in question are graded within their
categories.
Key words: prototype, verb, categorization, semantic features, word frequency.
1. Introduction – Aims and Methodology
The paper has two main aims – firstly, it should offer an overview of the
attempts to approach verbs from the perspective of Prototype Theory and, secondly,
it will try to present at least some possibilities for future studies of verbs in regard to
this perspective. Prototype Theory has so far been mostly concerned with nouns,
adjectives and prepositions, but there have also been attempts to apply Prototype
Theory to a number of verb analyses and the paper will try to present some of them.
The focus will be on the lexical aspects of verbs, whereas other verb-related features
will be mentioned only if necessary. Verbs will be viewed in relation to their
categories, two groups of verbs serving as a basis of semantic features which can be
considered responsible for a higher or a lower degree of their prototypicality.
After a short historical overview of the development of Prototype Theory, the
paper will present two major attempts to approach verbs using Prototype Theory.
1
Prepared as a part of the project Sustainability of the Identity of Serbs and National Minorities
in the Border Municipalities of Eastern and Southeastern Serbia (179013), conducted at the University
of Niš – Faculty of Mechanical Engineering, and supported by the Ministry of Science and
Technological Development of the Republic of Serbia.
326
Verbs related to motion around an axis and verbs of desire, selected in accordance
with Levin’s English Verb Classes and Alternations (1993), will serve as two
exemplar groups. They will both undergo a word frequency test based on the data
from the Corpus of Contemporary American English (Davies, 2011) and this may
serve as a significant (though not very sensitive nor precise) indicator for verbs’
prototypicality. According to the results obtained from the data, the verbs will be
classified from the most to the least prototypical one within their categories, after
which we will try to find a number of reasons for the achieved order.
2. Theoretical background
The problem of categorization seems to be central to both the old (objectivist)
and the new (experiential) view. In fact, we may isolate at least three groups of
approaches to categories: atomistic, probabilistic and exemplar (Smith and Medin,
1981; Medin and Rips, 2005). The atomistic approach largely corresponds to the
objectivist view, in which things belong to the same category in case they have
certain (objective) properties in common – categories are thus verifiable and they
correspond to the real world. Concepts within objective categories are compositional
– they can be broken down into smaller components of meaning. The probabilistic
approach is based on binary features, which can be either present or absent within a
concept and configurations of these features determine whether a concept can be
classified within a particular category or not. Properties within these two approaches
are called necessary and sufficient conditions for defining a category. Categories
based on necessary and sufficient conditions and/or binary features are usually
clearly bounded and their members have equal status (Taylor, 1989: 23–24). In the
exemplar approach, the best representatives of a category serve as ‘role models’ in
the process of categorization and this view seems to be very close to what we call
Prototype Theory (the dominant approach to categorization in the experiential view).
Although we may track the precursors of the ‘new’ type of categories in Kant’s
claims that concepts cannot be empirically delineated and that the synthesis of our
knowledge is not arbitrary, but related to our experience (Kant, 1791: Einleitung, III,
IV, according to Antović, 2009: 90), most contemporary semanticists designate
Wittgenstein as being the forefather of Prototype Theory. While trying to define the
term ‘game’, Wittgenstein (1953: 31–3) witnessed the fact that the boundaries of the
category are fuzzy and that this does not make this category less valid than some
which are less fuzzy. According to Wittgenstein, the category of games is not based
on shared defining features, as there are no attributes common to all the games in the
world, but on a “criss-crossing network of similarities” (Taylor, 1989: 38). In order
to illustrate this network of similarities, Wittgenstein uses the famous metaphor of
‘family resemblances’ – the notion that entities thought to be connected by one
essential common feature may actually be connected by a series of overlapping
similarities, with no feature common to all of them. Wittgenstein’s views on
categories certainly influenced Zadeh’s (1965) fuzzy set theory and Lakoff’s (1972)
327
early claims that category membership is not a yes-or-no question, but rather a
matter of degree. Early experiments, which confirmed these assumptions on
categories and started making differences between prototypical, less prototypical
and marginal concepts, were performed by William Labov, Willett Kempton,
Eleanor Rosch, Brent Berlin, Paul Kay, and Chad McDaniel among others.
Labov’s experiments (1973) were based on line drawings of various household
receptacles, such as mugs, cups and bowls. The subjects in this experiment were to
classify the presented drawing as one of these, with a constant shift of the ratio of
width and depth. Another important aspect of their judgements were contents of
various receptacles (and thus with their functions, which can be culture-dependent).
Among other conclusions, the experiment proved that there was no clear dividing
line between cups and bowls. In his analysis of this experiment, Taylor (1989: 41)
stresses the fact that the attributes used in the study are not binary, as width and
depth can be perceived as continuous variables. Also, he notes that no single
attribute was “essential for distinguishing the one category from the other.” Eleanor
Rosch’s frequently quoted experiments (1973, 1975a, 1975b) on categorization
represent a real challenge for the classical view of categories, as she tackled very
many apparently delineated categories and proved that they are far from being
discrete in relation to reality. Her respondents were to grade memberships of
concepts within certain categories, including birds, furniture, tools, sports, fruits,
vegetables, toys, etc. Her experiments predominantly included 7-point membership
scales or response time measurement. These experiments proved that neither natural
categories (such as birds, fruits and vegetables) nor nominal kind terms (furniture,
sports or toys) have clear boundaries. Moreover, the experiments showed that we
can also talk about the degree of membership, including the notions of the centre and
the periphery of a category (although we shall not question the fact that all the
included entities had the status of being members of a certain category, be they more
or less prototypical). This method introduced the notion of prototypicality in the
sense in which it is used nowadays – prototypes or exemplars are those concepts
which take central places within a category. However, it is very possible that Rosch,
Labov, Berlin and others borrowed the very term of prototypicality from
Wittgenstein’s Brown Book II (Vidanović, forthcoming: 13). Nevertheless, we may
not doubt that Rosch’s work motivated other researchers to apply the study of
prototypes to more abstract nouns, adjectives, prepositions, verbs and other parts of
speech.
Using experimental data, as well as various previous attempts to weaken the
position of the classical view of categories, George Lakoff, in Women, Fire and
Dangerous Things (1987), framed a comprehensive overview of the new view on
categories and provided the philosophical background and possible implications of
the experientialist view. When we come to prototypicality, we encounter a number
of topics including family resemblances, centrality, polysemy as categorization,
generativity as a prototype phenomenon, membership and centrality gradience,
conceptual and functional embodiment, basic-level categorization and primacy,
reference-point, or “metonymic,” reasoning and other phenomena. Another broad
328
summary of the experientialist view of categories can be found in John Taylor’s
Linguistic Categorization (1989) – besides providing an overview, Taylor applied
Prototype Theory to various aspects of language including polysemy, grammatical
categories, syntactic structures, phonology and language acquisition. Among other
things, this book includes one of the most important applications of this theory to the
analysis of verbs.
3. Verbs and prototypes
Before we analyse Taylor’s approach to verbs, we shall mention an earlier
attempt to view verbs as prototypical categories. Namely, in Word Meaning and
Belief, S.G. Pulman (1983: 107–136) performed a very comprehensive ‘test’ so as to
prove that there are aspects of verbal meaning that can be studied by means of
prototypes. He found graded membership, or more precisely prototypicality in the
categories denoted by verbs such as kill, walk, speak, look. Before doing so, he tried
to examine whether prototypical studies of verbs can fully mirror those of nouns.
Pulman set out proposing a taxonomy starting with a unique beginner and ending
with a specific verb:
Level 1 – Unique beginners – DO/MAKE
Level 2 – Life form – CAUSE/MAKE/BECOME/ACT/MOVE/SAY/…
Level 3 – Generic – KILL/LOOK/SPEAK/WALK/DECEIVE/HOLD/
BURN/RUB…
Level 4 – Specific – (for KILL) MURDER/ASSASSINATE/EXECUTE/
MASSACRE…
(based on Pulman 1983: 108)
He, however, realized that difficulties beset the unique beginners, as well as the
life form level. For instance, it is quite difficult to decided whether DO or BE can be
considered to be hypernyms of ‘close’ in “John closed the door” and “The door was
closed.” Therefore, he focused his study on the generic and the specific level,
investigating only those verbs which seemed to be organized in “hyponymy sets
reminiscent of the distinction between basic and subordinate level categories”
(Pulman, 1983: 109). Firstly, Pulman wanted to check whether the prototype effect
can be obtained for verbs and in order to do so he replicated Rosch’s original work –
Pulman’s subjects were asked to decide which members of a given category were
more representative of the category in question, using a 7-point scale. He selected
eight hyponymy sets: kill, speak, look, walk, deceive, rub, hold and burn and, for
each of them, he selected a range of six hyponyms to cover the largest part of the
generic verbs’ meanings. Some of the results that emerged from this experiment
were the following (the lower the figure, the more prototypical the verb):
kill: murder (1.10), assassinate (2.05), execute (2.82), massacre (3.28), sacrifice
(5.22), commit suicide (5.33)
speak: recite (2.57), mumble (3.46), shout (3.51), whisper (3.64), drone (3.98),
stutter (5.35)
329
walk: stride (1.86), pace (2.05), saunter (2.41), march (3.01), stumble (5.31),
limp (5.37)
(based on Pulman 1983: 113)
The respondents were asked to compare the hyponyms to the hyperordinate
term rather than to each other. Secondly, Pulman wanted to obtain more data related
to the prototype effect by performing a test which would give him some sort of a
‘family resemblance’ measure. He wanted to rate the hyponyms of the selected sets
in accordance with the number of features they share (or do not share) with other
hyponyms, i.e. other category members. The results he received were very difficult
to assess, because the responses could be classified into roughly five quite diverse
categories – when asked to provide features of certain verbs, people tended to list
their synonyms (or near synonyms), attempted to give definitions, gave the category
name itself, provided connotations and, finally, offered a number of attributes which
were parallel to what Rosch used in her studies. Thirdly, Pulman edited some of the
data so as to reach better consistency in the analysis, i.e. he deleted a number of
attributes which seemed to be totally unrelated to certain verbs and added those
which seemed to be almost synonymous with the verbs in question, in the same way
Rosch removed or added a small number of unrelated features in her experiments.
The results were analysed in both their edited and unedited form and summarized in
the following way:
murder
assassinate
execute
massacre
sacrifice
commit
suicide
1 Prototypicality
1
2
3
4
5
6
2 All attributes
1
4
6
2
5
3
3 Shared attributes
2
3
5
4
6
1
4 Edited attributes
2
1
5
4
6
3
kill
Ranked by:
Table 1: Pulman’s result survey for ‘kill’ (based on Pulman 1983: 119)
Pulman concludes that family resemblance is not positively correlated with
prototypicality, which might lead one toward thinking that family resemblance is not
a causal factor in the formation of prototypes when it comes to verbs. However,
Pulman resists such a conclusion on several grounds: he explains that the number of
selected category members in his study was too low, which led the statistical
methods he used to unreliable results. Moreover, the number of subjects was much
lower than in Rosch’s experiments (20 as compared to 400) and, lastly, verbs proved
to be quite delicate when it comes to listing attributes and required a more
comprehensive experimental design. On the whole, Pulman arrives at the conclusion
that verbs, just like nouns, can be regarded as more or less prominent, prototypical
or representative members of their semantic categories, but we cannot claim that ‘to
murder’ belongs to the category of ‘killing’ more than ‘to execute’ does (which
330
seems to be the case when we analyse colour adjectives). Pulman’s experiments,
though mainly aimed to be pilot studies or ‘probes’, showed us that there are aspects
of verb meaning that can be approached by means of Prototype Theory. Besides this,
we may assume that improved experimental procedures may provide more relevant
data in the future, meaning that Pulman opened a whole range of possibilities, which
seem to have not been properly explored since 1989.
The year 1989 saw another of the rare prototypical approaches to verbs. Taylor
(1989: 105–109) studied prototypicality as related to the polysemy of the verb climb
in order to explain the contrast between the family resemblance approach and the
core meaning approach. The main problem of the core meaning approach stems
from the fact that it is close to the classical approach to categories, as it implicitly
demands that there is a set of necessary and sufficient conditions which govern the
existence or stability of a category. Various senses of climb prove that there is no
possibility to subsume them all under a general core sense. Taylor follows
Fillmore’s (1982) characterization of the process in terms of the attributes ‘ascend’
(as in ‘The plane climbed to 30,000 feet)’ and ‘clamber’ (as in ‘The boy climbed
down the tree and over the wall’). The clambering sense of this verb cannot be
applied to entities without limbs. Therefore, although some of the uses of the
clambering sense may seem to be close to ‘the core meaning’ there are some others
connected to the ascending sense (to some of which the former sense cannot be
applied), which depart from this kind of centre. Taylor notes that these “different
senses cannot be unified on the basis of a common semantic denominator […] the
different meanings are related through ‘meaning chains’” (Taylor, 1989: 108). In
this way any “node in a meaning chain can be the source of any number of meaning
extensions” (Taylor, 1989: 109). In both Pulman’s and Taylor’s studies we may say
that we are encountering an ‘internal’ approach to verb prototypicality. They both
isolate specific verbs and discuss their polysemy in relation to their senses,
hyponyms or troponyms, with regard to various features of both generic ‘parent’
verbs and their specific ‘subtypes’. We may say that this approach can be basically
linked to semasiology. However, one can also approach these verbs
onomasiologically as well, providing the answer to the question “how do you
express X?”, X being any sort of meaning that verbs can denote, so it may include
vision, auditory perception, emotions, motion, various actions, etc. This approach
may be named external, as we look at the category (denoted by X) from the outside,
which sheds another sort of light onto the issue of verb categorization.
4. An analysis based on verb frequency
This part of the paper will try to examine whether we can discuss prototypical
features based on the external, onomasiological approach, using verb frequency.
Expression X is going to be represented by one of the verb classes or subclasses, as
categorized by Beth Levin in English Verb Classes and Alternations (1993). It is
quite obvious that word frequency is unlikely to serve as the only parameter in the
331
process of exploring prototypicality – there are various problems stemming from
homonymy, homography, polysemy, phrasal verbs, idiomatic expressions, different
registers, word economy and etymology. In a corpus study it may be very difficult to
isolate idioms, homonyms and homographs, and prevent them from interfering with
word frequency results. On the other hand, the problems that might be related to
polysemy, different registers, phrasal verbs, the same etymological background and
word economy are partly mitigated by the fact that more ‘prototypical’ verbs have
greater chances of being transferred into other domains. The very fact that the study
is based on word frequency partially limits us to ‘the core meaning approach’, but it
is very important to stress that a study based on ‘the meaning chains approach’ is
more than necessary. For instance, a study of polysemy in verbs might prove that
polysemy (linked with the fact that they get transferred into another category) can
sometimes make certain verbs move towards the periphery of a category, as they are
no longer ‘felt’ as firmly belonging to their original class by the subjects. When we
come to verbs, their transitive and intransitive uses may sometimes allow us to
isolate different meanings of certain verbs, but this seems to be restricted to a
number of verbs. From this, we may conclude that in any study of prototypes,
additional experiments involving respondents are highly required in order to support
any claims drawn from a corpus.
We may take a look at two classes in order to explore the ranges and
capabilities of a corpus-based study. They will be selected against the criterion of
size and in accordance with Beth Levin’s classification. The first group will be the
one dubbed ‘Verbs of motion around an axis’ (a subtype of ‘Verbs of motion’). This
group includes the following verbs: to coil, to revolve, to rotate, to spin, to turn, to
twirl, to twist, to whirl and to wind (Levin, 1993: 264–5). The used corpus and data
frequency list made no difference between homographs, homonyms and polysemous
verbs and for that reason to wind /waInd/ will be excluded from the grading
procedure due to the fact that there is no way to isolate it from to wind /wInd/. As for
the remaining eight verbs of motion around an axis, the word frequency statistics
based on “Word frequency data from the Corpus of Contemporary American
English (COCA)” (Davies, 2011) shows the following results:
Rank
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
Verb
to turn
to spin
to twist
to rotate
to revolve
to whirl
to twirl
to coil
Total
Frequency
230,916
9,399
8,198
4,412
2,560
2,444
1,430
964
260,323
Table 2: Verbs of motion around an axis stats
332
Share (%)
88.70
3.61
3.15
1.69
0.98
0.94
0.55
0.37
100.00
G ph 1:
Grap
1 V
Verb
bs off mo
otio
on arroun
nd aan axis
a (A Posssibble Prot
P totyp
picaality
y ch
hart))
Even
E n thhis scale,, w
whicch repr
r reseentss a ressultt acchieeved
d by
b wha
w at we
w maay call
c l a
‘tem
mpo
orarry’ meethood, shhow
ws som
s me tend
t den
nciees whic
w ch link
ks verrbs’’ frrequ
uenncies aand
meaning coomp
ponnentts. Altho
oughh extr
e ractting
g mea
m aninng com
mpo
oneentss or
o ssem
manntic
feaaturees may
m y seeem
m to
o bee attom
misttic to
t ssom
me deg
d greee, it is nev
vertthellesss in
nterestiing to
seee ho
ow feat
f turees cchan
ngee fro
om thee ceentree to
o th
he perip
pheery of
o a veerb claass or
o ccateegorry.
If freq
f quen
nciees refle
r ect at lleasst som
me aspe
a ects off pro
otottypiicallity, th
hen wee maay ccon
ncluude
thaat movi
m ing in thiss diirecction
n: to
o tuurn to twiist to
t rootate to
t reevo
olvee to twiirl,
maay causse a veery llikeely inccreaase iin both
b h deegreee and
a d inttenssity
y off rottation tow
ward
ds tthe
perriph
hery
y off th
he ccateegorry of
o verb
v bs of
o m
motion
n arrou
und an axis. Annoth
her tennden
ncyy is
thaat th
he in
nheeren
nt leeng
gth and
d/orr coomp
plexxity off acttion
n deenoted
d by
y thesee veerbss seem to
act in the sam
me waay – theey incr
i reasse on
o tthe way
y frrom
m to turrn tow
t wardds to
o tw
wirl.
The
T seccon
nd vverb
b claass to be
b aanaalyssed sho
owss sim
milaar tend
t dencciess. Verb
V bs oof desi
d ire,
mo
ore preecisely
y thhe subc
s classs nam
n med
d ‘w
wan
nt verb
v bs’ (Leevin
n, 199
1 3: 194
4), incclud
de tthe
folllow
wing
g veerbss: too co
ovet, to
o crravee, to
t ddesirre, to fanc
f cy, to nee
n ed and
a to wan
w nt. Thee daata
exttracted
d froom thee Corppus of Contempporaary Am
meriicann Engl
E lish
h leaad us
u tow
ward
ds tthe
folllow
wing
g cooncllusiion in reg
gard
d to pro
otottypiicallity ‘levells’:
Ran
nk
1
2
3
4
5
6
Verrb
to w
wan
nt
to nneed
d
to ddesiire
to ccrav
ve
to ffanccy
to ccovet
Tottal
Freq
F quen
ncy
5338,8
882
2886,6
620
7,8
851
2,6
631
1,2
214
9
983
8338,181
SSharre ((%)
64..29
34..20
0..94
0..31
0..14
0..12
100.
1 .00
Taablee 3: V
Verrbs of
o desir
d re
333
G
Grap
ph 2: Veerbss off dessire (A Posssib
ble Prot
P totyp
picaality
y chhart))
nce ag
gainn, ther
t re are soomee cconcclussion
ns thaat mig
m ght bee draw
d wn fro
om thee
On
prrogrresssionn baasedd on vverb
b diistriibuttionn. Iff we taake a llook
k att th
he foollo
owin
ng seq
quenncee:
to
o wa
ant//to neeed to
t ddesiire to craave//to covvet, wee may
m oncce aagaain sayy thaat bboth
h
in
nten
nsity
y annd com
mplexity off em
motiions seem
m to
o in
ncrease as
a we
w mo
ove tow
warrds thee
peerip
pherry. On
ne m
may
y saay thaat thhe num
n mbeer of
o sem
s manttic feaaturees add
ded to ‘th
he ccoree
m ning
mean
g’ incrreasses on thee waay ffrom
m thhe cen
ntre to thee peeripherry. O
On thee whholle, bboth
h
veerb claassees seem
s m to
o shhow
w th
he ssam
me m
meaanin
ng shiffts wh
hen wee movee from
m thee m
moree
frequ
uenttly useed vverb
bs toward
ds thhosee w
with scaarceer distr
d ribu
utio
on. Ver
V rbs seeem to act
a in a
w sim
way
milaar to
t tthosse oof nou
n uns and aadjeectiv
vess – unm
markeed term
t ms seeem to havve a
hiigheer freq
f quen
ncyy off usagee th
han thee mark
ked onees and
a d thiis patte
p ern reffleccts iitseelf oonto
o
th
he pote
p entiaal prot
p toty
ypiccalitty of
o vverb
bs. T
Thiis papeer iss faar frrom
m beeingg ab
ble to
t ppred
dictt thee
un
niveersaalityy of
o thhesee claim
ms related
d too proto
p oty
ypess orr to
o match
m h G
Greeenb
bergg’s (19966)
id
dea thaat ffreq
quenncy
y m
may bee coonsiiderred to bee th
he pprim
marry dete
d erm
miniing facctorr of
m kedn
mark
ness or thhat this phen
p nom
men
non has crrosss-linguuisttic imp
i plicatio
ons. Thhis is jusst
on
ne sm
mall steep tow
wardds studying veerb pro
otottypiicallity an
nd we neeed muuch
h m
moree
ev
videence inn orrderr to maake new
w aassu
umpptio
ons.
5.
5 C
Con
nclu
usio
ons
Alll tthin
ngs co
onsiiderred, w
we may co
oncllude tthatt ther
t re aree mea
m anin
ng and
d
prroto
otyp
picaality
y-reelated paatterrns th
hat caan be trrackked in
n the distriibuttion
n-baased
d
cllasssificcatioon of varriouus clas
c ses off verrbs an
nd th
hat thiis stud
dy may
m y bee caarried furrther
on
n. The
T e most generral iideaa iss thhat ‘geenerric ver
v rbs’ aree clloseer to
t tthe cen
ntree, wher
w reas
sp
peciific veerbss teend to mo
ovee toowaardss th
he peri
p ipheery – this iss acco
omp
paniied byy an
n
in
ncreeasin
ng num
mbeer of
o ddisttinctivee feeatuuress ass wee mov
m ve awa
a ay from
fr m th
he cent
c tre. Veerbs
lim
mited in
i tterm
ms oof use
u in spec
s cifiic conttextts arre on
o the
t perriph
hery
y. T
This is pro
p obab
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o thee faact tthatt thheir ‘sppeciificiity’ actuaally lim
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33
34
also claim that it makes them less prototypical. When we look at some other verb
classes, we may also see that obsolete or derogatory or insulting verbs are always on
the periphery, once again due to their usage limitations. Another reason for the
results we achieved might be found in the notion that the distribution of synonymous
or partly synonymous verbs tends to be dispersed. Once again, this might not be the
consequence of their being less prototypical, but the reason for their ‘loss’ of
prototypicality. If all this can be replicated in other languages as well, then this study
may bring us to more important conclusions. Furthermore, the study showed that
verb frequency is an insufficient factor in studying verb prototypicality, which
means that contrastive experimental procedures involving subjects should be
performed in order to provide more details on the connection between semantic
features of verbs and their prototypicality across languages.
References
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American English (COCA)”. Available at: http://www.wordfrequency.info.
Retrieved on 5 March 2011.
Fillmore, C. (1982). “Frame semantics”. In: Linguistic Society of Korea (eds.).
Linguistics in the Morning Calm: Seoul: Hanshin Publishing Co., 111–137.
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Hierarchies. The Hague: Mouton.
Kant, I. (1781). Kritik der reinen Vernunft. Riga: Johann Friedrich Hartknoch.
Labov, W. (1973). “The boundaries of words and their meanings”. In: Bailey, C. and
Shuy, R. (eds.). New Ways of Analysing Variation in English. Washington:
Georgetown University Press, 340–373.
Lakoff, G. (1972). “Linguistics and Natural Logic”. In Davidson, D. and Harman, G.
(eds.). Semantics of Natural Language. Dordrecht: Reidel Publishing Co., 545–
665.
Lakoff, G. (1987). Women, Fire, and Dangerous Things: What Categories Reveal
about the Mind. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Levin, B. (1993). English Verb Classes and Alternations: A Preliminary
Investigation. University of Chicago Press.
Medin, D. and Rips, L. (2005). “Concepts and Categories: Memory, Meaning, and
Metaphysics”. In: Holyoak, K. J. (ed.). The Cambridge Handbook of Thinking
and Reasoning. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 37–72.
Pulman, S.G. (1983). Word Meaning and Belief. London: Croom Helm.
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In: T. E. Moore (ed.). Cognitive Development and the Acquisition of Language.
New York: Academic Press, 111–144.
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Rosch, E. (1975a). “Cognitive representations of semantic categories”. Journal of
Experimental Psychology: General, 104: 192–233.
Rosch, E. (1975b). “Natural Categories”. Cognitive Psychology 4: 328–50.
Smith E. and Medin, D. (1981). Categories and Concepts. Cambridge, MA: Harvard
University Press.
Taylor J. R. (1989). Linguistic Categorization: Prototypes in Linguistic Theory.
Oxford: Clarendon Press.
Wittgenstein, L. (1953). Philosophical Investigations. New York: Macmillan.
Vidanović, Đ. (forthcoming). “Wittgenstein and the Beginning of Cognitive
Semantics”. An unpublished paper. Available at SSRN: http://papers.ssrn.com/
sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=1716431. Retrieved on 15 March 2011.
Zadeh, L. (1965). “Fuzzy sets”. Information and Control 8: 338–53.
336
Violeta Stojičić
Niš, Serbia
vikis@eunet.rs
CONTRASTIVE VIEW OF SERBIAN AND ENGLISH COLLOCATIONS
Abstract Taking into consideration the principles of collocability within the lexical
system of a language, in the paper we propose the idea that a contrastive analysis of
collocational correspondents may be of significance in demonstrating systematic
relations between two languages in lexical patterning, not only through one-to-one
correspondence, but also through cases of contrast and difference. We have
researched into congruent and equivalent standard collocations of Serbian (L1) and
English (L2), and a sample based on dictionary data has demonstrated a twofold
contrast relation, i.e. divergent and convergent. Furthermore, some examples have
indicated that there are collocations in L1 for which no correspondent can be
authenticated in L2, thus suggesting a difference between the languages through a
collocation gap. The implications of the findings may be reconsidered within foreign
language teaching, translation and lexicography.
Key words: collocation, contrastive analysis, convergent relation, divergent
relation, collocational gap.
1. Contrastive analysis and lexical co-occurrences
The issues of contrastive lexicology have been predominantly concerned with
foreign language teaching and translation. Within language teaching, the most
frequently discussed topic is the problem of false friends, i.e. the difficulties that
arise from the superficial similarity between lexical counterparts such as
Gymnasium/gymnasium, eventuell / eventually or starten / start from German and
English (Hartmann 1973: 30). Semantically based contrastive lexicology has been
especially important in an attempt to clarify the equivalence between lexemes of the
languages contrasted, which is in Hartmann’s (1973: 32) opinion a “skewed”
equivalence, and ranges from straightforward counterparts, like grill (En.) / grillen
(Ger.), to complete lack of equivalents, as in the case of English simmer, which has
to be rephrased in German.
A systematic description of similarities and differences between collocations of
two languages with theoretical objectives has rarely been attempted. The most
extensively explored collocational subjects are pertinent to foreign language
teaching and translation, while the focus has been on problematic cases of
correspondence or equivalence. The pedagogical research into collocations has been
carried out to aid vocabulary teaching methodology and to substantiate suppositions
337
that differences in lexical patterning between the native and foreign language may
suggest hindrances in acquiring the collocations of the latter. Nesselhauf (2003: 238239) states that in language teaching non-congruent collocations should receive
particular attention, because the points of differences should be clearly demarcated
in teaching. Howarth (1993: 42) notices that it is misleading to treat collocation
largely as arbitrary co-occurrences that must be learned as wholes. From what he
concludes, it seems that the quantitative approach to collocations is not dispensable,
but cannot be relied on in foreign language teaching, where the nature of the
phenomenon of collocability should be scrutinized to raise awareness of potential
problems in learners.
The objectives of contrastive studies of collocations mostly relate to the
development of collocational competence in foreign language learners. Bahns’s
(1993) account of differences between German and English collocations concerns
the difficulties German learners of English may have when searching for the English
equivalent of the verbal collocate in German collocations, in instances such as Ger.
Falle stehlen – Eng. *put a trap, Ger. Opfer bringen – Eng. *bring sacrifice, Ger.
Versprechen halten – Eng. *hold a promise, in whose translation the application of
word-for-word technique is not appropriate. He also contrasts German
('Ausgangssprache', L1) noun + verb collocations with syntactically correspondent
English ('Zielsprache', L2) verb + noun collocations, with regard to total and partial
equivalence. Total equivalence can be summarized as NA = NZ / VA = VZ; it holds
between both nominal and verbal collocates of German and English collocations, as
in Geduld verlieren / lose patience, Gesetz brechen / break the law, Kontrolle
ausüben / exercise control, Schluß ziehen / draw a conclusion, Versprechen brechen
/ break a promise. Partial equivalence is best expressed as NA = NZ / VA ≠ VZ, when
only nominal collocates are equivalent, as in Eid brechen / violate an oath,
Kompliment machen / pay a compliment, Rede halten / make a speech.
As for Contrastive Analysis in general, Đorđević (1994: 56-57) stresses the
importance of deciding on the criterion on which to found the analysis, which is the
problem of comparability. The comparability criterion may rest on formal
correspondence or equivalence. We hold that the standard of equivalence is a crucial
translation concept, which, however, cannot be the ultimate comparability norm in
contrastive matters. Equivalence is not absolute or system-based, as it constitutes a
relation between the source text (ST) and the target text (TT) in a given translation
act with regard to variable translation strategies and objectives. On the other hand,
Contrastive Analysis is concerned with similarities and differences between
languages in their systems, i.e. in the abstract sense of linguistic competence. In
translation, as a manifestation of linguistic performance, in addition to systemic
facet of languages contrasted, the effect of other factors is appreciable, such as the
function of the ST and TT, or the social and cultural ambience of the translation act,
etc. The equivalence in translation may depend entirely on the content of the
message as a whole, not on the form or content of individual units. Furthermore,
translation equivalence does not always imply congruence in form, with translation
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shifts often employed as a translation technique. Translation equivalents can be
compared on semantic grounds, but do not necessarily indicate features which
demonstrate fundamental similarities or dissimilarities in the systems.
Furthermore, in translation, dissimilarities in the systems of two languages
should be resolved to accomplish the primary objective of translation to transfer the
content or the message of the ST. In lexical terms, for example, this means that
lexical gaps, which indicate differences in the lexical systems of the two languages,
are not insuperable, since “gaps” are not to be incorporated into the TT. The English
neologism naked street [A STREET WITHOUT ANY CONVENTIONAL METHOD OF
CONTROLLING TRAFFIC] has no correspondent in the lexicon of Serbian. However, in
the process of translation, it would be essential to provide an adequate equivalent,
not necessarily of the same formal features, at least by employing a translation shift
from a lexical unit to a noun phrase, as in the following instance:
(1) The concept of the naked street was spearheaded by the Netherlands, where
traffic lights have been stripped from several junctions in recent years. ("Denver
Post", 2005)
(2) Koncept ulice bez signalizacije / ulice bez saobraćnih znakova / ulice bez
obeležavanja osmišljen je u Holandiji, gde su poslednjih godina sa nekoliko
raskrsnica uklonjeni semafori.
The relations which hold between the English lexeme naked street and the
Serbian lexical gap is system-based; the relation between the English lexeme naked
street and the Serbian noun phrase(s) ulica bez signalizacije / ulica bez saobraćnih
znakova / ulica bez obeležavanja in the two utterances is translation-based. The
former pair indicates differences between the two lexical systems, while the latter
pair demonstrates translational parallelism. Hence, the parameters of comparison in
translation and contrastive analysis do not seem identical. In translation,
comparability criterion involves meaning relations, i.e. equality in content
(equivalence), which may incidentally be accompanied by the equality of form
(congruence), whereas in the contrastive framework, it pertains to correspondence
which incorporates both equivalence and congruence.
Ivir (1981: 51-59) has methodically dealt with formal correspondence and
translation equivalence regarding ST and TT relations. He holds that there is a
noteworthy difference between language-based (system-based) and text-based
(equivalence-based) formal correspondents, since the former stand in a one-to-one
relationship, whereas the latter stand in a one-to-many relationship. We may add
that, unlike in system-based comparison, translation-based equivalents are not
necessarily formally correlated, as one and the same content may be realized through
various forms – a unit in the ST may have several equivalents of distinct forms in
the TL. This is also argued by Ivir (1982: 51-59), in whose opinion formal
correspondents in translationally paralleled texts are never matched in totality, as
they are when contrasted as parts of the systems of the two languages.
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2. Contrasting collocations of Serbian and English
In addressing the issue of comparability of collocations of L1 and L2, we wish
to suggest that contrastive lexicology may also assess lexical patterns of the
languages contrasted, not only isolated lexical units. In theory, the differences in
collocations of two languages have been predominantly researched through error
analysis in language teaching and within corpora of aligned parallel sentences in
translation. We believe that they may be explored contrastively to reveal not only
the (non)existence of one-to-one correspondents, but also the overall contrastive
relation between two languages in the collocational domain of their lexical systems.
Berndt (1969: 31-36) recommends that systematic contrastive analysis of a lexical
kind should not only be concerned with difficulties in establishing correspondences
or equivalence, but should work out networks of interconnections between two
language systems, which will assist developing effective methods of selection and
presentation of the lexical material in foreign language teaching, as well as improve
bilingual dictionaries. Such an approach to collocations may reveal similarities and
dissimilarities in lexical patterning and collocational restrictions at work in the two
lexicons, for descriptive purposes. Even though we are aware that the analysis
cannot be all encompassing, as it cannot cover all of the established or possible
collocations in two languages, we believe that it may give insight into universal
contrastive relations of two collocational systems, by not being restricted to one-toone correspondence or problematic cases of correspondence.
Collocation is a binary lexical pattern whose structure is determined by the
morphological classes of the lexemes in the pattern. Collocations are not arbitrarily
patterned chunks, since lexical patterning is regulated and conditioned by the
morpho-syntactic and semantic features of lexemes. Collocability potential is
delimited by collocation-specific constraints, i.e. collocational restrictions of an
explicit syntactic kind pertaining to the structuring of morphological classes, and of
an implicit semantic kind, deriving from the meaning of lexemes. Hence, lexical
combinatorial procedures should be viewed as standardized rather than routine.
In a sample of Serbian and English lexical collocations we have examined the
relations of contrast and difference between the languages (cf. Kurteš 2006). The
study is system-based, conducted with reference to the lexical systems. The
collocational data was collected from available standard Serbian (Serbocroatian)English dictionaries, i.e. Hrvatsko ili srpsko-engleski enciklopedijski rečnik /
Croatoserbian-English Encyclopedic Dictionary (Ž. Bujas, 1983, Grafički zavod
Hrvatske, Zagreb) and Hrvatsko ili srpsko engleski rječnik / Croatian or SerbianEnglish Dictionary (M. Drvodelić, 1970, Školska knjiga, Zagreb). The sample
studied does not involve specialized registers of language use, since collocational
patterns within terminological systems are highly restricted due to the monosemy of
established terms.
In the analysis, both formal and semantic criteria of comparability have been
involved. We have selected L1 and L2 collocations of identical structure, all binary
340
and analogous as to sequential ordering of morphological classes. As for the content
of the collocations studied, it is transparent in all instances, transparency being an
inherent semantic feature of collocations. The contrasted L1 and L2 collocations are
of equivalent content, regardless of a probable non-equivalence between individual
L1 and L2 lexemes in the sequence, as their content is built compositionally,
through the interaction of the lexemes combined. This implies that equivalent
lexemes in the two languages can have incomparable collocational ranges, which
may indicate that particular collocational content in L1 cannot be realized through
the choice of direct (dictionary) equivalents in L2, e.g. (Ser. dati – Eng. give) Ser.
dati (loš/dobar) primer – Eng. set an example; (Ser. namestiti – Eng. set) Ser.
namestiti krevet – Eng. make the bed; (Ser. gust – Eng. dense) Ser. gust saobraćaj –
Eng. heavy traffic.
We shall here attempt to illuminate the cross linguistic relations of contrast and
difference through examples of common collocations from Serbian and English. The
contrast implies disparity in the number of collocations of equivalent content, so it
can be a) divergent, when one collocation in L1 can be correlated with two or more
congruent and equivalent collocations in L2, or b) convergent, when two or more
collocations in L1 can be correlated with only one congruent and equivalent
collocation in L2. On the other hand, we have observed the relation of difference in
the collocation gap, i.e. the absence of a collocation in L2 which would formally and
semantically correspond to the given collocation in L1.
The divergent relation of contrast holds between a single Serbian collocation
and two or more English collocations congruent with and equivalent to it. The
content realized in L1 by a single collocation is realized in L2 through multiple
collocations, as in the following:
dokazati alibi (V N) – establish an alibi / prove an alibi (V N)
izlečeni alkoholičar (Adj N) – recovered alcoholic / reformed alcoholic (Adj
N)
jesti s apetitom (V Prep N) – eat with relish / eat with zest (V Prep N)
mirne demonstracije (Adj N) – peaceful demonstrations / non-violent
demonstrations (Adj N)
mladunče vuka (N N) – wolf cub / wolf whelp / wolf offspring (N N)
održavati mašine (V N) – maintain machinery / keep up machinery / service
machinery (V N)
oduzeti pasoš (V N) – revoke passport / withdraw passport (V N)
platiti odštetu (V N) – pay indemnity / pay compensation / pay damages (V N)
proglasiti amnestiju (V N) – proclaim amnesty / issue amnesty / declare
amnesty (V N)
pružiti podršku (V N) – give support / lend support (V N)
srdačna atmosfera (Adj N) – cordial atmosphere / congenial atmosphere /
warm atmosphere (Adj N)
sumnjivo lice (Adj N) – dubious character / suspicious character / shady
character (Adj N)
341
ugrabiti priliku (V N) – grasp an opportunity / seize an opportunity / take up
an opportunity (V N)
voditi bitku (V N) – wage a battle / fight a battle (V N).
A convergent relation holds between two or more Serbian collocations and a
single English collocation congruent with and equivalent to them, as in the
following:
iskazati naklonost / ispoljiti naklonost / pokazati naklonost (V N) – show favor
(V N)
nadati se žarko / nadati se živo (V Adv) – hope fervently
najbolja namera / poštena namera / iskrena namera (Adj N) – good intentions
(Adj N)
oblačiti se ozbiljno / oblačiti se svečano (V Adv) – dress formally (V Adv)
prazna fraza / šuplja fraza (Adj N) – empty phrase (Adj N)
zapodenuti svađu / zametnuti / započeti svađu (V N) – pick a quarrel (V N).
The case of difference between Serbian and English in collocational domain is
evident in instances in which particular content in L1 is not encoded by a collocation
in L2, but mmay be encoded by a segment of different formal features. For example,
the Serbian collocation moriti glađu has its equivalent in the English lexeme starve,
but not in a formally and semantically corresponding collocation. We have noted
collocation gaps in English in searching for the correspondents of the following
Serbian collocations:
a) sneg se beli – the L2 collocation gap is due to a lack of a verb in L2
meaning [PRESENT ONESELF / EXIST IN WHITE COLOR];
b) krojiti sudbinu [CONTROL ONE’S DESTINY] – the English verb tailor
[MAKE SUITABLE FOR A PERSON OR PURPOSE BY CHANGING THE DETAILS (tailor a
program / arrangement / production)] would not be an equivalent to Serbian krojiti,
as it does not have the meaning [TAKE CONTROL OVER]; also, shape one’s destiny is
only a near equivalent [INFLUENCE ONE’S LIFE TO A CERTAIN EXTENT];
c) zahvatiti vodu [FILL A VESSEL WITH WATER FROM AN UNREFINED
SOURCE] – the given action has not been conceptualized through a collocation in
English;
d) sjaj sunca – the nominal collocate is related to the verb sijati (Eng. shine;
the sun shines), and conveys neutral reference to the intensity of the light emitted;
therefore, we have ruled out the near equivalents in English, i.e. brightness of the
sun, gleam of the sun, luminosity of the sun, as in the first brightness refers to strong,
dazzling light, in the second gleam refers to faint light, whereas in the third
luminosity is technical.
The examination of the sample has indicated that systematic relations between
the languages contrasted can be searched within the area of lexical patterns.
Although the rules of lexical patterning are not as explicit as those of grammar, their
observance will result in combinations of lexemes compatible on syntactic, semantic
or stylistic grounds and thus acceptable in a language. The collocations examined
above are examples of patterns established in the lexical systems of the two
342
languages, so that a contrastive analysis may be effective when applied to
collocations as units of those systems.
Additionally, convergent and divergent collocational relations between the two
languages point to some semantic issues within the languages themselves.
Specifically, in quantitative terms, the number of L1 collocations converging into
one L2 collocation and the number of L2 collocations diverging from one L1
collocation is up to three, so that absolutely synonymous collocations within one
language are rare. This phenomenon supports the idea that substitutability in
collocations is minimal. In some instances, the equivalent and congruent
collocations in the divergent or convergent relation differ in stylistic variations, as
some of the lexemes are formal, e.g. cordial (formal) / warm (neutral) atmosphere,
revoke (formal) / withdraw (neutral) a passport, or old-fashioned, e.g. zametnuti
svađu. This finding can be helpful in lexicographic endeavors to specify differences
in usage between the collocations of two languages, whose content is identical, and
yet one of them is stylistically marked.
3. Conclusion
The exploration of the sample of Serbian and English collocations has
confirmed that a contrastively oriented inquiry into institutionalized lexical patterns
requires that the lexical systems of the languages be examined thoroughly, with the
recognition of collocational restrictions and ranges of individual lexemes.
Collocations established in the languages contrasted comply with unwavering
constraints on lexical patterning, both syntactic and semantic. Collocations lend
themselves to contrastive examination, because they are not produced arbitrarily.
Contrastive investigation into collocational data may reveal relations between the
collocations institutionalized in the languages contrasted, which may be one-to
many, many-to-one and one-to-zero. This may have further implications for
vocabulary teaching methodology, translation and lexicography.
As for vocabulary teaching, collocations should be taught by referring to
collocational ranges and collocational restrictions at work in the lexical system of a
language, in a manner similar to teaching explicit rules of grammar. Still, since
collocations are so numerous that they cannot be exemplified by every single
instance, laying stress on the non-arbitrariness of lexical patterning would be an
advisable method of instruction. In translation, since collocational ranges of
equivalent L1 and L2 lexemes do not necessarily match in their totality, equivalent
collocations should be searched for within the system of the TL lexicon, as
intuitively established equivalents or tentatively replicated SL lexical patterns may
be unnatural or even meaningless in the TL/TT. Accordingly, collocation gaps
should be carefully reconsidered, since TL gaps cannot be filled by observing the
standards of SL lexical patterning or by word-for-word translation strategy.
Lastly, the explorations in corpus linguistics have dealt systematically with the
procedures of identifying collocations by means of calculating the frequency of
343
word co-occurrences in electronic corpora. Computer-based research into
collocations has also aided the development of software used in collocation
extraction and concordance. In some cases the research has been far-reaching, and
guided towards the advances in the design of corpus query tools, bilingual corpora
and dictionaries. However, no parallel bilingual or multilingual corpora for Serbian
have been devised, the investigation of which may increase our knowledge of
comparability of Serbian collocations with collocations of other languages. A
Serbian-English or English-Serbian parallel corpus can assist in compiling a
bilingual collocation dictionary, as it can enlighten the contrastive relations between
the lexical patterns of the languages and systematic cases of contrast and difference,
which can facilitate the interpretation of collocational data for lexicographic
purposes. Owing to the speed of electronic sample browsing, a machine-readable
format of such a corpus would have many applications in translation, lexicography
and the cross language comparability in contrastive lexicology.
References
Bahns, J. (1993). “Lexical Collocations: A Contrastive View”. ELT Journal 47/1:
56-63.
Berndt, R. (1969). “Lexical Contrastive Analysis”. Brno Studies in English Vol. 8:
31-36
Đorđević, R. (1987). Uvod u kontrastiranje jezika. Beograd: Naučna knjiga.
Hartmann, R. R. K. (1973). “Contrastive Lexicology”. Annual Meeting of BAAL
Howarth, P. (1998). “Phraseology and Second Language Proficiency”. Applied
Linguistics 19/1: 24-44.
Ivir, V. (1981). “Formal Correspondence vs. Translation Equivalence Revisited”. In:
Even-Zohar and G. Toury (eds.) Theory of Translation and Intercultural
Relations. University of Tel Aviv: 51-59.
Kurteš, S. (2006). “Contrastive Analysis”. In: An Encyclopedia of The Arts Vol. 4
(9). Lagos, Nigeria: Lagos State University: 830-839.
Nesselhauf, N. (2003). “The Use of Collocations by Advanced Learners of English
and Some Implications for Teaching”. Applied Linguistics 24/2: 223-242.
344
Jagoda Topalov
Novi Sad, Serbia
jagoda.topalov@gmail.com
EFFECTS OF STRATEGIC READING INSTRUCTION ON EFL
STUDENTS’ READING PERFORMANCE
Abstract The aim of the research reported in this paper is to investigate the effects
of a strategic reading instruction framework based on the theoretical concepts put
forth by Klingner and Vaughn (1996; 1998) on learners’ performance on reading
assessment. The research was conducted with two parallel groups of EFL learners at
B2 level studying at the Faculty of Philosophy in Novi Sad (1 – experimental, 2 –
control) over the course of two months. The students in the experimental group had
reading instruction following a structured strategic framework, whereas the control
group had a more traditional, teacher-led reading instruction. This research adopts a
mixed method design and types of data collected include a reading measure (pre-test
and post-test) and researcher in-class observation. It is hypothesized that the
experimental group will significantly outperform the control group on the post-test
reading measure.
Key words: Reading, reading comprehension, strategies, EFL, CSR.
1. Introduction
Having been for almost half a century under the influence of dominant
behaviourist models, over the last three decades the theory on reading in an EFL
context has recognized the influence of cognitive psychology, which views reading
as an active event. Generally, reading is today seen as a “purposeful, and creative
mental process in which the reader engages in the construction of meaning from a
text, partly on the basis of new information provided by that text but also partly on
the basis of whatever relevant prior knowledge, feelings, and opinions that reader
brings to the task of making sense of the words on the page” (Eskey, 2005: 564). In
this view, processing of information and general cognitive abilities are treated as
crucial elements in the interpretation of an individual's ability to build representation
of the meaning of a text that is accurate and coherent. Reading strategies, commonly
defined as “processes that are consciously controlled by readers to solve reading
problems” (Grabe, 2009: 221), bridge the gap between cognitive psychology and
reading pedagogy – when confronted with a reading task, learners use their minds
and cognitive abilities in active ways to help them understand it (Williams and
Burden, 1997).
345
2. Research on strategic readers
Effective reading instruction is based on the insights into how proficient
readers achieve comprehension and tackle obstacles to understanding. From reading
research on strategic readers, it has been concluded that successful readers use
various reading strategies in order to understand the text and that they are
metacognitively aware of the process of their reading (Anderson, 1999; Grabe, 1991;
2009; Koda, 2004; Palincsar, 2003; Pressley, 2006). In his summary of some of the
most important findings from research on reading strategy use Grabe (2009) states
that all readers, regardless of the rate of their success in reading comprehension, use
many strategies. Furthermore, he asserts that good readers and poor readers use the
same type of strategies, but that good readers use strategies more effectively than do
poor readers. Most importantly in the light of the present study, in his summary of
research findings, Grabe concludes that reading strategies can be taught effectively.
Another very important conclusion from a large number of research studies
indicates that strategic readers often apply strategies in combination, rather than
overusing single strategies and that they automatize certain combinations of
strategies as routine effective responses to reading comprehension needs, as they
have been successful numerous times in the reader's past experiences. Reading
instruction that utilizes multiple reading strategies has been found to be particularly
successful in facilitating the process of becoming a strategic reader (Baker, 2002;
Block and Pressley, 2007; Klingner and Vaughn, 1998; Pressley, 2006).
In the present study, CSR (Collaborative Strategic Reading), a strategic
framework proposed by Klingner and Vaughn (1996; 1998), was put to test with the
aim of providing an answer to the following research question:
C) Is the structured strategic reading instruction more effective in improving
the EFL learners’ reading comprehension than the traditional teacher-led
reading approach?
Corresponding to this research question, a set of null hypotheses are as follows:
There is no statistically significant difference between the pre-test and the posttest scores in the experimental group.
There is no statistically significant difference between the control and
experimental groups on the post-test scores.
3. Research Methodology
The study reported in this paper adopts a mixed-method design, the aim of
which is to first arrive at possible generalizations regarding the matter in question
with the use of quantitative methods, and then to provide a deeper insight using
qualitative methods. Quantitative data included a reading measure, administered
before and after the strategic input. The qualitative method included inquiry by
observation, purpose of which is to “describe the setting that was observed, the
activities that took place in that setting, the people who participated in those
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activities, and the meanings of what was observed from the perspectives of those
observed” (Patton, 2002: 262). The aim of this investigation is not to confirm the
qualitative data using the quantitative data, and vice versa, but to form a clearer
picture of the matter at hand.
3.1. Participants
The investigation included a total of one hundred and fifty-eight students (N =
158) at B2 level, studying at the Faculty of Philosophy, University of Novi Sad, who
took a course in English as a faculty requirement. Students at B2 level of CEFR
(Common European Framework of Reference) are particularly appropriate for the
study of strategies used in reading L2 texts, because this is the first level of
knowledge at which students can understand the main ideas of complex texts on
both concrete and abstract topics. Furthermore, since many researchers believe that
L2 readers are more attentive to the surface structure of the text as opposed to L1
readers (e.g. Carrell, 1983; Muchisky, 1983), B2 is the first level at which the
learners are equipped with the level of language skill development needed for the
strategy use to become internalized and automatized.
The investigation included two parallel groups of participants, namely the
experimental group with eighty students (N1 = 80) and the control group with
seventy-eight students (N2 = 78).
3.2. Classroom Intervention
The intervention lasted for ten weeks (more specifically, forty classes) during
the spring of 2010. Following the CSR framework, four reading strategies were
taught in the experimental group – a) preview, b) click and clunk, c) get the gist, and
d) wrap-up1.
The first strategy taught in CSR is “preview”. As Klingner and Vaughn (1998)
state, its main goal is for students to predict what they will read and to activate their
background knowledge. Making predictions will help generate hypotheses about the
content of the text, set up goals and objectives for reading and identify its purpose
and possible benefits (Carrell, 1988; Oxford, 1990; Pressley, 2006). According to
Rosenblatt (1978), background knowledge is what the reader brings to the reading
event and it includes his or her life and educational experiences, feelings,
personality. This knowledge is organized into schemata, or mental structures “in
1
It should be noted that this study attempts to investigate the effect of the proposed strategic
framework on learners’ comprehension scores, without testing the effects of the
individual/collaborative dichotomy of the reading event on the development of reading strategies and
reading proficiency.
347
which we store all the information we know about people, places, objects, or
activities” (McGee and Richgels, 1996: 5). Activating appropriate schemata
facilitates comprehension and it is particularly important for less proficient EFL
readers who usually fail to adopt a holistic approach to the text (Anderson, 1999).
During the reading, “click and clunk” is the reading strategy implemented to
help students monitor their reading comprehension and identify when they have
breakdowns in understanding. Many researchers state that lack of adequate
vocabulary knowledge represents one of the crucial obstacles to text comprehension
(Anderson, 1999; Levine and Reves, 1990; Pressley, 2006). One of the ways that
this issue has successfully been dealt with is explicit teaching of vocabulary
strategies. In CSR, students are taught several vocabulary strategies which help them
overcome comprehension blockages. They include strategies such as looking for
contextual clues in the sentence which contains the unknown word (i.e. the clunk),
widening the context with sentences that precede and follow the clunk sentence and
looking for clues there, identifying word parts and looking for prefixes and suffixes.
Another reading strategy used is “get the gist”, which helps students to identify
and focus on the most important idea in a section of a text, excluding non-essential
information. Main-idea comprehension, or getting the gist, represents a complex
mental activity which involves attentional responses, metacognitive awareness and
strategic support (Grabe, 2009) and, as such, is not an easy task. It is, therefore,
suggested that particular emphasis be placed on effective instructional environment
(Palincsar, 2003; Pressley, 2006).
After reading, students in CSR use the “wrap-up” strategy to formulate
questions and answers about what they read and review key ideas, with the aim of
checking understanding of the whole reading passage. According to Moreillon
(2007), readers cannot and should not try to integrate every bit of information they
read into their schemata – “main ideas give learners the opportunity to pass
judgement on the value of information and use it effectively” (Moreillon, 2007: 98).
Students must understand what they read so that they could use accessed
information effectively. In CSR, students can generate “five W’s and one H” (who,
what, when, where, why and how) questions about the most important information
in the text in order to facilitate comprehension checking.
The manner in which this strategic input was used and practised with the
experimental group was modified as classes progressed, from a general discussion
about strategies, over teacher modelling, to students’ application in reading, first
with scaffolded assistance and then, finally, without it (Janzen, 2002).
On the other hand, the control group followed the reading instruction based on
traditional, teacher-led classes – following cues from the teacher, the students would
first read the text, then they would check the meaning of any unknown words or
phrases with the teacher, or using a dictionary, the teacher would then ask
comprehension questions to check that students understood what they had read,
which would be followed by a short discussion about the text.
348
3.3. Materials
Materials used in the present study consisted of the texts from the course
book New Cutting Edge – Upper-Intermediate (Cunningham and Moor, 2005). The
number of texts covered during the ten weeks of intervention was twelve. These
included a wide range of topics from concrete (for example How to become a
celebrity) to more abstract ones (for example, Medical ethics and medical science).
3.4. Instruments
Instruments used in the study included parallel forms of a reading
comprehension test, administered before and after the strategic input. They consisted
of two texts with the approximate length of three hundred and fifty words, with ten
multiple-choice questions for each text. Each test consisted of four different types of
reading questions. Among these, two types of questions tested basic comprehension,
namely “getting the main idea” items and “factual information” items. The test also
included vocabulary items and inferencing items.
3.5. Data analysis
In order to investigate the research question and the null hypotheses stated
previously, quantitative and qualitative analyses were conducted on the gathered
data. Firstly, a planned analysis using the paired-samples t-test was performed on
pre-test and post-test scores of the experimental and the control group respectively,
as well as the independent-samples t-test testing the difference between the
experimental and the control group before and after the strategic input. The tests
were performed using SPSS Statistics 17 software.
The variables investigated in the quantitative part of the research are as
follows:
T1 – the average score of the participants on the pre-test measure (reading
comprehension test 1),
T2 – the average score of the participants on the post-test measure (reading
comprehension test 2).
Both variables have numeric values and represent average students’ scores on a
scale of 0 to 30.
Following the quantitative analysis, a qualitative analysis was performed
using the methods of interpretation and categorization of the data gathered through
in-class observations.
349
4. Quantitative analysis and discussion
A previous inspection of the gathered data determined that no data were
missing and that the analysis could include all participants.
In order to allow for the comparison of the results of the two groups involved
in the study, an initial analysis was performed with the aim of establishing that the
experimental and the control group do not differ significantly. The results of the
initial independent samples t-test can be seen in Table 1.
Experimental group T1
80
21.130
8.722
1.093
1.608
.680
.499
Control group T1
78
20.037
9.799
N
Mean
Std. Dev.
Mean Diff.
SE of Diff.
t
p
t0.05 = 1.99
t0.01 = 2.65
N – number of participants; Std. Dev. – standard deviation; Mean Diff. – mean difference;
SE of Diff. – standard error of mean difference; t – t-value; p – p-value.
Table 1: Independent samples t-test for pre-test measure scores
On average, the participants from the two groups scored similarly on the initial
reading comprehension test, with the result of the data analysis indicating that there
is no statistically significant difference between the groups (t(77) = 0.680, p > 0.05).
Based on this analysis, it was concluded that it was possible to begin the structured
strategic input in the experimental group.
Following the strategic input and the post-test measure, the difference in the
scores of the experimental and the control group on reading comprehension test 1
and reading comprehension test 2 was tested with a paired-samples t-test. Results are
shown in Table 2.
N
95% CI
Mean T1
Mean T2
Mean Diff.
Std. Dev.
SE of Diff.
t
350
Experimental group
80
2.34, 6.47
21.29
25.7
4.41
12.62
1.39
4.245
Control group
78
-1.62, 3.92
20.21
21.36
1.14
9.39
1.03
0.822
p
.001
.413
t0.05 = 1.99
t0.01 = 2.65
N – number of participants; 95% CI - 95% confidence interval; Mean T1 – mean score on
pre-test measure; Mean T2 – mean score on post-test measure; Std. Dev. – standard
deviation; SE of Diff. – standard error of mean difference; t – t-value; p – p-value.
Table 2: Paired samples t-test for scores on the pre-test and the post-test measure
Results show that the difference between scores of the control group on two
tests is negligible and the effect of teacher-led instruction is non-statistical (t(77) =
0.822, p > 0.05), whereas the difference between scores on the two tests of the
experimental group is statistically significant and the effect is noticeable (t(79) =
4.245, p < 0.001). The null hypothesis that there is no statistically significant
difference between the pre-test and the post-test scores in the experimental group
can be rejected.
Finally, another independent-samples t-test was conducted in order to see
whether the experimental group outperformed the control group on the post-test, and
whether these results are statistically significant. Results can be seen in Table 3.
N
Mean
Std. Dev.
Mean Diff.
SE of Diff.
t
p
Experimental group T2
80
24.728
6.31
3.52
1.49
2.355
0.021
Control group T2
78
21.2
10.2
t0.05 = 1.99
t0.01 = 2.65
N – number of participants; Std. Dev. – standard deviation; Mean Diff. – mean difference;
SE of Diff. – standard error of mean difference; t – t-value; p – p-value.
Table 3: Independent samples t-test for post-test measure scores
Results show that the difference is statistical (t(77) = 2.355, p < 0.05). Thus,
the null hypothesis that there is no statistically significant difference between the
control and experimental groups on the post-test scores can be rejected.
From the results presented, it can be concluded with statistical certainty that the
effect of structured strategic input is noticeable and that it leads to better results in
students' reading comprehension scores. The students from the experimental group
outperformed the students from the control group on the post-test measure. They
also showed progress with respect to the pre-test measure – although both groups on
351
average scored better on the second test, which is to be expected since both groups
had reading instruction, the results of the experimental group are statistically
significant and, therefore, subject to unbiased interpretation.
5. Qualitative analysis and discussion
The teacher kept an account of the activities in class and the students’
responses to these activities during the two months of the duration of the strategic
input. The observations and conclusions that follow indicate that there was an
observable effect of the structured strategic input on the behaviours of the students
in the experimental group, whereas students in the control group showed very little
progress.
Namely, students from the control group, who were exposed to traditional
teacher-led instruction exhibited high dependence on the teacher and the coursebook. They answered questions only when they were prompted. On several
occasions, students from the control group did not use additional contextual
information provided by the pictures, diagrams and subheadings in the course book
in order to facilitate their understanding of the text, but noticed the connection
between this additional information and the text only after the teacher pointed it out.
They also showed high dependence on the syntactic, surface structure of the text,
which was evident in the large amount of words they did not know and the inability
to move forward with the text unless all the words are explained. On the whole, they
failed to self-regulate comprehension processes as they read.
On the other hand, students from the experimental group showed greater
autonomy during reading tasks. They more freely offered answers and solutions,
providing their own interpretations and engaging in discussions with other students.
They also showed greater tolerance of unknown words and phrases in the text,
adopting the attitude that it is not necessary to understand every word in order to get
the gist of the passage (the teacher made this discovery when, after a successful
‘wrap up’ stage, she asked students to explain the meaning of certain words and
phrases and realized that, even though students have a general idea, they were still
unsure of their meaning). Students from the experimental group also used a wide
range of strategies during the reading stage (they were using contextual clues,
connecting the topic with their background knowledge, breaking up unknown words
and looking for prefixes or suffixes, etc.) and were able to put in words the process
that led them to a certain conclusion or a comprehension of a certain word or phrase
showing greater metacognitive awareness (for instance, while reading about natural
disasters, students came across the adjective ‘impending’; this was an unknown
word for the entire class, until one student volunteered his interpretation, saying that
he ‘figured out’ what the word means because he linked it with what he sometimes
sees on his mobile phone – namely, ‘message pending’). Furthermore, they often
used text structure to make sense of the text, which can be interpreted as a sign of a
352
holistic approach to reading. On the whole, it can be concluded that as the course
progressed so did the students’ autonomy in dealing with the reading tasks.
6. Conclusion and implications for further research
The instructional treatment assessed in this study directly addresses the need
for explicit instruction of reading strategies, which would provide learners with a
wide range of tools in dealing with complex texts and subject matters. The findings
of the study demonstrate several benefits of the analysed strategic framework. First
of all, the students exposed to the structured input achieved significantly better
results in the reading comprehension test as opposed to the students who participated
in teacher-led classes. Furthermore, the research findings testify to the value of
explicit instruction of multiple strategies in facilitating learner autonomy and
confidence.
One limitation of the present study is related to the limited period of time
allotted for the structured strategic intervention. As many researchers believe,
instruction in strategies is a long and time-consuming process (Fan, 2010; Farrell,
2001; Grabe, 1991; Pressley, 2006). In light of this, more time is needed for the
development of automaticity and internalization of strategies, the final goal of which
is a self-regulated L2 learner.
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Dragana Vuković Vojnović / Marija Nićin
Novi Sad, Serbia
dragana.vukovic.vojnovic@dgt.uns.ac.rs / marija.nicin@dgt.uns.ac.rs
'WOULD YOU CARE FOR A DRINK?' – POLITE QUESTIONS AND
REQUESTS IN THE CROSS-CULTURAL CONTEXT OF TOURISM
INDUSTRY
Abstract In addition to the main function of communication (information
exchange), its social function is often emphasized, especially in a cross-cultural
context such as tourism industry. Within this line of thought, it has also been shown
that any type of communication includes certain degrees of politeness. The main
focus of this paper is to establish key expressions regarding polite questions and
requests in the tourism industry context and to determine students' awareness of
those expressions, as well as their attitudes towards degrees of politeness in English
and Serbian. The study will present the results of a knowledge test and a
questionnaire completed by university students of tourism and hospitality
management, followed by the discussion of the results and their implications for the
English for Tourism and Hospitality classes at university level.
Key words: politeness, language of tourism, pragmatics, EAP, ESP.
1. Introduction
Exploring foreign language competence and performance in the context of the
language of tourism, requires an insight into communicative skills and pragmatics,
and their implications for language for specific purposes. The language of tourism is
packed with numerous social and professional interactions where the roles of
speakers and listeners are clearly defined and need to be complied with. This type of
specific language is also clearly situationally structured. One of the key goals in
English for tourism and hospitality is to equip the learners with an array of
functional and situationally appropriate language.
The concept of tourism as language or the so-called ‘rhetoric of tourism’
(Dann, 2001) comprises the relationship between the speaker and the listener and the
influence the speaker has over the listener. Thus, we can see that the communication
in the context of tourism can be very powerful, which calls for the implementation
of the concept of politeness, which creates smoother and more harmonious
communication (Cruse, 2011).
Pragmatics is concerned with the study of communication and contextual
meaning and relative distance of participants in a conversation (Yule, 1996). It
involves the investigation of the speaker’s language and what is behind the speaker’s
355
words and how a particular conversation sequence defines the relationship between
the speaker and the listener. If we put this theory in the context of tourism, which is
mainly a service industry, we can easily conclude that the success of this business is
partially dependent on the successful communicative exchange between the speaker
and the listener, i.e. a successful interaction between tourism professionals and their
clients and customers. In the context of teaching and learning English for tourism
and hospitality, tourism professionals need to acquire an inventory of expressions
and also become aware of other aspects that are communicated through them. Our
specific area of interest in this paper deals with the expressions of politeness in
English and students’ awareness and usage of these expressions.
Sometimes it is extremely difficult to maintain an appropriate level of
politeness in your native language, thus we can assume that it would be more
difficult to be polite in a foreign language. There are many psychological and
sociological reasons causing this difficulty, many of which go outside the scope of
this paper. We assume that one of the main causes, in addition to level of foreign
language proficiency, could be lack of cross-cultural awareness. If we are in a
familiar social setting, we know the rules of the interaction, including the level of
politeness needed (Yule, 1996). But when in a different or unknown social setting,
e.g. when speaking in a foreign language, we consciously or subconsciously struggle
to define our role and the role of our conversational partner in a new conversational
context.
2. The concept of politeness
Politeness is a universal communication concept that may be expressed
differently in different cultures and languages (Bergelson, 2003). To put it in a
broader context, the study of politeness comes under the study of utterances called
speech acts and events, which are studied by pragmatics. Speech acts are utterances
which require a performance or certain actions and are given specific labels: a
complaint, a compliment, a promise, and apology, a request and so on (Yule, 1996, p
47). Many of these utterances are of interest for the language of tourism. They can
be classified in different ways, and in terms of politeness the most important
distinctions are whether we are dealing with direct or indirect speech acts and
whether we are employing negative or positive politeness strategy.
First of all, we need to give a possible definition of politeness. Lakoff (Lakoff,
1990) defines politeness as ‘a system of interpersonal relations designed to facilitate
interaction by minimizing the potential for conflict and confrontation inherent in all
human interchange’. We can see that this definition takes into account the
participants of the conversation and their intention to accomplish something in the
best and the most fruitful way. If we put this into the context of learning English for
tourism, there is a new aspect involved – taking into account a different culture and
its politeness strategies.
356
In English, the most common forms of politeness are expressed through
indirect speech acts and negative politeness strategies. This has been observed by
other authors interested in the concept of workplace politeness strategies. Thus
Bergelson (Bergelson, 2003) when comparing Russian and American social
communication strategies notices that there is a positive correlation between
politeness and indirectness in American language patterns. The key to this type of
strategies is that they give or grant independence to the hearer. It is also called
deference politeness. For example, a receptionist might say using an indirect speech
act:
a) Could you give me your passport, please?
Or a tourist may ask a passer-by using an indirect speech act with a negative
politeness strategy:
b) I am sorry, but could I ask where Central Station is?
In these expressions, we usually have an apology followed by an indirect
question with a modal verb, most typically:
Can/Could I ask… May/Might I ask…
For the purposes of this paper, we have investigated students’ attitudes toward
politeness in general, if they are aware of certain politeness expressions in the
context of tourism industry, if they are able to produce these expressions and finally
which expressions they have most typically used. The expressions that were
expected are given in Table 1:
FUNCTION
Asking for (further) information/explanation
Asking for permission
Politely requesting an action from someone
else/ politely ordering
Offering your help or action
Addressing the customer/ client
Other expressions
EXPRESSIONS
Can/ Could you tell me if/ wh-word…
I would like to know if/wh-word…
Can/May/Could/Might I ask if /wh-word…
Do you mind if I (open the window)?
Can/ Could you …(e.g. put out a cigarette),
please?
Would you mind (e.g. putting out a
cigarette), please?
Would you like me to…?
Shall/ Should I…
Do you mind if I…?
Sir / Madam
Please,....
Excuse me....
I am sorry....
Table 1: The expressions that were expected
3. Research aims and methodology
The empirical part of the paper comprises a questionnaire about students’
attitudes towards politeness in the context of tourism industry and a two-partite test
357
on their awareness of certain politeness expressions in English and their ability to
use them independently. The research was performed in two phases. Research
sample includes 40 first-year students of Hotel Management and 56 students of
Tourism Management at the Faculty of Science.
The questionnaire consisted of a total of 12 questions, six of them being
demographic questions. Students were also asked to give a general assessment of
their level of English and to state how often they used English outside the
classroom.
The test about students’ ability of independently producing polite expressions
was given in the form of contextual situations. The students were given a description
of nine situations in their mother tongue and asked to produce a sentence(s) in
English which would be most appropriate in the given situation. For example:
Situation 5: Tražite od svog kolege da proveri neke cene za vas. Šta kažete u toj
situaciji?1
____________________________________________________________________
Expected answer: more formal: Could you check those prices for me,
please?or less formal: Will you check those prices for me , please?/ Please check
those prices for me, will you?
The students’ answers relating to their choice of polite expression in English
were assessed according to the following scale:
3-appropriate (if the expression completely corresponds to one of the common
polite expressions in English)
2-partially appropriate (if part of the expression was wrong in terms of word
choice or order)
1-inappropriate (if the expression content was wrong for the given context, the
wording of the expression is wrong or the expression does not exist).
0-unanswered.
Spelling mistakes and grammar errors after the polite expression in the
sentence were not assessed.
The test about students’ awareness of polite expressions in English was given
in the form of 10 situations in Serbian each followed by two possible sentences in
English. Students were asked to circle the best responses for the given situations.
For example,
Situation 5:
Radite na aerodromu na prijemnom šalteru. Šta kažete
putnicima?2
a) Give me your passports and tickets.
b) Can I see your tickets and passports, please?
Expected answer is b.
1
2
358
You are asking from your colleague to check some prices for you? What do you say?
You work at the check-in desk at the airport. What do you say to the passengers?
4. Discussion of questionnaires
As it has already been mentioned, research sample comprised 40 students of
Hotel Management (HM group) and 56 students of Tourism Management (TM
group). These two groups have different courses in English which are focused on
the specific language of their future professions. Both courses cover broader context
of the English for tourism and hospitality, but they also focus on subject-specific
topics and situations. Topics and situations covered with Hotel Management
students are related to customer relationships, hotel facilities, staffing and internal
organization and marketing within the hotel industry context. Topics and situations
covered with Tourism Management students involve tourism policy planning,
designing itineraries, tour planning, exploring relationship between geography and
tourism, as well as customer relationships in a travel agency or passenger transport
companies. When analyzing the questionnaires, we also searched for differences in
responses between the two groups.
We will briefly look into the demographic questions. Most of the students in
both groups were female (67% in HM group and 79% in TM group) and they
learned English for more than eight years prior to the faculty enrollment. This is in
accordance with our school system where students are introduced to English in the
fifth grade of primary school and then continue learning until the fourth year of
secondary school. It is interesting to mention that one student from TM group had
never learned English before. Only six students obtained Cambridge First Certificate
in English. The analysis of the results showed no significant difference in the
responses of the students of different gender.
The main purpose of the questionnaire was to assess students’ awareness of
cross-cultural elements related to politeness in the language of tourism. A majority
of the total 96 students from both groups are aware of the significance of politeness
with the context of tourism industry (96%), only one student did not have any
opinion on the question and one student said that he/she did not agree with the
statement. They also see politeness as a competitive advantage in a tourism industry
company (89%) and agree that they need to learn polite expressions in a foreign
language (90%). Yet they need to learn more about cross-cultural discrepancies in
different languages and cultures. When asked if they would adjust their politeness
strategy to guests of different cultures they gave mixed answers. Most of the
students in HM group agreed with the statement (57.5%) and 17.5% said that they
completely agree. However, 12.5% of the students in HM group said that they had
no opinion on the topic and 12.5% said that they did not agree with the statement.
When TM group is concerned, 18.8% of the students said that they completely agree
with the statement, 40.8% of students said that they agree with the statement, 20.4%
did not have an opinion on the issue while 20% of the respondents did not agree
with the statement.
359
5. Discussion of test results
The aim of the first part of the test was to establish students’ awareness of
different polite expressions in English. The results show that both HM and TM
students are well-aware of the level of politeness they need in the relationship to
their customers or clients, the level of distance they need to keep between them and
their clients. Most questions were answered with almost 100% correct answer
choices. Students were aware that answers such as ‘What is that you want?’, ‘Hang
on a minute, I’ll ask Sandra.’, and ‘Sit and wait in the lounge for few minutes’ were
not the right ones to choose in tourism and hospitality related context. Situation 8
where the appropriate phrase included the expression ‘We look forward to
welcoming you again in the future’ was the most difficult one to choose. There were
75% of students in HM group and 63% of students in TM group who chose this
answer, while 25% in HM group and 37% in TM group chose the wrong answer. In
question 6 where they were expected to choose the sentence ‘One moment please,
madam. I’ll work out the total’, 87% in HM group chose the correct answer, 10%
chose the wrong answer and one student did not answer. Three students in TM
group chose the wrong answer to question 9 where they circled ‘Can you come at 7
o’clock’ instead of ‘I wonder if it is possible for you to come at 7 o’clock?’ One
student in TM group did not answer either one question.
It is clearly noticeable that students from HM group showed slightly better
results in terms of the level of politeness needed for handling customers
successfully. These results can be justified by the difference between hotel
management and tourism management professions. Unlike tourism management
profession, which is more involved in tourism planning and policy instead of clients
and customers services, hotel management or hospitality profession is of slightly
stronger customer-oriented nature.
All this shows that students are highly aware of these expressions, but when
their productive skills were tested students showed an average performance
especially when we talk about their choice of polite expressions. Students used a
rather limited set of expressions in their answers. This proves that there is some
degree of distortion and loss in the process of transfer. An insight into some of their
answers will illustrate students’ performance. Question 1 (asking for someone’s
name and contact details) and question 8 (asking someone to close the window)
were asked in the appropriate and partially appropriate way by most of the students 85% and 87.5 % in HM group and 82% and 81.5% in TM group respectively. This
is followed by answers to question 5 (asking your colleague to help you) and
question 6 (offering a drink in a restaurant) which were given appropriately or
partially appropriately by 72.5% and 75% of the students in HM group and 71.5%
and 76% of the students in TM group (e.g. ‘What do you want to drink?’ or ‘Do you
want something to drink?’ instead of ‘What would you like to drink?’). Question 7
was also formed appropriately by most of the students with 46% in HM group and
56% in TM group being partially appropriate, meaning they are acceptable but not
360
totally acceptable. These answers were expected because most of them could also be
related to general situations in a foreign language and not only to tourism context.
In strict tourism-related contexts (questions 2, 3, 4, 7 and 9) HM and TM
students made more mistakes in asking questions appropriately or they left the
questions unanswered. This could be explained by the lack of vocabulary needed to
confidently ask the question.
When looking into specific polite expressions and vocabulary that students
used in their questions, we can see in Table 2 that they used a rather limited set:
Asking for information/ permission/ action to be
taken
Offering something to someone/ help
Can/ Could I have/ get/ ask/…?
Can/ Could you check/ close/ shut…?
Would you like…?
Table 2: Expressions that were most often used by the students
Only two students in HM group as well as two students in TM group used the
expression May I (ask)…? to ask for permission. In question 7 where students
should offer to call the doctor, only three students in HM group and 6 students in
TM group started their question with Should I…? and four students in HM group
and five students in TM group started their question with Shall I…?. In the same
question, only eight of students in HM group and eight students in TM group used
expression Would you like me to…? In question 5 where they needed to ask their
colleague for help, only one student in HM group and one student in TM group used
the expression Would you mind (checking) …?. It can also be noted that students do
not address the customer appropriately. Only five out of 40 students from HM group
began their sentence in question 2 with I am sorry, sir/madam…, ten used
inappropriate ways of addressing the customer I am sorry Mr./Mrs.…, and the others
did not address the customer at all, most likely because they could not think of an
appropriate expression. When TM group is concerned, the results resemble those
obtained in HM group. Most of the students have problems with appropriate ways of
addressing the customers. Seven students began their replies with I am sorry
Mr./Mrs. while four students began with Hey/Hello. In question 2 where they
needed to ask a customer to stop smoking, seven students in TM group used the
expression Stop smoking. Eleven students in TM group and ten students in HM
group never used please in any of their replies. The student from TM group who is a
true beginner answered all the questions either appropriately or partially
appropriately. In question 6, when both groups were asked to offer guest a drink,
zero out of a total of 96 students from both groups used the formal politeness form
Would you care for a drink?
6. Implications and conclusion
In the empirical part of the paper aimed at testing students’ awareness of
certain politeness expressions in English and their ability to use them independently,
361
the majority of participants demonstrated that they are well-aware of the level of
politeness and the level of distance they need to maintain with their clients and
guests. However, when their productive skills were tested by choosing specific
forms of polite expressions, students displayed an average performance. Moreover,
students were incapable of recognizing politeness strategies in strictly tourismrelated contexts. Students in HM group showed somewhat better results than
students in TM group in terms of the level of politeness needed for handling
customers successfully. This can be justified by the nature of hotel management or
hospitality profession which is slightly more customer-oriented than tourism
management, which could involve tourism planning and policy instead of dealing
directly with clients and customers.
Students did not show a satisfying level of empathy towards cross-cultural
discrepancies in different languages and cultures. When asked if they would adjust
their politeness strategy to guests from different cultural backgrounds, a significant
number of students said that they would not. The results of this paper clearly suggest
that there is a need for the students to acknowledge the differences between
cultures. Knowing these differences may reduce the intercultural miscommunication
or communication breakdown.
The major sources of miscommunication in intercultural contexts lie in the
differences in patterns of the way people speak and act. The acquisition of
sociolinguistic rules can be greatly facilitated by teachers who have the necessary
information at their command. Teachers are those who have the sensitivity to use
their knowledge in order to guide students and help them interpret values and
patterns they would otherwise have difficulty in interpreting.
References
Bergelson, M.B. (2003). "Russian Cultural Values and Workplace Communication
Styles". "Коммуникативные исследования 2003: современная антология"
("Communication
Studies
2003:
Modern
Anthology").
Научноисследовательская
лаборатория
коммуникативных
исследований.
Волгоград: Перемена, 97-112.
Cruse, A. (2011). Meaning in Language , An Introduction to Semantics and
Pragmatics. London: Oxford University Press.
Dann, M.S.G. (2001). The Language of Tourism, A Sociolinguistic Perspective.
London: CAB International.
Lakoff, R. (1990). Talking Power. The Politics of Language. New York: Basic
Books, 34-38.
Yule, G. (1996). Pragmatics. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
362
Isidora Wattles
Novi Sad, Serbia
iwattles@useens.net
EFFECTIVE COURSE RELATED ASSESSMENT TECHNIQUES
Abstract The aim of this paper is to address the issue of adequate assessment of
students’ knowledge with respect to the various levels of cognitive functions
involved in language learning. The need for improving learning, teaching and
assessment strategies is evident from this perspective, since the assessment and
grading are mostly performed based on declarative knowledge and lower level
cognitive functions, such as recognition and recall. The selected assessment
techniques will be presented both from theoretical and practical aspects. The
techniques presented in the paper are used to assess some of the following: prior
knowledge, analytical skills and critical thinking, synthesis skills and creative
thinking, problem solving skills and application and performance. The application,
construction, advantages and disadvantages, and cognitive demand on the students
of some of these techniques are also illustrated.
Key words: assessment, prior knowledge, analytical skills, critical thinking,
synthesis skills, creative thinking, problem solving skills, application, performance.
1.
Introduction
The ongoing battle to improve students’ learning boomerangs directly into the
hands of teachers. In the complexity of the teaching job, there is not one single issue
that is said to be the most important. The field of assessment, however, is where
most fine tuning should happen once we cast a glance at common assessment
practices in language classrooms.
One of the crucial aspects of teaching is monitoring students’ progress. This
monitoring is most often referred to as continual evaluation, and although it is
carried out, it rarely provides information on how well students have mastered what
has been taught, what topics might be problematic, why they might be problematic
or how students could make better progress. In fact, most of these evaluations are
summative and only provide numerical, quantitative information – grades or points –
as relevant in the norm-referenced evaluation. The failure to provide feedback to
students is also failure to provide valuable information for teachers, the flow of
which enables meaningful learning and a positive environment for further progress
of both teachers and students.
363
The maintenance of this classroom “feedback loop” (Angelo and Cross, 1993)
is not the only reason to work at employing informative assessment techniques.
There are instances when what is being taught is not what is being learned. When
these gaps are uncovered, it is usually too late in the course to reverse the damages.
Timely and accurate diagnostics therefore must be applied, so that the gained insight
may be used to re-direct teaching or otherwise enhance student learning.
2.
Grading, evaluation, assessment
So far three closely related synonyms have already been used in this paper –
‘assessment’, ‘evaluation’ and ‘grading’, the usage of which may need some
clarification, since proper treatment of their meanings represents key aspects of this
paper.
Grading is a process which almost invariably results in a numerical or
alphabetical symbol for either specific tasks or a whole course (Speck and Jones,
1998). The final grade assigned corresponds to a specific quantitative measurement
against pre-set norms. Grading is necessary practice and a result of normreferencing, where it is important to establish the standing of an individual within a
group or relative to a certain level of achievement required to obtain a ‘pass’
(Cohen, 1994). This may include many different activities, such as completing a
course, course of studies, passing entrance exams, standardized tests, etc. (CEFR,
2001). Its primary usage is related to institutional usage. Although grading is an
unavoidable and necessary process, it speaks very little of the actual knowledge or
applicability of the knowledge of individuals in question.
Similarly, much like the grading process, evaluation is concerned with giving a
judgment on the quality of what is being measured. Most often, however, it is
understood as a process of large-scale measurements of quality of series of
individuals or institutions. As such, it hardly represents a factor of confusion when
speaking of progress monitoring of individuals in specific contexts of course-related
development.
Finally, assessment is a term greatly varied in usage and interpretation. Speck
and Jones (1998) use it to cover the notion of evaluation, as described above.
However, most authors (e.g. Cohen, 1994; Bachman, 1990; Elbow, 1993; CEFR,
2001) use this term to denote the process of establishing the quality of contents
(task, gained knowledge, essay, etc.) for diagnostic purposes. In this respect,
assessment is a valuable tool providing accurate feedback to teachers and students.
Often, it is interchangeably used with the term testing (Brown, 1994; Cohen, 1994),
although this may not at all times be fully justified. Assessment is also used to
denote activities such as specifying criteria by which to ascertain someone’s
knowledge or language performance (Rivers, 1983). Also, assessment denotes the
process of specifying contents and format of tests and examinations, as well as
describing the gained course-related knowledge relative to the specifications
mentioned above (CFER, 2001). As such, assessment is formative and suitable for
364
small-scale measurements of individuals’ output in context specific situations
(Angelo and Cross, 1993). Its primary goal is to provide feedback and information
of the state of affairs and not to assign grades or compare individuals within a group.
Since the aim of this paper is to present techniques which can be used to
ascertain the gained knowledge or performance of students in order to diagnose
potential problems and enhance learning, and hopefully teaching, the choice of the
term ‘assessment’ seems to be the most adequate one.
3.
Achieving effectiveness
As was previously discussed, in order to be effective as a diagnostic tool,
assessment must be formative in nature. Moreover, it must also be learner-centered
(Angelo and Cross, 1993), since the primary goal is to observe and improve the
process of learning. Final objective is not to achieve short-term successes, but to
develop metacognitive skills and in that manner empower students to become more
independent, self-monitoring and fully responsible for their learning. By cooperating
in the assessment process students may discover that their study habits must change
to improve learning. Providing students with the tools that give them insights into
their context-specific knowledge progress will by the transfer of knowledge become
the tools readily used in other activities and life-long learning, thus achieving longterm successes.
To gain full benefits from assessment, techniques employed should be contextspecific (Angelo and Cross, 1993): closely related to the teaching goals, subject
matter, applicability of the knowledge gained, as well as other context specific
factors (micro-culture developed within a class, etc.). If this requirement is met
when constructing assessment tools, a great level of validity is achieved (HampLyons, 1991). The concept of test reliability, however, might be construed as
problematic, since such context-specific assessment tools cannot give the same
results applied to a different group of test-takers. As was pointed out earlier in the
text, the aim is to diagnose and not rank or grade, so the lack of reliability does not
represent a problem when aiming at establishing the acquired knowledge.
To be fully effective, assessment tools must reflect course goals, objectives,
and expected learning outcomes, which, in turn, must be explicitly given to the
students. Finally, assessment should be followed by detailed, straightforward and
prompt feedback to be beneficial to the students.
One of the rare common goals of all teachers at all levels is promoting
cognitive growth of their students. Assessment techniques (henceforth ATs) should
therefore reflect various levels of cognitive functions, enabling both students and
teachers to gain information on how much progress has been made and how further
learning and teaching should be modified and directed.
Cognitive psychologists have devised different models of cognitive structure
and there is constant development and research conducted in this area. The most
365
in
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36
66
finally, the redefinition of learning goals and decisions involved in the learning
process.
In accordance with this, ATs shown in the paper range from those used to
establish base-line knowledge to those measuring progression of knowledge at
different cognitive skills.
4.
Assessment techniques
This subsection of the paper will provide explicit examples of ATs, adopted
from Angelo and Cross (1993) and adapted for the purpose of assessing students of
the English language at the Faculty of Legal and Business Studies, Novi Sad, in
various linguistic courses.
Based on what they are assessing, the ATs can be classified as assessing:
•
prior knowledge, recall and understanding
•
skills in analysis and critical thinking
•
skills in synthesis and creative thinking
•
skills in problem solving
•
skills in application and performance
Due to space constraints, only techniques belonging to the first three groups
will be presented in the subsequent text. Their cognitive demand on the students,
skills being tested, and demand on the teachers will be shown, followed by actual
samples, given in the appendix.
4.1. Assessing prior knowledge
It has already been mentioned that determining the base-line knowledge is
extremely important at any point at which new topics or a new course are to
commence. There are several reasons for this, but the main purposes are to
“awaken” the already existing schemata, to direct and focus students’ attention to
key problems to follow and, in cases where that is possible, to re-adjust the course if
needed.
When assessing prior knowledge, it is declarative learning that is being looked
into: content of the particular subject, recall and, to a small degree, understanding of
the investigated topic. These are, as was shown earlier, lower order cognitive
functions, and this is the most often assessed knowledge in classrooms. The reason
for this is, among others, the fact that these techniques are generic and applicable in
most disciplines. Some ATs that can be used at this cognitive level are:
•
Background Knowledge Probe
•
Focused Listing
•
Empty Outlines
•
Minute Paper
367
•
Muddiest Point2
Background Knowledge Probe is an AT that can be used when it is necessary
to check an inventory of closely related knowledge before beginning a course, unit,
topic, or new, important concept. It can be useful to determine the most effective
starting point, if there is flexibility to do this, an appropriate level at which to begin
instruction, as well as to determine the new terminology load, etc. To be effective, it
should be focused and not generalized. Generally, this AT works well with a class of
any size and proficiency levels. Table 1 shows the main features and tips for
constructing such a tool, and comments on positive and negative aspects of the AT.
An example used for assessment when starting a course in English morphology is
given in the appendix (Sample 1).
How to
construct
the AT?
Positive
sides
Negative
sides
• in the form of a handout, overhead projections, or written on the whiteboard
• possible items: short answers, open-ended questions, multiple-choice items
• important to give at least one question to which all students will have a
correct answer
• use less technical and more generic vocabulary
• stress that this will not be graded (could even be anonymous), give feedback
as soon as possible
• suitable for class of any size
• allows general or focused approach
• suitable for beginnings of courses or new topics / concepts
• determines base-line knowledge
• awakens pre-existing schemata
• may cause negative first impressions (sometimes hard to change)
• may disrupt teaching plans
• may cause frustration to students with lacking knowledge
Table 1: Background knowledge probe features
4.2. Assessing skill in analysis and critical thinking
In the progression of knowledge acquisition it is of critical importance to assess
analytical skills. They can be observed as results of procedural thinking: analysing
information, questions or problems in order to understand them fully and solve them
more effectively – it is the learning of “how” and “why”. Actions usually associated
with analytical skills and critical thinking are: classify, describe, discuss, explain,
identify, locate, recognize, report, select, translate, paraphrase, appraise, compare,
contrast, criticize, differentiate, discriminate, distinguish, examine, experiment,
2
Capitalization is used intentionally to emphasize Angelo and Cross’ original names for the
chosen ATs.
368
question, test. Obviously, tests construed to assess this level of cognition will use
some of the listed actions.
Quite obviously, these ATs will put a greater cognitive demand on the
students. Some of the ATs suitable for this level of cognition are:
•
Categorizing Grid
•
Defining Features Matrix
•
Pro and Con Grid
•
Content, Form and Function Outlines
•
Analytic Memos
Categorizing Grid is an AT which tests students’ ability to sort objects and the
information gained speaks of students’ sorting rules, which are basic analytic and
organizing skills, upon which more elaborate and demanding analysis skills can be
developed. This AT prompts students to make explicit and implicit rules they use to
categorize information in their memories. This type of exercise allows students an
opportunity to rethink and revise and, in turn, gain more control over what is
remembered, how it is remembered and how well it can be recalled when needed.
Reinforcement of effective categorization and recall is beneficial since it is a
transferable skill that can be used for other subjects and disciplines. Table 2
summarizes tips for constructing such tools and their advantages and disadvantages,
while an actual AT used in the course of Introduction to English Phonetics and
Phonology is given in the appendix (Sample 2).
How
to
construct
the AT?
Positive
sides
Negative
sides
• In the form of a grid or table
• Select two or three related super-ordinate categories that are particularly
useful for organizing information gained in the class
• Give a scrambled list of items belonging to the categories, making sure
each item belongs to only one category
• Look for patterns of miscategorization
FOLLOW UP:
• Ask students to verbalize why certain items were placed in given categories
as a higher order follow-up activity
ALTERNATIVE:
• provide sorted items, ask students to provide superordinate categories
• provide categories, have students provide lists of members
• Quick and simple
• Flexible: move from general to more specific categories
• Reinforces effective organization
• If not challenging (categories or items), may prove to be testing only
memory
Table 2: Categorizing grid features
369
4.3. Assessing skill in synthesis and creative thinking
In literature there is much discussion and speculation when defining creative
thinking, and most teachers, theorists and researchers agree that it is “interweaving
the familiar with the new in unexpected and stimulating ways” (Angelo and Cross,
1993: 181). In the sense of course-related creativity, it could be argued that students
demonstrate creative thinking by synthesizing prior knowledge and acquired course
content. Assessing creativity may be one of the least tangible tasks, especially when
defining criteria for assessment and grading. However, these ATs will stimulate
students to create and allow teachers to “assess students’ original intellectual
products that result from the synthesis of the course content and the students’
intelligence, judgment, knowledge and skills” (Angelo and Cross, 1993: 181). The
following ATs are concerned with synthesis and creative thinking:
•
One-Sentence Summary
•
Word Journal
•
Approximate Analogies
•
Concept maps
•
Inverted Dialogues
•
Annotated Portfolio
Word Journal comprises of a two-part response, where the first task is to use
one word to summarize what has been read, while the second task is to explain why
the specific word has been chosen in the length of a paragraph or two. This is an AT
which focuses on students’ enhancing reading skills, and more specifically, on
careful and deep reading for full comprehension. Also, it develops skills of creativity
at summarizing what has been read, which are transferable skills used in all
academic and real-life situations. Further, this AT sharpens the skills of explaining
and defending by argumentation. It reinforces ability to write highly condensed
abstracts and to partition large amounts of information for more effective storage
and access in long-term memory. This AT presents a high cognitive demand on the
students, while it is relatively easy for teachers to prepare and evaluate. Table 3
contains tips for construction of the tool, advantages and disadvantages of using it,
while the example of usage of this assessment tool is given in the appendix.
How
to
construct
the AT?
370
• choose a short text relevant to the topic / problem / course
• possible to give a direction to a certain problem, but this is not mandatory
• must be thought-provoking to be effective
• choice of the word is not as important as is the explanation of the choice
that follows
ALTERNATIVE:
• give a list of appropriate words for a given text, allow students to choose
one and justify the choice
• could be done as pair work, either the task itself, or the assessment of
finished paragraphs
Positive
sides
Negative
sides
• promotes active learning, deep understanding
• personal connection and experience with the text created.
• choice and its defence promotes accepting the responsibility for the process
of thinking and learning
• important academic and professional skills
• should be used only if reading of the texts and their analysis is of crucial
importance
• unless being given the chance to share their work, students will benefit very
little
• anonymity is not possible due to the need to argument and communicate
about the choices made
Table 3: Word journal
5.
Conclusion
The main aim of this paper was to address the issue of adequate assessment of
students’ knowledge with respect to the various levels of cognitive functions
involved in language learning. Various assessment techniques, whose primary goal
is to address the issue of efficient learning, have been presented. These assessment
techniques are learner-centered and focus on observing and improving learning, and
at the same time they are teacher-directed: autonomy, academic freedom and
professional judgment of teachers are respected.
These techniques have been proven to enhance the cognitive and metacognitive
growth of students, and have also been found very useful in giving teachers accurate
feedback on the effectiveness of the teaching process. They are a tool enabling a
mutually beneficial process of assessment, with both short and long term effects.
Students reinforce their knowledge and strengthen their skills whereas teachers
sharpen their teaching focus and skills, thus gaining new insights.
Apart from the actual insight into the progress of knowledge acquisition, the
extra effort expended by the teaching staff and relevant information gained through
such assessment result in enhanced student motivation and the minimization of the
negative affective filters, such as stage fright or fear of mistakes. These techniques
provide a tool for the development of in-depth thinking and higher order cognitive
functions, thus making gained knowledge applicable and more readily accessible in
the long term memory. Overall benefits of such assessment techniques by far
outweigh the extra amount of work done by teachers, ensuring boost in their
motivation as well.
371
References
Angelo, T. and Cross, K. (1993). Classroom Assessment Techniques: A Handbook
for College Teachers. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass.
Ausubel, D. P. (1968). Educational Psychology: A Cognitive View. Troy, Mo.: Holt,
Reinhart & Winston.
Bachman, L. F.(1990). Fundamental considerations in language testing. Oxford:
Oxford University Press.
Bloom, B. S. et al. (1956). Taxonomy of Educational Objectives. Vol. 1: Cognitive
domain. New York: McKay.
Bloom, B. S., Hastings, J. T. and Madaus. G. E. (1971). Handbook on Formative
and Summative Evaluation of Student Learning. New York: McGraw-Hill.
Cohen, A.D. (1994). Assessing Language Ability in the Classroom (2nd edn).
Boston: Heinle & Heinle Publishers.
Council of Europe (2001). Common European Framework of Reference for
Languages: Learning, teaching, assessment. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press
Elbow, P. (1993). “Ranking, Evaluating, and Liking: Sorting Out Three Forms of
Judgment”. College English 55 (2).
Hamp-Lyons, L., Henning, G. (1991). “Communicative Writing Profiles: An
Investigation of the Transferability of a Multiple-Trait Scoring Instrument
Across ESL Writing Assessment Context”. Language Learning, 41, 3. pp 337373
Jonassen, D. H., and Grabowski, B. L. (1993). Handbook of individual differences,
learning, and instruction. Hillsdale, New Jersey: Lawrence Erlbaum
Associates.
Lonergan, B. J. F. (1957). Insight: a study of human understanding. Oxford:
Philosophical Library.
McKeachie, W. J. et. al. (1986). Teaching and Learning in the College Classroom:
A Review of the Research Literature. Ann Arbor: National Center for Research
to Improve Postsecondary Teaching and Learning, University of Michigan,
Rivers, W. M. (1983). Speaking in Many Tongues (3rd ed.). Cambridge: CUP
Speck, B. W. and Jones, T. R (1998). “Direction in the Grading of Writing: What
the Literature on the Grading of Writing Does and Doesn't Tell Us” in Frances,
Z. (ed). The Theory and Practice of Grading Writing: Problems and
Possibilities. New York: State University of New York Press.
372
Appendix
Samples of ATs used in some linguistic courses at the English Department of
the Faculty of Legal and Business Studies in Novi Sad.
How many questions can you answer? You don’t have to sign your paper, this is just a
little exploration into your previous knowledge in morphology!
1.
What is the science that studies language called? ______________________
2.
Morphology is a __________________ of linguistics.
3.
Morphology studies the structure of
a) sentences b) words c) text
d) communication
4.
Morphology studies the creation of new words. For example:
–ness .
a) word happiness is made out of building blocks of happy and
b) word politely is made out of building blocks of ___________ and __________ .
c) word impolite is made out of building blocks of ___________ and __________ .
d) word cats is made out of building blocks of ___________ and __________ .
5.
How many building blocks does the word impolitely consist of? _______________ .
6.
Building blocks of words, such as happy and -ness have meaning. True or false?
7.
All building blocks from which words are created are called:
a) morphemes
b) phonemes
c) lexemes
d) affixes
Sample 1: Background knowledge probe - Introduction to English Morphology
1. In the given table, provide information that is missing and answer the question below.
(cells with a line indicate which information should be provided).
labio-dental
_______
lenis
f
_________
___________
θ
ð
palatoalveolar
alveolar
_________
z
ʃ
ʒ
glottal
_________
The table systematically shows main features of English ____________________ .
2. Sort these phonemes / f, m, θ, t, d, p, b, ð, v, l, w, s, z, n / in the table provided:
bilabial
labio-dental
dental
alveolr
fortis
lenis
Which phoneme does not belong to the table? _________________________
Sample 2: Categorizing grid – Introduction to English Phonetics and Phonology
373
Read the following text carefully, then choose one word that best summarizes the text.
Justify the choice of the word in a short paragraph, using up to 60 words.
Word that sums up the text is:
_____________________________
Why I chose this word?
__________________________________________________________________________
__________________________________________________________________________
__________________________________________________________________________
__________________________________________________________________________
__________________________________________________________________________
_____
Sample 3. Word journal – Pragmatics and Discourse Analysis
374
PART TWO:
LITERATURE
375
376
Svetozar Koljević
Novi Sad, Serbia
svetakol@eunet.rs
“THE INTERNATIONAL THEME” IN CONTEMPORARY
SERBIAN LITERATURE
Abstract The civil wars in Yugoslavia at the end of the twentieth century – which
caused ethnic cleansing and migrations – provided new ground for the treatment of
the “international theme”. This is reflected in three “Canadian novels” by David
Albahari (The Snow Man, 1995; Bait, 1996; Globetrotter, 2001) and in Vladimir
Tasić’s A Farewell Gift (2001) in which the dissolution of ex-Yugoslavia is set
against the Canadian background. Milovan Danojlić tells his largely
autobiographical story as a Serbian émigré in France in his novel My Adventure
(2002). At the same time several other writers of historical novels – Eliezer Papo,
Ranko Risojević, Maksimilijan Ostojić-Erenrajh and Ivan Ivanji – also touch on the
theme of different cultures and ideologies in close contacts.
Key words: “the international theme”, cultures, clashes, conflicts misunderstandings, decency, solidarity, communication.
1. Springs of bewilderment
Various kinds of national prejudice have often been shaped in the history of
European literature as the ridicule of everything foreign, strange, and therefore
incomprehensible. French good manners and pronunciation are immortalized as
affectation in Chaucer’s Madame Eglantine. The French pretentious cult of high
literacy is mirrored in Shakespeare’s Prince Dauphin who writes a sonnet to his
horse; and French erotic games figure as sexual perversities in Tolstoy’s Monsieur
Rambale. What some typical Italian features looked like in English eyes is reflected
in Iago and many other characters from Volpone to Al Capone. Finally, Shakespeare
and his contemporaries were seen as barbarians by Voltaire and Tolstoy. However,
among the pioneering treacheries of this literary tradition were the works of Henry
James with their new multicultural approach to what has been called “the
international theme,”1 the inevitable cultural misunderstandings of people in close
personal contact. This marked the beginning of a different “great tradition” pursued
1
See Richard P. Blackmur, ”Introduction“ to Henry James, The Art of the Novel – Critical
Prefaces, Charles Scribner’s Sons, New York – London, 1950, p. XIX.
377
later in very different social, cultural and historical contexts, by Joseph Conrad, E.
M. Forster, Jorge Luis Borges, Salman Rushdie, and others.
In Serbian literature the treatment of “the international theme” in terms of
comic misunderstandings was first exploited in Jovan Sterija Popović’s comedies
Lying and Paralying (Laža i paralaža, 1830) and An Upstart (Pokondirena tikva,
1838) – mainly as a pretentious affectation of the language and manners of a “high”
foreign culture. Later it was developed in different directions by Miloš Crnjanski
and Ivo Andrić. Both volumes of Crnjanski’s novel Migrations (I – 1929, II – 1962)
deal with Serbian migrations in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries in which
large Serbian communities left their homeland and settled in different cultural
environments in Habsburg Monarchy or Russia. Crnjanski’s Novel of London (1971)
is also inspired by various aspects of “the international theme,” but it is mainly
based on his own personal experience of living in England during World War II. Ivo
Andrić exploited “the international theme” in his two major historical novels (The
Bridge on the Drina – 1945; The Bosnian Story – 1945) and in many of his short
stories (“The Letter from 1920” – 1948; “The Vizier’s Elephant” – 1948; and
others). In his fiction “the international theme” is shaped in the personal relations of
the people living together but belonging to different cultures in Bosnia. Unlike H.
James, J. Conrad, E. M. Forster and S. Rushdie, he did not have to cross the Atlantic
Ocean, go to South America or India in search of his “international theme.” He
could just sit in the down town of Sarajevo and listen to the different church clocks
ominously striking different hours, days and years according to Orthodox, Catholic
and Islamic time-reckoning and make his own calculations about the Jewish
calendar, as he did in his short story “The Letter from 1920”.
The recent historical turmoil – civil wars, foreign peace-keeping missions
(combined with bombing), ethnic cleansing and huge migrations of the civilian
population at the end of the twentieth century – provided new arenas and vistas for
the treatment of “the international theme” in Serbian literature. Some writers – like
David Albahari and Vladimir Tasić – left for Canada and their new émigré
environment is reflected in their fiction. The first of Albahari’s “Canadian” novels –
The Snow Man (1995) – was written while the author lived in Calgary on a grant of
Markin-Flanagen Program for Distinguished Writers. The narrator, a Serbian writer
and the bewildered, unheroic hero of the novel, comes as a visiting lecturer to a
Canadian university after the dissolution of Yugoslavia. He feels that “his own life is
falling apart together with the history of his country, his ex-country” (Albahari 1995:
34).2 He is in a panic, suspecting that he himself is “no longer one man, one human
being, but many people and many human beings”, so that he is “looking at
everything from several angles in the infinity of multiplied moments,” “each of his
thoughts becoming immediately many thoughts,” “sufficiently different to stop” him
2
The page references for the following quotations from this novel are given in brackets in the
text.
378
from “accepting any one of them” and, leaving him in the end “hollow, tortured, an
empty shell, like wreckage” (34).
At the same time he is bewildered by everything in his new environment: his
Canadian colleagues are so kind that he is worried that he “won’t be able to live” in
that country, because he could never be sincere and “tell anyone how much he hates
him” (16). And when he asks his colleague, a professor of political science, whether
“people have to go mad” if “the state goes mad,” he is deeply hurt by the cruel, if
inevitable answer that “people have to go mad first, before the state does” (34). His
colleague also points out that no institution can survive the downfall of a state, that
“the parts of its body cannot hold together” while “the state is falling apart” (20–21),
that the state which depends on the heart is bound to fall apart, because “the heart
has been superseded” (21); and, of course, he takes this proposition as a personal
insult.
And when the Dean of the Faculty supports this view by adding that “the heart
is an anarchist,” he begins to feel that he may have been wrong the previous evening
when he came to the conclusion that he “could never tell anyone that he hates him”
in Canada (21)! However, a little later he consoles himself by the idea that if his
country has gone mad, so has Canada: “Some people are driven mad by chaos, and
some by geometry” (44). The implied parallel between “chaos” and “geometry” (as
petrified order) illustrates a typical difference, and perhaps a misunderstanding,
between the two cultures and their points of view. Moreover, when the professor of
political science begins to explain the dissolution of the narrator’s ex-country by
telling him that his country was “an unsuccessful experiment” (36) in the laboratory
of history, the narrator feels like “striking him over the head with a wine bottle”
(37), and this idea – perhaps not surprisingly – helps him to calm down!
The Serbian visiting lecturer is also irritated by many other phenomena – such
as “the merciless time-table of his duties”: he is expected to “give a lecture” at ten,
participate in an informal meeting with the representatives of various ethnic groups
at two, attend a lecture on federalism at half past four, and comment on a film about
his country at six o’clock (60). Is his irritation an ironic comment on the easy-going
academic life in ex-Yugoslavia where a professor’s only duty used to be to teach
four classes a week? The narrator – used to highly emotional relations with other
people at home – is also repeatedly worried that he would “grow old” in Canada
(47, 54, 67, 74, 109, 123), in a country in which – as one of his Canadian neighbours
put it – “we are all strangers” (69). Finally, why are all his students so indifferent to
whatever he has to tell them in his lecture? Is it because they live in a world in
which there is no history and the present moment seems to be the only thing which
matters?
The second of Albahari’s “Canadian” novels – Bait (1996) – takes the form of
the narrator’s listening – in Canada – to the tape-recorded confessions of his
mother’s life story. The narrator is again a Serbian writer of Jewish origin, driven
out of his mind by the dissolution of his ex-country, and his mother – the victim of
many horrors of Balkan (and not only Balkan) twentieth-century history – is in his
379
eyes an ideal, firm and resolute person in the prevailing chaos of her environment.
Born as a Serbian girl in a village near Derventa in Bosnia, she decided to marry a
Jew, to give up her name of Mara and become Miriam at the time when German
“cannons were roaring” and “Hitler was biting at the little bits of Europe” (23). At
this time she happened to live in Zagreb, “doubly alien” (Albahari 1996: 55)3 (of
Serbian origin, and a recently converted Jew) among Croats. But she was always
ready to face whatever may befall her, always grateful for whatever little joys life
had to offer – even if she knew that one “cannot live on dreams” (47), and that
“hope was not happiness” (95).
The narrator discusses various issues of his mother’s life story with his
Canadian fellow-writer Donald who, as a Canadian, “had no idea of history,” but
was very “keen” on “explaining it” (72). When the narrator tells Donald that his
mother claimed that Hitler’s soldiers were welcomed with “flowers and chocolate”
(18) in Zagreb, Donald, obsessed by facts rather than by meaning, insists on
verifying if there was really any “chocolate” (19) and not just flowers on this
occasion. Be that as it may, during the German occupation, in Hitler’s Croatian
puppet state, ironically enough, the narrator’s mother had to become “a Serb again”
(56) and persuade her children that they were not Jews. This was how she managed
to escape with her husband and children to Belgrade, but her husband was soon shot
in a German concentration camp and their children were killed in a railway accident
(29).
All these fragments of Balkan history seem to explain the dissolution of the
country, but the explanation is strongly coloured by the foreign environment in
which it is given. To begin with, living abroad the narrator discovers – as he did in
his previous novel – that he is personally falling to pieces and begins to “exist
simultaneously in many places, in different times” (44). At the same time he begins
to suspect that nothing “can delude a man as much as his belief that he is the master
of his language” (45). On the contrary, “a new language” has become his master,
which makes him “adapt himself to its own requirements” (45). As he himself puts
it: “I am becoming another personality” (45). He also feels that he is “getting smaller
and smaller ever since he stopped speaking his own language” (36).
In Globetrotter (2001) – the last of his “Canadian” novels – Albahari revives
the theme of the dissolution of his ex-homeland in long discussions and ruminations
of a Canadian painter, a Serbian writer (of Jewish origin), and a grandson of a
Croatian Nazi (“ustaša”). But this time it is the Canadian painter who is the narrator
of the story which takes place in a conventional Canadian art centre where the
Serbian writer, named Daniel Atijas, comes as a visitor. Daniel is a “treble alien”: as
a Serb of Jewish origin, and as a man who has no homeland to look backward to. He
consoles himself, however, by the idea that “everyone has his own hell,” (Albahari
3
The page references for the following quotations from this novel are given in brackets in the
text.
380
2001: 10)4 when his Canadian friend tells him how much he was worried by the
referendum for the session of Quebec (10).
However, the novel centres on the personal dramas of the Canadian painter, the
Serbian writer Daniel Atijas and a Croatian émigré that Daniel comes across almost,
but not quite, by chance. When Daniel’s Canadian friend and erotic admirer – keen
on spending “almost the whole day” with him “visiting museums, galleries,
bookshops and historical monuments” (32) – takes him to the local Animal
Museum, Daniel notes that in the visitor’s book someone called Ivan Matelić wrote
down his name on June 2, 1924, adding that he was a globetrotter who came from
Croatia. For Daniel this is a shock because the visitor did not put down the name of
the country he came from, but the name of “one of its regions,” which suggests to
Daniel that his country began “to fall apart before it was properly put together” (30).
At this moment Daniel remembers that “in the beginning was the Word” (The
Gospel according to John 1: 3) and wonders if the visitor’s “Word” may have
already marked the end of his homeland.
The Canadian painter notes Daniel’s curiosity and excitement, but he can
hardly be expected to suppose that Daniel would not like further contacts which
might enable him to find out more about his Croatian countryman. So he takes
Daniel – in spite of his “initial opposition to his intention” (35) – to the museum’s
office, convinced that this would be appreciated, even though Daniel gives clear
signs of his desire to avoid it. The result of this misunderstanding is that an
acquaintance of the Canadian painter, eager to oblige, finds the address of Ivan
Matelić’s grandson who lives in the vicinity and who soon appears to meet his excountryman. It turns out, however, that the grandson has a personal story which
partly explains how the disintegration of Yugoslavia started and what it was all
about.
The grandson’s story is full of misunderstandings: it was only at the beginning
of the civil war in ex-Yugoslavia that he “began to follow the news,” to remember
“the Croatian words which, he was convinced, he had forgotten a long time ago”
(105). His father was delighted that his son asked him “to speak only Croatian to
him at least for an hour a day” (107) and that he began “to collect humanitarian aid
for Croatian refugees” (107). Admittedly, when he saw several of his countrymen
beating two young Serbs in Canada, he could not stop vomiting (107), so that his
decision to go to Croatia during the war was modified. He realized he could not fight
on the front line, and decided to join a humanitarian organisation to help the country
of his origin. His experience of the war, of its cruelty and lies, was disappointing,
and after research into family history he discovered that his grandfather was a
Croatian Nazi (“ustaša”), who took part in the massacre of Serbs, Jews and Gypsies
during the World War II. He even found the bones of a human finger in his
grandfather’s fountain pen case (118). This made him realize the nature of his
4
The page references for the following quotations from this novel are given in brackets in the
text.
381
national commitment and he was fully prepared to face it and tell his shameful story
to Daniel Atijas. Daniel appreciates his confessions, he and the grandson of Ivan
Matelić become close friends – and the Canadian painter is driven mad with
jealousy when he gets a glimpse of the two walking in front of him, with Daniel’s
hand on the grandson’s shoulder. This particular scene may be also an example of an
international and personal misunderstanding, considering that putting your hand on
your friend’s shoulder – and in many Balkan social circles even kissing – may not
mean anything more than a handshake in the West.
2. History as farce
Vladimir Tasić – born in Novi Sad in 1965 – took his Ph. D. in mathematics in
Canada where he teaches at New Brunswick University. In his novel A Farewell Gift
history is not, like in Albahari’s fiction, a spring of bewilderment – it is a farce. The
narrator’s escape from Serbia is not a blind plunge from one hell to another, but a
perplexing displacement from a joke about “chaos” to a joke about “geometry”
(order). The joke about “chaos” is reflected in the narrator’s historical associations –
such as his explanation of the assassination of Prince Ferdinand in Sarajevo in 1914.
Ferdinand is described as a stupid Prince-apparent, who is denied by even more
stupid Austrian laws the right to present his wife on official occasions because she is
just a countess (despised as an unworthy companion by the Austrian court).
However, as the supreme commander of the Austrian army Prince Ferdinand takes
advantage of a loophole in military regulations and, following the voice of his silly
heart, he decides to share with his wife some of the honours due to him and takes her
on a very dangerous journey to Sarajevo. Both will be shot by extremely inept
Serbian patriotic idiots – “the first pistolero will not draw out his pistol in time”
(Tasić 2001: 83)5, “the second one will take pity on the Prince’s wife and go to eat a
meat-stuffed pie” (popular “burek” – 83), the third one will throw his bomb but miss
the target of the Prince’s big car, and even the assassin would not have completed
his job if the driver had not tried to reverse the car at a dangerous corner. Prince
Ferdinand, denied the royal grave, will be buried “in a damned provincial hole called
Arschteten” (83), but owing to the clash of financial interests between the powerful
Hungarian and Serbian butchers who exported pork, his assassination will be turned
into an excuse for World War I.
When the story moves from the contemporary and historical traps of the jokes
of the Balkan “chaos,” it has to face the farce of the Canadian jokes of “geometry”
(order). To begin with, Canada is a place .where “winter reigns forever,” where
“coldness is felt at first like menthol freshness which turns quickly into pain, dull in
5
The page references for the following quotations from this novel are given in brackets in the
text.
382
the teeth and cheeks, sharp in the throat; the shrinking of capillaries” starts “as a
tickling in the nose and eyes; hoar frost is deposited on the eye-lashes; a breath of
wind is enough for the freezing of your ears and the tips of your fingers” (47). But,
of course, if you are driving through a town everything will look idyllic. You
observe “landscapes from the world of Christmas cards” – “the little wooden houses
built in pseudo-colonial style, the silver tunnels of branches overlaid by ice, the
bright flowers of frost on window-panes; a skating rink on the lake in the park” (47).
Within this idyllic framework “a yellow bus” stops to pick up a schoolgirl who
embraces “her dog, a chocolate-coloured Labrador retriever” (48) as if they were
parting for life.
Finally, the story of A Farewell Gift opens and ends with scenes which provide
the intellectual framework for the narrator’s descriptions of his experience with a
foreign culture. A postman delivers a packet at the threshold of his house, the
narrator signs the form, but he is surprised that it is addressed to his name. He often
gets bills, but his wife, who is a potter, is the only receiver of packets in their
Canadian home – the packets containing the stuff for glazing pottery, named
“Evening Shadow,” “Burnt Sugar,” “Indian Summer,” “Old Copper” (7), and so on.
However, this packet is a box within a box, and the inner box contains the ashes of
the narrator’s late brother, who never contacted him in Canada, even if he obviously
had his address. The letter in the packet is written by a humanitarian organization
which legally collects the organs of the diseased. In its bureaucratic wording –
which upsets the narrator very much – it expresses condolences to the “Honourable
Closest Relative of the Diseased” and tells him that he can get in touch with their
service for “contact with the customers” seven days a week, 24 hours a day, if he has
“any questions” (12) to ask. The narrator removes the letter from the packet and puts
it into the pocket of his shirt. When he tries later to make inquiries about his
brother’s death, he is told that they are talking to “other customers at the moment”
(87), then he is exposed to listening to the advertising of their services in the
transplantation of human organs, and is finally informed that his brother’s death was
caused by “cardiomyopathy of unknown origin” (86).
When he comes back home in the evening, he finds that the box with his
brother’s ashes is empty. His wife thanks him enthusiastically for “the most
wonderful gift which she has ever been given” (131), and he realizes that she has
already used his brother’s ashes for glazing her pottery with marvellous effect. He
feels that he has to tell her the truth. He remembers how important human ashes
were in the history of glazing and tries to convince her that his late brother would
have appreciated the opportunity of giving her such a marvellous and such a
disinterested farewell gift – in fact an ideal gift from his brother’s point of view
because he himself had written a long article on the distinction between real gifts for
which nothing is expected and the more frequent ones which verge on blackmail.
The wife is not “overenthusiastic” about this story, which partly illustrates
characteristic personal misunderstandings. But it also embodies the general
intellectual framework of the novel because it assumes at every step that history is a
383
farce, that coincidences and misunderstandings embody the major aspects of human
condition and destiny. Does this suggest that the Canadian idyll was for the narrator
an ironic blessing?
3. The end of the world?
In his largely autobiographical novel My Adventure – A Confession in Two
Different Voices (2002) – Milovan Danojlić tells the story of why he decided to
leave his native country and settle in France, the story of his disappointment in his
own idealization of the West and his discovery that “no one can turn one’s own back
on himself“ (Danojlić 2002: 27).6 At the beginning the hero of the story is worried
by the fact that he himself is “a literate descendent of the illiterate nameless
ancestors, shepherds, outlaws and peddlers” who had never seen anything but “the
showers of rain” and “the waving of tree-tops in the woods,” who had never heard
anything but “their monotonous decasyllabic songs which did not change for
centuries” (18). But when he began reading foreign newspapers, he realized their
limitations in their reporting on Serbia, but consoled himself with a smile or with the
afterthought that one could hardly expect intelligent and perceptive reporting on
such a “cursed, lawless country” (20).
However, when he settled in Paris it turned out that many of his assessments of
the advantages of life in the West were “rash and mistaken” (28), and his ability to
“digest the horrors and stupidities” of Western press, life, culture and politics was
weakened. So “the international theme” began to emerge not only in the foreground
but also in many details of the story and the ideals of multiculturalism which it
implied at the beginning. The trouble began in innocent personal relations: in Paris
“a smile could be offered to anyone, particularly in shops, but one kept one’s
thoughts to oneself” (85); “cordiality and sincerity (...) were looked upon as the
features of lower spiritual and intellectual development” (85). Of course, such
misunderstandings were partly due to the hero’s idealized vision of distant lands and
cultures: “The grass is greener on the other side.” But the barrier to his
communication with other people grew also because of this commitment to his
crucified homeland when the Western media began to spread appalling lies about the
civil wars in ex-Yugoslavia. “Friends and acquaintances were fewer and fewer, and
he himself drove away those who failed to retreat in order to spare them their
hypocritical mumbling and their miserable excuses” (441). Finally, he felt that
people could stand him only if he did not “take off the mask” of guilt which they put
on his face (506).
When the bombing of Serbia started in 1999, he began to wonder why he was
surprised – considering that it was done “in 1941, and in 1944, and in 1995, why not
6
The page references for the following quotations from this novel are given in brackets in the
text.
384
in 1999” (425)? But he was surprised, in spite of everything he knew “about the
selfishness and arrogance of those in power”, because he believed that “the
hypocrites were unwilling to undertake the steps which would unmask them to the
end” (424). However, it was not only the executors but also the reporters on what
and why this was done in Serbia who reached the culmination of hypocrisy: the
military operation under the title of Merciful Angel (474) was undertaken in order to
establish several strategically important Western “military bases” in Kosovo (472),
but it was played as a peace-keeping mission and a journalistic farce in which the
killed innocent civilians were referred to as “collateral damage.” It is in this context
that the hero of the story was faced with the dilemma of whether to betray his
country, or to show his ingratitude to France which offered him hospitality at a time
of a great historical crisis.
In this situation his earlier escape from his country appeared in a new light: he
began to see himself as “one of the first, most intelligent rats” (426) which had left
the sinking ship in the mid-eighties. He remembered that at the beginning of Tito’s
reign “hundreds of thousands of his (Tito’s) political opponents, real and potential,
were killed” (456), that “eighty thousand peasants were imprisoned,” that “thirty
thousand” of Tito’s own followers were exposed to tortures on the island of Goli
Otok (456), but no one in the West seemed to notice this: no one used such “words
as dictatorship and totalitarianism in describing the life-long President of the
Republic” (456). Moreover Tito was buried with highest international honours as “a
hero of the twentieth century” (448) – for “stabbing the Russian bear in the back”
(448) and always indicating that he was “to turn left whenever he was turning right”
(456), particularly while starting the non-aligned movement. “Fuck the century in
which he was a hero” (448) is the narrator’s comment. However, the Serbian leader
at the time of the civil wars – “a student in the Faculty in which professors spent
their entire professional life trying to justify revolutionary lawlessness” (449) – was
fatal for the Serbian people. He supported and cherished the foolishness of his
countrymen who believed that “bare hands and crazy perseverance were sufficient”
for “the defence of national dignity” (10) against the most powerful military forces
in the world.
Finally, the hero of My Adventure comes to the conclusion that “blessed is the
man who knows how to suffer the limitations assigned to him by his family,
environment, governmental set-up, and social framework” (29). After all, it is
nobody’s birthright “to ask for conditions which his environment should fulfil” for
his arrival (29). Such a breakdown in personal and international communication, due
to historical and political turmoil, results in the hero’s lasting puzzlement and,
finally leads him to the suspicion that he can hardly communicate with himself. This
is how a historical drama finds its expression in Danojlić’s novel in terms of a
personal tragedy with international and cosmic implications, suggesting that perhaps
God should try his next experiment with a blade of “grass,” “an ant,” “a worm”
(499), but certainly not with a specimen of the human race. This seems to be the
final personal, historical and cosmic farewell of Danojlić’s fiction to “the
international theme”.
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4. Is multiculturalism dead?
In Albahari’s, Tasić’s and Danojlić’s novels the interplay of the Babylonian
mutual misunderstandings of “natives” and foreigners is in the foreground as the
backbone of their largely, or partly, autobiographical stories. But in some Serbian
historical novels written at this time the question of the possibilities of
communication between people belonging to different nations and cultures also
appears from time to time, frequently within a political and/or warlike framework.
So, for instance, in his historical novel Eliezer Papo writes about the life of
Sephardic Jews in Bosnia (The Sarajevo Tombstone, 2001) from the times when
they were expelled from Spain in the fifteenth century to the time when they left
Sarajevo in convoys during the civil war in Bosnia at the end of the twentieth
century. Sometimes “the international theme” appears in this novel in nostalgic and
sometime in humorous terms, but it is, like in several other contemporary Serbian
novels, rich in the depth of Jewish historical experience. In one of the opening
scenes in which a Jew with his wife hurries up to get from Dubrovnik to Sarajevo,
they are met by a dozen armed outlaws, who threaten their guide that he will be
punished for bringing Turks into Bosnia! After being told that they were not Turks,
the outlaws are puzzled: they must be Turks if they were expelled from Spain which
is a Christian country! Besides, two different crosses and a crescent make enough
confusion in Bosnia, so there is certainly no need for one more holy emblem. This is
followed by the outlaw voice of reconciliation: everybody tries to escape from his
own Turks; aren’t the Jews doing the same as we outlaws? But the Jewish couple
should be told that they have entered the house with many masters: “They will find
it difficult until they get used to it – and even more difficult then!” (Papo 2001: 13)7
It turns out later that one of the Jewish refugees seems both happy and unhappy
about their exile: “We have managed to leave Spain – but Spain will be unwilling to
leave us for a long time” (49). And in the closing scene of this story some Jews
remember with nostalgia the richness of their Spanish historical heritage: while they
are paying “head-tax” (236) to those who let them get out of the local Bosnian
horrors in 1992, one of the prospective Jewish refugees reminds his fellow-travellers
that they would not have known a single Spanish “romance” (236) if they had not
spent so much time in Spain! And owing to the fact that they stayed in the Balkans
for four or five centuries, they will remember some wonderful love songs
(sevdalinke). At this moment two old men begin to sing the well-known popular
hymn to ex-Yugoslavia: “Jugoslavijo, Jugoslavijo” (237). “Partly with conviction.
Partly with nostalgia. Partly in defiance. And perhaps just as it came, somehow
humanly – without deep wisdom or reason” (237).
In Ranko Risojević’s novel The Bosnian Hangman (2004) we also get
occasional echoes of the Bosnian version of “the international theme.” At the
7
The page references for the following quotations from this novel are given in brackets in the
text.
386
beginning of the Austrian occupation many people – administrators, soldiers,
policemen, tradesmen, craftsmen and others – came to Bosnia from all over the
Austro-Hungarian Empire, and they got a collective nickname: “kuferaši” (“suitcase
people”). Among the newcomers was Alois Seifrid, the official state-employed
hangman, not perhaps a typical Austrian by his craft, but he yodelled popular
Austrian songs, brought his typical Austrian musical instrument (zithra) with him,
and remembered his father’s advice to master perfectly the technique of whatever he
was going to do in his life. So he approached the art of hanging people with Austrian
pedantry, including the study of anatomy in order to spare the victim unnecessary
suffering. His discussion with his colleague, his Turkish predecessor Mustafa, offers
an interesting example of mutual “international” misunderstanding. Seifrid argues
that hanging should be as quick and as painless as possible, “far from the madding
crowd”, but Mustafa argues that it should be made as painful and and last as long as
possible, because there are crimes for which the death sentence is not an adequate
punishment. Besides, it would be a pity to deprive the public of such wonderful
entertainment: just look how much children enjoy their cruel games torturing cats!
Of course, they can never agree: for Seifrid Mustafa stands for “Oriental cruelty”
and “Europe” is, of course, different! (Risojević 2004: 63) In the light of its
twentieth-century experience Europe is, of course, different, if only in Seifrid’s
technical sense – no knives and ropes were extensively used.
In Maksimilijan Erenrajh-Ostojić’s novel Confidential Report (1999) “the
international theme” turns up in his descriptions of the effects of foreign occupation
on the personal dilemmas and moral failures of a very ordinary human being. The
narrator, largely the author’s self-portrait, a young man of “half Jewish origin”
(Erenrajh-Ostojić 1999: 58),8 appears in the opening scene during the German
bombing of Belgrade on April 6 1941, running away together with his mother and
sister, from the centre of the city which was the main target of the air-attack. On
their way, in a crater caused by an explosion, the hero spots several moving fingers
just above the surface of a heap of debris, but he instinctively fails to stop and try to
help the dying victim – maddened by bombs, by pieces of human bodies hanging on
the trees, by the chirping of invisible birds, by the impulse to run for his own life, by
a delicate feeling that he cannot stop his family in its flight. And several similar
incidents follow in the story, the most moving is perhaps his failure to help Veljko,
his lame best friend from his early boyhood, in his need. As a communist Veljko
collaborates with the resistance movement, and after one of his “comrades” is
arrested, Veljko is worried that he may have, under the pressure of torture, betrayed
him to the police. When he comes to ask the narrator to let him spend the night in
his office in the storehouse, the narrator feels that he could not “risk it”, because he
had “his mother and sister”, and, moreover, was “half Jewish by origin” (58). At the
same time he was fully aware that he was “denying to such a close friend the help
8
The page references for the following quotations from this novel are given in brackets in the
text.
387
which he must have offered him at all cost” (59). And it is with such awareness that
he secretly follows his friend – but not in order to tell him that he “had changed his
mind,” but “to make sure that he would not come back” (59). However, the novel
ends on a note of the triumph of ordinary human solidarity over ideological
commitments. Petar, a truck-driver, who never concealed his admiration of Russia
and Stalin, helps Ernest, an electrician who bragged with Hakenkreuz and other Nazi
decorations during the occupation, in his great misfortune. Ernest’s wife is mortally
ill, the last train for German civilians is to leave Belgrade on the next day, and
Ernest tries to console himself that he never did any harm to anyone, so that he
could perhaps stay with his wife and his two daughters in Belgrade. But Petar
reminds him of his Nazi decorations and attitudes during the war and persuades him
to leave and so save his own life and secure the future for his daughters. Moreover,
Petar offers his home as a shelter for Ernest’s wife and tries to get medical help for
her. All this seems to show that ordinary, uneducated people are sufficiently humane
to care more for one another than for their political illusions. Does this seem to
suggest that multiculturalism in its elementary human form may not be impossible,
particularly if you do not take your own political attitudes more seriously than they
deserve?
Ivan Ivanji, born in 1929 in Zrenjanin (Vojvodina), of Jewish origin, had firsthand experience of the German concentration camps (Auschwitz, Buchenwald). He
was a student of German, a teacher, a journalist, a dramaturge, Assistant Director of
the National Theatre in Belgrade, a diplomat and Tito’s interpreter for German. His
novel The Governess (2002) reflects some major aspects of European history such as
the unemployment in the early thirties, Hitler’s successful beginning of war
operations, the massacre of Jews, the work of German Secret Police, German
invasion of Russia, the victory of the Soviet army and its consequences in Eastern
Europe. The Governess opens with a sketch of what seems to be a multicultural idyll
in the author’s native region of Vojvodina before World War II, and then describes
its breakdown under the pressure of both Nazi and communist ideologies and
massacres. The horrors of history make dramatic impacts on the personal lives of
major characters who strive to preserve the remnants of their instinctive human
decency and solidarity in spite of the prevailing hatred and intolerance.
Ilse, a young and educated Austrian girl of aristocratic origin, has to provide
for herself after her father’s death in the early thirties. She cannot find any kind of
work in Austria, and after living for some time in a state of shabby gentility, she
accepts the offer of a job made by Morits Keleti, a rich Jewish owner of a sugar
factory in a town in Vojvodina on the river Begej. When she begins to work as his
son’s governess, she seems pleased, but an ominous afterthought echoes in her head:
“If only they were not Jews!” (Ivanji 2002: 16) She consoles herself by a highly
ambivalent kind of forgiveness: “they often ate pork, they did not pray before meals,
they never went to the synagogue” (16).
Immediately after the German invasion of Yugoslavia in April 1941, as a
distinguished member of the German local community in the town – her aristocratic
origin and the way she spoke German were impressive – she was offered to work as
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a secretary of a German lieutenant colonel who was the head of the local Gestapo.
She accepted the offer because it was the only way in which she could possibly help
the Jewish family she was attached to and she asked her superior to spare their lives.
As a high-ranking German officer, he was above local personal hidden hatreds, and
he told her that Morits Keleti had already been hanged, but that he would make it
possible for his wife Goldi and their son Victor to get away and take their valuables
without the interference of the customs officers. And so Ilse escorts Victor and his
mother to the border with Banat, but Victor, her pupil, at the age of about twelve,
tells her when they part that she has betrayed them by deciding to stay with the
Nazis.
Ilse survived the horrors of the partisan camp in which rats ate the toes of
sleeping people, and she later obtained an administrative job in a partisan hospital.
But she lost it when no foreigner could get a permit to be employed in Yugoslavia
and went back to Austria, found some sort of administrative work, at first in a
hospital for German refugees, and later in a Viennese clinic. When she retired about
forty years later her life came full circle: she lived in a modest way, finally with
enough time to read her favourite books, especially poetry. But one day she
discovered a billboard announcing a great exhibition of the internationally famous
architect Victor Keleti, her ex-pupil. When she turned up at the exhibition –
impeccably dressed for the great occasion – Victor gave her cold shoulder. But
when he learned that she was not a traitor but the saviour of his and his mother’s
life, he embraced her as an old friend. Professionally successful, but an emotional
wreck after his two broken marriages, he asked her to come and take care of his
household, so that the story really came full circle for Ilse.
In short, an ex-clerk of the Gestapo and one of the Jewish survivors of Hitler’s
racial hatred, come to live together in mutual understanding and deep attachment to
their common memories. What was it that kept them together? Ilse’s fundamental
human decency in spite of her acceptance of handling papers in a Gestapo office?
Victor’s realization of how unjust he was when he believed that Ilse was a traitor of
his family? His failures in personal life in spite of his professional success? The
horrors of their respective concentration camp experience? Or simply their old-age
loneliness, their human need to share the remnants of what they might have been
with each other? And what are the implications of their belated union? Ironic – and
pathetic – as the “international theme” appears within this framework, it suggests
that the multiethnic and multicultural instinct to help another human being in
distress may sometimes cross the borders of political conflicts, even if it has to be
reduced to a fairly rudimentary form of solidarity in defying the horror of historical
realities. In this sense The Governess is distantly analogous to Erenrajh-Ostojić’s
novel Confidential Report – both suggest a breakthrough of ideological frontiers and
even personal convictions. And they are both marked by a thirst for communication
which is also a major feature of Albahari’s and Tasić’s fiction, in which the heroes
at least attempt to cross the barriers dividing “chaos” and “geometry”.
Finally, some of the contemporary Serbian historical novels like Papo’s
Sarajevo Tombstone or Risojević’s Bosnian Hangman suggest that the tragic
historical aspects of “the international theme” foreshadow the horrors of more recent
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times. The expulsion of the Jewish population from Spain in the fifteenth century,
the way the Jewish refugees find a common language with Bosnian outlaws in
Papo’s novel, the way the Austrian hangman advocated the idea of progress in the
technical advancement in hanging people in Risojević’s novel – also have
contemporary resonance. And what about the argument of the Turkish hangman that
some culprits should be tortured because the death sentence is rather a reward than
an adequate punishment for some crimes? Is the death sentence, for instance,
sufficient punishment for someone who presses a button and kills thousands of
people? And is the man pressing the button really responsible for what he is doing?
And what about the question posed in Danojlić’s My Adventure: can one expect
a special arrangement for one’s arrival in this world, or should one look for
happiness in his immediate environment (such as it is) rather than try to escape to an
unknown, never-never land which is always easier to idealize? And, finally, should
one pray that God may try his next cosmic experiment on blades of grass and birds
rather than on a human being? But in the meantime, before God makes a more
promising experiment, we have to realize that multiculturalism is still alive and
kicking, in spite of what a few weeks ago some major European political leaders
had the misfortune to announce in public. And it has been alive and kicking for
several thousand years: – for instance, in the bequest of antiquity, of old Greece
and Rome, indeed of the whole Mediterranean basin, to the contemporary culture of
Western Europe, And what about the Western European bequest to the cultures of
America? What about pizza as popular fast food in Korea? Multiculturalism is, in
short, alive, sychronically and diachronically, because it is the inevitable destiny of
humanity, due to tolerance and intolerance, to wars and arts, to education and
manipulation, and to the deepest human physical and spiritual instincts. And if
multiculturalism is not taken up as a challenge of human destiny, it can easily end
up, as it has often ended up, as human fate.
References
Albahari, D. (1995). Snežni čovek. Beograd: Vreme knjige.
Albahari, D. (1996). Mamac. Beograd: Stubovi kulture.
Albahari, D. (2001). Svetski putnik. Beograd: Vreme knjige.
Blackmur, R. P. (1950). ’Introduction’ to Henry James. In: The Art of the Novel –
Critical Prefaces. New York-London: Charles Scribner’s Sons.
Danojlić, M. (2002). Pustolovina ili ispovest u dva glasa. Beograd: Filip Višnjić.
Erenrajh-Ostojić, M. (1989). Karakteristika. Beograd: Rad.
Ivanji, Ivan. (2002). Guvernanta. Beograd: Stubovi kulture.
Papo, E. (2001). Sarajevska megila. Beograd: Centar za stvaralaštvo mladih.
Risojević, R. (2004). Bosanski dželat – Ein Bosnien Scharfrichter. Banja Luka: Glas
srpski – Grafika.
Tasić, V. (2001). Oproštajni dar. Novi Sad: Svetovi.
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Vesna Branković
Doboj, Bosna i Hercegovina
vesna2012@gmail.com
CONSERVATISM AND OPPORTUNISM IN THE AMERICAN COUNTRY
MUSIC TEXTS
Abstract The American country music texts represent the stratification of the
American society, especially the working class. They can influence the forming of
some language attitudes of that class. The aim of this paper is to show the most
common topics of the lyrics which show what problems, attitudes and believes of its
followers are illustrated in the most popular texts, then to demonstrate how those
texts picture the American working class.
Using qualitative-quantitative method and about thirty most popular lyrics, we will,
first, show the topics in the texts which the followers are willing to listen to, such as:
family life, poverty, hard work, country-town lyrics. Then we will illustrate the
conservative and opportunistic working class society which those texts picture.
Key words: American country music, sociolinguistics, opportunism, conservatism,
working class
1.
Introduction
Any kind of music can be easily compared with the human communication
process. The human communication process is a system that involves an
interrelated, interdependent group of elements working together as a whole to
achieve a desired outcome, which is to send a message. It could be said that there are
five elements in achieving a desired outcome and these are: a source, which sends a
message, through channel(s), to a receiver, who responds via feedback to the
message. As compared to the country music lyrics we can say the following.
1.1 The source of the message: the authors/performers of the American country
music texts
In any kind of music and in the American country music as well, the sources of
the message are their performers/authors. At the beginning of the American country
music, its performers were the working class people whose hobby was country
music (Malone 2002: 3). Later, by becoming professionals most of the country
music performers originated from the working class families and before becoming
famous most of them worked as: carpenters, farmers, woodcutters, factory workers.
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Mentioning the performers’ origin and their background is important because many
popular lyrics are about work described by those who are familiar with social,
economic and, we can say, historical factors of the working class because once they
were part of it, so it can help us to understand the lyrics message better.
1.2 The message: the lyrics
Since the performers’ wish is to send a massage which will be accepted by a
receiver, in this case the audience, they must have an interesting story to tell, then
they must consider the age of the audience and their interests. American country
audience mostly consists of adult working class white males and females (Rogers
1989: 42) and therefore the topics of the lyrics usually meet the interests of such an
audience and are about: love, home and family, work, hard life and patriotism.
Dignity and integrity of the poor who struggle for survival is often presented in a
positive light, sentimentally and romantically. In addition to the topics that describe
a difficult and poor life, there are those describing spending time in bars, and living
in the countryside versus living in the city.
1.3 The audience
The audience, through different media channels, receives a message sent by the
performers. As we have already said, American country music audience mostly
consists of adult working class white males and females, who identify with the lyrics
because, on one hand, the message usually supports their attitudes, believes and
behavior, on the other hand, the lyrics themselves picture part of the society that
likes and listens to country music.
In this paper, by using about thirty most popular lyrics as examples, we will
first show topics of the songs which country music audience likes to listen to and
then we will show what kind of society the lyrics/texts picture, which is in our
opinion conservative and opportunistic without highly developed class
consciousness.
2.
Topics in the American country music texts
Most songs that achieve the greatest acceptance are those that deal with
relationships between adult men and women. Approximately three of every four
popular country songs relate to some facet of love (Rogers 1989: 47) but one of the
most interesting characteristics of the music, however, is the attention given to
experiences of everyday life. In this part of the paper we will point out the most
common topics of the songs picturing, to use the vernacular, ‘livin’ songs, which are
about home and family, hard work, patriotism and spending time in bars.
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2.1 Songs about home and family
By analyzing songs about home and family, we can say that the main topic is
about working class life associated with memories that include descriptions of
difficult and uncertain economic times, as can be seen from the following examples:
The bills are all due and the babies need shoes but I’m busted,
the food that we canned last summer is gone and we’re busted (Howard,
“Busted”)
It’s a big job just gettin’ by with nine kids and a wife.
Sometimes I think about leaving,
I wanna throw my bills out the window catch a train to another town
but I go back working, I gotta buy my kids a brand new pair of shoes (Haggard,
“Workin’ Man Blues”)
There was ten of us livin’ in a two room shack
My daddy was a farmer but all he ever raised was us (Anderson, “Po’ Folks”)
Although they work hard and are usually poor the characters in the songs are
also portrayed as very religious people, as can be seen from the following examples:
We were poor but we had love
We didn’t have shoes to wear (Lynn, “Coal Miner’s Daughter”)
We had no money (Crowell, “Our Town”)
Dad would read to us all from the old family Bible
And we'd count our many blessings one by one (Gray, “Family Bible”)
We can say that a lot of attention is also paid to the characters’ parents who are
portrayed as caring and loving. Father is usually portrayed as a wage-earner: “He
shoveled coal”. “My daddy worked all night in the coal mines”, and mother as a
housewife who takes care about the whole family and whose activities can be seen
from the following: “Mommy scrubbed our clothes on a washboard everyday”.
“Mommy rocked the babies”. “She worked all day long in a field of corn”; Momma
sewed the rags together. There are a lot of noun phrases in the text such as all day,
all night, and adverbial phrases all day long to emphasize hard and never stopping
work.
As seen from these examples, we can say that the family type described in the
country texts is nuclear one that is a family of two adult people who live in one
household and take care about their minor children. In this family type there is a
division of roles: one adult member, usually the father, works outside the home, and
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another adult member, usually the mother, looks after the house and children. The
father, therefore, has an instrumental role, while the mother has an emotional role in
the family.
2.2 Patriotic songs
Another common topic in the American country music is patriotism. Weather
the performers are men or women the songs portray them as great patriots. Men are
presented as patriotic soldiers, fearless and brave who support the idea of
participating in wars, they never doubt in their superiors’ decisions even if their life
is in danger:
Our fightin’ men have fought and died to keep.
If you don’t love it, leave it:
Let this song I’m singin’ be a warnin’. (Haggard, “Fightin Side of Me”)
The captain just gave us the orders
And Mom, I’ll carry them through (Haggard, “Soldier’s Last Letter”)
Women are portrayed as mothers and wives who suffer for their sons and
husbands but think their beloved did not die in vain:
She prayed to the Lord: Hear my plea
Protect all the sons who are fighting tonight
And Dear God keep America free (Haggard, “Soldier’s Last Letter”)
My darling answered when he got that call from you
You said you really need him but you don't need him like I do
Don't misunderstand I know he's fighting for our land
I really love my country but I also love my man (Lynn, “Dear Uncle Sam”)
2.3 Bar songs
Traditional workers portrayed in the texts, who work hard and are great
patriots, spend their free time in bars. They are usually portrayed as direct,
sometimes more honest than necessary, and out for little except a good time:
Good ol’ boys we’re all the same
Ain’t no way we’ll ever change
Mean no harm by the things we do
We can't help it it’s just our style
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And good ol’ boys is all we’ll ever be (Jennings, “Mammas Don’t Let Your
Babies
Grow Up to Be Cowboys”)
They also fiercely defend spending their free time in bars, and do not allow
anyone or anything to criticize them:
Hello Mrs. Johnson, you self-righteous woman
Sunday School teacher, what brings you out
Well, yes, that’s my bottle and yes, that's my glass
And I see you’re eye- ballin’, this pretty young lass
It ain’t none of your bus’ness, but yes, she's with me
And we don’t need no sermon, you self-righteous woman,
Just let us be. (Smith, “The Lord Knows I am Drinkin’ ”)
Texts about bars are part of a subculture of the American population, that is,
through such texts the emphasis is on group loyalty and solidarity. There is a close
relationship between the individual at work and in his leisure activities. The
traditional worker and farmer often socialize with friends from work and the people
from their surroundings in a bar.
3.
Conservatism in the American country music
By analyzing popular texts we have found out that those who are sung about, as
can be seen from the previous examples, are aware of their class. They belong to the
working class and in the lyrics they are portrayed as common people who drive
pick-up trucks, are around forty years old, usually wear faded jeans and whether
living in the cities or the countryside they prefer the country, as can be seen from the
following examples:
I’m just a common man, Drive a common van, My dog ain’t got a pedigree
(Conlee, “Common Man”)
I’m just a country boy, Country boy at heart (Skaggs, “Country Boy”)
I’m about as old fashioned as I can be, ‘Cause country is all I am (Lynn,
“You’re
Looking at a Country”)
I don’t own a suit (Hall, “Ballad of Forty Dollars”)
cowboys like old faded levis (Jennings, “The Door is Always Open)
Well I finally made forty, still wearing jeans (McDill, “Amanda”)
However, the texts usually do not express the resistance towards the hard life
the workers have. It is mostly only ascertained through the verses such as:
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Well It’s time to rise and start another hard work day (Crowell, “Our Town”)
I’ ve been working everyday since I was twenty,
Too much work and never enough play (Haggard, “Big City”)
I work hard every day (Haggard, “Workin’ Man Blues”)
Мy dad was a poor hard working Saginaw fisherman (Frizzell, “Saginaw”)
My daddy was a farmer, Salvation Army give us clothes to wear, we sure was a
hungry bunch (Anderson, “Po’ Folks”)
Heaven knows I been workin’ hard (Haggard, “If we make it through
December”)
The bills are all due and the babies need shoes (Howard, “Busted”)
Although the followers of this music are aware of their class it seems that they
do not have, at least in the most popular texts, highly developed class consciousness.
There are a lot of definitions of the class consciousness, but for this paper the
definition of the working class consciousness is important and it usually includes
two elements (Haralambos 1995: 64). The first one is the recognition of being a part
of a certain group which usually has an inferior position in the society as compared
to other groups, and the second element would include the commitment to change
the inferiority by certain activities. There are a few methods that can be used to
change the inferior status of the working class which is usually demonstrated
through hard economic situation. Some of the methods include political or labor
union involvement. According to the most popular American country music texts
the activities with the wish to change a hard economic situation are not expressed in
neither of these ways. In political terms, the followers of this music are shown as
patriots defending their country without thinking too much about the cause of their
involvement especially in wars, such as the Vietnam War.
On the other hand, any activity through labour unions protecting the working
class rights is very rarely mentioned and if it is mentioned it usually has the negative
context and it is in no connection with the main topic of the song, as for example in
Haggard’s song “Big City”: “Big City, keep your retirement and your so called
social security”. The subject of this verse is the big city which is responsible for the
performer’s hard life who sees his salvation from the hard life in going to the
countryside: “Big City turn me loose and set me free somewhere in the middle of
Montana”.
Since the previously mentioned examples mostly describe hard working
conditions of the working class who mostly work as farmers, coal miners, truck
drivers and factory workers and since there are no verses in the songs pointing out
any kind of resistance or protest against that kind of life and work, one might ask
why is it is, that is, why the lyrics do not picture a highly developed class
consciousness?
Many historians (Arnowitz 1992: 52) argue that the American workers, aware
of their difficult economic position in society, have chosen unions as a means of
achieving their goal, which is reflected in the improving of their economic situation,
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however, unions have never been able to strengthen to the point to fight successfully
to protect workers' rights. While the situation in the northern states of the United
States was slightly better, in the south, the union activity was very low (Marshall
1967: 52). Some of the reasons for the poor organization of trade unions was class
hatred of the white race against the inhabitants of African origin, highly developed
proprietary class consciousness and frequent population migration from southern
countries to the north.
If we take into account the fact that the unions, especially in the southern
United States, are poorly organized, and that the workers are largely unprotected, it
could be said that this is one of the reasons why the texts of the American country
music reflect weak class consciousness. On the other hand, if we take into account
the fact that the texts reflect the conservative nature of the supporters of country
music, then we could say that this is another of the reasons.
For example, texts about bars portray people who love the bar way of life, but
they also point to the conservative nature of the supporters of country music. Those
who prefer bars, in the songs, constantly defend themselves against those who
deprecate their lifestyles. For example, in Smith’s text “Lord knows I am drinking”,
narrator has a need to justify to their conservative environment:
Hello Mrs Johnson, you self-righteous woman
Sunday School teacher, what brings you out
And we don’t need no sermon, you self-righteous woman,
Just let us be.
In the songs about patriotism, too, we find significantly expressed
conservatism. Neither men nor women doubt decisions on the American
involvement in wars. No personal pain or loss of loved ones affects their unwavering
patriotism.
Conservatism is also manifested in the texts that describe the existence of
another group of people who has different point of view to those who listen to
country music. For example, Haggard’s text “Okie From Muskogee”, describes the
attitudes and behavior of people who live in a small town in northeastern Oklahoma.
This song represents the conservative nature of country music and its audience, and
therefore part of the American society that supports the old conservative values. In
the text, this group of people has a negative attitude towards the hippie movement
and its representatives who wear sandals and have long hair:
We don’t let our hair grow long and shaggy,
Like the hippies out in San Francisco do.
Leather boots are still in style for manly footwear;
Roman sandals won’t be seen. (Haggard, “Okie From Muskogee”)
They are opposed to expressing love in public:
397
We don’t make a party out of lovin’;
We like holdin’ hands and pitchin’ woo; (Haggard, “Okie From Muskogee”)
And drug use:
We don’t smoke marijuana in Muskogee;
We don’t take our trips on LSD (Haggard, “Okie From Muskogee”)
So, the song “Okie from Muskogee” glorifies behavior and attitudes of a group
of conservatives in the American society, and strongly condemns the attitudes and
behavior of those who have a different way of life. We notice that people in the song
are portrayed as insensitive provincials who are satisfied with their attitudes and
behavior and have no intention of changing anything.
4.
Opportunism in the American country music
Since the verses in the songs usually do not express any form of protest, or
desire to change anyone or anything, we can say that some of the texts reflect
several opportunistic ways to overcome the difficult economic situation of the
workers, and they are: realizing and accepting the situation by emphasizing religious
faith as a consolation for the hard life, recognizing the difference between the poor
and the rich by pointing out some advantages of the poor as compared to the rich
and if mentioning dissatisfaction with the present life than giving the solution for it
which is usually in leaving the city and going to the countryside.
Accepting the situation is a common topic in country music. In such songs one
can usually learn about a hard life of the individual. From this perspective, an
individual, usually a man does not do anything to change his situation. He accepts
the life as it is. Examples are found in several songs. In them, a narrator, usually a
male, states that he has and supports a large family by working hard almost all his
life:
It’s a big job just gettin’ by with nine kids and a wife
I’ve been a workin’ man near all my life (Haggard, “Workin’ Man
Blues”)
Heaven knows I’ve been workin’ hard (Haggard, “If We Make It Through
December”)
The bills are all due and the babies need shoes
The food that we canned last summer is gone (Howard, “Busted”)
398
Long-term planning of the future life is not mentioned, perhaps even discarded
in favour of orientation to the present. There is a tendency to live from hand to
mouth:
after I draw my pay, I’ll drink a little beer that evening (Haggard, “Workin’
Man Blues”)
Planning, if mentioned, is limited to near future:
Might get a little tired on the weekend
But I’ll go back workin
come Monday morning, I'm right back with the crew (Haggard, “Workin’ Man
Blues”)
But in some songs, after confirming difficult situation, God and faith are
mentioned, as a consolation for the hard life:
At the end of day when work was over
And when the evening meal was done
Dad would read to us all from the old family Bible (Gray, “Family Bible”)
Usually in these songs, the existence of another class of people is not
mentioned.
Recognizing the gap between the rich and the poor. There are some texts in
which, after confirming difficult situation, the existence of the upper class is
mentioned. For example in Anderson’s song “Po’ Folks”:
We was po’ folks livin’ in a rich folks world
In these songs, protests or culprits for the poverty are not mentioned. Very
often the songs point out the advantage of the poor compared to the rich through the
emphasis on love between family members:
But we had something in our house money can’t buy
Kept us warm in the winter, cool when the sun was high
For whenever we didn’t have food enough and the howlin' winds would get
pretty rough
we set the table with love (Anderson, “Po’ Folks”)
Sometimes, throughout the texts, there are verses pointing out the difference
between the rich and the poor. These differences are often in favour of the poor, as
for example in the text of the song “Saginaw”:
399
Will you sell your father-in-law your Klondyke claim?
Now he’s up there in Alaska digging in the cold, cold ground,
The greedy fool is looking for the gold I never found. (Fritzell, “Saginaw”)
Country songs also point out another advantage of the poor compared to the
rich. Although most male characters in the texts are unable to afford to the opposite
sex the luxury that is bought with money because they do not have it, through the
texts, they are presented as winners because they are portrayed as better lovers than
the rich. For example, in Jennings’s text of the song “The door is always open”, the
narrator, a man, is telling us how his ex-girlfriend married a rich man:
Saw your picture in the paper and I see you married good
And I know that he can give you all the things I never could
Further on in the text, he is telling us the way in which he is the winner over
her rich husband:
But I know that he can’t give you what you need most of all
So the door is always open, and the lights on in the hall (Jennings, “The door is
always open”)
These verses point out the poor man is a better lover than the rich husband, and
this is kind of his personal victory over the rich people.
Another example is found in the text of the song “Tight Fittin’ Jeans”. The
sender of the message, a man, recounts how he met a rich woman in the bar who is
unhappy in marriage:
She said: I married money, I’m use to wearin’ pearls
So tonight I left those crystal candle lights to live a dream
And partner, there's a tiger in these tight fittin’ jeans (Twitty, “Tight Fittin’
Jeans”)
After the night they spent together he says:
I’m satisfied I did my best to make her dream come true (Twitty: “Tight fittin’
Jeans”)
At the end of this song, the last verse is: “A cowboy once had a millionaire’s
dream”. The noun cowboy is referred to the sender of the message, and this last
verse points out a cowboy’s personal victory over the rich men, whose dream, even
though he has the power that money can buy, will never come true, that is he will
never be a better lover than the cowboy.
400
Sometimes the narrators are women who are married to rich men who
give them financial security, but are not successful as lovers. As for example, in the
text of the song “Satin Sheets”, a woman directly addresses her husband, a rich man,
and says she has found a poorer man who is a better lover:
I’ve found another man
Who can give more than you can
Though you’ve given me everything money can buy
But your money can’t hold me tight
He does on a long, long night
You know you didn’t keep me satisfied (Parton, Satin’ Sheets”)
Solution for the hard workers’ life. If there are some verses in the songs
indicating the protest or expressing dissatisfaction with the existing situation, then
there are verses offering a solution to the situation. The most common solution to
the plight of the workers is in leaving big cities and returning to the countryside. For
example, in the previously mentioned text of the song “Big City”, the sender of the
message, a man, lives and works in the big city and his dissatisfaction is expressed
with the verse:
I’ve been working every day since I was twenty.
Haven't got a thing to show for anything I've done. (Haggard, “Big City”)
But at the end of the song the solution is offered in the following verse:
Big City, turn me loose and set me free, somewhere in the middle of Montana.
(Haggard, “Big City”)
The song “Detroit City” describes the sadness of a southerner who went north
in search of work in a factory and a better life. After many years of work, he realizes
that he would be much better at home in the countryside, and decides to return to the
country:
Last night I went to sleep
And I dreamed about those cottonfields and home
I wanna go home I wanna go home oh Lord I wanna go home (Parton, “Detroit
City”)
The countryside in the country music is a metaphor for the ideal, peaceful and
serene life. Culprits for the hard life are never mentioned. Very often culprits are the
workers who, if they live in the city, accept this way of life, and if they want to get
rid of, then the solution is going to the country. We have not found the texts offering
the solution in the form of transition from one class to another. Even if the
acquisition of large income is mentioned, such as lyrics in the song “Luckenbach,
401
Texas (Back to the Basics of Love)”, in which the sender of the message reports that
he is making progress and earning money, he has a wish to escape to the countryside
from the accelerated pace of life and stress. It seems that the only advantage that
poor workers have in relation to the rich, and in the texts they are always portrayed
as better lovers, is sufficient way of victory against the rich.
5.
Conclusion
Country music lyrics mostly portray the world of work experienced by the
Southern labour force, continuing a tradition established with the origins in industry.
These country songs, sung by performers who clearly identify with the workers
whom they perform for, provide an excellent example of class awareness, as
opposed to class consciousness. Such tunes are invariably written from the worker’s
viewpoint, and leave no doubt that the narrator is fully conscious of his position in
society but it is also evident that the songs do not consider group action designed to
change for better the status of the worker. Union activity is not offered as an option,
nor, for that matter, is political activity based on class consciousness. Country
songs also portray conservative individuals offering some opportunistic mechanisms
to overcome the low economic situation. The mechanisms are reflected in realizing
and accepting the situation as it is, when the individual, whether as a housewife or a
worker, accepts the necessity of working to provide for the family, or to maintain the
household but finds the consolation in religious faith. The individual is also aware of
the upper class, and through some personal acts, seeks for revenge against a member
of the upper class by being portrayed as a better lover, and finally the individual
finds the solution for his low economic status in leaving big cities, returning to the
countryside where he feels free, and thus manages to maintain his dignity.
Songs cited in the paper
Anderson, B. (1999). “Po’ Folks”. 20th Century Masters: The Millennium
Collection. Mca Nashville. CD.
Conlee, J. (2001). “Common Man”. The Best of John Conlee. Curb. CD.
Crowell, R. (2006). “Our town”. Platinum Collection. Rhino/Wea UK. CD.
Frizzell, L. (2003). “Saginaw”. Saginaw Michigan. Collectables. CD.
Gray, C. (2006). “Family Bible”. Country Gospel. One Media Publishing. CD.
Hall, T. (1998). “Ballad of Forty Dollars”. Ballad of Forty Dollars. Bear Family
Records. CD.
Haggard, M. (2002). “Big City”. 20 Greatest Hits. Capitol. CD.
Haggard, M. (2002). “Fightin’ side of me”. 20 Greatest Hits. Capitol. CD.
Haggard, M. (2002). “If we make it through December”. 20 Greatest Hits. Capitol.
CD.
402
Haggard, M. (2002). “Okie From Muskogee”. 20 Greatest Hits. Capitol. CD.
Haggard, M. (2002). “Soldiers last letter”. 20 Greatest Hits. Capitol. CD.
Haggard, M. (2002). “Workin’ Mаn Blues”. 20 Greatest Hits. Capitol. CD.
Howard, H. (2002). “Busted”. Country Music Hall Of Fame 1997. King Records.
CD.
Jennings, W. (2010). “Just Good Ol’ Boys”. Greatest Hits. RCA. CD.
Jennings, W. (2010). “Luckenbach, Texas (back to the basics of lovе)”. Greatest
Hits. RCA. CD.
Jennings, W. (2010). “Mammas Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys”.
Greatest Hits. RCA. CD.
Jennings, W. (2010). “The door is always open”. On Greatest Hits. RCA. CD.
Lynn, L. (2010). “Coal Miner’s Daughter”. A Tribute to Leoretta Lynn. Sony. CD.
Lynn, L. (2010). “Dear Uncle Sam”. A Tribute to Leoretta Lynn. Sony. CD.
Lynn, L. (2010). “You’re Looking at a Country”. A Tribute to Leoretta Lynn. Sony.
CD.
McDill, B. (1975). “Amanda”. Sings Bob McDill. MCA. AC.
Parton, D. (1996). “Detroit City”. Treasures. Sony. CD.
Parton, D. (1996). “Satin Sheets”. Treasures. Sony. CD.
Reeves, D. (2005). “The Girl on the Billboard”. All Time Greatest Hits. King
Records. CD.
Skaggs, R. (2000). “Country Boy”. 16 Biggest Hits. Epic/Legacy. CD.
Smith, C. (1991). “The Lord Knows I am Drinkin’ ”. The Lord Knows I am Drinkin.
Country Harvest Records. CD.
Twitty, C. (1999). “Tight Fittin’ Jeans”. 20th Century Masters: The Best of Conway
Twitty. Mca Nashville. CD.
References
Arnowitz, S. (1992). False Promises: The shaping of American working class. 2nd
edition. Durham: Duke University Press.
Haralambos, M. (1995). Sociology: Themes and Perspectives. 4th edition. London:
University Tutorial Press.
Malone, B. (2002). Country Music USA. 3rd edition. Austin: Texas University of
Texas Press.
Marshall, F.R. (1967). Labour in the South. 1st edition. Harvard University Press.
Roggers, J. (1989). The Country Music Message. 1st edition. Fayetteville: University
Of Arkansas Press.
403
Zorica Đergović-Joksimović
Novi Sad, Serbia
djzorica@eunet.rs
THE ONTOLOGY OF SPACE: UTOPIA, DYSTOPIA AND HETEROTOPIA
IN MARGE PIERCY’S WOMAN ON THE EDGE OF TIME
Abstract It was in his essay “Des Espaces Autres” (1967) that Michel Foucault
introduced the term heterotopia to denote one of two sites that “have the curious
property of being in relation with all the other sites, but in such a way as to suspect,
neutralize, or invert the set of relations that they happen to designate, mirror, or
reflect”. The other of the two sites is, of course, utopia. In the narration of space,
which any literary utopia basically is, space becomes one of the primary ontological
concerns through which all other utopian aspects are reflected. The aim of this paper
is to present Marge Piercy’s novel Woman on the Edge of Time (1976) as a valuable
work in which as different spatial structures as utopia, dystopia and heterotopia
coexist thus providing us with ample material for the study of ontology of space in a
literary work.
Key words: dystopia, Foucault, heterotopia, mirror, ontology, space, utopia
1.
Mirror, mirror on the wall
Marge Piercy’s masterpiece Woman on the Edge of Time (1976) can serve as
an exemplary case study on how different, seemingly mutually exclusive concepts of
space can be successfully juxtaposed. This leads us to the essential question: What is
space? In physics, it is usually time as a concept that is problematic and hard to
define (for example, different physicists such as Einstein, De Witt, Hawking,
Barbour have actually undermined the commonsensical notion of time as incessantly
flowing). But, history shows that there have been many misconceptions of space so
far: the Earth was once seen as a disk carried by a turtle; it was thought to be flat; in
the Classical presentation the Earth was surrounded by the Ocean; even in the great
age of discoveries, the Terrestrial Paradise was frequently drawn on the maps;
according to the Ptolemaic Geocentric Universe the Earth was seen as the centre of
the universe, etc.1
1
Zeno of Elea was among the first to draw our attention to the problem of space in his famous
confusing paradoxes, among which are best known the paradox of Achilles and the tortoise, the arrow
paradox, and the dichotomy paradox. In his paradox of place, for example, he claims that “if everything
that exists has a place, place too will have a place, and so on ad infinitum” (Aristotle Physics IV: 1).
404
So, what is space? This question, as Aristotle points out, presents many
difficulties, for
an examination of all the relevant facts seems to lead to divergent
conclusions. Moreover, we have inherited nothing from previous thinkers,
whether in the way of a statement of difficulties or of a solution. (Aristotle
Physics IV: 1)
One of the dictionary definitions says that space is “the unlimited or
incalculably great three-dimensional realm or expanse in which all material objects
are located and all events occur” (Dictionary.com). But things are usually a bit more
complex, especially in literature and physics. In Woman on the Edge of Time there
are four different spatial structures in which the action takes place: mental institution
(heterotopia), the outside world (‘topia’), the futuristic Mattapoisett 2137 (Utopia),
and the futuristic Dystopia. Heterotopia is usually described as other space (which
can be both physical and mental), utopia as no place or a good place, and dystopia as
a bad place (which is also non-existent). The term heterotopia was coined by Michel
Foucault in his influential work Des espaces autres (Of Other Spaces), in which he
claims that “space itself has a history in Western experience, and it is not possible to
disregard the fatal intersection of time with space” (Foucault 1967).
Among the possible types of heterotopia are the so called heterotopias of
deviation, “those in which individuals whose behavior is deviant in relation to the
required mean or norm are placed” (Foucault 1967), such as hospitals, asylums,
prisons, and rest homes. As Foucault perceptively notices, both utopia and
heterotopia “have the curious property of being in relation with all the other sites,
but in such a way as to suspect, neutralize, or invert the set of relations that they
happen to designate, mirror, or reflect” (Foucault 1967). Foucault uses the mirror as
an example to show us both the similarities and differences between utopias and
heterotopias, claiming that
between utopias and these … heterotopias, there might be a sort of mixed,
joint experience, which would be the mirror. The mirror is … a utopia, since it
is a placeless place. In the mirror, I see myself there where I am not, in an
unreal, virtual space that opens up behind the surface; I am over there, there
where I am not, a sort of shadow that gives my own visibility to myself, that
enables me to see myself there where I am absent: such is the utopia of the
mirror. (Foucault 1967)
Obviously, Piercy’s Mattapoisett is a Foucaldian utopian mirror, for it is
seemingly an unreal, virtual space. In the novel, the main protagonist, Connie, sees
herself there where she is not – in the future. However, the mirror is also a
heterotopia:
405
It is also a heterotopia in so far as the mirror does exist in reality, where it
exerts a sort of counteraction on the position that I occupy. From the standpoint
of the mirror I discover my absence from the place where I am since I see
myself over there. Starting from this gaze that is (…) directed toward me, from
the ground of this virtual space that is on the other side of the glass, I come
back toward myself; I begin again to direct my eyes toward myself and to
reconstitute myself there where I am. The mirror functions as a heterotopia in
this respect: it makes this place that I occupy at the moment when I look at
myself in the glass at once absolutely real, connected with all the space that
surrounds it, and absolutely unreal, since in order to be perceived it has to pass
through this virtual point which is over there. (Foucault 1967)
The mental institution Piercy’s Connie is sent to is, therefore, the equivalent of
the heterotopian mirror. It does exist in reality and owing to it she realizes her
absence from the real life.
2.
Over the cuckoo’s nest
In his earlier and quite influential work Folie et déraison: Histoire de la
folie à l'âge classique (The History of Madness) Foucault distinguishes different
types of attitude towards insanity. Historically speaking, in the treatment of madness
two trends became dominant: institutionalization and exclusion. Consequently, the
dialogue has been supressed by innumerable monologues:
In the serene world of mental illness, modern man no longer
communicates with the madman (…) As for a common language, there is no
such thing, or rather, there is no such thing any longer; the constitution of
madness as a mental illness, at the end of the eighteenth century, affords the
evidence of a broken dialogue (…) The language of psychiatry, which is a
monologue of reason about madness, has been established only on the basis of
such a silence. (Foucault 1988: x)
Yet, in the novel Woman on the Edge of Time, future utopian society members
always opt for the dialogue. They even try to reach out to their predecessors from
our age. Interestingly, as they say, “Most we’ve reached are females, and many of
those in mental hospitals and prisons” (Piercy 1991: 196). Their contactee, Connie
Ramos, fits the pattern perfectly – she is a marginalized social outcast in every
respect: she is a woman, a Chicana, underprivileged, unemployed (welfare
recipient), officially labelled as violent (she accidentally broke her child’s wrist, and
in self defence she broke her niece’s pimp’s nose), and diagnosed as mentally ill (cf.
similar dubious diagnosis and the consequential institutionalization in Ken Kesey’s
One flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest (1962)). As we can see, Connie is ostracized by her
gender, ethnicity, class, and her nonconformist behaviour.
406
Actually, in all the three time/space frames women are the main
representatives: in the present there is Connie Ramos, in the future utopia there is
Luciente, while in the sexist materialistic technologically developed and highly
polluted futuristic dystopia there is Gildina.2 Obviously, the novel should be read
primarily as a feminist utopia (in the futuristic Mattapoisett both sexes breast-feed
their babies, “women have ‘given up’ childbirth in order that men won’t regret
having given up power” (Atwood 1976: 601), it is a sexually equal society, there are
no gender pronouns, and everybody is referred to as ‘per’…). As Kathleen Komar
notices, in case of feminist utopias, “the space of the literary text becomes a site of
critical rethinking and often of female rebirth” (Fancourt 2002: 97). But, this novel
is also what Lyman Tower Sargent calls a critical utopia – it does not depict an ideal,
perfect place but a better place with difficult problems (such works are usually
critical both of the utopian tradition and of the current state of affairs) (Sargent
1994: 9).
However, it is also a fine example of a “mental utopia” or eupsychia – for,
according to Donna Fancourt, such utopias are “constructed by the mind, and
emerge from philosophical idealism, the belief that the external world is created by
the psyche” (Fancourt 2002: 95). Nevertheless, to idealise does not mean to beautify
or to perfect, but as H. E. dos Reis stresses, “to make present (to re-present) the
world through the mediation of the ideas and images of the knowing subject”
(Fancourt 2002: 95). After all, as Lyman Tower Sargent concludes, “utopianism is
social dreaming” (Fancourt 2002: 96). This dreamlike eupsychian aspect of the
future Mattapoisett utopia becomes obvious in the dialogue between Connie and
Luciente:
“But you exist.” [Connie says …]
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Luciente smiled, her eyes liquid and sad. “It’s not
clear. We’re struggling to exist.” (Piercy 1991: 197)
Luciente’s answer is ontologically enigmatic. Later on, she additionally
undermines the stability of the existence of her world:
“But there was a thirty-year war that culminated in a revolution that set up
what we have. Or else there wasn’t and we don’t exist.” (Piercy 1991: 198)
One of the characters from the future, Barbarossa, tries to provide a plausible
explanation of the mutual interdependence of different alternate futures and our
present:
2
All the three names are quite revealing. In Spanish, Connie’s full name Consuelo means
consolation, and Luciente means bright, shining. Gildina, according to Adam Lowe, suggests gold and
coinage, since she represents the other seen as a commodity (Lowe 2008).
407
“At certain cruxes of history … forces are in conflict. Technology is
imbalanced. Too few have too much power. Alternate futures are equally or
almost equally probable … and that affects the … shape of time.” (Piercy 1991:
197)
Obviously, M. Piercy’s novel centres around the parallel worlds theory. This
makes Adam Lowe conclude that
in Woman on the Edge of Time (…) irony is present in the twin futures of
America which Connie visits. Only one can exist in any one timeline, as time is
considered linear. Yet Connie visits both futures, so neither is certain but both
are possible. (…) If Connie can visit either future, then it must exist, but the
existence of one denies the existence of the other. (…) whatever decision
Connie makes, both or neither reality may occur simultaneously and those
decisions therefore become unimportant. One future cannot be averted because
it will exist parallel to the other, as it was and always will be. (Lowe 2008)
3.
Welcome to Platonia
This parallel worlds narration makes us, somewhat unexpectedly, end up in
the realm of modern physics. If several different futures can coexist independently
then obviously something must be wrong with our commonsensical concept of time
as gradually evolving from the past into the present and finally into the future. Julian
Barbour, one of the leading physicists today, in his controversial study The End of
Time, claims that time is actually just an illusion, it does not flow. Instead, he says
that “Time is nothing but a measure of the changing positions of objects” (Folger
2000). According to Barbour,
every possible configuration of the universe, past, present, and future,
exists separately and eternally. We don't live in a single universe that passes
through time. Instead, we – or many slightly different versions of ourselves –
simultaneously inhabit a multitude of static, everlasting tableaux that include
everything in the universe at any given moment. (Folger 2000)
It turns out, quite distressingly, that our concepts of past, present and future are
just unstable grammatical constructs. Similarly, the poet T. S. Eliot claims in his
“Burnt Norton” that
Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future,
And time future contained in time past.
408
If all time is eternally present
All time is unredeemable.
What might have been is an abstraction
Remaining a perpetual possibility
Only in a world of speculation.
(Eliot, “Burnt Norton”, Four Quartets)
What Eliot poetically calls ‘eternally present’ in Barbour’s system is
represented by a multitude of Nows. Not only are all those Nows self-contained, but
each one is a timeless, unchanging universe per se (Folger 2000). For, it is we who
“mistakenly perceive the Nows as fleeting, when in fact each one persists forever”
(Folger 2000). Moreover, Barbour creates a new hypothetic model of the universe in
which all possible Nows are contained. This universe he calls Platonia in honour of
the Greek philosopher Plato, who claimed that our changing world is just a copy of
yet another one, which is real and unchanging. In order to make his model
acceptable to the wider population Barbour uses the image of a snapshot or a strip of
movie. As he points out, “each frame captures one possible Now … but nothing
moves or changes in any one frame. And the frames – the past and future – don't
disappear after they pass in front of the lens” (Folger 2000).
If we are to apply Barbour’s model to the novel Woman on the Edge of Time,
this is what we shall find: 1st Now – the present (both outside and inside the mental
institution), 2nd Now – Mattapoisettian “futuristic” utopia, and 3rd Now – the
dystopian dehumanized future. What is their ontological status? They coexist, side
by side, in one realm (Platonia?). As we have seen, they all are plausible, all equally
possible, and mutually dependent.
Although Marge Piercy’s novel, as suggested by M. Atwood, proved to be a
hard nut to crack for many reviewers at the time of its publication (Atwood 1976:
601), the ideas that support the concept of space/time structures presented in her
work can now be found in numerous fields of research, such as modern physics,
philosophy, logic, various literary theories. Thus, according to the Multiverse theory
– instead of one there could be several universes (parallel universes).3 Likewise, the
fundamental assumption of the quantum physics Many-worlds interpretation is that
in addition to the world we are aware of directly, there are many other
similar worlds which exist in parallel at the same space and time. The existence
of the other worlds makes it possible to remove randomness and action at a
distance from quantum theory and thus from all physics. (Vaidman 2008)
3
See Folger, Tim (2008). “Science’s Alternative to an Intelligent Creator: the Multiverse
Theory”. Discover. Available at: http://discovermagazine.com/2008/dec/10-sciences-alternative-to-anintelligent-creator.
409
It is no wonder that owing to the works of renowned physicists, such as David
Deutsch (The fabric of reality, 1997) and Julian Barbour (The end of time, 1999), the
ontological status of Piercy’s futures is confirmed (and it is the futures and their
utopian/dystopian aspects that interest us most). It seems that Barbour’s concept
finds best application in this case, for, as he stresses,
we're always locked within one Now (…) We do not pass through time.
Instead, each new instant is an entirely different universe. In all of these
universes, nothing ever moves or ages, since time is not present in any of them.
One universe might contain you as a baby staring at your mother's face. In that
universe you will never move from that one, still scene. In yet another universe,
you'll be forever just one breath away from death. All of those universes, and
infinitely many more, exist permanently, side by side, in a cosmos of
unimaginable size and variety. So there is not one immortal you, but many: the
toddler, the cool dude, the codger. The tragedy – or perhaps it's a blessing – is
that no one version recognizes its own immortality. (Folger 2000)
Obviously, both Piercy and Barbour try to lead us “Down the passage which
we did not take/ Towards the door we never opened” (Eliot, “Burnt Norton”, Four
Quartets).
4.
A tale told by a “Schizo”?
In the narration of space, which any literary utopia basically is, space
becomes one of the primary ontological concerns through which all other utopian
aspects are reflected, i.e. if the space does not exist (is not possible), then its
qualities might become irrelevant. Connie’s futuristic utopia’s plausibility might be
seen as doubly undermined – by being a utopia with a circular, repetitious aspect of
the deeper structure of the novel, and by being a story told by a social outcast (a
marginalized Chicano woman prone to violence and diagnosed with Schizophrenia).
However, findings of the different teachings suggest to the contrary. For example,
Lubomir Dolezel, who is the main proponent of the Possible worlds theory, explores
“what […] possible-world semantics of fiction could say about the relation of fiction
and history” (Doležel 2010: viii). Dolezel stresses the credibility of fictional worlds,
pointing to the fact that “possible-worlds semantics claims that fictions are possible
worlds” (Dolezel 1995: 201). Thus, any fictional world, including a utopia, is a
possible world, which means that Connie’s Mattapoisett is just another fictional but
possible world. As shown earlier, the proof of both the plausibility and possibility of
Piercy’s feminist utopia and sexist dystopia can be found in contemporary physics
(in the works of such eminent physicists such as Deutsch and Barbour), but also in
modern philosophy (primarily in the works of M. Foucault, some of which have
been mentioned, and Gilles Deleuze-Felix Guattari’s seminal work Capitalism and
Schizophrenia, 1972).
410
Of course, the whole novel Woman on the Edge of Time could be read as a
classical anti-psychiatry piece.4 The quasi-scientific bestial experiments performed
on Connie and other patients do not undermine the credibility of Connie’s visions of
the future but, on the contrary, the sanity of the doctors and the whole power-system
they represent. According to Donna Fancourt, “Piercy disrupts constructed notions
of sanity and insanity, arguing that madness is a gendered construct in patriarchal
society, exploited by those in power and used as a means of oppression” (Fancourt
2002: 105). Besides, it is precisely owing to the fact that Piercy gives voice to the
voiceless that Connie’s story becomes not only credible but equally possible, too.
Therefore, Connie’s utopia might be a tale told by a “Schizo”, but what a story! As
we have seen, all spaces and all worlds are possible and so is Connie’s. This makes
Donna Fancourt conclude that “Piercy does not validate one form of consciousness
as more or less real: all are possible co-existent realities” (Fancourt 2002: 105).
Consequently, as Connie and Luciente teach us, there is a utopia, it is within our
reach and it is upon us to decide what we want our future to be like. Or, as T. S.
Eliot’s bird advises us
human kind
Cannot bear very much reality.
Time past and time future
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.
(Eliot, “Burnt Norton”, Four Quartets)
References
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Retrieved on: 10 March 2011.
Atwood, M. (1976). “An Unfashionable Sensibility”. Nation 223/19: 601-602.
Deleuze, G. and Guattari, F. (1983). Anti-Oedipus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia.
Translated by Helen R. Lane, et al. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota
Press.
Dictionary.com. Available at: http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/space.
Retrieved on: 10 March 2011.
Dolezel, L. (1995). “Fictional worlds: Density, gaps, and inference”. Style 29/2: 201215.
4
Members of the movement claim that both in terms of diagnosis and medication psychiatry is
more harmful than beneficent, that it is higly subjective (therefore not a true science), and that some of
its aspects are quite sinister (patients are stigmatized, mental asylums are total institutions, etc.).
Prominent adherents are M. Foucault, Ronald Laing and Thomas Szasz, among others.
411
Doležel, L. (2010). Possible Worlds of Fiction and History: The Postmodern stage.
Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press.
Eliot, T. S. “Burnt Norton”. Four Quartets. Available at:
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/burnt-norton-from-four-quartets/ Retrieved
on: 10 March 2011.
Fancourt, D. (2002). “Accessing Utopia through Altered States of Consciousness:
Three Feminist Utopian Novels”. Utopian Studies 13/1: 94-113.
Folger, T. (2000). “From Here to Eternity”. Discover. Available at:
http://discovermagazine.com/2000/dec/cover. Retrieved on: 10 March 2011.
Folger, T. (2008). “Science’s Alternative to an Intelligent Creator: the Multiverse
Theory”. Discover. Available at: http://discovermagazine.com/2008/dec/10sciences-alternative-to-an-intelligent-creator.
Foucault, M.(1988). Madness and Civilization: A History of Insanity in the Age of
Reason. Translated by Richard Howard. New York: Vintage Books.
Foucault M. (1967). Of Other Spaces (1967), Heterotopias. Translated by Jay
Miskowiec. Available at:
http://foucault.info/documents/heteroTopia/foucault.heteroTopia.en.html.
Retrieved on: 10 March 2011.
Hansen, E. T. (1997). Mother Without Child: Contemporary Fiction and the Crisis
of Motherhood. Berkeley, Los Angeles, London: University of California
Press.
Laing, R. D. (1976). The Politics of Experience. New York: Ballantine.
Lowe, A. (2008). “Holding It Together: Postmodern Codes of Cohesion”. eSharp.
Issue 12: Technology and Humanity. Available at:
http://www.gla.ac.uk/media/media_103037_en.pdf. Retrieved on: 10 March
2011.
Kesey, K. (1989). One flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest.New York: Signet.
Piercy, M. (1991). Woman on the Edge of Time. New York: Fawcett Crest.
Sargent, L. T. (1994). “Three Faces of Utopianism Revisited.” Utopian Studies 5/1:
1-37.
Szasz, T. (1973). Ideology and Insanity:Essays on the Psychiatric Dehumanization
of Man. London: Marion Boyars.
Vaidman, L. (2008). "Many-Worlds Interpretation of Quantum Mechanics". The
Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Fall 2008 Edition), Edward N.
Zalta (ed.). Available at: http://plato.stanford.edu/archives/fall2008/entries/qmmanyworlds/. Retrieved on: 10 March 2011.
412
Vladislava Gordić Petković
Novi Sad, Serbia
vladysg@yahoo.com
REFERENCES AND RESONANCES: TENNESSEE WILLIAMS AND
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
Abstract The plays of Tennessee Williams written between 1945 and 1960 seem to
be haunted by Shakespearean characters and motifs and in many of them we witness
powerful transformations of Shakespearean tragedy. A staggering mixture of
revenge, sexual desire and imminent destruction, Williams’s plays with the
prevailing mythical pattern, such as Suddenly Last Summer, or Orpheus Descending,
offer an array of echoes and resonances to Hamlet, King Lear and Macbeth.
Although the American playwright downplayed the impact of Shakespeare on his
work, the critics cannot ignore the fact that his female characters resemble Ophelia,
Lady Macbeth and Cleopatra, whereas references to wheels of fire, brief candles,
antic dispositions and mortal coils regularly occur in the plays of Tennessee
Williams. The paper will try to answer the following question: was Williams writing
an American tragedy with Shakespeare’s drama in mind?
Key words: Tennessee Williams, William Shakespeare, tragedy, American
literature.
In a letter to his agent and friend Audrey Wood, Tennessee Williams confesses
that he has only one major theme for his work: the destructive impact of society on
the sensitive non-conformist individual (Haley 1998: 67). This sentence (which
might as well fit to describe Shakespeare's Hamlet) perfectly reflects the outcast
characters in his plays who are the narrators of the author's own experience, as well
as the essence of Shakespearean tragedy. The characters invented by Tennessee
Williams embody the very same conflict of the tragic hero with the social order that
we encounter in Shakespeare's tregedies.
Doomed to collide with the laws and customs of the society, doomed to be
punished and destroyed for pursuing their dreams, Williams's characters rely too
much on their romantic imagination. Unable to understand the causes and tolerate
the effects of their inner dichotomies and discrepances, the society muffles the rebel
yells of Val Xavier, Maggie Pollitt and Blanche DuBois and strives to punish them
severely for their noncomformism. Not even the fact that all the prominent
characters seek support and understanding can redeem them: their marginality is
treated as an unpardonable sin, despite the obvious responsibilies of the rigid and
biggoted society for their respective downfalls.
The world of Williams’s plays is the controversial American South, strained
with its many contradictions, a conservative society that is an eternal battlefield
413
against racial and sexual discrimination (Bloom 1987: 86). In Williams’s time,
promiscuity and homosexuality were seen as grave threats to the male-centred,
prudish and homophobic patriarchal society and were severely penalized. His most
prominent characters are charged with possession of an uncontrolled hunger for
love, hope, devotion and understanding, accused of existential fallacy, imprisoned
within emptiness of their lives that lack freedom and beauty, and finally publicly
humiliated and executed, dying for the very same unattainable love that was denied
to them in their lifetime.
The plays of Tennessee Williams, particularly those written between 1945 and
1960, are somehow haunted by Shakespearean characters and motifs, offering a rich
array of powerful transformations of Shakespearean tragedy and digging deep into
issues of identity, societal conflicts and the decline of moral values. The protagonists
in the plays of Tennessee Williams explicitly declare their loneliness or tell of their
isolation from the world, defining solitariness as a quintessential human condition
which cannot be prevented or defeated. Some characters like Val Xavier or Maggie
Pollitt turn into pessimistic philosophers who desperately try to articulate their
experience of loneliness and nonconformity. Val, a poet and a Bohemian, gloomily
equals life with incarceration: "Nobody ever gets to know nobody! We’re all of us
sentenced to solitary confinement inside our own skins for life!" (Williams 2000:
43), while the less articulate and more down-to-earth Maggie argues that "Living
with someone you love can be lonelier than living entirely alone! If the one that y’
love doesn’t love you..." (Williams 2000: 890). The loneliness and isolation are the
mark of an artist, inseparable from the hunger for love which these characters feel.
Tom Wingfield, the dreamy Proustian narrator of Tennessee Williams's The
Glass Menagerie is nicknamed Shakespeare because he writes poetry in secret,
during his working hours, hidden in the washroom of the warehouse. Throughout the
play, Tom's friend Jim addresses him as Shakespeare a number of times. "You
know, Shakespeare, I never thought of you as having folks!" (Williams 2000: 438),
Jim says, obviously dropping hints about the artistic abilities which clearly isolate
Tom from the real world of connections and relationships, as well as his habit of
going to the movies alone. When Tom forgets to pay the light bill and thus
inadvertently causes the blackout during the elegant dinner given by Amanda
Wingfield who is resolute to make a match for her crippled daughter, Jim tells
jokingly that "Shakespeare probably wrote a poem on that light bill"(Williams 2000:
446); "I didn't even know you were Shakespeare's sister" (Williams 2000: 447), Jim
says to the morbidly shy Laura Wingfield, reminding us instantly of Virginia
Woolf's imaginative passages about the thwarted chances and destroyed illusions of
a young woman with an artistic temperament who might have been born in
Shakespeare's family, without any proper opportunity to repeat her brother's
achievement.
By the end of The Glass Menagerie, after having shattered all fantasies of his
garrulous mother and ruined his sister's chances to prosper, Tom informs the
audience that he had been sacked for writing a poem on the lid of a shoebox.
However, his masterly rendering of his family’s drama of delusion and loss has
414
turned him by that time into a paragon of Shakespearean negative capability, so that
we perceive his failure as the expected outcome of the collision between the spiritual
growth of an artist and the crude material concerns of the society. Indeed, it is quite
uncertain that Tom has committed to art, since we do not hear of him becoming a
poet: Tom has rather become a chronicler of his family's tragic losses. Tom's dutiful
jotting down the family history in a series of glimpses and flashbacks is clearly
motivated by seeking apology for having abandoned his mother and sister, for
sacrificing their well-being to his love of long distances. Long distances stand for
dedicating his life to art but, in the long run, the sea expanse Tom wishfully
embraces can mark any intelectual and moral pursuit into which Shakespeare's tragic
heroes regularly plunge. Thus Tom resembles Hamlet, who neglects the strong
attachment to his mother, his love for Ophelia and most of his worldly concerns for
the sake of the impending revenge. The great Dane is not the only Shakespearean
character whose traits can be recognized in Tom Wingfield's complex, guilt-ridden
personality. Tom is gullible and impulsive like Othello, reckless and shallow like
King Lear, even machiavelistic like Macbeth; like some of Shakespeare's villainous
characters he seems to lack the moral fibre, but Williams reassures the reader that
this recklessness is a part of a larger, artistic pursuit.
And yet, few critics dare compare The Glass Menagerie to any of
Shakespeare's work. Tom's pursuit of happiness has not been compared to Hamlet's
revenge on any level, although the two characters share a certain reluctance to act on
their secret wishes and aspirations (Edwards 1985: 46). Hesitant to pursue the traces
of Shakespeare in Williams's plays because Williams himself downplayed the
impact of Shakespeare on his work, the critics and the audience cannot ignore
insanity, fervor and doom in some complex Williams's characters such as Blanche
DuBois.
A Streetcar Named Desire offers wealth of interpretative possibilities and its
mystery lies in Williams’s powerful transformations of crucial elements of
Shakespearean tragedy such as love, loyalty, loss and insanity. A Streetcar Named
Desire is "the first American play in which sexuality was patently at the core of all
its principal characters", a sexuality "with the power to redeem or destroy, to
compound or negate the forces which bore on those caught in a moment of social
change" (Bigsby 1992: 51). Blanche DuBois is much more than a love-starved
Southern lady or a ghost reviving the glorious past. She is a paradox in herself and
a creator of paradoxes – Williams constructs a character that displays excessive
femininity, yet cannot function successfully, her gender identity being curiously
unstable and questionable (Berland 1995: 344). The memory of the disappearing Old
South causes her much grief, yet she desperately tries to save the ideal image of her
youth, since the memories of the Genteel tradition offer the perfect excuse to
disguise truth as a pleasant illusion. Behind her appearance of social snobbery,
sexual propriety and flirting as an indispensable element of her genteel upbringing,
Blanche is frightened, unruly and impossible to control. In the Kowalski household,
she turns into an insecure, love-starved woman, disoriented and frail, unable to
acknowledge reality, addicted to whiskey and pipe dreams which seem to be her
415
only refuge after a number of tragic emotional and financial losses. However,
although seemingly frail at the time the play depicts her, Blanche was capable of
supporting the destitute DuBois family for probably a longer period of time, with her
"pitiful salary at the school" (Williams 2000: 480), enduring a series of tragic deaths.
The Blanche we meet at the beginning of the play has already cracked, battered by
poverty and misfortune, and is thoroughly unable to restrain her passion and her
desire.
As with many other Williams’s characters, the desired happiness is sought
through romantic and sexual unions, which prove to be either short and insignificant,
or pure fantasy.
Many of Blanche's faults and examples of misconduct can be attributed to her
desperate attempt to conquer the agonizing singledom. Her greatest misfortune is the
lack of family and husband who would support her financially and morally, which
was essential for a woman in the socio-historical context of the play. This necessity
of traditional patriarchal support in the form of marriage is why Stella compromises
and stays with Stanley, although their union offers only turbulent emotional mood
swings and clear cases of domestic violence.
STELLA: (...) I know how it must have seemed to you and I’m awful
sorry it had to happen, but it wasn’t anything as serious as you seem to
take it. In the first place, when men are drinking and playing poker
anything can happen. It’s always a powder-keg. He didn’t know what he
was doing… He was as good as a lamb when I came back and he’s really
very, very ashamed of himself.
BLANCHE: And that – that makes it alright? (Williams 2000: 505)
Stella is violently dependent on intimacies with Stanley, addicted to sexual
pleasure and unashamed to confess her emotional dependence on her victimizer, so
her position resembles to Gertrude's in Hamlet: the adulterous queen who sees
nothing wrong in remarrying and the Southern girl who traded her tradition for the
doubtful marital bliss both unwittingly abandon their closest relatives, placing them
in danger. While Gertrude's sexual passion for Claudius intensifies her son's misery
and endangers his life, Stella's devotion to Stanley and her unborn child leads to her
rejection of her metaphorical daughter – her older sister who now desperately
depends on her love, care and duty. Stella's marital compromises endanger Blanche,
who turns to her younger sister for care and support the same way King Lear turns to
Cordelia, but without a kingdom she could offer as a stake in the emotional
blackmail. Stella's readiness to accept Stanley as he is complicates Blanche's
position in the turbulent household, reducing her to an unwanted outcast. As
Blanche has practically no friends she could rely on, her solitude, which is both the
cause and effect of her vulnerability, links her to Shakespeare's lonesome tragic
heroes.
Blanche's inability to acknowledge reality does not stop her from seeing
Stanley in realistic light, but she is tragically prone to fancy and thus discredited,
416
even promoted into an unreliable narrator in the eyes of the other characters, and of
the readers as well. Although her solitude and partially feigned madness connect her
to Hamlet, she also represents the set of values Hamlet reveals his disgust with in the
famous scene with Ophelia. Thus make-up becomes a symbol of falsehood and
misleading representation, and Blanche is seen as scheming and dishonest for
painting her face to hide her true age. At the same time, she is painting over her past
to hide her promiscuity and alcoholism. This interpretation leads us to conclusion
that Stanley symbolises the quest for truth, as he goes to great lengths to protect his
friend Mitch from Blanche's marital trap. Stanley plays the role of Iago, who
successfully lures Othello into believing in Desdemona's disloyalty, whereas he also
embodies Othello's disgust with frail femininity.
Seemingly less complex than Blanche and far more scandalous, the eccentric
exhibitionist Carol Cutrere from Orpheus Descending is a tragic hero crossed with
Shakespeare's wise fool. She is a rebel and a sexual libertine who simply refuses to
obey the rules, an outcast carrying a non licensed revolver who decides not to fit in
the prescribed mould and enjoy her privileged social status, choosing to turn into a
"lewd vagrant" (Williams 2000a: 28) instead. Carol has once tried to employ her
activism for purposeful ends but she only met with failure. Her ritual role of rebel
and prophet equals her to the Weird Sisters of Macbeth since she, like many
supernatural characters from Shakespeare, is more a symbol or a catalyst of the
action than a lifelike person. Similarly to Shakespeare's supernatural characters, she
remains unchanged and unaffected by changes in the play. Still, Carol is marked
with an absolutely human fear of loneliness, for when she discusses her own frailty
she says: "The act of love-making is almost unbearably painful, and yet, of course, I
do bear it, because to be not alone, even for a few moments, is worth the pain and
the danger." (Williams 2000a: 51). Seemingly compatible to the main character of
the play Val Xavier, Carol shares with him the label of "a fugitive kind" (Williams
2000a: 97): in the eyes of the both merciless and prudish society with fixed material
concerns, they are discarded, damaged goods.
Through the character of Val Xavier, the modern day Orpheus and the ultimate
artist, Orpheus Descending treats the subject of artist’s place in society, and the need
of an artist to transcend the material world if he is to create a valuable work of art. If
the artist is to triumph over evanescence and realize the full potential of his genius,
he or she must be liberated from the grip of reality and the bondage of everyday life.
Although the major concern of Blanche DuBois is her fading beauty, her melancholy
could well be associated with a more metaphysical lust for art which is vanishing
from the horizon of drab everyday life. Blanche lives in a state of perpetual panic
that she is losing her looks and unable of holding back the years, gladly appeasing
her fears and nurturing her fantasies with the help of alcohol: bereaved over her
terrible losses in life, Blanche becomes erratic and self-destructive like Hamlet, and
her speech becomes, like his, madness which is at times feigned but also a
playground of language. Unlike the woman in Sylvia Plath's "Lady Lazarus", the
famous poem of resurrection and affirmation of women's strength, who claims "I am
only thirty, /And like the cat I have nine times to die" (Plath 1960: 244), Blanche is
417
not prepared to use her strength. Thus she becomes a sad antipode to King Lear, who
manages to turn his madness into wisdom and to resist his wish to "crawl towards
death unburdened" (Halio 1992: 97).
While Shakespeare felt that words provide dramatic economy, Williams
lavishes words on his characters, letting them dwell on their life in endless
soliloquies which often serve to bury past rather than to dissect it. No matter how
ardently words struggle to convey the meanings and mechanisms of the world, they
set a trap for both the character and the audience. While the Renaissance tragedy
usually implies "an authorial obsession with the capacity of language to damage,
deform and mislead" (McEachern 2002: 45), it also proves language to be "the
apparatus of evil" which is "treacherous and unreliable, even in the hands of the
good" (McEachern 2002: 45). Almost all tragic heroes inhabit a world in which
language is to some degree the enemy: Othello demonstrates the power of words
used maliciously, King Lear deals with empty signs used by flatterers and liars, as
well as with the painful discovery of the distance between sound and sense. The
motive of mouth-friends used in Timon of Athens also points at the danger of
surrounding oneself with flatterers. Coriolanus is unique among Shakespeare's
tragedies for its hero’s persistent mistrust of language; here the tragic hero is simply
the man of action who cannot tolerate the capacity of language to mislead, as
opposed to Hamlet, the man of thought who enjoys the slips and gaps of language.
Terry Eagleton argues that Shakespeare’s plays "value social order and
stability" with an extraordinary eloquence, further noting that "these two aspects of
Shakespeare are in potential conflict with one another" (Eagleton 1986: xi). The
stability of signs preconditions a well-ordered political state, but Shakespeare’s
"belief in social stability is jeopardized by the very language in which it is
articulated" (Eagleton 1986: xi). Lacking a purely physical adequacy, language is
doomed to hover between the equally unhappy solutions of understatement and
linguistic inflation, both strategies of expression endangering social stability to a
great extent, as The Tragedy of King Lear shows us. The old king’s greatest mistake
is the crass utilitarian exactitude with which he believes human love can be
quantified. He arranges "a self-gratifying charade" (Kermode 2000: 185), and we
sense that his giving his kingdom away in the opening scene of the play is a selfish
act. Regal generosity is being bought with flattery which is required to be true to
life. In an attempt to establish the adequacy between the word and the world, Lear’s
daughters are tempted to choose between a disastrous scarcity of words and their
profitable profusion.
Blanche's fantasy role play relies on a specific kind of linguistic inflation, and
she persists in impersonating either a damsel in distress (for Mitch), or a fragile
Southern belle who needs to be waited on (for her sister): but the most dramatic and
the most complex is the role of the pervert preacher who conceals too many dark
secrets and harbours a wish to reach her former glory. Despite her narcissism and
ardent wish to manipulate, Blanche's deception of others and herself is not a
malicious intent, but rather a heart-broken retreat to a romantic time and happier
moments before disaster struck her life. Inviting comparison to a variety of
418
Shakespeare’s heroines ranging from Ophelia to Lady Macbeth, from Viola to
Cleopatra, this failed Southern belle has turned into an epitome of both dismal and
blissful human condition. Her unnatural obsession with light reminds us of the
metaphorical candle from Macbeth’s final soliloquy; her constant bathing owes to
Lady Macbeth’s attempts to wash away the damn spot that remains in her soul after
the murder of Duncan. Blanche's anguish and suffering recall Lear’s "wheel of fire"
(Halio 1992: 237). Most of all, Blanche DuBois is Williams’s Hamlet, representative
of the writer’s obsession with "this mortal coil" (Edwards 1985: 146), or, in
Blanche’s words, "the long parade to the grave" (Williams 2000: 126). Blanche is
familiar with art and literature, a learned woman who compares Mitch to Samson or
even to Rosencavalier, speaking English enriched with Latinisms but slipping into
utterly vulgar idiom as her life in New Orleans turns into the long parade of her own
misfortunes. The scope of her linguistic expression, at times inventive and playful
but also callous and vulgar, reminds us of Hamlet's both learned and baudy idiom.
Shakespeare and Williams invest their efforts into building characters that show the
decline and fall of the intellectual, always being demonic and self-destructive at the
same time.
On a more superficial level, Blanche's mixture of playfulness, coquetry and
pensiveness certainly evokes Hamlet’s "antic disposition" (Edwards 1985: 113) as
the only resort of a hyper-sensitive soul. Blanche and Hamlet are both disgusted
with the world which is unable to fulfill their expectations and needs, but find a
solace in turning that world into stage, and transforming their miserable life into a
captivating performance. While Hamlet accuses Gertrude of having betrayed his
father for her own sexual pleasure, Blanche sees Stella’s sexual fulfillment as a
direct betrayal of the ancestral home and name. Like Hamlet castigating his mother,
Blanche tries to convince her sister to aspire to something higher, to something more
than instant sexual gratification.
The exceptional theatrical representation of Blanche’s gradual descent into
madness brings to mind Ophelia’s mental breakdown after her father’s death. Both
female characters assume new roles in their madness and act in their own imaginary
plays. The cruel stud Stanley sees inadvertently through Blanche’s role changing:
STANLEY: You come in here and sprinkle the place with powder and
spray perfume and cover the light-bulb with a paper lantern, and lo and behold
the place has turned into Egypt and you are the Queen of the Nile! Sitting on
your throne and swilling down my liquor! (Williams 2000: 525)
Stanley’s image of Blanche as an Egyptian queen results from the recognition
of the theatrical elements in her disposition, such as fancy, illusion, cheap but
effective tricks, make-up and costume. "To Blanche’s Hamlet-like musings on death
and her Egyptian theatre, Stanley Kowalski’s rebuttal signals the birth of a new
American drama appropriating its native" (Meskill 2004: 158). The bathroom is
turned into Blanche’s tent of miracles, her sanctuary and hideaway where she can
pretend to be Cleopatra. Blanche becomes an image of tragic greateness, desperately
419
trying to blur the edges between real life and her projection of herself. The two
"queens of the Nile" (Williams 2000: 525) exist in the eye of the beholder, even if
the beholder is malicious, ready to tear away the theatrical illusion and smash it.
Blanche is not supposed to function as a model of unfullfilled desire, whereas
Shakespeare uses Cleopatra as a stock figure of the Western imagination and the
broken promise of hedonism and lust. Cleopatra offers a model of carefree life
immersed in self-oblivion, which is similar to Blanche's insisting on beautifying the
dingy apartment of Stanley and Stella. The parallel between Desdemona and
Blanche is a curious one: whether undeservingly or not, neither managed to escape
calumny. Stanley sees it as an almost religious duty to reveal Blanche's promiscuity
to Mitch, wishing to save him from disgrace and shame. Although Stenley is selfserving in revealing Blanche's past, his disclosure is an attempt at purgation of her
feelings. Williams willfully exposes the male bonding theme which connects Mitch
and Stanley to their mighty predecessors Othello and Iago. The game of poker turns
into a ritual of initiation into a masculine world of ruthlessness and arrogance. Cat
on a Hot Tin Roof proves to be closer to A Streetcar Named Desire if we read it as a
story of a dysfunctional Southern family. Tension, sibling rivalry, gossip and greed
affect Brick's marriage. Maggie Pollitt is, contrary to Blanch, blatantly realistic
about her future prospects, and she differs from the moth of Laurel in one important
respect: the Cat is unable to create her own world of fantasy. Maggie tries to
overcome difficulties in a traditional way, using her energy and cunning strategies,
since she is well aware of the fact that it is not the world of dreams and illusions she
is captured in: her obstacles and impediments are almost palpable, her pain springs
from a life situation which offers not a slightest glimpse of hope. She is stuck at the
hot roof of her own, unable to escape from the painful obsession with Brick the
same way she is incapable of letting go the estate of the Pollitts. Living in a material
world, Maggie is a crude, realistic overachiever who never lets herself slip into the
world of pipe dreams and illusions, unlike Blanche who is lost in the world of fake
Southern gentility, unable to recover and obtain a new, brighter future. With her
stubborn devotion for her estranged husband, Maggie is a curious replica of Lady
Macbeth, as she also desplays mock fortitude and readiness to use the valour of her
tongue as her only weapon.
Similar to Shakespeare, Williams readily uses metatheatrical approach,
resolving existential conflicts and developing abstract issues in the manner of
"Chinese box" or "play-within-the-play", using theatrical metaphors and theatrical
reflexivity (Guilbert 2004: 116). The Christian moral and ethical framework is
always at hand for Williams and Faulkner alike, and were it for the Shakespearean
influences it would have been present to a much lesser extent. Much like the art of
William Faulkner, the plays of Tennessee Williams transform the crucial elements
of Shakespearean drama into American idiom, and even the plays with prevailing
mythical pattern offer an array of echoes and resonances, such as Suddenly Last
Summer (introducing issues ranging from identity to insanity), or Orpheus
Descending, which is a staggering mixture of sexual desire, revenge and imminent
destruction.
420
According to Sermin Lynn Meskill, one of the central themes of A Streetcar
Named Desire seems to be "the impossibility of making theatre, emblematized in the
destitute figure of Blanche DuBois", (Meskill 2004: 158). Blanche's inner struggle
can be interpreted as "the struggle of a new theatre to be born out of an old" (Meskill
2004: 158), the same as the new South imminently prevails over the quaint values of
gentility (Fleche 1997: 50).
Tennessee Williams writes about psychological and spiritual displacement, loss
of connections, loneliness and self deception which trace us back to Shakespeare's
tragic heroes. The same way Shakespeare confronts the individual with the
repressive and hostile environment, Williams pushes his characters into a conflict
with a mechanized society, the conflict which exposes tensions of the American
family, decline and fall of moral values and challenges of Puritan morality. Many of
his female characters are individuals psychologically trapped in the myths, selfdelusions, and pretensions of the gentility of the agrarian, Cavalier past. Some of
them belong to the notorious Southern wench kind (Falk 1961: 20), passionate in
behavior, sex-driven, in conflict with Puritan mores, but also vulnerable and
oversensitive. Williams's female characters are mostly outsiders, emotionally
deformed, dissatisfied and dysfunctional, some of them neurotic, some of them
insane, often consumed by time and decay, but resisting to guilt and despair as long
as they can. The song that Blanche sings in scene seven, "Paper Moon", describes
the way love turns the world into a phony fantasy, since lovers reject to accept the
material world and prefer to believe in their imagined reality. The idea of fantasy as
the privileged realm of reality sums up Blanche’s approach to life:
BLANCHE: I'll tell you what I want. Magic (...) Yes, yes magic! I try to
give that to people. I misrepresent things to them. I don't tell truth. I tell what
ought to be truth. And if that is sinful, then let me be damned for it! (Williams
2000: 545)
The protagonist in this case is, as elsewhere in the plays by Tennessee
Williams, an alienated tragic hero seeking to belong in an eroded jungle society
(Falk 1961: 144), or an Everyman trying to cope through false compensations of
pipe dreams, or a muted survivor living a life of quiet desperation, a victim of
societal pressure, animal desires, and loss of integrity. Too many possible
explanations show that the true art escapes definition. In that respect, Williams is
among the best writers who have ever examined the frightening depths of human
nature.
References
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PMLA 3: 343-350.
421
Bigsby, C. W. E. Modern American Drama, 1945-1990. (1992). New York:
Cambridge University Press.
Bloom, H. (ed). (1987). Modern Critical Views: Tennessee Williams. Chelsea House
Publishers.
Eagleton, T. (1986). William Shakespeare. Oxford: Basil Blackwell.
Edwards, P. (ed.). (1985). Hamlet, Prince of Denmark. The New Cambridge
Shakespeare. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Falk, S. L. (1961). Tennessee Williams. New Haven: College and University Press.
Fleche, A. (1997). Mimetic Disillusion: Eugene O'Neill, Tennessee Williams, and
US Dramatic Realism. Tuscaloosa and London: The University of Alabama
Press.
Guilbert, G.-C. ( 2004). "Queering and Dequeering the Text: Tennessee Williams’s
A Streetcar Named Desire". Cercles 10: 85-116.
Haley, E. D. (1998). Certain Moral Values: A Rhetoric of Outcasts in the Plays of
Tennessee Williams. Tuscaloosa: The University of Alabama Press.
Halio, J. L. (ed.). (1992). The Tragedy of King Lear. The New Cambridge
Shakespeare. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Kermode, F. (2000). Shakespeare’s Language. London: Penguin Books.
McEachern, C. (ed.). (2002). The Cambridge Companion to Shakespearean
Tragedy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Meskill, S. L. (2004). “Out, Out, Brief Candle: Shakespearean Echoes in A Streetcar
Named Desire”. Cercles 10: 147-158.
Plath, S. (1960). The Collected Poems. Cutchogue: Bucaneer Books.
Williams, T. (2000). Plays 1937-1955. New York: Literary Classics of the United
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Williams, T. (2000a). Plays 1957-1980. New York: Literary Classics of the United
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422
Sonja Jankov
Novi Sad, Republic of Serbia and Prague, Czech Republic
jankovsonja@gmail.com
A PORTRAIT OF THE ARCHITECT AT FIFTY FOUR: PETER
GREENAWAY’S CENOTAPH FOR JOYCEAN MODERNITY
Abstract This paper regards linguistic aspects of James Joyce’s novels A Portrait of
the Artist as a Young Man and Stephen Hero as temporal gestalt (shape of an
entity’s complete form). Simultaneously, it traces stills from Peter Greenaway’s
1987 film The Belly of an Architect that reflect the director’s concern with visual
reproduction, citation and “remediation”. As if following dictum per aspera ad astra
that Dedalus’s dean used in a lecture on the sublime, Greenaway portrays Stourley
Kracklite. For this purpose, he materialises Étienne-Louis Boullée’s planetarium (the
cenotaph for Sir Isaac Newton) and uses postcard images of Rome that serve in
place of Stephen’s diary. Changing, through immediacy of film medium, the
“postcard ontology” of postality, envois (Derrida 1987) into complete arrival,
Greenaway’s film enables return to Joyce’s texts where everything seen is reality,
“but reality of thinking process and not of actual happenings in space and time”
(Žižek 2006).
Key words: Joyce, Greenaway, time-image, aspect, architecture, postmodernism,
remediation, writing
1.
Joyce’s use of intertextuality and Greenaway’s approach
to history of film
On the opening pages of Jacques Derrida’s study Of Grammatology, term
writing is used
for all that gives rise to an inscription in general, whether it is literal or not
and even if what it distributes in space is alien to the order of the voice:
cinematography, choreography, of course, but also pictorial, musical, sculptural
‘writing.’ [Derrida 1997: 9].
It is precisely from this perspective that recent collection of essays entitled Reel
away the reel world”: James Joyce and Cinema, edited by John McCourt,
approaches the writing of James Joyce. The essays are focused primarily on
cinematic techniques employed in certain chapters of Ulysses and wider cultural
events surrounding the opening of the Volta cinema in Dublin. Apart from that, they
offer one allegorical reference to A Portrait within detailed comparison of Joyce’s
423
approach to writing to Jean-Luc Godard’s concern with film editing. Additionally,
almost all other attempts at finding sharing points Joyce’s writing has with more
recent directors’ styles point towards Joyce’s anticipation of experimental and
postmodern cinema in Finnegans Wake.
An intention of this paper is to demonstrate how, instead of polyphony and
polylogue, we are witnessing poly-mediality in poetics of these two artists, namely
James Joyce and Peter Greenaway. In a place of metaphor of panopticism – an
arrangement of various points from which one spot is seen, or stylistic perspectives
from which one theme is approached –we are encountering various mediums
through which a story is told in works of Joyce and Greenaway. All of these
mediums had been transcribed into text or film. Characterised by “concern with
various positions from which meaning becomes possible” (MacCabe 1979: 4),
Joyce’s texts in their use of intertextuality are comparable to Greenaway’s
“spatialised databases” (Manovich 2007: 55) in their reflections on the history of the
visual and cinema. In order to present this in the paper, at first will be shortly
outlined general characteristics of Greenaway’s films and Joyce’s novel Finnegans
Wake. Analysis will show why A Portrait should be related to the 1987 film, in
contrast to the Wake, which is by its structure closer to Greenaway’s later, digitally
defined films. The Belly of an Architect is very simple, if compared to later
Greenaway’s films. Within it, no electric lights are playing an important structural
material for the image, there is no lighthouse, fireworks, phosphorus rope or stars on
a girl’s dress as in Drowning by Numbers, no overlapping of several transparent
moving images. In fact, nothing visually emphasized except from a photo-camera’s
flash that serves more to dénouement in the story than as a structural part of an
image.
Furthermore, since this Greenaway’s film is concerned with architecture, we
will argue that his choice of monuments and ruins of Rome, along with Boullée’s
projects, is closer to the 1916 Joyce’s novel. Bauhaus principles and postmodern
architectural designs by the end of 1980s and later, on the other hand, are closer to
Finnegans Wake. There is a reason why the architect and the director choose Rome,
where all phases of the history of architecture are visible, to exhibit work of a
French architect, which, might be said, anticipates work of Buckminster Fuller. In
relation to A Portrait, film The Belly of an Architect by its medium, styles and
montage appears as postmodern, while in reference to later Greenaway’s films and
Joyce’s Finnegans Wake it stands as modern piece to postmodern ones. As a result,
the main concern of this Greenaway’s film appears to be the image of time,
presented even through the process of writing, instead of the image of space architecture, the most spatial-related of the arts. Finally, narration and languages of
Stephen Dedalus and Stourley Kracklite will be studied, along with description of
postcards interpolated into the film and seen as embodied Gilles Deleuze’s theory of
time-image. In that way, we will endeavour to show how of A Portrait, when
approached after Greenaway’s film, could be said that everything seen there is
reality, “but reality of thinking processes and not of actual happenings in space and
424
time” (Žižek 2006). Correspondingly, the film “is not a sum total of images, but
temporal gestalt” (Merleau-Ponty 1971: 54).
2.
Joyce’s Finnegans Wake as Greenaway’s later films
During Saloni 2008, Peter Greenaway revived Leonardo da Vinci’s
masterpiece The Last Supper at Santa Maria delle Grazie Church in Milan. Through
live projections of the painting’s digital simulacra of the same size and scale, the
exact surface texture of the original had been featured. This video, made by
sophisticated technology and featuring a degree of resolution never reached before,
combines numerous languages. They include “visual art, cinema, poetry, music and
some of the most cutting-edge new technologies” ever applied to Leonardo’s fresco.
The video may well serve to underline Derrida’s thesis how “since the beginning of
twentieth century, transcriptions from one media into another, seemed to be
tragically necessary” (cited in McGowan 1991: 98. Emphasis added). Many a time
attempts at restoring the fresco’s initial aspect were made since its ageing process
was more rapid than usual due to Da Vinci’s experiments with colours and
technique. For the same purpose, Greenaway completely decomposed it and filtered
every painted surface. Fragment by fragment, he provided spectators with entire
complexity of the masterpiece, with all its phases and the final visual effect painting
originally probably had.
Greenaway’s approach to Leonardo’s painting may be seen as analogical to
Joyce’s method of writing Finnegans Wake. In the latter, textual piece, the structure
of language is highlighted, but it is used in such a way that it troubles the distinction
between signal and noise in a message, implying unintended information by
intended one. Video process of restoring, on the other hand, evokes Joyce’s manner
to the degree when visual language is decomposed to the smallest parts, bits.
Characteristics of each among the bits is further systematised and changed. While in
the Wake we read “Boccuccia’s Enameron” (Joyce 1999: 561.24) within which
lexical and grammatical parts are re-built in gradation, in Greenaway’s video hands
of Christ and apostles are separately highlighted, so that saturation and light/colour
balance of each pair can be restored. In prolongation, the process is repeated with
faces, pieces of clothes, etc. Perspective is also varied within the video, along with
possible differentiations in direction of lightning and length of shadows, showing
why Leonardo’s choice was the best to paint The Last Supper in “chiaroscuro
coalesce” (Joyce 1999: 107.29). Rodney Farnsworth has argued that “Greenaway
creates a filmic world apart with its own laws” (Farnsworth 2001: 41), which also
does Joyce, while writing Finnegans Wake in such a manner that it requires of us to
learn English anew.
More similarities can be certainly drown between Joyce’s Finnegans Wake and
montage in Greenaway’s television series Dante Cantos (eight parts) and film
Prospero’s Books. Also, very fin-negating appears the concept of voluminous Tulse
425
Luper Suitcases that, being mostly digital-based, give spectators the possibility to
choose in what direction should the film proceed. In an essay “Classic Shakespeare
for All: Forbidden Planet and Prospero’s Books, Two Screen Adaptations of The
Tempest”, Sara Martin notes that the director “challenges through technology the
authority of Shakespearean The Tempest”, being “[l]ess concerned by technophobia
than by the dissociation between high art and high technology” (Martin 2000: 43).
Martin further reminds that “Greenaway once declared that he is mainly interested in
allegory rather than in three-dimensional characters or human psychology”,
concluding that Shakespearean allegory is adapted in Greenaway’s film to explain
how the imagination works. The author finds aestheticism of film to be clearly
inspired “both by Greenaway’s passion for sixteenth and seventeenth century
painting – especially Dutch – but also by the Elizabethan and Jacobean masques.
Greenaway pays as much homage to Inigo Jones, the celebrated masque designer, as
to late twentieth-century technology” (Martin 2000: 44-45).
Additionally, Herbet Klein argued that the role of writing in Prospero’s Books
is “an ideal portrayal of cognitive and pragmatic change” (Klein 2002). Prospero’s
books are “the instrument of isolation and of interaction, of total unrelatedness and
at the same time, of connectedness”, same as the postcards in The Belly of the
Architect. Kracklite starts writing them when he realises that he is loosing his wife,
health and directorship over an exhibition of Boullée’s technical drawings and
models he had been preparing for ten years. Greenaway has deconstructed the books
into both films and their equivalences within a cognitive process, which in turn
determinates and criticises perception of them. Kracklite’s postcards of Rome, on
the other hand, although remediated in the same manner, appear to be more
deconstructed images of Rome and portrait of how the city is perceived, since they
never leave it. Earlier than 1991 Prospero’s Books, The Belly explores the status of
textuality and message without using high-definition digital technologies and
multiple frames. It is worth noting that the script was entirely written by Greenaway,
as in cases of Walk Through H, film based on images of drawings, aquarelles with
traces of writing, and Nightwatching, film about Rembrandt van Rijn, in which
visual aestheticism is entirely based on the painter’s works.
For these reasons, and more closely related to an installation The StairsMunich-Projection from 1995, Manovich sees Greenaway’s work as “a spatialized
database”. Walking from one to another of almost hundred screens the director put
through Munich, one follows the history of cinema, year by year, represented by
each of the screen. Although Greenaway usually interpolated books, calligraphy,
paintings, fresco and drawings into the filmic image, in The Belly the medium of
film is the same stuff that postcards, photocopies and architecture are made of.
However, the architecture of Rome is in the same relation to pieces of modern and
postmodern architecture, as postcards are to film. This can be also said of Stephen
Dedalus’s language in the diary in relation to literary writing. Moreover, it is
precisely through these fragmented, ruined forms from or about the past that
personal languages of both protagonists reveal. Thus in postcards, as in Prospero’s
426
books and diary, “[e]verything is quotation, and already a reflection which is then
reflected upon once more” (Klein 2002).1
Through analysing possible relations of Joyce’s writing to architecture, we will
further argue that due to the allusions that Greenaway’s film makes to A Portrait we
can perceive Rome as an open work, an open novel whose non-existing parts readers
have to imagine. In that way, it will be possible to distinguish which aspects of the
film are preserving as cenotaph Joyce’s modern novel and why is Boullée’s
planetarium, seen in a form of moving images, also representative of modernism.
3.
James Joyce and modern architecture
In a study described as the first major attempt to think the relationship of
poetics to technology and hypertextuality in the works of Joyce, it is noted that
Le Corbusier’s interest in structural harmony led him to devise the
“Modulor,” a measuring principle which combines harmonious mathematical
relationships with the proportions of the human body. Judicious use of the
Modulor scale would enable an architect to “harmonise” every element in a
building with the whole - a type of apparent architectonics that resembles
Joyce’s own interest in the relationship of the body to architecture - a theme
that is both neo-Platonic (the body as dwelling place of the soul) and
Heideggerean (language as dwelling place of man). [Armand 2003: 24].
In 1916, Le Corbusier designed Villa au Bord de la Mer (Boesiger, Stonorov
1943: 28) where he used for the first time most of those elements he later developed
in 1927. These were demonstrated then in the Villa Savoye as “five points of a new
architecture” based on new opportunities of reinforced concrete. One of the points
are pilotis – supporting columns – that elevate a house into air, but, providing that
they are set inside the house, can enable free façade to be built of light transparent
walls or horizontal windows. As the mostly stylised result of the architect’s care for
highly lightened interiors appears Notre Dame du Haut, also known as Ronchamp
Commentary. The base of one outside wall is thicker than its top, so that, in
1
This theme of reflected reflection seems to be light-motive in Greenaway’s opus. With regards
to it, Rodney Farnsworth quotes Simon Watney on allegorical significance in The Draughtsman’s
Contract, since “it is thus no accident, as Greenaway is the first to point out ‘that the central figure, the
draughtsman, has in 1694 an optical device to help him fix his landscape on paper, a device which in
principle, is little different from that used by the cameraman in 1982 to fix the landscape of The
Draughtsman’s Contract on film.’ This analogy is reinforced as he describes how ‘the camera retains,
like the draughtsman in the film, a steady, uncommitted, observant, uncritical eye’ […] This is the very
nature of allegory - to demand further elucidation and commentary, beyond any closure of literal
narrative devices”. See: Simon Watney, “Gardens of Speculation: Landscape in The Draughtsman’s
Contract” Undercut 7/8 (Spring 1983) 7, or Farnsworth 2001: 80.
427
combination with differently sized windows, variously large beams of light are
directed towards the centre of the church. However, of more importance to mapping
possible mutual points in structures of buildings from the first half of twentieth
century and Joyce’s novels, in particularly Finnegans Wake,2 is another principle
that Le Corbusier demonstrated in the Villa Savoye and even earlier in 1922 within
Maison Citrohan. Due to concrete, any house from then on could have free plan and
free floors, which was impossible earlier because these depended on supporting
walls. Adolf Loos and Frank Lloyd Wright further developed this invention. Their
masterpieces, the Villa Müller and “Fallingwater”, also called Kaufmann Residence,
share certain structural similarities with the Wake. Both of these buildings were
designed later than in 1923, when a thesis “Art and Technology – New Unity”
(Wingler 1993: xviii) was introduced as the third programmatic goal of Bauhaus and
made the main influence on future architectural design.
Adolf Loos, who taught at Bauhaus, proclaimed in his 1908 essay Ornament
and Crime that ornament is crime, referring to Art Nouveau and arguing for the
aesthetic charm of the ornament-free, of beauty which could be achieved trough
proportion and by allowing materials to reveal their true nature (cited in Wingler
1993: 2).3 If we look at Étienne-Louis Boullée’s planetarium (1784), it seems to
represent the same aesthetic principle. However, Loos’s “Raumplan”, demonstrated
in 1930 within base of Villa Müller formed by four reinforced concrete pillars, may
stand as the spatial metaphor of the circular structure of narratives employed in the
Wake. The “Raumplan” is used for the lower part of the Villa, while the individual
rooms are freely hanging as if in a cascade off the deck, in ordering and dimensions
adequate to their functions. In Finnegans Wake several narrative structures are
multiplied and varied, so that the impression of circular historic course is achieved
even within smaller parts. These are more or less freely placed within the uniting
circular form of the novel whose - conditionally termed – the last sentence is cut to
be continued as the first one. Besides, textual composition of Wake’s second chapter
of part II reveals Joyce’s approach to composition of marginal texts and footnotes,
parts whose spatial aspects are undividable from their importance and function.
Loos, similarly thought of space, which he described as following:
2
Zaha Hadid’s buildings and the change architect’s style brings into history of architecture
remind very much of Finnegans Wake in the structure of its minor levels. Her architectural design has
been labelled as deconstruction in architecture that is visible both in separate pieces and in Hadid’s
approach to urbanism. In fact, Hadid in early paintings, which reflect her account of urban structures,
deals with forms in the same way Joyce approaches language in the Wake. Furthermore, as of a
contemporary architect, Hadid’s style still develops, while critical accounts of Joyce’s novel are still
revealing new things unsaid about it. However, the pairs urbanism-Finnegans Wake and post-modern
architecture-the Wake require separate studies to be analysed. With urbanism, the study of chaotic and
harmonic expansion of cities, the Wake shares many joining points specially if having in mind that
Joyce last book is the book of dark and that large cities in nigh indeed seem as constellations from
distance.
3
For direct source, see: Adolf Loos, Ornament and Crime and Die Potemkinsche Stadt:
Verschollene Schriften, 1897-1933.
428
My architecture is not conceived in plans, but in spaces. I do not design
floor plans, facades, sections. I design spaces. For me, there is no ground floor,
first floor etc... For me, there are only contiguous, continual spaces, rooms,
anterooms, terraces etc. Stories merge and spaces relate to each other. Every
space requires a different height: the dining room is surely higher than the
pantry – thus the ceilings are set at different levels. To join these spaces in such
a way that the rise and fall are not only unobservable but also practical. [Lhota,
Loos 1930, stenograph].
Creating an academic, theoretical and practical synthesis of all forms of visual
expression with architecture, “the crystallized expression of mankind’s noblest
thoughts” (Forgács 1991: 18), Bauhaus founders agreed with Plato who by the
beauty of shapes considered “straight lines and circles, and shapes – plane or solid.
[…] These are not, like other things, beautiful relatively, but always and absolutely”
(Bartram 2004: 53). Bauhaus workshops were oriented towards this poetic direction,
which resulted in one of the most poetic pieces of architecture. Following two
principles, that provided for every individual an individual style and for every place
an appropriate formal language, Frank Lloyd Write created the “Fallingwater”. One
of the building’s main purposes was to integrate interiors with natural surroundings,4
achieved by horizontal bands of windows Write introduced in 1904 Martin house in
Buffalo, New York. Working on projects and realisation of the Fallingwater took
three years before Finnegans Wake was finished and it is possible to find similar
attitudes towards play and structure within these two works. Unlike in the case of
Villa Müller, all horizontal spaces of the Fallingwater are based on one carrying
vertical, which is partly the original rock the house is placed on. We may compare
this kind of spatial composition to the mentioned chapter in part II of Finnegans
Wake. Moreover, the waterfall, whose course is following the structure of Write’s
building, is alike “the [|an outside of the page|] riverrun” of Finnegans Wake.
In contrast to the architecture of the first half of the twentieth century,
postmodern works exhibit “ever more dynamic revolution in the languages and
forms” (cited in McGowan 1991: 181) as both John McGowan and Frederic
Jameson emphasised. As metonymic building for postmodern hyperspace, Jameson
names John Portman’s The Bonaventure Hotel, due to its elevators and escalators
for communication between interior spaces and glass-like facades. In those glasses
the city is reflected, resulting in one building which embodies the urban space. The
same constructing concept was used in Michael Jantzen’s 2002 Malibu Video House
4
In contrast to Frank Lloyd Write’s buildings, Frederic Jameson is arguing against possibility of
individual body to locate itself within postmodern hyperspace. He notes how “this alarming disjunction
between the body and its built environment – which is to the initial bewilderment of the older
modernism as the velocities of spacecraft are to those of automobile – can itself stand as the symbol
and analogue of that even sharper dilemma, which is the incapacity of our minds, at least at present, to
map the great global, multinational and decentred communicational network in which we find
ourselves caught as individual objects” (Jameson 1991: 15-16).
429
where the façade is covered with thin gas-plasma television screens, which create a
full-size video interface with the real world. These screens enable full reflection of
the sea for someone standing outside, while for those in the inside even the sound of
sea is provided, equal to that one on the outside. Exterior space, not originally part
of these buildings, becomes integrated within them, by a similar way now history of
literature is used within Finnegans Wake.
Nevertheless, we may ask what are Étienne-Louis Boullée’s planetarium and
architecture of Rome presented in the Greenaway’s film having in common with
buildings previously analysed? First of all, serving as a monument, planetarium is
not meant to have all functional parts private and public building share. Thus, it
appears as very similar to basilicas, fountains and remains of ancient Roman
architecture. Secondly, being unrealised, it becomes mere image, a drawing that is
mechanically reproduced in books and Greenaway’s film that represents both history
of writing mediums and history of architectural styles at the same time.
4.
Aesthetic aspects of the two portraits
“(one has thoughts of that eternal Rome)” (Joyce 1999: 298.32-33).
Prior to concluding a dialogue with proverb per aspera ad astra, the dean of
studies in A Portrait, made a call “to distinguish the beautiful and the sublime […]
to distinguish between moral beauty and material beauty” (Joyce 1958: 188).
Contextually, he indicated that sublime is an aspect of material beauty. Immanuel
Kant reflected upon the distinction and dependence of moral on material beauty in a
claim that two things always leave him speechless – the starry night above him and
the moral principles inside him. Later, Peter Greenaway repeated this thesis in The
Belly of an Architect. This film, from the opening shots, demonstrates the director’s
“fascination for symmetry” (van der Pol 2005: 214) and underlines it by introduced
character of little Italian boy. Thanks to him, an effect of mise-en-abyme or portraitwithin-the portrait is created, but also the visual perception-within-the visual
perception, since the boy sees a model of lighthouse, another light-related Boullée’s
building. The boy’s future is left completely open in the film, but there are
indications that he will become an architect. As for Boullée’s buildings, although the
lighthouse is seen, the realised planetarium, or, more precisely, its failing into a
birthday cake, is left barely tasted. Nevertheless, even in that form, it presents
aesthetically rich visual material.
In A Portrait and Stephen Hero, architecture serves as an agency of thought.
Thus, we read how “when [Stephen] had made a skeleton map of the city in his
mind he followed boldly one of its central lines until he reached the Custom House”
(Joyce 1958: 64). Similar approach is visible in a piece of dialogue that changes
during the genesis of the novel:
430
Yes, Stephen said, smiling in spite of himself at Cranly’s way of
remembering thoughts in connection with places. (Joyce 1958: 248)
Yes, yes, I remember, said Stephen, who hated Cranly’s method of
remembering the past, what did I tell you? (Joyce 1966: 143)
Sculpture also becomes related to the process of cognition and writing,
although, in reality, “Lynch would have had little trouble in scratching his name on
[the Venus of Praxiteles’s] backside” (Cullen 2009: 38). On the contrary, Kracklite
answers about his identity to a police officer while standing in front of a marble
belly, the fragment of Colossus of Constantine. Jean-Michel Rabaté, in an
introduction “Après mot, le déluge: the ego as symptom”, correlates the question of
name to the Modern Library’s issued list of the hundred best novels of previous
century where “Joyce was the only novelist to whom […] several photographs were
devoted” (Rabaté 2002: 10-11). Contextualised within this critical portraying,
Rabaté’s discussion on A Portrait continues with Lacan’s linking of ‘emmoi’ with
de moi (‘of me’):
By stressing the homophony of ‘je nomme’ (‘I name’) with ‘jeune
homme’ – the ‘young man’ of Joyce’s Portrait of the Artist, Lacan follows in
the steps of a ‘young man Joyce’ with whom he shares revolt and […] the
creation of a radically new language allowing them to think originally. [(Rabaté
2002: 17].5
While Stephen’s diary begins on March 20th, Stourley writes on the back of
postcard of Mausoleo di Augusto on Monday, May 20th. Afterwards, postcards
include those of the Typewriter on July 31st, of Villa Adriana on Tuesday, August
6th, of Piazza di S. Pietro on Wednesday, August 7th, while with an image of Forum
Romain he wonders on Thursday, August 22nd why Boullée never came to Rome.
The last one is filled on Monday, February 10th, moments before a doctor told him a
5
In relation to Stephen’s language and of importance to link Joyce’s writing to postmodernism,
perhaps one should regard work of Buckminster Fuller who taught at Black Mountain College. Fuller is
recognised as pioneer in thinking globally while, combining architectural design and engineering,
developed Geodesic Dome. This patent follows the same methodology of Walther Bauersfeld’s design
for the Zeiss Planetarium, built twenty years prior to Fuller’s. A unique language style in Fuller’s thirty
publications is characterised by long sentences, unusual compound words (omniwell-informed,
intertransformative, omni-interaccommodative, omniself-regenerative) and use of the word ‘Universe’
without the definite or indefinite articles with capital letter. Instead of the words “down” and “up” that
refer to a planar concept of direction inconsistent with human experience, Fuller argued that “in” and
“out” should be used, since they better describe an object's relation to a gravitational center. He also
used “world-around” instead of “worldwide” and “sunsight/sunclipse” replacing “sunrise” and “sunset”
to rotate the geocentric predisposition of major pre-Copernican celestal mechanics. Furthermore, he
invented the term tensegrity from tensional integrity. See: Wikipedia and Synergetics: Explorations in
the Geometry of Thinking, available at: http://www.rwgrayprojects.com/synergetics/toc/toc.html.
431
diagnosis. In the study Cinema II: The Time-Image, Gilles Deleuze argues that “the
principal act of cinema” is “to give us the image of time” (Deleuze 1989: 34), which
is in Greenaway’s film realised through postcards. They function as pure optical
situations, id est time-images. In conclusion, Deleuze claims that “Benjamin’s art of
reproductions is art of automatic movement” (Deleuze 1989: 264) which The Belly
seems to demonstrate with the sculpture of August. As a unique piece of art, it
becomes technically reproducible through film images when Kracklite photocopies
the postcard with image of this sculpture. Since the postcards no longer function to
lessen the distance between a receiver and Rome, they become pure images, a type
of media within Greenaway’s rhetoric. They become “reflective genres” being
“genuine categories through which the film passes” (Deleuze 1989: 184).
Joyce’s concern with light and image is emphasised through his use of adverb
in following examples:
He had been thrown by the fellow’s machine lightly on the cinderpath and
his spectacles had been broken in three pieces […]. (Joyce 1958: 38)
[…] it thrilled him to think of it in the silence when the pens scraped
lightly. (Joyce 1958: 44)
Then in the dark and unseen by the other two he rested the tips of the
fingers of one hand upon the palm of the other hand, scarcely touching it
lightly. (Joyce 1958: 81)
In these sentences the contexts within which Joyce places the word is important
for aesthetic value of the text. In the first example the writer deliberately chooses
Stephen’s spectacles to be broken (after being thrown lightly) - not Stephen’s
fingernail, nose or elbow. Spectacles are related to clearness of seeing and, as such,
to light and visual sensation. In the second example, although “lightly” refers to
auditory appearance, the pens and visual lines they leave are, again, indicating
something that is related to the sight, to the visual and to the light. In the third
example, the adverb is used in, probably, the best situation to describe its meaning –
being tactile-oriented, but this action is contextualized by darkness and distracted
attention of “the other two” who are unable to see what is happening. This darkness
and movement “unseen by the other two” that results in tactile sensation are also
aspects that are primarily related to the visualization. In this respect, the adverb
“lightly” in these sentences can be read as derivate of noun “light” where “being
touched lightly” would mean to be touched so slightly as if by the light, so that a
feeling it more recognised as a change in temperature conditioned by a sun-ray
falling upon skin than as a tactile pressure or pain.
Furthermore, narration also seems to point towards, what Benjamin later
defined as technical reproducibility, since it describes in advance the upcoming
repetition of syntax:
432
Cranly gripped his arm tightly to check his tongue, smiling uneasily, and
repeated: — Easy, easy, easy! (Joyce 1958: 196, emphasis added)
[…] He stood at the foot of the staircase, […] nodding his head often and
repeating:
— Not a doubt of it, Mr Hacket! Very fine! Not a doubt of it! (Joyce
1958: 197-99, emphasis added)
Due to variety of styles, Keith Williams in a recent paper An Individuating
Rhythm: Rapid Photography and A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man correlated
A Portrait’s innovative form to Joyce’s earlier speculations about representing
consciousness (Williams June 16th 2010). Driving concepts and dynamic phrasing,
fluid succession of presents implied in the past, according to Williams, mirror key
characteristics of rapid photography, materialistically achieved vision as, for
example, by Eadward Muybridge’s ‘Zoopraxiscope’, a breakthrough towards the
first cinematographic devices as Cinematograph. The rhythm of Muybridge’s protocinematic device figured dissection of physical motion, while in Joyce’s novel it
underlines the protagonist’s psycho-sensory processes and form of the novel, which,
as cinema, shows very slowly how motion is composed. In The Film and the New
Psychology, Maurice Merleau-Ponty argues that “[t]he idea we have of the world
would be overturned if we could succeed in seeing the intervals between things […]
as objects” (Merleau-Ponty 1971: 48). The moving image we see is exactly that
interval between two photographs, and, thus, film is metaphor of both visual
perception and thinking process as such. That Joyce was aware of this, perhaps the
best demonstrates the following passage from the third chapter of A Portrait:
The slide was shot back. The penitent emerged from the side of the box.
The farther side was drawn. A woman entered quietly and deftly where the first
penitent had knelt. The faint murmur began again. […]
The slide was shot back. A penitent emerged from the farther side of the
box. The near slide was drawn. A penitent entered where the other penitent had
come out. A soft whispering noise floated in vaporous cloudlets out of the box.
It was the woman: soft whispering cloudlets, soft whispering vapour,
whispering and vanishing. […]
The slide was shot to suddenly. The penitent came out. He was next. He
stood up in terror and walked blindly into the box. (Joyce 1958: 140, emphases
added)
Prior to the Greenaway’s film, A Portrait stands as an agent of changing
mediums of Derrida’s concept of writing, since both narrative of film and written
language in diary, can be used to portray a phase in development of the character.
With Joyce and Greenaway, additional characters are language, architecture and
literature or film, id est their histories.
433
5.
Postality
Both Stephen Dedalus and Stourley Kracklite develop their personal languages
in process that began with agnosis, helped by spectral words of precursors, and
continuing into “entelechy, form of forms” (Joyce 2008: 9:208). In A Portrait, this
course begins with progressive aspect and verbs in their dynamic use, suggesting
repetition of some events in the structure of syntax, rather than in represented events.
For this purpose, an alteration of returning/returned and repeating/repeated is
notable in the episode with O'Neill Temple and Cranly. In prolongation, Stephen’s
request for “new terminology and new personal experience” (Joyce 1958: 210) if
debating on phenomena of artistic reproduction, gains its answers in the scene in a
church and through serialised form of diary. Greenaway’s Stourley, on the other
hand, is seen while encountering Boullée’s unrealized planetarium and postcard
images of Rome which serve instead of Stephen’s diary. Through immediacy of film
medium the “post card ontology” is changed into complete arrival, of which Derrida
thought to be impossible due to postality in communication, disusing in length
questions of sending and non-arrival (Derrida 1987).6 Texts written on postcards,
like film, function as spatio-temporal transposition of protagonist’s language and
consciousness. Finally, the architecture of Rome, apart from being an open work, an
open novel, becomes the branch of art in the age of its mechanical reproducibility. If
translated into another medium, such as film, its sublime aspect stays preserved
within Greenaway’s work, which also happens to Joyce’s writings.
References
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Karolinum.
Bartram, A. (2004). Bauhaus, Modernism and Illustrated Book. London: British
Library.
Boesiger, W. and Stonorov, O. (1943). Le Corbusier et Pierre Jeanneret, œuvre
complète 1910-1929. Zurich: Girsbeger, Les éditions d’architecture.
Cullen, F. (2009). “’Museum with those Goddesses’: Bloom and the Dublin Plaster
Casts”. Dublin James Joyce Journal 2, 24-38.
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See also Alan Roughley, “Postcards to Joyce”, in Reading Derrida Reading Joyce (Gainesville:
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cinema’s only one grammatical mode is the present tense of indicative.
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of the Reaction Years, 1977-1983. Westport: Greenwood Press.
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Joyce, James. (1999). Finnegans Wake. Harmondsworth: Penguin Books.
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Basingstoke: Macmillan Press.
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Aesthetics: Art in the Age of Information Overflow. Minneapolis: University of
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Martin, S. (2000). “Classic Shakespeare for All: Forbidden Planet and Prospero’s
Books, Two Screen Adaptations of The Tempest”. In: I. Whelehan, et. al.
Classics in Film and Fiction. London: Pluto Press. 34-53.
McGowan, J. (1991). Postmodernism and its Critics. New York: Cornell University
Press.
Merleau-Ponty, M. (1971). Sense and Nonsense, trans. Hubert L. Dreyfus and
Patricia A. Dreyfus. Evanston: Northwest University Press.
Pol, G. van der. (2005). “Peter Greenaway’s A Zed and Two Noughts Meets Adriaan
Ditvoorst’s The Witte Waan”. In: M. de Valck and M. Hagener (eds.).
Cinephilia: Movies, Love and Memory. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University
Press. 211-222.
Rabaté, J. M. (2002). James Joyce and the Politics of Egoism. Port Chester:
Cambridge University Press.
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Artist as a Young Man, XXII International James Joyce symposium, June 16th
2010.
Wingler, H. M. (1993). The Bauhaus: Weimar, Dessau, Berlin, Chicago.
Cambridge: MIT Press.
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Žižek, S. (2006). The Pervert’s Guide to Cinema. Dir. Sophie Fiennes.
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< http://www.petergreenawayevents.com/petergreenaway.html>. Retrieved on: 18
August 2010
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Jelena Jovićević
Niš, Serbia
jjovicevic@yahoo.com
USE OF VIOLENCE ON STAGE IN THE PORTRAYAL OF MODERN
CULTURE IN SARAH KANE’S BLASTED
Abstract The paper will focus on British playwright Sarah Kane’s play Blasted
through which she presented, by means of sexual and violent images, contemporary
issues about war, gender and the media’s insensitive manipulation of the news, with
the purpose of making the audience abandon positions of casual observers and
awakening their moral sensibilities. With the aim of portraying political atmosphere
of the time, in the course of which the concept of justice got blurred by false
ideological pretences, Sarah Kane relied on the work of Edward Bond whose
defense of Marxist principles and literature from their postmodern trivialization will
provide a critical perspective to this paper. The purpose of the paper will be to draw
attention to the powerful and unique voice of Sarah Kane and other in-yer-face
playwrights who made theater art capable of revealing the truth not only about
society but also about notions of morality and ourselves.
Key words: postmodern culture, in-yer-face theatre, violence, oppressors, the
oppressed
1. Where do we live? What do we live by?
The twentieth century was definitely a time of betrayals, the way Yugoslavborn critic and academic Darko Suvin put it in his 2002 essay Politics: What May
the Twentieth Century Amount to: Initial Theses. What the twentieth century
amounted to were socially constructed concepts of good and bad, disinterestedness
and indifference to natural human rights, lure of desirable commodities and the
global triumph of corporate capitalism which was frequently identified as the only
conceivable version of a utopian paradise. The one who suffered the consequences
of the aforementioned betrayal was contemporary man. All he was presented with
was the so-called “fake utopia”, reflected in a series of false and empty promises.
Suvin associated this kind of society with Disneyland, in which “a careful and most
efficacious organization of desires displaces the possibility of an active intervention
into the real world” (Moylan 2000: 136) and claimed that that same society drugged
Althusserian socially-produced subjects not only with crack, alcohol and other types
of industrially produced pills but also with disneyfication, i.e. mania for the
consumption of attainable goods. It is no wonder, then, that the same author was
utterly disappointed when casting a backward glance at the previous era.
437
In societies of this kind, which have continued to exist, everything and
everybody that is deemed different, that refuses to conform to ideological standards,
that demands justice and claims it to be a birthright belonging to all, that wishes to
re-create long-lost humanity and re-establish the world in terms of values other than
those stemming from capitalist economy, that starts asking questions about the true
purpose of life within the hedonistic empire, that starts to perceive ideological
contradictions and wishes to take action against the oppressive elements of reality is
considered as the Other, a savage who should be “civilized” in order to deserve a
place in the society. As Terry Eagleton put it in one of his articles (2008), “the
ambition of advanced capitalism is not simply to combat radical ideas, or even to
discredit them. It is to abolish the very notion that there could be a serious
alternative to the present”. “Already civilized” advanced capitalism feels nothing
more than contempt for the Other and regards him or her as a dangerous threat
capable of disturbing a well-established ideological equilibrium. For that reason, the
Other is, more often than not, left in ignorance of the truth (even the truth about
what his or her own life should be based on), pushed aside to the margins of the
social scale, or, even, exterminated. It is obvious, then, that “the Third World War
against peoples we call third world people, or bomb them or blockade them into
becoming third world people, the war of world wide niggerization has begun.”
(Tesich). What is particularly worrying is that “it began at home a long time ago.”
(Tesich). This “niggerization”, or, if simply put, violence against the Other, is
frequently legitimized by the proclaimed maintenance of law and order. It is not
even called violence. One of the examples that could support this fact is found in the
past. Namely, the invasion of South Vietnam in 1962, the attack against South
Vietnam, and the aggression in Indochina were not even recognized as such. Rather,
there was “an American defense of South Vietnam against terrorists supported from
the outside” (Roy 2004: 56).
2. In-yer-face reaction against violence
Some authors regarded this kind of society as “post-Fordist” (Ajdačić 1999)
and claimed that it was characterized by “soft” technologies, automation, mega
corporations and their regulation of the world market, integration of the media and
computers and complete domination of advertising. Instead of lobbying for the
celebration of human rights, Francis Fukuyama (1992) praised this kind of world as
the haven of free living for which no alternative should be searched, it standing for
the “end of history” and a promise of eternal paradise. Nevertheless, these issues
were at the same time tackled by a considerable number of British artists who
“dared” to present the audience with alternative viewpoints and set out to “make
things appear” (Watt and Meyer-Dinkgräfe 2007: 2) through their theater art.
Theater critic Michael Billington identified these writers who had emerged during
the 1990s as having grown up in England in the 1980s, the era of Thatcherism,
consumerism and faith in profit as the ultimate test of anything’s worth. In his view,
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they rejected and protested against all that they were in a position to witness (Aragay
et.al. 2007). Their work was known under the name of “in-yer-face theatre”. Aleks
Sierz, creator of the term, defined it as “the kind of theatre which grabs the audience
by the scruff of the neck and shakes it until it gets the message” (Sierz). Its power
lay in the presentation of violent images by means of which the authors managed to
perform a hideous attack on the senses of the audience, thus bringing them face to
face with the harsh conditions of everyday life. Vivid re-presentation of the things
happening around them in their everyday lives and sudden close contact with the
events on stage stirred the process of cleansing the blurred images of reality and led
them towards a path of abandoning their positions as casual and indifferent
observers in harsh surroundings. It was American director and playwright Ken
Urban who summarized the effect of in-yer-face theatre. In his view, the plays
written by these artists examined the possibilities of cruelty with the purpose of
“countering cynicism and challenging mainstream morality’s interpretation of the
world” (Urban 2002: 354). In the process of commenting on the culture of the socalled “cool Britannia”, Urban claimed that “while coolness is associated with a
cynical state of disinterestedness, cruelty is a very different affect. Although it may
appear cold, cruelty carries with it the possibility of transformation” (2002: 363).
If we return a few decades into the past, we will be able to see that “in-yerface” writers were not the first ones who started to react against the culture in such
an explicit manner. Nor were the nineties the first period in history in which such
works of art were regarded as problematic. In one of his interviews, Harold Pinter
reflected on his play Party Time, reprinted in his Plays: Four, which is worth
mentioning in this respect. Namely, in this play “you have a lot of well-dressed
people enjoying a fashionable, champagne-filled party while outside there are
roadblocks and helicopters” (Billington 2006), and although some of these people
seem to be responsible for the situation happening outside, they do not care.
Furthermore, there were the ones whom some theater critics placed into the group of
“in-your-bollocks” writers (Aragay et.al. 2007: 131). Namely, starting from the
1960s, it was Edward Bond who used his plays as well as collections of essays to
“illuminate and resolve situations of cyclical social aggression” and illustrate “the
madly systematic (self-)destructive compulsions which a distorting society has
inscribed into the national unconscious” (Rabey 2003: 79). In his defense of Marxist
principles, Bond examined unjust rules on the basis of which the culture forms its
sustainability. In his words, “medieval alchemy sought to turn base metal into
precious metal, dross into gold. It failed because it did not observe natural law. Our
alchemy succeeds: it turns everything into gold, into money and capital. But it turns
all other values – our freedom, democracy and justice – into dross” (2000: 8).
Unfortunately, past times showed that these rules had brought about Auschwitz and
Hiroshima. The present problem is that atrocities are likely to happen again under
whatever names and that the future will “vanish” the moment history “ends”.
His notorious play Saved, reprinted in Plays: One (1977), explores these
problems on stage. It examined the lives of a group of working class South London
youths, who felt suppressed by an unjust economic system and unable to give their
439
lives true meaning. The audience saw them perform acts of barbarous violence.
Saved was banned because of the feeling of shock the scenes of a baby being stoned
to death provoked in the audience and the critics. The same situation happened with
all other plays that included nudity, swear words, homosexuality or any other
“repulsive” details.
Nevertheless, if we go back to the last decade of the previous era, we will see
that Pinter’s and Bond’s works of art, despite being regarded as repulsive, still
managed to inspire a generation of British playwrights, including Sarah Kane.
According to some critics, Kane, just like her contemporary, Mark Ravenhill, the
author of Shopping and F***king, whose play, together with its title, caused great
deal of offense, was “manifestly influenced by Bond, and his materialist
demonstrations of how characters are often primarily defined by a systematic
degradation” (Rabey 2003: 206). In Ravenhill’s words, “since the sense of society
and the social collapsed in Britain in the mid-1980s and everybody was encouraged
to think of separate communities, everything became a community: the gay and
lesbian community, the wheelchair users’ community, even the crochet community,
or the needlework community. This replaced any sense of society. Creating a sense
of subcultures is just another evasion of the notion of a society and of the attempt to
try and create one, a communication, a sense of constructing our living with all sorts
of different people. Subcultures are valid for teenagers, but it’s not an adult form of
existence. Being a social being, being part of a society, is the only truly adult form
of existence” (Aragay et.al. 2007: 92-93).
As for Sarah Kane, the British modern-day enfant terrible and “the Court’s
archetypal playwright for 1990s”, as Billington would call her (Aragay et.al. 2007:
117), she used her plays to react against the society around her and its corresponding
institutions. Having this goal in mind, she sets one of her plays, Cleansed, reprinted
in her Complete Plays (2001), “in an institution designed to rid society of its
undesirables” (2001), in which sadistic Tinker performs a series of atrocities on a
young woman, her brother, a disturbed boy, a gay couple and a peepshow dancer.
Unfortunately, within the confines of postmodern society, this “institution”, which
stands for university, has lost its true function. Accusing universities of shifting from
being the accusers of corporate capitalism to being its accomplices, Terry Eagleton
makes a distinction between academics, who “spend their lives researching such
momentous questions such as the vaginal system of the flea” and true intellectuals
who “have the more arduous job of bringing ideas to bear on society as a whole”
(2008). Kane zealously supported the latter. As a true intellectual, she used her art to
present violent images on stage and make her audience experience sexual and
homosexual rape, torture, beating, sucking out of eyes and murder as if all these
atrocities were happening in their immediate neighborhoods. She forced them to live
through her characters’ experiences, which was quite attainable due to the fact that
her first play, Blasted, also reprinted in her Complete Plays (2001), was performed
only a few feet away from the audience themselves.
Kane’s utilization of violent images with the purpose of confronting the false
cultural constructs, making people escape the dark recesses of apathy, and leading
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them towards contemplation of a different way of life outraged the press and critics.
Her fellow-playwrights agreed that “plays like these don’t often come”, and that,
due to that fact, the play “unleashed a giddy paroxysm of rather idiotic fury from
British theater critics” (“Sarah Kane Special”). They obviously did not expect a
woman to be able to make such bold statements in her works of art. One of the
journalists working for the Daily Mail at the time regarded the first performance of
Blasted in 1995 as “a disgusting feast of filth” (Sierz). Unfortunately, what troubled
the press and the critics most was not violence itself but the presentation of violence.
The play was deemed offensive and repulsive since it established a link between
domestic violence happening in Britain and the civil war in former Yugoslavia. The
truth about their disinterestedness and about the harsh reality was thrown in the face
of “cool Britannia” and it obviously could not stand it. As for Kane herself, she was
well aware of all the epithets “in-yer-face” writers, like her or Mark Ravenhill, were
given. They were called “the New Brutalists”, “the School of Smack and Sodomy”
or “Blut and Sperma school” (Ravenhill 2006). Therefore, she did expect the
negative reaction and commented on the way the society managed to mask its
injustices, by claiming that she “wrote [Blasted] to tell the truth. Of course, that’s
shocking. Take the glamour out of violence and it becomes utterly repulsive”
(Sierz). All she wanted was to expose the truth. In Billington’s words, “Kane was
arguing that if only we experienced some of the things that were happening at that
moment in Serbia, we would come to our senses” (Aragay et.al. 2007: 112). She was
also far from regarding her plays as filthy, depressing or hopeless. In her own words,
“to create something beautiful about despair, or out of a feeling of despair, is for me
the most hopeful, life-affirming thing a person can do” (Sierz). Without providing
the readers with any kind of interpretations, she simply let her plays speak for
themselves and reach the moral sensibilities of the people watching them. Ironically
enough, the media helped her reach her goal. Much as they attacked her, they drew
attention towards her.
In Blasted, Kane mingled the scenes of Ian’s raping of Cate between her fits,
soldier’s bursting into the room and holding Ian at gunpoint, Cate’s fleeing through
the bathroom window, massive explosion, soldier’s raping of Ian and subsequent
sucking out of his eyes and eating them, soldier’s suicide and eating of baby’s
corpse with normal and everyday life scenes of football matches played at Elland
Road. And she packed all that in a setting “that could be anywhere in the world”
(2001: 8) and that was familiar to anyone who had been in or had known anything
about expensive hotel rooms symbolizing society’s craving for commodities. In this
way, she managed to provide the audience with a powerful critique of society’s
primary interests and its indifference to real problems which include violence.
Among other things, Blasted implies that Britain is a society in which everyone that
is regarded as the Other should be degraded. It is Ian, the main male character in the
play, who proves this through his behavior towards vulnerable Cate, through his
obvious contempt for “wogs”, “niggers”, “colored brethren”, “lesbos” or “Indians”
(Kane 2001) and through his belief that all who would dare to sympathize with these
classes of people were “retard” (Kane 2001). Not only does Ian, a middle-aged
441
journalist, whom Kane considered to be the perfect representative of insensitive
patriarchal culture, torture Cate psychologically by considering her inferior and
directly showing it to her as in the case of his refusal to respect her decision not to
enter into sexual intercourse with him, but he also refuses to acknowledge her
physical suffering and rapes her between a series of her epileptic fits. The fact that
Kane placed the scenes of rape of Cate offstage can be particularly interesting if for
no other reason than to imply the idea that women as well are to be treated as the
Other and that violence performed over them is such a normal and expected thing
that it does not even deserve to be shown on stage.
It has already been mentioned that Kane strove to establish a link between
domestic violence and violence surrounding war atrocities. After psychological and
physical savagery has blasted Cate, civil war, reflected in the figure of a soldier,
blasts the entire hotel room, lives of the characters and, finally, the audience’s
deeply-rooted beliefs. Kane was intent on identifying the soldier with Ian himself
and making them both into monsters bred by the same ideology but materialized
within different circumstances. The Soldier is a person who was trained to kill,
destroy and even forget his crimes and his deeds as well as the sufferings which he
had to endure. All these things are simply rendered as normal and even encouraged
as long as they are not brought home with him. “Like it never happened” (Kane
2001: 29). Ian’s monstrosity is reflected in his indifference to war atrocities that the
soldier attempts to describe to him. Not only does he express a lack of interest in the
series of rapes and murders of men, women and babies during the war and his
subsequent refusal to write about those things since no one would be interested in
reading about them, but he also reports the news about recent street crime as if it
were just another boring story, good enough to fill the pages of some weekly
magazine. According to Peter Buse, “Blasted implies that modern Britain is a
society where potentially traumatizing events, such as rape and murder, are rendered
inconsequential by the constant diet of them provided by the press” (2001: 186).
Ian’s cold and detached manner of presenting the story to the newspaper he works
for was used by the author of the play in order to point to the media’s insensitive and
tamed portrayal of harsh stories and their intention to blur society’s crimes by means
of these masked stories. In order to break through this wall of apathy, Kane
heightens the intensity of the play and makes the soldier perform a new series of
atrocities which neither the audience nor the critics could expect. Namely, the
moment the soldier realizes that Ian is too bloodless to be able to react or feel
something when listening to his war experiences, “he pulls down Ian’s trousers,
undoes his own and rapes him” (Kane 2001: 29), and, symbolically, breaks through
defense mechanisms that the so-called “civilized” culture has erected against caring
about what is happening in its immediate neighborhood or around the globe as well
as through socially constructed notions of gender. However, although Kane probably
knew that she was going to shock the audience the moment acts of violence started
happening to one of the representatives of the ever-present and pervasive culture,
she decided to go a step further and show that their (and Ian’s) insensitivity had no
limits. Namely, Ian is still silent even in the moments of pain caused by violent acts
442
of homosexual rape. And he still fails to see beyond his own needs and worries only
about whether he is going to be killed or not. In order to make him go beyond his
ideologically created blindness and indifference, Kane makes the soldier take away
Ian’s physical ability to see. What is more, he “puts his mouth over one of Ian’s
eyes, sucks it out, bites it off and eats it. He does the same to the other eye” (Kane
2001: 30). Ian has finally been left helpless and dependent on others.
According to Peter Buse, “all three characters in Blasted seem to have
undergone some form of potentially traumatizing experience” (2001: 176). He
claims that the soldier’s violence is a consequence of his own trauma experienced
during the war and that he feels a constant urge to re-enact any kind of violence, be
it homosexual rape, murder or torture, only because society is unwilling to
acknowledge his suffering. As a product of his own environment, he performs his
deeds ruthlessly, thereby meeting cultural standards on the basis of which soldiers’
duties are to turn into monsters in the course of whatever war is taking place. In the
case of Ian, there also appear to be some things he has done, which haunt him and
scare him. The actions that stem from the Soldier’s and Ian’s own terrifying
experiences are further explained by Paulo Freire. In his words, “the oppressed, at a
certain moment of their existential experience, adopt an attitude of ‘adhesion’ to the
oppressor… This does not necessarily mean that the oppressed are unaware that they
are downtrodden. But their perception of themselves is impaired by their submersion
in the reality of oppression”. Because of this, “the oppressed, instead of striving for
liberation, tend themselves to become oppressors, or ‘sub-oppressors’” (1996: 27).
As for Cate, although she has been abused both physically and psychologically, she
still manages to resist the repetition of a series of torments and attempts to halt the
process of her belittlement and defamation. Kane gives her the opportunity and
power to express her outrage over being treated as inferior within patriarchal society.
The moment she refuses to play her previous role and give in to Ian’s sexual
aspirations, the power shift occurs. She points a gun at him and even performs some
violent sexual acts in order to strike back at her oppressor. Namely, “she goes for
him, slapping him around the head hard and fast” (Kane 2001: 19). “She bites his
penis as hard as she can. Ian’s cry of pleasure turns into a scream of pain. He tries to
pull away but Cate holds on with her teeth” (2001: 21). However, in spite of these
events and obvious atrocities performed on her part, Cate cannot be seen as Freire’s
“sub-oppressor”. What she does after the first-mentioned act is worry about Ian’s
health. After the sexual assault, she cleans her teeth. She obviously did not enjoy her
monstrous acts. She only defended herself and expressed strength to strike back and
free herself from the confines of patriarchal culture. What is more, she follows and
regains Freire’s concept of humanity within a dehumanized world. In his words, in
order for the struggle for liberation to have meaning, “the oppressed must not, in
seeking to regain their humanity, become in turn oppressors of the oppressors, but
rather restorers of the humanity of both. This, then, is the great humanistic and
historical task of the oppressed: to liberate themselves and their oppressors as well”
(1996: 26). Cate took her role quite seriously. Namely, in the course of the play Cate
escapes through the bathroom window and manages to save herself from further
443
torments. In her absence, the hotel room is hit by a mortar bomb. She returns soaked
but cleansed by rain, holding a dying baby, only to find Ian broken and blinded. In
spite of the fact that Ian caused her a great deal of offence, to say the least, Cate still
refuses to let him give up on life, claiming that giving up is for the weak. She offers
him psychological support and brings in the baby and some food, symbols of the
continuation of life. Although the baby dies, this moment still signals some
flickering hope. Namely, Cate prays for it, thus showing another sign of her inherent
humanity – devotion to religion.
Aleks Sierz says that “in what was probably the last interview she gave, [Sarah
Kane] talked about her work and corrected an article [he] was writing about her,
pointing out that the final scene of Blasted takes place in a metaphorical ‘hell’.
‘Don’t forget the stage direction that says ‘He dies with relief’’, she said. ‘Ian dies,
so you think that’s the worst thing that can happen – then it rains on him’. It’s a
moment that sums her bleak sense of humor” (Sierz). It should also be taken into
consideration that for Sarah Kane, hell is “exactly the same place [as earth], only it’s
raining” (Sierz). Ian dies with relief but his ensuing “shit” (Kane 2001: 34) at the
onset of the rain shows that he fails to realize that the start of rain helps in his
resurrection. Ian has to reach the borders of a metaphorical hell in order to be able to
“see” again. Similar to the situation in Bond’s Lear, where the main character
spends his superficial life dwelling in the darkness of ignorance and commodities
before he gets blinded and faces the truth about the true purpose of life, it is only
when Ian is literally blinded, that he becomes provided with true insight. And it is
only when the rain starts and Cate brings in the food that new life becomes possible.
What is more, the last line in the play is Ian’s “thank you” (Kane 2001: 35), which
is, in Billington’s view, “simply an acknowledgement of the other person, Cate, as a
person, as a human being. It’s as if communication has at last been established on a
humane level. So the play, far from seeming a squalid spectacle of horror, seemed to
[be] a humanist statement about the possibilities that lie ahead of us” (Aragay et.al.
2007: 119). Therefore, although the soldier, who started the process of subversion of
socially constructed matrix, did not survive, there are other survivors. Despite their
wicked actions, Kane manages to provide them with seeds of humanity.
3. Beyond Humanity
On the basis of everything that has been mentioned so far, Tom Moylan seems
to be right when he insists that culture’s “myths” acknowledge only those images
and narratives that stand by its dominant viewpoints. Within that process, all other
ways of being in the world end up in the void of silence and elimination (2000).
Rejecting all false notions created by culture and refusing to believe that “there’s
such a thing as a woman playwright” (“Transcript 21”), Sarah Kane proved to be the
one who could never force herself to conform to “traditional” rules of pervasive
ideologies. She did not even try. She managed to establish a link between events that
the culture around her regarded as incompatible although those events were bred “at
444
home”. By making a strong connection between domestic violence and war
atrocities through vivid presentation of images on stage only a few feet away from
the audience, Kane succeeded in “moving the millimeter” from the terrain of
betrayals and “smashing the mirror” (Pinter 2005) of fake utopia so that the truth
about people’s ignorance would start to dawn on them. That is precisely what
Harold Pinter insisted on throughout his works of art. He used his Nobel Prize
lecture to express his opinion about the “truth in drama”, which is, in his words,
“forever elusive. You never quite find it but the search for it is compulsive. The
search is clearly what drives the endeavor. The search is your task” (2005). What
Kane left behind for her supporters, and others who are not, is the task to follow the
matrix.
If put ironically, history proved that it did take a lot of violence to keep a
capitalist peace (Bond 1977). It can be said that it also did take a lot of ignorance of
that violence to keep that same peace. Unfortunately, not much has changed so far in
this respect. In 2010, A Serbian Film, the dark thriller that features disturbing scenes
of violence and sex, had four minutes and eleven seconds of its original content
removed before it could be released in British cinemas. What is more, the British
Board of Film Classification provided it with the label of “the most cut movie in
sixteen years” (Bailey 2010). Fortunately, theater has always been there, the way
Bond put it, to deal with its only subject – justice. Sarah Kane stood for the voice of
the theater during the nineties. Although she committed suicide at the age of 28,
Michael Billington claimed that she was “the one who has survived, partly because
of the cryptic nature of her career; the one around whom myths are starting to
assemble; the one whose plays get performed everywhere; the one who is always
talked about at conferences” (2007: 118). The purpose of her works, as well as of
theater art throughout the centuries, has been to raise our consciousness and “remind
us that being human involves asking ‘why’ questions” (Petrović 2004: 315) to which
answers could be obtainable from the never-ending utopian dreams.
References
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društvo za slovenske umetnosti i kulture.
Aragay, M., et.al. (2007). British Theatre of the 1990s. New York: Palgrave
Macmillan.
Bailey, F. (2010). “A Serbian Film Is ‘Most Cut’ Movie in 16 Years”. Available at:
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/entertainment-arts-11846906. Retrieved on: 16
March 2011.
Billington, M. (2006). “I’ve Written 29 Damn Plays. Isn’t That Enough?”. Available
at: http://www.guardian.co.uk/stage/2006/mar/14/theatre.stage. Retrieved on:
13 March 2011.
Bond, E. (2000). Hidden Plot: Notes on Theatre and the State. London: Methuen.
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Bond, E. (1977). Plays: One. London: Methuen.
Bond, E. (2000). Plays: Two. London: Methuen.
Buse, P. (2001). Drama + Theory. Manchester and New York: Manchester
University Press.
Eagleton, T. (2008). “Death of the Intellectual”. Available at:
http://www.redpepper.org.uk/Death-of-the-intellectual/. Retrieved on: 15
March 2011.
Freire, P. (1996). Pedagogy of the Oppressed. London: Penguin Books.
Fukuyama, F. (1992). The End of History and the Last Man. New York: Macmillan.
Kane, S. (2001). Complete Plays. London: Methuen.
Moylan, T. (2000). Scraps of the Untainted Sky. Boulder: Westview Press.
Petrović, L. (2004). Literature, Culture, Identity: Introducing XX Century Literary
Theory. Niš: Prosveta.
Pinter, H. (1998). Plays: Four. London: Faber.
Pinter, H. (2005). “Nobel lecture: Art, Truth & Politics”. Available at:
http://nobelprize.org/nobel_prizes/literature/laureates/2005/pinter-lecture.html.
Retrieved on 10 March 2011.
Rabey, D. I. (2003). English Drama Since 1940. London: Longman.
Ravenhill, M. (2006). “The Beauty of Brutality”. Available at:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/stage/2006/oct/28/theatre.stage. Retrieved on: 10
March 2011.
Roy, A. (2004). The Ordinary Person’s Guide to Empire. London: Harper Perennial.
“Sarah Kane Special”. (2010). Available at:
http://www.theatrevoice.com/listen_now/player/?audioID=923. Retrieved on:
12 March 2011.
Sierz, A. http://www.inyerface-theatre.com/. Retrieved on: 9 March 2011.
Suvin, D. (2002). “Politics: What May the Twentieth Century Amount to: Initial
Theses”. Critical Quarterly 2: 84-104.
Tesich, S. (1997). “Niggerization: Everything, Not Just Charity, Begins at Home”.
Available at: http://www.srpska-mreza.com/authors/Tesich/atHome.htm.
Retrieved on: 15 March 2011.
“Transcript 21: Sarah Kane”. (2009). Available at:
http://www.theatrevoice.com/tran_script/detail/?roundUpID=37. Retrieved on
11 March 2011.
Urban, K. (2004). “Towards a Theory of Cruel Britannia: Coolness, Cruelty and the
‘Nineties”. Available at: http://www.kenurban.org/pdf/NTQ_CB.pdf. Retrieved
on: 11 March 2011.
Watt, D. and Meyer-Dinkgräfe, D. (2007). Theatres of Thought: Theatre,
Performance and Philosophy. Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Publishing.
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Nataša Karanfilović
Novi Sad, Serbia
e-mail: karanfil@sbb.rs
GHOSTS AND GHASTLY CREATURES OF THE ‘DOWN-UNDERWORLD’
– THE AUSTRALIAN GHOST STORY1
Abstract Based on a selection of ghost stories published in Australia over an
extended period of time, from colonial to contemporary fiction, this paper aims to
define the Australian variety of the genre. It traces the deep anxieties of a
transplanted culture as reflected in a duly transported genre, whose major driving
force is the (irrational) fear of the unknown and the unexplored. In the beginning,
the genre itself is haunted by its European predecessor until it takes root on
Australian soil and becomes enriched by the pre-European tradition of Aboriginal
lore. As the developing society (nation) gains confidence, its ghost stories become
tinged with irony and humour, and ghosts start prowling not only the bush but town
alleys as well.
Key words: Australian ghost story, gothic, cultural anxiety, identity, uncanny.
1.
Introduction
The genre of ghost story in Australia might not have been given much
scholarly attention, as Ken Gelder (ix) notes in his ‘Introduction’ to The Oxford
Book of Australian Ghost Stories (1994) but, as the stories he compiles for the
anthology illustrate, the genre has been popular with Australian authors from the
very beginning. Tracing the development of the genre through time, this paper
explores the specifically Australian variety of the ghost story within the wider
context of the Gothic. Firstly, the tension between the present and past is identified
as one of the prominent features of the Gothic and the notion of the haunting past is
defined in the Australian variety as the crippling feeling of the cultural cringe and
the shame of the convict stain. Furthermore, the shadow of past crimes spreads
stealthily over the new country and points to social evils in general, and greed in
particular, as gold was discovered in Australia which triggered an economic boom.
In addition, the paper investigates the allegorical problematisation of the terra
nullius doctrine and the issue of Aboriginal dispossession as yet another aspect of
1
The paper is the result of research conducted within project no. 178019 “Translation in the
system of comparative study of Serbian and foreign literatures and cultures“ funded by the Ministry of
Science and Technological Development of the Republic of Serbia.
447
the guilty past utilised in the Australia ghost story. Next, Freud’s notion of the
uncanny is explicated; attention is drawn to internal fears and the home as the source
of danger in the specific setting of the Australian ghost story. Finally, the Gothic
potential of the unique Australian landscape and the influence it had on European
settlers is illustrated through several descriptive passages which show that it was
perhaps the strangeness of the landscape that initially triggered the Gothic
imagination of the first writers in Australia.
2.
The haunting past: the cultural cringe and the convict stain
The ghost story, as a special category of the Gothic, hinges on the relation of
the present and past. While Gothic literature appeared and thrived in Europe as ‘the
site of struggle between enlightened forces of progress and more conservative
impulses to retain continuity’ (Botting 1996: 15), in the case of Australia, cultural
anxiety is not spawned by any threat posed by change or revolution but rather by the
unsettling notion of not having a past or, even worse, having a convict past. The
sense of the cultural cringe has been haunting Australia from the very beginning and
it refers to the inferiority complex which arises from the conviction that Australia
lacks a long-standing cultural tradition and that the one it has is inauthentic and
derivative, always wanting in comparison with the British or European models. The
feeling that Australia is not old enough to have proper ghosts and, by extension
proper ghost stories, surfaces in several examples of the genre. In the context where
the ghost of Hamlet’s father, ‘who was not at all particular about the number of
people he entertained collectively’ (Couvreur 1994: 86), and ‘the mirth of the
goblins in the Catskill mountains’ (Couvreur 1994: 87) are deployed to evoke the
great Bard of centuries-old British tradition and the father of American literature, an
Australian ghost does not seem to display such self-confidence: ‘Perhaps the sense
that in a country like Australia, as young in all that constitutes age in countries, as a
fine baby in leading-strings, the genus ghost had hardly had time to develop itself,
may have had something to do with the retiring disposition of the Rubria ghost’
(Couvreur 1994: 86). Both ‘The Rubria Ghost’ (1878) and ‘The Ghost of
Wanganilla: Founded on Fact’ (1891) were written at a time of political and literary
fermentation in Australia, still an English colony, and they reveal contemporary
perceptions and attitudes, British and Australian, about Australia and its emerging
literature. While entertaining his English schoolmate in Melbourne, Harry is quite
right to assume that his friend has ‘[n]ever heard of an Australian ghost story’ as
Straubenzie ‘must confess [he does] not expect one of the correct type’ because
‘“marvellous Melbourne” is altogether too new for that style of thing’ (Chads 1994:
94). Rosa Praed also finds the new country lacking in ghastly creatures in
comparison to Europe and resorts to the Aboriginal lore: ‘The old world has her
tales of ghoul and vampire, of Lorelei, spook, and pixie, but Australia has nothing
but her Bunyip’ (Praed 1994: 102).
448
Another source of Australian cultural insecurity is the so-called convict stain or
the unnatural birth of the nation which remained haunted by a faltering sense of
identity. According to Andrew Smith (2007: 10), in discussions of colonialism and
postcolonialism ‘[h]ow nationality […] is represented in the Gothic helps us to
explain why there are periodic anxieties about the meaning of national identity.’ The
concept of a transported culture originated with the transportation of criminals from
the old country to the penal colony. The issue of transportation is tackled in the
Australian ghost story, where the ghost represents that which haunts a culture – its
self-formulation, its fears and concerns about its various social and economic issues.
The Australian ghost story makes use of the common Victorian perception of
Australia as either a dumping ground for criminals or an escape route for the
dishonoured. In either case, the faraway colony was the underworld ‘from whose
bourn no traveller’ was allowed or expected to return. Reverberations of Magwitch’s
fate in Great Expectations are found in the character of John Fisher (‘The Ghost
Upon the Rail,’ 1859), an emancipated convict who has prospered in the new
country but sadly reaches the conclusion that none of his relatives would be happy to
see him if he decided to visit them in England.
When I got into trouble it was the breaking of the heart of my old father and
mother; and none of my brothers and sisters – in all, seven of ’em – have ever
answered one of my letters. [...] I have often thought that if I was to go back
they would be sorry to see me, even if I carried with me £100 000, earned by
one who had been a convict. (Lang 1994: 1)
Transportation is also used as a point of departure in Hume Nisbet’s ‘The
Haunted Station’ (1894), whose treatment of convictism relies on the tradition of the
Australian convict novel with an innocently convicted character, transported for life,
who lives through perils and sickness of a sea journey and then, having survived the
horrors of the penal system, manages to escape.2 Facing the ghosts of his past is the
crucial experience which opens the possibility of the re-invention of the self. Put
metaphorically, the dead of the old world are resurrected in the colony. That a
colony is a land of ghosts is the impression of the narrator of Marcus Clarke’s
‘Human Repetends’ (1872). Having been socially ruined, or ‘killed’, through the
loss of inheritance and having been shunned by all his fair-weather friends, the
narrator decides to ‘vanish to Australia’ (Clarke 1994a: 66). Once there, he ‘found
that [he] was among old friends whom [he] had long thought dead or in jail. To walk
down Collins-street was like pulling up the Styx. On either side [he] saw men who
had vanished from the Upper World sooner than [he]’ (Clarke 1994a: 66).
The ‘Under World’ seems to be a replica of the ‘Upper World’ albeit on a
smaller and poorer scale, which asserts the superiority of the old country and its
2
The best known examples of the Australian convict novel are His Natural Life (1870-71) by
Marcus Clarke and Robbery Under Arms (1882-83) by Rolf Bolderwood.
449
culture and reinforces the notion of the cultural cringe: ‘The game was made in the
same fashion, only the stakes were not so high. The porcelain was of the same
pattern, only a little cracked’ (Clarke 1994a: 67). In addition, Clarke’s story draws
on the ambivalent nature of the Australian experience, the double aspect of
Australia, which was both a land of exile and a land of possibilities. The prospect of
a fresh start, hopefully a better one, is undercut in this story by means of the
doubling effect, which is a device frequently found in Gothic fiction (see Botting
1996: 60, 79; Smith 2007: 14; Briggs 2001: 124). The story and the characters
behind a fifteenth-century portrait appear to be re-enacting their story in eighteenthcentury Melbourne. The murderous pattern of the old world unfolds again in the new
world. As the old-world romance is re-played in the new world and as murder takes
place in the labyrinth of the streets of the new world, a feeling of disillusionment
sets in. The place may change but human nature remains the same, and the young
society appears to have inherited the evils of the old society. However, the story has
an open ending and the reader (together with the narrator) is not sure whether the
narrator will assume his role in the sequence of returns and repetitions in the story.
3.
Social evil
In addition to monstrous origins, the ghostly return testifies to guilty secrets of
past crimes, committed both individually and collectively. In ‘The Ghost upon the
Rail’ and Mary Fortune’s ‘The Ghostly White Gate’ (1885) the chain of events is set
in motion by ghosts of murdered people who seek revenge and justice.3 The
inspiration of Gothic fiction taken from Elizabethan and Jacobean revenge tragedies
goes a step further in Fortune’s story as the characters stage a ‘mousetrap’ in order
to ascertain the guilt of the murderer. Both stories are predicated on social evils
arising from the materialism of the developing society focused on the rapid
acquisition of property and wealth. Closely connected to the genres of crime fiction
and detective story, they tell of murders prompted by greed and the love of gold.
Among the most famous examples of English ghost stories which emphasise the
issue of money and foreground concerns about class and wealth is Dickens’s novella
A Christmas Carol (1843). The ghosts in such stories articulate anxieties in
economic spaces propelled by social progress which, in the case of Australia, was
supported by the discovery of gold and the expansion of the frontier.
3
John Lang based his story on strange events following the sudden and mysterious
disappearance of the ex-convict and farmer Frederick Fisher on 16 June 1826. His ghost was said to be
seen sitting upon the rail and pointing to the spot where his body was buried. His friend and neighbour
George Worrall, also a ticket-of-leave man, was arrested and hanged for Fisher’s murder in February
1827 (Gelder 1994: x).
450
4.
Preoccupation
Taking possession of the land by the rapidly developing white society,
however, was only possible through the dispossession of indigenous communities.
Racial anxieties and what Ken Gelder (2007: 119) terms preoccupation are explored
in several ghost stories which can be interpreted as a symbolic re-enactment of
colonisation. The seemingly empty house found in ‘The Haunted Station’ and ‘An
Australian Rip Van Winkle’ (1921) is indicative of the terra nullius doctrine (Gelder
1994: xii) which was used by the white settlers/invaders to justify their claim to the
land. However, the narrator in ‘The Haunted Station’ discovers that the house has
been the scene of a terrible crime – the slaughter of a prosperous squatter’s family.4
The exploration of an empty house in ‘An Australian Rip Van Winkle’ also
addresses the Australian postcolonial condition and allegorically problematises the
issue of discovery. While the protagonist believes that he is ‘treading [...] into the
unknown’ on ‘roads that lead nowhere’ (Hay 1994: 166) he is actually trespassing
into a world that does not belong to him, as the house betrays signs of occupancy
and an unseen presence. Guy Boothby’s ‘With Three Phantoms’ (1897), which tells
about an unsuccessful expedition into the bush and a sole surviving explorer saved
by three ghosts, also illustrates the point that a white explorer in the Australian
outback is never the first human presence there.
Ghost stories such as Ernest Favenc’s ‘The Red Lagoon’ (1899), William
Sylvester Walker’s ‘The Evil of Yelcomoron Creek’ (1899) and Rosa Praed, ‘The
Bunyip’ (1891) explicitly introduce the Aboriginal context and summon the ghosts
of buried atrocities. Australian authors use the Gothic mode to explore Australian
varieties of greed, usurpation, intolerance and cruelty as well as the insidious perils
and racial vengeance that marked the settlement of the land. Avoided by both blacks
and whites, the haunted Red Lagoon in Favenc’s story is actually revealed to be a
massacre site, where an entire Aboriginal tribe was slaughtered and where a white
man was killed by the Aborigines. The stereotypical haunted place of a ghost story,
when placed within the Australian social and historical context might conceal the
grave facts of colonisation. As Brian James’s ‘The Bunyip of Barney’s Elbow’
(1956) might imply with the strange ‘Noise’ which haunts the township, prosperous
white Australia remains unsettled because of those violently silenced voices of its
pre-occupants. In ‘The Evil of Yelcomoron Creek,’ white man’s excitement at the
exploration of the new country and his inquisitive spirit, portrayed in line with many
contemporary colonial stories of eager young explorers, are rebuffed by the
encounter with the evidence of an earlier occupation of the land. The sacredness of
4
It should be noted that Nisbet’s story uses motifs and structural elements found in Poe’s ’The
Fall of the House of Usher’ such as the unnamed narrator, who does not belong to the ‘house,’ the
description of the dilapidated house and the fissure, as well as night vapours rising from the pool in
front of the house. The house in Nisbet’s story also collapses on a stormy night and disappears in the
ground as the terrified narrator escapes in horror.
451
an aboriginal burial site is invaded by an opal fossicker. At first he thinks he has
stumbled upon an Eden-like valley until the disturbed spirits start rising with their
weapons to remind him that they are not willing to surrender every place for the
whites to exploit. Praed’s story incorporates the Aboriginal mythical creature, the
embodiment of fear, into the white experience of Australia. The story of the white
child lost in the bush works both at the literal and metaphorical levels with the
bunyip representing the unknown territory laden with danger and luring at the same
time. For both the indigenous population and the white settlers/invaders the bunyip
is the name they have given to their fear of the environment and the fear of the other
race.
5.
The uncanny
The literature on the Gothic and its related subgenres unanimously finds fear,
anxiety and threats to be the principle drives behind these texts (Botting, Smith,
Punter, Spooner and McEvoy). In eighteenth century narratives, ghosts are the
embodiments and evocations of perceived threats to the established values and they
are also expressions of social anxieties. In other words, spectres, demons, monsters
and skeletons are representations of real or imagined, but chiefly external threats.
From the nineteenth century on, however, the Gothic is mainly concerned with
internal fears, the workings of the human psyche and the disturbingly repressed self.
In short, ghosts expressed fears which were closer to home. One of the staple
theoretical texts which has influenced the interpretations of gothic texts is Sigmund
Freud’s ‘The Uncanny’ (1919). Freud juxtaposes the notions of heimlich (familiar,
native, belonging to the home, homely) and unheimlich (un-homely, uncanny) only
to conclude that ‘unhemlich is in some way or other a sub-species of heimlich’
(Freud 1919: 4). What he suggests in the essay is that the familiarity of the home
does not necessarily imply safety or innocence. Quite the opposite, it can harbour
frightening family secrets (which Freud relates to sexual anxieties), a repressed
family past and the fear of their revelation. As fear literally preys on its victims, the
protagonists of Gothic fiction find themselves trapped in the house which becomes a
dangerous and sinister place.
Gothic texts have commonly focused on a building. The conventional setting of
the eighteen-century Gothic is a mansion or a castle, with the most notable examples
of The Castle of Otranto (1764) by Horace Walpole or The Mysteries of Udolpho
(1794) by Ann Radcliffe, while after the nineteenth century danger and evil are
found lurking in the corners of a family house, as portrayed in Hawthorne’s The
House of the Seven Gables (1851) or Poe’s ‘The Fall of the House of Usher’ (1839).
Mary Fortune’s ‘The Ghostly White Gate’ has a Madeline-like female character, a
ghostly figure, who warns and ultimately saves the narrator from the evil residing in
the house – her father’s murderer, who keeps her sedated and virtually incarcerated
in the house. Both ‘The Haunted Station’ and ‘At Coomassie Gully’ (1904) feature
houses haunted by their former residents, killed by evil bred within the house. Terry
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Dowling’s ‘The Daemon Street Ghost-Trap’ has a conventional setting of an old
mansion-like family house occupied by a very old man. Like Roderick Usher, he is
being consumed by a strange disease originating from the unnamed family evil and,
like the picture of Dorian Gray, he absorbs the evil and contains it within his frame
so that other members of the family can lead their lives away from home. In
addition, the red room or the ghost-trap of the title is probably a reference to H. G.
Wells’s story of the same title (Wells ‘The Red Room’) and as such expresses the
point which is adopted sometimes in ghost stories with a comic twist – that ghosts,
disease and death are drawn to man by his thinking of them, that the ghosts feed on
fear and when deprived of food they lose all their power.
6.
The comic twist
The growing confidence of Australia after the Second World War is reflected
in a more confident and playful approach to the conventions of the ghost story. Mary
Gordon’s ‘The Ghost That Came to Darwin’ (1944) follows a ‘disappointed and
disconsolate’ ghost who is so ‘tired of being ignored’ and ‘of waiting for his
presence to be felt’ that he is thinking of ‘go[ing] back to England where [he is]
appreciated’ (Gordon 1994: 201). The ghost’s tricks are successful only insofar as
they build upon the soldiers’ fear and nerve-wrecking expectation of a Japanese
attack. Dal Stivens’s ‘Ironbark Bill Meets the Bunyip’ (1953) shows a bunyip
outwitted by a swagman who not only fails to show any fear, to the monster’s
surprise and dismay, but proves impervious to the temptations of gold as well.
Another of Stivens’s ventures into the genre, ‘The Hardworking Ghost’ (1953) uses
a ghost to comment on man’s character. As a supernatural creature, the ghost can
make anything possible and get anything done, but man, his employer, is never
satisfied. Exploiting the comic potential of the genre, Stivens mocks man’s
disposition to nag and his tendency to adopt negative attitudes – if one thinks that
there is a catch, there will be one in the end. Whatever happens to man is the
outcome of his own thoughts. The ghost in this story is not a shadow of guilt or an
expression of looming threats but it helps illustrate aspects of human nature.
It has to be pointed out, however, that ghosts received a somewhat irreverent
treatment even in the nineteenth century. Chads’s ‘The Ghost of Wanganilla:
Founded on Fact’ is essentially a humorous story in which the stereotypical
apparition of a woman, with her arms held aloft in anger, or despair, dressed in a
long, white robe, turns out to be a tree. In ‘practical Australia’ (Chads 1994: 95)
there is a practical explanation for ghosts and the English guest who has never heard
an Australian ghost story is actually given the opportunity to touch the ghost (Chads
1994: 101). The young man might not have met the spectral woman that night but
the incident brought him close to his future wife and resulted in a happy marriage.
He has carved a present for her from the piece of wood from the tree whose
branches (the ghost’s hands) hit him on the hand on that stormy night. In this story,
even nature in Australia seems to be prone to practical jokes. On the other hand,
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from the earliest days of European settlement, the Australian landscape, in stark
contrast with the English landscape, has been the source of awe and wonder as well
as fear and despair.
7.
The Gothic aspect of the Australian bush
The most famous description of the bush is perhaps given in 1876 by the
Melbourne writer and journalist Marcus Clarke, who drew on Gothic tropes to frame
the experience and response to the Australian interior.
What is the dominant note of Australian scenery? That which is the
dominant note of Edgar Allan Poe’s poetry – Weird Melancholy. […] The
Australian mountain forests are funereal, secret, stern. Their solitude is
desolation. They seem to stifle in their black gorges a story of sullen despair.
No tender sentiment is nourished in their shade. In other lands the dying year is
mourned, the falling leaves drop lightly on his bier. In the Australian forests no
leaves fall. The savage winds shout among the rock clefts. From the
melancholy gums strips of white bark hang and rustle. The very animal life of
these frowning hills is either grotesque or ghostly. Great gray kangaroos hop
noiselessly over the coarse grass. Flights of white cockatoos stream out
shrieking like evil souls. The sun suddenly sinks, and the mopokes burst out
into horrible peals of semi-human laughter. The natives aver that when night
comes, from out the bottomless depths of some lagoon the Bunyip rises, and in
form like a monstrous sea-calf, drags his loathsome length from out the ooze.
From a corner of the silent forest rises a dismal chant, and around a fire dance
natives painted like skeletons. All is fear-inspiring and gloomy. No bright
fancies are linked with the memories of the mountains. Hopeless explorers
have named them out of their sufferings – Mount Misery, Mount Dreadful,
Mount Despair. (Clarke 2003: 207)
The bush has excited the Gothic imagination of Australian writers ever since.
Rosa Praed has ‘spectral white gums rising like an army of ghosts around you’
(Praed 1994: 102) and reading Marcus Clarke’s ‘Preface to Gordon’s Poems’ (1876)
seems to be a déjà-vu of his ‘Holiday Peak’ (1873) where:
There is an indescribable ghastliness about the mountain bush at night which
has affected most imaginative people. – The grotesque and distorted trees,
huddled here and there together in the gloom like whispering conspirators. ...
The white, bare, and ghostly gums gleaming momentarily amid the deeper
shades of the forest. The lonely pools begirt with shivering reeds, and haunted
by the melancholy bittern only. ... The silent and solitary places where a few
blasted trees crouch together like withered witches, who, brooding on some
deed of blood, have suddenly been stricken horror-stiff. – Riding through this
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nightmare-landscape a whirr of wings and a harsh cry disturb you from time to
time, hideous and mocking laughter peals above and about you, and huge grey
ghosts with little red eyes hop away in gigantic but noiseless bounds. ... You
become drunk with the wine of the night, and, losing your individuality, sweep
on ward a flying phantom in a land of shadows. ... and from time to time the
level surface of the forest was broken by the spectre-like upstarting of some
huge gum-skeleton grasping at air with his crooked and ravenous claws.’
(Clarke 1994b: 72)
The entire scene of the night-ride through the forest has the ominous
atmosphere of a nightmare not unlike the one found in Hawthorne’s ‘Young
Goodman Brown’. Clarke’s narrator also meets familiar people in unfamiliar
circumstances amidst the forest but in the Australian version they are not performing
any strange and barbaric rites, that is reserved for the racial other – Aborigines. The
people he finds lead happy lives in a ‘might-ha-been’ place (Clarke 1994b: 76). The
implication is surely that even a young society like the Australian one of the
nineteenth century was dreaming escapist dreams of a fresh start in a better place. In
Guy Boothby’s story what the explorer finds in the interior is not an inland sea, as
was hoped by early explorers, but ‘the most hopeless stretch of awful desert on the
face of this godless continent’ and he returns from that ‘Inferno’ to tell his story in
‘the voice of one returned from the dead’ (Boothby 1994: 132). The runaway
convict of Nisbet’s story also describes the landscape by means of gothic imagery.
I felt the weird influence of that curse even as I crawled into the gully that led
to it, a shiver ran over me as one feels when they say some stranger is passing
over your future grave. A chill gripped at my vitals as I glanced about me
apprehensively, expectant of something ghoulish and unnatural to come upon
me from the sepulchral gloom and mystery of the overhanging boulders under
which I was dragging my wearied limbs. A deathly silence brooded with this
rut-like and treeless gully [...] (Nisbet 1994: 110)
Yet the experience of the Australian landscape remains ambivalent and
Clarke’s ‘Preface’ is again one of the earliest articulations of the double aspect of
the Australian experience, of both its repulsion and attraction. Having evoked the
eerie atmosphere to describe the landscape which hardly seems to be fit for human
inhabitation, Clarke concludes his reflexions arguing that nature is an enemy only to
those who approach it with prejudices and a biased fear of the unknown. On the
other hand, to those who make an effort to listen to it, nature can whisper the most
precious and beautiful secrets, as European landscapes have been whispering to their
poets for ages. In other words, Clarke suggests that it might be time for the
Australians to stop looking at their nature with the eyes of foreigners and find beauty
in its uniqueness instead.
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In Australia alone is to be found the Grotesque, the Weird, the strange
scribblings of nature learning how to write. Some see no beauty in our trees
without shade, our flowers without perfume, our birds who cannot fly, and our
beasts who have not yet learned to walk on all fours. But the dweller in the
wilderness acknowledges the subtle charm of this fantastic land of
monstrosities. He becomes familiar with the beauty of loneliness. Whispered to
by the myriad tongues of the wilderness, he learns the language of the barren
and the uncouth, and can read the hieroglyphs of haggard gum-trees, blown
into odd shapes, distorted with fierce hot winds, or cramped with cold nights,
when the Southern Cross freezes in a cloudless sky of icy blue. The
phantasmagoria of that wild dreamland termed the Bush interprets itself, and
the Poet of our desolation begins to comprehend why free Esau loved his
heritage of desert sand better than all the bountiful richness of Egypt. (Clarke
2003: 208)
One of Walker’s characters makes much the same point: ‘and there’s lots of
strange sounds of birds and beasts all around you. One takes to it wonderfully after a
bit. I don’t think I’d swap it for the English twilight, after all’ (Walker 1994: 142).
While for Lionel, an Englishman, in Chads’s story the Australian landscape differs
‘so entirely from the lovely English landscape’ which ‘he thought could not be
equalled anywhere’ (Chads 1994: 95), his Australian hosts take great pride not only
in their well-kept garden but also in the nearby gurgling creek, the surrounding
paddocks, a range of hills in the distance, the fragrance of innumerable blossoms,
and ‘sweet musical calls of minahs and magpies’ (Chads 1994: 95). Barbara
Baynton also contrasts two different concepts of the landscape by means of the
juxtaposition of childhood and adult responses to the environment. In addition, her
story (‘A Dreamer,’ 1902) is a metaphorical expression of the need to separate from
one’s parent (country) at a certain point in life. The idyllic sunny landscape of her
childhood undergoes an unrecognisable transformation in a threateningly violent
storm while a pregnant daughter gets herself almost drowned in an attempt to reach
her old home only to find her mother dead and receive not such a warm welcome by
the people in her mother’s house. The treatment of the landscape by Australian
authors, therefore, can be said to indicate the anxiety at the root of Australian
identity.
8.
Conclusion
The Australian ghost story developed through a marriage of the European
Gothic tradition and uniquely Australian historical and social conditions. While the
Australian ghost story uses the conventional themes of persecution, crime and guilt,
they are reworked within the specifically Australian context of the transportation of
convicts, the ‘monstrous’ birth, cultural insecurity, the rapid development of a young
economy and the dispossession of the indigenous Australians. The Gothic
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conventions of a murky atmosphere, pervading mystery, ominous tone, gloomy
mood, and nail-biting suspense are all incorporated into the Australian ghost story.
The setting, the characters and the motifs of British and American Gothic literature
are, however, reworked and given an Australian twist. Perhaps the most apt
illustration of how the conventional ghost story assumes a recognisably Australian
guise is the occasion on which such stories were told – usually late winter evenings
around a cosy fire. As we learn from Praed’s story, they were mostly campfire yarns
told by shearers, drovers and swagmen about their experiences in the bush. The
traditional dark cold Christmas night, as found in Dickens’s A Christmas Carol,
receives a local inflection as found in Boothby’s story which takes place on
‘Christmas Eve – a sweltering mockery of the day’ (Boothby 1994: 130) or
described in the opening of Lang’s story: ‘It was a winter’s night – an Australian
winter’s night – in the middle of July’ (Lang 1994: 1).
References
Baynton, B. (1994) ‘A Dreamer’. Gelder 157-162.
Boothby, G. (1994) ‘With Three Phantoms’. Gelder 127-134.
Botting, F. (1996). Gothic. London: Routledge.
Briggs, J. (2001). ‘The Ghost Story’. In: D. Punter (ed.). A Companion to the
Gothic. Oxford: Blackwell Publishers Ltd. 122-131.
Chads, E. A. (1994) ‘The Ghost of Wanganilla: Founded on Fact’. Gelder 94-101.
Clarke, M. (1994a) ‘Human Repetends’. Gelder 63-70.
Clarke, M. (1994b) ‘Holiday Peak’. Gelder 71-84.
Clarke, M. (2003). ‘Preface to Gordon’s Poems’. In: R. Ristić. An Introduction to
Australian Studies. Niš: Univerzitet, Filozofski fakultet. 207-208.
Couvreur, J. (1994) ‘The Rubria Ghost’. Gelder 85-93.
Dowling, T. (1994) ‘The Daemon Street Ghost-Trap’. Gelder 281-292.
Favenc, E. (1994) ‘The Red Lagoon’. 139-141.
Fortune, M. (1994) ‘The Ghostly White Gate’. Gelder 36-62.
Freud, S. (1919). ‘The Uncanny’. Available at:
http://homepage.mac.com/allanmcnyc/textpdfs/freud1.pdf. Retrieved on:
March 5 2011.
Gelder, K. (ed.). (1994). The Oxford Book of Australian Ghost Stories. Melbourne:
OUP.
Gelder, K. (2007). ‘Australian Gothic’. In: C. Spooner and E. McEvoy (eds.). The
Routledge Companion to Gothic. 115-123.
Gordon, M. (1994) ‘The Ghost That Came to Darwin’. Gelder 201-204.
Hay, W. (1994) ‘An Australian Rip Van Winkle’. Gelder 166-191.
James, B. (1994) ‘The Bunyip of Barney’s Elbow’. Gelder 220-229.
Lang, J. (1994) “The Ghost Upon the Rail”. Gelder 1-18.
Nisbet, H. (1994) ‘The Haunted Station’. Gelder 110-126.
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Archer, L. M. (1994) ‘At Coomassie Gully’. Gelder 163-165.
Praed, R. (1994) ‘The Bunyip’. Gelder 102-109.
Smith. A. (2007). Gothic Literature. Edinburgh: Edinburgh UP.
Stivens, D. (1994a) ‘Ironbark Bill Meets the Bunyip’. Gelder 211-214.
Stivens, D. (1994b) ‘The Hard-Working Ghost’. Gelder 215-219.
Walker, W. S. (1994) ‘The Evil of Yelocomorn Creek’. Gelder 142-151.
Wells, H. G. (1894). ‘The Red Room’. Available at:
http://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/23218/pg23218.txt. Retrieved on:
September 26 2011.
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Milena Kostić /Vesna Lopičić
Niš, Serbia
mkostic76@gmail.com; lovevuk@gmail.com
RACE AND GENDER IN EMILY PAULINE JOHNSON’S A RED GIRL’S
REASONING
Abstract Johnson questions the stereotypes of mixed-race and female in the
patriarchal world of North America after the creation of Canada in 1867. Being
herself an offspring of a Mohawk chief and British noblewoman, she ridicules the
Victorian notions of prudery, especially when imposed on the First Nations women.
Johnson’s narrative is based on the dismissal of the Indian and female inferiority and
the claim for their equal treatment, thus reflecting Said’s vision of the resistance on
the part of the Other: ’to re-chart and occupy the place in imperial cultural forms
reserved for subordination, fighting for it on the same territory once ruled by the
consciousness that assumed the subordination of a designated inferior Other’
(Culture and Imperialism, 1993). This paper focuses on the issues of race and
gender in A Red Girl’s Reasoning (from The Moccasin Maker, 1913) and their
connection with contemporary notions of biculturalism and feminism.
Key words: race, gender, imperialism, biculturalism, colonialism, multiculturalism,
the Other.
1.
Split identities: Johnson’s version of the colonizer and the colonized
Emily Pauline Johnson is considered to be one of the pioneers who questioned
the stereotypes of mixed-race and female in the patriarchal world of Europe and
North America during the decades after the creation of the new dominion of Canada
in1867. Being herself an offspring of a Mohawk chief and British noblewoman, she
ridiculed the Victorian notions of purity, prudery and propriety, especially when
these notions were being imposed on the First Nations women who held different
values and beliefs about appropriate feminine behaviour. Owing to her lifestyle,
usually considered ‘excessive’ by the European settlers in Canada, she rightfully
became the champion of human rights for the First Nations people, the first native
spokesperson for the domesticated Wild West. She dedicated her life to stage
performing, where she could blend her dual origin into a vision of unity – during the
course of a single performance, Johnson posed as an Indian princess in her
traditional buckskin dress, rabbit’s pelts and Indian jewelry made by herself, and as
a British upper-class lady, in an ageing ball-gown, that helped her perform some
satirical sketches about the upper-class life in Ottawa. Although her performances
459
stayed on the level of entertainment, Johnson presented both aspects of her mixedrace heritage as mutually dependent, yet split identities.
In her short stories, Johnson frequently confronts the white imperialist culture
and the fetishized image of the First Nations people as a mark of its national
difference. She uses aspects of this fetishized identity to resist the white hegemony
and to attempt to write herself along these lines of difference into the national script.
The idea that Johnson reinforces in her short stories, especially in A Red Girl’s
Reasoning, which is the subject of this paper, is that although the First Nations were
captive, they were never conquered. Regarding the matter of race, Johnson flirts
with the idea of Rousseau’s ‘noble savage’, and with notions of mysticism and
exoticism that the ‘civilized’ Victorians assigned to the Aboriginal population, and
presents them as proud, obstinate and frank people, even at their own cost.
Furthermore, in this story, the artificial binary opposition between the vulnerable
white woman, supportive of the males, and dirty, immoral squaw, is rightfully
rejected: regarding the matter of gender, Johnson’s narrative is based on the
dismissal of the Indian and female inferiority in general, and the claim for their
equal treatment in the society, thus reflecting Said’s vision of the resistance on the
part of the Other: “to re-chart and then occupy the place in imperial cultural forms
reserved for subordination, to occupy it self-consciously, fighting for it on the very
same territory once ruled by the consciousness that assumed the subordination of a
designated inferior Other” (Said 1993: 23).
Edward Said and his influential study Culture and Imperialism (1993) which
examines the relationship between the West and its imperial conquests within the
context of culture, can serve as a good starting point in the analysis of Johnson’s A
Red Girl’s Reasoning. In this study, Said views imperialism not as a contained era of
history, but rather as something more fluid. According to him, imperialism works in
both the material world and in the imagination (hence his focus on literature); thus
the removal of a colonial or imperial power does not put an end to the influence of
imperialism in the beliefs and practices of a nation. The repercussions of
imperialism are still evident today in the Western culture and the culture of places
that have been colonized as well. Any analysis of imperialism must acknowledge
this two-way relationship, exploring how the colonizer country has impacted the
colonized, as well as looking at the ways imperialism has shaped the culture of the
colonizer.
In Johnson’s short story, this two-way relationship is emphasized through the
marriage between the representatives of the colonizer and colonized, Charlie and
Christie. Johnson portrays their wedding ceremony in terms of biculturalism, with a
great reverence for the cultures that the young couple comes from: the priest canters
through the service in Latin, pronounces the benediction in English and
congratulates the newlyweds in Indian. Although this ‘bicultural’ picture seems to
be idyllic, Charlie is warned about the genuine nature of his wife – apart from being
dutiful, loving, fearless and obstinate, “it is kindness for kindness, bullet for bullet,
blood for blood” that he can expect from Christie. “What you are, she will be”
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(Johnson 1999: 8). However, being so fond of Christie, Charlie, a proper
representative of the Victorian age, naively thinks that the love that binds them can
be a key to bridging the differences in their origins. At the beginning of the story,
Charlie is unaware of the fact that he acts as an ‘amiable’ authority to Christie on
two grounds – race and gender – being white and male, he is unquestionably
superior to Christie, who is Indian and female.
2. Categorization of the Other: “The cultured Indian”
What is especially relevant for the theme of this paper is the idea that Said
specifically addresses the way in which subjugated peoples are represented within
literature and how it has affected not only these peoples but also the cultures they
live in. To accomplish his goal Said sets up a methodological argument within
which he addresses the following concepts. First, that imperialism is not about a
specific moment in history, but rather a continuing interdependent dialogue between
subject peoples and the dominant hegemony of the empire. This is essential to Said's
argument because it demonstrates that the end of imperialistic influence upon
literature did not end with colonial rule, but rather that it continues to exist within
postcolonial culture because of the circumstances in which subjugated peoples have
been placed. Secondly, through the production of popular Western literature authors
have perpetuated a sense of continued domination upon subject peoples. This theory
that postcolonial oppression has been institutionalized within Western literature is a
reference to the idea of a continuing interchange of ideas between the dominant
culture and oppressed peoples. Lastly, Said's comparison of colonialism to racism is
integral to his argument about the continuation of oppression in a postcolonial
environment. Throughout his analysis of culture, he focuses on the limitations of
subjugated peoples within Western culture and the reasons for their continued
oppression. Said points out that there are serious restrictions placed upon colonized
peoples, which not only affect the pursuit, but also the construction of their social
and economic goals. He suggests that it is often postcolonial society that tends to
oversimplify the intent of past imperialistic powers. By this oversimplification, there
are attempts to justify the view of European hegemony that was used as a
mechanism to bring about colonial rule, therefore separating the colonial intent from
colonized impact. In other words, the process of colonization is mostly presented as
a justified act, because it is undertaken for the sake of spreading civilization to
savages, civilizing the brutes, converting the heathen, or, to borrow Alice Miller’s
phrase – it is undertaken “for their own good” (Miller 2002). However, in this book,
Said attempts to move beyond “the rhetoric of blame” and deconstruct the binary of
"colonizer" and "colonized" (Johnson 1999: 18). In her work, Johnson does the same
– she claims that “the white race and red are one if they are but Canadian born”
(Canadian Born, the second book of poems, 20). Both Johnson and Said do not view
461
violence as an effective means of dealing with the legacy of imperialism, instead
placing much greater faith in the power of multicultural education.
Said’s opinion about the way the subjugated peoples are represented in
literature can be illustrated by the manner the First Nations people are seen through
the eyes of the philistine ‘white-settlers’ society in Johnson’s A Red Girl’s
Reasoning. Christie, their representative, although quite ordinary, pale, dark girl
who spoke slowly and with a strange accent, danced fairly well, sang acceptably and
never stirred outside the door without her husband, immediately becomes “all the
rage” (Johnson 1999: 10) that winter at the provincial capital. The men called her a
“deuced fine little woman”, and the ladies perceived her as “the sweetest
wildflower” (Johnson 1999: 10). Even her husband Charlie, who as a boy had the
Indian relic-hunting craze and as a youth studied Indian archaeology and folklore,
though quite aware of the fact that Christie was utterly uncivilized and uncultured by
his ‘civilized’ standards, highly praised her “innate refinement so universally
possessed by the higher tribes of north American Indians” (Johnson 1999: 9).
According to Charlie, she belonged to the type of “the cultured Indian” (Johnson
1999: 9). Johnson, being herself of mixed origin, emphasizes the idea that the
colonizers perceive the Other, the colonized Indian female, as an exotic entity, thus
projecting their own visions and stereotypes of a ‘proper’ Indian on Christie. Thus,
the colonizers, instead of using aggression and violence over the colonized, actually
use the method of categorizing the Other: as long as Christie fits in perfectly within
the standards of the Victorian society and acts complacently in the drawing rooms of
the wives of the pompous Government officials, and, most importantly, is almost
abjectly devoted to her husband, the mixed-race marriage is a perfect success.
Johnson’s portrayal of the union of the opposites is a good example of Said’s
argument about imperialism as an interdependent dialogue between the dominant
colonizer and the repressed colonized party. The imperialistic influence does not end
with the colonial rule, as Said argues, it continues to exist within postcolonial
culture because of the manner in which subjugated peoples have been depicted, in
this case, as ‘noble savages’, raw and uncivilized, but with a touch of ‘fine innate
refinement’ that makes them acceptable by the civilized and sophisticated
Europeans.
Through the reinforcement of the ‘noble savage’ stereotype in popular Western
literature authors have perpetuated a sense of continued domination upon subject
peoples, claims Said, so that colonial oppression continues within the body of
Western literature, and, in that way, a continuing interchange of ideas between the
dominant culture and oppressed peoples takes place. However, Johnson’s narrative
spoils this idyllic, though utterly unrealistic, image of the First Nations: when
offered a choice between the truth of white men and Indians, Christie chooses the
latter.
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3.
Choice between personal convictions and public opinion
The incident occurs rather trivially: at a party, in a Canadian provincial capital,
Christie is asked about the marriage ceremony of her parents. It is taken for granted
that Christie’s mother, a humble and ignorant Indian, succumbed to the marriage
rites of the white man, her husband being one of the first pioneers in the New World.
Furthermore, it is also assumed that Christie found a role model for her submissive
behaviour in her own family. However, the Victorian philistines are shocked after
being informed that the marriage ceremony of Christie’s parents was performed by
Indian rites, or, better to say, it included no ceremony at all. “The two people just
agree to live only with and for each other, and the man takes his wife to his
home…there is no ritual to bind them; they need none; an Indian’s word was his law
in those days” (Johnson 1999: 13).
This statement causes a roar of disapproval on the part of the whole assembly.
What is at stake here is a difference between the oral and written form of culture.
Johnson emphasizes the importance of unwritten laws and story telling as valid and
meaningful aspects of the First Nations culture, unlike the official letter of the law
practiced by ‘more civilized’ European settlers. Her aim is to subvert the official
orthodoxies and to challenge conventional ways of thinking. This is what Christie
manages to achieve.
After the initial shock, the party, being assured that Charlie and Christie got
married according to the Christian laws, with Father O’Leary leading the ceremony,
can be continued. However, it is Christie that disturbs the atmosphere of
conventional cheerfulness – “she rose, slowly, ominously, with the dignity and pride
of an empress” (Johnson 1999: 13) – protesting against the idea that her marriage
would not be lawful if undertaken according to Indian rites. Instead of offering her
support, Charlie is too weak to handle the pressure of his community and, outraged,
leaves the party, without being aware that this sign of weakness will soon cost him
dearly.
In addition, when approaching Christie next time, Charlie insists on the
conviction that his wife disgraced him, not only because of her public outburst, but
because of her concealing the significant facts about her life that could, in case he
knew them before, even put into question the institution of their marriage and his
affection towards her. Johnson portrays this conflict as a collision between two
principles: public and private, social obligation and personal conscience, legality and
justice, Christian and Indian. What seems to Charlie as “a fit of ridiculously childish
temper” (Johnson 1999: 17) is, on Christie’s part, a farewell to their union due to
Charlie’s betrayal of its uncorrupt sanctity:
I tell you we are not married. Why should I recognize the rites of your
nation when you do not acknowledge the rites of mine? According to your own
words, my parents should have gone through your church ceremony as well as
through an Indian contract; according to my words, we should go through an
463
Indian contract as well as through a church marriage. If their union is illegal, so
is ours. If you think my father is living in dishonour with my mother, my
people will think I am living in dishonour with you. How do I know when
another nation will come and conquer you as you white men conquered us?
And they will have another marriage rite to perform, and they will tell us
another truth, that you are not my husband, that you are but disgracing and
dishonouring me, that you are keeping me here, not as your wife, but as your –
your squaw. (Johnson 1999: 16)
This outburst calls our attention to a key element of biculturalism here – the
connection between race and culture. The cultural labels are never neutral, but carry
racially inscribed connotations of inferiority, completely opposed to the construction
of the Western society which presents itself as progressive and democratic. Edward
Said, in his study Orientalism (1994), claims that Orientalism presents a Western
style of dominating, restructuring and having authority and power over the Orient or
‘Other’. (Said 1994: 3) As a result of this unfair power balance, the Orient is not a
free subject of thought or action. (Said 1994: 3) In effect, the unequal relationship
between the Occident (the West) and the Orient (the ‘Other’), causes the whiteEuropean culture to gain in strength and identity by setting itself up against the
orient culture. (Said 1994: 3) The Oriental is seen as being irrational, depraved,
childlike and ‘different’, which is exactly how Charlie in A Red Girl’s Reasoning
perceives Christie’s behaviour after the unsuccessful party, whereas the European is
seen as rational, virtuous, mature and ‘normal’. (Said 1994: 40) From this point of
view, the title of Johnson’s story contains a mighty paradox in itself: irrational red
girls cannot reason, their authorities – in this case, white and male – are in charge of
this demanding activity.
The following day, Charlie is ready ‘to kiss and make up’, as if nothing
important happened, he rationally concludes that he and his wife exaggerated and
behaved like children; however, Christie keeps up her word. In order to respect her
decision to leave Charlie and end their marriage, she does not need an official
stamped document – her word is what matters and not to abide by it will mean to
lose, not only the respect of her native community, but, more importantly, her selfesteem. Thus, before departing, she leaves a note to Joe, Charlie’s brother, assuring
the readers that the former spouses have already told everything they had to each
other, from which it becomes quite clear that her affection for her husband can never
be put into question, it will remain solid and constant forever: “I hope you do not
mind, but I kissed your hair while you slept; it was so curly, and yellow, and soft,
just like his” (Johnson 1999: 18).
In the same manner as her husband, Christie is given a choice between being
loyal to her genuine affection or to the unwritten laws of her community. Her
decision affects her private sphere, because she discards it for the sake of the public
conviction of her community and remains consistent with her decision till the end,
thus bringing into question the impact of the white colonizer and its alleged
464
supremacy over the racially inferior colonized. Simultaneously, her decision comes
into collision with the popular Indian, ‘noble savage’, stereotype among the white
settlers, and portrays them, as previously discussed, as captive, but never thoroughly
conquered.
In his work on fantasies of white supremacy, White Nation: Fantasies of White
Supremacy in a Multicultural Society (2000), Ghassan Hage claims that such
fantasies create a fertile ground for the development of nationalism in the white
settler societies. As such, they derive from and feed into a field of Whiteness. He
suggests that:
Whiteness is an ever-changing, composite cultural construct. It has its
roots in the history of European colonization which universalized a cultural
form of white identity as a position of cultural power at the same time as the
colonized were in the process of being racialised. Whiteness in opposition to
Blackness and Brownness was born at the same time as the binary oppositions
of colonizer/colonized, being developed / being underdeveloped, and later First
World / Third World was emerging. In this sense, White has become the ideal
of being the bearer of ‘Western’ civilization. As such, no one can be fully
White, but people yearn to be so. It is in this sense that Whiteness is itself a
fantasy position and a field of accumulating Whiteness. It is by being qualified
to yearn for such a position that people can become identified as White. At the
same time, to be White does not mean to yearn to be European in a
geographical sense. (Hage 2000: 58)
Hage suggests that in order for the Black/Brown body to be constructed as
different and inferior, the White body has to retain its innocent and valorized status.1
1
In the similar vein, Himani Bannerji, a contemporary Bengali-Canadian author, claims that the
violence of racism is masked by the discourses of denial, on the categorization of racism as something
other than what it is, on the tactics of individualization, and the conversion of racial differences into
categories that demonize, trivialize or erase the difference in ways that suit the interests of a dominant,
hegemonic power. In part, this is achieved through a systematic use of coded language to refer to racial
differences. Bannerji summarizes it when she says that “there is not even a language within the state’s
redress apparatus to capture or describe the racist sexism towards third world or non-white women and
men” (Bannerji 2000: 47). The type of language that exists is that which utilizes coded signifiers such
as ‘culture’, ‘diversity’, ‘tolerance’, ‘difference’, thereby disguising any option of systemic and
symbolic violence of race and racism. Most discourses on race utilize coded words such as
‘immigrant’, ‘refugee’, ‘alien’, ‘terrorist’, to refer to people of colour. Such words colour up and
disguise the main relations of power and present these categories as authentic absolutes against which
the normative Canadian is implicitly defined as the white, law-abiding citizen of the nation.
In Johnson’s short story, the method of colouring up the main relations of power is revealed
through the manner the white philistines address Christie. They are not certain whether it would be
politically correct, to use the term quite popular in the modern body politics, to call her an Indian or red
squaw or native, etc. In order to disguise this uncertainty and to reinforce their own superiority over the
colonized, they refer to the natives as her “mother’s people” (Johnson 1999: 12), and it is Christie
465
However, as already suggested, Johnson’s deconstructs the binary oppositions
of white/red, superior/inferior, colonizer/colonized, innocent/corrupt, by
emphasizing the narrow-mindedness of this world view. Not only that the
representatives of the First Nations in this story are far from being interested in
becoming ‘white’ and civilized themselves, but they obstinately stick to their oral
tradition and loyalty to the community, even at the cost of sacrificing their genuine
selves.
For example, the moment Charlie realizes that he put at stake his marriage to
Christie by insisting on the respect of the written rules of the Christian community,
he goes on a quest to find his wife and bring her back home. He was often
discouraged, but never despondent on his way. “He even took to petting dogs,
looking into their large, solemn eyes with his wistful, questioning blue ones; he
would kiss them, as women sometimes do, and call them ‘dear old fellow’ in tones
that had tears” (Johnson 1999: 18). On one occasion, Charlie saves a huge St
Bernard dog imprisoned in an empty freight car. The animal was nearly dead from
starvation, and it turned out that to rescue back the dog’s life was a remedy for his
own sick heart. The relationship between Charlie and the dog reveals Charlie’s inner
need for genuine love and affection provided by his wife that, in her absence, found
a substitute in a simple, two-way, uncorrupt emotion between a man and animal.
This emotion, a sign of his deep regret and reverence for the sanctity of his love for
Christie, keeps him in life till the moment he finds his beloved again.
The moment Charlie sees Christie again he cannot conceal his genuine
affection: ”His heart swelled with a sudden heat, burning moisture leapt into his
eyes, and clogged his long, boyish lashes” (Johnson 1999: 19). Christie’s initial
reaction is instinctive – she is physically drawn to the man she loves: “For a second,
she stood magnetized by his passionately wistful face, her peculiar grayish eyes
seemed to drink the very life of his unquenchable love…she quivered from head to
foot as his fair, wavy hair brushed her neck, his despairing face sank lower until his
cheek, hot as fire, rested on the cool, olive flesh of her arm. A warm moisture oozed
up through her skin, and as he felt its glow, he looked up”. (Johnson 1999: 20)
However, she shows that even a red girl can reason and restrain herself, as
previously suggested in the title of the story, she remains as cold as stone and quotes
her tribe’s belief, traditionally passed on from generation to generation, that even
love cannot make a slave of a red girl. Charlie leaves desperately, and Christie
remains on her own, conscious of “but two things, the vengeful lie in her soul, and a
little space on her arm that his wet lashes had brushed” (Johnson 1999: 20).
In other words, Christie’s actions do not differ from those of Charlie: both of
them give primacy to the laws of their communities at the expense of their private
convictions. This is Johnson’s way of showing how woefully incomplete and onesided the wide-spread public opinion of the Other is, and how, by following blindly
herself that is not ‘civilized’ enough and speaks the truth about the matter: “Perhaps you are, like all
other white people, afraid to mention my nationality to me” (Johnson 1999: 12).
466
the tyranny of the majority, one can end completely dissociated from his/her genuine
nature. Both the white settlers’ culture and the culture of the First Nations are put
under scrutiny and presented as restrictive and oppressive in Johnson’s A Red Girl’s
Reasoning.
4.
Conclusion: multicultural dream come true?
With her art and stage performing, Johnson confronts the Western cultural,
political, and literary hegemonies and creates a counter discourse to the already
established Western literary and historical discourses. In 1892, she was given a prize
for fiction by Dominion magazine for A Red Girl’s Reasoning, thus obtaining the
title of the first native Canadian poet. In her work, she testifies to the fact that not all
individuals in Canada are equal “before and under the law,” do not “enjoy equal
status,” and do not “have an equal opportunity with other individuals” as the
Multiculturalism Act, passed on in 1988, almost a century after this story was
written, promulgates. Multiculturalism is an aspiring concept that attempts to
include all individuals in the Canadian society and to tackle the problems linked
with cultural and social inequalities and racism. It thus creates a national myth of
equality and integration. The reality for many ‘visible’ minorities, for instance, the
First Nations, is a different one, however, and they painfully realize that the ‘two
founding nations’ still dominate all spheres of this multicultural society. However,
the mere fact that Johnson raised her voice against racial and gendered injustice
almost a century ago is optimistic enough and gives us hope that in the future there
will be more voices who will seek for justice and equal treatment in the Canadian
society, not in Charlie’s and Christie’s way, by sacrificing themselves for the ‘noble’
goals of their communities, but by giving priority to the personal convictions and
private decisions. Thus, Emily Pauline Johnson becomes our contemporary who, in
her writing, warns us about the tragic consequences of the disrespect for the free will
of an individual, notwithstanding his/her race and gender, in multicultural Canada
today.
References
Bannerji, H. (2000). “The paradox of diversity: The construction of a Multicultural
Canada and Women of Color”. Women's Studies International Forum, Volume
23, Issue 5, September-October 2000, Pages 537-560.
Hage, G. (2000). White Nation: Fantasies of White Supremacy in a Multicultural
Society. New York: Routledge.
Johnson, E. P. (1999). “A Red Girl’s Reasoning”. In: R. Sullivan. (ed.). Oxford Book
of Stories by Canadian Women in English. Toronto: Oxford University Press,
8-21.
467
Johnson, E. P. (1903). Canadian Born, Toronto: George N. Morang & co.
Miller, A. (2002). For Your Own Good: Hidden Cruelty in Child-Rearing and the
Roots of Violence. New York: Farrar - Straus – Giroux.
Said, E. W. (1994). Orientalism. New York: Vintage Books
Said, E. W. (1993). Culture and Imperialism. New York: Vintage Books.
468
Viktorija Krombholc
Novi Sad, Serbia
viksic@gmail.com
(IN)VISIBILITY AND POWER IN SARAH WATERS'S AFFINITY
Abstract Sarah Water's second novel Affinity is set in the infamous London prison,
designed by Jeremy Bentham with the aim of achieving the principle of panopticism
– of complete and constant surveillance of the prisoners. The novel takes up this idea
and places the characters within a complex network of visible and invisible
positions, of looking and being looked at. Margaret Prior, a “Lady Visitor” at the
prison, is initially given a seemingly superior position which exposes the prisoners
to her gaze. The aim of the paper is to explore how her position is undermined as the
novel progresses until it becomes clear that she is the one under scrutiny, which
ultimately leads to her demise.
Key words: panopticism, gaze, power, neo-Victorian novel, Sarah Waters, Affinity
1.
Introduction
Sarah Waters’s second novel Affinity (1999) is a tale of desire and deception set
in the Victorian era, and as such it reflects current literary interest in reviving
different historical periods and approaching them from a contemporary perspective.
Waters’s novel engages with the Victorian discourses of gender, sexuality and class
and looks at the erasures and omissions in the Victorian narrative in an attempt to
illuminate the previously invisible sections in the Victorian text, specifically the
narrative of lesbian desire. The novel is centred on the diary entries of Margaret
Prior, a middle-class lady visitor to London’s Millbank prison, and Selina Dawes, a
young medium imprisoned after a spiritual séance ends in the death of her
benefactress. Margaret becomes increasingly attracted to her and is led to believe
that the feelings are mutual, only to eventually be swindled of her inheritance and
her identity. Left with nothing but her unfulfilled desires, she takes her own life. The
prison narrative serves to illustrate Margaret’s position in the Victorian society and
to point to different levels of observation and surveillance at work in the novel. As a
member of the middle-class, Margaret is initially placed in a seemingly superior
position to the prisoners, but in truth her unmarried status, intellectual aspirations
and unwillingness to conform to rigid social norms relegate her to the margins of
Victorian society and align her with the inmates. This precarious position makes her
particularly susceptible to the trickery she is exposed to.
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2.
The Panopticon and panopticism
The descriptions of Millbank prison rely on the available factual information
and genuine historical records of the actual prison that existed in place of today’s
Tate Gallery in Pimlico, London, between 1816 and 1890. The prison was built to
reflect the Panopticon design conceptualized in 1785 by Jeremy Bentham. It
consisted of six pentagons housing different wards, and a hexagonal building in the
central yard where the governor’s offices were situated. Each of the pentagon yards
also contained a watch tower and the warder’s premises (see Figure 1).
Figure 1: Bird's-eye view of Millbank Prison from Henry Mayhew's, 'The Criminal Prisons
of London', 1862. © British Library Board (Shelfmark: 6057.i.7). Reproduced by permission.
Due to Millbank’s panoptic design, when discussing the issues of gaze and
power in Affinity Waters’s critics mostly turn to Michel Foucault’s Discipline and
Punish: The Birth of the Prison (1975; transl. into English in 1977) and its
discussion of panopticism. Foucault engages with the issues of looking and being
looked at from a social and institutional standpoint. In Discipline and Punish, the
gaze occupies the central position in his discussion of surveillance and institutional
control, as the vehicle to their enforcement, as can be seen from the selected
quotations given below:
Visibility is a trap. (Foucault 1995: 200)
Hence the major effect of the Panopticon: to induce in the inmate a state of
conscious and permanent visibility that assures the automatic functioning of
power. (Foucault 1995: 201)
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Power has its principle not so much in a person as in a certain concerted
distribution of bodies, surfaces, lights, gazes. (Foucault 1995: 202, added
emphasis)
The layout of the Panopticon, with the walls of the cells facing the yard open to
inspection and allowing the interior to be seen from the central tower, means that the
prisoners’ movements are observable at all times by a small number of guards. The
key feature of the design is the fact that even though actual surveillance does not
take place constantly, the very awareness of this possibility is enough to constrain
and exert control over the self-conscious prisoners. The panoptic gaze therefore
functions through the internalization of its influence by the object it is turned upon,
so that it becomes its own monitor. What is more, Foucault develops the Panopticon
as an architectural solution into the wider notion of panopticism as the organizing
principle of government and state control, positing all-seeing state power which
registers and appropriately sanctions any type of misbehaviour or unacceptable
phenomena, as opposed to its subjects who act as self-censors, curbing any
unlicensed impulses. Foucault’s panoptic principle is apparent in the descriptions of
prison life and the details of Margaret’s visits to Millbank, and has a broader
significance for her status in her family and in society at large.
3.
Other theoretical approaches
Foucault’s work is certainly a fruitful theoretical base for the discussion of
Affinity and will serve to frame the analysis proposed here; however, one can
observe resonances of other concepts as well, such as Sartre’s notion of “the Look”
(Fr. “le regard”), described in Being and Nothingness: A Phenomenological Essay
on Ontology (1943, transl. into English in 1956), and Lacanian interpretations of the
gaze1, its role in the formation of the ego and its social aspect. Lacan’s ideas have
been further taken up by contemporary feminist film theory, most notably Laura
Mulvey. What connects these theoretical approaches is their notion of vision as an
exercise of power, along with the fact that they have had an enormous influence on a
whole range of disciplines, from literary criticism, film and photography studies to
social and political theory.
Simply speaking, Sartre’s concept of the Look states that being looked at by
another makes one aware of him or herself as an object in the other’s eyes. The look
provokes anxiety and feelings of fear, shame (both moral and existential, as Sartre’s
examples show) or pride, because it implies the subjectivity of the other and the
1
Lacan’s concept has been translated into English as “gaze”, but it is also “le regard” in the
original French text. Subsequent critics working on the grounds of Lacan’s theory have in fact
differentiated between “the look” and “the gaze”, but as this distinction is not crucial for the analysis
given here the two terms will be used interchangeably.
471
objectivity of the self. Because the look interprets and ascribes meaning based on the
exteriority of the object, it reduces one to the external image perceived by another.
At the same time, it confirms its existence and places it within another referential
system: “To be looked at is to apprehend oneself as the unknown object of
unknowable appraisals – in particular, of value judgements. (...) In so far as I am the
object of values which come to qualify me without my being able to act on this
qualification or even to know it, I am enslaved” (Sartre 1969: 267). The look
therefore suggests the freedom of the other and the absence of one’s own.
In Lacanian theory, on the other hand, the gaze is explored in psychoanalytical
terms and is seen as crucial to the development of the ego. The child’s mirror image
and its apparent completeness are contrasted with the fragmentation of the body
experienced by the child. For this reason, the child identifies with the image, and for
Lacan this moment marks the birth of the ego. Because it leads to identification with
another, the gaze has a significant social aspect. Kaja Silverman concludes that the
gaze represents a means by which we are
...socially ratified or negated as spectacle. It is Lacan’s way of stressing that we
depend upon the other not only for our meaning and our desires, but also for
our very confirmation of self. To ‘be’ is in effect to ‘be seen’. (...) [I]t would
seem to represent the inevitable feature of all social existence. (Silverman
1996: 133-4)
Finally, the connection between the gaze and sexual desire has been of
particular interest to feminist film theory, explored in terms of scopophilia, or
pleasure derived from looking at another as an erotic object. In her seminal essay
“Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema”, Laura Mulvey suggests that traditional
narrative cinema reflects and plays on the socially established gendered codes of
looking and objectification, according to which the female figure is “coded for
strong visual and erotic impact”, signifying “to-be-looked-at-ness” (Mulvey 1999:
837), whereas the man is ascribed the active role of spectator. Mulvey argues that
the cinematic pleasure rests precisely on the audience’s identification with the male
figure and the gaze it casts.
Affinity directly engages with these critical concepts. Sartre’s and Lacan’s ideas
provide deeper insight in the exploration and understanding of Margaret’s shifting
position within the visual network which comprises her family, the prison officials,
the prisoners, and most significantly, Selina Dawes and Ruth Vigers. Mulvey’s
framework, on the other hand, proves useful for the analysis of Margaret’s
interaction with Selina and the carefully crafted seduction she succumbs to.
4.
Margaret Prior: from the observer to the observed
The narrative of the prison echoes Foucault’s ideas by clearly demonstrating
the power balance inherent in the division between the prison staff as observers
472
(serving as symbols of government and society in general) and the prisoners as the
observed (mostly, but not exclusively, members of the lower class). The visits
highlight the key features in the prison design which enable this division to be
enforced. As in the actual Pimlico prison, each of Millbank’s pentagons houses a
different prison ward, and in the central yard there is a building where the emblems
of institutional power are concentrated – the governor’s office along with the clerk’s
offices, the chapel, the surgeon’s house and the infirmaries. Initially, Margaret is
given the position of the observer, who is not only allowed to look freely at the
prisoners, but who is to serve as a role model of acceptable female behaviour, as
opposed to the criminality and monstrous femininity embodied by the female
prisoner. Her initial identification therefore lies with the warders and the power
bestowed upon them. However, it is suggested rather early on that the apparent class
division existing between her and the prisoners need not hold, foreshadowing not
only Margaret’s subsequent identification with the inmates, but her multiply
exposed position: “‘Why, we have had ladies here,’ (...) ‘Ladies, miss, quite like
yourself.’” (Waters 2008: 25; see also 327-8).
When Mr Shillitoe, the prison governor, takes her to the central tower,
Margaret immediately feels drawn to the view from the window. Each of the
characters present in the scene displays a sense of pleasure at being able to watch the
yard fill with women, who emerge for their hour of exercise:
‘Miss Haxby, will you come to the window and watch with Miss Prior? Now,
Miss Prior, keep your eyes before you, and you shall see something!’ (Waters
2008: 13)
Miss Haxby, I thought, gazed at the plodding women with a kind of
satisfaction. ‘See how they know their places,’ she said. (Waters 2008: 14)
I gazed again at the circling women, saying nothing, thinking my own
thoughts.
‘You like to look at them,’ Miss Haxby said then.
She said she had never had a visitor yet that didn’t like to stand at that window
and watch the women walk. It was as curative, she thought, as gazing at fish in
a tank.
After that, I moved from the glass. (Waters 2008: 17)
For Mr Shillitoe, the women are a spectacle he invites Margaret to observe.
Miss Haxby, the matron, watches the women in the yard with satisfaction because
they “know their places”, and even though she refers to the orderly movements of
the prisoners, the remark is indicative of the power relations which underscore the
scene. Finally, for Margaret, gazing at the women is represented as a source of
pleasure. After Miss Haxby observes this, Margaret feels uneasy and moves away
from the window. This feeling of unease is reminiscent of Sartre’s voyeur from
473
Being and Nothingess, who experiences shame and anxiety when caught peeping
through the keyhole (Sartre 1969: 259-261). This is the first suggestion of
Margaret’s growing visibility to different power structures which is to become fully
apparent later on. The scene also illustrates the dehumanizing effects of the gaze –
the women are likened to “fish in the tank”, which complements other dehumanizing
descriptions of them, as dolls, beads on a string, or ghosts. The dynamics of being
observed while observing will be repeatedly played upon throughout the novel. For
instance, as she secretly watches Selina in her cell for the first time, Margaret moves
away only when the privacy of the moment is disturbed by the matron’s footsteps,
and the scene can be read as another resonance of Sartre’s voyeur, whose imagined
observer is anticipated by aural cues (the footsteps in the corridor).
Another tool for the supervision of the prisoners is the inspection flap on their
doors, or “the eye”. The unsettling nature of this punishment is evident in the
prisoners’ repeated attempts to blind the matrons through the flap and both
symbolically and literally remove the constant gaze turned upon them. Selina Dawes
singles out as one of the most unbearable aspects of her punishment the fact that she
is ceaselessly exposed to the gaze of others: “All the world may look at me, it is part
of my punishment. (...) To have the matron’s eye ... forever on you” (Waters 2008:
47-9). As observed by Llewellyn (2004), it is hardly surprising that when Selina
attacks a matron, she hits her with a trencher across the eyes, blinding her
temporarily (see Waters 2008: 249). Interestingly, while constant surveillance is
imposed as part of the regular disciplinary regime, the punishment for severe breach
of the prison’s regulations is precisely the opposite – being put in “the darks”, a cell
at the heart of the prison, in complete darkness, away from anyone’s eyes. The
darkness is perceived as an existential threat, and the prisoner faced with this
punishment fears she will “die in the dark, like a stinking rat” (Waters 2008: 183),
which is in line with Silverman’s assertion that the gaze, in Lacanian terms, serves
as the confirmation of the self.
Initially, Margaret uses the power afforded to her privileged position of the
observer and looks through the flap at the women, who either remain unaware of her
gaze or simply acknowledge the faceless presence behind the door. The first woman
Margaret secretly watches is a woman imprisoned for attempted suicide by sedative
overdose, a criminal offence Margaret herself is guilty of, having attempted to take
her life after her father’s death. The matron invites Margaret to take a look and in
doing that, Margaret experiences her own vicarious punishment, having previously
escaped its actual enforcement owing to her social status, which induces feelings of
guilt and self-loathing. As a result, her identification shifts further from the guards to
the prisoners, so when she refers to “her old griefs” (her unrequited love for her
sister-in-law, her father’s death, her attempted suicide) she uses images that bear
association with imprisonment. She imagines her past “shut with a strap and a
buckle” (Waters 2008: 29), suggestive of a corrective facility, but also of a mental
institution, which foreshadows both her hysterical episodes and her poor judgement
of Selina’s true motives.
474
Margaret does not retain her position of the clandestine observer for long. In
her subsequent visits, she finds herself exposed both to increasingly reciprocating
gaze cast by the prisoners and to the inspection of the matrons.
… Now I did hear Mrs Jelf’s boot upon the passage-way. ‘Quickly!’ I said –
for my heart had begun to beat so fast in my breast, I saw the cloth above it
give a quiver, like a drum-skin. (…) Still the boot came closer, still my heart
thumped! (…) and Mrs Jelf made her appearance at the bars. I saw her dark
eyes searching, in their usual fretful way; but there was nothing to see, except
my fluttering breast – and that I covered with my coat… (Waters 2008: 115)
The quoted scene is the first in a series of scenes where Margaret is placed
behind the cell door, anxious to avoid the searching look of the matrons. The spatial
twist on Sartre’s voyeur scene, which places her inside the cell, reflects how
Margarets’s seemingly superior position is progressively undermined, until she
proves completely visible and therefore powerless. Additionally, and more
significantly, Selina reciprocates Margaret’s gaze and in doing so shifts the power
balance, claiming the position of power for herself. Her gaze is described as
“unflinching” (Waters 2008: 44), “still” (46) and “unsettling” (46, 64), her eyes are
“dark as a magician’s” (272), and in many scenes Margaret cannot bear her direct
gaze and has to avert her eyes (88, 110). Selina’s penetrating gaze is threatening
because it discloses all Margaret’s hidden anxieties while revealing nothing of the
observer:
... [I] still felt her watching. (...) ‘You have come to Millbank, to look on
women more wretched than yourself, in the hope that it will make you well
again.’ – I remember the words very clearly, because they were so gross, and
yet came so close to the truth... (Waters 2008: 47)
Selina manages to further destabilize Margaret’s gaze by willingly exposing
herself to it and exciting fetishist fantasies. Margaret’s very first surreptitious gaze at
Selina, whose perfect stillness and devotional posture invoke an association with a
saint or an angel depicted in a Renaissance painting, discloses the scopophilic nature
of her interest. In fact, Margaret’s position of an “invisible guest”, looking at the
image framed by the door flap from the darkness of the corridor, parallels that of the
film spectator “looking in on a private world” (Mulvey 1999: 836) framed by the
film screen. The association with a painting depicting a sacred figure points to
Margaret’s subsequent objectification and fetishisation of Selina and different
objects associated with her – a reproduction of Carlo Crivelli’s painting that she
keeps in her room, the coil of Selina’s hair she secretly seeks out among the
prisoners’ belongings, and most importantly, her velvet collar. Selina and her
possessions become the locus of Margaret’s desire, much like the locket with the
curl of Helen’s hair used to be. As Mulvey suggests, fetishistic scopophilia
475
manifests itself as the over-valuation of the object, which in Margaret’s case
culminates when she recognizes Selina’s features in the face and hands of the Virgin
in one of Crivelli’s paintings.
The power of Selina’s gaze is attributed to her spiritual sensitivity, and the
connection which is established between visual and spiritual insight serves not only
to create an air of mystery, but also to conceal Selina’s true motives. In her study on
late Victorian spiritualism and the issues of gender and power, Alex Owen reports a
common belief among the Victorians that a mesmerist must have a ‘powerful
Magnetic Gaze’, which is “searching, piercing” (Owen 2004: 128). She also
observes that the cabinet, used by a great number of mediums (Selina included),
provided a means of “shield[ing] the medium from public gaze” (Owen 2004: 46)
and its implicit scrutiny. These beliefs are evident in Selina’s insistence that her
spirit-friends “see everything. Even the pages of [Margaret’s] secret book” (Waters
2008: 111), leading Margaret to believe that the most intimate details from her diary
become visible through the spirits’ eyes. Falling prey to her own wish for romantic
fulfilment, Margaret discovers only too late that her principal observer is her own
maid Vigers, working in league with Selina to trick and rob her.
5.
The social Panopticon: gender roles and class blindness
Margaret’s exposure to Selina’s and Vigers’s gaze, with its tragic
consequences, is associated with her social visibility and its equally damaging
effects. She feels growing unease at being the object of observation both at the
prison and in her own home. In fact, the distinction between the two becomes
blurred, as she associates the prison matrons with her mother, who controls access to
her sedatives, sets watch over her during her bouts of illness and whose scolding is a
constant reminder of Margaret’s inability to fulfil the domestic roles required of her
sex. As a childless and unmarried woman with intellectual aspirations, Margaret
embodies improper femininity as much as the prisoners she visits, and because she is
a middle-class lady her transgression of social norms is perceived as far worse.
During one of her early visits to Millbank, she imagines one of the prisoners as a
humbled fairy princess, “set to work at some impossible labour” (Waters 2008: 24).
In the light of her subsequent identification with the prisoners, this description is
indicative of how she perceives her own position in the society – humbled,
constricted and given the impossible task of fitting the norms of acceptable women’s
behaviour.
Although Margaret perceives the threat posed by the institutional gaze
embodied by the matron, and by the social and familial gaze embodied by her
mother, and seeks to escape them, she fails to comprehend the danger of Selina’s
gaze; to the contrary, she revels in it. Ironically, she feels its reach even in the
privacy of her bedroom, but she tragically misinterprets the significance of this
specular interaction. This is not surprising, as Selina’s gaze provides a desired
476
identity Margaret is not allowed to have within the bounds of socially imposed
norms – an interesting and original rebel, rather than a plain and awkward spinster.
For Margaret, Selina is also the ideal image she identifies with early on (“You are
like me”, Waters 2008: 82), a belief Selina actively fosters (“Look at any part of you
– it might be me that you are looking at! [Waters 2008: 275]). Even though
Margaret’s exposure to Selina’s gaze at first seems liberating from the restrictions
imposed by the judging eyes of the Victorian society, allowing her to be her
unbridled, true self, her failure to remain in the position of the active observer has
disastrous consequences.
Margaret’s resentment of the socially imposed restrictions on women’s
behaviour and of the severely limited range of female roles finds relief in hysterical
episodes reminiscent of the prisoners’ enraged outbreaks. Not surprisingly, in
accordance with the Victorian understanding of hysteria her mental state is
interpreted as a consequence of her unmarried status and her gender, rather than
inadequate mental stimulation or frustrated desires (see Showalter, The Female
Malady, 1985). Despite the supervision she imposes, Margaret’s mother remains
oblivious not only to the true source of her daughter’s frustration (“She thinks she
sees into all my weaknesses. She does not, of course, see the greatest one”, Waters
2008: 288), but also to the presence of the second observer in the house, Vigers.
Unlike Mrs Prior, Vigers correctly interprets Margaret’s nervous disposition,
proving herself the more astute observer.
As a servant, Vigers remains completely invisible to Margaret and to the
members of her family, which enables her to actualize her plan without arousing any
suspicion. As Margaret’s maid, she has free access to her room and her belongings,
and uses it to plant different objects supposedly sent by Selina through spiritual
channels, and more importantly, to read Margaret’s diary and report its content back
to her accomplice. Vigers’s invisibility in Margaret’s middle-class family guarantees
that the gaze is never turned in her direction to compromise her plans, which means
that the controlling gaze hits a blind spot; it is undermined and rendered powerless
by a character the society deems unworthy of the gaze in the first place. Ironically,
Margaret receives an early warning pointing to the origin of the gaze turned upon
her, when one of the matrons warns her not to leave any valuable objects in sight of
the prisoners, as she would “keep [her] rings and trinkets hidden from the eyes of a
servant” (Waters 2008: 16). While this warning allows for the possibility of a
servant turning their eyes upon an object, Margaret fails to recognize that the gaze
could be turned upon herself as well. As Heilmann and Llewellyn conclude, the
“consequences of acquiescing with the idea that those deemed socially ‘inferior’ are
irrelevant and therefore rightly remain invisible to us strike home with a vengeance”
(Heilmann & Llewellyn 2010: 188).
477
6.
Conclusion: invisibility, privacy and the narrative
The final consideration to be made is the relevance of the issues of visibility
and invisibility with regard to the narrative. The presence of the institutional gaze is
contrasted with the intimacy and supposed privacy implied by the diary form used
(see Brindle 2009/10). What Affinity does is effect a subversion of both. On the one
hand, the diary as a private document is compromised. In fact, what enables the
success of the trick is precisely the intrusion on the privacy of Margaret’s “secret
book”. Although the visibility of her diary is initially perceived by Margaret as a
token of her special bond with Selina and a gateway to their secret communication,
not to be feared but relished, the fact that she does not recognize its implicit danger
becomes the crucial factor in her demise. Once the devious scheme reveals itself,
Margaret burns her diary because she feels that both the diary and her feelings have
been tainted by Vigers’s gaze: “I (…) cannot bear to read again what I set down
before. When I tried that, I seemed to see the smears of Vigers’s gaze upon the
pages, sticky and white” (Waters 2008: 348).
On the other hand, the narrative of the prison is contained within Margaret’s
diary narrative, which is inevitably limited by her own perspective, both in terms of
how much she is allowed to see and how she interprets the events she witnesses. On
a different level, society’s surveillance of Margaret proves equally limited and
ineffectual, its failure symbolized by the policeman patrolling outside Margaret’s
home, who remains oblivious to any of the tragic events inside. Even though the
matrons suspect the true motive behind her visits, it remains unknown to her mother,
and the society at large. As only a select few have insight into Margaret’s secret
infatuation, we can assume that her goodbye note to her family is likely to be read as
a suicide note, and that her death will be ascribed to her unstable mental condition.
Finally, the secret correspondence between Selina and Vigers, crucial to the entire
plot, remains invisible to the supposedly all-seeing panoptic gaze. Ultimately, secret
communication triumphs over the controlling power of vision and attempts at
absolute knowledge, and the entire story of Margaret’s ill-fated desire is likely to
remain invisible to the majority of those involved. At the same time, the true
narrative of female same-sex desire in Victorian times, the liaison between Selina
and Vigers, remains veiled in both specular and narrative terms, and it is left to the
power of imagination, Margaret’s and the reader’s alike, to piece it together.
References
Brindle, K. (2009/10). “Diary as Queer Malady: Deflecting the Gaze in Sarah
Waters’s Affnity”. Neo-Victorian Studies 2(2), 65-85.
Foucault, M. (1995). Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison. Transl. by Alan
Sheridan. New York: Vintage.
Heilmann, A. and Llewellyn, M. (2010). Neo-Victorianism: The Victorians in the
Twenty-First Century, 1999-2009. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan.
478
Llewellyn, M. (2004). “ ‘Queer? I should say it’s criminal!’ Sarah Waters’s Affinity
(1999)”. Journal of Gender Studies 13(3), 203-214.
Mulvey, L. (1999). “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema.” In: L. Braudy and M.
Cohen (eds.). Film Theory and Criticism: Introductory Readings. New York:
Oxford UP, 833-844.
Owen, A. (2004). The Darkened Room: Women, Power, and Spiritualism in Late
Victorian England. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Sartre, J. P. (1969). “The Look”. In: Being and Nothingness: A Phenomenological
Essay on Ontology. Transl. by Hazel E. Barnes. London: Routledge, 252-302.
Silverman, K. (1996). Threshold of the Visible World. London and New York:
Routledge.
Waters, S. (2008). Affinity. London: Virago.
Illustrations
Bird's-eye view of Millbank Prison from Henry Mayhew's, 'The Criminal Prisons of
London', 1862. Copyright The British Library Board. Available at:
http://www.bl.uk/learning/images/victorian/crime/large102173.html. Retrieved
on: 14 March 2011.
479
Arijana Luburić-Cvijanović
Novi Sad, Serbia
alcvijanovic@ff.uns.ac.rs
INNOCENCE AND EXPERIENCE: ECHOES OF WILLIAM BLAKE AND
ÁGOTA KRISTÓF IN CHRIS ABANI’S SONG FOR NIGHT
Abstract Chris Abani’s novella Song for Night records a West African child
soldier’s nightmarish journey of self-discovery through a warzone landscape in
search of his platoon. Tracing the narrator’s haunting story, the paper aims at
exploring the Blakean concept of innocence and experience and drawing parallels
with Ágota Kristóf’s The Notebook, another account of the loss of innocence in war.
Special attention is paid to the point of view as it plays a crucial role in shedding
light on the narrator’s passage from innocence to experience, from ignorance to
knowledge, against a backdrop of unspeakable brutalities which the child adapts to.
Key words: innocence, experience, loss, war, Abani, Blake, Kristóf.
Because I was happy upon the heath,
And smil’d among the winters snow:
They clothed me in the clothes of death,
And taught me to sing the notes of woe.
William Blake, ‘The Chimney Sweeper’
1. The bleak Blakean journey
‘How far into darkness can a being go and still find their way back to light.
And how much is it necessary for there to be darkness for the concept of light to
exist’ (Kaufman 2006: 2). These words of the Nigerian author Chris Abani curiously
echo William Blake’s much quoted idea–inherited from Jakob Boehme–that without
opposites there is no progression. So does his novella Song for Night which sets
Blake’s notions of innocence and experience in the context of indescribable, yet
graphically portrayed horrors of an unnamed civil war in Nigeria, with its title
suggesting that this is a song of as well as for innocence lost. Amidst the novella’s
many intertextual references, the Blakean prove useful and perhaps indispensable in
interpreting contemporary forms of injustice in Abani’s work.
Among his other works, Blake’s famous collection Songs of Innocence and of
Experience, influenced by Milton’s Paradise Lost and, structurally, ‘L’ Allegro’ and
‘Il Penseroso’, explores the concept of the former giving way to the latter, of
innocence taken away, within the cheerful pastoral setting of the Songs of Innocence
480
which transforms into the dark, wintry and increasingly urbanized fallen world of
the Songs of Experience. Embodying a complex idea of innocence as spiritually and
morally pure yet ignorant and therefore fragile, containing ‘the new-born innocence
of children and lambs, the vulnerable and exploited innocence that shows children
neglected and enslaved, and the mature vision of a world of love in which God is
found in the merciful and peaceful acts’ (Watson 1985: 88), the earthly paradise that
Blake evokes in the collection’s first section is perhaps unique in European pastoral
poetry in its support of a ‘determined and intellectually rigorous antipastoral’
(Curran 1986: 111). Contrary to the children of the second section, those in the
Songs of Innocence are painfully unaware of being abused by a corrupt, materialistic
age. The merry rhythm of the line ‘So your chimneys I sweep and in soot I sleep’
(Blake 1967: 39) sharply contrasts with the image of innocence lying in the soot of
human cruelty. Song, laughter and play are frequently interrupted by weeping, if
sometimes for joy, which turns louder in the desolate world of the Songs of
Experience, more explicitly critical of social injustices and inequalities. ‘A little
black thing among the snow’1 (Blake 1967: 90) speaks of the merciless ‘reification’
of children sold by their parents and thus ‘commodified’.2 Neglect, poverty, child
labour and racism now shriek in Blake’s bleak vision, with innocence remaining ‘an
ideal to be struggled for’ (Watson 1985: 88), one which, like all ideals, is always out
of reach. For those who have lost innocence, there is no going back. Their only
option is to move on by embracing experience. Having no alternative, this is
precisely what the children soldiers in Song for Night do.
Set in Nigeria, three years into a ‘senseless war’ (Abani 2007: 19), the novella
traces the steps of a child soldier’s search for his lost platoon. As he progresses on
his way through the war-ridden country, both the reader and the child, with the
former always a few steps ahead, gradually realize that this is a mythical and
metaphysical journey of self-discovery and redemption, reminiscent of Coleridge’s
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. His journey ‘home’ is also one of memory, taking
him ‘from one scene of past trauma to another’ (Abani 2007: 147), forcing him to
face his desire, shame, guilt and fear. Along the way, his is the only point of view
we are allowed and he is the most unreliable of narrators, one who is for long
unaware of the true meaning of his dreamlike odyssey.
Abani’s peculiar blend of beauty and horror, reality and imagination, history
and myth, presents us with the legacy of the moment depicted in Chinua Achebe’s
Things Fall Apart, when contact was established between the white man and the
black man. A former British colony, Nigeria faces the corruption and instability
characteristic of so many postcolonial spaces and incarnates dreams, particularly
1
Emphasis added.
For a lengthy disussion of thingification and commodification in the context of postcolonial
literature, see Ania Loomba, Colonialism/Postcolonialism.
2
481
dreams of independence, ‘turned rancid’ (Abani 2007: 97).3 The topography of the
nightmarish landscape My Luck, the ironically named main protagonist, takes us
through is dotted with ghastly sights of countless corpses, mutilated people,
phantom soldiers, burning houses, desecrated churches and deserted villages. One of
the most striking aspects of the novella, its intentional vividness of horrifying detail
is finely balanced with visions of beauty and, surprisingly, hope.
The canoe becomes entangled in some lilies growing in a green and white
cluster, and though the tides are pulling at it, I know because the lilies are
nodding their white heads in time that the boat will not dislodge. The skeleton
sways back and forth with the boat’s motion and it makes me think of an
elaborate decoration on a Swiss clock. There is a cobweb between the bony
arm and the empty chest. It is beautiful and shimmers in a fading light. I
wonder how long this poor soul has been lost, even as I admire the cobweb,
thinking it reminds me of another time. Of the doilies and small caps I used to
crochet all those years ago. (Abani 2007: 76)
Seen from the perspective of someone exposed to the brutalities of death and
war from an early age, the world does not lose its peculiar appeal.
Long accustomed to ghastly images, My Luck confides to the reader at the very
onset of the story that ‘it is a strange place to be at fifteen, bereft of hope and very
nearly of your humanity’ (Abani 2007: 19). Having joined the war at the age of
twelve, seeking revenge for the lost loved ones and with a ‘clear enemy’ in mind, at
fifteen he is tired of the hate and is merely fighting to survive (Abani 2007: 19). He
sees through the world that exposed him to ‘the real thing’ (Abani 2007: 31), which
he was hungry for, after ridiculous three-week training according to the rules of a
non-existent manual which the narrator prefers to think of as lost. With wooden guns
replaced by real weapons, loaded when there is ammunition, he and his smallest
fellows are chosen for the ‘elite team’ of mine diffusers. Like Blake’s chimney
sweepers, they are chosen not for their intelligence or skill but for their small size
that would apparently prevent them from setting off mines. To silence their death
screams, the superiors go a step further. ‘I finger the scar on my throat that marks
the cut that ended my days of speech’, says My Luck (Abani 2007: 20) revealing
that they are literally rendered voiceless and left to invent an unusual and highly
specific language of signs.
His inability to speak makes him ‘better versed at the interior monologue’
(Abani 2007: 21) and he engages in the most intimate communication with the
reader whom he grants access to his mind. The bond is strengthened by the fact that
his inner speech is in Igbo, though the written words are in English, exposing his
3
For a vivid depiction of the many failures of postindependent societies to rise to even the most
basic expectations of the former colonized, see for instance Jamaica Kincaid’s A Small Place and Caryl
Phillips’ A State of Independence and The Final Passage.
482
most atavistic, deepest self. Through My Luck’s disillusioned eyes, the reader
witnesses a reality dominated by a distorted idea of humanity, in which ‘nothing is
strange anymore’ (Abani 2007: 31).
His disarming honesty about war dealings and his own shameful role in them is
poised with indifference of tone, signaling the extent of his disenchantment. Seeing
vultures feeding on a ‘macabre regatta’ of corpses (Abani 2007: 45), My Luck
simply scratches his belly, thinking of breakfast. On another occasion, the
naturalistic details of the consequences of mine explosions are related with
intimidating composure and matter-of-factness.
When a mine explodes, anyone directly on top will usually be killed. They
are lucky. For the rest, shrapnel tears off arms and legs and parts of faces.
Mines are like little jumping jackals. You step on one, they arm, you step off,
and they jump about mid-torso high and then explode, ripping you apart. For
us, the rebels, mines are as valuable as bullets. We have no generous
superpower sugar-daddies and we reuse every mine that we successfully
diffuse. Waste not want not. (Abani 2007: 47-48)
His impassive tone is in full sway in scenes like the one when he says good-bye
to his lover Ijeoma, whose name is yet another touch of irony as it means Good Life.
‘She no longer had any arms or legs and wasn’t much more than a bloody
torso, lacerated by shrapnel, body parts scattered in a way that cannot be
explained or described.’ (Abani 2007: 54)
His and his fellow soldiers’ cold detachment, resulting from extreme exposure
to horrors which they too are forced to commit gradually perverts them to such an
extent that they are able to cheer ‘at the snapping of old bones and the sigh of tired
flesh’ (Abani 2007: 28) during a killing and even feel the joy of ‘a bullet tearing
through a body, the juicy suck of flesh around a bayonet, the grainy globular
disintegration brought on by clubs’ (Abani 2007: 143). When the young narrator is
forced to rape a woman, despite his reluctant consent and sobbing, a part of him
enjoys it. The woman comforts him and her tender words echo Blake as she sees in
him ‘a boy lost’ (Abani 2007: 85). He may not be entirely lost, though, as he still
retches at the sight of a train’s gruesome cargo of cadavers and feels fear in front of
people chopping dead bodies before burning them. The most important indicator of
his lingering humanity, however, is his feeling of guilt and shame.
He is hurt by the pleasure he took in rape and admits to being a coward, hiding
during his mother’s agonizing murder,4 or leaving his dying father alone like a dog.
The road to his redemption is also haunted by painful memories of the innocent
casualties among the many he has killed, as well as vivid scenes of torture and death
4
This particular scene bears striking resemblance to one in Caryl Phillips’ A Distant Shore.
483
in general. War has made him habituated to the pain and fears of others but not his
own. Like Coleridge’s ancient mariner, he is unable to rest, pray or cry for tears are
useless in his present ordeal. Rest will come as he gets closer to his aim.
It is small wonder that these children are hardened in a hypocritical world
where the worst among war criminals can say ‘I am a civilized man’ (Abani 2007:
33) while the West sells land mines banned in civilized warfare to those it deems
inferior.5 It is a world of mostly untrained soldiers fighting for causes not even they
can remember or even properly understand, suffering ‘acceptable losses’ (Abani
2007: 49) and ‘liberating’ their victims’ belongings, a world of extreme poverty and
madness, with people reduced to scavengers and thieves robbing even corpses of
their possessions. This blood-curdling setting allows for nothing sacred as little girls
named Faith are in danger of being raped, statues of Jesus are mutilated for firewood
and those of the Virgin used for shooting practice, while the kind are killed for
reminding us of the shits we are (Abani 2007: 111). In it, the measure of age and
maturity is neither pubic hair nor cigarettes and weapons but one’s skill in interior
monologue (Abani 2007: 21).
My Luck truly does sound too old for his age when he contemplates his loss of
a sense of what innocence might mean and wonders whether man is ever truly
innocent. Like the children in Blake’s Songs of Innocence and of Experience, he is
deprived of his boyhood, but he will never be a man, either–‘not this way’ (Abani
2007: 143). Not all is lost, however, as the narrator and his friends are not entirely
immune to all monstrosities, some of which make them cry6 while others induce fear
that they regard as a remnant of childishness. Even in the most bizarre scenes, they
are capable of recognizing beauty and the strength of hope. As he watches a group
of maimed creatures, pronounced dead through a slip of the gruesome mathematics
of war and now seen as ghosts or zombies, seeking refuge in the forest, My Luck
notices a disabled girl dancing in a circle.
Still balanced on one leg, her waist began a fierce gyration and her upper
body moved the opposite way. Then like a crazy heron, she began to hop
around, her waist and torso still shaking. She was an elemental force of nature.
I couldn’t take my eyes off her. … a small fire sprite shaking the world and
reducing war-hardened onlookers to tears. (Abani 2007: 51)
Here too, Abani employs an intricate fusion of the ghastly and the marvelous,
which is perhaps his most astounding achievement in this novella. In the midst of all
the suffering, the narrator and his platoon manage not to forget about love and play,
5
Such western images of Africa are condensed in the symbolical title of My Luck’s French
textbook: French Afrique Book One: French Even Africans Can Speak. An elaborate discussion of
similar stereotypes can be found in Edward Said’s Orientalism.
6
Like the Songs of Innocence and of Experience, Song for Night frequently echoes with the
sound of crying.
484
either. Having witnessed a nun’s suicide, the platoon breaks into play, which
provides temporary relief as new horrors are always close at hand. One of the places
the narrator revisits is an oasis where for a brief moment they cease to be soldiers
and become teenagers again. The delicate portrayal of the idyll reverberates with
images of little Tom Dacre’s hopeful dream about the chimney sweepers’ release
from the burden of their grim realities.7 Enjoying the time snatched from war, My
Luck and Ijeoma are ‘making love with desperation tinged with the foreknowledge
of loss’ (Abani 2007: 58). Making love is their desperate attempt ‘to make sure that
amongst all that horror, there was still love’ (Abani 2007: 86).
The stark contrast between childhood and enforced adulthood, love and hate,
lovemaking and rape, the beauty of life and the horror of death, all reflect the notion
of innocence abused by an evil which seems inherent. They are taught to kill but no
one teaches them to enjoy it and yet even these apparent innocents do (Abani 2007:
143). The idea of abused innocence is most powerfully conveyed, for instance, in the
parallel between the ominous clicking of a mine arming and the mechanism of a
child’s toy or the description of the youngest boy in the platoon who is only seven or
eight and ‘in his bedraggled clothes that are several sizes too big, he looks like a
scruffy elf. The .45 automatic he lugs around would be funny if it wasn’t real’
(Abani 2007: 131).
2. Other visions of compromised innocence
Another striking literary account of perverted innocence is Ágota Kristóf’s The
Notebook. The novel, part of a literary triptych, follows the transformation of a pair
of twins under the influence of wartime atmosphere. Forced to stay with their
grandmother who is not only reluctant to look after them but seems utterly devoid of
any emotion for the children–that being a singular lesson in the world’s brutality,
they grow up and grow numb to the pain around them. Left to their own devices,
they devise a system of exercises designed to make them stronger and better
equipped to deal with the world. Among them are exercises for strengthening the
body and the mind, exercises in begging or being deaf and blind, exercises in
starvation and cruelty. The world around them teaches them additional lessons in
experience such as poverty, blackmail, pedophilia, or killing, all of which inure them
to the suffering of people around them as well as their own.
Indifference of tone is driven to the extreme here as the twins become more and
more isolated and cold in their attempt to protect themselves. Their short,
fragmentary utterances, whose subject is always ‘we’, characteristic of Kristóf’s
terse style, give off a sense of alienation which denies even the slightest trace of
humanity or warmth and expose the world of experience in its most frightening
aspects. Like the children soldiers in Abani’s novella, they too are forced to kill,
7
See Blake’s poem ’The Chimney Sweeper’ from the Songs of Innocence.
485
which sometimes and from another point of view, might look like performing deeds
of mercy. Their vomiting when they see a pile of burnt corpses points to the
leftovers of fear and perhaps empathy in their hardened hearts, suggesting another
shared aspect of experience between them and the little soldiers in Song for Night.
Apart from a near total lack of humane feelings, a major difference between
Abani’s work and that of Ágota Kristóf is that she refrains from providing graphic
details of the horrors of war, except for the aforementioned pile. War remains in the
background as she focuses on its effects on the minds of its (innocent?) victims. The
unnamed (because any) twins are not soldiers in the unnamed (because any) war
though they too fight to survive. Their struggle leads the reader to the perplexing
end of The Notebook which gives hope and takes it away.
Hope is shattered in the sequels The Proof and The Third Lie, which expose the
aftermath of war in all its desolation. The prevailing sense is one of utter loneliness
in a world which provides no space for mercy and love. The two narrators merge
into one–Claus, whose anagramically named imaginary twin Lucas has been missing
for years–whereby individual madness is introduced as a reflection of the collective,
societal insanity depicted in both Kristóf’s and Abani’s work. Like Song for Night,
the fragmented structure of the trilogy walks the blurry line between reality and
imagination with the unreliable narrator being unable to distinguish between truth
and lie, mercy and brutality, or grasp the true nature of his journey in a setting where
no relationship is truly affectionate or satisfactory. Similarly, My Luck does not
fully comprehend where he is heading to but, despite being caught up in ambiguous
acts, he does not lose a sense of morality nor does his world deny the possibility of
positive outcomes. Rendering all hope abortive, Kristóf’s trilogy provides no relief.
A similar narrative is found in Serbian literature. The novel Top je bio vreo
(The Cannon Was Hot) by Vladimir Kecmanović8 is set in Sarajevo at the time of
the war in Bosnia. The impartial story is related from the perspective of a
shellshocked child muted by an explosion which leaves him orphaned. Like My
Luck, he allows the reader inside his mind but the air of intimacy is curiously
missing. The laconic sentences reminiscent of The Notebook resound with the same
impassiveness of tone that betrays a desperate desire on the part of the child to
survive in the sea of adult poison threatening to drown him. That he fails to remain
entirely immune to it the reader learns at the very end when the boy regains his
voice–the cigarette in his mouth a preposterous symbol of experienced manhood–
and reveals his wish for ‘the real thing’.
8
A film based on the novel, dedicated to Ágota Kristóf, among others, is about to be released
soon. Another interesting film dwelling on the theme of innocence lost in war is Turtles Can Fly by
Bahman Ghobadi.
486
3. The uncanny in Abani’s ghost story
Unlike Song for Night, Kecmanović’s narrative makes no use of the uncanny in
its portrayal of the loss of innocence. The further My Luck progresses on his way,
the easier it is for the reader to understand that the journey takes place somewhere
between the real and the supernatural. Not even the narrator can sometimes
distinguish between the two. It is precisely this feature of Abani’s novella that brings
it closest to The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. The ghastly landscape of mangrove
swamps with leech-like creatures lurking in the dark and tree roots like fingers rising
above the shifting water levels is occasionally substituted by scenes of pillaged
villages and deserted towns populated only by rabid-looking scraggy dogs, with the
unbearable heat symbolizing the madness of war. He comes across burning houses
and piles of dead bodies, the streets and the river littered with corpses whose
numbers seem ever increasing, with clouds of flies taking the form of black-winged
angels. The yards that once resonated with laughter and gossip gave way to the
emptiness and desolation surrounded with soot-blackened walls9 which host a
handful of hungry rats. The deserted football pitch is now a tropical Valhalla where
the restless and confused spirits of phantom soldiers relive their final battles. As
with the eerie atmosphere in the ancient mariner’s story, relief comes rarely, in the
form of quaint fishermen’s encampments on the river banks, revisited oases, or sleep
and rest which come more easily.
A sense that this is also a ghost story is heightened by a rising number of hints
suggesting that it is not so much a physical journey as one of the soul. Upon
regaining consciousness after the blast, My Luck sees no bodies around and his
platoon have forgotten to double check if he is dead. His cigarette pack never seems
to run out while he can endure without water for days on end.10 He loses track of
time, his memories get mixed up and their chronology changes as the time between
them is shrinking. Memories of his elusive friends’ faces gradually fade and he
wonders what is keeping him marooned on a shifting sandbank. He finds no
evidence of the bombing he knows happened, he has not heard the sound of mortar
or shell fire for a long time and the landscape sometimes changes before his very
eyes. Tormented by dreams of lost relatives and friends, he wonders what it all
means as he realizes that ‘things are off’ but he ‘can’t quite place why’ (Abani 2007:
58). The few people he meets mostly ignore him while those who do take notice
make a sign of the cross, shy away or shout ‘tufia’ at him to chase away spirits. At
the sight of a dead lizard on a doorstep, symbol of rebirth, he comes to the
realization that for there to be a rebirth, someone has to die first.11
9
Yet another Blakean reference to both ’The Chimney Sweeper’ and ’London’ where sighs run
in blood down palace walls.
10
His thirst being another allusion to the ancient mariner.
11
There is a number of other clues but this is perhaps enough to already spoil it all for those who
have not read the novella. One other clue is worth mentioning, however, as it leads back to Tom
Dacre’s dream. Along the way, My Luck loses his bag.
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Driven by a vague but strong desire to cross the river, the narrator learns that he
needs to relive his memories and release his darkness before he can move on (Abani
2007: 104). All the while, the words of his grandfather, from whom he has learned
everything he knows, echo in his mind. In the course of his journey he comes to
interpret grandfather’s stories and warnings about the river Cross and its macabre
flow. Since ‘we all have to cross it some day’ (Abani 2007: 113), there is no way of
avoiding it, so the mythical river keeps flanking him. Grace, a strange woman he
meets towards the end, and a catechist called Peter, whose names require little
explanation, resolve My Luck of most of his ambiguities and help him cross to the
other side.12
4. Conclusion
The loss of childhood and its significance is a recurrent theme in Abani’s work.
His novella Becoming Abigail tells of the title protagonist’s premature introduction
in the world of experience in which the fourteen-year-old is brutally mistreated and
forced into prostitution. The harsh circumstances of her growing-up, childhood
being the one thing she never really had and yet truly needed (Abani 2006: 111),
may in fact echo the author’s own experience of torture.13 The inescapable social
dimension of Abani’s works provides a backdrop for the author’s exploration of the
human element, of characters that humble him as a person by not allowing the world
to break them (Kaufman 2006: 2). Even though My Luck’s story confirms that
‘attraction and repulsion, reason and energy, love and hate, are necessary to human
existence’ (Blake 1998: 74), and is intent on bringing out the most brutal and painful
facets of experience, the world is perhaps not well lost. ‘Even with the knowledge
that there are some sins too big for even God to forgive, every night my sky is still
full of stars; a wonderful song for night’ (Abani 2007: 79).
References
Abani, C. (2006). Becoming Abigail. New York: Akashic Books.
Abani, C. (2007). Song for Night. New York: Akashic Books.
Blake, W. (1998). Selected Poetry. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press.
Blake, W. (1967). Songs of Innocence and of Experience. Oxford and New York:
Oxford University Press.
12
The ambiguous end of The Notebook sees one of the twins crossing over barbed wire to the
other side of the fence.
13
Before he left Nigeria, Abani had been imprisoned several times, his writings a potential threat
to the then regime, the first time when he was sixteen.
488
Curran, S. (1986). Poetic Form and British Romanticism. Oxford and New York:
Oxford University Press.
Kaufman, Z. (2006). “Chris Abani: The Truthdig Interview”. Available at:
http://www.truthdig.com/report/item/20060418_chris_abani_truthdig_intervie
w/. Retrieved on 18 February 2011.
Kecmanović, V. (2008). Top je bio vreo. Beograd: Via print.
Kristóf, Á. (2003). Velika sveska. Beograd: Paideia.
Said, E. (2003). Orientalism. London: Penguin Books.
Loomba, A. (2005). Colonialism/Postcolonialism. London and New York:
Routledge.
Watson, J. R. (1985). English Poetry of the Romantic Period 1789-1830. London
and New York: Longman.
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Sergej Macura
Belgrade, Serbia
sergej.macura@fil.bg.ac.rs
SOME CONCEPTIONS OF INCEPTION: WHAT CHRISTOPHER NOLAN
OWES TO JORGE LUIS BORGES
Abstract Following Seymour Chatman’s observation that “narrative itself is a deep
structure quite independent of its medium,” we have analysed the recent film
Inception directed by Christopher Nolan and various shorter texts by the author of
perhaps the most condensed 20th-century fiction, J.L. Borges. The parallels can be
found in the crucial motif/structure of a dream, in which the ‘real’ action is taking
place, the circularity of time, the obliteration of the dividing line between reality and
dreaming, especially during the transitions from the upper to the lower strata of the
dream, supported by a noticeably symmetric narrative framework. The principal
texts that could have influenced Nolan include “Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius,” “The
Circular Ruins,” “The Secret Miracle” and “The Garden of Forking Paths,” which
exhibit the central Borgesian themes: the labyrinth, the mirror, the dream and the
voyage in time.
Key words: labyrinth, dream within a dream, mirror, forked narrative, circular
motion
1.
A looming web of connections
Strange as it may seem, one of the highest-grossing blockbusters in film history
owes a sizeable cluster of fundamental ideas to a writer who, according to Jose
Contreras, “used to sneak his first book of poetry into the coat-pocket of every
stranger that he met in his native city of Buenos Aires. In those years, Jorge Luis
Borges considered completely preposterous to sell his books and, even, to obtain
some money from them! Who would be interested in reading his writings, he asked
himself” (Contreras 2010). In an interview with Dave Itzkoff, director Christopher
Nolan revealed his longtime interest in shooting a film about dreams, explaining the
pivotal idea: “What Inception deals with is a science fiction concept in which really
only one simple thing has changed, which is that you and I are able to experience the
same dream at the same time. Once you remove the privacy, you’ve created an
infinite number of alternate universes in which people can meaningfully interact”
(Itzkoff 2010). To the question: “So who do you read in preparation to make a
movie like this? Freud? Philip K. Dick?”, he provided a relatively cursory answer:
“Probably Borges. I’d like to think this is a movie he might enjoy. [Laughs] It
sounds like a highfalutin reference in some ways, but the truth is, he took these
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incredibly bizarre philosophical concepts – like a guy facing a firing squad who
wants more time to finish a story in his head, and he’s granted more time by time
slowing down, as the bullet travels between the gun and him…” (Itzkoff 2010)
The Borges text that Nolan alludes to is the short story “The Secret Miracle”
(from the classic collection Fictions, 1944), and the guy facing a firing squad is
Jaromir Hladik, author of a couple of books on eternity and mysticism and of an
unfinished tragedy. The plot begins with a dream of a long game of chess, played by
two feuding families for centuries, with the dreamer running on the sands of a rainy
desert not being able to remember either the pieces or rules of chess. On awakening,
he realises that the Third Reich vanguard is occupying Prague, which soon results in
his arrest and sentence to death due to his Jewish origin; as a plot within the plot,
Borges brings up the topic of Hladik’s uncompleted tragedy The Enemies, in which
a nineteenth-century baron (Roemerstadt) receives visitors, but he has an uncanny
feeling that they are sworn to eliminate him, led in all likelihood by a Jaroslav
Kubin, who in his madness claims to be the baron. The irregularities of the play
begin to proliferate, even the murdered conspirators return, the clock from Act I is
still striking seven in the evening in Act III. The collocutor from the first act
reappears and utters the same words he used in the beginning, which helps the
viewer understand that the man is not a double, but that the baron is actually the
insane Kubin. At the embedding level, Hladik has to undergo execution but in a
dream the voice of God grants him the required time to finish the play, causing the
physical universe to stop for a year – the bullets were fired at the appointed time, but
the interval between the order and the execution was miraculously extended to a
year in the condemned man’s perception. So he reworked the hexameters from
memory, and no sooner had he finished the piece than the salvo brought him down,
causing his death at two minutes after nine.
This long summary of the story in question was necessary for perhaps one
particular reason, i.e. the director’s misinterpretation of Borges’s text; as Radu
Toderici notes, the bullet does not travel between the gun and the character, but “the
scenes freeze before anyone manages to fire a single bullet. True, they freeze just
before shooting, but no way after. […] This image of the bullet gradually getting
close to its target eloquently speaks about how much Nolan is a child of his time,
because it was abundantly used in action movies of the 80s and 90s” (Toderici
2010). On the other hand, the similarities between Dominic Cobb’s dream sequences
opening and closing Inception and the desert motif from the first page of the short
story, as well as those between Roemerstadt’s paranoid delusions and Saito’s
projections of his guards followed by the arrival of the destined murderer can hardly
pass unnoticed. The initial impetus for the creative process can be found in a
different art form, from where it may be grafted on another mode of expression,
assume the shape the means of expression allows it to have, thus leaving the critic to
introduce a set of hypotheses resting on a general idea of the ‘connecting tissue’ or
‘core idea’ relating the two works.
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2.
Transcendental narrativity
When we deal with thematic links between literature and film, with topoi in
works of art produced in different centuries, and compare an author whose works are
as encyclopaedic as those of Borges and a film whose plot is in a large part not
verbally presented but furnished with direct iconic signs, where a labyrinth means a
labyrinth because we can actually see its physical construction, it is all too easy to
make an error of overinterpretation and see traces of Borges where the director need
not have intended them to exist in the first place. Apart from many other influences,
cinematic and literary alike, Nolan did unmistakably single out Borges as one of the
main sources of inspiration: “I’ve always got a lot out of reading his short stories
and his approach to paradox” (Howell 2010). The two artists’ common interest in
dreams is further corroborated by Nolan’s identification of the idea informing the
movie: “I’ve been interested in dreams since I was a kid and I’ve wanted to do a film
about them for a long time” (Hiscock 2010). In a way, the director’s frank admission
helped create his own role model, to which we could apply Borges’s own logic from
“Kafka and His Precursors”: “The poem ‘Fears and Scruples’ by Robert Browning
prophesies the work of Kafka, but our reading of Kafka noticeably refines and
diverts our reading of the poem” (Borges 2001: 365). The ungraspable fabric of the
dream as a motif – a commonplace remark – can transcend time and space, but
Borges specified it more memorably, discussing the palace of Kubla Khan and its
verbal counterpart in Coleridge: “A Mongolian emperor, in the thirteenth century,
dreams a palace and builds it according to his vision; in the eighteenth century, an
English poet, who could not have known that this construction was derived from a
dream, dreams a poem about a palace” (Borges 2001: 371). Indeed, having these two
brilliant, but necessarily speculative references at hand does not make firm ground
for a viable scholarly hypothesis, but Nolan’s explicit statements only add up to
Borges’s lucid, inductive intuition in seeking undeniable connections between
various shapes in which one and the same idea recurs.
While analysing the properties of narrative on a comic strip example, Seymour
Chatman gives the reader the possibility of verbalising the story, from which we
take only the last portion for brevity’s sake: He [the king] pawned his crown for a
bundle of money so that he could go back to the Royal Casino to gamble some more.
He italicises the text because he considers those sentences to be abstract narrative
statements. In his technical sense of the word, story exists only at an abstract level,
and there is no privileged manifestation (Chatman 1980: 37). The events in a story
are turned into a plot by its discourse, the modus of presentation. The discourse can
be manifested in various media, but it has an internal structure qualitatively different
from any one of its possible manifestations. Plot, story-as-discoursed, exists at a
more general level than any particular objectification, any given movie, novel or
whatever (Chatman 1980: 43). A major difference between cinema and literature lies
in the fact that “story-space in cinema is ‘literal,’ that is, objects, dimensions and
relations are analogous, at least two-dimensionally, to those in the real world. In
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verbal narrative it is abstract, requiring a reconstruction in the mind” (Chatman
1980: 96-97). Finding connections between Inception and Borges’s fiction could
become an inordinately long catalogue of relations if we related every existent and
every occasional piece of décor in his short stories to any visual representation of the
same in Nolan’s work, but having in mind that about four-fifths of the film takes
place within designed dreams, this basic story-space owes its origin in part to the
Argentine author, whose own poetry and fiction abound in this topos, making it a
tenable gateway to a parallel universe.
3.
Nolan's modelling of the Borgesian themes
One of the possible access points for a comparative analysis of Inception and
Borges is the short story “Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius,” revolving around an
accidental discovery of a uniquely printed encyclopaedic article on the little known
Near Eastern country of Uqbar, whose poets in turn treat only the subject of an
imaginary land named Tlön; subsequent to this discovery, the narrator comes into
possession of the eleventh volume of A First Encyclopeadia of Tlön, which brings
his associates to a conclusion that the intricate world of Tlön was invented by a
secret society of astronomers, biologists, engineers, metaphysicians, poets, chemists,
etc., and has its intimate, provisionally formulated laws. For the nations of Tlön, the
world is not a concourse of objects in space, but a heterogenous series of
independent acts. It is successive and temporal, not spatial (Borges 2000: 30-32).
The world of the dream in Inception is also the product of an extremely versatile
company of experts, but they act as high-tech thieves of vital information from their
targets’ minds while the conscious guard is lowered and more liable to deception.
Film viewers may notice that the dream world’s complexity and notably different
physical laws share a lot with the universe that Borges's story models. Further on,
the theme of disintegrating belief in this world can be found both in the short story
and in the film; after an increasing number of intrusions of objects from Tlön into
our reality, “already a fictitious past occupies in our memories the place of another,
a past of which we know nothing with certainty – not even that it is false” (Borges
2000: 42-43). In the film, Cobb, the agent most skilled in data extraction from
dreams, is prohibited from returning to the US because his wife Mal committed
suicide, accusing him of homicidal intentions; her main problem centred on the
illusion that had become reality in the proces of exploring the dream within a dream,
for which we have ample evidence in the film. The dream world’s bottom is called
limbo, a raw, infinite subconscious, where ten hours’ sleeping time can easily be
perceived as fifty years. To wake again, the dreamers need to kill themselves, which
they do on a railway track. Cobb later explains the problem to the architect of the
new simulated world, Ariadne: “She was possessed by an idea. This one very simple
idea that changed everything. That our world wasn’t real. That she needed to wake
up to come back to reality...that in order to get back home...we had to kill ourselves”
(Minute Mark 77:48-78:12). The totem which every dreamer builds to their own
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taste and specifications has a practical purpose of assuring them that they are not
within another person’s dream at the moment, as Arthur (a demolition expert, who
makes dream level changes possible) warns Ariadne: “That way, when you look at
your totem, you know beyond a doubt that you’re not in someone else’s dream”
(MM 34:11-34:17). Mal had used a spinning top which Cobb discovered locked
away in a safe while living in limbo, and strangely enough, that very top found its
way to the real-world setting of their hotel suite on the wedding anniversary, the
scene of Mal’s suicide; Borges’s story mentions two intrusions of Tlön into
everyday experience: a mysteriously vibrating compass and a bright metallic cone
that had a small size and intolerable weight (Borges 2000: 40-41). In the first scene
of the film, considered by many to be a suspense-filled flashforward, Cobb is
brought by guards to a Japanese-style palace, where on seeing the younger man’s
top, an old man with a strikingly wrinkled face begins his monologue: “I know what
this is. I've seen one before, many, many years ago. It belonged to a man I met in a
half-remembered dream. A man possessed of some radical notions” (MM 02:0902:42). When the scene repeats very near the end of the film, this time with a
different arrangement of replicas, we become aware that the old man is Cobb’s
client Saito, a Japanese businessman who accompanied the team to the dream world
and fell into limbo – to him, reality had all but turned into oblivion, which inversion
also happened to Mal in the storyline. The order of the fictitious world succeeded in
outweighing the disorder of the real world, in “Tlön” and Inception alike, all the
more so if we abstract the mimetic medium and focus on the exquisitely intricate
maze as a governing idea.
The principle of the labyrinth, albeit in its more cerebral and subtle
representations, can be found in both Borges and Nolan; the narrator of the short
story under scrutiny acknowledges that reality soon yielded to ‘finds’ from Tlön,
since the semblance of order was sufficient to entrance the minds of men: “How
could one do other than submit to Tlön, to the minute and vast evidence of an
orderly planet? It is useless to answer that reality is also orderly. […] Tlön is surely
a labyrinth, but it is a labyrinth devised by men, a labyrinth destined to be
deciphered by men” (Borges 2000: 42). While in a training session of shared
dreams, Ariadne learns the secrets of maze building from Arthur: “[Ariadne] But
how big do these levels have to be? – [Arthur] It could be anything from the floor of
a building to an entire city. They have to be complicated enough that we can hide
from the projections. – A maze? – Right, a maze. And the better the maze... – Then
the longer we have before the projections catch us? – Exactly” (MM 40:25-40:41).
The next short story which could be treated as a partial source of Nolan’s ideas
is “The Circular Ruins,” about a silent man who disembarks on the river bank
somewhere in the Near East long before Christ, settles in a ruined temple, and
resolutely begins to dream a man: “He wanted to dream a man: he wanted to dream
him with minute integrity and insert him into reality” (Borges 2000: 73). Leaving
apart Cobb’s extraordinary ability to build dreams within dreams as traps for even
the trained subjects, he also has a compelling wish that he yearns to see fulfilled –
the return to his children, whom he always dreams of with their backs turned, as he
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may have forgotten what they now look like. Although he expressly forbids Ariadne
to dream of real places so as not to lose the grasp on reality, he has in fact built a
world of memories to which he returns every night, keeping company with his
deceased wife. When Ariadne notices this anomaly, because Mal’s projection tends
to frustrate his plans for extracting information, she asks Cobb: “Why do you do this
to yourself?” and he answers: “It’s the only way I can still dream. – Why is it so
important to dream? – In my dreams we’re still together” (MM 56:02-56:14). In the
story, a psychologically explicable phenomenon goes on steadily for a number of
nights in the stranger’s dreams, as he “dreamt that he was in the centre of a circular
amphitheatre which in some ways was the burned temple” (Borges 2000: 73), since
the external stimuli can indeed influence the mechanism of the dream by way of
analogy: while Cobb is struggling to escape with vital information at the lower level
shortly after the film opens, one of his associates at the higher dream level gives him
a slap to wake him up, which results in his being tossed to and fro down below,
followed by an overwhelming tumult of sea water rushing into the palace below
while Cobb is struggling to get out of a bathtub above (MM 10:25-11:22). Dreaming
regularly can assume the form of addiction, as it has been evident with Cobb, but not
only with him – when the team members go to Mombasa to find the capable chemist
who can make the sedative for the dreamers to sleep through three levels, they
witness a dozen sleepers in the basement. They sleep for 4 hours a day and
experience 40 hours, which the chemist’s assistant explains: “They come to be
woken up. The dream has become their reality” (MM 43:20-43:30). In the story,
after many nights filled with deliberate dreaming, the protagonist of “The Circular
Ruins” becomes slightly disappointed with the lack of activity among his imaginary
students in the amphitheatre, and “one afternoon (now his afternoons too were
tributaries of sleep, now he remained awake only for a couple of hours at dawn) he
dismissed the vast illusory college for ever and kept one single student (Borges
2000: 73-74). The convention of substituting night for day, or as it appears in these
plots, dream for reality, occurs in both authors, more prominently in Nolan’s film
than in Borges’s stories. When the magician in the story finally succeeds in giving
birth to his dream child, he sends the boy downstream to another broken temple,
instilling into him a complete oblivion of the years of imaginary communion. He
soon receives word of a “magic man in a temple of the North who could walk upon
fire and not be burned. He recalled that, of all the creatures of the world, fire was the
only one that knew his son was a phantom. […] He feared his son might meditate on
his abnormal privilege and discover in some way that his condition was that of a
mere image” (Borges 2000: 77). Soon after this, a quick fire descends on the
sanctuary, and the man decides to walk into the shreds of flame and put an end to his
labours: “But they did not bite into his flesh, they caressed him and engulfed him
without heat or combustion. With relief, with humiliation, with terror, he understood
that he too was a mere appearance, dreamt by another” (Borges 2000: 77). One of
Cobb’s most efficient dream extracting techniques consists in building multiple
dream levels, so that the subject could lay bare their subconscious secrets by
thinking the end of a dream signifies the return to reality – in fact, the first
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embedded dream in the film brings Saito to a fleeting triumphant conclusion that he
has woken up, but he soon understands (through the architect’s error) that he is just a
dreamed projection of somebody else. The central mission in Inception has to do
with the process of planting an idea into the mind of Saito’s main competitor to
dissolve his financial empire after his father’s death; to make all that take firm root
in his mind, Cobb orchestrates a three-level dream, with some intrusions even into
limbo below, where the mind can easily succumb to oblivion. The subject, like
Borges’s invented boy, should ideally never notice any irregularity in the dream
matrix, but occasionally it happens – for example, Saito senses the material of his
carpet to be false, sudden shifts in gravity of the fictitious world occur more than
once, just as the magician’s son in the story might some day think it odd to be able
to walk upon fire and thus realise he is in a dream.
There has been a lot of discussion of the very last scene of the film,1 when
Cobb returns home and spins his top to see whether he is still dreaming. If it
tumbles, he can be positive that he came back to reality and, to many spectators’
surprise, he does not even bother to look at the result, as the image fades out and we
can hear a wobbling, but by no means the conclusive sound of the top falling. That
event prompted quite a few viewers to accept the hypothesis that he is still dreaming,
and that virtually the entire film takes place in a dream, but Michael Caine (the
architecture professor who taught Cobb to move around dreams) solved the puzzle
unequivocally in a BBC Radio interview: “[The spinning top] drops at the end,
that’s when I come back on. If I’m there it’s real, because I’m never in the dream.
I’m the guy who invented the dream” (Hannaford 2010). Taking this cue, we can
rest assured that at least in certain sections of the film fantasy is still contained by a
perceptible reality, but dreams dominate the film’s texture plentifully.
The film also lends itself to being compared with another seminal short story,
“The Garden of Forking Paths,” which treats Yu Tsun, a Chinese professor of
English who became a German spy on English territory and possessed “the name of
the exact location of the new British artillery park on the River Ancre” (Borges
2000: 45). In order to communicate the name, he finds a paradoxical manner of
expressing it – he goes to a nearby village and pays a visit to Sinologist Stephen
Albert, whom he murders and makes the name Albert evident to his employers as
the intended military target. When Albert receives him, he wants to show Yu Tsun a
particular garden, which the Chinese’s ancestor Ts’ui Pên devised long before, when
he renounced his position as governor and scholar to build a labyrinth for over a
decade. On his death, the relatives discovered nothing but chaotic manuscripts, but
they were actually the intended labyrinth of symbols, “an invisible labyrinth of
time,” upon which nobody came in space. The author left a confusing note: “I leave
1
The Google query “Inception ending” offers an array of hundreds of websites, from which we
can
select
these:
http://www.inceptionending.com/theory/imdb-faq-for-inception/,
http://marquee.blogs.cnn.com/2010/12/02/christopher-nolan-talks-inceptions-ending/
and
http://www.dvdtown.com/messageboard/topic/9784/1/0.
496
to the various futures (not to all) my garden of forking paths” (Borges 2000: 50,
original italics). The phrase “the various futures” suggests the forking in time, which
also happens in Inception at a number of places, constructed more evidently through
image sequences than by means of the written medium: the first scene
(flashforward) where Cobb meets Saito in limbo features only the latter’s speech,
while the former keeps quiet all along, but in the second version (MM 135:32137:17) they exchange some bits of conversation which are not aligned exactly as in
the opening, so now Saito says: “Have you come to kill me? I’m waiting for
someone.” Cobb speaks for the first time in this interior, uttering Saito’s words from
scene 1: “Someone from a half-remembered dream,” surprising Saito: “Cobb?
Impossible. We were young men together. I’m an old man.” Cobb takes his turn,
saying what the Japanese exhortatively told him in reality at MM 21:13-21:24:
“Filled with regret… – [Saito] …waiting to die alone…?” Certain fragments of
language occur in the same or nearly the same form under different circumstances,
pointing to the vicious circle of the labyrinth, causing the perception of plot to fork
in time, as the words are spoken in real life or in dreams, in chronological or
discursive order (as they really happened or were edited), by the original actants or
by new ones. Before committing suicide in limbo together, Cobb soothed Mal by
saying “you’re waiting for a train, a train that will take you far away…,” which is
the very phrase she uses to allure him to repeat the action in real life, and a riddle
she entices Ariadne with in a dream. The complex dream is another model of the
labyrinth, just as the novel in Borges’s text is the sought-for garden. As the story has
it: “In the work of Ts’ui Pên, all possible outcomes occur; each one is the point of
departure for other forkings. Sometimes, the paths of the labyrinth converge: for
example, you arrive at this house, but in one of the possible pasts you are my enemy,
in another, my friend” (Borges 2000: 51). While the film’s main action is unfolding,
anything can happen at the dream levels and cause the future to diverge into
unpredictable directions – Saito gets wounded at level one, which makes him fall
into limbo, and is saved by Cobb eventually. The Sinologist’s claim that an infinite
book can only be of circular form, continuing indefinitely due to its last page being
identical with the first, concurs smoothly with the almost identical scene opening
and closing the film. Perhaps it is inaccurate to say ‘almost,’ but whereas in the first
version Cobb yearns to reach out to his children playing on the beach, by the time he
is seen waking on the shore again, he has firmly resolved that his children are
merely projections.
The idea-planting team from the film needs the subject to accept the desired
command naturally, with no coercion, just like in the story Yu Tsun has to
communicate the target to his commanders indirectly; the Chinese text treats the
problem of time, but never mentions the noun, and Albert leads Yu Tsun to the
answer: “In a riddle whose answer is chess, what is the only prohibited word? – I
thought a moment and replied, “The word chess.” – “Precisely,” said Albert. “The
Garden of Forking Paths is an enormous riddle, or parable, whose theme is time;
this recondite cause prohibits its mention. To omit a word always, to resort to inept
497
metaphors and obvious periphrases, is perhaps the most emphatic way of stressing
it” (Borges 2000: 53). After the audition (the test of Cobb’s ability), Arthur tries to
explain to Saito the impossibility of inception (planting an idea in somebody’s mind)
in similar phrasing: “I say, ‘Don’t think about elephants.’ What are you thinking
about? – Elephants. – Right. But it’s not your idea because you know I gave it to
you. The subject’s mind can always trace the genesis of the idea” (MM 19:3619:47). In both works the key concept is intimated through a complicated process of
deploying a batch of associated concepts around it, i.e. by constructing a favourable
environment to conduce to the solution.
The new architect of the dream world, Ariadne, bears a name as identifiable as
is Stephen Dedalus’s surname – so attached is this name to the classical story that
we might even consider it an aptronym separate from the other names, which belong
in a less collectively familiar category. It occurs in the short story “The House of
Asterion,” but only at the end, since the action is mostly communicated through the
defamiliarised confession of the Minotaur; in the last paragraph, the narration shifts
to the Greek hero: “Would you believe it, Ariadne?” said Theseus. “The Minotaur
scarcely defended himself” (Borges 2000: 172). To test her architectural skills, Cobb
gives her the assignment to draw a maze in two minutes that it takes one minute to
solve. After two unsuccessful attempts with common rectangular labyrinths, Ariadne
draws a circular maze, which Cobb finds impossible to solve in the appointed time.
(MM 25:11-25:45) To list all Borges’s works which treat circularity would be a
demanding task, as the circle can be readily found in much of his fiction or nonfiction: “The Circular Ruins,” “The Library of Babel,” “The Doctrine of Cycles,”
“Circular Time,” etc. A careful reader would hardly fail to notice the topos of the
mirror appearing in some scenes where Ariadne is featured: in a training session, she
manages to change the topography of Paris so dramatically that certain blocks of
flats fold in and mirror the buildings below spot-on, calling M.C. Escher’s prints to
mind. In the following scene, she and Cobb come to a bridge where she constructs a
mirror hinged on a column, walks to the adjacent column, and turns the other mirror
so that it faces the former, making an infinity of images of Cobb and herself (MM
29:50-32:27). Borges gave a series of lectures (Seven Nights) in 1977, one of which
was entitled “Nightmares,” and discussed two forms that he found typical of his
case: the labyrinth and the mirror. Among other things, he said of those phenomena:
“Let us enter into the nightmare, into nightmares. Mine are always the same. I have
two nightmares which often become confused with one another. I have the
nightmare of the labyrinth. […] My other nightmare is that of the mirror. The two
are not distinct, as it only takes two facing mirrors to construct a labyrinth (Borges
1984: 32-33). If there is a single scene in Inception that draws on Borges’s oeuvre
for inspiration, this should be the most likely candidate to confirm the hypothesis –
it is sufficiently cerebral, mythological, labyrinthine and multiplied.
498
4.
Conclusion
This article does not aim to be an exhaustive and definitive analysis of Jorge
Luis Borges’s direct influences on Christopher Nolan, but rather a survey of certain
techniques that the writer recurrently exploited in his works, which turned into his
trademark, leaving an indelible trace on the film discussed; the director of such a
complex spectacle is naturally expected to have taken greater care of the cinematic
rather than verbal art, of editing a clever summertime thriller rather than copying
Borges’s lucid logic verbatim from the Argentine’s evanescent and uneventful
universes of the library (or libraries of the universe, which to him had the same
meaning). James E. Irby summarised Borges’s crucial themes in his introduction to
Labyrinths: “Borges once claimed that the basic devices of all fantastic literature are
only four in number – the work within the work, the contamination of reality by
dream, the voyage in time and the double” (Irby 2000: 18). With the possible lower
frequency of the last topos, all the others have numerous manifestations and form
the ubiquitous forking paths of this refreshing and demanding celluloid adventure.
References
Borges, J. L. (1984). Seven Nights. Ed. Eliot Weinberger. New York: New
Directions.
Borges, J. L. (2000). Labyrinths: Selected Stories and Other Writings. Eds. D.A.
Yates and J.E. Irby. London: Penguin.
Borges, J. L. (2001). The Total Library: Non-Fiction 1922-1986. Ed. Eliot
Weinberger. London: Penguin.
Chatman, S. (1980). Story and Discourse: Narrative Structure in Fiction and Film.
Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press.
Contreras, J. (2010). “Inception and Jorge Luis Borges.” Available at:
http://www.examiner.com/latin-cinema-in-national/inception-and-jorge-luisborges-4. Retrieved on: 7 March 2011.
Hannaford. K. (2010). “Inception Ending Revealed by Sir Michael Caine.”
Available at: http://gizmodo.com/5651826/inception-ending-revealed-by-sirmichael-caine. Retrieved on: 5 February 2011.
Hiscock, J. (2010). “Inception: Christopher Nolan Interview.” Available at:
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/film/filmmakersonfilm/7866677/InceptionChristopher-Nolan-interview.html. Retrieved on: 24 January 2011.
Howell, P. (2010). “Relax and Enjoy the Ride, Inception Director Says.” Available
at:
http://www.thestar.com/article/836236--howell-relax-and-enjoy-the-rideinception-director-says. Retrieved on: 14 March 2011.
Irby, J. E. (2000). “Introduction.” In: J.L. Borges. Labyrinths: Selected Stories and
Other Writings. London: Penguin, 15-23.
499
Itzkoff, D. (2010). “A Man and His Dream: Christopher Nolan and ‘Inception.’”
Available at: http://artsbeat.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/06/30/a-man-and-hisdream-christopher-nolan-and-inception/. Retrieved on: 21 February 2011.
Nolan, C. (dir.). (2010). Inception. Perfs. Leonardo DiCaprio, Joseph Gordon-Levitt,
Ellen Page. Warner Bros. Pictures.
Toderici, R. (2010). “Images in Slow-Motion: Christopher Nolan, Inception.”
Available at: http://www.artactmagazine.ro/images-in-slow-motionchristopher-nolan,-inception.html. Retrieved on: 3 March 2011.
500
Aleksandra Marić
Belgrade, Serbia
anjamaric@gmail.com
“MY PHONY ROLE AS HUSBAND AND FATHER“: PERFORMING
MASCULINITIES IN DON DELILLO'S UNDERWORLD
Abstract Discussing the ways in which masculinities are acted out in the central and
parallel plots of Don DeLillo’s Underworld, this paper tries to explore a wide range
of presented masculine psychologies, showing that these roles are largely developed
as constructs of the changeable socio-cultural setting of post World War II America.
The characters in Underworld, especially men, are all too aware that they must
perform the fixed parts well if they are to be accepted as a good parent, lover, child,
colleague and friend, and they feel incompetent and ill-at-ease as they come to
realize that they can never fully comply with the imposed ideals.
Key words: masculinity, performance, fantasy, anxiety, manliness, imitation,
repression
1.
Introduction
According to Judith Butler, gender is always “assumed in relation to the ideals
that are never quite inhabited by anyone”, it is an imaginary identification based on
fantasy (Butler 1995: 32). Don DeLillo, one of the most praised American authors,
seems to be particularly sensitive to this phantasmagoric construction of gender
identity. Indeed, in a number of his novels both male and female characters have
problems conforming to the normative heterosexual masculinities and femininities,
the dominant fantasies of manhood and womanhood, which they find rather
repressive and confining, as we learn from long introspective paragraphs. Strangely
enough, what is evident is their struggle to live up to these roles, since most of the
characters are anxious to keep up the appearances of being a “real” woman or a
“real” man, so they act like ones. However, this performance and repetition of
stereotypical patterns of behavior rarely prove to bring satisfactory results.
DeLillo’s Underworld, which was deemed the second best work of postmodern
American fiction in the past twenty-five years by The New York Times, is
particularly rewarding in this respect. The readers learn very early in the novel that
“there is a law of manly conduct” (DeLillo 1999: 22) in Underworld, and this paper
primarily focuses on masculine psychologies in the novel, on how male characters
cope with the socially constructed ideals or hegemonic masculinities. However, as
ideas of manhood change, today masculinity is perceived as a “social construction
that assumes different forms in different historical moments and contexts” (Nylund
501
2007: 5). DeLillo’s Underworld, which roughly covers the second half of the 20th
century in the USA, presents the readers with shifting ideas of masculinity: with the
macho ideal of the 50’s, the confusion brought by the civil rights and gay liberation
movements in the 60’s and 70’s, and finally, the creation of “new man” and “new
lad” in the 80’s and 90’s (Nylund 2007: 9).1
2.
What makes a “real” man
Underworld presents a myriad of different characters, but it could be described
as somewhat centered around the character of Nick Shay, whose storyline involves
practically everyone else’s. Nick’s life story is quite simple and indicative of these
changing ideas of manhood – he was born in the Bronx in a mixed family – between
an Irish mother and Italian father who committed the “unthinkable Italian crime”
(DeLillo 1999: 204) when he left his wife and children. Nick grew up to be the most
handsome and desirable young man in the neighborhood, prone to petty crime and
random sexual encounters with women, one of whom was many years his senior.
Then, when he was in his late teens, he accidentally murdered a man, which haunts
him through much of the novel together with thoughts about the missing father.
Finally, he went to correction, finished Jesuit school, became an executive manager,
got married and had two children. Thus, the mentioned changes in the perception of
masculinity in the 20th century can also be seen in the development of the character
of Nick Shay, who grows from a macho juvenile delinquent from the 50’s into an
executive manager, married with two children in the 90’s.
Moreover, the idea of manhood as a socially imposed construction can also be
recognized in some scenes with historical personages from the subplots, like in those
featuring J. Edgar Hoover and Clyde Tolson, showing that hypermasculinity often
goes hand in hand with homosexuality in deeply conservative regimes like that of
the USA at the time of the Cold War. In Underworld both Edgar and Clyde are
shown as intent on hunting down, exposing and severely punishing all “nonstraight“ citizens of the USA. However, the relationship between these two
characters is dubious and whereas Clyde is presented as burning with desire for
Edgar, the latter never openly declares himself a homosexual, but it is clear that the
two men are very close - they not only work together, but even travel and attend
social events in each other’s company. In these parts of the novel DeLillo might
have mocked the rumors about two of the most powerful men of the USA and the
fact that this type of male bonding outside pubs and sports events immediately
plants suspicion that there must be something “wrong” with the two of them. In any
case, the novel presents Clyde as a really tragic figure of his time, doomed to
1
Whereas the “new man” accepts new commitments – to fatherhood and household, the “new
lad” is a reaction to “new man” and tries to “reassert hegemonic masculinity” by preferring to drink,
party and watch sports, viewing women as sexual objects (Nylund 2007: 9).
502
perform the stereotypical role of a “tough guy” and imitate the patterns of typical
manly behavior, without even dreaming of fulfilling his desires and fantasies one
day.
However, despite the wide range of presented masculine psychologies, both
heterosexual and homosexual male characters appear to show some common
anxieties and fears concerning masculinity and their performance throughout the
novel. The typical role they are expected to play at all times is that of a successful,
powerful and sexually apt provider interested in “manly things” such as sports, cars
and weapons. A “real” man is a reliable husband and father with a nine-to-five job,
in perfect control of his emotions, which he is never to display. Indeed, in the USA
men have long been defined through the typical role of a family provider, a
“breadwinner”. However, according to Ruth Heyler, Nick Shay believes that this
ideal of working ethic is somewhat “false and restricting” (Heyler 2008: 126), “Nick
didn’t think it was necessary to have one job for life and start a family and live in a
house with dinner on the table at six every night” (DeLillo 1999: 724), or when he
says, “It’s not the work. It’s the regular hours (…) the same time every day.
Clocking in, taking the train (…) Going in together, coming home together”
(DeLillo 1999: 685). Similarly, Nick’s brother Matt feels immense relief when he
quits his job in the weapons industry to become closer to his family, something one
would traditionally expect the wife and mother to do, “He wasn’t made for this kind
of work (…) No, he wasn’t a weaponer.” (DeLillo 1999: 461) Indeed, this
hegemonic masculinity is seen as restricting since, according to Judith Kegan
Gardiner, it “narrows the options of the male characters” by forcing them into
confining roles and all this is coupled with a “humiliating fear of failure to live up to
the masculinity mark” (Kegan Gardiner 2002: 5-6). However, whereas Matt decides
to quit the job, Nick’s wishes for a commitment-free life linger in the domain of
fantasy, and in the novel only a couple of characters are willing to give up the
reputation of a “real man” in exchange for what they consider to be true happiness.
As it appears, a number of male characters find it difficult to perform the
imposed masculine identity, which frequently results in feelings of inadequacy and
failure. Most of the time they “strive to appear manly” (Heyler 2008: 126), like
Nick’s colleague Brian, who expresses a hypermasculine love for cars, “Brian went
into a state of body rapture over a lime Chevrolet, a ’57 Bel Air convertible with
white upholstery. He draped himself over the hood and pretended to lick the hot
metal.” (DeLillo 1999: 165). However, even if one is not as fascinated by cars as
Brian, one is supposed to pretend to be so, to play or mimic the “real man”. For
example, at one point in the novel we learn that Nick’s brother “Matt did not like to
drive. He’d been driving only six months and knew he’d never feel natural at the
wheel. The best he could do was mimic a driver.” (DeLillo 1999: 409). On many
instances in the novel we see him as he drives his car holding the instructions
booklet in his lap, and yet he is reluctant to give up the driver’s seat to his wife who
“liked to drive aggressively whatever the surface.” (DeLillo 1999: 455).
503
3.
A “demon” husband
Another aspect of a manly man is his sexual ever-readiness, and Nick, when
presented as a young man, is one of many DeLillo’s protagonists who constantly
feel the need to display their sexual power. In his youth, Nick is an “ever-ready”
male whom everyone admires, a macho who does what most of his neighbors only
fantasize about. “Who’s better than him?” is the comment other characters make
when they see him. Even later in life, Nick is envied his physical strength, savvy,
position and allure by his colleague Brian Glassic. In effect, this type of male envy
is common according to Ethel Specter Person, as a man feels sexual anxiety
believing that “other men are actually living what for him are only fantasies”
(Specter Person 2009: 17), and in case of Underworld, Nick is looked up to as a
“demon husband” (not in the sense of evil, but possessing immense sexual,
intellectual and physical power) both by his wife and her lover Brian, Nick’s
colleague, who believe he has tremendous strength and a will of steel.
Nevertheless, Nick does not really feel the way one would expect from a
demon husband when he finds out about his wife’s affair with his colleague and
friend Brian. Quite the opposite, he feels relieved rather than betrayed,
“When I found out about him and Marian I felt some element of
stoic surrender (…) I was hereby relieved of my phony role as
husband and father, high corporate officer. Because even the job is an
artificial limb. But it was also satisfying, for just a moment, to think
of giving it all up (…) the children (…) the grandchild, they could
keep the two houses, all the cars, he could have both wives (…) None
of it ever belonged to me except in the sense that I filled out the
forms” (DeLillo 1999: 796)
Evidently, Nick is completely aware of the artificiality of the roles he is to
perform,2 and he sees marriage, children, the job and his social position as a burden,
something artificial attached to him, and often fantasizes about his past freedom.
This should come as no surprise, as according to Tim Edwards men often perceive
themselves as “machines that perform functions” rather than as human beings who
need care and attention. (Edwards 2006: 12). So, there is no jealousy or anger on his
part. However, as it has already been stated, it is vital that a man keep up the
appearances of manly behavior, so Nick knows he is expected to deal with the
2
John Updike has criticised DeLillo for being "a concept-driven writer, whose characters spout
smart, swift essays at one another" (Updike 2003). In other words, unlike Updike’s characters like
Harry Armstrong, who is only remotely, intuitively aware of the constraining roles he is to perform
(Dojčinović Nešić 2007: 132), DeLillo’s male characters are very much self-aware, almost to the point
of artificiality.
504
adultery “like a man”3 and challenge Brian on a sort of a duel. Strangely enough, the
violence displayed in the scenes where Nick archetypically fights with Brian to
restore his wife’s honor is performed, Nick delays before he attacks him, clearly
reluctant to start a fight. There are rehearsed blows, overreaction, these are “token”
blows, and according to Ruth Heyler, the violent act here is only “part of the
performance” (Heyler 2008: 134).4
4.
Filling in the blank spaces
Fatherhood is another important issue in this novel, especially the connection
between fathers and sons, since fathers are seen as role-models, they are expected to
teach their sons masculinity, the mentioned “law of manly conduct”. Contrary to
this, Nick’s missing father, who “went out for cigarettes and just kept walking”
(DeLillo 1999: 698) is the reverse of a role model, “something not to imitate”
(Heyler 2008: 127). Matt says, “He left because of us basically. He didn’t want to be
a father. Being a husband was bad enough, you know, what a burden, full of
obligations and occasions he couldn’t handle.” (DeLillo 1999: 203) So, in order not
to behave like his father, Nick tries to do everything his father failed to do, to be a
loving, reliable husband and parent, and yet he struggles to accept these roles as
natural. Strangely enough, despite trying to be the reverse of his father, Nick still
perceives himself as “a country of one” (DeLillo 1999: 275) even later in life,
feeling the role of a husband and father to be constraining, and indulges in fantasies
of becoming a free young man again, “I long for the days of disarray (…) I long for
the days of disorder” (806-10).
In the novel Nick’s father remains a “void” (Heyler 2008: 127), “a man whose
narrative is mostly blank spaces, date of birth uncertain”, a “ghost father” (DeLillo
1999: 276-7), “the missing heartbeat” (DeLillo 1999: 700). Of course, mere
presence does not account for a father, and Underworld features another missing
father figure in the subplot, that of Manx Martin. Unlike Nick’s father Jimmy
Constanza, the lapsed husband who is always remembered as walking out of his
home, Manx Martin is usually shown as coming in, much to the chagrin of his
children and wife. He fails in his father role miserably when he sells the priceless
baseball his son got from the historic game between the New York Giants and the
Brooklyn Dodgers. Moreover, it is ironic that Manx Martin betrays his son’s trust on
a baseball stadium, the place where the father-son relationship has traditionally been
built and strengthened in the USA.
3
David Savran finds the phrase “take it like a man” particularly interesting for the exploration of
masculine identity. In his opinion, it suggests that masculinity is “a process, a trial through which one
passes”. The word “like” denotes imitation, suggesting that one cannot simply be a man, but always
struggle to behave in a manly manner (Savran 1998: 38).
4
Violent behavior is also encouraged by gory media images like the video of Texas Highway
Killer, which is played and replayed throughout the novel.
505
In brief, it is evident that neither Jimmy nor Manx feel comfortable in their
father roles. Nevertheless, the novel also features certain fatherly figures some of
whom do not function as real, biological fathers. Indeed, it could be a matter of
some debate whether Nick subconsciously identifies with other male characters who
might be analyzed as his “surrogate” fathers – principally with Albert Bronzini, a
science teacher and a family friend, and George Manza, the man Nick accidentally
shot. Contrary to Nick’s father Jimmy, Albert is “resistant to separation” from his ex
wife Clara, perceiving divorce as “a hindrance to living” (DeLillo 1999: 234). He is
shown as a loving and caring father who plans his evening around phoning his
daughter “waiting for the hour of the rate change and then placing a chair by the
telephone (…) his face in the rotary dial”, sending her “a little money now and then,
out of his teacher’s pension” (DeLillo 1999: 231). Albert is perceived as “the story
voice, the play voice” (DeLillo 1999: 714) by his ex wife, as a good friend and
teacher by Matt and Nick, and as an old eccentric by his neighbors, which is largely
due to his “unmanly” love for opera and lack of any aspirations to behave “like a
man”. When Matt and Nick’s father left, Mr. Bronzini was there for them, especially
for little Matt, whom he taught how to play chess – another activity usually reserved
for fathers. What complicates their relationship in the novel, though, is Nick’s brief
love affair with Albert’s wife, making Nick something of an oedipal figure in these
scenes.5 A similar idea is implanted in the reader’s mind in the scene of Nick’s
appointment with the prison psychiatrist Dr Lindbland, who tells him that his father
was “the third person in the room” (DeLillo 1999: 512) on the day when he shot
George Manza, and that this was a symbolic murder of his own father. Indeed, we
learn that George the Waiter often advised Nick not to leave school and had a
protective attitude towards him, but Nick’s half-ironic comment about Dr
Lindbland’s remark, “She told me that one way or another the two events were
connected, meaning that six years after Jimmy disappeared I shot a guy who didn’t
know my father, or barely knew him, or saw him on the street (…)” (DeLillo 1999:
512) could serve as a warning not to jump to this conclusion too readily. At any rate,
the murder may, in symbolic terms, underline Nick’s disappointment at seeing
another failed role model, “master poolshooter”, indulging in substance abuse, not
even remotely interested in what would become of his “protégé”.
5.
Conclusion
Ideas of masculinity are given a prominent place in Underworld and DeLillo
seems to be particularly interested in the way male characters cope with the
5
In the room where Clara and Nick made love there was a painting of Whistler's mother
“Arrangement in Gray and Black“, which might support the idea of Nick sleeping with a motherlike
figure. Similarly, in the chapter “Arrangement in Gray and Black“ Nick's mother is one of the most
prominent characters, which reinforces the connection between these two women.
506
dominant fantasies of manhood. As it appears, male characters in the novel share
certain common anxieties concerning masculinity and their performance, largely
seeing themselves as victims of American culture and perceiving the proscribed
masculine roles as alien and confining as “artificial limbs”. The stereotypical
patterns they are expected to follow at all times feel unnatural and socially
constructed, especially due to lack of role models in the shape of fatherly figures on
the one hand, and abundance of demands to behave like “real men” - successful,
powerful and sexually apt providers interested in “manly things” - on the other, so
imitations of the imposed masculine identity frequently result in feelings of
confusion, inadequacy and failure. Nevertheless, most of the characters believe they
need to “take it like a man” and keep their anxieties and fears at bay, to abide by the
“law of manly conduct” lest they should be marked as unmanly and become socially
marginalized.
References
Butler, J. (1995). “Melancholy Gender/ Refused Identification”. In: M. Berger, B.
Wallis and S. Watson (eds.). Constructing Masculinity (Discussion in
Contemporary Culture). New York: Routledge
DeLillo, D. (1999). Underworld. London: Picador.
Dojčinović-Nešić, B. (2007). Kartograf modernog sveta: romani Džona Apdajka.
Beograd: Filološki fakultet
Edwards, T. (2006). Cultures of Masculinity. London and New York: Routledge
Heyler, R. (2008). “DeLillo and masculinity”. In: J. Duvall (ed.). The Cambridge
Companion to Don DeLillo. Cambridge: CUP
Kegan Gardiner, J. (2002). Masculinity studies and feminist theory. New York:
Columbia University Press
Nylund, D. (2007). Beer, babes, and balls: masculinity and sports talk radio. New
York: State University of New York Press
Savran, D. (1998). Taking it like a man: white masculinity, masochism, and
contemporary American culture. New Jersey: Princeton University Press
Specter Person, E. (2009). “Masculinities, Plural”. In: B. Reis, R. Grossmark (eds.).
Heterosexual
masculinities:
contemporary
perspectives
from
psychoanalythic gender theory. New York: Routledge
Updike, J. (2003). “One-way street: a new novel by Don DeLillo”, In: The New
Yorker, March 31st. Available at: http://www.newyorker.com/archive/
2003/03/31/030331crbo_books1 March 1st 2011
507
Ivana Marić
Novi Sad, Serbia
ivana84maric@yahoo.com
IDENTITY IN ARUNDHATI ROY’S THE GOD OF SMALL THINGS AND
KIRAN DESAI’S THE INHERITANCE OF LOSS: AMBIVALENCE AND
MIMICRY
Abstract The paper discusses the issue of identity and its rethinking within the
frames of postcolonial literary theory with the focus on ambivalence and mimicry, as
proposed by the critic Homi Bhabha. The characters of Pappachi in TGOST and the
judge in TIOL reproduce the colonial cultural norms and in doing so are produced as
colonial subjects, fixed in the relationship of subordination. The posibility of
resistance of such colonial subjects does not reside in an overt opposition but in the
inherent ambivalence of the dominant colonial discourse which needs, but
simultaneously rejects its colonized Other. By mimicking the cultural norms of the
colonizer Pappachi and the judge contest the colonial subject construction.
Key words: postcolonial literary theory, identity, discourse, ambivalence, mimicry,
resistance
1. Introduction
Since a decade ago, Indian writing in English has been thriving in the number
of books published per year and the variety of represented genres. Andrew
Buncombe, in the article ‘Golden age of Indian writing: How a new generation of
writers is making waves in South Asia’ published in The Independent singles out
genres such as crime novels, comic-strip books, and memoirs along with the Indian
adaptations of Chick-Lit (“sari fiction”). He quotes a young writer’s view on the
subject:
There are few better places to be a writer than in the subcontinent. The
21st century co-exists with the 19th here, and tradition clashes with modernity
all the time, around us and in the choices that we make. It's a time of great
change and conflict, and this is fascinating for any writer to document. There is
no shortage of compelling human stories around us to inspire us. (Buncombe
2009)
Among these stories, two writers stand out. Arundhati Roy and Kiran Desai’s
literary accomplishments resonate across the wider readership as well as in academic
508
circles. Both writers are, to a varying degree, turned towards social reform and
alternatives to the victimization of the oppressed. In The God of Small Things and
The Inheritance of Loss Roy and Desai explore the construction of subjectivity
within different cultural frames contesting their mechanisms and opening up
different possibilities for the rethinking of identity.
2. Theoretical framework: postcolonialism and identity
The term Postcolonialism/Post-colonialism6 was first used by historians of the
Second World War to designate, chronologically, the post-independence period of
the former colonies. Broadly taken, Postcolonialism/Post-colonialism deals with the
effects of colonization on cultures and societies, Ashcroft and associates write
(Ashcroft et al. 2002: 186). More specifically,
Postcolonialism/Post-colonialism is now used in wide and diverse ways to
include the study and analysis of European territorial conquests, the various
institutions of European colonialisms, the discursive operations of empire, the
subtleties of subject construction in colonial discourse and the resistance of
those subjects, and, most importantly perhaps, the differing responses to such
incursions and their contemporary colonial legacies in both pre- and postindependence nations and communities. (Ashcroft et al. 2002: 187)
Postcolonialism understands identity and human nature as ‘products’ not
‘causes’ of certain social and cultural factors which include ideology, discourse and
language and it discusses the various degrees of resistance that a subject formed in
such a way can engender.
Edward Said was the first postcolonial theorist to deploy Foucault’s concept of
discourse to analyze the notion of colonial subject construction. In Foucault’s
definition “discourse produces a subject [... ] dependent upon the rules of the system
of knowledge that produces it (Ashcroft et al. 2002: 223)”. His analysis of the
production of subjects such as ‘criminal’, ‘pervert’, ‘lunatic’ within the discourses of
criminality, sexuality and psychiatry shows that “these discourses are always a
function of the power of those who control the discourse to determine the
knowledge and truth” (Ashcroft et al. 2002: 224). Said’s theory of Orientalism
proposes that colonial domination involved not only physical but also discursive
domination of the forms of representation through which it distorted knowledge
about the colonized, justified the physical domination, and actually produced the
“Orient”. Bhabha’s critique of a discourse defined in such a way is aimed at the fact
6
Bill Ashcroft explains: “The hyphen in ‘post-colonial’ is a particular form of ‘space-clearing’
gesture (Appiah 1992: 241), a political notation which has a very great deal to say about the materiality
of political oppression” (2001:10).
509
that it is too totalizing and that it does not allow for diversity of experiences,
ambivalence and the possibility of resistance.
Ambivalence is important for Bhabha as it causes a disruption in the colonial
domination thus challenging the binary oppositions upon which the colonial
domination was predicated. The need of the colonial discourse for the simultaneous
presence and absence of its Other is the starting point of Bhabha’s interpretation of
colonial identity construction and agency. The colonial articulation of signs of
cultural difference also points to the fact of ‘partial presence’ of both the colonizer
and the colonized – since they operate in fixed stereotypes, colonial identities can
never achieve full presence; they always strive for ‘authenticity’.
As Bhabha sees it, the aim of the colonial discourse is to create the kind of
subjects who would reproduce colonial values, norms and tastes but not become
their exact replicas. Lord Macaulay in his text “Minute on Education” from 1835
articulated the need for an ‘interpreter’ class “between us and the millions whom we
govern, a class of persons Indian in blood and color, but English in tastes, opinions,
in morals, and in intellect” (qtd. in Ashcroft et al. 2002: 140). However, the
reproduction of cultural norms is never simple as it leads towards a ‘blurred copy’
which can appear to mock that which it mimics. Thus mimicry, according to
Bhabha, is the site of resistance of the colonized - it destabilizes the domination of
the colonial discourse. Bhabha writes:
Resistance is not necessarily an oppositional act of political intention, nor
is it the simple negation or the exclusion of the ‘content’ of another culture, as
difference once perceived...[but] the effect of an ambivalence produced within
the rules of recognition of dominating discourses as they articulate the signs of
cultural difference. (Bhabha 1994: 110)
Mimicry, Bhabha contends, “a difference that is almost nothing but not quite,
turns to menace, a difference that is almost total but not quite” (Bhabha 1994: 91)
thereby unsettling the colonial discourse. In their search for authenticity, the judge
and Pappachi mimic and simulatenously mock the cultural norms of the colonizer
turning the ambivalent colonial discourse upon itself.
3. The judge’s journey
The reader first encounters the judge (real name Jemubhai Popatlal Patel) on
the verandah of his decrepit mansion playing chess against himself, a scene
symbolic of his whole life. His present home was built and later sold to him by a
Scotsman who, like the rich white elite, chose to retreat into the lush and tranquil
hills of Kalimpong. The judge’s intention is to retire and live isolated in this place of
former colonial prestige. The house, Cho Oyu, is now in a state of disrepair
reflecting the psychological state of its owner - “microscopic jaws saw-milling the
house to sawdust”(Desai 2006: 34) are the jaws of time eating away at the judge’s
510
literal and metaphorical hideout. The surfacing of his suppressed memories is
triggered by the arrival of Sai, his granddaughter, who comes to Cho Oyu after her
parents die in an accident. The book opens with a raid by Nepali insurgents in which
he gets humiliated and his guns (a symbol of former colonial stature) stolen. This
marks the beginning of the end for the judge - the start of the irretrievable
disintegration of his identity at the dawn of the political and cultural change.
The opening scene reveals the judge’s bitterness and irritation at not being
served his tea properly. The concern for the symbol of colonial power, teatime, and
it not being ‘enacted’ properly ironically underscores his own condition and proves
unsettling to the colonizer. His habit of going hunting despite the fact that he never
shoots anything represents a site of resistance that mimicry opens.
In his exaggerated copying of cultural norms the judge is disrupting the
domination of the colonial discourse. His departure for England marks the beginning
of an attempt to do the impossible - to bridge the gap between the two fixed
opposites. The departure dock has benches with “Indians only” and “Europeans
only” written on them, the band are playing “Take me back to my dear old Blighty”
underlining the deep rift of the judge’s world:
A journey once begun, has no end. The memory of his ocean trip shone
between the worlds. Below and beyond, the monsters of his unconscious
prowled, awaiting the time when they would rise and be proven real and he
wondered if he’d dreamt of the drowning power of the sea before his first sight
of it. (Desai 2006: 111)
He wants to leave behind the contradiction of his existence but what he is
entering is the realm of another contradiction, which wears the elusive mask of
opportunity. Moreover, he excises the Indian part of himself and tries to start anew
by despising all things Indian all the more fiercely. “Undignified love, Indian love,
stinking, unaesthetic love” was far worse than “the stink of fear and loneliness”
(Desai 2006: 38). Indian love understands the contradictions (his mother packs some
food for him for the voyage in case he should hesitate to go to the dining hall since
he doesn’t know how to use knife and fork) while the future judge, guided by
ambition, wants to cancel it out, to cancel humiliation out by becoming the power
holding opposite. “Jemu watched his father disappear. He didn’t throw the coconut
and he didn’t cry. Never again would he know love for a human being that wasn’t
adulterated by another, contradictory emotion” (Desai 2006: 37).
For the judge, England is fraught with loneliness, humiliation and desperate
attempts to belong, even as a shadow, to this new world. When he arrives in 1939,
England is still an empire and not used to having their colonized Other in their
midst. The difficulties of bridging the gap between the worlds are manifold, not least
of which is the color of his skin. He finds out that he is powerless in the face of
rejection so he withdraws from the world in all things but one – studying, “the only
skill he could carry from one country to another.” [...] “He retreated into a solitude
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that grew in weight day by day. The solitude became a habit, the habit became a
man, and it crushed him into a shadow” (Desai 2006: 39). His existence as a shadow
supports Bhabha’s view of partial presence discussed above.
When he meets Bose, an Indian student and his only friend in England, the
judge’s attitude changes. Bose seems to have bridged the gap between the worlds
and he opens the door of western art, history, philosophy, music, and “pronunciation” to the judge. While trying to maintain their own world of constructed
Britishness, the judge’s success in being accepted as something that he is not is
problematic:
Thus it was that the judge eventually took revenge on his early
confusions, his embarrassments gloved in something called "keeping up
standards," his accent behind a mask of a quiet. He found he began to be
mistaken for something he wasn’t—a man of dignity. This accidental poise
became more important than any other thing. He envied the English. He
loathed Indians. He worked at being English with the passion of hatred and for
what he would become, he would be despised by absolutely everyone, English
and Indians, both. (Desai 2006: 119)
Upon his return to India, he is confronted with his original culture. “He was a
foreigner-a foreigner-every bit of him screamed” (Desai 2006: 167). On the surface,
he has achieved his goal – he rejected the traditional ‘backward’ ways of his culture
and came back as a learned man, the “first son of the community to join Indian Civil
Service” (Desai 2006: 165), a judge. But, his mask of whiteness is ridiculed by the
original culture which becomes an additional reason for him to stick to this image all
the more fervidly – he powders his face every morning. 7 His mimicry is never a
presence but a veneer over his self- and other-directed hatred.
It is more than a little ironic that the judge is in charge of distinguishing
between right and wrong while his own father, just a generation ago, made a living
by procuring false witnesses. In an attempt to immobilize his colonial identity he
even names himself James Peter Peterson for Jemubhai Popatlal Patel but he is most
often identified by his function – the judge. His mimicry is best portrayed by the
following passage: “the man with the white curly wig and a dark face covered in
powder bringing down his hammer, always against the native, in the world that was
still colonial” (Desai 2006: 205). The system of justice he is serving is foreign to his
culture which is why it often borders on mockery. When he retires, it is with the
thought that “India was too messy for justice” (Desai 2006: 264) . Bhabha writes: “
[...] the colonial presence is always ambivalent, split between its appearance as
7
Sai and the cook inadvertently insult him many years later when they chuckle in the kitchen
with their faces white from flour – like the English, they say.
512
original and authoritative and its articulation as repetition and difference” (Bhabha
1994: 107)8.
Although in the position to judge others, he is not exempt from being judged.
However, regardless of the contradictions of the system, the judge is not blind to his
own mistakes. The heavy burden of a life-long pretense and wrongdoings starts to
trouble him when Sai arrives. Initially, he is hoping for an easy escape:
When you build on lies, you build strong and solid. It was the truth that
undid you. He couldn’t knock down the lies or else the past would crumble,
and therefore the present. . . . But he now acquiesced to something in the past
that had survived, returned, that might, without his paying too much attention,
redeem him—. (Desai, 2006: 209)
The judge sees this moment as the beginning of some sort of repentance for his
sins, as Desai says: “[...] he hoped an unacknowledged system of justice was
beginning to erase his debts” (Desai 2006: 308). This thought indicates that the
belief in human justice is starting to disintegrate together with his constructed
colonial identity. The agony of losing Mutt the dog pries open the cracked shell
releasing the old prayers learned before he was taught to despise them. Defeated, the
judge reverts back to the original culture’s script in that he offers sacrifices for Mutt
and eventually takes everything out on the cook. In this scene, which is the epitome
of the master-slave relationship, both characters make one last desperate try to find
some other signifiers of identity, but there are few left.
4. Pappachi’s moth
Benaan John Ipe derives a lot of his superiority from being an Imperial
Entomologist, part of the colonial elite in Kerala and generally India. Apart from
this, his family belongs to the Syrian Christian denomination, a religious minority
who pride themselves on being the descendants of Brahmins converted to
Christianity by St Thomas in 52 CE. Benaan’s father, Reverend E. John Ipe “was
well known in the Christian community as the man who had been blessed personally
by the Patriarch of Antioch, the sovereign head of the Syrian Christian Church–an
episode that had become a part of Ayemenem’s folklore” (Roy 1998: 22).
Even though this should make them foreign to the caste system, it is not in fact
the case because the early converts were Brahmins9. Alex Tickell explains:
8
In The Location of Culture (1994) Bhabha discusses the ambivalence of the colonial discourse
using the example of how the Bible was first perceived in colonial India. The high circulation of the
Bible was not to result in a high number of Christian converts, as the colonizer had intended, since it
was used for different purposes – as wrapping paper, for barter, shown around as a curiosity in return
for money (1994:124-125).
513
“Traditionally, the community has preserved its high social standing by a custom of
strict endogamy (marriage within the community) and a careful observance of many
of the social restrictions of upper-caste Hindus” (Tickell 2007: 20). In their power to
ostracize and excommunicate their members they resembled a caste, which is the
reason why the Syrian Christians survived in Kerala - because of their selective
assimilation with the local Hindu expectations and customs. As Roy writes:
“Pappachi would not allow Paravans into the house. Nobody would. They were not
allowed to touch anything that Touchables touched. Caste Hindus and Caste
Christians” (Roy 1998: 73).
Educated for an entomologist in Vienna, Pappachi’s work “of collecting,
preserving and indexing India’s fauna puts him at the heart of colonial enterprise”
(Mullaney 2005: 3). The same contradiction of two opposing positions, the one of
the colonizer towards which he strives and the other of the colonized to which he
always returns applies to Pappachi:
Until the day he died, even in the stifling Ayemenem heat, every single
day Pappachi wore a well-pressed three-piece suit and his gold pocket watch.
On his dressing table, next to his cologne and silver hairbrush, he kept a
picture–of himself as a young man, with his hair slicked down, taken in a
photographer’s studio in Vienna... (Roy 1988: 49)
In this photograph which Mammachi reverently displays in the drawing room
after his death, he is represented as a colonial subject fixed in the colonial discourse
– wearing jodhpurs “even though he had never ridden a horse in his life” (Roy 1998:
51) with an ivory handled crop and his head high “but not so high as to appear
haughty” (Roy 1998: 51). A detail on his upper lip, “a fleshy knob” (Roy 1998: 51),
which makes him look like he is pouting, further undermines the authoritative pose.
The small disfiguration is also connected to children’s thumb sucking which
complicates Pappachi’s status even more in that he is represented as potentially
childlike, someone in need of protection and guidance. This photograph shows the
power of the colonizers over the means of representation, the aim of which is to
reduce the complexities of identities on both sides to two mutually exclusive
opposites. This is precisely where the resistance of the colonized lies since mimicry
can never be separated from mockery which exposes the contradictions of the
colonial discourse.
Pappachi’s ambivalence is perceived by his family thus:
Ammu said that Pappachi was an incurable British-CCP, which was short
for chhi-chhi poach and in Hindi meant shit-wiper. Chacko said that the correct
word for people like Pappachi was Anglophile. He made Rahel and Estha look
9
Knott defines a Brahmin as the “...one who recites Vedic hymns and performs the sacrifice;
priestly caste” (Knott 2008: 18)
514
up Anglophile in the Reader’s Digest Great Encyclopaedic Dictionary . It said:
Person well disposed to the English . Then Estha and Rahel had to look up
dispose.
It said:
(1) Place suitably in particular order.
(2) Bring mind into certain state.
(3) Do what one will with, get off one’s bands, stow away, demolish, finish, r~
settle, consume (food), kill, sell.
Chacko said that in Pappachi’s case it meant (2) Bring mind into certain
state. Which, Chacko said, meant that Pappachi’s mind had been brought into a
state which made him like the English. (Roy 1998: 52)
The oppression caused by such epistemic violence in Pappachi’s, like in the
judge’s case, breeds more violence. Ammu witnessed the elaborate destruction of
her favorite gumboots because her father came home ‘out of sorts’. Other scenarios
include double standards and the fact that Ammu’s brother’s education is a good
investment, but not hers and the inequality of brothers and sisters with regard to
inheritance laws.10 Mammachi’s violin lessons stop once Pappachi learns that she is
exceptionally good at it. When she starts the pickle factory, he does everything in his
power to get in the way and further discourage her being relatively independent by
beating her constantly and by pretending in public to be neglected. When he is
unable to take it out on Mammachi any more, he smashes his rocking chair (a
symbol of his position). He compensates by acquiring a Plymouth only for himself
(“Pappachi’s revenge”). His cruelty is calculating, playing out the
colonizer/colonized script.
As Mullaney writes: “Pappachi has so internalized the values, beliefs, and
ideologies of the colonizers that he cannot countenance criticism or question of
anyone he sees as representative of that system”(Mullaney 2005: 37). This applies
particularly in the case of Ammu and the reason why she left her husband which is
something Pappachi rejects as even a possibility “not because he thought well of her
husband, but simply because he didn’t believe that an Englishman, any Englishman,
would covet another man’s wife” (Roy 1998: 24).
Ammu’s term for people like Pappachi situates her firmly within the Hindu
context whereas Chacko’s scientific approach (“the correct word”) and a Latin term
(Anglophilia) echoes Pappachi and Western contexts. He further stresses their
cultural mimicry going back to the twins’ great grandfather:
Chacko told the twins that, though he hated to admit it, they were all
Anglophiles. They were a family of Anglophiles. Pointed in the wrong
10
...as Chacko comments “what’s yours is mine and what’s mine is also mine” (Roy 1988: 57)
515
direction, trapped outside their own history and unable to retrace their steps–
because their footprints had been swept away. (Roy 1998: 52)
With the departure of the British, Pappachi’s identity changes, not only in the
title (from Imperial Entomologist to Joint director and later just Director) but also in
substance – after Independence, he is “caught between masters” (Mullaney 2005:
34) just like the judge and Chacko. Most of all, his predicament is symbolically
represented by the moth he discovers but which is not named after him. His high
hopes about being recognized by the center come to nothing because the center is
constantly moving away and in post-Independent India, the social roles are being
recast. As Mullaney writes:
In the same way that the whirlwind of post-Independence creates a space
for the evolution of new and alternate social orders and dynamics of power
(Communism, Marxism) that threaten to transform the role of his class
generally, the specific rearrangement of the classifying systems in Pappachi’s
chosen profession, entomology, transform and eclipses his role in the discovery
of a new species of moth. (Mullaney 2005: 33)
The moth represents the delicate and shifting nature of meaning, which is of no
use to the imperial enterprise unless it is classified and fixed as an object of study.
When its meaning is immobilized, a thing can be possessed. The fact that the moth
was not named after Pappachi is significant in that it underscores his failure to write
himself into the dominant culture and become a part of it. The moth which haunts
his descendants is the journey that haunts the judge’s.
5. Conclusion
Mimicry as a form of resistance is a possible reading of the construction of the
colonial identities of the judge and Pappachi which defies the victimisation of the
oppressed. Following Bhabha’s theory of the ambivalence of colonial discourse, the
judge and Pappachi embody the inherent crack within the colonial discourse and
challenge it. Since they cannot choose signifiers of their identity other than the ones
provided by the dominant discourse, their challenge is seen as subversive. The more
subversive of the two is perhaps Pappachi’s mimicry as he appears to remain trapped
in his cocoon while the judge lets the shell crack when he becomes aware of the
constructedness of his identity. Mimicry reverses the gaze, exposing the
contradictions of the colonial discourse, and points to the unstable nature of all
identities.
516
References
Ashcroft, B., et al. (2002). Post Colonial Studies: The Key Concepts. London-New
York: Routlege
Ashcroft, B. (2001). Post-Colonial Transformation. London-New York: Routlege
Bhabha, H. (1994). The Location of Culture. London-New York: Routledge
Buncombe, A. (2009). “Golden age of Indian writing: How a new generation of
writers is making waves in South Asia”. Available at:
http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/books/features/golden-age-ofindian-writing-how-a-new-generation-of-writers-is-making-waves-in-southasia-1749438.html. Retrieved on: 27 June 2011.
Desai, K. (2006). The Inheritance of Loss. London: Penguin
Mullaney, J. (2005). Arundhati Roy’s The God of Small Things: A Reader’s Guide.
New York: The Continuum International Publishing Group Inc
Roy, A. (1998). The God Of Small Things. London: Flamingo
Tickell, A. (2007). Arundhati Roy’s The God of Small Things. Oxon: Routlegde
Knott, K. (2008). Hinduism: A Very Short Introduction.New Delhi: Oxford
University Press
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Claire McGrail Johnston
Limerick, Ireland
clairemcgrail1@gmail.com
READING THE IRISH NOVEL: A GOTHIC ‘ENCOUNTER OF
TREMULOUS SIGNIFICANCE’
Abstract The modern Irish novel will be explored in terms of an Irigarayan
‘dwelling place’ and the reader / writer relationship as an active process of
Irigarayan intersubjectivity. The Gothic is viewed potentially as a means by which
we may ‘return behind or beyond all our discourses and knowledge…’ (Irigaray
2004: 3), thus facilitating an engagement within the intersubjective relationship.
This active relationship also highlights how the acts of reading and writing
ultimately become Gothicized. Described as ‘made of our flesh, our heart, our
thinking, and our words…’ (Irigaray 2004: 7), how far can these theoretical tactile
spaces help us to view the novel as a credible place of healing and as ‘a haptology of
the heart’? (Derrida 2005: 251). If love has been ‘thrown… to the dark worried
margins of…sufficient reason’ (Marion 2008: 1) we might reclaim it in the novel,
with help from the Gothic.
Key words: Gothic, the Irish novel, health, Deleuze, Banville, Morrissy, Deane,
Irigaray.
1.
Reading as an ‘enterprise of health’
I came across a line in a journal article recently that has been haunting me. A
Liverpool writer Pauline Rowe, speaking of a friend and mentor who instilled in her
a love of literature at an early age, describes how he taught her to “write the words
of others in my heart so that, in deep crisis, they came back to save me” (Rowe
2009: 76). Rowe’s depiction of words being inscribed on the heart, and travelling
within the body like invited fellow-explorers, recalls Denis Donoghue’s comment
that sometimes, after reading, “a word, a phrase, a sentence” lingers and “presents
itself as though it had broken free from its setting and declared its independence”
(Donoghue 2008: 44). Drawing upon these ideas, I want to consider the notion that
the simple act of reading fiction, of reading the words of another person, has the
capacity to offer help and emotional sustenance in times of crisis.
Any literary form has the potential to offer such a resource, but my interest in
this article lies with the novel. Focusing specifically upon the Irish novel, I would
like to consider the role that literature may have as a potentially tactile “enterprise of
health” (Deleuze 1997: 3). Gilles Deleuze’s notion of health in this instance does not
refer exclusively to the physiological sense of the term. His intention is to focus
518
upon the acts of reading and writing as means of instilling vitality and creativity into
the processes of thinking. This is a form of health whose timbre is discovered in
tandem with movement, invention and creation. Inspired by Nietzsche’s belief that
“[e]very art, every philosophy can be considered a cure and aid in the service of
growing, struggling life” (Nietzsche 2008: 234), Deleuze sees philosophy entering
into diverse, unpredictable and non-privileging relationships within the spheres of
art, literature, medicine and science. Like philosophers, writers are creative thinkers
and if we engrave others’ words in our hearts in the way Rowe recounts, so too are
readers.
Deleuze has questioned how we can nurture our growth and transitions through
life if we do not have the courage to “enter into regions far from equilibrium”
(Deleuze 1997: 109). This is where the Gothic may have a productive role in
literature. Donoghue’s idea about words escaping their settings, lingering only to
emerge in our presence at another time, has already introduced a Gothic spectrality
into the act of reading. Gina Wisker has suggested that the Gothic is “layered with
meaning, demanding interpretation and engagement from readers” (Wisker 2007:
402), furthermore it employs “strategies of estrangement and engagement to explore
and challenge cultural, social, psychological and personal issues (Wisker 2007: 404).
In other words, the Gothic not only makes us think but can also enable explorations
of emotional pathways that allow us to challenge beliefs about the world we inhabit.
By stimulating and provoking emotions with tactics of displacement, the Gothic can
assist our ability to interpret our environment. Erika Kerruish, also drawing upon the
philosophy of Nietzsche, remarks: “emotions incorporate a passive capacity to sense
the world in the context of a person’s efforts towards persisting and thriving in the
world” (Kerruish 2000: 123).
The emphasis on processes of “persisting” and “thriving” takes us back to the
idea of health, specifically through the galvanizing of emotions. If the challenges
delivered by the Gothic are cultivated by exploring “feelings, desires and passions”
(Smith and Hughes 2003: 1) together with a “seeming celebration of the irrational,
the outlawed and the socially and culturally dispossessed” (Smith and Hughes 2003,
1), then Gothic readings can take us to those “regions far from equilibrium”
(Deleuze 1997: 109).
If, as Jerrold Hogle suggests, the Gothic “shows us our cultural and
psychological selves and conditions in their actual multiplicity” (Hogle 2002: 19),
then the potential for creative thinking is extensive. Moreover, if there are vestiges
of the Gothic within the act of reading itself, we might similarly conceive of reading
as a means by which we can undertake journeys that directly challenge our emotions
and beliefs. Such challenges provide incentives for resourceful and radical thinking
and consequently open opportunities to unearth innovative ways of dealing with
life’s crises.
It might be objected that reading and thinking can only be of minor import in
the face of crisis. To answer this objection we might consider Deleuze and Félix
Guattari’s comment on the volatile and transformative mobility of “nomad thought”
519
(Deleuze and Guattari 2008: xiii). Nomad thought is dynamic; it looks to the future
without attempting to erase the past, and enables the assimilation of “a multiplicity
of elements without effacing their heterogeneity” (Deleuze and Guattari 2008: xiii).
Furthermore, by not impeding the flow of such multiplicities we may possibly
encounter a source of inventive energy that can “break constraints and open new
vistas” (Deleuze and Guattari 2008: xiii). If we view reading and subsequent
thinking in this flexible and open way it becomes a form of creative empowerment;
indeed, as Brian Massumi argues in his foreword to Deleuze and Guattari’s A
Thousand Plateaus:
The question is not: is it true? But: does it work? What new thoughts does
it make it possible to think? What new emotions does it make it possible to
feel? What new sensations and perceptions does it open in the body? (Deleuze
and Guattari 2008: xv)
These questions encourage the reader to focus deeply upon the ways in which
feelings, emotions and thoughts can offer journeys in syncretic perception, where
words and tactile experiences interweave. But how does the act of reading acquire
Gothic attributes?
2.
The Gothicised tactile encounter
A few lines from Alan Bennett’s play The History Boys capture something of
the essence of what I am trying to work towards here. In an effort to communicate
what we encounter at the very heart of the experience of reading, Bennett says:
The best moments in reading are when you come across something, a thought,
a feeling; a way of looking at things that you’d thought special, particular to you.
And here it is, set down by someone else, a person you’ve never met, maybe even
someone long dead. And it’s as if a hand has come out and taken yours. (Bennett
2004: 56)
The manifestation of this “hand” carries with it a sense of haunting, a
benevolent haunting, from a textual, maybe even spectral, presence. Furthermore, if
we view the Gothic, in the sociologist Avery Gordon’s terms, as an “encounter of
tremulous significance” (Gordon 2008: 134) that “speaks of phantoms” (Punter
2004: 3), we might even say that it evokes the idea of a meaningful union, a
thoughtful conversation, between the Gothic and the act of reading.
Crucially, however, Bennett’s words introduce the idea of reading as a form of
touch. Jean-Luc Nancy offers a stimulating rationale for this idea in his declaration
that “[b]odies are in touch on this page, whether we want it or not” (Qtd. Derrida
2005: 225). What remains in the book after it leaves its creator is described by
Jacques Derrida as “a small, stubborn, and tenuous grain, the minute dust of contact”
520
(Derrida 2005: 225). The appearance of the hand imparts an awareness of the body;
flesh and phantom form a symbiotic relationship with thoughts and feelings.
Bennett’s words carry with them what might be at the very heart of reading:
they suggest a heartfelt relationship between reader and writer. So it is to the heart I
wish to turn. A vivid symbol of flesh and spirit and an ancient centre of emotion and
thought, the heart is located by Derrida as our place of “secret interiority” and even
likened to a “crypt” (Derrida 2005: 267). Derrida thus creates an instant link with the
Gothic which, in David Punter’s words, makes “the crypt the cornerstone” of its
diverse landscape (Punter 2004: 3). In keeping with the whole idea of reading as
touch, Derrida intimately links heart, hand, and body with reading, thinking,
memory and writing when he asks: “Isn’t the heart memory? Isn’t it thinking of
memory? Thinking as memory? We shall safeguard the recollection […] as it also
writes itself or is written on the heart and on the hand” (Derrida 2005: 35). Thus
hand, heart, thinking and memory are inextricably entwined in a choreography that
becomes a heartfelt reading. We might also consider that when we read, it is a form
of rewriting, even an inscription on the heart. On this note Nancy adds,
we clearly have to understand reading is that which is not deciphering, but
rather touching and being touched, having to do with body mass and bulk.
Writing, reading, a tactful affair. (Qtd. Derrida 2005: 127; emphasis added)
For Derrida then, there is no doubt that we read with our bodies. In Rosi
Braidotti’s words, bodies are “portions of living memory that endures by undergoing
constant internal modifications following the encounter with other bodies and
forces” (Braidotti 2008: 99). Derrida and Braidotti effectively challenge the notion
that a sense of immediacy is absolutely necessary to the act of touching. Reading,
then, can indeed be a form of touch.
One of the recurring and diffuse transmissions that occur between writer and
reader involves the relationship developed with individual characters encountered
within a narrative. Once the privilege afforded to immediacy in the act of touching
has been challenged, there opens a potential for a more profound sense of
communication with characters within the spaces of the text. Such conceivably
tactile interaction, as Derrida suggests, “yields presence” (Derrida 2005: 121).
Furthermore,
[w]e could then touch what is not! Which is to say, not only intelligible
beings—beyond the senses—but also what does not even present itself any
longer as a being, a being-present. (Derrida 2005: 121-122)
Derrida’s words also resonate with Michel de Certeau’s notion of the “presence
of diverse absences” (de Certeau 1984: 108) which, for him, haunts the everyday as
well as innumerable texts. These observations help to further connect ideas of
reading and the body with the Gothic. We have already seen that the “hand” that
Bennett speaks of as accompanying the act of reading carries with it both a spectral
521
and a material presence. In such a light, de Certeau’s depiction of the Gothicized
body thriving within Gothic spaces is quite enthralling:
[F]rom the nooks of all sorts of “reading rooms” (including lavatories)
emerge subconscious gestures, grumblings, tics, stretchings, rustlings,
unexpected noises, in short a wild orchestration of the body. (de Certeau 1984:
175; my emphasis)
De Certeau also suggests that, rather than being a mere “impertinent absence,”
reading has the potential to constitute “the network of an anti-discipline” (de Certeau
1984: xv). Reading can be confrontational and audacious, or maybe just startling, as
references to the words “unexpected noises” and “wild orchestrations” imply—can
be, in fact, just like the Gothic. Indeed, for Fred Botting the Gothic is “associated
with wildness” (Botting 2001: 3).
The essentially tactile elements of the reading experience are further elaborated
upon by Vladimir Nabokov. He has written about the reader-writer relationship in a
way that speaks from, to and about the heart and body. Nabokov likens the writer’s
craft to an arduous mountain climb up towards the summit where,
[…] at the top, on a windy ridge, whom do you think he meets? The
panting and happy reader, and there they spontaneously embrace and are linked
forever if the book lasts forever. (Nabokov 1983: 2)
A “tactful affair” indeed!
3.
The novel: brimming with ‘plastic possibilities’
Before I move on to give some examples of “tactful” readings, I should clarify
why I have chosen to focus on the novel. After all, Pablo Neruda said that poetry
should contain the stuff of life that is “steeped in sweat, smoke, smelling of lilies
and urine” (Neruda 1974: xxii), and the sheer physicality of drama speaks for itself.
It is the novel, however, which provides that rambling sense of space in which to tell
a story, to set out on an adventure across its generous landscapes. I agree with
Franco Moretti’s description of the novel as “a phoenix always ready to take flight
in a new direction” (Moretti 2007: ix), with Mikhail Bakhtin’s notion that it is like
“a creature from an alien species,” full of “plastic possibilities” (Bakhtin 1996: 4).
Similarly, John Banville has described the novel as “some enormous intricate thing
dancing, in sadness, brief happiness, pain” (Qtd. Imhof 1989: 17). For me, the novel
is intriguing; it speaks of emotion, mystery and regeneration, and is full of what
Margaret Doody has called a “rich, muddy messiness” (Doody 1997: 485).
The journeys we embark upon in a novel may be comfortable and
undemanding. However, they can also involve more deeply challenging and thorny
paths. Walter Siti, in an article that reinforces this sense of divergence, uses an
522
interesting metaphor. Holding Flaubert’s description of Emma Bovary’s poison as
tasting “like ink” up against Judge Woolsey’s famous 1934 declaration that Ulysses
had a “somewhat emetic” effect on the reader, Siti sees the novel as both poison and
medicine. Paradoxically, the “ink,” lifeblood of the novel, becomes both poison, like
Emma’s draft, and medicine, like the emetic Ulysses. In this light the novel becomes
the multi-faceted pharmakon which, by exploiting its powers of seduction in
tempting us to read “makes one stray from one’s general, natural, habitual paths and
laws” (Derrida 1981: 70). Indeed we might further concur with Derrida and affirm
the dynamic relationship between “writing, the pharmakon, the going or leading
astray” (Derrida 1981: 71). To avail of any sense of an “enterprise of health”
(Deleuze 1997: 3) we may have to negotiate this “leading astray” (Derrida 1981:
71), the upheaval of the pharmakon. The novel may be the reader’s vessel for a
journey which offers the potential, in the words of Hélène Cixous, for us to
“experience the end of the world […] to lose a world and to discover that there is
more than one world and that the world isn’t what we think it is” (Cixous 1993: 10).
Cixous here echoes Deleuze’s challenge to journey to those “regions far from
equilibrium” (Deleuze 1997: 109).
4.
Tactile reading: a “haptology of the heart”
To tease some of these ideas out a little further, I would like to explore
examples from three contemporary Irish novels: Mary Morrissy’s Mother of Pearl
(1996), John Banville’s Ghosts (1993), and Seamus Deane’s Reading in the Dark
(1996). An exploration of memory and place in the contemporary Irish novel is a
meaningful exercise, especially in relation to reading as an “enterprise of health”
(Deleuze 1997: 3), given Ireland’s traumatic past, its extended history of
colonialism. The continuing emphasis on these themes in Irish fiction indicates the
way in which “memory recovers and re-covers, it hurts and it heals, it haunts and it
empowers” (Friberg, Gilsenan-Nordin, Yding-Pedersen 2007: xvi); the potentially
healing powers of memory and narrative can become what Banville expresses as a
necessary “tender burden” (Banville 1998: 178). All three of these writers have
conveyed a sensual textual geography in their work, while incorporating a sense of
physicality and spirituality that the reader can engage with on a deeply intimate
level. Each novel demonstrates what Derrida has called a “haptology of the heart”
(Derrida 2005: 251). The word haptology (from Greek haptesthai “to touch” or
haptikos “to come into contact with”, “to lay hold of”) expresses a perception of our
environment or location that exceeds visual experience. There is an intermingling of
a wide range of senses, including memories of earlier experiences of people or
places or acute perceptions of place, sensations of touch, sound, smell and so forth.
This meld of sensations may allow for experiences that are not easy to articulate, not
easy to name, but are nevertheless distinctly felt – they may touch the reader deeply.
As I will go on to suggest, the difficulty of verbalising such events with concrete
523
accuracy may open up the reader’s awareness of entering a Gothicized “ordeal of the
undecidable” (Derrida 1994: 87).
In Mother of Pearl, Morrissy depicts Irene’s longing for and reflection upon a
baby who has been removed from her care, and who can now only exist for her in
exquisite memories. Taking out her box of mementos, Irene touches a little lock of
hair that belonged to the baby girl, a small bright green mitten that was once
attached to a coat the wriggling child wore, and a book with the baby’s tiny teethmarks in the corner of the pages. Irene’s physical, tactile and emotional “reading” of
this small treasure trove offers a means by which she can honestly say that “[s]he
sees her every day […], a child skipping ahead of her on a dusty street, arms spread
wide greeting the future” (Morrissy 1996: 223). For Irene, the child “is not lost but
merely waiting to be found again” (223).
In Banville’s Ghosts, there is a scene in which one of the characters stands
within an oak ridge. The air, permeated by the fresh smell of rain-soaked grass and
wild flowers, carries an awareness of what might be called ancestral voices. The
character becomes intensely aware of “living among lives […] they speak of the past
and, more compellingly, of the future” (Banville 1993: 101). The voices
communicate a yearning to be remembered, and the sensual geographic description
enhances the impression of human physicality, offering a palpable, earthy, and yet
spectral sense of place. The past, both personal and collective, is likened to “a
melody I had lost that was starting to come back, I could hear it in my mind, a tiny,
thin, heartbreaking music” (67). The haptology of place incorporates an example of
what Svetlana Boym calls “reflective nostalgia” (Boym 2001: xviii) in that the sense
of longing does not aspire to reconstruct some lost place of origin; instead, the
longing allows critical thought processes to thrive, however disturbing that activity
may be. The therapeutic potential of such reading resides in an unsettling “upheaval
of the internal” (Derrida 2005: 2) which is indeed a “tender burden” to bear
(Banville 1998: 178).
My last example is from Seamus Deane’s Reading in the Dark. Here, a young
boy finds his way into an underground secret passage of a great ancient stone ring.
Such constructions are early medieval or iron age circular fortified spaces that can
frequently hold sacred significance or hold narrative connections in myths and
folklore. As the boy gradually descends into the passageway, “it simply became
blackness” (Deane 1996: 57). He begins to feel his way around in the dark, touching
“the wet walls,” feeling “the skin of slime” and “the wrinkling moss.” It becomes “a
bronchial space” where sight does not help to negotiate the environment. Sounds
and floral scents are interweaved into myth: the wind becomes the breathing of
ancient warriors, the floating perfume of heather and gorse is a signal of Druid
spells, and the sounds of underground water transform into the ancient “emaciated
ghost sounds” of women sighing. The cold of the place is described, with a physical
metaphor, as “marrow deep.” The boy is afraid, but when he has escaped from the
darkness, he looks back at the site and feels the experience to be “even worse in
retrospect, more chilling and enclosed” (57). While the experience itself is described
524
in highly tactile terms, the retrospective abstraction of the memory deeply intensifies
the experience.
Each of these examples illustrates the idea of a haptology, that weaving of the
senses which can produce vivid, tactile and, emotional responses in the reader. Each
also displays its own kind of Gothic haunting. The characters negotiate their
environments, read places and objects as we might read the novel, hearts and hands
trembling with emotion, thoughts forming, memories playing as writer reaches out
to reader, “as if a hand has come out and taken yours.”
5.
Creative thinking: “a body animated with intentions”
So, what does all this add up to? How can these ideas be taken to constitute an
“enterprise of health” (Deleuze 1997: 2-3)? Firstly, let us consider something
Derrida says about touch:
But no living being in the world can survive for an instant without touching,
which is to say, without being touched. Not necessarily by some other being but by
something = ϰ […], for a finite, living being, before and beyond any concept of
“sensibility,” touching means “being in the world.” (Derrida 2005: 140)
For Derrida, “[t]here is no world without touching” (Derrida 2005: 140); touch
is intensely connected not just to our sense of health and wellbeing, but to survival
itself. Derrida’s assertions are reinforced by Sylvie Thorel-Cailleteau’s suggestion
that the novel strives towards “depicting the human in a strictly human framework”
and is “rooted in the depths of the body” (Thorel-Cailleteau 2007: 94). Reading is,
as Derrida suggests, “a tactful affair” (Derrida 2005: 127).
Secondly, I would resist the classical interpretation of aesthetic emotion as
merely a cathartic release of excess feelings. The intense emotions involved in the
kind of reading that I have described can, paradoxically, encourage an engagement
in coherent, reasoned thinking. Erika Kerruish has read Nietzsche in a way that
shows that he “does not view reason as conflicting with emotion but as integral to it”
(Kerruish 2009: 18), thus determining that “[t]he growth and flourishing of a self in
an environment requires the ability to passively suffer the emotions that monitor its
condition” (Kerruish 2009: 23). By becoming what Irigaray has called “actively
receptive” (Irigaray 2004: 187) to these senses of touch, emotion and creative
thinking in the act of reading, we might also navigate a path, to borrow again from
Irigaray, from “corporeal inertia to a body animated with intentions” (Irigaray 2004:
188).
Finally, we might consider the potential importance of a form of thinking
which engages with the reading of a novel in light of Deleuze and Guattari’s caution
that “the less people take thought seriously, the more they think in conformity with
what the state wants” (Deleuze and Guattari 2008: 415). Thinking and reading can
525
be radical; it can cultivate a sense of radical vitality. As Rosi Braidotti puts it,
“[t]hinking is about change and transformation. Thinking is enfleshed, erotic and
pleasure driven” (Braidotti 2008: 124). With this in mind, the pleasure we derive
from reading a novel becomes a critical part of the reading process. The novel
becomes a dynamic “dwelling space” which is, in Irigaray’s words, “made of our
flesh, our heart, our thinking, our words” (Irigaray 2004: 7). This is just the kind of
creative thinking which, for Jane Bennett and William E. Connolly, affords a
thrilling, breathtaking movement which weaves its way in, across and around the
body:
Thinking bounces in magical bumps and charges across multiple zones marked
by differences of speed, capacity and intensity. [...] It is above all in the relations
between the zones that possibilities for creativity reside. For thinking is not
harnessed entirely by the tasks of representation and knowledge. Through its
layered intra- and inter-corporeality new ideas, theories, identities are propelled
into being. Thinking is creative. (Bennett and Connolly 2002: 158-159)
It is just these resourceful “magical bumps and charges” that can exceed the
mere rational explaining away of crisis, arousing the reader to focus instead upon
“feeling your way deeper and deeper . . . until you do feel what is at stake” and
move towards “a profane illumination” (Gordon 2008: 134). Such reading and
creative thinking can offer what Irigaray assigns to the reading of philosophy: it
“sometimes stimulates, even cures”; at the very least, it “sends us back to our daily
existence with our spirit a little more alive” (Irigaray 2008: 4).
6.
Configurations of emotion: maps, matter and elemental forces
It might also be deeply disturbing, rendering our thinking a “configuration
pregnant with tensions” (Benjamin 1969: 262). Using Benjamin’s concept of
configurations I’d like to further elaborate upon some of the ideas already broached
in this article with particular reference to Banville’s novel Kepler (1981). Banville
employs the configurations of emotion, thought, nature and reality, further extending
the concept of haptology by creating a textual “map of tenderness,” a term used by
Madeleine de Scudéry to describe a map which accompanied her novel Clélie
(1654). The Carte du Pays de Tendre, or “map of the land of tenderness,” offers a
journey through the narrative of emotions to “countries” of tenderness and intimacy.
Banville’s textual cartography does not simply represent reality but uses the map as
a poetic means of communication which seeks to offer a tool for the production of
meaning. Such a map embraces, to borrow Giuliana Bruno’s words, a “haptic route”
and a “tender tactics” (Bruno 2002: 208). Furthermore it displays itself as a
“mapping of transito” and an “emotional map of transport” (Bruno 2002, 208); a
thought-provoking topoi with locations akin to “congealed ‘suddenlys’” (Bakhtin
1996: 102).
526
In Kepler, flowing maps connect the four cosmological elements of air, earth,
water and fire which extend their influence throughout the text by permeating the
body, mind and the external environment. The elements materialize in the form of
storms, sunlight, tears, loss, deep sadness, love, urine, sweat, clouds, illness and
fever, wind and bodily functions as well as connecting rainfall with ink, writing and
creative instincts. Fire interweaves its physical and metaphysical forces within
emotional fervour, sexual energy and the sparks of an energetic mind as well as in
the violence imposed upon those considered to be different. Banville shows that the
same fire which spurs the writing of challenging texts can equally inflame the
censorship that seeks to burn them. Within such an intricate cartography of syncretic
perception movement and the possibility of change is evident. Banville presents a
map of tenderness which acknowledges the importance of emotion in the pursuit of
knowledge, questioning the certainty of “truth.” By weaving the elemental forces
into the equally changeable milieu of emotion and thought, Banville has created a
“map of transito” which recalls the Deleuzian notion of “becoming,” that displays
reality as a state of flux. Constant stability and fixed identities are shown to be
illusory.
There is an incident in Kepler which especially exemplifies the sheer force of
creative thinking, presenting it as a potent transformative force in times of crisis. In
a highly volatile environment of religious persecution, political turmoil,
discrimination, witch-burning, enforced exile, death, war, legal and financial battle,
Banville shows Kepler realising one of his most important scientific theories in the
most unexpected of circumstances. Stumbling drunk out of a tavern accompanied by
a number of women and drinking pals, Kepler vomits into a drain. In a Dionysian
mapping of alcohol and intoxication, gambling, uninhibited dance, wild music,
revelry, sexual abandon, vomit and human waste matter, Kepler experiences creative
thinking that reveals one of the laws of planetary movement—that of the elliptical
rather than circular movement of planets. Watching the women, who are described
with a Gothic nuance as “goatish dancers” (Banville 2001: 363), move in an
elliptical pattern in the light of the tavern window triggers Kepler’s epiphanic
moment. Thus the configurations of scientific, astronomical and geometric
knowledge are grounded within the human cartography of Dionysian earthly
pleasures. Mapping new configurations of reality can emerge from the most difficult
of circumstances, and the most human.
Deleuze and Guattari’s ideas of nomadic space as heterogeneous, seeking to
break through existing frameworks (or mappings) and creating a space for
becoming, reinvention and change, is compatible with Banville’s cartographies.
Reading such spaces may prove a crucial process in times of crisis. Banville’s tender
mapping is comparable to nomadic space where we might encounter
an extraordinarily fine topology that relies not on points or objects but rather
on hacceities, on sets of relations (winds, undulations of snow or sand, the song of
the sand or the creaking of the ice, the tactile qualities of both). It is a tactile space,
527
or rather “haptic,” a sonorous much more than a visual space. (Deleuze and
Guattari 2008: 421)
This haptic space is determinedly “of the rhizome type” (Deleuze and Guattari
2008: 422).
And so we return to the haptologies that enable pathways into these nomadic
tender maps. The Gothic thrives as we experience textual locations that are at once
strange but yet perplexingly familiar. Deleuze and Guattari, citing the ideas of
Nathalie Sarraute, discuss a way of writing that “liberates the particles of an
anonymous matter allowing them to communicate through the “envelope” of forms
and subjects” (Deleuze and Guattari 2008: 295. This emancipatory act subsequently
enables us to “perceive the imperceptible” (Deleuze and Guattari 2008: 295).
Sarraute herself describes this “matter,” bringing us back again to the body, as “a
substance as anonymous as blood, a magma without name or contours” (Sarraute
1963: 94). Such “matter” may well flow though Banville’s writing, but these tender
cartographies can communicate an even deeper import, as Stuart Aitken argues:
“The notion of a tender mapping is hugely appropriate to moving in and beyond
imperial cartographies of today and we believe emotional geographies help us to get
to that place” (Aitken 2009: 1).
Reading and creating maps of tenderness can have much wider, global
implications. In times of crisis we might, through the act of reading, do as Deleuze
and Guattari suggest and “[m]ake a map” (Deleuze and Guattari 2008: 13), a map
that transgresses borders, uses multiple entryways and uses multiplicitous processes
of thought, feeling and being, in other words—is rhizomatic. In this way tender
mapping avoids concepts of conquest and appropriation and seeks to “caress the
earth, stroke its contours, without asking for a reward” (Hassan 2005: 1).
7.
Reading: an enfleshed and spectral embrace
In closing, I would like to return to the idea of reading as a benevolent
haunting, about something far more active than a mere “deciphering” of text. Hélène
Cixous reminds us that reading and writing are not simply frivolous pastimes, but
rather activities that contain at the core a “hunger for flesh and tears” (Cixous 2005:
97). Cixous also suggests that when we become adults we habitually forget how to
read, however “we used to read when we were children and knew how violent
reading can be” (Cixous 1993: 20). Indeed, as Nietzsche said, true maturity “means
to have acquired the seriousness that one had as a child at play” (Nietzsche 1997:
48). To treat reading with a sense of complacency ignores the violence and passion
that is integral to the process, and subsequently to a Gothicized “enterprise of
health” (Deleuze 1997: 2-3). By daring to acknowledge the intensity of reading,
hand, heart, memory and thinking inscribe themselves in an enfleshed and spectral
embrace that can nurture us through challenging times and inspire us towards
possible futures. This is a connection which Cixous has clearly grasped, and there
528
could be no better way to draw together the ideas I have suggested than to close with
her defiant words:
The harpooners or harpists of the ultimate hours are occupied with this
challenge: to fish in the space between the lines beyond the heart for what must
return to the heart, and to make it sound once more. It is this hunger for flesh and
tears, our appetite for living, that, at the tip of forsaken fingers, makes a pencil
grow. (Cixous 2005: 96-97)
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Aleksandar B. Nedeljković
Kragujevac, Serbia
srpsko_dnf@yahoo.com
MORAL EQUATIONS OF THE KILLING OF HARRY LIME IN THE
THIRD MAN
Abstract In the much-celebrated British 1949 movie, based on a scenario by
Graham Greene, The Third Man, the main villain, Harry Lime (played by Orson
Welles) is shot and killed in a famous denouement scene in the sewage tunnels
under the war-damaged Vienna. We analyze what happens in those last few minutes
of Harry Lime’s life, and in the film as a whole (and in Greene’s subsequent book,
the novella The Third Man). We find a carefully measured moral balance between
friendship and crime, responsibility and evil, and other ethical factors; a
purposefully built moral equation. This conclusion leads us also to speculate that
perhaps in thousands of other works of art, from trivial to highest-valued, there are
similar moral equations, in fact very firm and deliberate, deeply rooted in the
Christian civilization of the West, even though the casual reader, or film-watcher,
might not notice them.
Key words: Graham Greene, Carol Reed, film The Third Man, moral equations
1. The unfortunate probable consequence of reading this
Perhaps the reader should be better advised not to read this paper, and here is
why:
Knowing the narrative strategy, which we are about to reveal, will let our
reader see through the manipulative narrative strategies involved in the setting up of
moral equations in many movies, and, so, he or she will never again be able to watch
such a movie with innocent eyes; thousands of movies (and, similarly, books) will
become, in this sense, transparent to him, he will understand how they were
constructed, and he will not be able to enjoy them. Specifically, our reader will
never again be able to enjoy the film The Third Man as directed by Carol Reed. This
our text will very probably spoil the fun, even in books and films that have yet to be
made, the future ones. This makes our paper a sort of permanent “super-spoiler”. So,
maybe it would be wiser not to read this paper.
2. Moral equations, what they are, in novels and films generally
Moral equations are of crucial importance in any genre, realistic or fantastic,
and in any medium, including literature, but in film they are of especially great
531
importance. They are closely related to, but not identical with, the ancient notion of
poetic justice (Latin: justitia poetica). Basically they exist so that each protagonist
will get what he deserves, but also, what the general moral reference-frame of our
civilization requires; and this will contribute and assist towards the desired (by the
film-makers, and by the audience) overall moral effect; ultimately, the audience will
be satisfied, pleased, but also, perhaps, will be taught a moral lesson. This moralinstruction, ethical-guidance function of film is extremely important in our rather
atheistic and rather non-literary times, when most people in the West and in many
other countries do not get their guidance either from going to church or from reading
books. – Dulce, et utile.
The principle sounds simple, but its application in practice is quite complex,
branching out into many extensions and combinations, with many nuances, which
change and evolve over time; some talented writers of books, and of scenarios, may
have an intuitive grasp of this, a spontaneous feel, from the heart, but some true
professionals probably look at the job also in another manner – with cold,
calculating eyes, very deliberately and coolly, under the watchful eyes of the
producers. The audience are supposed to remain blissfully ignorant of this.
3. Are we discussing film, or literature, here
In the much-celebrated British 1949 black-and-white movie, The Third Man, a
classic, based on a text written by Graham Greene but with major input from Carol
Reed and probably some input from the producers Alexander Korda and David O.
Selznick, and directed by Carol Reed, the main villain, Harry Lime (played by
Orson Welles) is shot and killed in a famous denouement scene in the sewage
tunnels under the war-damaged Vienna. That scene, actually the moral equation of
it, is what our paper is mainly about.1
Later, after the film achieved a huge, planetary success, Graham Greene
published the text, as a novella. So is this our paper about film art, or, about literary
art?
The answer is: both; they are, in this case, inseparable.
The actual truth about this entwining of the two media is a bit complicated. In
his Preface to one of the many editions, Graham Greene (1904-1991) himself gives
this testimony:
1
The film is legendary also for its wonderful, nostalgic, melancholy music (known as “The
Third Man melody” or “the Harry Lime theme”; the soundtrack was recorded in London), played by
the Viennese musician Anton Karas on a zither; the legend has it (at least in Serbia, at that time, this
was believed by many.) that a number of residents of Vienna, depressed and poor in the post-war years,
killed themselves after listening to that music. Interestingly, during all the six years of Second World
War, Karas was a loyal soldier of Adolf Hitler, in the anti-aircraft units, and for this he was never
accused or prosecuted in any way.
532
The Third Man was never written to be read but only to be seen. … To me
it is almost impossible to write a film play without first writing a story. … The
Third Man, therefore, though never intended for publication, had to start as a
story before those apparently interminable transformations from one treatment
to another. … On these treatments Carol Reed and I worked closely together,
covering so many feet of carpet a day, acting scenes at each other. (Greene: 910)
As destiny would have it, The Third Man turned out to be Greene’s greatest
success. Twenty two years ago, today’s full professor of English literature at
Belgrade University, Dr. Zoran Paunović, wrote, in his M.A. work:
Neither is Graham Greene the only example of a writer whose reputation
and status were influenced by film (which is, undoubtedly, the most popular art
form of the 20th century), nor is The Third Man (1950) Greene’s only work
transferred to the movie screen. A number of Greene’s novels have been filmed
– starting with the Stamboul Train, and including also the novels The Honorary
Consul and The Human Factor. Some of those films were failures, and some
were quite successful, but, without doubt, the greatest fame went, quite
deservedly, to the film made by Carol Reed, The Third Man, the only story
which Greene wrote specifically for a movie. In the same package with money
and fame, this film brought to the writer something which he most definitely
did not want: The Third Man became, and not only for the movie audiences,
one of the first thoughts that come to mind when the name of Graham Greene
is mentioned. (Paunović: 65)2
We think that this is still so, today; and, probably, just as Mary Shelley will
never step out of Frankenstein’s shadow, so will Graham Green never separate from
the moving, slanted shadow of Harry Lime.
If we examine exactly what happens in those last few minutes of Harry Lime’s
life, and in the film as a whole (and in Greene’s subsequent book), we see a
carefully measured moral balance between friendship and crime, responsibility and
evil, and other ethical factors; a purposefully built moral equation. This leads us to
2
We translated this paragraph into English, for our purposes here; the law required, then, that all
M.A. works be in Serbian. The Serbian original is: “Niti je Gream Grin usamljeni primer pisca na čiji je
ugled i status uticao film, nesumnjivo najpopularnija umetnost dvadesetog veka, niti je Treći ćovek
(The Third Man, 1950), jedino njegovo delo preneto na filmski ekran. Veliki broj Grinovih romana je
ekranizovan – počev od Voza za Istanbul, pa do romana Počasni konzul i Ljudski faktor. Bilo je među
njima i promašaja i vrlo uspelih filmova, no najveću slavu sasvim zasluženo uživa delo Kerola Rida,
Treći ćovek, jedina priča koju je Grin napisao specijalno za film. Zajedno sa slavom i novcem, film je
piscu doneo i nešto što ovaj ni u kom slučaju nije želeo: Treći čovek je postao, i to ne samo kada se radi
o širokoj publici, jedna od prvih asocijacija koja se javlja na pomen imena Greama Grina.”
533
speculate that in thousands of other works of art, from trivial to highest-valued, there
are similar moral equations, in fact very firm and deliberate, deeply rooted in the
Christian civilization of the West, even when the casual reader, or film-watcher,
might think that the plot is propelled by pure accident and coincidence.
4. Digression: the moral justification of beating them in a Bruce Lee movie
To turn momentarily away from The Third Man, here is an example of a moral
equation, much more simple, elementary, a naïve one. In a Bruce Lee fighting
movie, a girl, peaceful, good, pretty, and definitely not rich, is selling flowers in the
street. Comes a group of bad young boys, bullies, and they start to harass and insult
her, toss her flowers, etc. But then comes, walking, by pure accident arriving just
then, exactly there, a character played by Bruce Lee, and tells them not to do that. At
first they look at him and at each other in surprise and disbelief: is he suicidal? To
tangle with them? Then they attack him. But he is a master of fighting skills, and
soon they are horizontal, beaten up, properly punished for their evil doings. The
audience cheer for him and are happy. But that is a minor episode at the beginning
of the movie. Bruce Lee walks away, to much more important things in his destiny
(in this film), and all is good, and the flowers incident is soon forgotten. – In reality,
this would probably not end at that, the hoodlums would recover, stand up again,
and (now that Bruce Lee is gone) would attack the girl, perhaps there would be
police, arrests, lawyers, Bruce Lee would be summoned by the court to testify, the
bullies’ lawyers would resolutely claim that Bruce Lee in fact “brutally” attacked the
“peaceful good boys” first, without any provocation or cause or right; in
consequence, Bruce Lee would be sued, then maybe the witnesses would be
intimidated, etc., a whole sordid mess of real life. Lawyers would find fifty ways to
obstruct and sabotage justice, and to earn extra money for themselves, in a case like
that. That’s real. But it would spoil the fun.
Both sides in the fight, in such a film, ought to be Asian (because Bruce Lee is
Asian), so there will be no question of racism, black-vs.-white, etc.; the movie
should remain politically correct. That is also part of the strategy.
5. Another Digression: why they confess so easily, in a typical
Hercule Poirot episode
Here is another example, less naïve: consider how in Agatha Christie, the
detective Hercule Poirot often induces the bad guy, the criminal, near the end of the
story, to become emotional, and to confess (in an outburst of bitterness or
resentment) the crime. This seals the story satisfactorily. If the culprit should
“lawyer up” and totally refuse to admit anything, the accusations (made by Poirot),
however brilliant, would have to be dragged through the courts, the public
prosecutor would take over the case, Poirot would be reduced to a mere witness, or
534
illegal busybody who had no right to interfere, perhaps he needed a search warrant
but did not have it, he would be sued, lawyers of the perpetrator might claim that
Poirot’s “tampering” with the evidence made the entire evidence “inadmissible” in
court, etc. – the whole real-life thing, definitely messy, enormously long, boring,
sordid, and unsatisfying.
6. Third digression: why did Jamie Lee Curtis drop the sub-machinegun
down the wooden steps
In the 1994 film True Lies, where Arnold Schwarzenegger plays a secret agent
and Jamie Lee Curtis plays his wife, they sort-of together fight against the Arab
terrorists (Muslim extremists) who plan to detonate a nuclear bomb in an American
city. The moment comes when the two descend into the very den of the terrorists;
there, a Russian-made nuclear bomb is on the floor; our big male hero starts to kill
the “baddies”, as expected. Then his wife drops a sub-machinegun (a rather small
one; it could be called an automatic pistol) and the pistol tumbles down the stairs,
which are made of rough wooden planks. But, amazingly, the trigger of the pistol
remains pressed, somehow stuck in the firing position (!) and during the fall it is
shooting and shooting automatically, and hitting, and killing the bad guys! This is
extremely improbable. And if it by some miracle could happen, the gun would
probably shoot her, first, because she is very near. However, this shooting event fits
perfectly into the moral equation. The man, the husband, is carrying the main burden
of the fight; but his wife, the female, could not be (for reasons of gender-political
correctness) just a useless follower; it was imperative that a female should also
contribute, in the fight. The inverted case, in which she would descend among the
Arabs and do the main fighting, while he would remain on top of the stairs and only
accidentally drop the automatic pistol and then watch with a horrified face as it
tumbles down – would have been unthinkable. As it is, reason tells us that her loose
gun might also have killed her husband, perhaps, but that, too, would have been
unthinkable, and it would utterly ruin this part-thriller-part-comedy film. So she had
to also kill some enemies of America. But the makers of the movie did not want to
present her with directly bloodied hands, it would be un-ladylike; nor to let her take
the dominant role in the fight; so, the gun itself, by itself, shoots the enemies, but the
woman who dropped it also wins some moral points, with the happy audience, some
credit (but not too much) in the good fight. This is a clear example of moral
equations, plus gender-political correctness, at work. It may seem trivial but it is not,
if the same principles are used in the making of thousands of other films – and in
prose works, perhaps.
535
7. Academic status of The Third Man today
In the Critical Quarterly magazine of Manchester University Press about thirty
years ago, Miriam Allott writes that “Ph.D. theses labeled ‘The novels of Graham
Greene’ burden the shelves of university libraries the world over”3 and she adds that
Discussion frequently modulates into engagement with the hugely
paradoxical question of his enormous success. No really good or serious writer,
it has at times been felt, could possibly be as popular as that. … the
unbridgeable gulf between ‘popular’ and ‘serious’ writing, believing that to be
popular it is necessary to be frivolous and vulgar and that in any event there
can be no changing of one’s spots. The serious author can’t write badly enough
to become a best-seller and the popular author can’t make himself write well
enough to win his coveted succès d’estime. Our last ‘popular-and-serious’
writer, it is said sufficiently often, was Dickens. (Allott: 9-12)
Times have changed, definitely, in the sense that this post-Victorian British
class-consciousness (in the Marxist sense) which she describes, this separation into
upper and lower social classes of writers, and readers, by now has evaporated,
largely; it now sounds like an oddity, an old and forgotten burden. (But it does partly
explain the low academic status of science fiction genre in those times: it was
popular. Also, it places in brilliant light the puzzling question as to why Greene
again and again spoke dismissingly of his own popular works, including The Third
Man, as mere “entertainments” – there was a strong reason: he had to demonstrate,
especially to the academic circles, that he is an upper-social-class, high-quality
writer who despises even his own popular works, works loved by masses. It meant
something like: “I am elite, crème de la crème, here in this England, really, I am
intellectually and socially far above my own popular works and above those millions
of low-brow readers”. Such a cheap gimmick, but, apparently, it worked.)
8. The collective decision-making
Today’s critic Kim Newman says that a crucial part of the dialogue on the
Prater wheel “was written by Welles on the spur of the moment as an addition to
3
Which reminds us of the academic status of Danilo Kiš in Serbia today, in 2011: about 3,000
articles, essays, reviews, dissertations etc., already published, in our growing science of “Kiš-ology”!
Authors of similar but perhaps more modest status are Borislav Pekić, and Milorad Pavić with his
Dictionary of the Khazars, and Ivo Andrić with his Bridge on the Drina, etc. We encountered a claim
that, by now (year 2011) about 225 serious academic studies about Samuel Beckett have been
published so that we can speak of Beckett-ology (Vlajčić) as a branch of Literaturwissenschaft. So
there are still such literary caryatides available for academic study, filling many shelves, though
perhaps partly electronic shelves, today; colossal figures which no one can call trivial, which is why a
researcher is well-advised to turn to them from time to time.
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Greene’s script, filling out the character and perhaps securing the picture’s lasting
greatness” (Newman: 246). The film, really shot in Vienna and only four years after
the war, got one Oscar (for photography) and was nominated for two more Oscars
(for directing and editing).
Greene located his novella in “the precarious, ‘smashed, dreary’ and partly
subterranean Vienna”, as the literary historian Andrew Sanders says in his Short
Oxford History of English Literature, because “the Second World War sharpened
certain of Greene’s fictional perspectives and preoccupations” and it is generally
recognized to be among his finest work (Sanders: 583).
Of more direct interest to us, in this paper, is the statement of Graham Greene
himself, in the same Preface to The Third Man: “One of the very few major disputes
between Carol Reed and myself concerned the ending, and he has been proved
triumphantly right”. (Greene: 11) From Greene’s own testimony, and from other
sources, we get a firm impression that this film was scripted with major, and
carefully considered and argued, input from the film director; and there was the
influence of Alexander Korda; so, Greene’s greatest work (in the sense of: largest
success) was not only an inseparable mix of film-and-literature, literature-and-film,
it was also a collective work, to some extent. But then film is a collective work,
inevitably, although in some distant future that, too, might change, if computers
available to a lonely artist become much more powerful than they are today. This
film, The Third Man, certainly was a collective work, in 1949.
9. The crime, confession, and shooting of the villain in The Third Man
Here we, finally, come to the point of our research.
In The Third Man, Harry Lime, the villain, had to die at the end, because the
court case against him, especially in the difficult conditions of the immediately-postwar Vienna, would have dragged the film into complications and postponements of
the denouement. And if the Russians caught him and immediately executed him by
firing squad, without much-a-do, which was their manner with such4, the film would
acquire a propagandistic and political character. So he had to die among his own,
English-speaking folks, but, in some dramatic and immediate manner. No lawyers.
But first he had to confess.
The scene with the Prater wheel, which takes the writer Holly Martins and the
criminal Harry Lime 65 meters high up in the air above the liberated but also
occupied-by-Allies Vienna, with citizens down on the ground supposedly looking
like insignificant dots (which is a bit of exaggeration: people do not really look that
small, from that distance), is the scene in which the villain practically admits that he
4
Serbs knew of this, and the Serbian word in 1945 for such Russian instant justice was
“пристрељати” (“pristrelyati”) which translates as “to do a quick-little-and-insignificant shooting by
firing squad”.
537
did sell, for profit, watered-down penicillin, in non-sterile ampoules, because of
which many children died after suffering terribly in hospitals. The use of Prater
wheel, which was for many years one of the most famous (if not the most famous)
symbols and tourist destinations in Vienna, for this dramatic purpose, is very
intelligent and creative, as part of the narrative strategy. But of course Harry Lime
would not have confessed so easily to a police inspector, for instance. Or to any
stranger. So, the confidante had to be a good, trusted, close, long-time friend. This
makes the confession more probable: we are more likely to believe, and accept, that
the criminal would so easily confess.
In retrospect, then, we see that Greene had to introduce such a character, as
Holly Martins is, into the story; a believable confidante; so that (as in Hercule Poirot
stories, and in a number of Sherlock Holmes stories in fact…), the villain would
confess. One of the main pillars of the story, Holly Martins, was needed, in the
narrative strategy of the story, and had to be introduced, for this reason.
But in the legendary final sequence of the chase in the sewage tunnels under
Vienna, first we see that Harry Lime shoots and kills a pursuing police officer. This,
in the moral equation, now gives full right to the police to shoot and kill him: in selfdefense, more or less. And they do shoot. The leading policeman, Calloway, fires,
once, and hits Harry Lime with that one bullet.
Actually, the ranks of the police seem to thin out and diminish rather
miraculously. Hundreds of them encircle Harry Lime, initially; then small groups
remain in sight; then somehow only two or three, precisely the ones already best
known to the audience. Harry Lime is not shot by some anonymous “uniform”, as
we might say today, not by a faceless nameless soldat (soldier, in German, and in
Russian, and in several other languages), but, by Calloway.
And the police, in this action, only wound, not kill, Harry Lime.
If the police killed him immediately, it would have been the victory of a large,
impersonal armed force over one lonely man (the criminal) on the run. However
guilty he is, and however justified the police are to shoot, it would not have the
quality of personal moral judgment. Besides, if a large, impersonal social
mechanism is crushing a lonely fugitive, we instinctively tend to side with him; that
would have spoiled the desired moral effect.5
Oddly, a civilian, the writer Holly Martins, now takes a pistol, from the limp
hand of the dead policeman, and proceeds to chase, alone (!) the wounded Harry
Lime. He did not shoot at Harry, yet. The police have by now been reduced,
miraculously, to one man, Calloway, who allows Holly Martins to proceed forward
5
This is why the baddies in Die Hard films and in many similar movies get nabbed by a quirky
loner, an undisciplined, odd, personally motivated detective, fantastically brave and enduring, whose
superior officers have no clue of what is really going on, while he disobeys or ignores much of what
they are ordering him to do or not do; that is emotionally satisfying; the bad guy is not defeated by
battalions of professionally cool, vastly superior, rich, perfectly organized police. Not in such films.
The final fight is often between the leading, most evil villain, who is also the last gangster standing, and
this peculiar, rebellious detective, and it is very personal.
538
alone, almost like an envoy or best combatant. Calloway, very British in appearance
and manners, a tall man with small moustache, now lags behind, and seems to doze
off, as if lost in thought, or hypnotized, for quite a while. He is gazing, almost
motionless, at his dead colleague on the ground. Time passes.
That’s where the construction shows through, rather drastically: this long, silent
interval of “meditation” by Calloway. An interval totally unlikely.
This is where plausibility is sacrificed for the sake of a desirable moral
equation.
Graham Greene himself was obviously aware of this glaring, vast
implausibility, and so, in the (subsequently) published version (the novella) he
defends this point: “Martins said: ‘Let me come in front. I don’t think he’ll shoot at
me, and I want to talk to him’. … ‘Get flat against the wall. He won’t shoot at me’.”
(Greene: 115) But this is not so in the movie. And, ultimately, what Lubomir
Dolezhel in his Heterocosmica calls “authenticating power” rides in this case (we
believe) more with the movie than with the novella: so, ultimately we are talking
here about a film. More. And, about the literary work, less.
Harry Lime, wounded, climbs, with great difficulty, up an iron staircase and
stretches only his fingers (another legendary scene, in the 101st minute of the film,
four minutes before the end) through an iron grid, a street grating, up, into the higher
moral regions which are no longer reachable for him. Then he turns his head. His
friend Holly Martins has caught up, pistol in hand, and is within reach of him. What
now? The police, a huge number of them, cannot be more than fifty steps (or so)
away. Harry Lime looks his friend in the eye, and, with a sad and somber expression
of the face, nods once, twice.
This means, “Kill me”. Behind this meaningful nod are three further
implications: “Kill me because I am guilty and I do deserve to die for the crime I
committed”, “Kill me because I do not want to be dying for days in some hospital,
wounded as I am, or to survive but only to spend the rest of my life in jail, or to be
ultimately sentenced to death; all-in-all, it is better I go now”, and, “Kill me because
it is better and more proper and honorable to die from the hand of a friend, my
confidante, who has the right to judge me, and who basically had the right to betray
me, than to be shot or grabbed by this angry mob of faceless cops”.
This is one of the most overlooked, but most important, nods, in all history of
film; it condenses the moral equations of this film, and book, into one slight motion,
slow, minimal, perhaps two seconds of time.
So, Holly Martins kills him.
10. Again, why from a friend’s hand
If a crowd of police rushed in, guns blazing, they would surely hit and kill
Harry Lime, but it would be an opportunity for him to shoot back, too. They did not
seem to have any armored bullet-proofed vests on them, nor helmets, nothing like
the American “SWAT” teams of today. It was a rather British-style, old-times
539
pursuit. In fact, Harry might have shot a number of them, to the great shame of such
a police force (or military). And, very clearly, he, a professional gangster now,
presumably practiced with guns, could have shot his friend, Holly Martins. But that
would be a sordid end. Or, Harry Lime could have escaped, in the night, in the maze
of tunnels. But that would frustrate the poetic justice, and the film would seem to
teach the people (the young, especially) that it is good, and desirable, and profitable,
to be a gangster and to cause the death of hundreds of children. Again
unsatisfactory; in fact, unacceptable. This villain had to be punished appropriately,
sternly.
Harry Lime6, apparently, did not want to shoot his friend Martins. So this is a
moment of his profound, moral transformation, his rise to a kind of moral greatness,
after all: aware of the vastness of his crimes, he allows Martins to shoot him. But he
would, perhaps, not allow some faceless stranger to do the same.
Possibility of escape was cut off by a rather improbable trajectory of the police
bullet (Calloway’s): it hit Harry Lime exactly in the lower spine, paralyzing his both
legs. So he drags himself up the metal stairwell, and up to the grating, by a huge
effort of his arms and hands alone. In the rush of the movie denouement, the
audience are not likely to ponder about the small probability of such a (dramatically
effective) hit from a pistol. Of course it is contrived. But cinematically effective.
There is a strong possibility, in the film, that the last nod of Harry Lime also
contained an unspoken suggestion about the future destiny of Anna Schmidt,
something like “It is all right if you now take care of her, she is yours now”.
Obviously she could not be the girl of both of them; a sex-partner of both; it would
have been unthinkable, then. One of the two men had to be totally, radically,
removed from the relationship. But the audience probably feels this, even today, on
a subconscious level, rather than telling this to themselves explicitly. This
subconscious feel would have been ruined and catastrophically trivialized if Harry
Lime, dying, said any specific words about it.
11. Gender aspect: why not shot by Anna, and why does she
demonstratively walk by Holly Martins
Now, changing into the discourse of the gender studies, we must conclude that
the final shooter had to be a male, not female, because women were not expected, in
those times, to do such things; it would be un-lady-like, and unconvincing to the
then-audiences; and, besides, the woman-man friendship and then confrontation and
shooting would have potential love-hate, or sex, implications; this would have
6
The name perhaps hinting at “slime” which would make it a symbolic name, meaning “a bad
man, un-ethical”. This was suggested to us by a young man, Adrian Nedeljković, who watched the
movie but did not read the book. Greene, though, insisted on a quite different explanation of the
surname Lime (Paunović: 67).
540
blurred the moral issue. There is also the question of chaperone: who knows what a
young woman, unmarried, might do, without an older woman beside her, in the city,
at night, with some man… this would make her, in the post-Victorian morality, a
problematic woman, potentially immoral. So, for a number of reasons, Anna
Schmidt (played by Alida Valli), the beautiful, intelligent, liberal young woman
(apparently undamaged by war) could not descend into the tunnels and shoot the
villain. It would have wrecked the film. Besides, Anna was, previously, Harry
Lime’s girlfriend, or one of his girls; she is no saint, rather she is one of many poor
black-marketeers in the city; this makes her technically a criminal, although we may
presume that she did not initially know of his crime with the watered-down
penicillin. Before the penicillin scam was revealed to her, she, apparently, loved
Harry Lime. In Greene’s literary work, the novella, the Prater dialogue between
Holly Martins and Harry Lime is partly about her:
“I was at your funeral.”
“That was pretty smart of me, wasn’t it?”
“Not so smart for your girl. She was there too – in tears.”
“She’s a good little thing”, Harry said. “I’m very fond of her.”
(…)
“She hasn’t told them anything about you.”
“She’s a good little thing”, Harry repeated with satisfaction and pride.
“She loves you.”
“Well, I gave her a good time while it lasted.”
“And I love her.”
“That’s fine, old man. Be kind to her. She’s worth it. I’m glad.” He gave
the impression of having arranged everything to everyone’s satisfaction. “And
you can help to keep her mouth shut. Not that she knows anything that
matters.” (Greene: 103-106)
But there is a very famous, and rather odd, scene, in the last, 105th minute of
the film. Before it, we see, in a peaceful sunny day, the very modest but decent
burial of Harry Lime. Present are only eight people: Martins, Anna, Calloway, and
five disinterested men who work professionally every day, all day, at the cemetery: a
priest, his two assistants, plus two indifferent and casual gravediggers.
The priest seems to condemn the deceased man: he does his duty, the Christian
religious ritual, in a perfunctory manner, off-hand, grumpily and obviously without
good will. He seems to be passing a final moral judgment on Harry Lime. But, in
taking this attitude, the priest in fact marginalizes himself, too, and perhaps the
entire role of religion. His attitude may mean that he dislikes to bury such an evil
man in a respectful manner, or, perhaps, that the entire priestly job of religious
ceremony at burials has become irrelevant in our world, a meaningless formality, no
matter whom they are burying, although this was probably not what Carol Reed and
Graham Greene meant here; but the film The Third Man is deeply atheistic, non-
541
religious, in any case. And yet, the denouement, with Harry Lime’s downfall and
capitulation, may be a reaffirmation of underlying basic Christian moral values.
But this final scene happens in a very civilized environment, at a great,
spacious, neat cemetery in Vienna, and perhaps there will be a headstone with Harry
Lime’s name, later, some day, on his grave, although we do not see it yet (we see
only the rectangular hole in the ground; too small to be a collective, mass grave for
the anonymous dead). Basically, only the main persecutor of Harry Lime (Calloway)
and Harry’s two best remaining friends in the world (Holly Martins, and Anna
Schmidt) attend this quick, no-sorrow funeral.
Then Anna leaves, and the final minute of the film begins. It has moral, and
also gender, implications.
In the very long, perfectly straight, street-like alley of the cemetery, Martins
gets into Calloway’s jeep, and they drive past Anna, and overtake her by a hundred
meters or more, but then Martins gets out of the jeep, and waits for Anna, in a
friendly stance, presumably hoping to escort her home, maybe still liking or loving
her, or just wanting to be her friend in a difficult time; but she pointedly,
demonstratively ignores him, and walks right by him, without a word or a look; this
might be understood to mean, “Why did you kill my man?”, or, “Why did you kill
your friend?”, or, most likely, “I do not entirely condemn you for killing him, but I
will not have anything to do, any more, with the whole thing”. Or her snub of him
might mean: “I do not want anyone to think that we betrayed and destroyed Harry
Lime so that we, us two, could get together”, or, even (but this is a distant
possibility), “I will not be ‘given’ by one man to another man, as a piece of property;
my ex-boyfriend can not ‘give’ me to you”. Or, if we want to go really far with this
line of thinking, she might be already pregnant, with Harry Lime’s child, etc.
Definitely, though, her walk affirms her as an independent person, who,
although a woman, can so distance herself from a male; this was very important and
big, in the time when post-Victorian view of female gender still lingered around
(and post-slavery attitude to blacks still existed in the United States, and Hitler’s
kind of patriarchal domination over women still reverberated through Europe).
Martins, a man, cannot control her, a woman; he can only hope for her attention, and
stand and wait very decently; she is upright, free, equal, and not weak or servile to
the males, in this new, free Europe; that was probably the main point and the main
reason why this scene was so adored by the audiences. Her attitude is certainly a part
also of the over-all moral equation, although a somewhat more enigmatic part, open
to many possible interpretations.
12. Why a woman at all? Why is Anna there?
Narrative strategy (and the realities of the marketing strategy, too) dictated that
in the film there must be “something for the women”, as some producers, and
publishers, tend to say. The female audience wants to see a female in the movie, and,
in modern times, the woman ought to be doing something relevant, too, not just
542
sitting and looking pretty. Besides, the presence of Anna makes both the men who
are close to her (Holly Martins, and Harry Lime) more manly, more masculine; she
provides the gender-contrast; they are, in a way, struggling for the love of a young
woman, so they are reconfirmed as real, true males. And, finally, without her the
movie would have been much more drab and flat, simply unattractive. It seems that
Alida Valli as Anna in the movie is actually much more beautiful than Anna in the
novella (“It wasn’t a beautiful face”, Greene: 40). That was a good film-making
move, smart and effective in the more-visual medium.
13. Conclusion
Moral equations, we now know, are there, in the film and subsequent
eponymous novella The Third Man, equations deeply rooted in the Western
civilization as it then was, although the casual reader, or film-watcher, might think
that the plot is propelled to the end by the genuine logic of real life plus a quantity of
pure accident and coincidence. We have shown that the denouement scene of the
death of Harry Lime is, to a serious extent, artificially constructed, against
plausibility and real-life logic, just so that a set of moral equations should be
satisfied. This was part of the over-all narrative strategy, collectively worked out by
the strong team of the film’s makers. We have also mentioned, in passing, some
reasons to believe that in many other films, perhaps in thousands of films, similar
moral equations may have been utilized and followed. This may allow us to “see
through” these works of art, those already made and similar ones that will be made
in the future; we will be able to understand and criticize their contrived inner
construction, their secret ethical architecture, but, it may also be a major “spoiler”,
denying to us the possibility to ever again watch movies with naïve and happy eyes.
References:
Allott, M. (1978). “Graham Greene and the Way We Live Now”. In: Critical
Quarterly, Manchester University Press, vol. 20, Number 3, Autumn 1978.
Greene, G. (1983 edition). The Third Man, and, The Fallen Idol. London, Penguin
Books.
Newman, K (2008), “The Third Man”. In: S. J. Schneider, general editor. 1001
Movies You Must See before You Die. 5th edition. London: Cassell Illustrated
Quintessence Books.
Paunović, Z. (1989). “Motiv hajke u ‘zabavnim romanima’ Greama Grina”,
magistarski rad. Univerzitet u Beogradu, Filološki fakultet, mentor dr Svetozar
Ignjačević.
Sanders, A. (2000). The Short Oxford History of English Literature. 2nd edition.
Oxford: Oxford University Press.
543
Vlajčić, Milan, “Beket, novo čitanje”, in: daily newspaper “Blic”, Belgrade, Serbia,
27th June 2011, p. 20, he refers to the book: Predrag Todorović, Beket,
published in Belgrade by “Službeni glasnik” in 2010.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anton_Karas
544
Jasna Poljak Rehlicki/Ljubica Matek
Osijek, Croatia; Osijek, Croatia
poljak.jasna@gmail.com; ljubica.matek@email.t-com.hr
DESIRE IN HEMINGWAY'S THE SUN ALSO RISES AND FITZGERALD'S
THE GREAT GATSBY
Abstract The concept of desire is complex and has been dealt with extensively
within the field of psychoanalysis. Two most prominent psychoanalysts, Sigmund
Freud and Jacques Lacan, have defined desire in different ways, as predominantly
sexual and predominantly cultural, respectively. The aim of the paper is to present
how each of these two concepts plays off in literature, more precisely in the novels
of Ernest Hemingway and Francis Scott Fitzgerald. While Hemingway's The Sun
Also Rises depicts Freudian, sexual desire as the motivating force of one of the main
protagonists, Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby focuses on desire as a culturally
determined factor in human life.
Key words: desire, psychoanalysis, Sigmund Freud, Jacques Lacan, Hemingway,
Fitzgerald
1.
Sexual desire and Lady Brett Ashley
Taking one of the dictionary definitions of the term desire as a starting point,
one learns that desire is a “conscious impulse toward something that promises
enjoyment or satisfaction in its attainment” (“Desire”). Freud’s notions on desire
cannot be defined so straightforwardly, not just because this concept involves the
wholeness of human psychophysical development, but also because Freud’s ideas
about the human psyche altered through the stages of his work. However, in his
work “Beyond the Pleasure Principle” (1920), Freud explains the notion of the
pleasure principle whose function is similar to this simplified definition of desire
and our concept of it:
we believe that any given process originates in an unpleasant state of
tension and thereupon determines for itself such a path that its ultimate issue
coincides with a relaxation of this tension, i.e., the avoidance of pain or with
production of pleasure. (1990a: 639)
Although the pleasure principle “dominates the operation of the mental
apparatus from the very beginning” (Freud 1990b: 772), it also “reigns supreme in
the id” (Freud 1990e: 702). The id is the part of the human psyche that we are born
with and is entirely submerged into the unconscious. To Freud, the id represents the
545
primitive mind (like that one of an infant). “It is the obscure inaccessible part of our
personality” (Freud 1990d: 873), connected to the irrational and emotional, and the
source of sexual energy. The pleasure principle dominates a child during the preOedipal stage of life, when it is entirely dependent on its parents (mostly the
mother). By entering the Oedipal stage, a child must learn to repress “his incestuous
desire” (Eagleton 1983: 155), abandon the “anarchic, sadistic, aggressive, selfinvolved and remorselessly pleasure-seeking” (Eagleton 1983: 154) stage and adjust
to the ‘reality principle’ in order to become “a citizen who could be relied upon to
do a hard day’s work” (Eagleton 1983: 154). Therefore, Freudian desire is connected
to “some kind of loss” (Klages 2006: 77).
Ernest Hemingway in his first novel The Sun Also Rises (1926) depicted an
unforgettable character - Lady Brett Ashley. She is an extremely attractive woman,
and most of the men in the novel (Jake Barnes, Robert Cohn, Michael Campbell,
and Pedro Romero) either try to seduce her, or are seduced by her. Although she is
engaged to Campbell, Brett and Jake have a special relationship, and we can argue
that both are somewhat in love with each other. However, they cannot consummate
their love, not just because of Jake’s war injury, which left him impotent, but also
because Brett is a type of a woman who cannot commit to only one man. Through a
selection of several key passages, we will try to illustrate that her actions indeed
correspond to the notion of Freudian sexual, libidinal desire, because for Freud, “all
pleasure is sexual pleasure” (Klages 2006: 65).
The narrator in The Sun Also Rises, Jake Barnes, offers a description of
Brett’s physical appearance in only a few words that are, however, packed with
meaning and images: “Brett was damned good-looking. . . . She was built with
curves like the hull of a racing yacht, and you missed no of it with that wool jersey”
(Hemingway 1954: 22). Her behavior as well as her stunning looks, place her in the
company of many different men, from a Count to the “nigger drummer”
(Hemingway 1954: 62), whose company and admiration Brett very much enjoys. In
spite of her feminine curves, Brett changed one part of her body that she could – her
hair. She likes to wear a short bob and on top of it, she likes to wear a hat. “She
started all that” (Hemingway 1954: 22), Jake comments. In that sense, we learn that
Brett is no ordinary woman, and she wants to make everybody sure of that at the
first glance. When Pedro Romero, the nineteen year old Spanish bullfighter falls in
love with her and wants her to grow her hair long in order to make her look „more
womanly“ (Hemingway 1954: 242), Brett chases him off, proving that she will not
and cannot change for anybody.
When it comes to her behavior, Brett acts more like a man than a woman, let
alone a lady, as her title would suggest. She socializes only with men, drinks
heavily, and even refers to herself as a man: “I say, give a chap a brandy and a soda”
(Hemingway 1954: 32). Also, Brett is promiscuous; she does not just enjoy
admiration on the part of other men and flirt, but she seduces them constantly.
Although aware of her behavior, she does not care what others will think or say
about her:
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Dancing, I looked over Brett’s shoulder and saw Cohn, standing at the
bar, still watching her.
“You’ve made a new one there,” I said to her.
“Don’t talk about it. Poor chap. I never knew it till just now.”
“Oh, well,” I said. “I suppose you like to add them up.”
“Don’t talk like a fool.”
“You do.”
“Oh, well. What if I do?” (Hemingway 1954: 22-23)
When it comes to Brett’s personality, she is completely dominated by the
‘pleasure principle’ which means that she searches instant gratification. Every idea,
wish, or desire she has, has to be fulfilled immediately. For example, when Jake and
Brett are dancing at the beginning of the novel, all of a sudden she feels bored and
leaves the bar, not even saying goodbye to the friends she was with (Hemingway
1954: 23). When there is no taxi to drive them to the hotel, she goes to the bar next
door for a drink because she has no patience to wait for it (Hemingway 1954: 24).
That same night, after Jake and Brett parted, she shows up at his hotel at half-past
four because she “Just wanted to see you [Jake]” (Hemingway 1954: 33). One can
notice from these examples that the id (the selfish and pleasure-oriented part of the
psyche) tends to dominate in Brett’s case, which consequently makes her
inconsiderate of other peoples’ feelings. There is a scene in the novel that illustrates
just how much Brett cares and respects nobody but herself and thinks only how to
indulge herself: “The count was looking at Brett across the table under the gaslight.
She was smoking a cigarette and flickering the ashes on the rug. She saw me notice
it. ‘I say, Jake, I don’t want to ruin your rugs. Can’t you give a chap and ash-tray?’“
(Hemingway 1954: 57).
The situation is pretty similar concerning Brett’s libido. When she wants do
be kissed she practically orders Jake to do that (Hemingway 1954: 27). In addition,
she sleeps with every man she wants, in attempt to satisfy her sexual appetite. Even
though Brett is not interested in Cohn, she goes with him to San Sebastian for a
couple of days. After the trip, she does everything to avoid him. Although Cohn is
now in love with her, looking at her with amazement and following her around “like
a poor bloody steer” (Hemingway 1954: 142), it is obvious that she does not want to
see him again, that she is even “sick of him” (Hemingway 1954: 181) so ultimately,
she becomes extremely rude to him. Their affair presented an unimportant event in
Brett’s life which she proves by saying: “He can’t believe it didn’t mean anything.”
(Hemingway 1954: 181). Her actions in treating other men in the novel are similar
to those of a spoiled brat - a striking similarity in the pronunciation of her name.
Most of the time Brett is driven by impulses and it indeed seems that she cannot
control her feelings:
I can’t help it. I’m a goner. It’s tearing me all up inside.”
“Don’t do it.”
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“I can’t help it. I’ve never been able to help anything.”
“You ought to stop it.”
“How can I stop it? I can’t stop things. Feel that?”
Her hand was trembling. (Hemingway 1954: 183).
In relation to Romero, a nineteen-year-old bullfighter, Brett admits that she is
mad about him and also thinks that she might even be in love with him (Hemingway
1954: 183). However, it is also obvious from the start that Brett is only sexually
interested in him: “ ‘My God! He’s a lovely boy,’ Brett said. ‘And how I would love
to see him get into these clothes. He must use a shoe-horn’ ” (Hemingway 1954:
177). After all, Brett is almost twice his age (she is thirty-four), which makes it
difficult to believe that she will find the love of her life in a teenager. Brett decides
do go back to her fiancé Mike Campbell not because she loves him but because he
knows all about her affairs and is willing to put up with it.
The only man in the novel whom Brett actually might love is Jake. Even so,
the relationship is impossible due to Jake’s injury that has left him impotent. Being
unable to consummate their love, a condition that Brett cannot and will not accept,
Jake will forever be her friend, the one she will call or send a telegraph to whenever
she is in trouble. Even though their relationship is special to them both, even though
Jake accepts her as she is, Brett is unwilling to change her nature:
“Couldn’t we live together, Brett? Couldn’t we just live together?”
“I don’t think so. I’d just tromper you with everybody. You couldn’t stand
it.”
“I stand it now.”
“That would be different. It’s my fault Jake. It’s the way I’m made.”
(Hemingway 1954: 55).
However, we learn something from Brett’s past that might offer some
explanation and cause for such a behavior. During the war she worked as a nurse
and “her own true love” (Hemingway 1954: 38) died of dysentery which must have
left some scares on Brett. Her present husband (from whom she is in a process of a
divorce), is a PTSD sailor who threatened to kill her and slept with a loaded gun
under his pillow (Hemingway 1954: 203). And Brett’s present fiancé is a bankrupted
war veteran with serious drinking issues. Splika in his article “The Death of Love in
The Sun Also Rises” explains that:
the war, which has unmanned Barnes and his contemporaries, has turned
Brett into the freewheeling equal of any man. . . . For Brett those blows are the
equivalent of Jake’s emasculation; they seem to release her from her womanly
nature and expose her to the male prerogatives of drink and promiscuity. (1961:
83)
548
The loss of love that Brett experienced is the only plausible explanation for her
behavior. In Hemingway’s novel we learn so little of characters’ past, let alone
childhood, which Freud considered to be a personality defining stage of one's life.
Nevertheless, the fact that Brett experienced a great trauma later in her life might
also suggest that she developed a coping mechanism by having superficial and
merely physical relationships with unknown men. Freud stated: “In women who
have had many love-affairs there seems to be no difficulty in finding vestiges of
their object-cathexes in the traits of their character” (1990e: 704). That would
explain why Brett took up those “male prerogatives of drink and promiscuity”.
Further, the term object-cathexis means the investment of (libidinal) energy to an
object. Still, as “the id does not distinguish between a mental image and reality, it
may not lead to direct action to satisfy a need. Instead, the id may simply form an
image of the desired object that is satisfying in the short-term, but does not fulfill the
need in the long term” (Cherry 2011). Therefore, it would seem reasonable to
assume that Brett experienced a change of character not when she lost her first love
to dysentery, but when she found out that Jake is impotent. We learn from Jake (who
is an unreliable and ironic narrator) that Brett was in love with that soldier, but he
can rerely be trusted. Both in her sober and “tight” moments, Brett exclaims love to
Jake, but her love is Freudian, that is, connected to the libido: “The nucleus of what
we mean by love naturally consists . . . in sexual love with sexual union as its aim”
(Freud 1990c: 673). Since Brett cannot achieve that aim, she finds on outlet for the
built up energy in carnal pleasures with men with whom she has no future. She
receives from other men only that what she cannot attain from Jake, and she gains
from Jake that what she can never find in any other man.
It is a well known fact that Hemingway wrote on the “iceberg principle” and
it is interesting to note that Freud’s psyche is devised on the same principle. The id
is that part of our psyche buried deep into the unconscious and therefore always out
of reach. For that reason it is difficult and ungrateful to analyze Hemingway’s
characters from the psychoanalytical point of view. Nevertheless, the case of Lady
Brett Ashley seems a clear one when she states: “I have always done just what I
wanted” (Hemingway 1954: 184). Saying that, Brett reaffirms the fact that she leads
her life following the ‘pleasure principle’ which is illustrated in her need to satisfy
her desires for drinks, dance, and sex immediately and at all costs. Her impulsive,
irrational, and emotional behavior is a consequence of her dominant id, the place of
origin of her desire, which forces her to behave like a selfish, pleasure-oriented
child, unable (and unwilling) to postpone gratification or control her desire in any
way.
2.
Cultural desire and Daisy Buchanan
Unlike Freud who links desire with physical or sexual pleasure, Lacan
makes clear that desire is in fact culturally determined. In his theory, Lacan moves
away from the physical and examines the human subject as a social and linguistic
549
being. The minute we are born, we become immersed into the Symbolic Order, that
is the Other, and by learning the language we become susceptible to desire. Desire is
of a linguistic nature, according to Lacan, because, language always signifies that
which is absent, and desire results from a lack which it wishes continually to fill
(Eagleton 1983: 167). The ontological separation, either caused by Zeus’s splitting
of the original hermaphroditic human being into two, as presented by Aristophanes
in Plato’s Symposium, or by a mother giving birth to a child, as suggested by Lacan,
is what confirms that both the Lacanian subject and his or her desire are “a fragment
of something larger and more primordial” (Silverman 1981: 153).
Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby displays Lacanian cultural desire through
motivations and actions of most characters, but the focus of this analysis is on Daisy
Buchanan as the epitome of the concept of Lacanian desire which is cultural and
unattainable. To understand how Daisy came to represent it, it is necessary to take
into account the immediate cultural context. As Pidgeon suggests, the “snobbery in
American life” (2007: 178) is derived from the Puritan ethic that shaped American
view of the world and their desires. Since wealth was perceived as a sign of
goodness
A person who was not well-to-do and who did not belong to the right club
or attend the right school was considered not only poor, but sinful. The pursuit
of wealth came to have a meaning which transcended the mere desire to be
more comfortable. It served in an attempt to erase original sin and earn eternal
salvation. Striving for wealth has become a way for Americans to ease their
consciences, while one’s morality is often measured by the ability to acquire
material possessions. (Pidgeon 2007: 178) 1
Emphasizing the cultural nature of desire, Foucault asserted that “the law is
what constitutes both desire and the lack on which it is predicated” (1990: 81).
Similarly, Silverman explained that cultural representations supply the standard and
that the subject learns what to desire. We are taught to value objects which are
culturally designated as full and complete, whereby it becomes clear that our desires
originate from the place of the Other (1981: 177-8). Gatsby’s urge to strive toward
wealth and money at any price in order to prove himself worthy is therefore a result
of what Lacan refers to as “man’s cultural subordination” (2006: 96), that is an
irresistible need to follow certain preestablished patterns.
Gatsby’s mythologized and romanticized love for Daisy is in fact a
predetermined infatuation with her social status and wealth symbolized by her
mermaid voice. According to Settle, who bases his argumentation artfully on the
examples of classical literature and criticism, Daisy is a classical siren temptress, a
deadly being of nature. Settle’s interpretation can, however, be broadened by
1
For details on the Puritan ethic, see also: Morgan, Edmund S. The Puritan Family. Religion and
Domestic Relations in Seventeenth-Century New England. New York: Harper, 1966.
550
reading Daisy as a “social siren”, desirable first and foremost for her money and
background. She lures men with her irresistible “siren” voice, which is attractive and
almost hypnotic simply because it is “full of money” (Fitzgerald 1994: 126). While
Nick, who was brought up in a rich family, cannot pinpoint why Daisy’s voice is so
attractive, Gatsby, dedicated to climb up the social (and financial) ladder,
unmistakably recognizes money as the source of attraction. “The recognition for
Nick approaches the tension of initiation: that the voice of Daisy should have, in a
commercializing-cashiering society where friendships, families, values, and even a
World Series can be bought, a new world charm such as this” (Settle 1985: 122).
What is more, just like a siren, Daisy is deadly, both symbolically and literally.
Symbolically, she commits the act of ultimate social betrayal by not attending
Gatsby’s funeral (Settle 1985: 118), after having already renounced her love for him
upon realizing that he might have earned his money in a socially unacceptable way.
In the literal sense, she accidentally kills Myrtle Wilson driving Gatsby’s car and
causes Gatsby’s murder by leading Myrtle’s husband to believe that it was Gatsby
who drove the car. Both Myrtle Wilson and Jay Gatsby are annihilated by their
desire to climb up the social ladder, which, embodied in the character of Daisy, turns
out to be unattainable.
The voice with which desire speaks – Daisy’s irresistible mermaid voice – is
in fact the voice of Lacan’s Law which we cannot avoid nor escape, but according to
which we are forced to live. Lacan’s subject accepts Wittgenstein’s idea that
“learning is based on believing” (1969: 25), and so as we learn the language (the
Law) we also learn to accept the unconditional authority of a body of convention,
which for Gatsby is the law of money echoing in Daisy’s voice and in her casual
attitude to being enormously wealthy. Even though his desire is embodied in a
woman, her allure is not physical (sexual), but is based on the fact that she belongs
to a specific social class, possessing thus both luxurious objects and the ease in
handling them, which is only available to those brought up in wealth: “It amazed
him – he had never been in such a beautiful house before. But what gave it an air of
breathless intensity was that Daisy lived there – it was a casual thing to her as his
tent out at camp was to him” (Fitzgerald 1994: 154).
The social nature of his desire is further emphasized by Gatsby’s attempts to
win Daisy over with a lavish display of his possessions, not because he enjoys them,
but because he believes that other people do. Felluga explains that “Desire … has
little to do with material sexuality for Lacan; it is caught up, rather, in social
structures and strictures, in the fantasy version of reality that forever dominated our
lives after our entrance into language” (2003: 1). Therefore, Gatsby does not try to
arouse Daisy’s emotional or sexual interest. Instead, proving how essential the
cultural factor is, he spends five years of his life accumulating wealth in order to
prove true what he had led her to believe: namely, “that he was a person from much
the same stratum as herself – that he was fully able to take care of her” (Fitzgerald
1994: 155). What is more, Daisy does not seem to mind the lack of what could be
termed as “typical” romance, but responds to Gatsby’s materialistic attitude. She is
551
moved to renew her relationship with Gatsby only after she has witnessed his
colossal mansion with a pool and a hydroplane, his exquisite shirts, and library full
of real books.
Once Daisy visits his mansion, Gatsby is not concerned with what she will
think of him, but whether his possessions will impress her, which they do. Daisy’s
amazement grows as they
wandered through Marie Antoinette music-rooms and Restoration salons
… through period bathrooms swathed in rose and lavender silk and vivid new
flowers …[and] his bedroom [which] was the simplest room of all – except
where the dresser was garnished with a toilet set of pure dull gold. (Fitzgerald
1994: 98)
As Nick notices, “I think he revalued everything in his house according to the
measure of response it drew from her well-loved eyes. Sometimes, too, he stared at
his possessions in a dazed way, as though in her actual and astonishing presence
none of it was any longer real” (Fitzgerald 1994: 92). But the extent of his
affirmation-seeking is best visible in the famous, touching but mostly ridiculous
scene in which he opens his wardrobe for Daisy and throws his shirts before her and
this makes her sob because they’re the most beautiful shirts she ever saw (Fitzgerald
1994: 99). For both of them, the spiritual, the emotional or the personal is
insignificant. What matters is the external, the material, that which can be
appreciated by others, by anyone who knows what is fashionable or expensive,
because such things can only be possessed by those at the top of the social ladder.
Despite her readiness to forsake her husband for a richer man, Daisy and Gatsby’s
relationship has no future, because they are merely blinded by each other’s
prospects. There is hardly any real emotional involvement or even sincerity between
them. It is because of this utter lack of loyalty and real love that, once she realizes
that Gatsby does not conform to her cultural and social standards, because he got his
money in ways that are not quite socially acceptable, Daisy is able to make a “clean
cut”, turning suddenly against Gatsby, and indirectly causing his death.
Gatsby’s desire springs from a very specific lack: a lack of social
recognition. To compensate, he first changed his name from the ordinarily sounding
James Gatz to the stylish Jay Gatsby, then he acquired money and possessions, and
now he tries to fill up his house with famous people: “I keep it always full of
interesting people, night and day. People who do interesting things. Celebrated
people” (Fitzgerald 1994: 97), as if they, too, are a sort of commodity that would
bring Gatsby the recognition of others. Because, as Lacan claims, “The satisfaction
of human desire is possible only when mediated by the other’s desire and labor”
(2006: 98), Gatsby appreciates the fact that Daisy, as a symbol of social success, is
desired by many: “It excited him, too, that many men had already loved Daisy – it
increased her value in his eyes” (Fitzgerald 1994: 154). The fantasy version of
Daisy, “High in a white palace the king’s daughter, the golden girl” (Fitzgerald
1994: 126), shows that for Gatsby (and for her previous suitors) her greatest
552
attraction lies in her pedigree. The “white palace” is a sort of an ivory tower, a
symbol of both her social excellence and her isolation. She is the epitome of
Lacanian desire “Because desire is articulated through fantasy, [and] it is driven to
some extent by its own impossibility” (Felluga 2003). Daisy is therefore not to be
had, but only admired from afar. It is because of this that Gatsby buys a house across
the bay from Daisy’s and stares at the lights of her house at night, desiring her from
a distance. He creates a specific image of Daisy, a fantasy version of his desire,
impossible for Daisy to live up to:
There must have been moments even that afternoon when Daisy tumbled
short of his dreams – not through her own fault, but because of the colossal
vitality of his illusion. It had gone beyond her, beyond everything. He had
thrown himself into it with creative passion, adding to it all the time, decking it
out with every bright feather that drifted his way. No amount of fire or
freshness can challenge what a man will store up in his ghostly heart.
(Fitzgerald 1994: 102-103)
That Daisy should “tumble short of his dreams” was inevitable, because, as
Butler explains, “the fulfillment of desire would be its radical self-cancellation”
(Butler 1995: 381), since “desire is most interested not in fully attaining the object
of desire but in keeping our distance, thus allowing desire to persist” (Felluga 2003:
1). This is precisely why, as Jay lets Daisy know that he spent many nights looking
at the green light at the end of her dock, “the colossal significance of that light”
vanishes forever, diminishing his “count of enchanted objects” (Fitzgerald 1994:
100).
To conclude, Gatsby’s (and Myrtle Wilson’s) tragic destiny proves that
desire is unattainable because it “is directed toward ideal representations which
remain forever beyond the subject’s reach” (Silverman 1981: 176). Due to the
narcissistic nature of Lacanian desire which implies “a form of self-love” (Silverman
1981: 177) and a strong urge to persist, Daisy, as the embodiment of that desire,
manages to continue her life as if nothing happened. Unlike Brett Ashley’s Freudian
(sexual) desire, Jay Gatsby’s desire is Lacanian. It is embodied in the character of
Daisy, who both as a woman and as the realization of cultural and social
expectations remains not only unavailable, but proves deadly to him.
References
Butler, J. (1995). “Desire”. Critical Terms for Literary Study. Edited by Frank
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Danijela Prošić-Santovac
Novi Sad, Serbia
dprosic@sbb.rs
CRITICAL APPROACHES TO FAIRY TALES FROM THE EIGHTEENTH
CENTURY TO THE PRESENT
Abstract Extensive scholarship on fairy tales has been accumulated over the long
period of more than two centuries. Since the advent of folklore as an academic
discipline in the late eighteenth century, scholars have adopted numerous methods
and methodologies in order to shed light on various aspects of folk traditions. Tales
have been scrutinized from different angles, ranging from folkloristic, mythological,
anthropological, and ethnographic, to psychological, linguistic, literary, sociohistorical, and feminist. The sheer abundance of approaches to the study
demonstrates the complexity of the matter at hand and the richness of layers
underlying the tales. The aim of this paper is to present an overview of these
approaches and the key figures, as well as to provide a representative bibliographical
list in order to aid further scholarly efforts.
Key words: fairy tales, criticism, approaches, methods, folklore
1. Introduction
Fairy tales are a genre of literature with a long history. As early as the eleventh
century, a potential ancestor of the well-known fairy tale ‘Little Red Riding Hood’
was presented in Latin verse by the medieval teacher Egbert of Liège in his
schoolbook Fecunda ratis (1022-1024) with the purpose of religious instruction. Its
plot only vaguely resembles that of the modern tale, but, according to Jan M.
Ziolkowski, Egbert “remains a folklore collector of the only sort who could have
been encountered around the millennium – a male member of the literate class who,
to indoctrinate youths, drew upon material that had currency among common
people” (1992: 559). Although tales existing in manuscripts are relatively rare
before modern times, towards the end of the eighteenth and during the nineteenth
century a fashion for collecting them developed, and with the first collector’s
attempts, first scholarly attempts at studying them appeared as well. Nevertheless, it
was not until well into the nineteenth century that these attempts became more
organised and the first scientific methods and scholarly approaches came into
existence, spurred by the newly-established interest in folklore.
555
2. Early scholarship on fairy tales
In the nineteenth century, German Romantic nationalism thrived on the ideas of
Johann Gottfried von Herder, whose argument that folk literature was deeply
embedded in cultural and social context of its origin, inspired the Grimm brothers to
collect ‘pure’ and ‘authentically’ German fairy tales in order to establish a national
body of tales in a collection that would capture ‘the spirit of the folk’. Their efforts
served as an impetus for others to undertake similar projects – the English folklorist
Joseph Jacobs, for example, considered his own two collections “a kind of English
Grimm” (1894: vii). Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm, however, were not only compilers
and editors, but also scholars of importance, whose third volume of Kinder- und
Hausmärchen (Children’s and Household Tales, 1819-1822) contains annotations to
the tales in the manner of the comparative method1 as well as an overview of
international tales, a list of other editors and collectors (from Italy, France, Spain,
England,2 Scotland and Ireland, Denmark and Sweden, Germany, Slavic countries,
Hungary, Greece, and the Orient).
The comparative approach is the essence of the historic-geographic method,
developed by the Finnish folklorist Julius Krohn and his son Kaarle Krohn with the
aim of reconstructing the original versions of individual tales, the Urform. The
theory of monogenesis, i.e. single origin of a tale on the hands of an individual, then
subject to diffusion in space and time, was strongly supported by Joseph Jacobs in
his article ‘The Problem of Diffusion’ (1894), as well as Theodor Benfey and
Emmanuel Cosquin, who both considered India to be the place of origin of the
majority of the tales circulating in their time. The greatest contributions of the
historic-geographic approach to the study of folktales are the tale-type and motif
indexes, indispensable tools for many today’s scholars. In 1910, the Finnish scholar
Antti Aarne published his 76-page-long Index of the Types of the Folktale,3 creating
a system for classifying folktales (or ‘märchen’, as was his term), as well as a tale
typology. Each tale-type was given a name, a number (e.g. Aa 500) and an abstract
of the plot, distinguishing between actors and incidents. In 1927, the American
folklorist Stith Thompson translated and revised the catalogue, enlarging it by 203
pages. His second edition added another 309 pages to the existing corpus, as well as
new categories. Due to various insufficiencies (e.g. gender bias in naming and
describing the types (Lundell 1986)), AT numbers turned into ATU4 in 2004, with
yet another revision of the catalogue, by the German scholar Hans-Jörg Uther,
whose 2-volume, 1155-page-long catalogue gives a much more detailed division
1
providing parallels from other countries, e.g. Jacobs’s tale ‘The Well of the World’s End’ is
given as a variant of ‘Der Froschkönig oder der eiserne Heinrich’ (‘The Frog King or Iron Henry’,
KHM 1) (Grimm and Grimm 1822: 6).
2
including ‘Jack the Giant-Killer’ and ‘The Life and Adventures of Tom Thumb’ (396-405).
3
Original title in German: Anti Aarne. (1910). Verzeichnis der Märchentypen. FF
Communications No. 3. Helsinki: Suomalaisen Tiedeakatemia.
4
Aa stands for Aarne, AT for Aarne-Thompson, ATU for Aarne-Thompson-Uther.
556
into categories and subcategories as well as improved titles and descriptions of taletypes.5 In addition, Thompson’s Motif-Index of Folk-Literature, a massive work of
six volumes first published from 1932 to 1936, organizes numerous motifs
appearing in tale-types into twenty-three categories, marked by letter headings (e.g.
F. Marvels) and subcategories, marked by numbers (e.g. F54.2. Plant grows to sky;
Jack and the Beanstalk).
Swedish folklorist and philologist Carl Wilhelm von Sydow was opposed to the
historic-geographic idea of spreading tales through abstract transmission, claiming
that the dissemination was performed by individual ‘tradition bearers’. This
standpoint also contrasts the one of romantic nationalists since he claims that
tradition does not have its roots in ‘the spirit of the folk’ in general within a
community, but most often lies with a member of a minority within a society – a
gifted individual. In addition, he was also against the concept of only one existing
Urform, believing that tales had multiple original forms, and in 1934 he introduced
the term ‘oicotype’ into the science of folklore, to denote tales characteristic for an
area, either in terms of geography, or culture. Thus, he was a supporter of the
polygenesis hypothesis, though he did not exclude the possibility of diffusion of
folktales. The most prominent proponent of polygenesis was Andrew Lang (1844–
1912), who argued for the ‘independent invention’ of similar fairy tales due to “the
existence of similar ideas in similar minds” (1893: 415).
3. Psychological approaches
This claim for psychic unity is remarkably similar to Carl Gustav Jung’s
theories of the collective unconscious and its archetypes. The collective
unconscious, according to Jung, manifested itself through archetypal characters,
some of which he analysed in ‘The Phenomenology of the Spirit in Fairytales’
(1948) (e.g. the old man as helper, animal as helper) and in ‘On the Psychology of
the Trickster-Figure’ (1954). His disciple, Marie-Louise von Franz focused much of
her work on the matter of fairy tales, emphasizing their symbolic meaning. Her
numerous books on the subject cover a wide range of topics: from the concept of the
shadow, the anima, and the animus, specific motifs (e.g. motif of redemption, bird
motif, cross-cultural motifs) to the problem of evil in fairy tales and the
representation of feminine images (e.g. mother as an archetypal image). She was
opposed to the nationalistic ideas about fairy tales, because, in her opinion, fairy
tales “migrate and [thus] cannot be linked up with national collective consciousness”
(1986: 6). Jung’s insights were combined with comparative mythology6 in the work
5
For a more detailed discussion, see Prošić-Santovac 2010.
Some of the mythological approaches have been discredited in the course of folklore studies.
Such is the case with solar mythology of Friedrich Max Müller, whose search for ‘genealogical
identifications’ for ‘historical purposes’ (1899: 447) and his use of the insights of comparative
6
557
of Joseph Campbell, who sought to prove the existence of one archetypal pattern
within the universal monomyth, “the one, shape-shifting yet marvelously constant
story” (2004: 3). In addition, there is a striking similarity between Jungian
approaches and the anthroposophical theory of Rudolf Steiner, who also employs
archetypal imagery in his lecture ‘The Poetry and Meaning of Fairy Tales’ (1908)
and who, just like Jung, believes that “the starting point of all true tales lies in time
immemorial, in the time when those who had not yet attained intellectual powers
possessed a more or less remarkable clairvoyance,” unmarred by civilization.
Jungian approaches constitute a branch of psychological approaches to the
study of fairy tales. Freudian approaches are another, and they, as the name implies,
revolve around ideas of Sigmund Freud, the ‘rejected’ mentor of Carl Gustav Jung.
Freud borrowed from folklore when formulating his prominent theory of the
Oedipus complex, using a classical version of the ATU 931 tale-type. His writings
on the topic of fairy tales focus on their connection with dreams (e.g. ATU 500
(1997: 103), wish fulfilment and symbolism within fairy tale motifs. His ideas were
further developed by his followers Franz Riklin, Ernest Jones, Otto Rank, Erich
Fromm, and Géza Róheim, who even goes so far as to suggest that fairy tales
originate in dreams. The latter is an outstanding figure among the psychoanalysts in
that he was a trained folklorist as well, and he recognized the importance of taking
into account different variants of a tale and tale-types.
Another important scholar, though of controversial reputation, was Bruno
Bettelheim, the neo-Freudian author of the influential bestseller The Uses of
Enchantment: The Meaning and Importance of Fairy Tales (1976). Although a
valuable contribution to the psychoanalytic study of fairy tales in some of its
aspects, Bettelheim’s study has been criticised on numerous accounts. For example,
feminist readings have uncovered sexist undertones in his writing (Oliver 1977;
Stone 2008); in addition, Jack Zipes argues that Bettelheim’s work is a “betrayal of
the radical essence of Freudianism” and that he “has contributed to the banalization
of Freudian theory by blandly applying its tenets without rethinking and reworking
them in the light of social and scientific changes” (1979: 164-5). Among other
things, he was even accused of downright plagiarism in the article ‘Bruno
philology lead him to the conclusion that modern myths and tales are a corruption of the pure primeval
myths – “the radical meaning of the word is forgotten, and thus what was originally an appellative, or a
name, in the etymological sense of the word . . . dwindled down into a mere sound – a name in the
modern sense of the word” (1872: 72). Severely criticized by many scholars, most fervently by Andrew
Lang, solar mythology remains, however, significant “for the role it played in the history of [folklore],”
since, as Lang himself admitted, without Müller’s “provocation he and his fellow-folklorists might
never have stirred into existence” (Dorson 1955: 393).
Another devolutionary approach to the study of folk and fairy tales is the myth-ritual theory of
Lord Raglan, according to whom “rites and myths arise in more civilized and spread to less civilized
societies, where they often degenerate . . . [and] may survive as a sacred, and later as a secular, story
when the rite has ceased to be performed” (1957: 173). He considered the practice of defining myths,
sagas and fairy tales as completely separate categories to be ‘hair-splitting’, thus putting “all traditional
narratives as regards their origin into one category” (1955: 460).
558
Bettelheim’s Uses of Enchantment and Abuses of Scholarship’ (1991) by Dundes,
who quoted many examples of ‘borrowings’ without acknowledgement from his
predecessors.
Alan Dundes was a psychoanalytic folklorist of international fame who
combined morphological and structural approaches with folkloristic theories and
Freudian psychology in much of his writing. He introduced the terms ‘motifeme’
and ‘allomotif’ in the study of folk and fairy tales, in an effort to merge structuralist
and historic-geografic approaches. A psychostructural approach was also adopted
by Steven Swann Jones and defended fiercely in his article ‘On Analyzing Fairy
Tales’ (1987) against Robert Darnton’s attack on psychoanalyst readings of fairy
tales. Bengt Holbek was a Danish psychological structuralist, who combined
psychoanalytic reading of fairy tales with Dundes’s motifemic analysis and his own
adaptation of Propp’s functions into five ‘moves’.
4. Anthropological approaches
Vladimir Propp was a predecessor of structuralism as practiced by Claude
Lévi-Strauss. In his Morphology of the Folktale (1928), Propp devised a system of
thirty-one ‘functions’, which are characteristic of the narrative structure of fairy tales
and usually occur in the same order.7 Lévi-Strauss, on the other hand, advocated a
different kind of structural analysis, based on his theory of binary opposition, where
raw is opposed to cooked, black to white, wet to dry, rational to emotional, etc.
Another movement among the anthropological approaches which also makes use of
linguistic devices is ethnopoetics, shaped by Dennis Tedlock and Dell H. Hymes.
Tedlock’s aim was to capture the quality of oral performance by “constructing
multivocal discourse” and telling “the story of what performers have said and done
while at the same time letting their performances go on telling a story” (1990: 141),
while Hymes analysed language-specific means of achieving an aesthetic form and
emphasized the importance of the communicative context of tale performance.
The practice of collecting tales in context is the basis of ethnographic
approaches. The American anthropologist William Bascom defined the ‘social
context of folklore’ through the medium of the following factors:
(1) when and where the various forms of folklore are told; (2) who tells
them, whether or not they are privately owned, and who composes the
audience; (3) dramatic devices employed by the narrator, such as gestures,
7
Propp’s functions are: absentation, interdiction, violation of interdiction, reconnaissance,
delivery, trickery, complicity, villainy and lack, mediation, counteraction, departure, testing, reaction,
acquisition, guidance, struggle, branding, victory, resolution, return, pursuit, rescue, arrival, claim, task,
solution, recognition, exposure, transfiguration, punishment, wedding; he also defined eight general
character types, or dramatis personae: the hero, the helper, the villain, the false hero, the donor, the
dispatcher, the princess, the princess’s father (Propp 1968).
559
facial expressions, pantomime, impersonation, or mimicry; (4) audience
participation in the form of laughter, assent or other responses, running
criticism or encouragement of the narrator, singing or dancing, or acting out
parts in a tale; (5) categories of folklore recognized by the people themselves;
and (6) attitudes of the people toward these categories (1954: 334).
Folklorists such as Linda Dégh immersed themselves into the communities
whose folktales they collected; as a result, in Folktales and Society: Story-Telling in
a Hungarian Peasant Community (1969), she discusses “the correlation of oral folk
narratives, their creators and performers, and the participant audience as a complex
whole in the expression of culture” (vii). In 1971, in cooperation with Andrew
Vázsonyi, she developed the conduit theory of transmission, which accounts for the
perseverance of folklore items and the existence of variations stemming from
different contexts that are influenced by the similar mindsets of conduit members,
both the senders and the receivers of the message.
5. Socio-historical approaches
Social, historical and cultural contexts play an important role in interpreting the
meaning of tales within the scope of socio-historical approaches. Specific variants
of tales8 are considered to be reflections of the conditions within a society at the time
of their production and reception. The German folklorist Lutz Röhrich was an
advocate of this view, although he did allow for the fact that “ideas from various
ages may merge in a single folktale” (1991a: 57). In his essay ‘The Quest of
Meaning in Folk Narrative Research’ (1991b), he also warned against dogmatic
interpretations of the meaning of a text, since it is “determined by the development
of culture and ideas, fashions and trends, and dependent on rulers and ruling
ideologies, [as well as] the education and cultural awareness, the sex, age, religion,
and ethnic group of the consumer” (2). Nancy L. Canepa relies on Röhrich’s work in
From Court to Forest: Giambattista Basile’s Lo cunto de li cunti and the Birth of
the Literary Fairy Tale (1999) in referring to the tales in question as “a text that is
openly engaged with the culture in which it was created” (1999: 23); for example,
she identifies certain ‘mechanical automatons’, extraordinary in the earlyseventeenth century Italy, that found their way into Basile’s tales as wonders that
help heroes overcome obstacles (27). In a similar vein, cultural historian Robert
Darnton tries to uncover the world of the eighteenth-century France in ‘Peasants Tell
Tales: The Meaning of Mother Goose’ (1999) in order “to show not merely what
people thought but how they thought – how they construed the world, invested it
8
As opposed to tale-types, which are considered to be more universal due to their appearance
within different communities and geographical areas.
560
with meaning, and infused it with emotion” (3).9 Maria Tatar has “kept Darnton’s
caveat in mind when reading the tales in the Grimms’ collection,” combining the
socio-historical approach with Propp’s ‘legacy’ and her own interpretation of
Bettelheim’s ‘provocative readings’ (1987: xix).
German fairy tales are also frequently focused on by Jack Zipes. In his first
essay on the topic, ‘Breaking the Magic Spell: Politics and the German Fairy Tale’
(1975) he applied ‘the Marxist method’ in order to come closer to “a historical
clarification and a total view” of folk and fairy tales (116). His socio-historical
approach to fairy tales has been further developed in his subsequent work, enriched
by various insights from fields as far apart in interests as those of linguistics,
genetics, psychology, and memetics, to name just a few. His discussions are by no
means restricted to the tales of the Grimms; Charles Perrault’s, Hans Christian
Andersen’s and other more recent writers’ tales, for example, have an important
place in his analyses, as well as the cinematic adaptations of fairy tales. His
consideration of the impact of modern media on the fairy tale genre has culminated
in The Enchanted Screen: The Unknown History of Fairy-Tale Films (2010), where
he delves into the matter much more deeply than in his previous frequent
examinations of Walt Disney’s films.
Like many others studying the history of the fairy tale, Zipes considers it a fact
that “the literary fairy tale developed as an appropriation of a particular oral
storytelling tradition that gave birth to the wonder folk tale” (2006: 44). Ruth B.
Bottigheimer questions this widely accepted ‘truth’ in her Fairy Tales: A New
History (2009) and argues for the opposite view, i.e. a replacement of “an
anonymous folk with literate authors who are city-oriented people” and substitution
of “human mouths and ears [with] printed books as the route of dissemination” of
fairy tales (113). Her predecessor in this line of thought was the German scholar
Rudolf Schenda, whose ideas of printed texts as ‘tradition bearers’, expressed in
From Mouth to Ear: Elements of a Cultural History of Popular Storytelling in
Europe10 (1993), have only recently been made available to the English-speaking
scholarly community in the form of an article. Other scholars have not been so
exclusive in their views on the issue; Jan M. Ziolkowski, for example, supports a
much milder view, stating that “in describing the relationship of these tales, we are
not confined to a harsh dichotomy between literary and oral” (1992: 553). Similarly,
Propp11 discusses the distinction between “pure folklore, that is, folklore both by
origin and by transmission, [and] folklore of literary origin, that is, folklore by
transmission but literature by origin,” but is satisfied to conclude that “ties between
9
See also Dorothy R. Thelander ‘Mother Goose and Her Goslings: The France of Louis XIV as
Seen through the Fairy Tale’ (1982).
10
Original title in German: Rudolf Schenda. (1993). Von Mund zu Ohr: Bausteine zu einer
Kulturgeschichte volkstümlichen Erzählens in Europa. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht.
11
Although he is renowned for his structuralist approach, in his later work (Historical Roots of
the Wondertale (1946), parts of which are published in Theory and History of Folklore (1984)), Propp
seeks the roots of fairy tales in historical reality and social institutions of the past.
561
literature and folklore, as well as the literary sources of folklore are among the most
interesting subjects both in the history of literature and in folklore” (1984: 9).
6. Literary and linguistic approaches
Establishing the difference between oral narratives and their literary
counterparts was the aim of the Danish folklorist Axel Olrik, whose article ‘Epic
Laws of Folk Narrative’12 (1908) presents an effort to uncover universal regularities
in traditional tales, and, as such, can be viewed as a precursor of Propp’s study of
fairy tales’ structure. A literary approach has also been adopted by the Swiss
scholar Max Lüthi, who chose searching for regularities in style of the folktale as the
focal point of his work. His goal was “to establish the essential laws” (1982: 107)
and “delineate the principal formal traits of the European folktale” (3) which,
according to him, are one-dimensionality, depthlessness, abstract style, isolation and
universal interconnection, and sublimation and all-inclusiveness. Unlike Olrik, Lüthi
does not lay a claim to universality; his stylistic features are deemed culturally
specific, restricted to Europe. Furthermore, in The Fairy Tale as Art Form and
Portrait of Man (1984), he combines aesthetic with an anthropological approach,
considering fairy tales to be expressions of a certain worldview.
Alessandra Levorato undertook the task of uncovering a “close, reciprocal
relationship [of a] text to the social reality that produces it” (2003: x), using a
linguistic approach to take an objective look at “the extent to which language
choices may work in the interests of particular categories of people” (196). Her
study focuses on the sexist use of language in fairy tales and the ideological
motivation behind different adaptations of a tale, which, in their own right, further
serve the purpose of socialization by influencing the readers’ worldview in terms of
gender relations. Similarly, Bottigheimer’s ‘Silenced Women in the Grimms’ Tales:
The ‘Fit’ between Fairy Tales and Society in Their Historical Context’ (1986)
analyses the language of the tales in relationship to power, viewing ‘discourse as
domination’. She examines silence on three levels in the tales: “the muteness which
grows out of the narrative, . . . the silences within the text resulting from the author’s
or editor’s distribution of direct and indirect speech, [and] the manner in which
lexical context colors what is said” (119).
12
Olrik’s ‘epic laws’ are: The Law of Opening, The Clarity of the Narrative, The Unity of Plot,
The Law of Concentration on a Leading Character (The Law of Centralization), The Law of the Single
Strand, The Logic of the Narrative, The Law of Two to a Scene, The Law of Twins, The Law of
Contrast, The Law of Three, The Law of Repetition, The Law of Patterning, The Ideal of Epic Unity,
The Use of Tableaux Scenes, The Law of Final Stress, The Law of Closing (1965: 129-141, 1992: 4182).
562
7. Feminist approaches
Feminist approaches to fairy tales grew out of the seed planted by the early
1970s debate of Alison Lurie and Marcia R. Lieberman. Lurie’s two articles
‘defended’ fairy tales as stories which “suggest a society in which women are as
competent and active as men, at every age and in every class” (1970: 42). Lieberman
countered her view, stating that popular fairy tales “serve to acculturate women to
traditional social roles” (1972: 383) and represent a significant factor “in forming
the sexual role concept of children and in suggesting to them the limitations that are
imposed by sex upon a person’s chances of success in various endeavors” (383). She
dismissed as unimportant Lurie’s argument that the best-known tales, with passive
and pretty heroines, present an ‘unrepresentative selection’ because they “reflect the
taste of the refined literary men who edited the first popular collections of fairy tales
for children” (1971: 6). However, later scholars found this insight significant and
built upon it by analysing differences between successive editions and the
implications of the changes introduced (e.g. Stone 1975, 1981; Bottigheimer 1987;
Tatar 1987).
In ‘To Spin a Yarn: The Female Voice in Folklore and Fairy Tale’ (1986)
Karen E. Rowe argues that, although male appropriators of texts had “controlling
power of retelling, of literary recasting, and of dissemination to the folk” (61) in the
past, tale-telling is essentially a female art; the editors just “reshaped what they
could not precisely comprehend, because only for women does the thread . . . create
a tapestry to be fully read and understood” (70-1). Marina Warner further developed
this observation in From the Beast to the Blonde: On Fairytales and Their Tellers
(1994), a history of female story-telling, ranging from the archetype of Mother
Goose to the twentieth-century novelist Angela Carter, with great attention paid to
the writings of the French conteuses. Thus, a new perspective enriched folkloristic
studies as it became undeniable that “by the end of the eighteenth century . . .
women were not only writing, they were conceiving fictional worlds in which
patriarchal images and conventions were severely, radically revised” (Gilbert and
Gubar 1984: 4).
Discussion of gender issues is also combined with a socio-historical stance in
Bottigheimer’s ‘Tale Spinners: Submerged Voices in Grimms’ Fairy Tales’ (1982).
She claims that the tales “can be seen as a sourcebook for the mentality not only of
the 19th century but also of former ages” (141), and concentrates on the tales
connected with spinning. She argues that the ambivalent attitude towards ‘this
archetypically female employment’ is the result of female production and male
editing of the texts. Her ascribing generally negative connotations to spinning from
the female point of view is criticised by Zipes, who asserts “that women historically
cherished [it]” because it provided them with an opportunity to improve their social
position, in terms of marriage, and, even more importantly, it provided them with an
‘autonomous’ area of female productivity; he does acknowledge, however, that
“attitudes toward spinning underwent major shifts on the part of both men and
women,” though only after industrialization took place (1993: 57).
563
Joan Gould’s Spinning Straw into Gold: What Fairy Tales Reveal about the
Transformations in a Woman’s Life (2006) illustrates the connection between fairy
tales and the stages in a woman’s life, which are defined as Maiden, Matron, and
Crone. Gould disagrees with the assertion that fairy tale heroines are “passive
creatures who wait for a deliverer” (409) and reserves this characterization only for
Disney’s female protagonists. She disregards the motif of sleep as an indication of
passivity; rather, she qualifies it as “one of the natural paths of inner development, . .
. [an] escape from situations that overwhelm [a woman], while protecting her from
the need to make decisions” (411). Kay F. Stone shares the opinion about the
Disney’s heroines, but strongly disagrees on the point of sleep, characterizing them
as “barely alive . . . [in that] two of them hardly manage to stay awake” (1975: 44).
In her early work, she conducted research to ascertain to what extent popular fairy
tales influence the outlook of modern women and teenage girls in North America,
and found that a majority of her informants “were completely unfamiliar with
Anglo-American heroines, most of whom appear in scholarly collections not often
found in children’s sections of libraries [but] could easily recall tales popularized
through the numerous Grimm translations and the Disney films” (1975: 43).
8. Conclusion
Generally, a large body of scholarship concentrates on the analysis of the
Grimm’s tales; for example, a majority of studies mentioned above focuses on them,
at the expense of other writers, both male and female, from Germany as well as
other countries. In addition, Charles Perrault and his Mother Goose tales take up a
significant portion of fairy tale scholarship. Thus, it was only recently that the genre
of the literary fairy tale in the early eighteenth-century France started receiving more
scholarly attention, most of all tales published between 1690 and 1715, two thirds of
which were written by women and only one third by men. A revival of interest in
these tales took place not among French or European scholars, as one might suspect,
but among North American ones, and mainly from the feminist and socio-historical
point of view (Seifert 2004, 1996; Hannon 1998; Tucker 2003; Duggan 2005).
Anglo-American scholars contributed to attracting attention to German female
writers, as well. However, English fairy tales have received surprisingly little
attention, although there are several representative collections. This is, therefore, a
relatively neglected field and one largely open to study.
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Selma Raljević
Mostar, Bosnia and Herzegovina
selma.raljevic@unmo.ba
THE AESTHETICS OF SURVIVANCE IN GERALD VIZENOR'S
HIROSHIMA BUGI: ATOMU 57
Abstract This paper discusses Gerald Vizenor's 2003 novel Hiroshima Bugi: Atomu
57 within the context of identity construction in post-World War II Japan and the
Native American community of the White Earth Reservation. Through analysis of
Vizenor's kabuki meditation on “survivance” after nuclear devastation, the paper
will explore the cross-cultural link between the Ainu, the indigenous natives of the
island of northern Japan, and the Anishinaabe, the Native American tribe to which
the writer belongs.
The aim of this paper is to focus on a sense of native presence over Vizenor’s
notions of absence, victimry and nihility in both the traditional and the
contemporary world of Hiroshima Bugi: Atomu 57.
Key words: the aesthestics of survivance, Gerald Vizenor, Hiroshima, the identity
construction
1.
“Survivance” in Gerald Vizenor’s native stories
“Survivance” is a word coined by Gerald Vizenor, a “crossblood” or a
“mixedblood”1 Anishinaabe writer and scholar born in Minneapolis, Minnesota, in
1934, who follows his family through many generations on what is now the White
Earth Reservation in northern Minnesota. Vizenor identifies his work with the native
oral tradition and moreover, he describes his style of writing as a visual experience.
Reading his work is a difficult journey. As an original and experimental literary
artist whose work departs radically from traditional forms and techniques, he
challenges existing conventions in every literary genre. His native stories of
survivance are an active presence of indigenous people, and therefore an act of
resistance to dominant cultural narratives. Survivance for him means survival and
endurance, and is used to describe existence of minority cultures through
storytelling, ceremonies and way of thinking as well as acting in the community or
in the world that refuses domination and position of the victim. In the sense of native
survivance, it is even more than survival, more than endurance or mere response,
1
A “crossblood” or a “mixedblood” in Vizenor’s terminology means to be of mixed Indian and
European heritage.
568
since survivance in the native context is not only passive survival for Vizenor, but
active resistance as well. As the continuance of stories, the writer explains that
native survivance is an active presence over absence, deracination, and oblivion,
where the character of survivance creates the sense of native presence over nihility
and victimry. Vizenor points out that the nature of survivance is unmistakable in
native stories, natural reason, remembrance, traditions, customs, and clearly
observable in narrative resistance and personal attributes, such as his notions of the
native humanistic tease, vital irony, spirit, cast of mind, and moral courage.
2.
“Survivance” within the context of identity construction in Vizenor’s
Hiroshima Bugi: Atomu 57
One of Vizenor’s stories of survivance, 2003 novel Hiroshima Bugi: Atomu 57,
which he calls a kabuki novel, stands for an aesthetic act of resistance to dominant
cultural narratives. The novel gives voice to voiceless people’s history, putting the
history of the native peoples in the U.S. in parallel with the history of the native
peoples of Japanese archipelago. In other words, Hiroshima Bugi: Atomu 57 makes
an explicit link between the Ainu, the indigenous natives of the island of northern
Japan, and the Anishinaabe, the Native American tribe to which the writer belongs.
The protagonist, Ronin Ainoko Browne, is a “hafu”, hybrid or “mixedblood” orphan
son of Okichi, a Japanese boogie-woogie dancer who is probably an Ainu from
Hokkaido, and of Nightbraker, an Anshinaabe from the White Earth Reservation
who served as an interpreter for General Douglas MacArthur during the first year of
the American occupation in Japan. Ronin is the human peace contender whose name
means a “samurai” with no lord or master during the feudal period (1185-1868) of
Japan. The word literally means “wave man”, and it is by definition used for a
wandering samurai, or a masterless warrior. Vizenor’s protagonist is sometimes
called “a ronin” by definition and not just by his given name. Hence, as a
mixedblood wandering warrior, Ronin functions as a metaphor for cross-cultural
encounters and cultural hybridity rather than for ethnic or racial mixing. In addition
to this, Elvira Pulitano in her 2003 study Toward a Native American Critical Theory
links all Vizenor’s crossblood characters by this feature. Moreover, Ronin, by his
origins, his way of thinking and acting in contemporary world as well as by his
name, embodies contradiction and ambiguity, and mediates between supposed
contradictory worlds of the spiritual or tribal and the real or modern existence. He is
in a constant fight for balance between opposite poles, interconnecting aspects of
both; still, he upsets the balance of dominant contemporary culture in its inability to
grasp fully the presence or legacy of nuclear devastation in Hiroshima. Thus,
Vizenor’s protagonist, like the writer himself, resists boundaries and singularity in
many ways. All this also suggests a categorical rejection of the notion of blood as a
marker of identity. Ronin’s very identity reflects contradictions and resists any
absolute definition, not in a position of victim, but celebrating survivance of his
569
marginal individuality. His marginality is a type of existence, and state of being as
well as way of being.
In Vizenor’s conception, energy of such a figure cannot actually be captured in
academic theory, but appears as the trickster identity. The trickster is itself
subversion of any mode of classification representing liberation and multiform. It is
the figure simultaneously old and new, which mediates between oppositions, plays
on the edge of metaphors, and who in his or her wandering, just like Ronin, makes a
spiritual balance between the forces of good and evil through humor in the urban
world. The unnamed third person narrator of Hiroshima tells the reader that
“Ronin… is the animal of his mind, a spirit by stories not by the possession of
sorcerers. He is a unique and ironic healer, a trickster by stories, not by character
simulations.” (Vizenor 2003: 64) In a story within a narrator’s story Ronin says: “I
am hafu, a ronin trickster by chance of my conception.” (Vizenor 2003: 64) Like the
protagonist of Hiroshima Bugi, the native trickster has many names. In Vizenor’s
survivance narrative a name is a metaphor for a new personality or a different and
new social function. The trickster is not actually a specific character, but a figure
which Vizenor calls “a comic holotrope”. It is a chance and a figure of speech which
can manifest the creative force within individuals that allows them to liberate
themselves, break the rules, and move beyond the boundaries. Ronin, as the
trickster, distinguishes himself from identification with the culture he challenges,
makes or remakes, and therefore is simultaneously both central and marginal to his
either the U.S. or Japanese culture. This is why the trickster, including Ronin, is
never simply “a character”, but a figure of deliberate anomaly of language, or a
function of language’s self-reconstructive power that can only be realized through
speech of an individual, so as to accommodate to changing natural or social
circumstances. Ronin even creates a new calendar that starts with the first use of
atomic bomb, on Atomu One. This means that his practice of survivance as natural
reason strives not toward loss but renewal and continuity of an active sense of
presence in the future rather than memorializing the past, especially if that past is
captured in simulation of dominance in museums, such as the Peace Memorial
Museum in Hiroshima. Besides, Vizenor writes the trickster tales that are
imaginative stories, discussion, engagement, discourse, liberation, and moreover,
they are energy and life; however, they are not theory, and they are not monologue
by his definition. The trickster is a language game with infinite range of possibilities
including satire, parody and travesty in a comic narrative. Therefore, as much as
Ronin is the trickster figure, Hiroshima Bugi: Atomu 57 is the trickster narrative.
Vizenor’s Hiroshima is a meditational discourse and a dialogue between
postcolonial theory and Native American paradigm with an intensely political, or
better, anti-political message. He incorporates a documentary collage into his
imagination, and offers two versions of the same story, where the first account is
given in the first person, and the second in the third omniscient person. Both the
protagonist and the narrator establish a literary dialogue between oral and written,
tribal dream songs and modern prose, myth and reality. The novel starts in the ruins
570
of the Atomic Bomb Dome, a new Rashomon Gate, and from its very beginning
upsets comfort of a contemporary world in supposed peace. On the one hand,
Vizenor criticizes the present political system wherein peace is maintained by the
threat of nuclear power; on the other hand, he seeks to articulate a vision that is
grounded in his tribal experience and American Indian mythology, incorporating the
oral into the written in order to set people free. His Hiroshima builds its story across
cultures, weaving Japanese culture and history with the Anishinaabe and using a
satirical deconstruction of a simulated construction made on immediate atomic
destruction in Hiroshima. The narrator informs readers that “the Ainu and the
anishinaabe told similar stories about natural reason, their creation, animal totems,
and survivance.” (Vizenor 2003: 51) In stories within stories within stories, which is
a technique that Vizenor calls “word cinemas”, lies the meaning between the stories
about both cultures that are based “upon a world view which presumes that
everything in nature, be it tree, plant, animal, bird, stone, wind, or mountain, has a
life of its own and can interact with humanity.” (Vizenor 2003: 51-52) The Ainu
“tease their origins in the presence of kamuy spirits,”(Vizenor 2003: 137) what the
Anishinaabe call manidoo, and both indigenous peoples “create in their stories a
culture of survivance.” (Vizenor 2003: 137) In Hiroshima Vizenor, through Ronin,
shows that cross-cultural dialogue does not destroy traditional beliefs and tribal
existence but rather is essential for survivance and new consciousness of coexistence. In this context, Ronin tells the narrator, “The Shino kami and the
anishinaabe manidoo are common ancestors in my dreams.” (Vizenor 2003: 64)
Ronin is a dreamer with creative memories and visions, whose primary source are
animals and birds. The presence of animals and birds is a trace of natural reason,
while their creation in his visions and memories reveals a practice of native
survivance. Like Vizenor, Ronin communicates between myth and reality, between
tribal oral expression and contemporary written narrative. As the trickster, he
mediates between man and nature, and ends up nothing without representational
values. That is what he or it is; it is liberation. It is his or the trickster’s figure
identity. Ronin, or a ronin, who as a mixedblood, as Vizenor says, loosens the seams
in the shrouds of identities, and as a trickster whose very identity reflects
contradictions, challenges individuals and the whole humanity to re-imagine who
they really are, victims or survivors, after the dropping the atomic bomb on
Hiroshima. At the end, both the protagonist of Hiroshima Bugi and his story become
a shadow that has a special meaning for Vizenor. In his conception, the shadows are
active memories of stories heard in silence that he tries to bring into being with his
writing as the imagination of tribal experience. He says that in Native literature
shadows do not need a source. Therefore, a story and its meaning can be discovered
only in the shadow spheres of oral tradition. In this context Kimberly M. Blaeser in
her study Writing in the Oral Tradition, published before Hiroshima Bugi: Atomu
57, recognizes Vizenor’s quality that into the telling of history he brings
imagination, which can also be recognized in his 2003 kabuki novel. In the last
chapter of Hiroshima, the narrator tells the reader that the protagonist:
571
… has died many times over the manners and proprieties of an empire
nation that would not embrace the hafu children of the occupation… Ronin is
loyal to the kami spirits of thousands of children who died when the atomic
bomb destroyed Hiroshima. He has resisted, countered, and accosted those who
endorsed notions of fake peace, as you know, and he has obstructed museums
in the name of war and peace… There were times when he seemed convinced
that by shouts, encounters of the kami spirits, and trickery he could create
stories of human dignity and survivance, rather than the dead letters of
tradition, obedience to the emperor, and peace poses. (Vizenor 2003: 206)
As the narrator of the novel closes the story that in the light of all possibilities
of the trickster narrative could actually signify its opening, Ronin, a wandering
warrior of survivance, truly vanishes at the waterfront park, as it is said with an
explanation that the roamers and the veterans sensed his eternal presence. The novel
ends up while Ronin’s lover Miko, whose name is a Japanese word meaning
“shaman of the ruins” (Vizenor 2003: 76), in her visit to the White Earth
Reservation in Minnesota shouts Ronin’s names, atomu hafu, and hafu, the invisible
tattoos turn to bears. According to Kenneth Lincoln, trickster resists the boundaries
of any given species, and is likely to appear at any time in any image. Therefore, a
ronin as the trickster has an ability to be human or animal, individual or multiform,
not wholly human or deity, but simultaneously none and all of these because this
figure inhabits more than one region of being, and is also the face of the other(s).
Vizenor’s Hiroshima, in a sense of his kabuki novel, attains its own blend of
reality and unreality as well as balance between the sensuality and the ritual. This
kabuki play is a continuous performance tradition, in which, as narrator says,
“Ronin, by his presence in the ruins, created a ritual, a nuclear kabuki theater that
teased and defied the preservation of peace.” (Vizenor 2003: 13) Hiroshima Bugi:
Atomu 57 is also a creative satire of cultural, historical and religious notions where
birds, animals, and any transformation of the natural world are used as natural
reason to critique human sensibilities of the time. In this context, Ronin explains
what Hiroshima is for him, “Hiroshima is my bugi dance, the peace pond my fire,
origami cranes my tease, the park roamers, ravens, mongrels my strain, and the
Peace Memorial Museum is my Hiroshima Mon Amor.” (Vizenor 2003: 119) He
lectured some tourists that the new museum is named after the movie Hiroshima
Mon Amor. It is his bugi movie, as he says, “because the new war on simulated
peace starts right here in the museum. The nuclear nights never end in a diorama of
victimry.” (Vizenor 2003: 120) His opinion is if you see only the museum, you have
seen nothing in Hiroshima because museums bear the simulation of dominance that
both Ronin and Vizenor want to overcome by the simulation of survivance.
In Vizenor’s view, survival is keenly dependent on identity, which he creates
through language and literature. His Ronin is a mixedblood, and as the writer calls
it, a postindian wandering samurai. Vizenor explains that the identity of the Indian
is an absolute fake because the word has no referent in tribal languages and culture.
On the contrary, he recognizes “postindian” identity, which replaces the Indian
572
invention, and celebrates “postindian warrior(s)”, like Ronin, who creates a new
tribal presence in stories. Although both categories still function through
simulations, their theatrical performances through simulation of survivance can
become a recreation of the real. It is also the case of the protagonist of Hiroshima
Bugi: Atomu 57, whose perfect memories arise from natural reason, experience,
communal wit, and native trickster stories linking post-World War Japan and Native
American Community of the White Earth Reservation. The narrator often explains
who Ronin or a ronin is, and he tells the reader:
Ronin is a storier of death, and by the evocation of bushido, his many
deaths are magic, an eternal end and trickery resurrection by another name, in
another character and presence. Death is his kabuki theater, his native
giveaway spirit.
Ronin creates words, names and turns combinations of words, some native
words, to intimate desire and the critical thrust of new ideas. “Survivance,” for
instance, is not merely a variation of “survival,” the act, reaction, or custom of
a survivalist. By “survivance” he means a vision and vital condition to endure,
to outwit evil and dominance, and to deny victimry. Ronin told me that
survivance is wit, natural reason, and “perfect memory.” Dominance, he said, is
inherited, “a dead voice pursued by trickster stories.” Tragic wisdom is heard in
stories of survivance, not dominance.
Dominance, he declared, honors victimry. (Vizenor 2003: 36)
3.
Conclusion
In cross-cultural dialogue of Hiroshima Bugi: Atomu 57 between the Ainu and
the Anishinaabe after nuclear devastation, Gerald Vizenor shows that survivance is
invariably true in native practice and community in the U.S. as well as in Japan. He
writes to heal, creating irony, aesthetic of sentiments and survivance. The Hiroshima
dance between indigenous peoples and colonial powers develops natural concept of
new consciousness about their co-existence in a contemporary world. As well as the
trickster figure of Ronin or “a ronin”, the novel itself is liberation; it is an active
imaginative story written in an oral tribal context in which the reader becomes the
listener, and the trickster mediator, who actually makes the (hi)story. Thus, the
reader brings Hiroshima Bugi: Atomu 57 into being, and can experience the words
as events in both the U.S. and Japanese oral tradition. As long as the readers listen to
the story, it will live in its own energy and aesthetics of survivance.
573
Reference
Blaeser, K. M. (1996). Gerald Vizenor: Writing in the Oral Tradition, Norman:
University of Oklahoma Press
Lincoln, K. (1985). Native American Renaissance, Berkley and Los Angeles:
University of California Press
Pulitano, E. (2003). Toward a Native American Critical Theory, Lincoln: University
of Nebraska Press
Vizenor, G. (2003). Hiroshima Bugi: Atomu 57, Lincoln and London: University of
Nebraska Press
574
Sanja Šoštarić
Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina
sanjasos@ hotmail.com
POSTMODERNIST 'FORMLESSNESS' AS UNCOMMITTED
COMMITMENT IN DONALD BARTHELME'S AND ISHMAEL REED'S
FICTION
Abstract In contrast to critical observations that denied postmodernist literature any
serious oppositional quality with reference to the late twentieth-century western
culture (e.g. F. Jameson or T. Eagleton), and in line with critical acknowledgement
of its adversarial potential by a more sympathetic group of critics (e.g. L. Hutcheon,
L. McCaffery, P. Maltby, or S. Trachtenberg), the fiction of Donald Barthelme and
Ishmael Reed perfectly illustrates the ability of postmodernist literature to provide a
convincing and poignant cultural critique without ever becoming a socio-politically
engaged literature in a traditional, programmatically unequivocal sense.
In this context, the paper interprets formal experimentation in Barthelme’s and
Reed’s fiction as a significant aspect of a typically postmodernist stance of
uncommitted commitment that enabled these authors to be simultaneously detached
from and drawn into the wider social, political or ideological debate. The paper aims
to show that both Barthelme and Reed, in operating with the pastiche, the collage,
the inclusion of low culture forms, the absence of easily traceable plots, the
avoidance of psychological depths in characterization and the deliberate dwelling on
the surface, successfully foreground the problematic aspects of the late capitalist
culture and in so doing point at the inextricable connection between art and the
world, text and context.
Key words: postmodernism, late 20th century, oppositional literature, cultural
critique, uncommitted commitment, formal experimentation
1.
Theoretical context
Donald Barthelme and Ishmael Reed are associated with what might be called
the first wave of postmodernism in American literature during the 1960s and the
1970s i.e. the so-called experimental postmodernism whose distinctive mark was
formal experimentation that some welcomed as a refreshing literary renewal, some
as annoying and unnecessary pretensiousness. Post-Marxist or pro-leftist critics such
as Fredric Jameson or Terry Eagleton have generally denied any serious oppositional
potential of such literature that they viewed as eccentrically obssessed with its own
metafictional procedures. In contrast to that line of criticism, I align with a more
sympathetic group of critics, such as Linda Hutcheon, Larry McCaffery, Paul
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Maltby, or Stanley Trachtenberg, who have acknowledged adversarial or dissident
potential of experimental postmodernism. Thus, I will argue that the fiction of
Donald Barthelme and Ishmael Reed perfectly illustrates the ability of postmodernist
literature to provide a convincing and poignant cultural critique, even if that critique
is far from the traditional socio-politically engaged (and enraged) response. Rather
than being a deadly serious and programmatically unequivocal social or political
manifesto, postmodernist fiction of the period promoted a paradoxical and typically
ambiguous attitude of uncommited commitment that enabled the authors such as
Barthelme and Reed to be simultaneously comfortably detached from and
sufficiently drawn into the wider social, political or ideological debate.
2.
Barthelme’s ‘midfiction’
Furthermore, formal experimentation in this kind of fiction may serve two
different purposes, and frequently within the same short-story or novel and at the
same time: on the one hand, it may reinforce a detachment from the outside world
thus defining the given work of art as pure metafiction, on the other, the very form
frequently serves as a social or political commentary. In this context, Donald
Barthelme occupies a peculiar position, insofar as a recognizable metafictional
dimension of his work aligns him with major American postmodernist authors of the
1960s and 1970s (e.g. John Barth, Thomas Pynchon, Ishmael Reed), but at the same
time the metafictional dimension in Barthelme is just as often overshadowed by the
typically Barthelmian form that points to the outside reality of which his fiction is
part (Pynchon termed it Barthelmismo). For this reason, Stanley Trachtenberg
differentiated Barthelme’s style from that of other postmodernist metafictionists of
the period and placed him between the extremes of traditional literary realism and
the full-blown postmodernist metafiction. Likewise, Larry McCaffery applied the
term midfiction rather than metafiction to Donald Barthelme and Robert Coover in
order to stress that their fiction does not abandon attempts to deal with the outside
world. Michael Hudgens used Barthelme’s fiction as an example of postmodernist
fiction that includes a reaction to “society and economic order, especially as
reflected and shaped in a mass media where confusion reigns, and incoherence and
hysteria are the norm” (Hudgens 2001: vii). Finally, Barthelme himself stated in an
interview: “there’s a consistent social concern in my stories from the 1960s to the
present, slipped in while your attention is directed toward something else…but it’s
there” (Roe 1992: 110).
Throughout his seven short-story collections, from Come Back, Dr. Caligari to
Great Days and in two novels, Snow White and The Dead Father, all published
between 1964 and 1979, Barthelme polished to perfection his style of deliberate
formlessness as an expression of uncommitted commitment which enabled
Barthelme to combine the seriousness of a revolutionary with the complacency of a
bourgeois, the delicateness of an artist and the anarchism of a street hustler. His
‘formless form’ equally undermined the realist and the modernist narrative
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conventions, either as the instrument of fiction about fiction, or as both the carrier
and the very mode of the socio-political commentary. Frequently, it was the very
form, manifested as minimalism, fragmentation, disruption of linearity and
chronology, suspension of logic, the inclusion of the absurd and the surreal, flat
characterization, the use of the collage and the pastiche, that made Barthelme sound
ambiguous, that is, both involved and aloof, or neither passionately dismissive nor
sympathetic. If it somewhat blunted the edge of his satire or sarcasm, or mitigated
the fury with a touch of sympathy or humor, it also suggested that his sympathy and
humor cannot be entirely trusted, always containing a poisonous sting that leaves the
naïve reader stranded.
3.
Fragmentation as the mirror-image of postmodernity
In “Florence Green Is 81” from his first short-story collection Come Back, Dr.
Caligari (1964), as in many other stories, Barthelme uses fragmented form and
formally dwells on the surface thus turning the very form into a commentary on the
age bound to the surface and plagued by the sense of absurdity and futility. The
setting is a birthday dinner party of a rich and whimsical Mrs. Green who has just
turned 81. She repeatedly falls asleep at the table and the content of the story is a
disorderly combination of her stories about the past (travels with her late husband)
or about her everyday trivial pursuits (repair of the upstairs bathroom leak), told
during her occasional waking intervals, intertwined with the narrator Baskerville’s
disconnected thoughts moving back and forth from one content to the next and with
his occasional participation in the absurd and boring table talk. Thus, useless
geographic data (e.g. about the river Ob or the smallest town in California) randomly
mingle in Baskerville’s mind with his assessment of a new girl at the table round, his
feeling of tension, his appreciation of Andrew Jackson’s historical role, his fondness
of weightlifting, his thinking of his incomplete novel, his analysis of Florence
Green’s personality, his memories of unfavorable remarks of his former
schoolteachers about himself, his ironic inner comments on other guests at the party,
or his phantacizing about Mandrake the Magician. Diverse fragments of thought
and/or conversation are neither logically ordered, nor visibly separated or marked,
superseding one another without any signal to the reader, which results in a text that
turns the potential frame-event of a party into a cacophony of voices and
observations. Importantly, Barthelme deliberately hinders suggestions that the
disparate elements might still be harmonized into some over-riding pattern or plan,
mocking the modernist search for symbolic meanings or the apprehension of some
hardly communicable yet possible unity. Instead, Barthelme upholds the tension
between the fragments, leaving them non-reconciled next to one another, suggesting
the surface made up of disparate parts is and must be sufficient, while depth
becomes a highly suspicious term, unrevealed and unrevealing, perhaps even
another illusion or at least something that may not exist at all as a neatly extricable
category, independent of and superior to the surface. As Jerome Klinkowitz has
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pointed out, the innovation is not merely in disrupting linear sequences or a single
plot, but in having several narrative lines “themselves disrupted by apparently
random information, second and third stories, and references to entirely different
things” (Klinkowitz 1991: 21). The co-existence of several stories alongside one
another slows down the reading, draws attention to action itself, namely the talking
and the thinking, and prevents the search for meaning: in the end there is no
reordering after disorder, no conclusion and no synthesis.
The narrator and protagonist Baskerville is alternately presented in the third
and the first person, which hinders our ‘suspension of disbelief’, because the thirdperson passages undermine the intimacy of the first-person accounts reminding us
that Baskerville is only a character in a story. Baskerville seems both incapable of
and disinterested in producing a coherent story, and thus becomes an authentic
representative of the late-20th century’s skepticism. Deprived of last traces of belief
in the higher purpose of life, Baskerville suffers from a desperate smartness that
prevents him from believing in the reliability of any knowledge. In a story revealing
a frustrated and skeptical anti-hero through a series of disconnected fragments,
fragmentation at once becomes characterization and a social commentary, because
Baskerville is clearly a product and a symptom of his age.
Self-conscious thirty-seven-year old Baskerville reflects and reproduces the
sense of postmodern alienation and absurdity regardless of the direction which his
jumbled mind takes. He is equally insecure about his artistic talent, his role as a
narrator, his manliness and the significance of his life or life in general. As a wouldbe writer, he attends a creative writing course at the “Famous Writers School in
Westport, Connecticut, […] with the object of becoming a famous writer”
(Barthelme 1964: 3), while his unfinished novel has been eleven years in the
making. As a narrator, he is upset about possible reaction of the readers, aware that
he somehow betrays their expectations and fails to satisfy their intellectual needs.
Baskerville’s sense of artistic deficiency is accompanied with his personal anxieties
related to chronic money shortage, drinking, and to a series of failed relationships
with women to the effect that his love life resulted in him being “the father of one
abortion and four miscarriages” (Barthelme 1964: 5) all of which suggest
incompleteness and incoherence. That Baskerville edits a magazine called The
Journal of Tension Reduction in which he plans to publish an article entitled
“Alcohol Reconsidered” adds to the image of anxiety and insecurity that determines
him. Humbled by elusiveness of both success and truth, unable to make sense of
situations and events around him, he practices self-scrutiny that only amplifies his
passivity and makes him relapse into a position of reluctant acceptance. During the
party, his interest in the girl does not move beyond a brief and uninteresting
conversation, as if both he and she lack the will power to continue the worn-out
game of the sexes. When she skeptically answers she doesn’t know why she has two
children as an answer to his equally skeptical question: “Why did you do it?,” he
merely acknowledges “the modesty of her answer” (Barthelme 1964: 15) and moves
on. Thus, Baskerville represents the age resigned to incompleteness and utterly
deprived of solemn gestures, grand projects or reliable conclusions. Yet, all the time,
578
the disillusionment is reinforced through the very form of the story, an incoherent
sequence of fragments emanating from a confused postmodern anti-hero
Baskerville.
4.
The failure of language
Beside fragmentation, Barthelme introduces characters paralyzed by the
vulgarization and inflation of language that has lost its ability to communicate
authentic experience. Baskerville (as well as other guests at the party) is affected by
this decay of language both as a would-be-artist and a citizen. Numerous
Barthelme’s characters (e.g. the Snow White and the dwarves in Snow White) are
exposed to the meaningless language flow, phrases and clichés – the verbal garbage
of the age that they mindlessly reproduce all the while mistrusting words, symbols
or the very communication rules. Baskerville too wrestles with language, acutely
aware of its arbitrariness, e.g. when he tries to accurately describe the eccentricity of
Mrs. Green: “Surely Florence Green is a vastly rich vastly egocentric old-woman
nut! Six modifiers modify her into something one can think of as a nut” (Barthelme
1964: 14), while his mistrust of language again becomes a sign of general inability
of the postmodern man to live naturally and innocently. In this story as in many
others characters talk little and their communication with others results in
misunderstanding or hostility or it just reconfirms the distance. Importantly, the
characters’ solipsism is of a less sophisticated kind than that of famous modernist
introverts (Joyce’s Stephen Dedalus or Mann’s Gustav von Aschenbach, or Proust’s
characters), and their trains of thought never spill over into epiphanies or intimations
of transcendence of any kind. Instead, both the spoken and unspoken dilemas and
frustrations of characters such as Baskerville only underlie the chaos of postmodern
living, while their confused response to a range of issues reveals disorientation.
Thus, “Florence Green Is 81” appropriately ends with Baskerville alone in his car
driving “in idiot circles in the street” singing Kyrie Eleison (Barthelme 1964: 16).
5.
Metafiction
On the metafictional level, this is another story that contains Barthelme’s
aesthetic views which serve as a justification and an explanation of the very form in
which they are embedded. Thus, Baskerville connects literature with remarks,
because, when asked what he has written so far, he answers “I mostly make
remarks”, which is immediately dismissed by the girl’s reply “Remarks are not
literature” (Barthelme 1964: 10), and it becomes clear that she represents the
traditional reader. Barthelme used a similar procedure in “See the Moon?” from the
collection Unspeakable Practices, Unnatural Acts (1968), where the skeptical
protagonist of another fragmented story declares: “Fragments are the only forms I
trust” (Barthelme 2003: 100), which simultaneously describes Barthelme’s
579
aesthetics, contributes to the characterization and serves as an indirect commentary
on the age. In “Florence Green Is 81” Barthelme made another typical metafictional
remark annoying the critics who in the early 1960s had dismissed postmodernist
experimentation as nonsense, in having Baskerville reply to his teacher who claims
that discursiveness is not literature: “The aim of literature is the creation of a strange
object covered with fur which breaks your heart” (Barthelme 1964: 14).
6.
Metafiction and its socio-political context
Apart from general disorientation and disillusionment of postmodernity,
Barthelme’s fiction comments on a variety of concrete issues that have defined the
social, cultural and political reality of the late 20th century, and frequently he
operates with the form which is itself a commentary. Barthelme’s commentary is
frequently intertwined with the metafictional theme, e.g. when he is unmasking the
arbitrariness/fictionality of various systems, theories and disciplines - from
government over religion, journalism, media, marriage, to Freudian theory,
existentialism, literary criticism or psychiatry. Among recurrent themes that he
targets is the profanization of love in the postmodern age. Generally, marital and
extramarital relationships in Barthelme’s fiction are temporary, invariably bleak,
stifling and unhappy, testifying to emotional numbness and the mistrust of romantic
clichés among the skeptical and neurotic urban population. Marriage is shown as a
largely unfortunate institution, a ridiculous residue of old times that inevitably
leaves the partners entrapped. Yet many meaninglessly tarry until the next marriage
or relationship that soon turns equally dreary. The form reinforces the theme in “To
London and Rome” (Come Back, Dr. Caligari). In this story, the emptiness of
married life is placed in the higher class context, where Alison and Peter spend their
time trying to compensate for the frustration by spending money on expensive
hobbies, such as a racing horse, houses, pianos and airplanes, or Peter’s occasional
visits to his mistress. The most exciting event in their life becomes the stomach
poisoning of the horse that has been overstuffed on fried clams. However, the entire
story is written in two parallel columns in such a manner that the left-hand column
resembling stage directions indicates pauses, silences or short and long intervals
during or between the minimalist, boring conversations between husband and wife,
thus underlying their mutual estrangement and hostility as well as boredom and
pointlessness of their life together.
In “The Rise of Capitalism” (Sadness), Barthelme focuses on a more concretely
political theme, namely consumerism as a weapon of the state in the creation of
submissiveness of the masses or, to use Chomsky’s phrase, in the manufacturing of
consent. Here, Barthelme explores how the man-created systems conspire to shape
public consciousness into accepting the existing order by presenting it as natural. In
this story, Barthelme presented consumerism as the main capitalist weapon in the
maintenance of the system of economic, political and social inequality, stating that
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the purpose of deliberate encouragement of mass consumerism is “cultural
underdevelopment of the worker” (Barthelme 2003: 201). Capitalist ideology is thus
unmasked as another fictional system that, no less than religion, journalism or
science, tries to represent its conclusions as natural and ‘normal’ to the effect that
“the false consciousness created and catered to by mass culture perpetuates
ignorance and powerlessness” (Barthelme 2003: 201). At the same time, the
protagonist Rupert, despite his clear understanding of the workings of capitalism,
remains passive (in the beginning he describes his attitude as one of ‘melancholy
sadness’), which illustrates that awareness alone is insufficient for a social change.
Thus, Rupert is fully integrated in the social and economic order with investment
and credit, so his analysis of capitalism lacks conviction, reducing a Marxist
discourse whose elements it borrows to a “parrotlike invocation of maxims” (Maltby
1991: 67). Here, Barthelme demonstrates the assimilative potential of late capitalism
that disables serious oppositional action and his fiction by virtue of this
demonstration becomes oppositional. The story is written in bulleted fragments
clearly separated from one another, which reinforces the sense of the protagonist’s
paralysis and passivity.
To conclude, Barthelme’s experimentation includes fragmentation ranging
from the unmarked collage as in “Florence Green is 81” over separated but marked
fragments as in “The Rise of Capitalism” to extremely short, one-sentence fragments
marked by dashes where the entire stories consist of nothing else but a series of
dashed one-liners. This line of experimentation possibly culminated in the
“Sentence”, a story written as a single long sentence. Barthelme also used a variety
of other devices not considered here, e.g. beside the abovementioned parallel
columns, he inserted drawings, photos, or black boxes in the text, or borrowed from
popular culture (comics or film). Yet, Barthelme’s formal playfulness does not serve
exclusively his metafictional concerns, but itself repeatedly functions as a direct or
indirect commentary on the given social or political theme. In many ways it is
because of its form that Barthelme’s fiction can be viewed as both a hilarious
distortion of the late 20th-century reality and its somewhat overblown reflection, and
in many ways his formal innovation defines Barthelme’s paradoxical (and as such
almost naturally postmodernist) attitude – the celebration of postmodern life’s
vitality despite its absurdity and the condemnation of its absurdity despite its
vitality.
7.
Reed’s rewriting of the dominant discourse
Ishmael Reed’s experimentation with form in Mumbo Jumbo (1972) is tied to a
similarly playful and lucid critique of the white western culture, more specifically of
its stifling obsession with order and form. In this masterfully handled historiographic
metafiction, Reed rewrites Western history as the history of systematic repression of
the non-white, irrational Other. Moreover, he shows that Western civilization (the
Atonist Order) has deliberately established an artificial dichotomy between itself and
581
the African (American) culture, embodied in various forms of black music (Jes
Grew) and voodoo, suggesting that the western obstinate insistence on rationality
and the persistence in banishing the irrational and the intuitive into the realm of the
Other resulted in an inhibited and dead culture that has cut itself off from the very
source of vitality and freedom. However, Mumbo Jumbo celebrates the Atonists’
failure to contain the Other – e.g. Jes Grew epidemics in New Orleans – that they
see as ”the end of the Civilization As We Know It” (Reed 1988: 4) and shows that
the hope for the future lies in the overcoming of construed binary oppositions:
rationality-irrationality, reason-intuition, restraint-freedom, or order-chaos. Atonism
promotes the dictate of reason and “its institutions and apparatuses guard the status
quo, repressing the Other – the instinctual, the differences, the mysterious, the
multiple, the nonrational, the non-European, Woman, and the animal” (Hogue 2009:
154.) On the other hand, the forces of voodoo and the allies of Jes Grew gathered
around the voodoo detective Papa La Bas and his Mumbo Jumbo Kathedral counter
the moves of the Atonists by promoting improvisation, flexibility, adaptability,
heterogeneity, creativity. Nevertheless, Reed modifies the old story about the clash
between the forces of evil and good in that he breaks a rigid binary opposition by
showing that individuals on both sides are capable of accepting at least some
characteristics associated with the other value system, revealing cracks in the
professed monolithic uniformity of the opposed blocks. Consistently, Reed blurs the
boundaries showing that voodoo and jazz are but another face of Atonism, i.e. its
repressed Other that resurfaces during the Jes Grew pandemic, and refuses to
construct a reversed binary opposition that would one-sidedly favor Jes Grew
culture. Instead, he emphasizes the advantages of cultural openness and fluidity, not
only to affirm the alterity of the devalued Other (Jes Grew), but also to accentuate
the liberating force of cultural delimitation that ridicules all attempts to capture the
fixed identity of any ‘periphery’ or ‘center’. Like Barthelme, Reed uses the open
form to illustrate and reinforce his agenda.
8.
Disruption of traditional narration and the cultural critique
Therefore, Mumbo Jumbo is a novel whose very form challenges all the basic
assumptions of white, Eurocentric, Western rationality. As with many other
postmodernist authors, Reed’s undermining of novelistic conventions means the
rejection of the ideological and cultural framework that engendered them. In other
words, since, in his opinion, white, Western novel is a reflection of white, Western
epistemology and metaphysics, Reed decides to challenge the traditional concepts
that have dictated the writing of novels for centuries, such as those of linearity,
chronology and closure, but in so doing he uses African-American cultural signs
(jazz and voodoo) and starts his deconstruction from what the white culture had been
long confining to the cultural periphery. Therefore, the action in the novel is nonlinear, and the novel itself is a collection of numerated fragments that include
quotations, photographs, drawings, epigrams, facsimiles of letters, copies of
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handbills, pseudo-academic footnotes and a bibliography at the end. Ultimately, the
novel represents a blend of jazz, voodoo, necromancy, romance, detective story,
myth, Egyptology, hagiography, Western church history, American history, and the
fantasy tale. Reed aptly compared his collage technique to the Cajun gumbo, thus
referring to the eclecticism of the same New Orleans culture of voodoo and jazz that
in the novel becomes the main stronghold of the creative opposition to the
constrictions of white, western rationality. Indeed, Mumbo Jumbo is as eclectic as
voodoo, as improvisational as jazz: the story about the outbreak of the Jes Grew
epidemics in New Orleans of the 1920s, the Atonist attempts to contain the ‘virus’
and the search on both sides for the sacred Book of Thoth (Jes Grew’s sacred text)
jumps back and forth following, or more precisely, introducing, abandoning and
reintroducing several other ‘stories’ along the way. Jazz becomes the novel’s main
structural paradigm to the effect that characters and patches of stories disappear and
reappear in the manner of musical leitmotif. Consciously imitating a jazzman, Reed
improvises, ‘plays’ every recurrent theme slightly differently, or combines themes
imitating the call and response technique in jazz playing. Thus, he creates a unique
novelistic texture consisting of stories and themes that are fragmented yet
intertwined, disrupted yet reconfirmed, resulting in the polyphonic simultaneity of
‘melodies’ and views. The history of the competition between the Wallflower Order
and that of the Knights Templar, one among many ‘melodies’ Reed ‘plays’, is a
good illustration of his technique. In the opening section of the novel in which Reed
borrowed from film, introducing the situation and characters in several brief ‘shots’
before moving to the novel’s title page and the impressum, the Wallflower Order is
briefly mentioned for the first time, being identified as the main Atonist antagonist
of Jes Grew. The next reference to the order is found several sections later (section
3), this time enlarging on the basic theme by virtue of a fleeting remark about the
splitting of the Wallflower Order with another knightly order in the past that left the
former as the sole protector of “the cherished traditions of the West against Jes
Grew” (Reed 1988: 15). By and by the background of this conflict that turns out to
be of central importance to the story about Jes Grew frenzy in the 1920s will be
clarified in the subsequent sections in the manner of musical improvisation,
combining repetition with the enlargement and expansion of the well-known theme.
Gradually, more and more details are revealed with every successive mention as we
move towards the novel’s end. Thus, we learn that the rival order is the Knights
Templar and we are introduced to its history that explains why it had been
discredited by the Atonists in the past, why almost all its members were executed
and how it came that Hinckle Von Vampton, a former librarian of the order who had
come into possession of the sacred Book of Thoth in the Middle Ages and “the
Grand Master of the surviving Knights Templar” (Reed 1988: 67) in the novel’s
present, became a key player in both the resurgence and the (temporary) dissolution
of the Jes Grew virus in the American South during the 1890s and 1920s.
Occasionally, Reed’s improvisation includes the introduction of an apparently new
element first and its subsequent embedding in the previously developed theme.
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Thus, when Vampton is first introduced in section 14, the reader has no clue as to
his real significance in the story, but it is revealed soon enough in the following
discontinued sections. However, the story of the Knights Templar is a melody
among a variety of other melodies with which it weaves a magnificent improvised
jazz-like tune of Mumbo Jumbo. In this manner, Reed created a work whose very
form reinforces his main theme about the necessity of overcoming the rigidity and
constrictions of white cultural forms by achieving a fusion that would enrich all.
Moreover, in the novel’s epilogue Reed operates with metafiction, suggesting that
Mumbo Jumbo might be a symptom of the new Jes Grew revival in the 1970s,
embodied in the white culture’s belated appreciation of blues, the rise of rock’n’roll
and other “Pagan Mysteries” (Reed 1988: 216). Still alive and well in the 1970s,
PaPa LaBas rejoices that “the 20s were back again” and concludes, undermining
western humanist teleology: “Time is a pendulum. Not a river. More akin to what
goes around comes around” (Reed 1988: 218). This is followed by a poetic voice
that ends the novel with reference to time and place of its completion: 1971,
Berkeley, California, suggesting Jes Grew has come around with Mumbo Jumbo in
the reader’s hand as its latest incarnation.
9.
Anti-logocentrism, the open form and the cultural critique
Similar to Barthelme and other postmodernist authors, Reed uses fragmentation
and disruption of linearity to undermine another Western humanist assumption –
that language is the instrument of efficient mastering of knowledge. He challenges
the liberal-humanist optimism regarding the efficiency of language to accurately
describe life, anchored in western logocentrism, by creating in Mumbo Jumbo a
postmodern plot focused on the phenomenon of Jes Grew that exemplifies and
confirms poststructuralist and postmodernist theories of language. Jes Grew comes
in different shapes and in different historical periods, however its exact meaning or
definition remains elusive, as it resists any systematic categorization. Rather than a
single phenomenon, it is a sum of temporally or spatially separated and seemingly
unrelated phenomena, yet again, upon a closer look, the connection does exist. In the
latter part of the novel it becomes clear that the New Orleans Jes Grew pandemic of
the 1920s is only the most recent manifestation of the ancient Egyptian cults
associated with the myths of Osiris and Isis, just as the dichotomy between white
culture of rationality and the African-American culture of intuition in the early 20th
century can be traced back to the original opposition between worldviews embodied
in the rational, stern and repressed Set and his passionate, exalted, theater-loving
brother Osiris. In this alternative world history, Reed again denies teleology and the
idea of linearity, suggesting a cyclical view of history represented as an eternal site
of struggle of principles, calling to mind Nietzsche’s philosophical and Yeats’ poetic
and esoteric extravagancies. Set, as the inventor of discipline, drill, military
marching and commanding is shown in the novel as the father of all future cultures
based on repression of emotions, including Christianity or generally monotheism,
584
and capitalism. By the same token, the tradition of Osiris lives on even before it
revamps much later as Jes Grew, namely in the Osirian and Dionysian cults of
ancient Greece and thereafter in cultures, such as African and Southern European, in
which Egyptian paganism got partially assimilated in the triumphant Christianity to
the effect that “they kept on Isis as Virgin Mary”, and Mary in turn became “the
mother of the Atonist compromise Jesus Christ” (Reed 1988: 170), i.e. of a feeble
version of Osiris (and Dionysus).
Nevertheless, the outlining of Jes Grew’s origin further mystifies rather than
clarifies its exact nature, because Jes Grew repeatedly fails in reconnecting with its
essence and the key to all meaning – the sacred Book of Thoth. The story about the
failed attempts of the Atonists and Jes Grew avatars to come by the Book to ensure
the ultimate defeat or victory of their respective philosophy illustrates postmodernist
view of language as a provisional device characterized by constant deferral of
meaning. The eternal elusiveness of the signified (The Book of Thoth) is thus
reinforced through and substituted by a play of signifiers (diverse manifestations of
the principle that the Book symbolizes). Furthermore, even the Book itself, the
scribe Thoth’s record of the dance steps demonstrated by Osiris, is non-dogmatic
and open in that it allows for permanent modification of dances in dependence on
the geographical and climatic environment. Therefore, Jes Grew lives only in the
actual performance that builds upon the supposed ur-text, i.e. it owes its spell to
improvisation and modification in the manner of bluesmen or jazzmen. Thus, Reed
abolishes the hierarchy that privileges the original text as an indisputable source of
truth in contrast to interpretations, showing that interpretation and improvisation is
all, e.g. that the meaning hovers somewhere at the intersection of all the past and
future interpretations. Therefore, Reed’s Moses is a character who illustrates
devastating consequences of rigid adhering to the written wisdom of the Book. Since
his soulless and flat performance of the songs and dances from the Book lacks
improvisation and spirit, “the ears of the people began to bleed” (Reed 1988: 183),
while the Osirians outplay him without the Book because they feel the spirit of the
Osirian music. Overly rational and inhibited Moses prohibits wild dancing, failing to
see that the Book turns into a lethal weapon in the hands of all who like himself set
to reproducing merely its naked core or shell, the recorded form of songs. Inevitably,
his dealing with the Book of Thoth therefore brings about nuclear destruction in
ancient Egypt, setting the pattern for future disasters that will be brought upon the
world by the western civilization which is to walk in Moses’ footsteps. At the same
time, Reed ridicules anyone’s attempts to claim the Book for a specific ideology, in
the manner of the Book’s translator and African-American islamist Abdul Hamid,
who finally burned it, frustrated over his inability to adjust it to his ideas, unable to
purge it of “the evil serpent of carnality” (Reed 1988: 202). Rather than pinning
down the meaning, Reed recommends openness toward constant improvising and
reinterpretation of tradition that will open unprecedented possibilities for both white
and black culture and show the way toward the fusion of voices and melodies. The
open form of Mumbo Jumbo proves that this is possible precisely at the point when
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‘mumbo jumbo’ stops being a meaningless language of the Other, but the expression
of creative and cultural freedom that transcends myriad unnecessary distinctions
between Self and Other, black and white, new and old…(to be completed by the
reader).
References
Barthelme, D. (1964). Come Back, Dr. Caligari, Boston and Toronto: Little, Brown
and Company.
Barthelme, D. (2003). Sixty Stories, New York and London: Penguin Books.
Hogue, W. L. (2009). Postmodern American Literature and Its Other, Urbana and
Chicago: University of Illinois Press.
Hudgens, M. T. (2001). Donald Barthelme, Postmodernist American Writer,
Lewiston, NY: The Edwin Mellen Press.
Klinkowitz, J. (1991). Donald Barthelme, An Exhibition, Durham: Duke University
Press.
McCaffery, L. (1982). The Metafictional Muse, Pittsburgh: The University of
Pittsburgh Press.
Maltby, P. (1991). Dissident Postmodernists: Barthelme, Coover, Pynchon,
Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press.
Reed, I. (1988). Mumbo Jumbo, New York: Simon and Schuster.
Roe, B. (1992). Donald Barthelme, A Study of the Short Fiction, New York:
Twayne.
586
Ivana Trajanoska
Skopje, Macedonia
trajanoska@uacs.edu.mk
WORD AND IMAGE IN DOROTHY RICHARDSON’S PILGRIMAGE:
PICTORIALISM AND GENDER IDENTITY IN POINTED ROOFS
Abstract Working on the connection between the pictorial presence and the act of
memory in Dorothy Richardson’s Pilgrimage, I tried to show that the act of
memory, the primary force in this thirteen-volume novel, opens the text to the
pictorial and leaves pictorial proofs onto its body. Using the typology scale of
Liliane Louvel, I have traced down a substantial part of the effets tableaux, the
picturesque views, the aesthetic arrangements, the pictorial descriptions, the
tableaux vivants, the ekphrasis, and various substitutes of the pictorial in Pointed
Roofs, the first of the thirteen volumes. In this paper, I would like to put an accent on
the connection between the pictorial presence in Pilgrimage and the theme of
identification and acceptance of the gendered self through textual analysis of
Pointed Roofs.
Key words: Dorothy Richardson, Pilgrimage, Pointed Roofs, word and image,
pictorialism, gender identity
1.
Pilgrimage, an act of memory
Alongside with the personal pilgrimage of the protagonist, Pilgrimage
incorporates the pilgrimage of painting. This artistic pilgrimage is the pilgrimage of
the pictorial presence in the text itself. The novel abounds in effets tableaux,
picturesque views, aesthetic arrangements, pictorial descriptions, tableaux vivants,
ekphrasis, and in the many substitutes for the pictorial. The textual presence of
paintings and pictures, and other examples of the visual arts make Pilgrimage a textimage.
The starting point of this pilgrimage of painting is the act of memory which is
crucial for many aspects of the novel thus to its pictorialism as well. First, its
circular form is memory’s merit; the protagonist, Miriam Henderson, commences
her pilgrimage in Pointed Roofs, the starting point of her journey but also the
beginning of her becoming a writer. Second, through memory, the protagonist
experiences the awakening moment - the moment when ‘the strange, independent
joy had begun’ (Richardson 1979: 316) and accomplishes ultimate autonomy by
realizing the ‘Now, the eternal moment’ (Richardson 1979: 65). Memory unites the
past, the present, and the future and enables Miriam to liberate and embrace herself.
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The act of memory, the primary force in this thirteen-volume novel, opens the text to
the pictorial and leaves pictorial proof onto its body.
Paul Ricoeur (Ricoeur 2000: 7) in his work Memory and Imagination noted
that the past is represented by images. According to him, the only possible way for a
memory to be retrieved is through its becoming an image. Furthermore, he argues
that language makes memory a source of imagination as well. Pilgrimage, an act of
memory, an account of the protagonist’s pilgrimage rendered through her memory,
consequently becomes a gallery of images moulded by real paintings and pictorial
representations. Pilgrimage evinces the power of memory but also its magic; the
magic and the art of remembering. In Pilgrimage, art i.e. literature calls on another
art i.e. the visual art and between Pilgrimage’s lines these two artistic expressions
interlace. The act of memory creates a complex syncretism, yields an additional
aesthetic value to the novel, and celebrates its pictorial aspect making it a textimage.
In this article I will analyze the pictorial aspect of Pilgrimage through excerpts
from Pointed Roofs, the first volume of the sequence, a starting point and a
destination of this circular novel; a chapter which speaks about the central theme of
identification and acceptance of the gendered self. The analysis of the pictorial
aspect of Pointed Roofs provides a new perspective in the exploration of Miriam’s
quest for feminine identity and will show how its pictorial aesthetics is linked to the
theme of gender identity.
2.
Pilgrimage, a text-image
Jean Hagstrom in The Sister Arts notes: ‘In order to be called ‘pictural’ a
description or an image must be in its essentials, capable of translation into painting
or some other visual art’ (Hawkins-Dady 1996: 891). The nature of the image can be
purely pictorial or more allusive like the mnemonic or oniric image. So, is
Pilgrimage translatable into a kind of visual art? Are there pictorial manifestations,
references to visual arts, textual images translatable into paintings in Pilgrimage?
Undoubtedly, Pilgrimage can be translated into a grand mosaic, into a film, in Carol
Watts’ reference into a text-image and it is clearly brimming with the pictorial as I
will try to demonstrate using Pointed Roofs.
The pictorial aspect in Pilgrimage has not passed unnoticed by the critics but it
has not been studied systematically yet. Carol Watts, for example, talks about the
play of light in Pilgrimage using the expression ‘kaleidoscopic impressionism’
(Watts 1995: 36). John Cowper Powys finds in her work Rembrandt’s play of lights
as well (Powys 1965: 19). However, the criteria for these analogies are mainly
subjective. They depend on the cultural background of the critic and they are a
matter of interpretation. What interests me are the textual indications to visual arts,
fragments or entire paintings, and other examples of visual arts embedded in the text
itself. The pictorial saturation of the 13-volume novel varies but it is in general very
strong in every one of them. In order to examine the pictorial aspect of Pointed
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Roofs, I will not refer to pictorial manifestations outside the text (various
biographical elements, such as her marriage to the painter Alain Odle etc.). I will not
make any semantic or thematic parallels either inside or outside the text with any
artistic movement. I am purely interested in the pictorial characteristics of Pointed
Roofs which are part and parcel of the text. Thus I will first analyse the act of
translation or transformation of a text into an image. The logical question that comes
to mind is how can a text be transformed into an image?
The relation between the text and the image can be described as a “twinkling”
(Louvel 2002: 316). It is a kind of an oscillation, a constant process of coming and
going, a two-way switch between the text and the image that makes the act of
reading unstable and plural. So, how can an iconic representation be transposed into
a text? How can a text become an image? How is the transfer between these two
semiotic systems made?
In her book Texte/Image, Liliane Louvel notes that in order to make the transfer
from the visible to the readable and vice versa, it is essential to find the ‘right
distance’ between the object and the spectator (Louvel 2002: 287). The process that
occurs in that space is oscillation, oscillation between the act of observing from
close and afar. She distinguishes three indispensable elements for the transfer to take
place, the detail or the result from looking from close, landscape and enframing - the
result from observing from afar and the observer or the focalizer. I shall analyse
each of these elements in relation to Pilgrimage.
Pilgrimage abounds in detailed descriptions of rooms, pieces of clothing, faces,
sounds, colours, odours etc. Their connection with the plot and the characters is
seldom straightforward. Regarded as either merit or fault by the critics, it is difficult
to relate the detail to the structure of the novel. This ‘mosaic of particularities’,
Radford notes, ‘makes it hard to see the overall pattern’ (Radford 1991: 17).
The detail can have many roles; it slows down the reading, suspends the
meaning, and gives the reader time to ask questions. It gives voice to the text and
leads to contemplation and interrogation. Having in mind the quest for religious,
gender, and personal identity that Pilgrimage embodies, it is important to state the
revelational function of the detail. It makes the traces of a presence that needs to be
discovered visible. It gives evidence that enables the quest. The detail is a scriptural
manifestation of the narrator’s memory and it participates in the encoding of the
text.
It is evident that the detail can be examined from various standpoints; as an
expression of Richardson’s hermeneutic quest; her wish to connect with the reader
and give him/her an opportunity to attach his/her own associations to the text; or as a
sign of her effort to attain a reality effect.
Roland Barthes noted that the detail is unnecessary and superfluous for the
structure of a novel (Radford 1991: 18). However, in the case of Pilgrimage the
detail is indispensable for the sake of its very structure.
In Pilgrimage, a novel where the structure fits the way memory works,
Richardson’s microscope does not spoil her writing, on the contrary. It represents a
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viewpoint, as Mieke Bal defines the detail in relation to the work of Proust (Bal
1997: 65), without which the process of translation from visible to readable is
impossible. The detail makes room for art, for paintings, for images. It transposes
the words into brushstrokes. Connected to image and iconotextuality, it enables
expression.
Jean Radford defines the detail in connection to Pilgrimage as a device that
serves to ‘delay or impede meaning-construction, to slow up the reading and “hold
up the development of the whole” ’ (Radford 1991: 11). By slowing down the
action, the details make a painting. In this synesthesia of the readable and the visible,
the details paint.
There are many examples of landscapes in Pilgrimage as well; most of them
framed by a window. The window is regarded as a device of the iconotext and a
device for abstraction which leads to representation. The framing helps and points to
the process of dismemberment and regrouping of the past. The landscape, on the
other hand, directs the view towards infinity. It opens the text to painting and reveals
the hidden presence. Thus painting and literature mediate between the subject and
his/her perception and teach him to observe. The narrator transforms the landscape
into a painting; hence the landscape in Pointed Roofs is at the same time a
perspective, a painting, a memory. It reinforces the meaning of the text; it saturates
it, and gives it a hybrid status.
The pictorial saturation of a text is incomplete and sometimes impossible
without an intercessor or a focalizer. The narrator and the protagonist can take this
role of a focalizer. The narrator details the view of the protagonist, decomposes it
and then recomposes it trough the power of memory. This is the case in Pilgrimage
even though it can be debated whether the narrator and the protagonist in
Richardson’s work are the same entity represented at different point in time only.
Furthermore, one often has the impression that Miriam wants to enter the image she
created and merge the boundaries of space and time. According to Liliane Louvel,
the wish to enter the painting makes a union between space and time due to the
aesthetic experience i.e. when sensibility produces aesthetics, space and time unite
(Louvel 2002: 207). The gradual liberation of the protagonist’s fantasies signals her
desire to be in the painting and enables her to project her fantasies on the painting’s,
image’s or landscape’s screen. It marks the attempt to make the mnemonic image
(the memory) coincide with an image (the landscape seen as a painting, an imageseen-as-a-painting, a painting) thus enabling the return of suppressed memories and
repressed feelings; Paul Klee notes ‘Art does not reproduce the visible rather it
makes visible’ (Louvel 2002: 207).
3.
Pictorialism and gender identity in Pointed Roofs
According to Liliane Louvel’s typology, there are several devices that point to
the pictorial aspect of a novel and they are: the effet tableau, the aesthetic
arrangement, the pictorial description, the tableau vivant, and the ekphrasis. Placed
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on this typology scale according to their intensity, they all saturate the text with the
pictorial. There are many examples of these devices in Pointed Roofs. However, in
this article I would refer to the ones that deal with the theme of gender identity and
Miriam’s quest for genuine femininity.
The aesthetic arrangement, also called artistic arrangement, is the result of the
conscious intention of the narrator or the protagonist to create an artistic effect. The
narrator in Pointed Roofs creates the following image:
The sky was a vivid grey-against its dark background the tops of
heavy masses of cloud were standing up just above the roof-line of the
houses beyond the neighbouring gardens. The trees and gray roofs and the
faces of the houses were staringly bright. They were absolutely stiff,
nothing was moving, there were no shadows. (Richardson 1979: 105)
In this excerpt the aesthetic arrangement is a landscape. The trees, the gay
roofs, and the houses are portrayed on a dark surface: ‘against its dark background
the tops of heavy masses of cloud were standing up just above the roof-line of the
houses beyond the neighbouring gardens’. The static effect (‘They were absoulutely
stiff, nothing was moving’) gives the narrator the status of a painter. Moreover, the
image corresponds to the narrator’s contemplation. It is a double of Miriam’s look in
the mirror. This image of a landscape created through the device of aesthetic
arrangement points to Miriam’s new perception of herself. The narrator uses
pictorial vocabulary which refers to characterisation. The ‘gay roofs’ and the bright
‘faces of the houses’, can be read as metonymic allusions to the new face Miriam
sees in the mirror.
At the beginning of her journey, while Harriett is doing her hair, Miriam
clearly states that she doesn’t like what she sees in the mirror. Away from home, her
new mirror, ‘lower and twice as large as the one in the garret, larger than the one she
had shared with Harriett’, renders a reflection that pleases her: ‘“How jolly I look,”
she thought, “jolly and big somehow. Mother would like me this morning […] I look
jolly. She looked gravely into her eyes…. There’s something about my expression.”
Her face grew wistful. “It isn’t vain to like it. It’s something. It isn’t me. It is
something I am, somehow. Oh, do stay,” she said, “do be like that always.”
(Richardson 1979: 151).
I will move on to the tableau vivant, an intentional textual reproduction of a
famous painting or a famous historical scene (Louvel 2002: 41), where the narrator
reproduces a painting, at this point unknown to the reader and even to the
protagonist. On the other hand, the narrator is familiar with it and will soon reveal
the original behind this tableau vivant.
Miriam is having dinner with the students, Faulein Pfaff, and the new
housekeeper. There is textual enframing, (a new paragraph opens up), a focalizer,
and play of light as well: ‘Miriam met eye after eye- how beautiful they all were,
looking out from faces and meeting hers- and her eyes came back unembarrassed to
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her cup, her solid butter-brot and the sunlit angle of the garden wall and the bit of
tree just over Fraulein Pfaff’s shoulder.’ (Richardson 1979: 140). The description of
the housekeeper, her hair, her face, her clothes and the position of her body is
meticulous, the details paint, the colours are vivid, and the narrator indicates that this
image corresponds to something that Miriam had already seen:
Mademoiselle was almost invisible in her corner near the door; the
new housekeeper was sitting at her side very upright and close to the
table. […] The way light shone on the housekeeper’s hair, bright brown
and plastered flatly down on either side of her bright-white-crimson face,
and the curves of her chocolate and white striped cotton bodice, reminded
her sharply of something she had seen once, something that charmed her
… something in the way she sat, standing out against the others…
(Richardson 1979: 140)
After the musical evening, the new housekeeper walks in with a snack. The
girls start talking about her but they are silenced by Fraulein Pfaff and sent to bed.
The next paragraph opens to Miriam in bed not being able to fall asleep. Suddenly,
she remembers seeing the painting of a woman at ‘The Academy’ that resembled the
housekeeper:
The Academy… a picture in very bright colours… a woman… a
woman sitting by the roadside with a shawl round her shoulders and a red
cheeks and bright green country behind her … people moving about on
the shiny floor, someone just behind saying, ‘that is plein-air, these are the
plein-artistes’- the woman in the picture was like the housekeeper ….
(Richardson 1979: 145)
The protagonist and the reader become aware of the painting even though the
title and the artist are not provided. The reader can guess whether Miriam knows it,
and can try to find out which pleine-artiste she is referring to, and whether the
painting was a part of an exhibition at the Royal Academy of Arts, London.
However, it is a painting of a woman; one of the many pictorial representations of
women Miriam is trying to compare with. The woman in the paining is like Miriam,
on the road. Miriam is away from home as well; she has set off on pilgrimage, in
search for her gender identity.
I shall proceed with one ekphrasis whose presence indicates high
pictorialization of the text (Louvel 2002: 42) but it is also connected to Miriam’s
gender identity. Roland Barthes defines the ekphrasis as a description of an artwork
in a literary text with a clear reference to the artwork in question. It represents a
representation; it opens up a path for the transition from the visible to the readable; it
points out the distance between theory and the reflexivity; it is the non-natural sign
of a non-natural sign that imitates a natural object (Louvel 2002: 42). Its role in the
text can be interpreted differently. It can represent ‘the discourse of the other’
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(Hamon, 1994: 36). It can also embody a ‘self-contained passage’(Barhes, 1982:
84), a luminous passage existing only for its own sake. The ekphrasis influences the
text in several ways. It can slow down the tempo of the text to various degrees. It
can create a dreamlike, contemplative effect. It can also create the impression of a
memory brought to life again. In this excerpt, the ekphrasis appears as a vision.
In the previous paragraph, Miriam considers the possibility of staying with the
Bergmanns after the end of term. She imagines what it would be like to be married
to Emma Bergmanns’ brother and in general, what it would be like to have a
German husband. She concludes that adopting a ‘German manner’ is not for her, that
all German men have offended her with their attitude towards women. The next
paragraph opens with Miriam in bed running a fever and having visions of
illustrations she has seen in various books back in England:
She turned about in bed; her head was growing fevered.
She conjured up a vision of the back of the books in the bookcase in
the dining room at home…. Iliad and Odyssey … people going over the
sea in boats and someone going over the sea in boats and someone doing
embroidery … that little picture of Hector and Andromache in the corner
of the page … he in armour … she, in a trailing dress, holding up her
baby. Both, silly… She wished she had read more carefully. She could not
remember anything in Leckey or Darwin that would tell her what to do …
Hudibras … the Atomic Theory … Ballads and Poems, D.G. Rossetti ….
Kingslake Crimea … Palgrave’s Arabia … Crimea … The Crimea …
Florence Nightingale; a picture somewhere; a refined face, with cap and
strings … She must have smiled…. (Richardson 1979: 168)
At the beginning, the narrator gives a short description of a pictorial
representation of Hector and Andromache, the famous scene of their parting before
Hector goes to war. Andromache is considered to symbolyse a loyal and devoted
mother and wife. Hector on the other hand, is a symbol of a strong, brave man and a
reliable husband. In the previous paragraph, Miriam describes Emma’s brother as
big and tall, with ‘a great, strong solid voice’ with ‘strong kind arms and shoulders’,
‘strong and sure about everything’ (Richardson 1979: 168), a devoted and reliable
husband like Hector. Imagining their life together she guesses that by his side, she
wouldn’t have to worry about anything, she would be protected and secure. She
would become a “real” woman, a happy woman, a devoted wife (like Andromache).
Still, she admits to herself that it would be fake: ‘Never. She could not pretend long
enough.’ (Richardson 1979: 168). Even though she seems to have made up her
mind, she wishes she knew ‘what to do’. This narrative image of Hector and
Andromache points at her anguish and hesitation, and at her quest for feminine
identity. Subsequently, a description of a picture of Florence Nightingale follows
(‘Florence Nightingale; a picture somewhere; a refined face, with cap and strings …
She must have smiled….’) an independent, strong-willed, modern woman who
devoted her life to a cause. Miriam, imagining her students as ordinary wives busy
593
with ordinary things, contemplates the role one should have in life, ‘the importance
of life’… [one should try] ‘improving the world…leaving it better than you found it
[…] making things better, reforming… being a reformer…’ (Richardson 1979: 95),
says Miriam to herself.
Her quest for feminine identity continues beyond these two short ekphrasis.
Fraulein Pfaff, the school mistress is another woman she tries to identify with. In
this excerpt, the description of Fraulein Pfaff resembles a painting. Fraulein is
standing against the window which provides the frame for the narrative image
reminding Miriam, the focalizer, of the illustrations of heroines in the Girl’s Own
Paper, a woman’s magazine mainly giving advice on style and career:
When breakfast was over and the girls were clearing the table,
Fraulein went to one of the great windows and stood for a moment with
her hands on the hasp of the innermost of the double frames. […] Miriam,
standing in the corner near the companion window, wandering what she
was supposed to do and watching the girls with an air – as nearly as she
could manage- of indulgent condescension –saw, without turning, the
figure at the window gracefully tall, with a curious dignified pannier –
like effect about the skirt that swept from that small tightly fitting pointed
bodice reminding her of illustrations of heroines of serials in old numbers
of Girl’s Own Paper. The dress was of dark blue velvet- very much
rubbed and faded. Miriam liked the effect, liked something about the clear
profile, the sallow, hollow cheeks, the same heavy bonyness that Anna the
servant had, but finer and redeemed by the wide eye that was so strange.
She glanced fearfully, at its unconsciousness, and tried to find words for
the quick youthfulness of those steady eyes. (Richardson 1979: 52)
Oscar Wilde notes: ‘Life imitates art’ (Radford 1991: 75). Miriam copies not
from an original but from a copy, from an illustration, from art. Miriam, in search
for identity, tries to create her own image. She identifies herself with many women
looking for her double, searching for a reflection in the mirror that would be
acceptable, satisfying, and her own. The pictorial aspect of the novel embodies this
quest. Jean Radford has discussed the protagonist’s difficulty in making a distinction
between original femininity and imitation noting that these ‘difficulties in drawing
the line between “genuine womanliness and the masquerade” are staged in a series
of scenes involving representations of women – in literature, paintings and
photographs, opera and theatre’ (Radford, 1991: 75). The presence of the pictorial
indicates the presence of the other, the hidden feminine identity that is yet to be
discovered.
Miriam’s thoughts ramble on as she is lying in bed with a fever:
Darwin had come since then. There were people… distinguished
minds, who thought Darwin was true. No God. No Creation. The struggle
for existence. Fighting …. Fighting …. Fighting….Everybody groping
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and fighting …. Fraulein …. Some said it was true …. Some not. They
could not both be right. It was probably true … only old-fashioned people
thought it was not. It was true. Just that – monkeys fighting. But who
began it? Who made Fraulein? Tough leathery monkey …. (Richardson
1979: 170)
At first, the monkey may seem to be mentioned only in relation to Darwin’s
Theory of Evolution. However, the monkey is very much connected to
iconotextuality. Miriam’s feverish state is due to the fact that she is at a crossroad.
Fraulein Pfaff gives her a chance to stay in her school for another term provided she
loosens up in order to be a good teacher: ‘You have too much of chill and formality.
It makes a stiffness that I am willing to believe you do not intend […] If you should
fail to become more genial, more simple and natural as to your bearing, you will
neither make yourself understood nor will you be loved by your pupils. […] The
teacher shall be sunshine, human sunshine, encouraging all effort and all lovely
things in the personality of the pupil.’ (Richardson 1979: 160). That night, the same
night that ends in Miriam’s feverish state, Miriam wakes up and leads an imaginary
conversation with her sister Eve and explains why she couldn’t stay in the school
and teach. She cannot pretend and be someone she isn’t, smile and ‘grimace’ like
everyone else: ‘Fraulein talked about manner, she simply wanted me to grimace,
simply. You know- be like other people.’ (Richardson 1979: 165). She cannot
pretend to be something she isn’t; she cannot fake her identity in order to fit in.
The monkey in iconotextual terms is a substitute for the pictorial, along with
the mirror, water, glasses, various reflective surfaces and optical devices, maps,
screens, and photographs. Indeed, the monkey and the mirror (which also occupies a
crucial place in the novel) are metaphors of the painter and artistic creation as well.
The monkey symbolises the artist as an imitator (Pommier 1998: 146). Miriam in
search of ‘genuine womanliness’ (Radford 1991: 75) realises that she cannot identify
herself with Fraulein Pfaff (or with anyone else for that matter). ‘Who made
Fraulein?, [asks Miriam. Fraulein’s femininity is the result of an imitation.] ‘Tough
leathery monkey’, [but Miriam is] ‘something new … a different kind of world’
(Richardson 1979: 260) [and “an imitation” does not meet her needs]. She cannot
stay in the school, become a governess, and be ‘jolly and charming’ [and] ‘idiotic.’
(Richardson 1979: 166). Miriam fears the possibility of becoming like Fraulein: ‘a
lonely, old teacher, worried and awaiting cancer.’ (Richardson 1979: 172). She can
neither devote her life to a German husband nor stay alone and devote her life to her
students. She leaves the school and continues her pilgrimage in quest of her true self,
discovering in Germany what she does not want to be, discovering the uncanniness
of nature and music, and the happiness they offer, her national identity, and freedom
as her only choice: ‘She was English and free. She had nothing to do with this
German school.’ (Richardson 1979: 180).
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The substitutes for the pictorial play an important part in the saturation of a text
with the pictorial, hence they cannot be omitted. There are many examples of them
throughout Pilgrimage but one of the most revealing connected to the theme of
feminine identity is the mirror. The substitutes for the pictorial are symbols. They
are considered as indications of a presence. They provide hybrid examples of iconic
signs (Louvel 2002: 120). The mirror, this device of the iconotext, according to
Liliane Louvel, belongs to the diegetic universe and it is closely connected to the
movement of the subject (Louvel 2002: 44). Furthermore, the mirror both represents
and reveals the present giving out an image, a reflection of the self that the others
see. In the narrative process, the mirror reinforces the power of the visual. It creates
a triangular system consisting of the subject, the painting, and the mirror (Louvel
2002: 58).
In Pointed Roofs, the mirror is a recurrent image. At the very beginning of the
novel it helps us discover Miriam’s attitude towards herself, introduces the central
theme of gender identity, and contributes to the he pictorial quality of the novel. In
the following scene, Miriam is about to leave for Germany. She is with her sister
Harriett in their room. Miriam observes her sister as she does her hair in front of the
mirror and compares their clothes. Harriett comments on Miriam’s hair and in her
answer we can see that she perceives herself as plain. Her sister disagrees and
Miriam is more than surprised to hear that:
Miriam’s amazement silenced Harriett. She stood back from the
mirror. She could not look into until Harriett had gone. The phrases she
had just heard rang in her head without meaning. But she knew she would
remember all of them. She went on doing her hair with downcast eyes.
[…] ‘I’m pretty,’ murmured Miriam, planting herself in front of the
dressing table. ‘I’m pretty-they like me-they like me. Why didn’t I know?’
She did not look in the mirror. ‘They all like me, me.’ (Richardson 1979:
23-24)
This excerpt shows Miriam’s fear of the mirror, of the reflection it projects.
She is practically rejoicing at the discovery that her family thinks she is pretty. Still,
she does not dare to face the woman in the mirror. She kept away from the mirror
and did her hair not looking at her reflection in it. It is as if she refused to
acknowledge her body and face as her own; as if she perceived herself from both the
inside and from the outside, not being able to accept her looks and still not fully
aware of her own self as if she thought she exceeded what the mirror reflects.
Throughout her pilgrimage, not only does she try to find her feminine identity,
but she also has to accept her looks. Being beautiful, being perceived as beautiful is
an important stage in the process of defining one’s womanliness. Dana Self argues
in her article “The Spectacle of Beauty” that one of the aspects of beauty is its link
with the body: ‘its emersion from the body or our ideas about the body- from the
Greek idea of man as the measure of all things, to the male gaze directed at the body
of woman, which has been loaded with ideas about what constitutes beauty,
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decency, and/or normalcy. Thus beauty has become burdened with the weight of
religious, gender, sexual, cultural, and social politics, making its appreciation a
tricky endeavour’ (Self, 1996). Miriam finds it difficult to appreciate her own
beauty. She needs to be reassured, she needs to accept the reflection of herself in the
mirror but also discover the hidden meaning behind the visible. Her pilgrimage
unifies her quests for religious, cultural, national, gender and sexual identity as well
as her quest for a social role. The search for womanliness includes all these aspects
along with the physical beauty and Miriam tries to learn how to embrace herself in
her unity. The mirror, a barrier between her inner and outer self, points at her effort
to do so. The following pictorial manifestation shows the two dimensions of
Miriam’s search for ‘genuine womanliness’ and the mirror’s role as a substitute for
the pictorial in the search for feminine identity.
In the middle of the day, without notice, the girls in the school were ordered to
wash their hair. Miriam goes to the basement unwillingly and has her hair washed
by Frau Krause. Then, she joins the other girls in the coffee mill, again, at Fraulein
Pfaff’s order. Not having time to dry and do her hair properly, dissatisfied with the
way she looks, Miriam starts observing Gertrude’s, Clara’s, Mina’s, Judy’s, the two
Martins’, Bertha’s, Emma’s, and Jimmie’s hair. They all, so it seems to her, have
done a better job than her.
They ‘were sitting round the table in easy attitudes and had the effect of
holding a council’ (Richardson 1979: 62). The reason for the gathering was the new
rule in the boarding school; they all must wear their hair in ‘a classic knot’…
[Miriam tries to picture it] ‘Miriam tried to make a picture of a classic knot in her
mind.’ (Richardson 1979: 63). What she sees is rendered in a short pictorial
representation of a distant memory:
Miriam’s mind groped… classic – Greece and Rome- Greek knot …
Grecian key … a Grecian key pattern on the dresses for the sixth form
tableau- reading Ruskin … the strip of glass all along the window space
on the floor in the large room – edged with mosses and grass – the mirror
of Venus …. […] Only the eldest pretty girls… all on their hands and
knees looking into the mirror….” (Richardson 1979: 63-64).
The device used in this excerpt cannot be easily classified. Miriam, trying to
picture a classic knot in her mind, probably remembers a tableau vivant or a living
image preformed by ‘the eldest pretty girls’ from the Sixth Form School. This kind
of live performances of paintings were common in English schools in the Victorian
era. Miriam refers to John Ruskin several times throughout Pointed Roofs. Miriam
went to a school where the teachers had either met Ruskin or were considered his
disciples, and Miriam was familiar with his work. In Ruskin’s Pre-Raphaelitism
(1851), among the other painters, we find Sir Edward Burne-Jones (1833-1898) - a
pre-Raphaelite painter, Ruskin’s protégé and a close friend. I believe that the
enlivened painting or the effet tableau is The Mirror of Venus by Sir Edward BurneJones (1877), even though the reference to the painting is not written in capital
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letters as a title of a painting should be. Nonetheless, the description completely
coincides with the painting itself. Therefore, I would say that this pictorial
manifestation is a short ekphrasis of an effet tableau that serves to raise the question
of interior and exterior selfhood, of woman’s identity, and ‘the abundance of images
that define femininity’ (Nead 1992: 11) and the mirror as a constraint in the process
of unifying the woman’s reflection, her physical beauty as well as her inner-self.
Edward Burne-Jones’ The Mirror of Venus was first exhibited in 1877 at the
Grosvenor Gallery. Seven years later, the work was displayed again along with other
of E.B. Jones’ paintings at Sir Coutts Lindsey’s exhibition and drew a significant
critical attention, so it is quite possible to be the choice for the tableau vivant
performed at the school. The painting shows a woman referred to as Venus with her
nine maids. Venus is standing while the other girls are either on their knees or
bending in front of a pond edged with grass. Without any reference to any specific
work of art, the mirror of Venus necessarily suggests the theme of reflection. In
Roman mythology, Venus is the goddess of love and beauty. She is also an allegory
of self-centered beauty. However, Venus transcends the mythological framework
and represents beauty itself. Her image in the mirror points at the effect that her
beauty causes; it suggests the act of being observed and self-observance. In Edward
Burne-Jones’ paintings, Venus is a common subject matter. She is represented as a
meditative, introspective woman but she is sexual and erotic as well. Burne-Jones’s
descriptions of Venus embody a compromise between Venus, the Goddess of love
and beauty, vegetation and nature, and the pre-Raphaelite representations of erotic
but still real women. In this painting, the position of the girls puts Venus in the
focus. The reflection of her face cannot be seen in the water as opposed to the
reflections of the other girls who seem very much engaged in looking at their faces
in the pool. Venus seems uninterested, as if she were looking beyond the visible.
Thus the accent is put on Venus’ introspective nature and she is turned into a
paradigm of a meditative, self-observing, distant, and sexual woman. Her long,
bright red hair, brighter than the other girls’, and her tight-fitting bright blue dress,
different from the other dresses, speak about her passion and sexuality but also put
forward her individuality. In contrast to her body is her pensive face. The somber
landscape in the background additionally emphasizes Venus’ statuesque figure, her
strayed look, and her singularity. The absence of her reflection in the lake can
indicate that she is symbolically lost; she may not be unable to see or find her self.
She also may not be interested in looking at her physical reflection regardless of her
obvious beauty. Venus is looking away from the pond, within herself and at the girls
that surround her as if searching for answers. Kate Flint in her article on Edward
Burne- Jones’s The Mirror of Venus argues that the similarity of the other girls in
the painting indicates not only lack of individuality but also a superfluous ‘generic
femininity’: ‘The multiplication of similarly styled, similarly featured women may
further be read as signifying an excess of generic femininity and a concomitant
erasing of individuality.’(Flint 1999: 152). Miriam sees herself as Venus in the
paining: egocentric, analytical, different, and aware of the false femininity that
598
surrounds her. The feminine identity she feels she has to accept, does not suit her.
She tries to find her true face in the mirror and embrace that reflection. In the
excerpt, Miriam analyses how the other girls did their hair. She cannot handle hers.
Her ‘old wool’ (Richardson 1979: 23) seems different to her compared to the other
girls’ hair. She constantly fights it and tries to tame it. Her rebellious hair is a
metaphor for her rebellious, non-conformist nature. She is on her way to
independence, complete autonomy, and freedom. She has set on a pilgrimage in
search for authentic femininity always comparing and contrasting attitudes, manners,
style, detecting false womanliness, trying to distinguish between the ‘genuine
womanliness and the masquerade’ (Radford 1991: 75). Her pilgrimage towards selfdiscovery and true feminine identity continues in the subsequent volumes of the
novel along with the magnificent pilgrimage of painting to which it is so closely
intertwined.
References
Bal, M. (1997). Images littéraires ou comment lire Proust. Toulouse: PUM.
Barthes, R. (1982). ‘L’effet de réel’. In : Littérature et Réalité, Roland Barthes et al.
Paris: Seuil, “Points”, 71-99.
Cowper, Powys, J. (1965). ‘Dorothy M. Richardson’. In Dorothy Richardson. Toits
Pointus. Paris: Mercure de France.
Flint, K. (1999). ‘Edward Burne- Jones’s The Mirror of Venus: surface and
subjectivity in the art criticism of the 1870s’. In: Elizabeth Prettejohn (ed.).
After the Pre-Raphaelites: art and aestheticism in Victorian England.
Manchester: Manchester University Press, 156-166.
Hagstrom, J. (1958). The Sister Arts: The Tradition of Literary Pictorialism and
English Poetry from Dryden to Gray. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Hamon, P. (1994). Imageries et Images au XIX siècle. Paris: Seuil EHESS.
Hawkins-Dady M. (ed.) (1996). Reader’s Guide to Literature in English. London:
Routledge.
Louvel, L. (2002). Texte/ Image. Images à lire, textes à voir. Rennes: Presses
Universitaires de Rennes.
Nead, L. (1992). The Female Nude: Art, Obscenity and Sexuality. London and New
York: Routledge.
Pommier, E. (1998). Théories du Portrait. Paris: Gallimard.
Radford, Jean. (1991). Dorothy Richardson. Hemel Hempstead: Harvester
Wheatsheaf.
Richardson, Dorothy. (1979). Pilgrimage Vols.1 & 4. London: Virago.
Ricoeur, P. (2000). Memory and Imagination. Paris: Seuil, ‘L’ordre philosophique’.
Self, D. (1996). ‘The Spectacle of Beauty’. In: Dale Chihuly (ed). Chihuly over
Venice. Seattle: Portland Press. Available at: http://www.chihuly.com/essaysthe-spectacle-of-beauty_detail.aspx. Retrieved on: 29 August 2011.
Watts, C. (1995). Dorothy Richardson. Northcote House Publishers Ltd.
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Sonja Veselinović
Novi Sad, Serbia
sonjecka@gmail.com
TWO ANTHOLOGIES OF CONTEMPORARY ENGLISH POETRY IN THE
SERBIAN LANGUAGE
Abstract The aim of this research is to analyze the image of modern English poetry
offered through the selections and translations in two capital anthologies in Serbian:
Antologija savremene engleske poezije (Anthology of Contemporary English
Poetry), edited by Svetozar Brkić and Miodrag Pavlović (Belgrade, 1957; revised
edition in 1975) and Antologija engleske poezije 1945-1990 (Anthology of English
Poetry 1945-1990), edited by Srba Mitrović (Novi Sad, 1992). The 1960s started a
new era of English-Serbian literary connections, since a generation of newly
established poets developed an interest in the English culture. Significant reception
of modern English poetry began with the first edition of the Anthology of
Contemporary English Poetry. Nevertheless, between this book that marked the
entire enthusiastic period, and the anthology of Srba Mitrović, when it comes to
individual poetry books, the number of translations of English authors remained
relatively small. Further translations show that these anthologies decisively
designated the reception of modern English poetry in Serbian literature.
Key words: anthology, English poetry, mediation, representative survey,
programmatic anthology, translation
1. Introduction: anthology as an element of literary mediation
As a representative selection within given criteria, anthology has a very
significant role in the mediation process between two literatures. In earlier epochs it
preserved both individual achievements and the authors themselves from oblivion
and ensured their place in the history of literature, even if they were not too famous
or if they wrote only a few books. Likewise, in modern times, anthology is an
important means used to establish, evaluate or subvert the canon of a literature. It is
always important who the anthology speaks to, what kind of reading public it is
meant for. The selection of texts is, to a great extent, based on aesthetic values, but
other cultural values and value systems are inevitably included. As Barbara Korte
(2000: 4) put it, “[T]he selection in an anthology is indicative of the anthologist’s
culturally channeled system of aesthetic, ethical and ideological values, and some –
though certainly not all – types of anthologies can be explicitly counted among their
culture’s “institutions of evaluative authority”. If evaluation, discrimination and
structuring are basic dispositions of the human brain and an elementary human need,
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the selectedness of anthologies may also be claimed to serve this need – which is
aggravated by an exploded universe of texts marked by diversities, pluralisms and
anti-essentialisms of postmodernity.
As elements of literary mediation and cultural memory, anthologies distribute
and preserve poetry; they also preserve selection principles, so that they show the
change in poetic techniques, topics and poetic taste. Barbara Korte points out that
anthologies also reveal affinity for certain authors, periods or subgenres, or, which is
even more indicative, aversion, resistance towards them. So, for example, in Serbian
anthologies of English poetry, there are no prose poems. If that were a lonely case,
we could see it as the editor's evaluation of English prose poetry. However, prose
poetry is almost not present at all in our foreign poetry anthologies (American,
French, German, Russian...), even though it is well-known that that is a very
influential genre in some literary traditions. All this can suggest that Serbian literary
studies are not aware enough of prose poetry. However, they were already included
by the author of our first modern, most influential and most studied anthology,
Bogdan Popović, in his Antologija novije srpske lirike (Anthology of Newer Serbian
Lyric Poetry). This problem is a subject of study in itself, but from such an example
it is clear how the anthologist’s selection excludes an important part of production,
regardless of whether they are unaware of the place and importance of the genre, or
they ignore it consciously.
2. Different types and goals of the anthologies
In Serbian literature, as well as in other environments, anthologies have often
been the subject of harsh criticism and debates. As a rule, the closer the period they
refer to is chronologically, the more questioned the criteria are, since then anthology
shows its function of canon mediation more openly. Anthologies preserve a poem in
cultural memory, so the selection of poems is the subject matter most often criticized
by the poets themselves, who are, then, the most frequent and fierce critics of
anthologies, because they believe that the given selection does not represent their
opus in a nutshell, does not represent its phases or poetic oscillations. However,
when it comes to anthologies of contemporary poetry, as Barbara Korte points out,
they can, according to two key criteria, be representative surveys and can represent
new types of poetry. Representative surveys depict a period, cultural context, school
or movement, and are characterized by generality and representativeness (Korte
2000: 15-17). Among them, the most influential are the ones that include the longest
period, but they do not necessarily have to stabilize canon. Programmatic
anthologies, which discuss the current situation, are largely conditioned by the
relationship with the previous generation, even if they do not point to the key
characteristics of a school or a group of poets they represent. There are many of
those in English anthologies of the 20th century, and they were the most influential
and most criticized ones; it can also be said they came as replies to each other.
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Standard selections such as Oxford or Norton most often offer representative
surveys, while Penguin anthologies are slightly less academic and therefore
characterized by greater freedom. However, when it comes to anthologists such as
Philip Larkin, the presence of the academic environment’s limitations and deeprooted notions cannot be felt, so these divisions are conditional. Representative
anthologies could include the famous The Oxford Book of Modern Verse 1892-1935
by W. B. Yeats, The Oxford Book of 20th Century English Verse by Philip Larkin
(1973), The Oxford Book of Contemporary Verse 1945 –1980 by Dennis Joseph
Enright (1980), The Oxford Library of English Poetry by John Wain (1986), as well
as The Penguin Book of Contemporary Verse by Kenneth Allott (first edition 1950),
and The Penguin Book of Contemporary British Poetry (1982) by Blake Morrison
and Andrew Motion. The ones closer to the second type of anthology would be
British Poetry since 1945 (1970) by Edward Lucie-Smith, while true examples of
programmatic anthologies would, for instance, be New Lines by Robert Conquest
(1956), The New Poetry (1962) by Alfred Alvarez, or the slightly differently
conceived The Mersey Sound (1967), which gathered the poems of Liverpool poppoets Rodger McGough, Brian Patten and Adrian Henri.
3. Two anthologies of English poetry in the Serbian language
The authors who selected and edited the works of English poets for the Serbian
language anthologies were guided, above all, by the representative selections made
in the original culture; however, due to previous weak reception of English poetry,
they also felt the need to present the English poets’ ideas as best as they could, or at
least suggest the context of their work. Two key domestic anthologies of English
poetry are Antologija savremene engleske poezije (Anthology of Contemporary
English Poetry), compiled by Svetozar Brkić and Miodrag Pavlović (first edition
1957; extended edition 1975) and Antologija engleske poezije 1945-1990. Britanska
poezija engleskog jezika (Anthology of English Poetry 1945-1990. British Poetry in
the English Language) compiled by Srba Mitrović (1992). One of the main models
and guides for the Anthology of Contemporary English Poetry was evidently The
Penguin Book of Contemporary Verse by Kenneth Allott. The latter’s editors,
however, did not specify which English anthologies were relevant to them. On the
other hand, in his afterword to the Anthology of English Poetry 1945-1990, Srba
Mitrović clearly points out the anthologies he considered important, though this
should not imply that his selection necessarily corresponds to theirs. As he says:
The most important post-war anthologies are certainly New Lines (1956)
and New Lines II (1963) by Conquest, as well as The New Poetry (1962) by
Alvarez. Conquest's anthologies (for which he had also written forewords)
established the poets of The Movement and were a subject of literary
discussions for a long time. Alvarez's anthology is actually a general anthology
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of Anglophone poets, although it includes only four American authors. The
anthology includes English poets of The Movement, poets of The Group, and
several independent authors. Another important anthology is that of the poets
of The Group, published in 1963 by Edward Lucie-Smith in collaboration with
the poet Philip Hobsbaum. In 1970, the same author published a
comprehensive anthology (British Poetry since 1945), interesting especially for
its classification of poets. (Mitrović 1992: 263-264)
As these anthologies are mostly programmatic, Mitrović refers to another
critical overview of English poetry, which he obviously sees as a guideline. The
book in question is Poetry Today. A Critical Guide to British Poetry 1960-1984
(1985) by Anthony Thwaite, a concise overview which attempts to give a deeper, yet
brief insight into the opus of the poets of the period. Mitrović obviously respected
Thwaite's selection of poets and this can be seen in his selection in the Anthology of
English Poetry 1945-1990. When it comes to later anthologies, he mentions
Larkin's, but places greater importance on two other, as he says, complementary,
anthologies: The Penguin Book of Contemporary British Poetry by Morrison and
Motion and Some Contemporary Poets of Britain and Ireland: An Anthology (1983),
selected and prefaced by the professor, poet, publisher and critic Michael Schmidt.
3.1 Anthology of Contemporary English Poetry by S. Brkić and M. Pavlović
Anthology of Contemporary English Poetry was published in 1957 by the
influential publishing house Nolit. It was compiled by the university professor,
translator and essayist Svetozar Brkić and the newly established poet and critic
Miodrag Pavlović, while the editor of the entire book series was the famous literary
critic and anthologist Zoran Mišić. The previous void in the reception of English
poetry largely defines the use-value of this book. The translation of selected poems
by 34 English poets was carried out by eight translators and writers, including the
editors: Isidora Sekulić, Miodrag Pavlović, Svetozar Brkić, Jovan Hristić, Dragoslav
Andrić, Milica Mihajlović, Jugoslav Đorđević and Luka Semenović. A handful of
translations were published before, but the majority was made for this book. The
generation gap between the translators, as well as their previous work, provides an
obvious reason for the Anthology’s incoherence in terms of currency, language and
style of the translation and the understanding of the given poetic orientations. On the
other hand, the foreword by Svetozar Brkić demonstrates his remarkable insight into
modern English poetry and stands as a very useful guide through a previously underexplored material. The anthology starts with Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844-1889), a
poet who did not live in the 20th century, but whose poems were published – to a
remarkably warm reception – only in 1918. The Anthology of Contemporary English
Poetry’s ‘Editor’s note’ states that the anthology’s editors considered it important to
give as much space as possible to “the poets who, like Hopkins, Yeats, Eliot, Auden,
Dylan Thomas and E. Sitwell, marked the crucial changes in contents, form and
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technique” (Brkić-Pavlović 1957: 89) of the 20th-century English poetry. These
names also form the framework of Brkić's extensive foreword to the Anthology,
which contains the sections “New currents in English poetry reflected in the
language and structure of the poems”, “W. B. Yeats and his developmental phases”,
“Ezra Pound: an eclectic and founder of poetry movements”, “T. S. Eliot:
development of a poetic sensibility”, “Poets of WW1”, “Appearance and
significance of G. M. Hopkins”, “Poets of 1930s”, “Dylan Thomas – a reaction to
the intellectual poetry by the “Auden Group”, “Edith Sitwell” and “Conclusion.”
The foreword to the second edition of the anthology was supplemented by a section
on contemporary poetry, i.e. the poetry that came after 1950.
As Serbian literature had no poetry as linguistically and discursively varied and
layered as the one in this anthology prior to its publication (it would enter Serbian
literature only in that very decade, the 1950s), it is no surprise that the anthology’s
main problems concerning the translation and selection are those of linguistic nature.
The poems selected often do not include those that most often represent any given
poet in English or other European selections, which might be said to be due to the
editor's concept, but is obviously caused by linguistic and poetic obstacles. Another
problem is versification, for Serbian poetry simply does not have such a long and
rich metric tradition to easily find solutions within the target versification, so that
they are metametrically marked and that innovations can be seen. That is why some
poets’ representations are limited by the translator's abilities, which can best be seen
in the selection of Ezra Pound’s works. It is simply not representative enough, even
though Brkić, in his foreword, shows wide insight into Pound’s most important
works, which are not present in the selection. Eliot's The Waste Land is also absent
from this selection; the editors would compensate for that in the second edition. Due
to the scope of the previous overlook, Svetozar Brkić is aware of the fact that the
introduction into the domestic literary scene of the poetically most diverse period of
both English and world literature has to be gradual. It was only in the first half of the
20th century that the English Romantics were translated into Serbian, so it is safe to
say that English poetry did not significantly impact Serbian avant-garde poetry.
There was a visible gap between the two poetic nations, so the editors and translators
had to create opportunities for a better understanding of modern English authors and
their closer connection with the domestic audience. As Brkić puts it:
In the last fifty years poetry in England has included more poetic
generations and shown more trends and sudden changes than it had in any
previous period of the same length. Generations have shifted faster than ever
before due to the great changes that affected the entire society; the poets have
seen the world in different ways and expressed different experiences and
world-views. (Brkić-Pavlović 1957: 7)
The two editions of the Anthology of Contemporary English Poetry clearly
outline the paths of reception and influence of Pound and Eliot in Serbian poetry. In
the second edition, Anthology of Contemporary English Poetry 1900-1973 (1975),
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there are more translators, who had, in the meantime, turned towards AngloAmerican literatures (David Albahari, Milovan Danojlić, Ivan V. Lalić, Raša
Livada, Mirko Magarašević, Aleksandar Nejgebauer). They would all translate a lot
of Anglophone works in the periods to come and increase the popularity of English
and American poetry and prose with the domestic audiences. Apart from smaller
changes in the existing anthology corpus, the second edition included the poets of
The Movement (Kingsley Amis, Philip Larkin, Donald Davie, D. J. Enright, John
Wain, Elizabeth Jennings, Thom Gunn) and The Group (Philip Hobsbaum, Peter
Porter, George Macbeth), as well as Ted Hughes and Geoffrey Hill. When it comes
to the poets of The Movement, Elisabeth Jennings and Thom Gunn were allotted the
largest number of poems, Larkin was represented very modestly, and the majority of
the poems were translated by Milovan Danojlić, mostly in a very similar tone. Ted
Hughes and Geoffrey Hill were accorded a larger number of poems and represented
as leading figures of contemporary English poetry. Poems by Geoffrey Hill, the
penultimate poet in Brkić and Pavlović, conclude Kenneth Allott's anthology, so it is
obvious that the latter anthology was still a useful guide for our editors; though there
are evident differences in the approach, analysis and informedness between the
English and Serbian anthologists, given their different starting positions and points
of view. In the appendix to the previous edition’s preface, entitled “English poetry
from 1950 to 1973 , Brkić explains why 1973 could be a milestone and quotes a
number of contemporary studies which summarize modern English poetry and
discuss the relationship between contemporary poets and critics and the great literary
figures such as Yeats, Eliot, Auden or Thomas.
3.2 Anthology of English Poetry 1945-1990 by Srba Mitrović
In 1992 Srba Mitrović (1931-2007) published his Anthology of English Poetry
1945-1990 (British Poetry in the English language) for the Novi Sad-based
publishing house Svetovi. The book gathered 17 translators (David Albahari,
Svetozar Brkić, Zoran Bundalo, Milovan Danojlić, Milan Đorđević, Ljiljana Đurđić,
Jovan Hristić, Vojislav Karanović, Miloš Komadina, Ivan V. Lalić, Raša Livada,
Milan Milišić, Srba Mitrović, Tomislav Mišić, Miodrag Pavlović, Dušan Puvačić,
Isidora Sekulić), and included 57 poets, from Arthur Waley to Michael Hofman.
This anthology reflects the diversity of creative trends in post-war England, and
particularly shows how new generations created poetry concurrently with the prewar poets who underwent poetic transformations. Srba Mitrović points this out in his
concise, but informative and useful afterword, “Poetry in Great Britain 1945-1990”,
supported by an overview of important references and anthologies. A certain
conservatism, especially regarding linguistic and formal choices, makes the gap
between the old and the new a minor one, as there is no radical rejection of the
previous tradition or creative approach, not even on the declarative level of a
manifest. Srba Mitrović used the existing translations whenever possible, but still
translated a significant percentage of the poems (slightly less than eighty percent)
605
himself. This clearly makes for a balanced translation, as far as the linguistic and
creative abilities of the translator are concerned, but is, doubtlessly, a tremendous
challenge for the translator, as his creation might become too balanced, i.e. the
poetic styles and expressions in question might become too similar. When it comes
to the years framing the selection, the editor writes:
This selection is marked 1945-1990. The first year gravitates towards the
distinguished older poets who had to be given an honorable place, as they often
finally shaped their opus only in the post-war years. The other year gathers the
younger authors, and I might not have gone too deep there, being wary of too
private a selection. This is still a translated anthology, only a sideways look, so
I might have deprived the readers of a few important future names by trying not
to be arbitrary. Maybe the non-existing critique of translated literature will say
something about the translations themselves? The contents show that there
were few available translations of modern poetry, which is why I had to do the
biggest part of the job myself. The anthology comes after the Anthology of
Contemporary English Poetry by Svetozar Brkić and Miodrag Pavlović, which
includes the poetry between 1900 and 1973. That edition by Nolit is still a
precise and reliable guide into the twentieth-century English poetry. I was less
strict in my selection, for in poetry, at least, errors like these, while not
deserving an excuse, might at least provide enjoyment. (Mitrović 1992: 277)
The Anthology opens with the poet, translator and orientalist Arthur Waley
(1889-1966); he is, however, represented with only one poem, so that the beginning
is truly marked by Robert Graves (1895-1985), another intellectual and translator.
Mitrović aims mostly to represent any given poet with a larger number of poems, so
as to provide better insight into their poetics or style, seeing how his anthology
covers contemporary poetry and there still isn’t enough distance for proper poetic
evaluation. In that sense, being included in the anthology is an act of recognition in
its own right; the poets included, therefore, are doubtlessly significant, while those
allotted more space are really prominent. Unlike many other anthologies, this one
includes quite a few women poets, which also announces the excellent contemporary
female scene in England (Stevie Smith, Patricia Beer, Elizabeth Jennings, Sylvia
Plath, Jenny Joseph, Anne Stevenson, Penelope Shuttle).
The poets accorded the greatest number of poems reflect the poetic curve of
contemporary English poetry: R. Graves, W. H. Auden, R. S. Thomas, D. Thomas,
P. Larkin, E. Jennings, P. Porter, T. Hughes, A. Mitchell, G. Hill, S. Heaney, D.
Dunn, and P. Muldoon. The poets present in Brkić-Pavlović are here often
represented in a completely different light, in accordance with their later, dominant
poetic transformations. Mitrović insists on multiplicity of poetic voices throughout
his anthology and right to its very end, despite entire generations of poets who
couldn’t escape the influence of great poetic figures and ended up simplifying many
of the poetic guidelines bequeathed to them by those figures. The anthologist did not
overlook the fact that he was compiling a selection of poetry of an island country
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whose poetic movements are very often distant and diachronic in relation to poetry
of continental Europe, and whose gaze is often directed towards tradition and
continuity. As he concludes:
It must be pointed out that a poetry stemming from a long, immense
tradition, such as British, cannot break away from that tradition (which was
Modernism’s idée fixe). It often happens that young poets distance themselves
from their immediate predecessors’ poetry and look for models in recent or
remote past. [...] Postmodern poetry, as critics sometimes call this new poetry,
whose features are recognized in the previous generation (Larkin and others)
and even in Dylan Thomas, is characterized by the stylistic qualities described
differently by different authors. Most often, there is said to be a certain
inclination towards narration, a collage-like narrative technique, disparity of
adjacent passages, interruptions that ignore a poem’s integrity; because the
postmodern poet often enters more grandiose projects, sometimes creating a
story parallel to an already familiar one. In that sense, Hill’s Mercian Hymns
are paradigmatic in relation to, for example, Auden’s Horae canonicae. [...]
Post-war British poetry has two openings, one into the past that gives it its real
meaning and one into the future that can give it its real value. (Mitrović 1992:
273-274)
While compiling his anthology, Mitrović obviously consulted a number of
critical works and essays which discuss the history of English poetry, as well as
previous reception of English poetry and critical attitudes of its prominent authors,
such as T. S. Eliot. The above quote from his afterword is based on Hristić’s
excellent interpretations of Eliot's critical principles and understanding of tradition
and classics, explained in his foreword to Eliot’s selected essays (Izabrani tekstovi).
Mitrović always makes the work of his predecessors, Brkić and Pavlović, his
starting point, and he takes into consideration the domestic audience’s education and
the reception of English poetry to date. His selection points to the existential, moral,
ideological and linguistic themes common to all modern poets, but it also indicates
the changes in an author’s creative context – their status in a society, ways of
communicating with their readers/audience, evaluating and marketing systems.
4. Conclusion
The two anthologies discussed essentially determine the reception of the
twentieth-century English poetry in Serbian literature. They gathered the translators
who went on to have a key role in the representation of certain poets and the
domestic readers’ familiarization with them. They also gathered the poets whose
works correspond to the creative experience, thoughts and actions of the great
English poets. It is important to point out that the poets such are Pavlović, Hristić,
Lalić and Livada are among the most important contemporary Serbian poets and that
607
what distinguishes them the most is precisely their poetic awareness, erudition and
reevaluation of tradition (both as an idea and as experience), which is an important
legacy of modern English literature. In their forewords and afterwords, the editors of
these two anthologies offer a context within which given works of poetry can be
interpreted, and they try to find a balance in their approach – somewhere between
the concept of anthology in the source language and original environment and the
concept of anthology in the target culture. Considering the responsibility that is at
stake, the responsibility of selecting and presenting a less known corpus of literature,
it can be said that, when it comes to selection criteria, these two anthologies are
significantly more open than many anthologies of domestic poetry. For that very
reason they survive as important signposts in the communication between Serbian
and English literatures.
References
Allott, K. (ed.) (1950). The Penguin Book of Contemporary Verse. London: Penguin
Books.
Alvarez, A. (ed.) (1962). The New Poetry. Harmondsworth: Penguin Books.
Brkić, S. and Pavlović, M. (eds.) (1957). Antologija savremene engleske poezije
(1900-1950). Belgrade: Nolit.
Brkić, S. and Pavlović, M. (eds.) (1975). Antologija savremene engleske poezije
(1900-1973). Belgrade: Nolit.
Conquest, R. (ed.) (1956). New Lines. London: Macmillan.
Eliot, T. S. (1963). T. S. Eliot: Izabrani tekstovi, translation: Milica Mihajlović,
Belgrade: Prosveta.
Enright, D. J. (ed.) (1980). The Oxford Book of Contemporary Verse 1945 –1980.
Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Henry, A, McGough, R. And Patten, B. (1967). The Mersey Sound. Harmondsworth:
Penguin Books.
Hristić, J. (1963). “T. S. Eliot: Tradicija i individualni talenat. In: T. S. Eliot:
Izabrani tekstovi. Belgrade: Prosveta, 7-30.
Korte, B. (2000). “Flowers for Picking. Anthologies of Poetry in (British) Literary
and Cultural Studies”. In: B. Korte, R. Schneider and S. Lethbridge (eds.).
Anthologies of British Poetry. Critical Perspectives from Literary and Cultural
Studies. Amsterdam-Atlanta: Editions Rodopi b. V, 1-32.
Larkin, P. (ed.) (1973). The Oxford Book of 20th Century English Verse. Oxford:
Oxford University Press.
Lucie-Smith, E. (ed.) (1970). British Poetry since 1945. Penguin Books.
Mitrović, S. (ed.) (1992). Antologija engleske poezije 1945-1990. Britanska poezija
engleskog jezika. Novi Sad: Svetovi.
Morrison, B. and Motion, A. (eds.) (1982). The Penguin Book of Contemporary
British Poetry. Harmondsworth: Penguin Books.
608
Schmidt, M. (ed.) (1983). Some Contemporary Poets of Britain and Ireland: An
Anthology. Manchester: Carcanet Press.
Thwaite, A. (1985). Poetry Today. A Critical Guide to British Poetry 1960-1984.
London, New York: Longman.
Wain, J. (ed.) (1986). The Oxford Library of English Poetry. Oxford: Oxford
University Press.
Yeats, W. B. (ed.) (1935). The Oxford Book of Modern Verse 1892-1935. Oxford:
Oxford University Press.
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CONTENTS
FOREWORD .............................................................................................................. 5
PART ONE: LANGUAGE
Ranko Bugarski
FROM VERBAL PLAY TO LINGUISTICS: A PERSONAL MEMOIR ................. 9
Nataša Bikicki / Jelena Jerković
THE PERCEPTION OF TELICITY IN TRANSPARENT PHRASAL VERBS ..... 18
Snežana Bilbija
THE PRAGMATIC ROLE OF VAGUE MEANINGS IN THE EU
DISCOURSE ............................................................................................................ 31
Maja Bjelica
PHONOLOGICAL AND MORPHOLOGICAL ADAPTATION OF ENGLISH
WORDS IN THE TV SHOW ŽIVOT U TRENDU ................................................. 39
Tomislav Bukatarević
PASSIVE AND AKTIONSART IN ENGLISH ....................................................... 53
Jovana Dimitrijević Savić / Danica Jerotijević
FACTORS INFLUENCING SERBIAN LEARNERS’ PRODUCTION
ACCURACY OF ENGLISH INTERDENTAL FRICATIVES ............................... 63
Jasmina Đorđević
WEB 2.0 TOOLS IN THE ELT CLASSROOM – HOT POTATOES AND
DVOLVER ............................................................................................................... 71
Biljana Đorić Francuski
WHAT’S IN A NAME? Adopting Ancient Indian Practices in 21st
Century Cross-Cultural Translation Studies ............................................................. 84
610
Tatjana Đurović
ENGLISHISATION OF THE EUROPEAN UNION VIEWED THROUGH
METAPHORICAL LENSES.................................................................................... 97
Borislava Eraković
THE ROLE OF EXTRATEXTUAL FACTORS IN THE ACQUISITION OF
TRANSLATION COMPETENCE ......................................................................... 112
Sonja Filipović-Kovačević
NAMES OF ADVERTIZED PRODUCTS AS MINI ADVERTISEMENTS:
A COGNITIVE LINGUISTIC VIEW .................................................................... 124
Tatjana Glušac
TEAMING UP TO OVERCOME 21ST CENTURY CLASSROOM
CHALLENGES ...................................................................................................... 139
Ana Halas
THE TREATMENT OF POLYSEMOUS LEXEMES IN
ENGLISH-SERBIAN DICTIONARIES ................................................................ 151
Sabina Halupka-Rešetar
CLEFTS, PSEUDO-CLEFTS AND REVERSE PSEUDO-CLEFTS
AS MAJOR CONSTRUCTIONS FOR EXPRESSING
INFORMATION STRUCTURE IN ENGLISH ..................................................... 165
Ana Ivandekić
SIMILES IN ENGLISH: SEMANTIC AND PRAGMATIC ASPECTS ............... 179
Tamara Jevrić
THE STUDY OF THE PROBLEM OF ABSOLUTE SYNONYMS
IN RELATION TO THEIR COLLOCATIONAL BEHAVIOUR ......................... 193
Aleksandar Kavgić / Olga Panić Kavgić
COMPUTER-RELATED TERMINOLOGY IN SERBIAN: A
DIACHRONIC ANALYSIS OF BORROWING TRENDS,
TRANSLATION AND ADAPTATION STRATEGIES ....................................... 200
Sanja Krimer−Gaborović
SEMANTICS AND PRAGMATICS OF ENGLISH AND SERBIAN
COLOUR NAMING LEXEMES ........................................................................... 215
611
Mihaela Lazović
THE STRUCTURE AND SEMANTICS OF ACCOMPLISHMENTS
IN ENGLISH AND ROMANIAN.......................................................................... 221
Maja Marković
ACQUIRING SECOND LANGUAGE PROSODY: FUNDAMENTAL
FREQUENCY......................................................................................................... 238
Davor Menzildžić
AN ERROR ANALYSIS OF SERBIAN ENGLISH MAJORS’ WRITTEN
PRODUCTIONS..................................................................................................... 250
Mira Milić
HINDSIGHT ANALYSIS OF A BILINGUAL DICTIONARY OF
STANDARDISED SPORTS TERMS .................................................................... 260
Predrag Novakov
LINGUISTIC AND EXTRALINGUISTIC COMPONENT
IN TRANSLATION: ENGLISH–SERBIAN EXAMPLES ................................... 270
Melisa Okičić
FUNCTION OF NON-HEADS IN ENGLISH ADJECTIVAL
COMPOUNDS WITH DEVERBATIVE HEAD WORDS .................................... 278
Merima Osmankadić
NEGATION AS A MEANS OF CONTRASTING OR CHALLENGING
ELEMENTS OF INTERTEXTUAL CONTEXT ................................................... 287
Biljana Radić-Bojanić
ANIMAL METAPHORS IN EFL VOCABULARY ACQUISITION ................... 305
Nadežda Silaški
CLIMBING THE CORPORATE LADDER OR BEING STUCK ON THE
MOMMY TRACK – CAREER METAPHORS IN ENGLISH ............................. 313
Dušan Stamenković
VERBS AND PROTOTYPE THEORY: STATE OF THE ART AND
POSSIBILITIES ..................................................................................................... 326
Violeta Stojičić
CONTRASTIVE VIEW OF SERBIAN AND ENGLISH COLLOCATIONS ...... 337
612
Jagoda Topalov
EFFECTS OF STRATEGIC READING INSTRUCTION ON EFL
STUDENTS’ READING PERFORMANCE ......................................................... 345
Dragana Vuković Vojnović / Marija Nićin
'WOULD YOU CARE FOR A DRINK?' – POLITE QUESTIONS AND
REQUESTS IN THE CROSS-CULTURAL CONTEXT OF TOURISM
INDUSTRY ............................................................................................................ 355
Isidora Wattles
EFFECTIVE COURSE RELATED ASSESSMENT TECHNIQUES ................... 363
PART TWO: LITERATURE
Svetozar Koljević
“THE INTERNATIONAL THEME” IN CONTEMPORARY SERBIAN
LITERATURE ........................................................................................................ 377
Vesna Branković
CONSERVATISM AND OPPORTUNISM IN THE AMERICAN COUNTRY
MUSIC TEXTS ...................................................................................................... 391
Zorica Đergović-Joksimović
THE ONTOLOGY OF SPACE: UTOPIA, DYSTOPIA AND HETEROTOPIA
IN MARGE PIERCY’S WOMAN ON THE EDGE OF TIME ............................. 404
Vladislava Gordić Petković
REFERENCES AND RESONANCES: TENNESSEE WILLIAMS
AND WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE ........................................................................ 413
Sonja Jankov
A PORTRAIT OF THE ARCHITECT AT FIFTY FOUR: PETER
GREENAWAY’S CENOTAPH FOR JOYCEAN MODERNITY ........................ 423
Jelena Jovićević
USE OF VIOLENCE ON STAGE IN THE PORTRAYAL OF MODERN
CULTURE IN SARAH KANE’S BLASTED ........................................................ 437
Nataša Karanfilović
GHOSTS AND GHASTLY CREATURES OF THE
‘DOWN-UNDERWORLD’ – THE AUSTRALIAN GHOST STORY ................. 447
613
Milena Kostić /Vesna Lopičić
RACE AND GENDER IN EMILY PAULINE JOHNSON’S
A RED GIRL’S REASONING ............................................................................... 459
Viktorija Krombholc
(IN)VISIBILITY AND POWER IN SARAH WATERS'S AFFINITY ................. 469
Arijana Luburić-Cvijanović
INNOCENCE AND EXPERIENCE: ECHOES OF WILLIAM BLAKE AND
ÁGOTA KRISTÓF IN CHRIS ABANI’S SONG FOR NIGHT ............................ 480
Sergej Macura
SOME CONCEPTIONS OF INCEPTION: WHAT CHRISTOPHER NOLAN
OWES TO JORGE LUIS BORGES ....................................................................... 490
Aleksandra Marić
“MY PHONY ROLE AS HUSBAND AND FATHER“: PERFORMING
MASCULINITIES IN DON DELILLO'S UNDERWORLD ................................. 501
Ivana Marić
IDENTITY IN ARUNDHATI ROY’S THE GOD OF SMALL THINGS AND
KIRAN DESAI’S THE INHERITANCE OF LOSS: AMBIVALENCE AND
MIMICRY .............................................................................................................. 508
Claire McGrail Johnston
READING THE IRISH NOVEL: A GOTHIC ‘ENCOUNTER OF TREMULOUS
SIGNIFICANCE’ ................................................................................................... 518
Aleksandar B. Nedeljković
MORAL EQUATIONS OF THE KILLING OF HARRY LIME IN THE
THIRD MAN .......................................................................................................... 531
Jasna Poljak Rehlicki/Ljubica Matek
DESIRE IN HEMINGWAY'S THE SUN ALSO RISES AND FITZGERALD'S
THE GREAT GATSBY ......................................................................................... 545
Danijela Prošić-Santovac
CRITICAL APPROACHES TO FAIRY TALES FROM THE EIGHTEENTH
CENTURY TO THE PRESENT ............................................................................ 555
Selma Raljević
THE AESTHETICS OF SURVIVANCE IN GERALD
VIZENOR'S HIROSHIMA BUGI: ATOMU 57 .................................................... 568
614
Sanja Šoštarić
POSTMODERNIST 'FORMLESSNESS' AS UNCOMMITTED
COMMITMENT IN DONALD BARTHELME'S AND ISHMAEL
REED'S FICTION .................................................................................................. 575
Ivana Trajanoska
WORD AND IMAGE IN DOROTHY RICHARDSON’S PILGRIMAGE:
PICTORIALISM AND GENDER IDENTITY IN POINTED ROOFS ................. 587
Sonja Veselinović
TWO ANTHOLOGIES OF CONTEMPORARY ENGLISH POETRY
IN THE SERBIAN LANGUAGE .......................................................................... 600
615
Filozofski fakultet u Novom Sadu
Odsek za anglistiku
dr Zorana Đinđića 2
21000 Novi Sad
tel: +381 21 485 3900
+381 21 485 3852
www.ff.uns.ac.rs
Lektura i korektura:
Odsek za anglistiku Filozofskog fakulteta u Novom Sadu
Dizajn logoa:
ELALT Team
Prelom publikacije:
Štamparija „SAJNOS“
Novi Sad
Tel: +381 21 499 088
CIP – Katalogizacija u publikaciji
Biblioteka Matice srpske, Novi Sad
CIP – Каталогизација у публикацији
Библиотека Матице српске, Нови Сад
811.111(082)
821.111.09(082)
INTERNATIONAL Conference on English Studies „English
Language and Anglophone Literatures Today” (1 ; 2011 ; Novi
Sad)
Proceedings / The First International Conference on English
Studies „English language and Anglophone Literatures Today
(ELALT)”, (Novi Sad, 19 March 2011) ; [urednici Ivana
Đurić Paunović, Maja Marković]. – Novi Sad : Filozofski
fakultet, Odsek za anglistiku, 2011 (Novi Sad : Sajnos)
Način dostupa (URL) : http://www.ff.uns.ac.rs. – Nasl.
preuzet sa ekrana. – Opis građe na dan 20. 02. 2012. . –
Bibliografija uz svaki rad.
ISBN 978-86-6065-102-2
a) Engleski jezik – Зборници b) Енглеска књижевност –
Зборници
COBISS.SR-ID 269459975
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