Ambiguity Ambiguity Conference Proceedings Edited by Jela Kehoe
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elektronická online verzia (.pdf formát); 1. Vydanie ISBN 978 – 80 – 8084 – 620 – 6 EAN 9788080846206
© VERBUM – vydavateľstvo vydavateľstvo KU
Zostavovateľ/Editor Mgr. Jela Kehoe
Recenzent/Reviewer Prof. Kathleen Dubs
Grafický návrh prvej strany/Title Page Layout Ing. Juraj Považan, PhD.
VERBUM – vydavateľstvo Katolíckej univerzity v Ružomberku Námestie Andreja Hlinku 60, 034 01 Ružomberok http://ku.sk,,
[email protected] http://ku.sk
[email protected],, tel. +421444304693 kl. 308
elektronická online verzia (.pdf formát); 1. Vydanie ISBN 978 – 80 – 8084 – 620 – 6 EAN 9788080846206
Ambiguity Conference Proceedings Edited by Jela Kehoe
Ružomberok 2010
Table of Contents Introduction .......................................................................................................................................... 6 Linguistics On Lexical Ambiguity ......................................................... ........................................................... ........ 8 Ágoston Tóth The Relationship between Semantic Ambiguity and Syntactic Differences ........................................ 18 Katalin Szerenci Lexical Ambiguity as a Linguistic and Lexicographical Phenomenon in English, with Comparisons to Slovak ................................................................................................................................................... 27 Ada Böhmerová Language Ambiguity and Humour .......................................................... ............................................. 34 Magdaléna Bilá Readings of MAY / MIGHT in Academic and Administrative Style ......................................................... 46 Petra Huschová Ambiguity in Business Language – Communication Barrier or Effective Tool? ................................. 56 Dagmar Sageder
English Language Teaching E-learning Ambiguities ........................................................................................................................ 60 Eva Kaš čá ková Ambiguity as an Option to Pursue ........................................................... ............................................. 70 Jaroslav Marcin
Culture and Literature Intangible Referencing as a Means of Creating Ambiguity in the Poetry of Emily Dickinson ............ 77 Zsuzsanna Ujszászi Ambiguity of the Political Fiction for Children – Analysing Beverly Naidoo’s Out of Bounds .......... 88 Mária Kiššová Provoking Discussion: Ambiguity as a Vitalizing Literary Tool ......................................................... 94 Simona Hevešiová The Ambiguity of Hannibal Lecter’s Evil ............................................................................................ 98 Korinna Csetényi Ethno-Cultural Ambiguity in Recent American Gone Indian Stories - the Camouflage Forest Superman White Savage and Two-Falling-Voices, the White Seneca. ............................................................... 105 Judit Ágnes Kádár From Bildungsroman to Assimilation Narrative–Three Chicano Novels ........................................... 112 Tamás Vraukó
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Resisting the Blimps: Ambiguity, Memory and Heritage in Three Films by Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger ......................................................................................................................................... 121 Zsolt Győ ri Ambiguous Afterwards – Haunted Places in the Poetry of Derek Mahon ......................................... 128 Péter Dolmányos Veils or Mirrors? The Use of Blogs as Means of Shaping Romanian Sociologists’ Personal and Professional Identities ........................................................................................................................ 133 Valentina Marinescu
Contributors...................................................................................................................................... 145
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Introduction Jela Kehoe It is typical for human nature to find a meaning in every exchange of ideas and people tend to think that language suggests a clear way to communicate ideas in an efficient manner. In most cases this would be true but sometimes ambiguity occurs when an utterance can be understood in two or more different ways. Most ambiguities are easily solved. Our own skills help us understand what is presented before us. We utilize our ability to understand them using the larger physical context, our personal experience and knowledge of the world when unscrambling their meaning. Rather than treat ambiguity as a complication we should recognize it as an ingredient which adds value to an everyday discourse, literary expression and experience as well as the language learning process. Sometimes language is used in an ambiguous manner unintentionally, sometimes deliberately. The fact is that language is capable of employing ambiguity with skill not only in the professional discourse of writers, witty entertainers, politicians or lawyers, but also the everyday discourse of the general public. These proceedings present papers from sixteen scholars, who took part at the international interdisciplinary conference titled AMBIGUITY, between the 24 th and 26th of June 2009 at the Catholic University in Ružomberok, at the Department of English Language and Literature of the Faculty of Arts and Letters. The papers offer a peek at results of exploration into the concept of ambiguity and its shapes, forms and nuances.
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Linguistics 7
On Lexical Ambiguity Ágoston Tóth 1
Polysemy, Homonymy, Delineating Senses
The polysemy-homonymy distinction is clear and unproblematic for the first sight. Homonyms are unrelated words that share the same spoken and written form, while a word that has two or more different, but related meanings is polysemous. The word bulb is an example of polysemy, because it can refer to “the root of a plant”, as well as “an electric lamp”. The similarity of their shape leads to relatedness in meaning; therefore, these two senses are said to be connected to the same, polysemous lexeme. Well-known examples for homonymy are bank 1 “financial institution” and bank 2 “edge of a river or lake”. Some linguists, including Verspoor (1997) disagree with this straightforward categorization, pointing out that the “financial institution” sense is related to the “riverbank” sense since it was the riverbank where bankers were available: “going to the financial institution meant going to the edge of the river, hence to the bank ” (Verspoor 1997, 215). Lyons (1995) points out, however, that these two senses of bank are etymologically unrelated in the English language: bank 1 is a 15th century Italian borrowing, while bank 2 originates from a Scandinavian word (Lyons 1995, 28). To further complicate matters, this Scandinavian form is related to the German source of the Italian “banca”, which is the source of English bank 1 (ibid.). The bank example shows that separating polysemy from homonymy may involve diachronic considerations. I would like to suggest, however, that such a strategy should be aligned with the observation that speakers of a language are more or less unaware of the etymology of words, which also means that diachronically motivated polysemy-homonymy decisions lose their psycholinguistic relevance. On the other hand, when the history of the language is rejected as a clue, distinguishing polysemy from homonymy may turn out to be more than challenging. Lyons (1977) argues that we can exclude either polysemy or homonymy from our descriptions. If homonymy were excluded, the lexicon would have to be fairly underspecified for meaning to accommodate “remote” uses of any given form. If polysemy were excluded, different meanings would be assigned to different lexical entries. Can you, however, give a full description of all the possible uses of a form? Can you enumerate all senses of a lexical entry? While the above questions are open-ended, enumeration of senses in printed dictionaries is an accepted tradition. Lexicographers are well aware of the problems of enumerating, delineating and defining senses; they have to decide whether a tiny difference in usage pattern constitutes a different sense or not. Note, however, that dictionaries are for human use, and lexicographers rely on the linguistic knowledge and intuitions of dictionary users. Enumeration of senses in Natural Language Processing (NLP) applications is an accepted practice, too. NLP usually resort to what Lyons calls the “maximize homonymy” approach – by neglecting polysemy. For instance, WordNet (Miller et al. 1990), a full-scale lexical database, excludes polysemy from the description although it implements a host of other lexical and semantic relations. The presence of multiple word senses is quite typical rather than exceptional. In the Semcor corpus, for instance, Mihalcea and Moldovan (2001) found 6.6 possible interpretations per word on average (using WordNet sense categorization). Even tiny sense variations are kept distinct in WordNet, and the database is probably as fine-grained as possible. Mihalcea and Moldovan (2001) point out that it is not uncommon that WN “word senses are so close together that a distinction is hard to be made even for humans” (Mihalcea and Moldovan 2001, 454).
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Lexical Semantics
Cruse (2000) argues that ambiguous words have multiple senses that exhibit the phenomenon that he calls antagonism : you cannot focus your attention on two or more readings at the same time (Cruse 2000, 108). For instance, when you utter or hear the sentence in (1), it is either the “financial institution” or the “riverbank” sense that becomes active for the word bank . (1) We finally reached the bank.
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He adds that “the speaker will have one reading in mind, and the hearer will be expected to recover that reading on the basis of contextual clues: the choice cannot normally be left open” (ibid.). Cruse (2000) suggests the following procedures for the examination of the discreteness of readings. The identity test (which is based on the identity constraint ) is applicable to sentences that evoke the meaning of a word more than once through anaphoric back-references (Cruse 2000, 106). The identity constraint makes it difficult for such a back-reference to assume a reading that is different from the preceding reading(s) of the given word. Cruse offers the following example (ibid.): (2) Mary is wearing a light coat; so is Jane . He points out that this sentence cannot normally be used to express a situation in which Mary’s coat is lightweight and Jane’s is light collared, or vice versa. Independent truth conditions for sentences with multiple readings indicate discreteness, too. “A good test of this is whether a context can be imagined in which a Yes/No question containing the relevant word can be answered truthfully with both Yes and No” (Cruse 2000, 107). Consider the example in (3): (3) Are you wearing a light coat? A person wearing a light-coloured, heavyweight coat can truthfully answer yes and/or no (Cruse 2000, 107), which is made possible by the independent truth conditions associated with the discrete readings of the word light. The presence of multiple readings is also indicated by the existence of independent sense relations for the word. Consider, for instance, the antonyms for the two readings of the adjective light mentioned above. One of the readings has the opposite dark , while the other reading can be contrasted with heavy (Cruse 2000, 107). Finally, the discreteness of various readings is also shown by the phenomenon that Cruse calls autonomy : when a reading becomes anomalous in a certain context, autonomous readings will still remain available. His example is the following: (4) I prefer dogs to bitches. In this sentence, the “canine species” reading of dog is unavailable, but a more specific meaning, “male of canine species” is acceptable (Cruse 2000, 107). Discrete readings detected by the above tests do not necessarily cause ambiguity, but antagonistic readings are ambiguous by nature and they show the highest degree of discreteness (Cruse 2000, 108). In Cruse (2000), antagonistic readings constitute distinct senses. Cruse (2000) points out that the relatedness of senses or readings is continuous in nature, and this continuum includes “clear cases” of homonymy – he refers to the bank example (Cruse 2000, 109) –, as well as various forms of polysemy.
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WSD
The aim of Word Sense Disambiguation (WSD) is to assign the right sense to each word in a sentence. WSD is considered to be a legitimate and important NLP subtask. Let us, first of all, return to the point that the enumeration of possible senses is an everyday practice in Natural Language Processing. This is based on a presupposition which can be summed up in the following way: Words are assumed to have a finite and discrete set of senses from a dictionary, a lexical knowledge base, or an ontology (in the latter, senses correspond to concepts that a word lexicalizes). Application-specific inventories can also be used. For instance, in a machine translation (MT) setting, one can treat word translations as word senses… (Agirre and Edmonds 2007, 1)
In the context of NLP, Word Sense Disambiguation is expected to support Machine Translation, Information Retrieval, text mining, etc.
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3.1
WSD types
WSD typology is based on the information sources the WSD system uses for training and/or bootstrapping. •
•
•
•
Unannotated corpora are no less and no more than authentic samples of a human language. Some WSD techniques can work directly with them, see Yarowsky (1995) and Schütze (1998) among others. These systems are the so-called “unsupervised” or “unattended” systems. Annotated corpora contain additional linguistic information. The systems that use them are called “supervised” WSD systems (this term is from machine learning; the WSD process itself requires no further supervision). Examples include Hearst (1991), Leacock et al. (1993) and Miller et al. (1994). Bilingual parallel corpora can also be exploited for WSD purposes on the basis of the observation that a foreign language equivalent of a word may be enough to (or at least help to) identify a sense. This approach has its limitations, too, since some items preserve some of their ambiguity in the target language, too. See Brown et al. (1991), Gale et al. (1992), etc. Dictionaries, thesauri and encyclopaedias seem to be full of relevant information for WSD. Those systems that try to exploit them are referred to as “knowledge-bases” system. Examples are many: Lesk (1986), Hirst (1987), Karov and Edelman (1998), just to name a few. Section 5.1 and 5.2 also introduce two knowledge-based (albeit non-mainstream) systems. However, the information sources used for these systems, even when they are in machine-readable form, are mostly compiled for human use, and their applicability to NLP is highly debated (see Ide and Véronis 1993 on this topic). Of course, hand-made rules and heuristics can also be used to improve WSD performance.
3.2
Evaluation
The state of the art in WSD is best illustrated by the Senseval competition, in which scholars test and compare their word sense disambiguation systems on data distributed for this particular purpose. The first Senseval competition took place in 1998. Follow-up events were organized in 2001 (Senseval-2) and 2004 (Senseval-3). In Senseval-3, 26 groups and organizations took part in the socalled “all-words” WSD subtask. They all analyzed the same test corpus taken from the Penn Treebank II. The corpus had to be annotated using WordNet synonym set labels. The maximum overall accuracy achieved by the best system was 65%, the worst system scored 28%. Under less ideal conditions, even the best system went below 40% accuracy (precision: 0.651, recall: 0.651) (Snyder and Palmer 2004). Please note that these were complex, state-of-the-art systems. The best case 65% accuracy is less than satisfying, however. For the Senseval-2 data, an alternative, minimalistic solution that simply selected the most frequent sense in every ambiguous case reportedly resulted in approx. 61% accuracy, too. It means that the state-of-the-art methods improved on this baseline by 4% only. In the Senseval competitions, the competing systems are trained on a training corpus and tested on a testing corpus that are manually sense-tagged by linguists. The inter-annotator agreement rate (i.e. when the two human annotators selected the same sense when preparing the training and testing corpora) in the Senseval-2 case was also quite low at 72%. Remember that this figure is from a timeconsuming manual annotation project carried out by skilled professionals. This result questions if this type of sense disambiguation can be reliably carried out in any way. In 2007, a follow-up competition was organized (Semeval-1). For this occasion, they grouped together tiny sense variations thereby reducing the original ambiguity level. It turned out that the best strategy was to decrease the number of senses, i.e. to eliminate the senses rather than disambiguate them. The results of the Semeval-1 (2007) competition were summarized in the following way: after decades of research in the field it is still unclear whether WSD can provide a relevant contribution to real-world applications, such as Information Retrieval, Question Answering, etc. (Navigli, Litkowsky & Hargraves 2007, 34)
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3.3
Open Problems
WSD faces serious pitfalls which may effectively prevent certain, most or all existing methods from producing useful results. The following brief survey is based on Ide and Véronis (1998). The role of context is a key question in WSD research, since it is the only “clue” for successful operation. A moving-window approach is simple and effective for gaining immediate context. The current trend is to use large windows that cover multiple sentences at the same time, so that high-level, topical information can be acquired. The problem lies in the fact that the nature of contextual information is rather complex: context and lexical meaning show an intricate interplay in human languages (also see section 4.3 below). Sense division is problematic, too. Ide and Véronis (1998, 22) underline that the level of sense granularity inherently affects WSD systems (consider WordNet-based WSD, which exhibits a low performance that seems to follow from the extremely high homonymy level of the WN database, i.e. a lot of words are listed in more than one synonym set. Ide and Véronis also highlight the problem of sense enumeration and call our attention to Pustejovsky’s sense generation: The enumerative approach assumes an a priori, established set of senses which exist independent of context-fundamentally the Aristotelian view. The generative approach develops a discourse-dependent representation of sense, assuming only underspecified sense assignments until context is taken into the play, and bears closer relation to distributional and situational views of meaning. (Ide and Véronis 1998, 24)
Ide and Véronis (1998) express their concerns about evaluation issues, too. First of all, they point out that WSD has been developed for NLP applications (information retrieval, machine translation, etc.). “In vivo” evaluations should measure the increase of overall performance in a given NLP system (Ide and Véronis 1998:25). In practice, WSD methods tailored to the needs of specific NLP tasks are rare (but also see section 5 of this paper). The more usual, general-purpose WSD techniques, on the other hand, do not usually make their way into actual NLP applications. So, for testing purposes, precision and recall are usually measured at the output of the WSD tool, probably using binary decisions (correct/incorrect) made on the basis of a prepared, hand-made “golden sample” (the expected output). From this perspective, the Senseval competition (cf. section 3.2) is an example of “in vitro” evaluation, too, since the actual NLP application context and the corresponding testing methodology are missing. The difference between in vitro and in vivo evaluation can be extended to the entire practice of WSD, not just performance testing. Consider the following programmatic statement from the description of the “Cross-Lingual Word Sense Disambiguation” task of the upcoming Semeval-2 competition: “There is a general feeling in the WSD community that WSD should not be considered as an isolated research task, but should be integrated in real NLP applications such as Machine translation or multilingual IR ” (“Semeval-2” 2009).
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Other Linguistic Fields with Correlating Findings
4.1
Lexicographical Practice
Since the dictionary-writing tradition requires lexicographers to come up with entries and subentries enumerating different uses, readings or meanings of a headword, they have to decide whether a tiny difference in usage pattern constitutes a different sense or not. In the compilation of a dictionary entry, “lumping is considering two slightly different patterns of usage as a single meaning”, and “ splitting is … dividing or separating them into different meanings” (Kilgarriff 1997, 9). Whether lexicographers lump or split senses is a matter of tradition, editorial policy and subjective decisions. For this reason, computational linguists often find dictionaries (which are compiled for human use) incoherent, but there is not too much we can do about it: categorizing senses is difficult. Consider the word mouth, for instance: would you separate the meanings mouth of the river , mouth of a cave, mouth of a bottle , from the body part meaning and from each other?
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4.2
Theoretical Linguistics: Sense Enumeration
Pustejovsky (1995) points out that conventional lexicon design, which is based on sense enumeration, is inadequate for several reasons. First, it cannot account for the Creative Use of Words, which is the process that makes it possible for words to “assume new senses in novel contexts” (Pustejovsky 1995, 39). His examples for the creative use include various readings of the adjective good . Compare, for instance (Pustejovsky 1995, 43): (5) Mary finally bought a good umbrella. (6) After two weeks on the road, John was looking for a good meal. The definition of good in (5) is “to function well”, while it means “tasty” in (6). Pustejovsky points out that sense enumeration would involve the creation of separate entries for both (and many more) uses. “As an alternative, one might simply keep the meaning of good vague enough to cover all the cases mentioned above. Then, world knowledge or pragmatic effects could further specify the manner in which something is good…” (Pustejovsky 1995, 43). A sense enumerative lexicon also fails to accommodate the phenomenon referred to as the Permeability of Word Senses, which is described in the following way: “Word senses are not atomic definitions but overlap and make reference to other senses of the word” (Pustejovsky 1995, 39). Compare the following sentences: (7) Mary cooked a meal. (8) Mary cooked the carrots. Pustejovsky points out that cook in (7) implies both “creating a meal” and “change-of-state”, but only this latter reading is implied in sentence (8) (Pustejovsky 1995, 47). Pustejovsky argues that overlaps of core and peripheral meaning components cannot be described in a “flat, linear enumeration-based organization of dictionary entries” (Pustejovsky 199 5, 48). Finally, the Expression of Multiple Syntactic Forms is also hindered in enumerative models (Pustejovsky 1995, 50-54), although this statement is meant to refer to “maximally enumerative” implementations in which different syntactic interpretations, such as factive vs. non-factive use, are encoded as separate lexical entries.
4.3
Theoretical Linguistics: the Role of the Context
Cruse (2000, 120-123) lists three ways in which the context can influence the meaning of a lexical item. The context may facilitate a selection process: existing readings or established senses are selectively activated and suppressed. When the established senses do not fit into the context, the listener is supposed to look for a matching meaning extension, possibly metaphorical or metonymical, “because of a tacit assumption that speakers are usually trying to convey an intelligible message” Cruse (2000, 120). The meaning that is (hopefully) found is coerced by the context (ibid.). Finally, meanings can be modulated by the context in various other ways. Consider the following sentences (taken from Cruse 2000, 121): (9) Our maths teacher is on maternity leave. (10) The coffee burnt my tongue. Cruse argues that both sentences contain hyponymic enrichment, which adds meaning to the semantic content of the lexical item in bold. In (9), the teacher’s gender is added; in (10), the high temperature of the coffee is implied.
4.4
“Extremists”
As far as the importance of the context in lexical meaning is concerned, extremist positions have already been taken. Consider this:
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The notion that words have a meaning – what Lakoff and Johnson (1980) call the “container metaphor” – is now hard to maintain. It seems that “meaning” consists of the process of meaning (Clark 1992). Words should be seen as information tokens that, among others, to some extent guide the meaning process. (Haase and Rothe-Neves 1999, 291)
Cruse (2000) argues that the context can influence the meaning of a lexical item (Cruse 2000, 120123), but his theory also incorporates the context-independent “pre-established senses” (Cruse 2000, 68) and “default readings” (Cruse 2000, 116). His theoretical standpoint seems much more natural, intuitively appealing.
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Other Approaches
The non-mainstream approaches to WSD discussed in this section are important because they offer ways to evade some of the common pitfalls of WSD, and they also give us further insight into the nature of lexical ambiguity.
5.1
MindNet
The MindNet database was derived automatically from formidable machine-readable sources: the Longman Dictionary of Contemporary English and the American Heritage 3rd Edition dictionaries, and was also augmented by the full text of Microsoft Encarta. The derivational process was carried out by a parser that compiled syntactic trees and ‘logical forms’ (LFs). Logical forms are “directed, labelled graphs that abstract away from surface word order and hierarchical syntactic structure to describe semantic dependencies among content words” (Dolan, Vanderwende and Richardson 2000, 7). The database can be treated and exploited as a relational lexicon that contains “about 25 semantic relation types …, including Hypernym , Logical_Subject , Logical_Object , Synonym, Goal, Source, Attribute, Part , Subclass and Purpose” (Dolan, Vanderwende and Richardson 2000, 7). The relationships between the ‘root word’ of the LF (corresponding to the headword of the source MRD entry) and other words stored in the corresponding LF structure are expressed by semantic relations and constitute direct paths, whereas the ‘non-root’ words of the LF are also connected to each other by (indirect) paths (Dolan, Vanderwende and Richardson 2000, 9). The following example illustrates a path that connects car and person (ibid.): car ←Logical_Object–drive–Logical_subject→motorist –Hypernym→ person Extended paths can be found between words of different LF graphs. For instance, we can join the following two paths (each from a different LF): car –Hypernym→vehicle and vehicle←Hypernym– truck into the extended path car –Hypernym→vehicle←Hypernym–truck (Dolan, Vanderwende and Richardson 2000, 9-10). There is no explicit hierarchy of concepts in MindNet, but it offers a similarity measure that shows how similar two words are in some context (Dolan, Vanderwende and Richardson 2000, 13). Similarity is computed using the paths with the highest weights. The editors of MindNet collected and stored information about the patterning of word pairs with known similarity (Dolan, Vanderwende and Richardson 2000, 14). Dolan, Vanderwende and Richardson connect their research to Cruse’s (1986) theory of lexical meaning. Their position is the following: A fundamental assumption underlying … MindNet’s approach to lexical representation, is that there is no such thing as a discrete word sense. Instead, there are only usage patterns, and the system’s understanding of a word’s meaning is nothing more than the pattern of activation over the semantic network. While this runs counter to much current work in WSD, it directly parallels Cruse’s notion of sense modulation (Dolan, Vanderwende and Richardson 2000, 16, emphasis original)
They argue that they implement Cruse’s sense-spectra, which are amoeba-like objects of a continuous nature (Dolan, Vanderwende and Richardson 2000, 6-15). From a practical point of view, all they do is store the LFs without disambiguation (thereby eliminating disambiguating errors or the human intervention that would find and correct the errors). “[D]efinition and example sentence LFs within MindNet are allowed to overlap freely on shared words” (Dolan, Vanderwende and Richardson 2000, 21). MindNet is pre-trained using two machine-readable dictionaries, but it is also augmented by additional knowledge sources (most importantly, Microsoft Encarta) that deliver unknown words, too. 13
MindNet stores the typical usage patterns of the new words and links them to usage information about known words. A word’s meaning is nothing more than ‘the company it keeps’, but this ‘company’ involves more than statistical co-occurrence information. Instead, context in our terms is a richly annotated linguistic analysis that normalizes long-distance dependencies, resolves intrasentential anaphora, and provides labelled relationships linking content words. Given this strong notion of lexical context, even a small number of encounters with a word can potentially provide a very detailed notion of what it must mean. (Dolan, Vanderwende and Richardson 2000, 36)
I do not find this view on lexical meaning completely satisfying: I miss the place for “established senses” and “default readings” described by Cruse (Cruse 2000, 68, Cruse 2000, 116). We should not forget that the all-important textual context referred to above was in fact taken from dictionary and encyclopaedia entries in the MindNet project. Therefore, the “company” of words used for compiling this database was not meant to be a representative sample of the English language; instead, it had been selected to meet the needs of MindNet. The information stored in MindNet may turn out to be more appropriate for certain Natural Language Processing tasks than for others. The authors often mention and inspect the needs of Information Retrieval, which does seem a fitting task, since the query strings in an information retrieval system are likely to be good sources of context to be matched against the usage patterns in the MindNet database. Let me also point out that as long as a human user is making the queries, the query string will be changed and resubmitted until an appropriate result is reached. The authors also keep referring to machine translation, but further details are not provided.
5.2 Word Meaning as Spreading Activation MindNet's approach to storing lexical meaning in a huge network is partly similar to the spreading activation network described by Véronis and Ide (1990). Véronis and Ide exploited the definitions of the Collins English Dictionary in the following way: each headword of the dictionary was represented by a word node (neuron), which was connected to nodes that stood for the senses listed in the dictionary for that headword. Each sense node was connected to all words that were present in the definition of that particular sense (words had been lemmatized and function words had been excluded). The words of the definition were themselves nodes with a sense-node structure. The resulting network was restricted to "a few thousand" nodes in the experiment, which was still a huge network. The system featured inhibitory links between the sense nodes that belonged to the same headword. I see this as a practical realization of Cruse’s antagonistic readings. Note that this approach seems to presuppose that all the readings listed in the source dictionary are in fact antagonistic, which may not be the case. Querying ("running") the network involves the activation of at least two word nodes. These nodes activate the sense nodes, and through these sense nodes, huge subnets of word nodes (and that of the sense nodes accompanying them) can be activated. When paths are found connecting the initially activated nodes, those neurons that are along these paths will get more and more activated in multiple passes of spreading activation. The inhibitory links between the sense nodes (of a word node) will help the network reach a stable configuration in which only one sense node per word is activated. At this final stage, the input words are said to be disambiguated. As we have seen, the network built by Véronis and Ide is not only a storage space for information but also a query system, which means that no external tools are required to retrieve data from the network. Compiling the network means building an artificial neural network with the right topology, which is determined by the headword definitions in the source dictionary. Also note that the system works with unannotated input, i.e. part-of-speech labelling or syntactic parsing of the input is not required. MindNet and Véronis and Ide's neural network are for different purposes: MindNet outputs a similarity value which is useful for information retrieval and possibly for other "high-level" NLP tasks, while Véronis and Ide's network model is created to carry out WSD.
5.3
Sense Discovery
Ide and Véronis (1998, 3) bifurcates the problem of WSD into two subproblems: sense discrimination (delineating the senses) and assigning senses to words. The traditional approach to WSD concentrates on the second phase only, taking the existence of a reliable sense inventory for granted. 14
Schütze’s (1998) approach, however, focuses on sense discrimination and tries to do away with sense labelling. The method, which he calls “context-group discrimination” is unsupervised and requires no external knowledge-sources. It groups the tokens of words into clusters, each cluster containing contextually similar occurrences. Contextual similarity is measured using second-order cooccurrence information: instead of using the context in which the given token occurs, he uses the “the context representation from the words that these words in turn co-occur within the training corpus” (Schütze 1998, 98). Schütze argues that second-order co-occurrence information is less sparse and more robust. The method creates word vectors, in which for each word, co-occurring items are registered and the number of co-occurrences are stored. The text context used for this process was quite large: the author used a 50-word window (with the keyword in the centre), sentence boundaries were ignored. When the data was collected for a given word, the 1000 most frequent “neighbours” were selected as the dimensions of the space. As a result, by examining the amount of overlap between two vectors, we can see how closely they are related, because semantically related words are supposed to “co-occur with similar neighbours and their vectors will have considerable overlap” (Schütze 1998, 101). Later he formulates the Strong Contextual Hypothesis for Senses: “Two occurrences of an ambiguous word belong to the same sense to the extent that their contextual representations are similar” (Schütze 1998, 117). This approach to WSD is directly useful for Information Retrieval. The HyperLex system (Véronis 2004) is similar, although it does not rely on the word vector method but uses “small-world” graphs instead, which are said to be much better at isolating infrequent senses. Véronis (2004) uses the World Wide Web as corpus in his unsupervised system. Véronis (2004) also argues against the practical applicability and even the feasibility of computerized or human word sense disambiguation using pre-listed senses. I would like to argue that the non-traditional approaches to WSD introduced in section 5 of this paper point into the same direction: word sense is not to be grasped at the level of individual words, and WSD cannot be solved as a classification problem. Senses of word tokens should be aligned and matched against each other at a higher level, probably at the level of discourse. Moreover, the resolution of lexical ambiguity seems an optimization problem. As far as lexical semantics is concerned, notice that this approach may effectively replace the extremist position that denies the existence of pre-established senses and emphasizes the all-important role of context. Also notice, however, that the perceived ambiguity level of human communication is much lower than what is anticipated on the basis of the ambiguity level of our word stock. Disambiguation is not nearly as demanding as it seems from an NLP perspective: an efficient mechanism to filter out inconsistent readings must be part of our linguistic intuition. I would like to hypothesize that “disambiguation” is really about maintaining the semantic integrity of messages by suppressing irrelevant “noise” that is potentially introduced by words and other linguistic signs.
6
HunGram, Our Plans
This research has been carried out in the preliminary phase of a research project that aims to construct a full LFG grammar of the Hungarian language and implement it in the Xerox Linguistic Environment, as part of the international ParGram effort. Why do we have to take lexical ambiguity into consideration in our grammar-writing project? Currently accepted system design is based on a highly modular view on language and on the hypothesis of the separability of modules and NLP tasks. The usual NLP approach to resolving lexical ambiguity, Word Sense Disambiguation, is a prime example of this strategy. The authors referred to in section 5 seems to manage without WSD: their systems work with ‘raw’, unannotated, potentially ambiguous input. Dolan, Vanderwende and Richardson (2000) argue that “the traditional view of WSD as involving the assignment of one or more discrete senses to each word in the input string” cannot be used to implement broad-coverage NLP systems (Dolan, Vanderwende and Richardson 2000, 5), and “like humans, machines cannot be expected to perform reliably on a task that is incorrectly formulated” (ibid.). They point out that not even humans seem to excel in carrying out word-sense disambiguation tasks, and their position is supported by the data in Fellbaum, Grabowski and Landes (1998). Therefore, correct formulation of linguistic tasks and careful system design should be of primary concern. As far as lexicon design is concerned, along the lines drawn by Palmer (1998, 7), we would like to enumerate only those sense distinctions that can be identified by differences in argument structure and/or selectional restrictions. Our lexicon is going to contain a great number of words including 15
polysemous and homonymous entries, but not necessarily in different entries, except when required by the grammar. Our future plans include a statistical or connectionist external tool: the parser’s output can be channelled through this tool and when used with an authentic training corpus, it should be able to acquire morphological, syntactic, and associational properties of words and phrases, which may include selectional attributes and important information about the argument structure which is not otherwise encoded in the lexicon or the grammar.
Acknowledgements I gratefully acknowledge that the research reported here has been supported, in part, by OTKA (Hungarian Scientific Research Fund, grant number: K 72983) and by the TÁMOP 4.2.1./B09/1/KONV-2010-0007 project, which is implemented through the New Hungary Development Plan, co-financed by the European Social Fund and the European Regional Development Fund.
References “Semeval-2”. Retrieved 31 Aug. 2009 from http://semeval2.fbk.eu/semeval2.php?location=tasks#T8 Agirra, E. and P. Edmonds. 2007. Word Sense Disambiguation: Algorithms and Applications. Springer. Brown, P. F., S. A. D. Pietra, V. J. D. Pietra, and R. L. Mercer. 1991. “Word-sense disambiguation using statistical methods”. Proceedings of the 29th Annual Meeting, Association for Computational Linguistics. Clark, H. H. 1992. Arenas of language use . Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Cruse, D. A. 1986. Lexical Semantics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Cruse, D. A. 2000. Meaning in language. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Dolan, W., L. Vanderwende, and S. Richardson. 2000. “Polysemy in a Broad-Coverage Natural Language Processing System”. In Y. Ravin, and C. Leacock (Eds.), Polysemy: Theoretical and computational approaches , New York: Oxford University Press. Retrieved 30 July, 2005 from http://research.microsoft.com/research/pubs/view.aspx?pubid=1039 Fellbaum, C., J. Grabowski, and S. Landes. 1998. Performance and Confidence in a Semantic Annotation Task. In C. Fellbaum (Ed.) 1998. WordNet: An electronic lexical database. Cambridge and London: MIT Press. Gale, William A., K. W. Church, and D. Yarowsky. 1992. “Using bilingual materials to develop word sense disambiguation methods.” Proceedings of the International Conference on Theoretical and Methodological Issues in Machine Translation . Haase, V. G., and R. Rothe-Neves. 1999. “What else should a neurobiological theory of language account for? Behavioral and Brain Sciences”, 22, 291-292. Hearst, M. A. 1991. “Noun homograph disambiguation using local context in large corpora.” Proceedings of the 7th Annual Conf. of the University of Waterloo Centre for the New OED and Text Research, Oxford, United Kingdom. Hirst, G. 1987. Semantic interpretation and the resolution of ambiguity. Studies in Natural Language Processing. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, United Kingdom. Ide, N., and J. Véronis. 1993. “Extracting knowledge bases from machine-readable dictionaries : Have we wasted our time?” KB&KS'93 Workshop,Tokyo, 257-266. Ide, N., and J. Véronis. 1998. “Introduction to the Special Issue on Word Sense Disambiguation: The State of the Art.” Computational Linguistics , 24, 1-40. 16
Karov, Y., and S. Edelman. 1998. “Similarity-based word sense disambiguation”. Computational Linguistics, 24(1). Kilgarriff, A., and G. Gazdar. 1995. “Polysemous relations”. In F. Palmer (Ed.), Grammar and Meaning: Essays in Honour of Sir John Lyons , 1-25. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lakoff, G., and M. Johnson. 1980. Metaphors we live by . Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Leacock, Claudia; G. Towell, and E. Voorhees. 1993. “Corpus-based statistical sense resolution.” Proceedings of the ARPA Human Language Technology Worskshop , San Francisco, Morgan Kaufman. Lesk, M. 1986. “Automated Sense Disambiguation Using Machine-readable Dictionaries: How to Tell a Pine Cone from an Ice Cream Cone.” Proceedings of the 1986 SIGDOC Conference, Toronto, Canada, June 1986, 24-26. Lyons, J. 1977. Semantics . Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lyons, J. 1995. Linguistic Semantics: An introduction. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Mihalcea, R., and Moldovan, D. 2001. “EZ.WordNet: Principles for automatic generation of a coarse grained WordNet”. Proceedings of FLAIRS 2001, 454-459, Key West, FL. Miller, G. A., R. Beckwith, Ch. Fellbaum, D. Gross, and K. J. Miller. 1990. “Introduction to WordNet: an on-line lexical database”. In: International Journal of Lexicography , 3 (4), pp. 235 - 244. Miller, G. A., M. Chodorow, S. Landes, C. Leacock, and R. G. Thomas. 1994. “Using a semantic concordance for sense identification.” ARPA Workshop on Human Language Technology , Plainsboro, New Jersey, March 1994, 240-243. Palmer, M. 1998. “Are WordNet sense distinctions appropriate for computational lexicons?” SIGLEX98, SENSEVAL. Herstmonceux, Sussex, UK. Pustejovsky, J. 1995. The Generative Lexicon. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Schütze, H. 1998. “Automatic Word Sense Discrimination”. Computational Linguistics , 24(1). Snyder, B., and M. Palmer. 2004. “The English All-word task.” Proceedings of SENSEVAL-3: Third International Workshop on the Evaluation of Systems for the Semantic Analysis of Text . ACL-04, Barcelona. Verspoor, C. M. 1997. Contextually-Dependent Lexical Semantics. PhD thesis. Edinburgh: The University of Edinburgh. Véronis, J., and N. Ide. 1990. “Word sense disambiguation with very large neural networks extracted from machine readable dictionaries.” Proceedings of COLING90, 289-295. Yarowsky, David. 1995. “Unsupervised word sense disambiguation rivalling supervised methods.” Proceedings of the 33rd Annual Meeting of the Association for Computational Linguistics , Cambridge, Massachusetts.
17
The Relationship Between Semantic Ambiguity and Syntactic Differences Katalin Szerenci Introduction The paper intends to investigate the grammatical competence of non-native speaker teachers (NNS) and native speaker teachers (NS) of English in light of their performance on the metalinguistic task of detecting syntactic or structural ambiguity. The study belongs to the line of research that examines sentence-level data. The main focus of the current investigation concerns potential similarities and differences between the metalinguistic behaviour of the two groups of teachers obtained in the form of answers to the following questions: Do the judgments of the two groups of teachers vary because NNS rely on descriptive rules provided in different English grammars, rather than real language use? Does the structural complexity of certain grammatical phenomena influence judgments? Do competencies required in detecting ambiguity develop automatically or can they be taught? The paper is based on a comparative analysis of the metalinguistic performance of practising teachers of English working at secondary grammar schools in Szabolcs-Szatmár-Bereg County, Hungary in the early 2000s. With the linguistic data having been transferred into numerical values, both quantitative and qualitative analyses were carried out. While one would probably expect NS to surpass NNS in detecting structural ambiguity, the data gained seem to provide a very complex picture.
The Notions of Metalinguistic Ability and Knowledge Contradictory views have been presented with regard to the concept of metalinguistic ability. According to some experts it must be recognisable as a distinct achievement while integrating into other aspects of linguistic and cognitive skills. Metalinguistic ability may be considered to equal knowledge about language, but then “the problem is to separate that knowledge of language from the knowledge that is needed to use the language.” (Bialystok 1993, 4) However, by giving it a separate label, a knowledge base of its own together with a separate course of development, might result in assuming that metalinguistic ability is independent of linguistic ability that is responsible for using language. The advantage of treating metalinguistic ability as an autonomous skill is that in this case accounts of linguistic development have no relevance for its development. If metalinguistic ability is a mechanism separate from linguistic ability, then there may exist unique explanations of how it functions and how it develops. In contrast, there is another view in which metalinguistic ability forms an integral part of linguistic ability allowing the possibility to be similar to it in certain aspects and different in others. If it is not a different kind of thing from linguistic ability, then presumably it does not need a different kind of label and certainly does not need a different theory to account for its development. It is clear that a proper definition of metalinguistic ability must be a compromise between these two positions. Accepting such an approach to the definition of metalinguistic ability, one should find out how to relate it to linguistic ability, and how to reconcile its development with the facts and theories of linguistic ability. Nonetheless, most accounts of metalinguistic ability tend to treat it distinctly from the notion of linguistic ability. Evidence for the early development of metalinguistic abilities in the native language is provided by Clark (1978), among others, observing that two-year-old children are able to attend to linguistic structure and function, and their cognitive and linguistic development enhances their metalinguistic abilities. In Birdsong’s (1989) overview of metalinguistic abilities and activities that are arranged by the chronological order of their emergence, the starting point is the age of one and a half, when the child, wishing to imitate adult pronunciation, repeats words. Depending on individual differences, major metalinguistic abilities - including the ability to judge acceptability, to recognise paraphrases and to understand structural ambiguity - develop by the age of 12. The child’s creativity, high verbal intelligence and sophisticated use of language as a tool for communication have been found as variables influencing metalinguistic development (cf. van Kleeck 1982). Metalinguistic knowledge and language proficiency, though both appear to be part of linguistic ability, are usually considered to constitute its separate factors. As a result, teaching one is no means of 18
improving the other. Formal metalinguistic knowledge, in other words a conscious awareness of the formal properties of the target language is regarded to be less important than the ability to detect systematic and meaningful patterning in it. Bialystok (1993) conceptualises it to be an identifiable body of knowledge to be distinguished from knowledge of grammar. It is the level of explicitness characteristic of metalinguistic knowledge that distinguishes it from linguistic knowledge. “One is able to identify, understand, and produce grammatical sentences without much access to the system of rules and conditions that makes those sentences grammatical.” (Bialystok 1993, 7) Metalinguistic knowledge necessarily includes some detailed representation of those rules. While knowledge of grammar may be part of what is meant by metalinguistic knowledge, it seems to be inadequate to equal the concept of metalinguistic. Metalinguistic knowledge should be knowledge of the abstract structure of language, and obviously, knowledge of the abstract principles is distinct from knowledge of a particular language. The content of metalinguistic knowledge must be broader than any that applies to knowledge of a particular language.
Definitions and Types of Ambiguity Depending on the particular aspect of life or scientific discipline, various definitions have been provided. For social psychologists the term is inseparable from situations characterised by some kind of uncertainty. For language teachers it may function as a challenging task with the help of which learners can be forced to disambiguate sentences containing syntactic ambiguity. From a linguistic point of view McArthur (1996, 36) defines “ambiguity”, which derives from Latin ambiguitas –as ”acting both ways, shifting from ambi–both ways, agere/actum to drive, act. Actual or potential uncertainty of meaning, especially if a word, phrase, or sentence can be understood in two ways.” The presence of context definitely enables one to disambiguate many statements that are ambiguous in isolation. The traditional approach to identifying and resolving ambiguity usually distinguishes lexical (part of speech or category) ambiguity: Mary looked very hard . For some authors (Radford 1999) the categorial status of a particular phrase would belong to the simple case of structural ambiguity. Others (cf. Pinkal 1995) claim that lexical ambiguity includes only instances of homonymy and polysemy: I deposited $100 in the bank . The importance of context in which an ambiguous word is used should be emphasised. According to Cruse (2000) what used to be called as ambiguity tests are more likely to be labelled as tests for discreteness: Mary is wearing a light coat; so is Jane. (Cruse 2000, 106) Antagonism is criterial for ambiguity, and in case a sentence calls for two antagonistic readings to be activated at the same time, it gives rise to the phenomenon of zeugma, or punning: When the Chair in the Philosophy Department became vacant, the Appointment Committee sat on it for six months. (Cruse 2000, 108) Many syntactic ambiguities arise from the possibility of alternative constituent structures: We need more highly trained scientists. Quantifiers and quantifying adverbs are to be found as causes for ambiguity as to the range of applications, whereas pronouns and indexical adverbs may lead to referential ambiguity. A different kind of structural ambiguity occurs when a given word or phrase can be taken as modifying any one of two (or more) different constituents: I saw the man with the telescope. (Hindle and Rooth 1993, 103) In another example: The President could not ratify the treaty. (Radford 1999, 66) ambiguity relates to the scope of the negative particle so for this reason this type is commonly known as scope ambiguity. We talk about elliptical ambiguity when certain predicates can occur in multiple argument positions: He loves his dog more than his children. Semantic ambiguity arises when a word or concept has an inherently diffuse meaning based on widespread or informal usage: Iraqi head seeks arms. Ambiguity is different from vagueness, which arises when the boundaries of meaning are indistinct. Pinkal (1995) considers the two phenomena to be related, however declares that they refer to different things. ”Ambiguous expressions can assume an arbitrarily but finitely large number of readings, whereas vague expressions allow infinitely many precisifications.” (Pinkal 1995, 75)
Types of Structural Ambiguity A detailed analysis is provided on the topic in Hirst (1992, 131-163). Whenever a sentence has more than one possible parse, structural disambiguation is necessary. The author introduces four basic types of structural ambiguity and labels the first type as ambiguity due to attachment problems emphasizing the importance of modifier placement. Due to its flexible position in a sentence, it is the Adverbial 19
realized by a Prepositional Phrase that will typically be the reason for such type of ambiguity: The door near the stairs with the ’Members Only’ sign had tempted Nadia from the moment she first entered the club. Interestingly, hardly anyone would have a problem to accept the sentence: The police will shoot terrorists with rifles. To be ambiguous, and the other one: Last week an 18 th century chair was bought by a dealer with beautifully carved legs ., unambiguous. Therefore, the priority of meaning should be acknowledged. The Prepositional Phrase can also be attached to an Adjectival Phrase leading to two interpretations: He seemed nice to her. When a sentence contains a sub-clause, both clauses may contain places for the attachment of the Prepositional Phrase or the Adverb Phrase: Nadia knew that Ross fried the chicken with garlic. Analytical ambiguities are also quite common and they occur when the nature of the constituent is itself in doubt: The tourists objected to the guide that they couldn’t hear. The preferred reading is that the clause is a relative clause modifying the guide. However in the sentence: The tourists signalled to the guide that they couldn’t hear., the preference is that it is a sentential complement modifying the verb ”signal”. Particle detection is necessary to formulate correct questions to sentences like: Ross looked up the number. And Ross looked up the elevator shaft. Sometimes it is problematic to distinguish a Present Participle from an Adjective in an isolated sentence like: They are cooking apples. Similarly, to distinguish between a Present Participle and a Noun: We discussed running. Participles and adjectivals can be troublesome when they occur at the end of the clause: The manager approached the boy smoking a cigar . The use of non-finite clauses can easily lead to more than one interpretation, at least without context. Close (1989, 95) invites students to expand each dependent clause in two different ways: “ I ran over a dog crossing the square. Dressed in white robes, we thought the visitors looked like priests in some strange ceremony.”
As Bolinger (1968, 127) puts it: “A difference in syntactic form always spells a difference in meaning.” In other words, if two sentences differ in syntactic structure, then they will also differ in semantic structure. There are at least four different structures that can underlie sentences with the following structure: NP+be+Adjective+to Infinitive: Ross is eager to please. Ross is ideal to please. Ross is easy to please. Ross is certain to please. The third type of structural ambiguity, viz. gap finding and filling ambiguities occur when a moved constituent has to be returned to its pre-transformational starting point and there is more than one place that it might go: Those are the boys that the police debated _ about fighting _. Taking the first gap gives the meaning that the police debated with the boys on the topic of fighting; the second gives the police debated among themselves about fighting the boys. Finally, Hirst (1992) declares that if a word is categorially ambiguous, a sentence containing it can be structurally ambiguous: The Japanese push bottles up the Chinese . The term that is used for such a type is the interaction between categorial and structural ambiguity. As has been illustrated there are many different kinds of structural ambiguity, and there is at present no agreement on any general principles that can be used for disambiguation. Knowledge from several different sources is used. For the reasons mentioned above Schütze (1996) underlines the methodological significance of controlling subject and task related factors in metalinguistic tasks like ambiguity judgments.
Methods of Data Analysis on the Ambiguity Judgment Task (AJT) Unlike Coppieters (1987), where the task involved judgments for the most probable interpretation of ambiguous sentences out of context, the participants of the author’s research had the more demanding task to creatively think of possible interpretations. It must be emphasised that rather than including sentences with lexically ambiguous words or phrases, the writer selected 24 sentences that had to be analysed from the aspect of possible syntactic ambiguity. Ambiguity, similarly to synonymity, has more often been presented as a lexical phenomenon. However, for the purposes of the study, syntactic sources of ambiguity have been targeted. The administration of the task required 30 minutes. Due to the fact that meaning is always more important than structure, scores of 2, 1 and 0 were given according to the following system. If an unambiguous sentence was recognized by the respondent to be unambiguous, a score of 2 was obtained. If, however, an unambiguous sentence was considered to be ambiguous, no score was given. In case an ambiguous sentence was found to be ambiguous and rewording was clear enough to illustrate the difference between the two interpretations, a score of 2 was given. In cases ambiguity was detected but the difference between possible interpretations was not clear enough or was missing, the judgment was worth a score of 1. Thus the maximum score is 48.
20
KEY Unambiguous –Yes Unambiguous –Yes Ambiguous – Yes Ambiguous – Yes Ambiguous – Yes Ambiguous – No
PARTICIPANT’S RESPONSE Yes No Yes - Explanation correct Yes - Explanation missing Yes - Explanation wrong Yes
SCORE 2 0 2 1 1 0
Table 1. Scoring System for the Ambiguity Judgment Task The quantitative data collected from the AJT to test similarities and differences between the two teacher groups was processed and analysed by means of the Statistical Package for Social Sciences (SPSS) software programme. The results and statistical analyses are presented below. The statistical programme was used to perform the following procedures: i/ Descriptive data analysis; ii/ Cross tabulations, Pearson Chi-square tests; iii/ Analysis of variance to establish levels of significance between different groups; iv/ Independent Samples t-Tests and ANOVA to test the effect of different subject-related variables on NNS’ and NS ’ performance in the AJT; v/ Analysis of correlations between different linguistic categories. The purpose of the following analyses is to identify the degree of similarity or difference between the groups of NNS and NS in detecting the ambiguity of decontextualised sentences. Judgments of decontextualised sentences are particularly difficult for NNS, because the presence of context enables the respondent to interpret the meaning of a sentence, even if he or she is not aware of the way the grammatical forms contribute to a specific meaning. In the absence of context, NNS need to be familiar with the conventional meaning or norm (cf. Coppieters, 1987). Knowledge of the conventional meaning attached to linguistic forms is given for native speakers but not necessarily so for non-native speakers, let alone for people who have never been to the target country. The table below illustrates the performance of NNS and NS in the AJT.
NNS NS
N
MEAN
STANDARD DEVIATION
MEAN SCORES AS % OF MAXIMUM
63 21
28.35 34.10
9.13 7.86
59 71
Table 2. Breakdown of Mean Scores and Standard Deviations for NNS and NS The results show that NNS have lower means and appear to be more heterogeneous than NS, based on the figures for Std. Deviation. The Independent Samples Test revealed that an F value of 0.160 and p<0.690 would require to test for equality of means since equal variances cannot be assumed. The differences between NNS and NS on the AJT are expressed by a t value of 2.579, with df = 82, Sig. (2tailed) p<0.008. Consequently, the null hypothesis with regard to the test should be rejected given that the two groups of teachers demonstrate a statistically significant difference as far as their overall judgments on the AJT are concerned at p<0.05 level. The next step is to investigate: 1) items on which the performance of the two groups of teachers varies significantly when rewording the sentences they judge to have different interpretations; 2) items where NNS’ judgments earned higher scores than the ones made by NS. 1) Statistically significant differences (p< 0.05) have been found only in three cases. One of them, Ship sails today ., corresponds to the interaction between categorial and structural ambiguity according to Hirst (1992). A syntactic ambiguity may involve functional alternation in one or more items, as in We did not inform you because we doubted your loyalty . This sentence was correctly judged to be ambiguous by 15 NNS (24%) and 14 NS (67%), (Chi-Square = 13.490, p<0.001), but one-fourth of the NNS could not discover the ambiguity. Quirk et al. (1985) dealing with the scope of the negation claims that it normally extends from the negative item itself to the end of the clause, but it need not include an endplaced adverbial. Disjuncts and conjuncts, for example, do not belong to the scope of clause negation, whatever their position. In most cases the identification of the scope is not enough, and the identification of the focus of negation is also needed. This may be problematic when the sentence is presented in writing, and there is no indication where a special or contrastive nuclear stress would fall. The sentence: I’ll let you know whether I’ll need you here when the doctor arrives., was found 21
ambiguous by 41 NNS (65%) and 20 NS (95%), resulting in a difference, p<0.027 and ChiSquare=7.215. Depending on where we draw the boundary for the main clause, the sentence can have different interpretations: i/ Main clause + 2 dependent clauses, ii/ Main clause + 1 dependent clause, the so-called attachment problem relying on Hirst (1992). 2) In two cases NNS were found to be more successful than NS. I noticed a man hidden behind the bushes. , can be given different interpretations according to Quirk et al. (1985) under the heading ‘Postmodification by nonfinite clauses’. Postmodification of the noun phrase is possible with all three of the nonfinite clause types. The reduced explicitness in the nonfinite clauses allows us to neutralize the distinction between NP postmodification and certain other types of construction. Fuzzy relationships in postmodification are represented: a man hidden behind the bushes. [1] “I noticed { a man who was hidden behind the bushes. [1a] that a man was hidden behind the bushes. [1b]
It is interesting…that native English speakers confronted by sentence [1] are likely to agree that they see little or no difference in meaning between [1] and either of [1a-b].” (Quirk et al. 1985, 1269) 37 NNS (59%) and 7 NS (33%) detected ambiguity in the case of this item, Chi-Square = 4.962, p< 0.084. The other item where NNS gained higher scores than NS is: I know he’s cheating and I can’t do anything about it. The ambiguity derives from the same grammatical phenomenon as in I’ll let you know whether I’ll need you here when the doctor arrives ., where a significant difference was found between the performances of the two groups, since NNS failed to interpret the sentence differently. In light of this, the fact that 32 NNS (51%) compared to 9 NS (43%) were able to detect ambiguity in this item, is unexpected. Knowledge from several different sources is used. Schütze (1996) states: ”Different readings of a structurally ambiguous sentence might be found on different occasions because the time weights associated with the relevant rules can change.” (Schütze 1996, 181) Context effects due to structural similarity or dissimilarity can be derived as well. Each parsing rule takes a certain amount of time to execute, determined partially by its complexity but also influenced by the lexical content of the sentence.
Discussion on the Ambiguity Judgment Task When opting for the use of this type of task in an attempt to discover similarities and differences between the grammatical competence of NNS and NS based on their metalinguistic performance, the writer was motivated by testing the principle of compositionality as treated in O’Grady et al. (1997). According to this principle sentence meaning is determined not only by the meaning of its components but also by the arrangement of the components in syntactic structure. Since the presentation of structural ambiguity is one aspect in sentence interpretation that has relevance for syntactic structure, this task type had to be included. The reason for this statement is that in a Synonymity Judgement Task the semantic component enjoys privilege, whereas the syntactic component can be seen as a major influential factor in a Grammaticality Judgement Task. Therefore, it was hypothesised that the greatest difference between NNS and NS would be found in the AJT. The data shown in Table 2. seem to contradict the expectations, i.e. the differences, because in spite of a pattern of superiority for NS, there is no statistic indication that the two groups of teachers vary significantly. The judgment of only three items has resulted in statistically significant differences between NNS and NS, which is a surprising finding. The fact that one-fourth of NNS failed to detect ambiguity in We did not inform you because we doubted your loyalty . , can be due to the complexities of negation, especially those regarding the focus of negation. The structural ambiguity in I’ll let you know whether I’ll need you here when the doctor arrives. was not detected by roughly one-third of NNS, which appears inexplicable in light of NNS’ superiority on: I know he’s cheating and I can’t do anything about it ., representing the same grammatical property. NNS have been found more successful than NS on two items in this task. I noticed a man hidden behind the bushes., has been recognised to be ambiguous by more NNS than NS, which may result from the effect of L1 in the case of NNS. The reason for including a linguistic categorisation of the sentences in this task was to test whether the judgments of NNS and NS vary depending on the type of structural ambiguity. Statistically significant difference was found for only one type, distributional classification. On items representing structural ambiguity based on constituent structure classification, the judgments of NNS and NS do not vary significantly, though the tendency towards native speaker teachers’ better performance is 22
apparent. Such a finding suggests that the more context, in this case syntactic clues, the more nativelike non-native speaker teachers’ performance. The finding that correlations between total ambiguity judgment and levels of abstraction are all significant at the 0.01 level, may be indicative of the interrelatedness of the categorisations. At the same time, it may support the validity of the test items. It is probably worth commenting that although teachers of English were asked to provide metalinguistic explanations for items they found to be ambiguous, neither NS nor NNS did so, in spite of the examples given with the judgment task. Borg (1999) reports similar findings based on a study conducted to investigate teachers’ use of grammatical terminology in the L2 classroom. Although the participants in the study are not experts in linguistics, NNS must have dealt with the grammatical phenomena targeted in this task during their years at college or university, and they must be familiar with the grammatical terminology required.
Synopsis The aim of any research is to know more about a target area, and, if possible, by means of the acquired knowledge, to improve that segment of the world. In the current study the research centres on whether NNS’ knowledge, skills, competencies and strategies required by a metalinguistic task are similar to or different from those of native speaker teachers. In case they are found to be similar, there is little need to continue further research. Should the differences between the two groups of teachers outnumber the similarities, researching the possibilities for bridging the gap seems to be inevitable. The rationale underlying such investigation is supported by its potential to identify another, so far a relatively neglected way of developing language learners’ and prospective language teachers’ metalinguistic competence: the use of metalinguistic tasks. The problems associated with research into the relationship between grammatical competence and metalinguistic performance are partly attributable to a confusion in definitions and terms that have been widely used without scientifically elaborating concepts, and partly to the weaknesses of the research instruments as far as their reliability and validity are concerned. Recognising the need to identify the relevant features from a linguistic and a methodological point of view for the purpose of such an investigation, the writer has found some important guidelines, which require explication. Under the conditions of the author’s investigation, the empirical results do not seem to support the hypothesis that NNS’ and NS’ judgments on different metalinguistic tasks do not vary significantly. Even if the limitations of this quantitative research have to be acknowledged, viz. the relatively small sample sizes, the convenient selection of the participants, and the relatively narrow angle of the investigation of teachers’ grammatical competence that focussed on some aspects of metalinguistic performance rather than real language use or production, the trends that take shape are worth further investigation. When attempting to describe the linguistic knowledge of the native speakers of a language, linguists take into consideration either performance data – whether elicited or not – or judgmental data. In order to characterise one’s linguistic competence, relying on both kinds of data probably gives more reliable information, provided the methodological guidelines are strictly followed. Since the methodology used in second language acquisition research has mirrored the techniques and procedures used in first language acquisition for a long time, judgmental data have not been obtained regularly. Schachter et al. (1976) claim that the elicitation of intuitional data enables researchers to view language learners’ knowledge of the target language from a new perspective, consequently, this method needs to be pursued. Approaching the study from another theoretical point of view, it might be stated that the paper is concerned with one of the classic problems in linguistic theory, which derives from the difficulty in drawing a clear boundary between grammar and semantics. This problem has very clearly manifested itself in the analysis of non-native speaker and native speaker teachers’ judgments on issues concerned with ambiguity presented in isolated English sentences. On the one hand, there have been cases in the empirical data that undoubtedly indicate the lack of the influence of the erroneous syntactic structure on the acceptance of a particular sentence. In other words, the respondents were able to accept ambiguous sentences as unambiguous because meaning had priority in the decision making process, in spite of the researcher’s instructions to concentrate on structural properties. On the other hand, the data also contain contrary examples, when respondents seemed to ignore the fact that the interpretation they attribute to a sentence is semantically impossible but in line with the researcher’s instructions, i.e. sentences are structurally well-formed. The complexity of sentence meaning is the result of a combination of prosodic, grammatical, pragmatic, social and propositional meanings (cf. Crystal, 1987). In vain has the writer limited the focus of analysis on grammatical and semantic levels, there is no guarantee that the participants are able to disregard other influential aspects. Nevertheless, the 23
investigation of syntactic and semantic properties of sentences in a systematic and objective way might, one day, lead researchers with more sophisticated research instruments to an understanding of the role that each component plays in the final assessment of sentences. It is very challenging trying to establish the above-mentioned boundary, no matter how fuzzy it turns out to be.
Discussion on the Research Questions First, the discussion on the main dimension of the study, i.e. identifying potential similarities and differences between NNS’ and NS’ metalinguistic behaviour is provided. According to the null hypothesis of the research NNS and NS may not vary significantly in their metalinguistic performance because the metalinguistic knowledge and awareness they acquired during their studies and years of teaching experience, cannot have prepared them to arrive at dramatically different judgments. In this respect, the empirical investigation has brought to surface results that need to be explained. The first conclusion that can be drawn based on the findings is as follows: the judgments of NNS and NS vary on different metalinguistic tasks, ambiguity judgments included. Relying on Bialystok and Ryan (1985), the writer declares that these tasks differ from the point of view of the amount of analysable knowledge and the extent of cognitive control required by them. However, it should be noted that the differences between the two groups of teachers might be due to other reasons, not yet identified.
TASKS
Judgment of acceptability Location of deviant feature of senten ce Correction of deviant sentence Explanation Proofreading of unfamiliar text
Proofreading of one’s own text Judgment of ambiguity; paraphrase of deepstructure and surface-structure ambiguity Judgment of synonymity; simple paraphrase Repetition of grammatical sentences Repetition of deviant sentences
Anomalous word substitution Part-of-speech identification, then substitution Pattern practice drill in L2 instruction Transformational exercises (e.g., active-topassive) in L2 learning Cloze task Solution of sentence-level anagrams, i.e., rearranging randomly-ordered words to make a meaningful sentence
DEMANDS ON CONTROL/KNOWLEDGE
Moderate analyzed knowledge Moderate-to-high analyzed knowledge High analyzed knowledge Very high analyzed knowledge Highly analyzed knowledge; as meaning is not highly salient, there is relatively little demand on control Highly analyzed knowledge; as meaning is quite salient, there are increased demands on the control dimension Analyzed knowledge; more cognitive control than most grammaticality judgments, since analysis of structure involves ignoring initial reading of sentence and subsequent analysis Low cognitive control and low analyzed knowledge, since focus is on meaning Limited demands on knowledge and control, since focus is on meaning More control than for grammatical sentences is needed to prevent normalization (rendering in grammatical form); analyzed knowledge of deviant grammatical feature is also tapped Very high control For the first part of the task, high demands on analyzed knowledge; for the second part, high control High demands on control, as task requires ignoring meaning while performing substitutions that do not change sentence structure High control; meaning is largely unaltered while structure is changed Some analyzed knowledge; attention to structure; also control in the form of coordination of meaning and structure Substantial analyzed knowledge of possible grammatical structures and functional roles of sentence elements; moderate degree of control to coordinate word forms and meanings, possible sentence structures, and possible sentence-level meanings
Table 3. Metalinguistic Tasks and their Demands on Control and Knowledge 24
(Birdsong 1989, 58-59) Accepting the claim that the differences are determined by the two factors mentioned above, it seems that teachers do not behave significantly differently where they would logically be expected to. It would stand to reason to expect that NS outperform NNS with an increasing degree of knowledge and control required by the tasks. One of the findings of this empirical investigation that the least difference was found on the AJT, the task, which according to Bialystok and Ryan (1985) requires the most cognitive control may be encouraging. It is encouraging because perhaps it is reasonable to conclude that the kind of reflective thinking that determines cognitive control can develop or be developed in non-native speakers to a level which is similar to that of a native speaker. The claim that the control strategies are regarded to be independent of language (cf. Schütze 1996), since they assist with bringing the focus of attention to the form, might obscure the writer’s optimism. The extent to which structural complexity of certain grammatical phenomena influences judgments seems relatively easy to accept. One only needs to remember the observation made by Schachter and Yip (1990) that in both native and non-native judgments the ease or difficulty of parsing because of the simple or complex structure of a sentence influences judgments. Dabrowska (1997) also acknowledges that educated native speakers more easily cope with correctly judging multiply embedded sentences than less educated speakers of the language. The grammaticality judgment test by Dabrowska (1997) was designed so as to control for the effects of factors like lapses of attention or memory limitations. It was found that less educated speakers rely more on non-linguistic strategies in sentence interpretation than on syntactic features. The results of the study in question suggest that since normal native speakers perform differently on a task that expects them to process “highly syntacticised” written texts, the ability to do so is unlikely to be universal but is acquired in the course of formal education.
Conclusion What this investigation has clearly revealed is that NNS and NS rely on several factors when detecting syntactic ambiguity. The fact that even educated native speakers differ in their judgments, makes one recognise the importance of accepting the concept of scalability in metalinguistic judgments. For NNS grammatical correctness and prescriptive rules seem to influence judgments, while for NS meaning is the primary factor in the judgment making process. From a pedagogical point of view, it seems adamant that prospective teachers of English and other foreign languages become aware of the notion of scalar judgments, and degrees of grammaticality and ambiguity instead of trying to decide on linguistic features and grammatical phenomena on a right or wrong basis. The recognition and acceptance of variability as an inevitable and natural concomitant of human behaviour, including linguistic behaviour, might encourage NNS to be more tolerant when attending to their students’ linguistic performance. Since one of the basic aims of language education is to enable students to behave more like native speakers of the language, NNS also need to be more open and flexible with regard to interlanguage performance. Decisions regarding language should be seen on a scale rather than on a dichotomous basis of right or wrong. This recognition may have significant implications, especially for non-native speaker language educators who, if willing and able to adopt such an approach, might contribute to enhancing their students’ language proficiency by presenting a variety of linguistic possibilities, and thus extending the hitherto rigidly established limits that are the logical outcome of respecting grammatical rules excessively.
References Bialystok, Ellen. 1993. “Towards a Definition of Metalinguistic .” Paper presented in the symposium, “Metacognition and Second Language Acquisition”, at the AILA World Congress, Amsterdam, August 8-14. Bialystok, Ellen, and Bouchard E. Ryan. 1985. “A Metacognitive Framework for the Development of First and Second Language Skills.” In Metacognition, Cognition, and Human Performance , edited by Donna-Lynn Forrest-Pressley, G. MacKinnon, and Gary Waller, 207-252. Orlando: Academic Press. Birdsong, David. 1989. Metalinguistic Performance and Interlinguistic Competence. Berlin and New York: Springer Verlag. Bolinger, Dwight. 1968. “Entailment and the Meaning of Structures.” Glossa 2 (2): 119-127. 25
Borg, Simon. 1999. “The Use of Grammatical Terminology in the Second Language Classroom: A Qualitative Study of Teachers’ Practices and Cognitions.” Applied Linguistics 20 (1): 95-126. Clark, Eve Vivienne. 1978. “Awareness of Language: Some Evidence from What Children Say and Do.” In The Child's Conception of Language , edited by Anne Sinclair, Robert Jarvella, and William Levelt, 17- 43. New York: Springer verlag. Close, R. A. 1989. A University Grammar of English: Workbook . London: Longman . Coppieters, René. 1987. “Competence Differences between Native and Near-native Speakers.” Language 63 (3): 544 -573. Cruse , Alan D. 2000. Meaning in Language . Oxford: Oxford University Press. Crystal, David. 1987. The Cambridge Encyclopaedia of Language . Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Dabrowska, Ewa. 1997. “The LAD Goes to School: A Cautionary Tale for Nativists.” Linguistics 35: 735-766. Hindle, Donald, and Mats Rooth. 1993. “Structural Ambiguity and Lexical Relations.” Computational Linguistics 19 (1): 103-120. Hirst, Graeme. 1992. Semantic Interpretation and the Resolution of Ambiguity . New York: Cambridge University Press. McArthur, Tom. ed. 1996. The Oxford Companion to the English Language . Oxford: Oxford University Press. O’Grady, William, Michael Dobrovolsky, and Francis Katamba. 1997. Contemporary Linguistics. An Introduction. London and New York: Longman. Pinkal , Manfred. 1995. Logic and Lexicon . Dordrect, Boston: Kluwer Academic Publishers. Quirk, Randolph, Sidney Greenbaum, Geoffrey Leech, and Jan Svartvik. 1985. A Comprehensive Grammar of the English Language. London and New York: Longman. Radford, Andrew. 1999. Transformational Grammar: A First Course. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Schachter, Jacquelyn, Adele Tyson, and Frank Diffley. 1976. “Learner Intuitions of Grammaticality.” Language Learning 26 (1): 67-76. Schachter, Jacquelyn, and Virginia Yip. 1990. “Grammaticality Judgments: Why does Anyone Object to Subject Extraction?” Studies in Second Language Acquisition 12: 379-392. Schütze, Carson T. 1996. The Empirical Base of Linguistics. Chicago, London: The University of Chicago Press. van Kleeck, Anne. 1982. “The Emergence of Linguistic Awareness: A Cognitive Framework.” Merrill Palmer Quarterly 28 (2): 237-265.
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Lexical Ambiguity as a Linguistic and Lexicographical Phenomenon in English, with Comparisons to Slovak Ada Böhmerová 1. Introduction An already classical example of linguistic ambiguity in English is given by Lyons in his Semantics : They passed the port at midnight. He states that the sentence has at least two interpretations depending on whether the form port is taken to mean "harbour" or a kind of "fortified wine", and he classifies the above as "grammatical ambiguity" within "ambiguous strings" (1985, 397). While we fully acknowledge the existence of syntactic ambiguity (cf. the Chomskyan " Flying planes can be dangerous.") which, however, often occurs in combination with lexical ambiguity (cf. "Life is worth living, though it depends on the liver." ) as well as other types of ambiguity (graphical, situational, etc.), it should be pointed out that the basis of the ambiguity of the sentence They passed the port at midnight is, in our opinion, primarily caused not by syntactic but by lexical-semantic reasons. Its ambiguity is formed by the systemic lexical coexistence of several homonymous forms of both port and passed , as well as their high polysemy. Consequently, the number of meanings of such "ambiguous lexical sequences or strings" depends on the logical-semantic and syntactic combinability of the particular semantic contents of the homonymous lexemes and/or the polysemy of the lexemes, i.e. the number of their lexias, as well as on the particular communicative situation and/or intention. The above sentence is an example documenting that an important role is played by the ambiguity systemically inherent in some lexical units of language in general, and each language in particular, with considerable cross-linguistic differences. As a result of linguistic-historical factors (i.e. the reduction or loss of unstressed syllables in Middle English, loss of categorial affixes, extensive borrowing, etc.), English, in contrast to Slovak, has many more homonyms as well as a more extensive polysemy. For comparison let us state that the corresponding equivalents of the above English homonymous port , i.e. prístav and portské (víno), are not homonymous in Slovak and by far not as highly polysemantic as in English. Hence, for lexical reasons the Slovak translation of the above sentence cannot be or become adequately ambiguous. On the contrary, disambiguation has to take place before translation, with one of the possible interpretations selected – in the better case a clue is given by the linguistic and/or situational context. The above two interpretations of the sentence can be translated as follows:
Table 1: Disambiguating in translation English Slovak They passed the port at midnight. 1. O polnoci prešli okolo prístavu. 2. O polnoci roznášali/podávali portské (víno). Of course, when the context fails to give a clue, there is always the risk of misinterpretation. The need to avoid ambiguity has been stated by many a linguist. Among the early ones in England was Lindley Murray, who in his 1804 English Grammar strongly recommended: "Keep clear of double meaning or ambiguity." (Crystal 1987, 3). Similarly, numerous manuals of style advise: "minimize ambiguity and maximize clarity". The statement is, of course, well grounded. However, without ambiguity, many a pun and a lot of linguistic fun − not only in English − would be lost, not to speak of ambiguity deliberately and often profitably used for commercial, political or other reasons. As indicated for instance in the Encyclopaedia of Rhetoric (2001, 26), "numerous specific persuasive strategies lean particularly heavily on ambiguity as a resource", using it as a legitimate communicative strategy. Already in classical Greece many scholars held the opinion that artful usage of ambiguity is commensurate with the grandeur of thought. Ambiguity − mostly lexical or syntactic − as a textual phenomenon can often be found in documents such as forms, insurance policies, contracts, etc., which due also to their complexity are then not filled in correctly, are misunderstood or misinterpreted. This can have very adverse results, including even loss of business (cf. Crystal 1996, 377).
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Nevertheless, ambiguity, whether deliberate or not, occurs in utterances more generally. As stated by Scott (2006, 553), "ordinary speech is a rich source of vagueness, ambiguity, puzzles and paradoxes, most of which go unnoticed by most speakers". Even though in this paper we are primarily dealing with the ambiguity of autosemantic lexemes, let us in this context make a note concerning lexico-grammatical synsemantic means, as both are interconnected. The need to avoid ambiguity has, for instance in legal English, resulted in certain textual practices. For example, the low frequency of pronouns in legal documents is attributed to "the need for precision in naming the persons and things spoken about, as reference to them could give rise to ambiguities" (cf. Bázlik and Ambrus 2008, 26). It is generally acknowledged that words in natural languages develop polysemy, one of the reasons being that the needs to express notions and denote phenomena are much more varied and numerous than the number of words. Another reason can be seen in the fact that as lexical units are motivated and thus related to a particular motivating semantic spectrum, any of the semes of this spectrum can be potentially foregrounded within shifts of meaning (metaphor, metonymy, etc.). As a result, they can give rise to polysemy or (within a split of polysemy) to homonymy. A particular linguistic sign may then be not only polysemantic, entailing more than one message, which is a common phenomenon in language (cf. Lyons 1985, 38), but even potentially or actually ambiguous. The statement about this relative paradox is supported by Dolník who says that if we acknowledge the principle of antropomorphism, language as a product of human beings is marked by the rational-irrational character of those who create it (2007, 59). It can be added that on the other hand only words in artificial "ideal" languages (starting with Volapük created in 1880, through Esperanto in 1887, up to Glosa in 1981 and Uropi in 1986) can be non-ambiguous, as polysemy and homonymy do not in principle function in them. According to the Oxford English Dictionary (1989), "ambiguity is the state of simultaneously admitting plausible interpretations or explanations, thus permitting double meanings that ‘drive both ways’. Initially, ambiguity is related to rhetoric as both a property of human experience and a quality of symbols in general".
2. Typology of Lexical Ambiguity As a partial representation of the numerous types of lexical ambiguity, the following basic classification of its occurrences found can be suggested, as shown in Table 1:
Table 1: Types of Lexical Ambiguity A. Language-inherent ambiguity (occurring in a particular language) 1. Onomatological (structural) ambiguity 2. Polysemy 3. Homonymy 4. Enantiosemy B. Cross-linguistic ambiguity (occurring between or among languages) 1. Onomatological (structural) non-parallelism 2. Lexical cross-linguistic non-parallelism (asymmetry) 3. Ambiguity due to synchronical motivational non-transparency 4. Ambiguity resulting from differing objective reality As the classification entails a wide range of linguistic phenomena and their relationships, the analysis of which exceeds the scope of this paper, we shall devote our attention to language-inherent lexical ambiguity (Type A) in English and present observations concerning their further specification. It is evident from the findings that the subtypes of ambiguity often co-occur in the lexemes of a particular language and cross-linguistically enter into rather complex relationships. As a result, we present the findings in their interrelatedness and where relevant we also consider the contrastive English-Slovak perspective.
3. Analysis From the vast possibilities of language-inherent ambiguity in English we would like to present, analyse and discuss some of our findings concerning the particular subtypes.
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A.1 Onomatological ambiguity could be defined as structural, word-formative ambiguity where one of the morphs in a polymorphic lexical unit is word-formatively polyfunctional (usually bifunctional), allowing for differing semantic realization. In English we have found onomatological ambiguity mostly in derivatives. In the famous case of inflammable (cf. also Crystal 1996, 128) this is due to the homonymy of the inchoative causative prefix in-, with the meaning "something that will burn", this lexis being historically primary, and the lexis "resisting burning" with the Latin-based negative prefix in- which was adopted into English later. Due to the homonymy of the affix, the lexeme inflammable is enantiosemic, i.e. systemically (and textually only potentially) it entails two semantic contents of opposing polarity (see below). In Slovak the equivalents are hor ľ avý and nehor ľ avý respectively, with full differentiation of semantic polarity. Well known is also the English enantiosemically ambiguous lexeme priceless, translatable into Slovak as 1. drahocenný, neoceniteľ ný, majúci nevyč ísliteľ nú hodnotu 2. (ešte) neopatrený cenovkou 3. nepredajný, neur če ný na predaj 4. slg. perfektný, úžasný. Onomatologically ambiguous, but in this case due to the polysemy of the base, is also the English derivative unqualified . It can mean "not qualified, not fit" (from 1667) but also "not modified or restricted, without reservations, absolute, complete" (from 1796), hence it is also enantiosemic. As a cross-linguistic issue, due to its onomatological structure, only its first meaning is transparent and thus predictable for Slovaks and there sometimes occur mistakes in translating it, potentially with rather serious consequences. This was the case of some Slovak translations of legal documents where unqualified assent was wrongly translated as nekvalifikovaný or nekompetentný súhlas instead of its correct latter meaning bezvýhradný/úplný/jednozna č ný súhlas. Onomatological ambiguity can arise even as a result of wrong language-inherent usage, which is the case of restive. Its original and onomatologically systemic meaning was "refusing to move; stubborn, balky". Nevertheless, initially through wrong usage, it also developed the meaning "restless", of which it originally was and in substandard English still is an antonym. As a result, it became enantiosemic and a partial synonym to its antonym. In Slovak, no parallel ambiguity could exist also due to the fact that there is no negative suffix. The Slovak translations of these meanings are lexically and semantically differentiated. The original meaning of the English restive has its Slovak equivalents in tvrdohlavý, zanovitý, vzdorovitý, spurný and prieč ny. However, if restive occurs in a text in its "wrong" non-standard usage to mean the same as restless, its Slovak equivalents are nepokojný, nesústredený, netrpezlivý; agilný; bezsenný , etc. If the English context does not give a clue for the meaning used, restive gets translated according to its original onomatologically systemic and standard meaning. The infrequent occurrence of onomatological ambiguity in compounds can be exemplified by streetwise (cf. Peprník 1992, 26) in which one morphological structure entails two onomatological and semantic structures: one giving rise to an adjective and the other one to an adverb, as the morph -wise is onomatologically bi-functional. In Slovak the translation equivalents are neither monolexical nor ambiguous. By indispensable disambiguation its meanings are differentiated and explicitly expressed by analytical descriptions of the given notions, e.g.: 1. adj. správajúci sa opatrne na ceste ; 2. adv. pokiaľ ide o ulice. The above cross-linguistic lexical difference testifies to the rather widespread tendency towards lexical condensation in English that word-formatively often cannot be paralleled by the Slovak equivalents. A.2 Polysemy, i.e. coexistence of several lexias in a lexeme, is a natural result of semantic derivation and transpositional motivation (cf. Dolník 1990, 93). From among the sub-types of ambiguity due to polysemy we shall present the case of non-specific content and a wide semantic range of lexical units, namely in the case with non-specific boundaries of lexias. This can be exemplified by the positive qualifiers great, splendid, and magnificent , the lexias of which can but do not have to depend on their collocability with a particular head noun. Their basic meanings are clear, but within their close relatedness the specific semes that they entail are extremely varied. Cross-linguistically the selection of the proper equivalent can cause problems, as the context sometimes does not give any unanimous clue for the selection of the appropriate equivalent. For example, in Random House Dictionary the sentence: "Humour" was a great word with the old physiologists is given as an example for the meaning "much in use or favour", though it is evident that other lexias could potentially apply to it too, e.g. "famous", "important" or "remarkable". Systemically, the Slovak equivalents of great as presented in Table 2 in the following collocations include, e.g.:
Table 2: English great and some of its Slovak translation equivalents 29
English great battle great care great celebration great experience great reader great truth great voice great writer
Slovak (historicky) významná bitka dôkladná/vynikajúca starostlivos ť veľkolepá/fantastická oslava nezabudnuteľný/hlboký/úžasný zážitok náruživý čitateľ nesporná pravda vynikajúci hlas popredný spisovateľ
Of course, in many cases great can be translated simply as the general quantifier veľ ký (e.g. veľ ká starostlivosť , veľ ký zážitok, veľ ký č itateľ . However, due to lexical, collocability, semantic and stylistic reasons, within the process of disambiguation often the specification of the distinguishing seme(s) for selecting the appropriate text-relevant equivalent has to take place. In this context it should be pointed out that although theoretically lexical vagueness (a low degree of explicitness) does not necessarily entail lexical ambiguity, they are certainly close, to some extent overlapping concepts and often coexist in lexical phenomena. We agree with Dunbar who states that linguistic and logical criteria can "adequately capture the distinction between polysemy (ambiguity) and vagueness providing that their use is restricted to denotational rather than referential phenomena" (Dunbar 2001). In some cases a lexical unit can entail meanings which are not predictable with regard to its basic or most frequent meaning and which cross-linguistically can cause problems. Such non-predictable polysemy can be exemplified by the word forbidding . While its direct de-verbal meaning is evident and has analogously formed Slovak equivalents in the participle zakazujúci and the noun zakázanie/zakazovanie , its negatively evaluating adjectival meanings are not transparently present in its form. As a consequence, even advanced Slovak users of English might not be aware that the word could also mean odporný, ohavný; pustý; hrozivý, odstrašujúci, hrôzostrašný . In this sense the lexical and semantic non-transparence of the polysemy of an otherwise commonly known lexical unit can result in unduly ignoring some of its less predictable and usually also much less frequent meanings. This is also the case of e.g. the English adjective material. Lexically and semantically it manifests direct relatedness to matter , i.e. "pertaining to matter". Nevertheless, in English it also has the meaning "important, essential, relevant", but this is not transparently predictable from the form of the adjective material. With the Slovak formally analogous materiálny they constitute partial faux amis, being at the same time semantically non-parallel internationalisms (cf. Böhmerová 2005, 2006). A.3 Homonymy in English often results from or coexists with high and/or diffuse polysemy, due to which the lexical-semantic systemic relations can become extremely complex and the translation "a hard nut to crack" if context does not sufficiently assist in resolving the ambiguity. This is, e.g., the case of the noun rout , meaning: 1. "heavy defeat", 2. "disorderly retreat", 3. "disorderly crowd", 4. law: "disturbance of public peace by three or more persons", 5. "riot", 6. arch. fashionable party (and several other possible meanings). In addition, the noun rout is homonymous with the corresponding verb, as well as with two etymologically unrelated verbs of which the basic meaning of one is "to root, to poke" and of the other one "to bellow". In such cases, without textual or situational context, disambiguation is practically impossible. Endless numbers of other English lexemes are characterized by high and considerably diffuse polysemy and also by homonymy, e.g. crack, staple, lot, odd, live, etc., with varied types of the semantic relationships among their lexias within each lexeme. A basic type is the so-called "classical polysemy" or "polycentric categorization" for which Lewandowska-Tomaszczyk gives the example chest , the meanings of which do not overlap but have conceptual relationship (2007, 160). Due to the extensive polysemy and relatively frequent homonymy in English the translation of such lexemes into Slovak is much more demanding than vice versa, though in the latter case there are certainly other "stumbling blocks" to be overcome by the skills of the translator. A. 4 Enantiosemy, in English also referred to as antilogy, autoantonymy, or enantiodromy, is a rather specific case of lexical ambiguity. It can be defined as the coexistence of lexias of opposite polarity in one polysemantic lexeme, thus representing the highest degree of meaning difference. Though relatively infrequent in English, and evidently even less frequent in Slovak and probably many other languages, enantiosemy is interesting as a linguistic anomaly and paradox. However, as 30
pointed out by Pisár čiková (1980), the author of a pioneering article on enantiosemy in Slovak, even in Slovak it is neither a marginal nor a non-productive phenomenon. In general, ambiguity in language, including enantiosemy, is considered to be undesirable in the linguistic system. Still, in some respects it can become a welcome phenomenon in communication. This is in line with such possibilities of usage that, when praising the German language, G. W. F. Hegel points out that it even contains words entailing the opposite meaning, and that "coming across such words means great mental pleasure" (cf. in Ondrejovič 2000, 125; 2007, 130). Nevertheless, the very fact of the existence of enantiosemy in languages does not mean that their occurrence is cross-linguistically parallel. On the contrary, for a number of reasons the distribution of enantiosemic lexemes differs with languages. As pointed out also by Ondrejovi č (2000, 126), this phenomenon has not yet been systematically studied in languages. We can see the reason in the fact that enantiosemy relatively defies scrutiny as it is a phenomenon rather non-predictably scattered in the lexis. In one of our earlier studies dealing with enantiosemy (Böhmerová 1997, 12) we suggested a classification of some of its types in English which in a modified version and with examples is presented in Table 3:
Table 3: Types of Enantiosemy in English a) b) c) d) e)
Type verbs converted from nouns adjectives expressing abstract features derivatives by enantiosemic prefixes positivised colloquial negative qualifiers and intensifiers individual words
Examples bone, dust, milk, skin, stone heady, progressive, vital be-, inawesome, bad, terribly, commencement, priceless, to stroke
a) The founding nouns from which enantiosemic verbs are converted denote material substances, and the verbs arising from them can combine the semantic content of a process expressing the presence, addition, utilization, etc., of the given substance, or, on the contrary, its removal. Hence, to bone means "to remove bones from sth" or "to put whalebones or another stiffener into (clothing)". b) The enantiosemy of adjectives expressing abstract features can be supposed to be based on the mental and notional coexistence of antonymic concepts, of relevance for their actual meaning being the lexical and communicative context. Thus, the English vital, though primarily referring to life, notionally entails also its end, hence vital wound means "mortal wound" , i.e. smrteľ né poranenie. Similarly, progressive community means "improving community", i.e. priaznivo sa rozvíjajúca komunita/spolo č nosť while progressive disease means "worsening disease", i.e. zhoršujúca sa choroba. Heady can mean "rashly impetuous", i.e. unáhlený, neuvážený, or, on the contrary, "clever, shrewd", i.e. rozumný, uvážený . Cross-linguistically, such adjectival lexemes can cause problems and lead to errors if the translator is not familiar with their enantiosemy and does not in the particular textual context realize the need to consult detailed lexicographical sources for checking the existence of some other than the commonly known meanings. c) In English, enantiosemy can (albeit rarely) occur in derivatives with the suffix in-, e.g. inflammable (see above). In the case of be- only the prefix is enantiosemic, not the derivative, the prefix either meaning "add what is expressed by the base" or "remove what is expressed by the base", e.g. bejewel "ovešať šperkami" vs. behead "sťať hlavu". Hence, the meanings of be- are enantiosemic only systemically, not in the same derivative lexeme. While the above types of enantiosemy do not have their analogous parallels in Slovak, prefixal enantiosemy exists in Slovak, too, though only in the case of different prefixes. It can be found for instance in the case of the verbal prefix o- in obchádzať "go around; visit" vs. "avoid", or pre- in prehliadnu ť "to check, to survey" vs. "to neglect, to ignore" (cf. Böhmerová 1997, 19). d) The attitude of understatement in colloquial style and slang can lead to the shift of the polarity of a semantically negative qualifier to a positive one, which seems to be a cross-linguistic tendency. In English it has given rise to the relatively recent awesome with the parallel Slovak úžasný , both as positive evaluators. Such positive qualifiers can arise and become trendy in and symptomatic of a particular period. This was e. g. the case of bad and crazy in the United States in the 1920s, which in addition to their earlier semantically negative content also adopted the meaning of positive qualifiers and hence became systemically enantiosemic (cf. Böhmerová 2009). e) The individual enantiosemic lexemes are even more unpredictable than those classified in the above types. Their identification can only be sporadic and far from exhaustive. Their enantiosemy 31
develops on the basis of rather non-specifiable or often non-generalizable semantic reasons. For instance, the formal word commencement means "beginning", i.e. zač iatok , but in Cambridge, Dublin and American English also "ceremony of degree conferment", i.e. slávnostný záver akademického roka spojený s udeľ ovaním akademických titulov, this lexia being a result of a very specific narrowing of meaning. Some English lexical units marked by enantiosemy are generally known to advanced non-native users of English. However, the occurrence of enantiosemy (and homonymy, as well as extensive polysemy) of a number of other lexemes can appear unexpectedly and consequently even go unnoticed. This could, for instance, be the case of stroke that systemically has not only the meaning "to hit", i.e. udrieť but also "to caress", i.e. pohladiť which at some point can come as a surprise even to quite advanced users of English. Though methodologically very demanding, the identification of enantiosemic lexemes in the lexis, their further theoretical research and lexicographical marking can considerably contribute to teaching, learning and translating from English and prevent a number of often grave mistakes or misinterpretations.
Conclusions Lexical ambiguity is not only a potential or actually semantically present feature of languages in general, but it does have both systemic and communicative relevance. As vocabularies of languages are nonisomorphic, systemic lexical ambiguity is language-specific. Consequently, in translation the main problem is either the disambiguation of such lexemes, or, on the contrary, the aim at the preservation of intended ambiguity. However, the latter is often impossible for the non-existence of a parallel ambiguous lexeme in the target language. While from the theoretical and systemic points of view a parallel across-linguistic occurrence of ambiguity is possible, its actual occurrence is very rare and so in translation mostly other means of compensating for the ambiguity in the source language have to be used. Although linguistic ambiguity has been dealt with since the times of the Stoicist grammarians and has been studied in stylistics, literary and communication science, etc., most of its lexical means in languages are still hidden in the vast and complex lexias of languages, waiting for their discovery and systemic linguistic and cross-linguistic analysis, as well as for their lexicographical processing and labelling.
References Bázlik, Miroslav, and Patrik Ambrus. 2008. A Grammar of Legal English. Bratislava: Iura Edition. Böhmerová, Ada. 1997. “Enantiosemy As a Lexical and Semantic Phenomenon in English.” In: Philologica XLVI. Zborník Filozofickej fakulty Univerzity Komenského. Bratislava: Univerzita Komenského, 11-22. Böhmerová, Ada. 2005. “Non-parallel Internationalisms.” In: Slovak Studies in English 1 . Bratislava: Peter Mačura - PEEM, , 58-68. Böhmerová, Ada. 2006. “Medzijazykové lexikálne paralely v jazykovom systéme a v preklade.” In: 35 rokov výuč by prekladateľ stva a tlmoč níctva na Slovensku, 1970-2005; minulos ť , súč asnosť a budúcnosť prekladate ľ stva atlmoč níctva na Slovensku. Bratislava: Letra, 15-22. Böhmerová, Ada. 2009. “Positivised English Jazz-Age Quantifiers, Their Developments and Penetration into Some European Vocabularies.” In: Language, Literature and Culture in a Changing Transatlantic World. Prešov: Prešovská univerzita, 119-127. Crystal, David. 1987. The Cambridge Encyclopaedia of Language . Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Crystal, David. 1996. The Cambridge Encyclopaedia of the English Language . Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
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Geeraerts, 2007. Dirk and Hubert Cuyckens, Eds. The Oxford Handbook of Cognitive Linguistics. Oxford: Oxford University Press, Dolník, Juraj. 1990. Lexikálna sémantika. Bratislava: Univerzita Komenského. Dolník, Juraj. 2007. “Princíp iracionality vo frazéme.” In: Frazeologické štúdie V. Princípy lingvistickej analýzy vo frazeológii. Ed. Dana Baláková - Peter Ďurčo. Ružomberok: Katolícka univerzita v Ružomberku, Filozofická fakulta, 58-69. Dunbar, George. 2001. Towards a cognitive analysis of polysemy, ambiguity and vagueness. Cognitive Linguistics 12, 1-14. Encyclopaedia of Rhetoric. 2006. Ed. in Chief: Thomas O. Sloane. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Lewandowska-Tomaszczyk, Barbara. 2007. “Polysemy, Prototypes and Radial Categories.” In: The Oxford Handbook of Cognitive Linguistics. Eds. Dirk Geeraerts, Hubert Cuyckens. Oxford, Oxford University Press, 139-169. Lyons, John. 1985. Semantics . Volume 2. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ondrejovič, Slavomír. 2000. “Ku kategórii enantiosémie.” In: Lexikálna sémantika a derivatológia. Ed. Martin Ološtiak. Prešov, 125-130. Ondrejovič, Slavomír. 2007. Lexikálna sémantika a derivatológia. Košice: LG, 130. Oxford English Dictionary. 2nd ed. 1987. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Peprník, Jaroslav. 1992. Anglická lexikologie. Olomouc, Univerzita Palackého. Pisárčiková, Mária. 1980. “Vnútroslovná antonymia.” In: Jazykovedné štúdie 15. Ed. J. Ružička. Bratislava: Veda, 213-218. Scott, S. 2006. “Cognitive Science and Philosophy of Language.” In: Encyclopaedia of Language and Linguistics. Ed. in Chief K. Brown. Second Edition, Vol. 11. Oxford: Elsevier Ltd. The Random House Dictionary . 1993. Ed. Stuart Berg Flexner. New York: Random House.
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Language Ambiguity and Humour Magdaléna Bilá 1. Definition of the Concept Both philosophers and linguists have been bewildered by the concept of ambiguity trying to provide a precise definition and seeking its sources. Ambiguities, however, eluded any efforts at precise definitions owing to their ambiguous nature (compare with Pehar). The following dictionary entries can exemplify this statement: 1. the state of having more than one possible meaning 2. a word or statement that can be understood in more than one way 3. the state of being difficult to understand or explain because of involving many different aspects (Oxford Advanced Learner’s Dictionary). 1. doubtfulness or uncertainty of meaning or intention: to speak with ambiguity; an ambiguity of manner. 2. an unclear, indefinite, or equivocal word, expression, meaning, etc.: a contract free of ambiguities; the ambiguities of modern poetry. (http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/ambiguity).
A modified and more accurate definition is provided by Pehar 1. He claims that “in order to qualify as an ambiguity an expression must generate not only at least two different meanings, but also two incompatible and unrelated meanings. It is only then that an expression is truly ambiguous”.
Thus he regards ambiguities “as pieces of language that 1. can be interpreted as meaning A, 2. can be interpreted as meaning B, and 3. cannot be interpreted as A and B simultaneously, but, eventually, as a neutral (re)source, from which, under specific focuses of vision/interpretation, both A and B might at separate times spring” (Pehar, pp. 163 –
199).2 Tondl (2006) provides a similar definition of ambiguity using fringe conditions:
“an expression is ambiguous if it is found in such a set of fringe conditions in which there are two different subsets of fringe subsets connected with different interpretation of the term in question”.
2. Delimitation of Ambiguity In everyday life a speaker that has been misunderstood is frequently referred to with the attribute ambiguous. This characteristic is used irrespective of the source of misunderstanding in communication which may be vagueness, obscurity, uncertainty, indefiniteness, indistinctness or confusion. In other words, the word ambiguous is commonly used to cover a number of communicative situations in which the message has not been comprehended (compare also Bach and Pehar) 3. Therefore, linguists and philosophers of language maintain that ambiguity ought to be differentiated from such phenomena as: contradiction, vagueness, relativity, indexicality, lexical under-determination and denotational uncertainty. Ambiguity and Contradiction “An ambiguity is not a mere contradiction since it does not say both ‘A is B’ and ‘A is non-B’. Actually it somehow says both ‘A is B’ and ‘A is C’, but under different angles. It may be interpreted as ‘A is B’ in one light, but then, in exactly the same light, it cannot be interpreted as ‘A is C’.4
In this sense, Quiroga-Clare views ambiguty both as a blessing and as a curse. “Taken as a whole, as ‘A is B’ and ‘A is C’ combined, an ambiguity is just a possibility of a sentence, not a real sentence. And that is in all probability the cause, Pehar concludes, we do not regard it as a pure contradiction. But what is this mysterious thing called “a possibility of a sentence”? I do not know’ (Pehar: 163 – 199).
The above-given quotation might refer to the dubious state of mind or activity of the brain flickering between the two equally plausible readings at the same time being unable to establish a single one. The activity of brain upon encountering ambiguity has been subject to neurological experiments. Thus, 1
http://diplo.diplomacy.edu/books/language_and_diplomacy/texts/pdf/pehar2.PDF http://diplo.diplomacy.edu/books/language_and_diplomacy/texts/pdf/pehar2.PDF 3 Bach, Kent: Routledge Encyclopedia of Philosophy entry http://online.sfsu.edu/~kbach/ambguity.html 4 http://diplo.diplomacy.edu/books/language_and_diplomacy/texts/pdf/pehar2.PDF 2
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neuroscientists have also aimed at establishing the nature of ambiguity from neurological aspects, e.g Nieuwland and Van Berkum (2008) carried out a series of neurocognitive experiments that examined the neural correlates of referential ambiguity. The results of their experiments illustrate that referential ambiguity resolution requires making an inference to reassess the referential candidates. They further claim that these inferences only take place when both referential candidates are, at least in the beginning, equally possible antecedents. The scientists have also found that whether comprehenders utilize these anaphoric inferences considerably depends on the particular context and the characteristics of the reader. Ambiguity and Vagueness Vagueness refers to expressions whose meanings are assigned to “blurry regions of a scale and thus allowing for borderline cases” (heavy and old may be given as obvious illustrations) 5. Similarly, Tondl (2006, pp. 235 - 251) regards vagueness as a feature of those empirical predicates that have a qualitative character. Those concepts, he claims, express quantitatively determined change of quality or the emergence of a new quality, the quantitative characteristic, however, is unclear (e.g. high, distant ). He further states that even the interpretation norms supposed to specify the quantitative characteristics may not eliminate vagueness since they only impose some constraints with regard to certain tasks or objectives so that the concept in question may fulfill them. Only terms and concepts of a formalized language are not vague. If the same terms are used in natural language, however, they are vague. Tondl stresses that there are several types of vagueness as there is not only one source of vagueness (such as the language users, logical structure of language and the class of signified entities), the general source being the absence of absolute correspondence between the discreetness of the universe and that of the language in question. He further states that vagueness can be measured based on the relation between semantic decision making process (language users’ attitude to terms whose meaning they understand) and the language users. Regarding the degree of vagueness, Tondl points out that proper names and individual characteristics exhibit no or minimal vagueness, general terms exhibit the highest degree of vagueness and theoretical terms exhibit no or limited vagueness only within a certain conception. Tondl differentiates between denotative and sense vagueness, the former one being defined as “uncertainty of boundaries of semantic decision making in relation to a certain universe or single areas of this universe” (Tondl, 2006, p. 247).
The latter type is defined as “unclear boundaries of the feature that is maintained in any correct translation of the term in question” (Tondl, 2006, p. 247).
Thus, Tondl makes a clear dividing line between vagueness and ambiguity. He regards the latter term as a specific case of heteronymy and stresses that “ambiguity differs from vagueness in that it presupposes more then one interpretation of the term” (Tondl, 2006, p. 247).
Ambiguity and relativity Relativity can be represented by vague words the meanings of which are dependent on the referent of the noun (heavy people are lighter than non-heavy elephants, and old cats are younger than some young people3). Ambiguity and Indexicality Generally known indexical terms (like 'you' , 'here' and 'tomorrow' ) “have unchanging meanings but variable reference”3. Ambiguity and Lexical Under-determination Bach deals with philosophical ambiguities under which terms that “ do double duty” are understood (e.g. there is a kind of ambiguity, often described as the 'act/object' ('building'), the 'process/product' ambiguity ('writing') or ´type/token´ reference (everyday terms like, 'animal', 'book' and 'car' applying both to types and to instances (tokens) of those types) 3. Regarding these cases Bach concludes that although some philosophers insist on such cases of ambiguity, some linguists claim that they are actually cases of lexical under-determination. Bach also deals with some philosophical suggestions that pronouns are ambiguous as between their anaphoric and their deictic use. (So for example, it is suggested that a sentence like 'Oedipus loves his mother' has two 'readings', i.e . 5
Bach, Kent: Routledge Encyclopedia of Philosophy entry http://online.sfsu.edu/~kbach/ambguity.html
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“it is ambiguous, because it can be used to mean either that Oedipus loves his own mother or that Oedipus loves the mother of some contextually specified male)”.
However, Bach holds that this seems to be an insufficient basis for the claim of ambiguity: “After all, being previously mentioned is just another way of being contextually specified”.
Bach further argues that even claims of structural ambiguity, specifically the claims of scope ambiguity, can be similarly disputed. He provides the following example: 'Everybody loves somebody', which appears to manifest a scope ambiguity because it can be used to mean either that for each person, there is somebody that that person loves or that there is somebody that everybody loves. In order to qualify as ambiguity, he holds, it is necessary to identify a level of linguistic description at which the sentence can be assigned two distinct structures (some grammarians hold that is a level of LF). Bach, however, claims that even though an utterance of such a sentence can be understood in either of two ways, “it is not ambiguous but merely semantically under-determinate”6. Ambiguity and Denotational Uncertainty Tondl (2006) connects denotational uncertainty to situations when language users are unable to interpret a term although they can provide a synonym or translate it into another language and states that this situation can occur in natural as well as formalized language (Tondl, 2006, p. 250).
3. Types of Ambiguity Authorities agree on the fact that ambiguity can appear at any level of discourse and thus the following types of ambiguities can be distinguished: lexical, referential, syntactical (also referred to as structural), and cross-textual ambiguities (introduced by Pehar) depending on whether they connect to a single word, a sentence, or a set of sentences or a text. 7 Lexical Ambiguity This type of ambiguity as a rule connects to a homonym or a polysemous word presented in isolation (e.g. bank, eye – I). Referential Ambiguity This type of ambiguity may connect to a homonym in which case, in general, further context will provide additional clues thus disambiguating the homonym. However, in the case of a pun the meanings of homonymous expressions will be intentionally exploited thus creating humor as can be illustrated in the following example: In 1979, John Crosbie, a Canadian writer and publisher, established the International Save the Pun Foundation, which issues a monthly newsletter, The Pundit8, and presents a list of the “Ten Best Stressed Puns of the Year.” After Crosbie’s death, Norman Gilbert, a financial planner became “Chairman of the Bored.”9
In addition, referential ambiguity may connect to a word or group of words in which case it is frequently used deliberately as a source of humor: The organization10 enjoys worldwide popularity and it also gives a POTY award to the Punster of the Year. The year that author and collector Richard Lederer won, he said as part of his acceptance speech at the annual April First dinner in Chicago, “A good pun is like a good Steak – a rare medium well done.” 11
Sometimes a word or a longer linguistic form may be understood in either its literal or figurative senses thus resulting in referential ambiguity, which can be exemplified by a dialogue from Diamonds are forever : In an introductory scene 007 approaches a lady who is supposed to provide the vital information he is seeking. She is apparently impressed by his astonishingly good looks and eagerly asks: “Is there 6
Bach, Kent: Routledge Encyclopedia of Philosophy entry http://online.sfsu.edu/~kbach/ambguity.html http://diplo.diplomacy.edu/books/language_and_diplomacy/texts/pdf/pehar2.PDF 8 a word of Hindi origin meaning a learned person, expert, or authority. 9 Nilsen, D. L., F. and Nilsen, A. P., 2000: 238, In: Nilsen, D. L., F. and Nilsen, A. P.: Ambiguity and puns. A power point presentation. 10 the International Save the Pun Foundation 11 Nilsen, D. L., F. and Nilsen, A. P., 2000: 238, In: Nilsen, D. L., F. and Nilsen, A. P.: Ambiguity and puns. A power point presentation. 7
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something I can do for you?” to which Bond replies: “Yes, there is. As a matter of fact, there is. I’d like to get something off your chest.” Upon uttering it he gets off her bra and starts choking her with it in order to
make her give away the information sought. In this case the verb get off is used as a component of the idiom get off one’s chest meaning to tell someone about something that has been worrying you or making you feel guilty for a long time, in order to make you feel better and as a phrasal verb meaning strip off, undress, i.e. the verb get off acts as a single lexeme used in its literal sense (compare with Kreidler). Kreidler (2002: 151 – 152) provides a list of other instances of referential ambiguity resulting from the nature of referring expressions since: 1 an indefinite referring expression may be specific or not: I wanted to buy a newspaper. Here a newspaper may refer to a specific newspaper or some newspaper, any newspaper. The ambiguity disappears if we add, on the one hand, but I couldn’t find it or, on the other hand, but I couldn’t find one. 2 anaphora is unclear because a personal pronoun can be linked to either of two referring expressions: Jack told it to Ralph and then he told it to Mary. 3 the pronoun you is used generically or specifically: If you want to get ahead, you have to work hard. (Is you the addressee or is this sentence a general platitude?) 4 a noun phrase with every can have distributed reference or collected reference: I’m buying a drink for everybody here. (One drink for all or one drink for each?).
Nevertheless, as has been mentioned above, these ambiguities seem to be unsustainable in a longer context, some of them (example 3) can be disambiguated by applying emphasis and therefore, they appear to be rather cases of lexical under-determination or vagueness (co mpare Tondl, 2006). Syntactical Ambiguity This type of ambiguity is also referred to as grammatical or structural (Bach); Pehar, however, prefers to label it as syntactical “because this type of ambiguity actually rests on the vagaries of syntactical relations within a sentence. Sometimes a sentence contains a number of specifications, but their direction—what they specify—is multiple, opening the sentence to several different and incompatible interpretations, making it ambiguous.12
Pehar explains that the difference between the referential and syntactical ambiguity is in the fact that the former one is due to “an intrinsic quality of the parts of a sentence, syntactical ambiguity is ambiguous due to a relation between the parts of a sentence”.
Furthermore, Kleider (2002) further illustrates that syntactical ambiguity may be in the surface structure of a sentence (as words can combine in different possible constructions) or it may relate to the deep structure (one sequence of words may have more than one reading, usually because the rules of sentence construction allow ellipsis , the omission of what is generally understood and what the comprehenders may infer). Examples of surface ambiguity: (a) Constructions containing the coordinators and and or . ([Mat] and [Gloria or Andrea], [Mat and Gloria] or [Andrea]. (b) A coordinate head with one modifier: The only people that were interested were old men and women. ([old men] and [women], old [men and women]; (c) A head with a coordinate modifier: Three or four hundred fans attended the match. ([3] or [400], [300] or [400]) (d) A head with an inner modifier and an outer modifier, which can be disambiguated in speech by appropriate stress placement: A Tibetan history teacher ([Tibetan] [history teacher], [Tibetan history] [teacher]) (e) A complement and modifier or two complements: The tourists objected to the guide that they couldn’t hear. [objected to] [the guide that they couldn’t hear], [objected to the guide] [that they couldn’t hear]) (f) Certain function words, including not, have possible differences in scope: 12
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The tennis courts are open to members only on Thursdays. I can give you five more interesting examples. ([members only] or [only on Thursdays]; [5 more] [interesting examples] or [5] [more interesting examples] (compare Kreidler, 2002, pp. 169 – 170).
The above given cases of ambiguity appear to be questionable, since, as has been mentioned above, when uttered they get disambiguated by utilizing appropriate intonation, stress patterns and pausing. Examples of deep structure ambiguity: (a) Gerund+object or participle modifying a noun. Flying planes can be dangerous. (‘Flying cars is dangerous’ or ‘Flying planes are dangerous’) (b) Adjective+infinitive, tied to subject or to complement: The duck is too cold to eat. (‘Too cold to eat anything’ or ‘too cold for anybody to eat it’) (c) Ellipsis in comparative constructions: She likes John better than Joan. (‘Better than she like Joan’ or ‘better than Joan likes John’) (compare Kreidler, 2002, pp. 169 – 170).
The ambiguity of the above-given examples is again unsustainable in specific contexts or situations which, as a rule, provide further clues thus disambiguating them. Kreidler (2002) also points to negative sentences that may often contain ambiguity. For instance, the sentences Sally didn’t start sewing at seven is ambiguous because the little word not may negate the whole sentence or only the expression of time: it wasn’t at seven (but at some other time) that Sally started sewing (Kreidler, 2002, p. 217). Cross-Textual Ambiguity As has been previously mentioned, ambiguity can appear at any level of discourse, in other words, it can connect to a discrete phrase or sentence, but also to a larger body of a text stretching over more sentences. It was introduced by Pehar and he named it cross-textual . This type of ambiguity appears to be more delicate and more difficult to detect since it is an amalgam of “not only semantics of phrases or semantics of propositions and sentences, but also semantics of texts; semantics of sets of inter-related sentences. Friction between the two sets of specifications is a key precondition for the creation of a cross-textual ambiguity and without it cross-textual ambiguity would not occur at all”.13
As Pehar illustrates, this type of ambiguity can frequently be encountered in legal documents as those who prepare various legal documents at times choose to be ambiguous. Pehar illustrates that this kind of ambiguity is best exemplified with so-called “open-ended sentences” .
4. Sources of Ambiguity Authorities claim that in everyday oral communication we fail to notice potential ambiguities. We may sporadically notice ambiguities in written texts while not being quite sure what the writer’s intention was (Kreidler, 2002). This reveals the very nature of language and in order to explain the existence of language ambiguities the authorities draw on Saussure´s treatment of linguistic sign stressing its arbitrariness, e.g. “there is no exact correlation between pieces of language—words, phrases, sentences—and the phenomena we communicate about. Language fits quite loosely around ‘reality.’ Any linguistic element has a range of senses; combination of linguistic elements limits the range for each element, creating a total sense that still has a possible range of applications. Our world is always changing—our personal world, our social world, the natural world— and language adapts in whatever way we need it.” (Kreidler, 2002, pp. 170 – 171, compare also Černý, Quiroga-Clare and Tondl).
Another treatment of linguistic sign, Pierce’s semiotic model emphasizes the relationships among the sign, the concept which the sign evokes in the mind of language users and the object to which it is related. What is more, Pierce’s semiotic model stresses the fact that the concept to which the sign is related is always dependent on the language user's past experience with the object in question. In other 13
http://diplo.diplomacy.edu/books/language_and_diplomacy/texts/pdf/pehar2.PDF 38
words, the sign may persist, the concept, however may change in relation to the given situation or context. “Language is a very complex phenomenon. Meanings that can be taken for granted are in fact only the tip of a huge iceberg. Psychological, social and cultural events provide a moving ground on which those meanings take root and expand their branches”.14
Another reason why ambiguity appears to be an intrinsic nature of language is the system into which the language units are arranged. Cognitive scientists have concluded that language can also be modeled like small world and on this view lexicon can be interpreted as a graph in which individual words are interconnected nods. One way of explaining these interconnections is related to the semantic structure of the language and it takes into account all the connotations of a word. The central meaning of a word is denotation , also referred to as the cognitive or referential meaning. There may be some lexical items that have a more or less fixed denotation, this is, however rare. Words, as a rule, appear to be members of two or more distinct contexts (e.g. head) as if their roles were to interconnect distant clusters (or contexts) by means of a far-reaching interaction (Markošová, 2005, p. 314). Words belonging to two or more distinct contexts are referred to as polysemous . Polysemy is sometimes difficult to distinguish from homonymy. Lexicographers and semanticists hold that a polysemous lexeme has several (apparently) related meanings. (The noun head , for instance, seems to have related meanings when we speak of the head of a person, the head of an institution , head of a table or bed, a head of lettuce or cabbage . If we take the anatomical referent as the basic denotation, the other meanings can be seen as resulting from the basic one, either reflecting the outer features and shape of the human head or, more conceptually, the primary function of the head with regard to the rest of the body), (Kreidler, 2002, p. 52). Dictionaries recognize the distinction between polysemy and homonymy by making a polysemous item a single dictionary entry and making homonymous lexemes two or more separate entries. Some lexemes seem to be homonyms; they may, however, be etymologically related. In other words, they may have originated from a common source although present day language users regard them as semantically unrelated (co mpare Tondl, 2006). Kreidler (2002) demonstrates that when homonyms are be put into identical positions in utterances, lexical ambiguity occurs (as in, for example, “I was on my way to the bank. ”) He stresses, however, that “the ambiguity is not likely to be sustained in a longer discourse” as this will provide further clues thus disambiguating the homonym in question. What is more, he adds, quite often homonyms represent different lexical categories and do not, as a rule, occur in identical contexts (Kreidler, 2002: 55 – 56). For instance, the word spring may function as a verb that has a number of meanings related to a leap, jump, or bound or it may function as a noun and refer to the season of the year. Kreidler (2002) holds that a comparison ought to be made with some other languages, which can be taken as a test in order to establish whether we have two homonymous expressions or rather one polysemous expression 15(Kreidler, 2002, p. 53). Homonym, homophone 16 and homograph 17, are a frequent source of ambiguity. They are commonly exploited in puns, e.g. Nilsen & Nilsen introduce the following examples of boat names: Nauti By Nature, Pier Pressure, Berth Control (238) and an example of a beauty shop: Curl Up and Dye. Another example of a pun is a tattoo: “Marriage is not a word, it is a sentence”.
Change in meaning is regarded as another source of ambiguity. As a rule, it has two stages. The first stage is called innovation which is always individual and, as a rule, anonymous (except for rare cases 14
Quiroga-Clare, Cecilia: Language Ambiguity: A Curse and a Blessing. In: Translation Journal. http://accurapid.com/journal/23ambiguity.htm 15 E.g. with the verbs ask before deciding, he suggests that we look at the correspondences in six languages related to English, three Germanic and three Romance. Based on this comparison we can deduce that English ask is a polysemous verb that has two different verbs as equivalents in some other languages. “The context in which ask occurs determines whether information or a favor is being requested. Therefore, there is no lexical ambiguity”. 16 Where the pronunciation is identical (or close, allowing for such phonological variation as comes from accent) but standard spelling differs, as in flew (from fly), flu (influenza) and flue (of a chimney). 17 When different words are spelled identically and possibly pronounced the same (examples: bank the slope immediately bordering a stream course along which the water normally runs and bank , an institution for receiving, lending, exchanging, and safeguarding money and, in some cases, issuing notes and transacting other financial business.). 39
when it is traceable, e.g. snob originally meant tailor but W. M. Thackeray started to use it in a different meaning in Book of Snobs). The change in meaning may be traceable in scientific terms (e.g. feminism was first used by Utopian Socialist Fourier in 1837; semantics was first used by Michel Bréal in 1897). The second stage is referred to as spread of innovation (depending on a variety of factors, e.g. need for a new coinage or neologism, prestige of its author or other factor – it has an expressive value) and always has a social character ( Černý – Holeš, 2004). Regarding the theoretical explanations of the origins of ambiguity, Pehar presents the most rudimentary theory proposed by the Greek philosopher and scientist Aristotle, who regarded ambiguity as a manifestation of imperfection of a language system . On this view languages express an unlimited number of things with a limited number of resources ( theory of disproportion ). “In modern terminology, we say that the world is a continuum while the words we use to describe it are discrete”.18
Authorities have shunned this theory since it does not account for all types of ambiguity, specifically syntactical and cross-textual ambiguities. Regarding this theory, it would be possible to state, Pehar holds, “that the world is paratactic, while language itself is syntactic. In other words, words come in succession, one after another, which may lead to confusion as to which phrase should be coupled with which. The world comes in totality; its items are co-present simultaneously, which leaves us, in principal, no doubt as to which item flows from which”.
Some course-books on semantics, however, still subscribe to the treatment of ambiguity as language insufficiency (Kreidler). Ambiguity, vagueness and denotational uncertainty have their counterparts – definiteness, clarity and certainty. Communication apparently should aim at definiteness, clarity and certainty; nevertheless, this would only be possible if the discreetness of the universe entirely corresponded with the discreetness of a language. This, linguists have stressed, is not the case and, therefore, occurrence in communication of ambiguous and vague expressions as well as expressions with denotational uncertainty is inevitable. Although interpretation norms may contribute to precision of expression, they ought to be flexible so that they may help the terms adapt to new needs and roles that they fulfill in communication. What is more, definiteness, clarity and certainty are relative in that they should always be considered in relation to a certain context. Thus, even vague and ambiguous expression as well as expressions with uncertain denotation may become definite and clear and unambiguous in certain contexts (Tondl, 2006). The reason why authorities regard the theory of disproportion as not viable is the fact that it only deals with the representational function of language and “it derives ambiguity from the fact that language represents reality in a less-than-perfect way” and therefore they regard ambiguity as a feature of language “ insufficiency”.19 “Language, however, serves not only the function of representing reality, but many other functions as well. Language is thus subject to not only representational pressure, but to other, social and psychological pressures as well”.20
In addition to i/ the referential function that is oriented toward the context, the language fulfills a number of further functions: ii/ the emotive function that is oriented toward the addresser; iii/ the conative function that is oriented toward the addressee; iv/ the phatic function that serves to establish, prolong or discontinue communication; vi/ the metalingual function that is used to establish mutual agreement on the code (for example, a definition); vii/ the poetic function that puts 'the focus on the message for its own sake' [(Jakobson, 1960, p. 356)]" (trans. of Tritsmans, 1987, p. 19, in: Hébert, 2006).
18
http://diplo.diplomacy.edu/books/language_and_diplomacy/texts/pdf/pehar2.PDF; compare Tondl, 2006. http://diplo.diplomacy.edu/books/language_and_diplomacy/texts/pdf/pehar2.PDF 20 http://diplo.diplomacy.edu/books/language_and_diplomacy/texts/pdf/pehar2.PDF 19
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Thus, authorities illustrate that ambiguous language may play an important role, especially in texts that focus on human beings 21. What is more, in texts in which “the focus is on the message for its own sake” double discourse appears to be an inevitable device fulfilling poetic function. This is the case of tropes, such as metaphors, metonyms, symbols and allegories. These may have two incompatible readings, in which case they are manifestations of double discourse or they may be vague in which case they leave the freedom of interpretation to the reader: “Allegories and metaphors divide the sign, exposing its arbitrariness. A living metaphor always carries dual meanings, the literal or sentence meaning and the conveyed or utterance meaning. A metaphor induces comparison, but since the grounds of similarity are not always given, metaphors serve to emphasize the freedom of the reader as opposed to the authority of the writer” (Quiroga-Clare).
5. Use of ambiguities in creating humor The intrinsic nature of ambiguities, i.e. the fact that a portion or a whole text has two incompatible readings, is frequently exploited in order to create cr eate humor. “A text is funny if and only if the text is compatible (fully or in part) with two distinct scripts, and the two distinct scripts are in some way opposite.22 “... much of humor resides in the bistable nature of a comic impressionist or two incongruous interpretations of a given situation...”23
Oscillating of the brain between two incongruous interpretations, as authorities suggest, may be accompanied by laughter. Humor of the punch line in the following jokes is based on two incompatible semantic interpretations of certain expressions and syntactical structures: “A man goes into a restaurant dragging a 10-foot alligator. He manages to get the alligator stuffed stuffed under a table. When the waitress waitress approaches, he asks her if they serve senior citizens here. “Of course,” she she says. 24 “Good,” he answers. “Give my alligator a senior citizen, and I’ll have a cheeseburger.” A: My husband is an angel. B: You’re lucky, mine’s still alive.25 A: What did the man say when he walked into the Post Office? B: Ouch.26
Authorities also illustrate that the humor of ambiguity may not necessarily result from semantics. Comic impressionists impersonate the politicians and celebrities and the humor of their performance is to a certain extent based on the fact that we "know" that we are watching the performer and yet we "see" the person they mimic. Here the effect of humor is caused by our brains oscillating between two images – the caricature and the impressionist. 27 Lexical ambiguities are widely exploited in advertisements, in creating commercial propaganda as illustrated by the following examples all of which are based on homophones: boat names: Pier Pressure, Berth Control and the name of a beauty shop: Curl Up and Dye28 . The exploitation of lexical ambiguity is referred to as pun. “The English meaning of pun, which comes from the Italian word puntiglio meaning “fine point,” is the humorous use of a word in such a way as to suggest two or more of its meanings or the meaning of another word similar in sound.29
21
http://diplo.diplomacy.edu/books/language_and_diplomacy/texts/pdf/pehar2.PDF Ruch, 2008: 25, In: Nilsen, D. L., F. and Nilsen, A. P.: Linguistic Humor, Bilingual Humor, Translation, and Language Play. A Power point presentation. 23 Bradley, David: Ambiguity in Art http://www.sciencebase.com/ambiguity-in-art.html 24 Ruch, 2008: 25, In: Nilsen, D. L., F. and Nilsen, A. P.: Linguistic Humor, Bilingual Humor, Translation, and Language Play. A Power point presentation. 25 Tom Hutchinson: lecture at the University of Prešov, 2009. 26 Tom Hutchinson: lecture at the University of Prešov, 2009. 27 Bradley, David: Ambiguity in Art http://www.sciencebase.com/ambiguity-in-art.html 28 Nilsen, D. L., F. and Nilsen, A. P., 2000: 238, In: Nilsen, D. L., F. and Nilsen, A. P.: Ambiguity and puns. A power point presentation. 29 Nilsen, D. L., F. and Nilsen, A. P., 2000: 238, In: Nilsen, D. L., F. and Nilsen, A. P.: Ambiguity and puns. A power point presentation. 22
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Apart from referential function, the language in expressive texts fulfills a number of additional functions, therefore, ambiguities are widely utilized in stories, novels and movies in order to make their dialogues witty and develop plots, in order to provide for suspense, as well as portray the characters – relying also on incompatibility of aural and visual cues and thus making the audience’s brains flip between two incongruous images. Obvious examples of ambiguity may be agents operating undercover – pretending to be and acting as someone and at the same time being someone else. At any time their true identity may be revealed, which creates suspense 30. Sometimes the whole plot is based on ambiguity, e.g. if a character is removed from their original domain into an alien one and this ambiguity may be “sustained until the story's climax.” 31 Humor in the following exchange arises from the two incongruous semantic interpretations of an expression, from the incompatibility of aural and visual images. i mages. In the opening scene of the Bond movie Diamonds are forever , one of the players in the Casino asks for another playing card: “Hit me!” saying this at the very moment when he is actually hit by Bond. Here the verb hit is used in the former meaning (i.e. to give (someone) another playing card); however, the situation suggests the literal meaning of the verb (i.e. to slap, to strike ). In the Bond movies dialogues sparkle with humor resulting from language ambiguity, e.g. in the movie Diamonds are forever the sentence “Tell him he’s fired!” is uttered by a character upon realizing that an employee of his has betrayed him. This happens at the very moment when the villain is being shot. Thus two messages are delivered simultaneously (aurally and visually): that the employee has been dismissed from from his job and that a bullet has been projected at him . The following example of a humorous exchange has been taken from the Bond movie Octopussy. When 007 and his allies are chased by an enemy car, he remarks: “I think we’ve got company”. His companion, an Indian agent, responds: “No problem. This is a company car.” The word company is first used in the meaning of an assemblage of persons for social purposes and second as the Company, an informal expression, a nation's major intelligence-gathering and espionage organization . In the final scene of Diamonds are forever Bond confronts the main villain saying: “The Acme Pollution Control. We’re cleaning up the world and this is the apparent starting point.” The phrasal verb clean up is used obviously in the following two meanings: to wash or tidy up and to rid of undesirable persons. Scriptwriters present even Bond’s adversaries as creative in their use of language and thus they resort to ambiguities in order to create humor as can be exemplified by the exchange from the Diamonds are forever movie. After capturing 007 and when he is about to be cremated one of Bond’s adversaries remarks: “Glowing tribute, Mr Bond”. The word glowing is used in two incompatible meanings: both as an adjective meaning warmly favorable or complimentary and a present participle meaning to shine suggesting the act of cremation. Scriptwriters exploit ambiguities also to create the image of 007 as a knowledgeable and smart agent, highly competent professional manifesting incredible skills, and at the same time being calm and not losing his humor and stunningly good looks even under most difficult circumstances. The following exchange (from the movie Octopussy ) and responses (from the movie The Spy who Loved me and Octopussy ) can be used for exemplification of Bond’s sense of humor deriving from ambiguity: “Thanks God for hard currency!” comments Bond when a bunch of Indian banknotes in his breast
pocket prevent a knife from penetrating his chest. The expression hard currency is used in both its literal meaning, i.e. not soft; solid and firm firm to the touch; unyielding to pressure and impenetrable impene trable or almost impenetrable and figurative meaning supported by sufficient gold reserves and easily convertible into the currency of a foreign nation.
30 31
Bradley, David: Ambiguity in Art http://www.sciencebase.com/ambiguity-in-art.html Bradley, David: Ambiguity in Art http://www.sciencebase.com/ambiguity-in-art.html 42
“He was cut off (pause) permanently,” responds Bond to the Russian agent XXX, who inquires about
an informant’s whereabouts . Here the verb cut off has two readings: to stop suddenly and to kill. One of the obvious scenes regularly presents 007 in Q´s laboratory where all the smart gadgets are invented and tested. A device crashing anybody that is standing behind the door and eavesdropping is being tested, and Bond gives the following comment: “Smashing!“ The adjective smashing is used both in the meaning of impressive or wonderful and crushing or devastating . In the Bond movies ambiguities have political undertones and are exploited in order to ridicule the totalitarian system in the former Soviet Union and its allies. In the movie The Spy who Loved me 007 frequently teases his Russian counterpart (the agent XXX), as illustrated in the following exchange: XXX: “It’s getting cold”. 007: “Is there anything I can do to warm you up?” XXX: ”You needn’t worry about me, Mr. Bond. I went on a survival course in Siberia”. 007: “Yes, I believe a great number of your countrymen do”.
Here the phrase a survival course in Siberia is used in its literal meaning (by the Russian agent XXX) and as a referentially ambiguous expression by 007 referring r eferring to gulags in Siberia . In the 007 movies one reading of ambiguities frequently has a sexual undertone and portrays Bond as a confident man who knows his ways with women and is endowed with irresistible charm as illustrated by the following examples: In the movie Diamonds are forever forev er one of the Bond girl’s name is Plenty. Upon the first meeting meeting in the Casino Plenty introduces herself saying “I’m Plenty”, to which Bond promptly replies: “But of course you are” looking at her full bosom. In another scene of the same movie, in a hotel bedroom Bond discusses some issues with another Bond girl and soothes her with the following follo wing words: “Relax, darling, I’m on top of situation”. In the movie The Spy who Loved me when an attractive receptionist enters Bond’s room with a message saying: “I have a message for you”, Bond responds: “You have just delivered it.” The whole utterance is interpreted by Bond in its figurative meaning, i.e. he admits that a beautiful woman always appeals to him. In the final scene of the same movie Bond is caught with the Russian spy and upon being asked what he is doing, he responds smartly: “Keeping the British end up, Sir.” Again, the whole utterance can be interpreted in figurative or literal meaning. In the Octopussy in one of the regularly occurring scenes presenting Q´s laboratory, a special gadget for climbing is tested and it fails to maintain its upright position, which promptly makes Bond tease Q: “ Having trouble keeping it up, Q?” referring to the deficiency of the device or Q´s old age. Similarly, the introductory scene in Basic instinct 1 also utilizes ambiguity with sexual undertone. On the murder scene one of the cops says: “He got off before he got off ”. ”. The former phrasal verb get off is used in the meaning to leave or die and the latter one is a vulgar slang expression in the meaning to experience orgasm. In expressive texts, the authors play with words and their meanings and reveal the characters´ personality traits as can be illustrated by a response r esponse in The Big Bang Theory series. One of the main protagonists (Sheldon) is forced to take driving lessons. Upon being asked in the driving school to hand in his application: “Application!”, he responds: “I’m rather a theorist.” Here the word application is used in two meanings first as the act of putting to a special use or purpose and, second, as a form to be filled out by an applicant for a driver's license. This specific case is used to characterize Sheldon as a nerd who can only think of his experiments and therefore, the first meaning of the word application that springs to his mind is the act of putting to a special use or purpose. The following examples of ambiguities selected from the 007 movies are used to create suspense, develop the plot and they present Bond as a smart agent who is always one step ahead of his adversaries and quick in exposing them. 007 says one thing and implies another thus leaving his enemies bewildered and confused and keeping the audience in suspense as he can be exemplified by the following exchanges: 43
The Spy who Loved me Stromberg: “Good bye, Mr. Sterling and if we don’t meet again, I wish your good luck with your research”. 007: “Thank you. The brief glimpse you’ve afforded me today will only encourage me to redouble my efforts”.
In the movie Casino Royale 007 almost gets poisoned during the poker game. However, he is saved by his partner and upon returning to the Casino he remarks to his fellow players: “That last hand, it nearly killed me”, thus conveying two messages, i.e. referring to the cards dealt to or held by each player at one time and suggesting that somebody has been employed in an apparent attempt to kill him. Naturally, the latter meaning can only be comprehended by his adversary.
6. Conclusion Based on the above-given treatment it appears to be more appropriate to view ambiguity (together with vagueness and denotational uncertainty) as a usual and persistent phenomenon rather than an indication of the representational deficiency of language because all language users occasionally use language means in a novel way or for novel purposes and literary texts consistently use tropes that always rely on double readings since language is a versatile means exploited by language users to fulfill a variety of functions. Ambiguities have been referred to as both “curse and blessing”32 depending on what role in communication they fulfill – whether they are utilized with the intention to amuse or to fulfill an aesthetic function or whether they are a kind of “Machiavellian manipulative device”33 meaning that they are utilized in order to deceive, manipulate and consequently to persecute. “In this sense, ambiguity in literature has a very dark side, when important documents are interpreted in different ways, resulting in persecution, oppression, and death”.34
References Bach, Kent. Routledge Encyclopedia of Philosophy at http://online.sfsu.edu/~kbach/ambguity.html Bradley, David. “Ambiguity in Art” at http://www.sciencebase.com/ambiguity-in-art.html Černý, J. – Holeš, J. 2004. Semiotika, Praha: Portál.
Hébert, Louis. 2006. “The Functions of Language”, in Louis Hébert (dir.), Signo [on-line], Rimouski (Quebec), http://www.signosemio.com. Hornby, A. S. 2002. Oxford Advanced Learner´s Dictionary, Sixth edition, Ed. Sally Wehmeier, OUP. Jakobson, R., "Linguistics and Poetics", in Louis Hébert (2006), “The Functions of Language”, in Louis Hébert (dir.), Signo [on-line], Rimouski (Quebec), http://www.signosemio.com. Kreidler, Charles, W. 2002. Introducing English Semantics, Taylor & Francis e-Library. Nieuwland, Mante S. and Van Berkum, Jos J. A. 2008. The Neurocognition of Referential Ambiguity in Language Comprehension. In: Language and Linguistics Compass, Volume 2 Issue 4, Pages 603 – 630. Published Online. Nilsen, Don L. F. – Nilsen, Alleen Pace. AMBIGUITY & PUNS, see also “Jokes” and “Language Play”. Power point presentation. Nilsen, Don L. F. – Nilsen, Alleen Pace. Linguistic Humor, Bilingual Humor, Translation, and Language Play. Power point presentation. 32
Quiroga-Clare, Cecilia: Language Ambiguity: A Curse and a Blessing. In: Translation Journal. http://accurapid.com/journal/23ambiguity.htm 33 http://diplo.diplomacy.edu/books/language_and_diplomacy/texts/pdf/pehar2.PDF 34 Quiroga-Clare, Cecilia: Language Ambiguity: A Curse and a Blessing. In: Translation Journal. http://accurapid.com/journal/23ambiguity.htm 44
Pehar, Dražen. Use of Ambiguities in Peace Agreements (163 – 199); http://diplo.diplomacy.edu/books/language_and_diplomacy/texts/pdf/pehar2.PDF Quiroga-Clare, Cecilia. Language Ambiguity: A Curse and a Blessing. In: Translation J ournal. http://accurapid.com/journal/23ambiguity.htm Tondl, L. 2006. Problémy sémantiky, UK Praha, Karolinum.
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Readings of MAY / MIGHT in Academic and Administrative Style Petra Huschová Introduction “Whether a modal auxiliary is univocal or ambiguous may be inherent to the auxiliary, but its interpretation in particular instances will be determined by construction, context and convention.”(Matthews 2003, 66)
The paper is concerned with the English modal auxiliary MAY and its morphologically past tense form MIGHT. It reports and summarizes the findings of a small-scale corpus-based investigation which primarily focuses on assigning appropriate readings to contextualized occurrences of the analyzed modals in administrative and academic style and which is essentially based on determining the crucial factors distinguishing epistemic possibility (factual) and root possibility (theoretical) meaning. The major aim is to examine semantic aspects of MAY / MIGHT in particular contexts and syntactic structures and to reveal the most significant contextual factors in terms of the root-epistemic possibility distinction. Firstly, the paper presents a general account of possibility senses of MAY and MIGHT and reviews the approaches and issues relating to their use. Secondly, it examines the occurrence of their meanings in academic (ACAD) and administrative (ADMIN) texts. Thirdly, it focuses on various contextual factors and syntactic correlations in order to reveal their significance and relevance in terms of the root-epistemic distinction. Special attention is paid to examining the relation between the modals and other domains of grammar, for example, negation, time reference or hypothetical marking, which help disambiguate the intended reading. Finally, the paper deals with semantic indeterminacy because indeterminate instances which might be interpreted as epistemic or root have been recorded. This means that the analysis confirms that, on account of complexity of central modal verbs, it is not always possible to interpret some occurrences unambiguously even if the relevant linguistic and extralinguistic contexts are available.
Methodological Framework and Research Data The analysis draws upon several sources, mainly those focusing on delineating epistemic and nonepistemic modality, describing semantic components of modal verbs and investigating their distribution in different styles (Biber, et al. 1999; Coates 1983, 1995; Tárnyiková 1978; Palmer 1990; Dušková 1972; Leech 2004; Papafragou 2000). The investigation reflects the centre-periphery and textual approach (contextualized occurrences). The excerpted material consists of 200 occurrences of MAY / MIGHT conveying root or epistemic possibility. The extracts were drawn from ACAD and ADMIN; each style is represented by 100 occurrences of MAY / MIGHT conveying possibility meaning. Since MIGHT is essentially a form of MAY, the selected texts were first scanned for the occurrences of MAY or MIGHT. Still, the morphologically past tense form MIGHT is then treated as an independent lexical unit with neutral time reference (present, future, hypothetical). In order to be able to summarize the major distinctions between the two possibility readings, contextual features and syntactic structures were analyzed in detail with respect to their influence on the interpretation of particular occurrences. Due to the extent of the material and its character, the paper does not intend to investigate all the potential uses of MAY / MIGHT or to suggest universally valid conclusions. It only attempts to fully exploit the material under investigation and thus draw attention to significant issues. Data used in the analysis: ADMIN:
http://www.official-documents.gov.uk/ New Powers Against Organised and Financial Crime [FC] Countering International Terrorism: The United Kingdom’s Strategy [IT] Human Trafficking (the government reply to the twenty-sixth report from the joint committee on human rights session ). [HT] Government Response to the Health Committee’s Report on NHS Charges. [HC] 46
ACAD:
Jenkins, Jennifer (2000). The Phonology of the English Language. Oxford: Oxford University Press. [JJ]
Meanings of MAY / MIGHT The paper is based on the general concept of modality defined as a semantic category reflecting the relation or attitude of the speaker to the content of the proposition. Accordingly, epistemic (factual) possibility is understood as speaker’s lack of confidence in the truth of the proposition, whereas root (theoretical) possibility concerns a potential actualisation of an event due to external circumstances/enabling conditions. The modal verbs MAY and MIGHT35 are used for the expression of both epistemic and root possibility. Epistemic possibility is considered to be their most frequent use and Leech (2004, 77) points out that it is their only meaning that is still flourishing. The epistemic possibility reading is viewed as essentially non-factive, encoding the speaker’s uncertainty in that the speaker does not commit himself to a categorical assertion, as in She may be ill, which can be interpreted Perhaps she is ill, but I am not sure, I do not have enough evidence. On the other hand, root MAY / MIGHT is considered to be secondary, being restricted in its distribution to formal contexts. Leech’s study (2003) suggests: “…this sense was virtually absent from speech even in 1961 and has declined in writing since then, which can be assigned to the fact that it can be replaced by CAN.” (2003, 234)
Unlike epistemic MAY, the case of root MAY is more complex since the verb can convey two root senses, possibility and permission. Generally, MAY conveys permission where some authority or regulations can be identified, but it is interpreted as possibility where the external circumstances apply. (cf. Coates 1983, 139-143 or Leech 2004, 75) The examples expressing permission are normally paraphrased with allow/permit, as in You may leave = I allow you to leave/You are allowed to leave. In its possibility sense MAY conveys “nothing at all prevents p from taking place”, as in Some problems may be expected = Nothing prevents us from expecting some problems.
Approaches to the Study of the English Modal Verbs As has been suggested, the modal verbs MAY and MIGHT can be used for expressing both epistemic and root modality. However, the researchers disagree on whether they should be treated as polysemous or monosemous and whether their transition from one kind of modality to another is discrete or gradual. The authors adopting the monosemy-based approach (Papafragou 2000, Perkins 1983) reject the epistemic-root dichotomy, explaining that different readings result from the interplay of linguistic and extralinguistic factors and represent merely modifications of the core meaning. In contrast, canonical studies of modal verbs advocate the polysemy-based approach (Halliday 1970, Lyons 1977, Palmer 1990, Leech 2004) associating each modal verb with multiple meanings or semantic components. Polysemists also argue that meanings of a modal relate to distinctive syntactic and semantic properties (for example, using the modal verb + perfect infinitive with epistemic modals when referring to the past) and the modal is ambiguous between its root and epistemic meaning when used in abstraction from context. Nevertheless, neither monosemantic nor polysemantic approach seems to be wholly satisfactory in that they fail to deal with the problem of indeterminacy in real language, the first denying the existence of discrete categories of meaning, the latter assuming discrete categories of meaning in all cases. Consequently, some linguists adopt models positing a continuously graded degree of membership. Accordingly, Coates (1983) represents the meaning of a modal verb as a fuzzy set where an instance may fit a category to a certain degree (rather than either fitting or not fitting) and the transition from membership to non-membership is gradual. Similarly, Tárnyiková (1978) points out: “The transition from central to peripheral semantic components is gradual, represented by a scale of contextually motivated semantic components ‘pulsing’ between the centre and its periphery with set phrases and frozen idioms at its very end”. (1978, 12)
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MIGHT occurring in non-past contexts is discussed alongside MAY in order to avoid unnecessary overlaps when their readings and uses are more or less analogous. However, MIGHT is treated separately when having
hypothetical meaning or referring to the past. 47
Clear discrete examples occur at the semantic core, whereas those expressing various degrees of indeterminacy are found between the core and the periphery of each modal. Coates (1983) adds that the core represents the meaning learned first by children, yet the majority of examples are found at the periphery. For instance, the core meaning of MAY is permission, whereas the periphery is formed by its more frequent possibility sense. (cf. Tárnyiková 1985) Silva-Corvalán (1995) does not attribute fuzziness to modal verbs but to the contexts in which they occur: “…fuzziness or graded membership of contexts allows for various interpretations of modalized propositions, and the precise point at which one interpretation is no longer possible is usually difficult to establish.” (1995, 72)
Consequently, she introduces three types of meaning, i.e. (a) de-contextualized invariant meaning denoting a core underlying meaning present in all uses of a modal; (b) contextualized meaning denoting the sense which the modal conveys in a specific context, i.e. determined by the interaction of the modal verb with morphosyntactic, semantic, prosodic, and pragmatic factors 36; (c) and prototypical discourse meaning referring to the most frequent contextualized meaning that the modal conveys in a corpus of language data, i.e. corresponding to the sense that most speakers assign to a form. The analysis confirms that when the modal verbs are studied in real language data, one inevitably comes across cases which cannot be unambiguously assigned solely to one category and their interpretation is seen as resulting from pragmatic interpretation. The acknowledgment of such indeterminate cases thus leads to the adoption of the centre-periphery approach rather than applying purely monosemantic or polysemantic approach. According to Leech and Coates (1980, 81-3) and Coates (1983, 15-16, 39-40, 92-93), there are three types of indeterminacy in the transition from one kind of modality, namely gradience, ambiguity and merger. Gradience applies when there is a continuum of meaning with variable degree of similarity to one of the categories, for example permission and possibility. In its possibility sense MAY conveys “nothing at all prevents p from taking place” while its permission sense “nothing prevents p from taking place” is restricted to a specific world of man-made freedoms and obligations. (Leech and Coates 1980, 80-83) Merger occurs when two interpretations are so closely related that they are in a both/and relationship and the text makes sense no matter which of them we choose. With merger both readings are satisfactory, whereas with gradience one of them is less satisfactory. Merger acknowledges distinct senses and simultaneously recognizes a common element of meaning connecting them; it applies to MAY expressing epistemic and root possibility. Ambiguity is identified when a modal verb has two senses belonging to different categories (root and epistemic) and it is not possible to decide from the immediate context which of them is intended. The distinct interpretations are in an either-or relationship, so that only one makes sense in a particular context. Nonetheless, ambiguity is rare and can be found mainly in isolated sentences because context normally indicates the appropriate reading.
Distribution of MAY and MIGHT in ACAD and ADMIN Table 1: Distribution of MAY and its readings ADMIN ACAD possibility epist. root epist. present time reference 15 33 32 past time reference 5 4 future time reference 6 4 indeterminate cases 9 8 total 26 33 40 68 98 MAY
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root 50 50
Silva-Corvalán (1995) points out that contextually inferred senses have been mistakenly considered to be the part of the modal meaning owing to their high frequency of occurrence. 48
Table 2: Distribution of MIGHT and its readings MIGHT
possibility present time reference past time reference future time reference hypothetical (present) hypothetical (past) Indeterminate cases total
ADMIN epist. 4 2 1 1 1 3 9 32
root 20 20
ACAD epist. root 1 1 2 2
The findings suggest that MAY (166 tokens) is more frequent than its morphologically past tense form MIGHT (34 tokens). The noticeably higher proportion of MAY can be explained due to the fact that in ADMIN and ACAD the verb is commonly employed to express both epistemic and root possibility. Despite a large number of instances of root possibility MAY in the studied registers (83 tokens), epistemic MAY is generally more frequent since it is not limited to formal contexts (for example, in fiction epistemic MAY has been identified in 90% of excerpts); cf. Leech’s study (2003): “MAY shows a common tendency for the dominant sense of epistemic possibility in the early 60s to be even more dominant in the early 1990s, whereas the minor senses, for example, root possibility, have become even more marginal.” (2003, 243)
The two registers differ markedly in the proportion of MAY to MIGHT in that the academic text employs mainly non-past forms, as opposed to administrative texts, where hypothetical MIGHT is commonly found. This difference might be explained in terms of a more speculative nature of the official documents, which basically tentatively suggest and introduce various measures, as in: (1) The orders might be used alongside prosecution, for example as part of a deal to turn Queen’s Evidence, ensuring that the QE subject is bound to conditions of good behaviour. (ADMIN) [FC,31] = using the orders would be possible
On the other hand, the academic text prefers MAY to indicate what is, or is not, possible to achieve with regard to the enabling conditions represented by various models and methods, as in the following example: (2) In the case of consonant deletion a sound may be omitted altogether, such as the omission of the /r/ in ‘price’, typically by a Taiwanese speaker of English. (ACAD) [JJ,34] = it is possible to omit a sound altogether; consonant deletion makes it possible to omit a sound altogether
The findings also clearly demonstrate that root possibility MAY is significantly associated with ACAD and ADMIN (cf. Biber et al. 1999, 491-3) because, in comparison with CAN, it conveys information more formally. All 83 root possibility MAY tokens have present time reference owing to their occurrence in general statements of possibilities, where they discuss possible explanations and indicate expected outcomes, i.e. they are concerned with conveying theoretical possibility. This meaning is also commonly associated with the enabling external conditions, as in: (3) According to this theory, which, in more recent years, has become more broadly based and known as Communication Accommodation Theory or CAT (see Giles and Coupland 1991), speakers may adjust their speech either in the direction of that of their interlocutors (convergence) or away from that of their interlocutors (divergence). (ACAD) [JJ,21] = this theory enables speakers to adjust their speech…
However, the enabling circumstances are rarely explicitly expressed, more often they are implied in the context, as in the following example:
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(4) Alternatively, the elided sound may be replaced by a glottal stop as in the Chinese-English pronunciation of ‘duck’. (ACAD) [JJ,34] = we have some evidence that replacing the elided sound is possible
Root MAY also often appears to convey existential possibility where the objective data lead the writer to state rather than infer, owing to high degree of formality of the analyzed registers (cf. Palmer 1990 and Facchinetti 2003), as in: (5) An intelligibility problem may result from a unique deviation source, that is, a deviant sound substitution/conflation, or deletion, or addition within a single word. (ADMIN) [JJ,35] = it is sometimes the case that an intelligibility problem results…
In these cases, the writer merely reports a state of fact and draws conclusions on the basis of experiments or observations. Such instances can be paraphrased with expressions of quantification like some, any, all or sometimes because existential possibility involves generalization, i.e. it applies to at least some members of the set.
Root-epistemic Distinction The analysis has proved that MAY is commonly associated with the sense of possibility and in formal contexts regularly expresses both root and epistemic possibility. Since root and epistemic meanings are normally seen as unrelated (polysemy-based approach), the epistemic-root boundary for possibility meanings of MAY / MIGHT should be clear-cut, i.e. associated with clear semantic and syntactic criteria. Generally, linguists propose different paraphrases to disambiguate epistemic and root readings of MAY. (see, for example, Leech 2004, 85 or Palmer 2001, 7) Epistemic meaning is paraphrasable by a that-clause , i.e. it is possible that p, whereas root modality by an infinitive construction, i.e. it is possible for p to do... In the epistemic paraphrase p stands for a proposition while p in the root paraphrase stands for an event. This implies that the paraphrases deny the existence of any intermediate cases, but the verb MAY can be indeterminate between its epistemic possibility and root possibility sense. The root-epistemic distinction of possibility MAY / MIGHT is often associated with syntactic cooccurrence patterns, the majority relating to the nature of subject and verb. There is widespread agreement that 100 per cent associations can be established for epistemic MAY when it co-occurs with an inanimate or existential subject, or with the pronoun it . However, these criteria focus largely on distinguishing epistemic possibility from root permission and do not relate to the differences between the two possibility readings. For instance, root possibility MAY, like epistemic MAY, commonly cooccurs with an inanimate subject or the pronoun it , as in: (6) The term “jihad” refers primarily to non-violent struggle, for example the spiritual struggle to lead a good life. It may also be used to mean military struggle, but the vast majority of Muslims do not consider today’s terrorism to be legitimate, military jihad. (ADMIN) [IT,7] = using the term to mean military struggle is possible
Similarly, root possibility MAY is believed to co-occur significantly with the passive. However, the analysis confirms the low implication value of this variable in that the passive can be used freely with epistemic possibility MAY, as in: (7) While an individual may not be relatively disadvantaged, he or she may identify with others seen as less privileged; also different generations within the same family may have significantly different views about these issues. (ADMIN) [IT,10] = Although an individual is not perhaps relatively disadvantaged, he or she …
Most passive structures co-occurring with epistemic MAY can be found in environments supporting the epistemic reading, for example, in conjunction with perfect aspect or in negated utterances, as in (7). As to root possibility, MAY is frequently found in passivized sentences (21 tokens out of 83), for example: (8) Mandarin speakers of English may, therefore, tend to add schwa to words which end in obstruents, for example, the word ‘tag’ may be pronounced /tæg∂ /. (ACAD) [JJ,102] = one/speakers may pronounce the word
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In nearly all the recorded passive structures (20 out of 21), the agent is unexpressed, but corresponding active sentences usually imply a general human agent, as in (8) above. Linguists also propose distinguishing between the two concepts in terms of scope. (see Tárnyiková 1979 or Coates 1995) Both epistemic and root possibility are related to the speaker’s assessment of the likelihood that the content of a proposition is or may become true. Epistemic possibility, concerned with the speaker’s logical inference, has both the proposition and modality in its scope. On the other hand, root possibility has only the proposition in its scope. The difference in scope has consequences for negation, past time marking and hypothetical marking. With root modals, it is the modal predication that is affected by these. On the other hand, past time marking, hypothetical marking and negation affect the main predication of epistemic modals, i.e. the speaker’s lack of confidence in the truth of the proposition is unaffected. Being considered to be crucial, the scope difference was regularly applied to facilitate the interpretation of analyzed utterances.
Negation Negated MAY seems to be associated exclusively with epistemic possibility. In ADMIN and ACAD, 12 occurrences of MAY are negated, all of them being interpreted as unambiguously epistemic, for example: (9) It is always open for a victim to sue an offender for damages (compensation) in the civil courts, although we recognize that this may not be a practical option in some cases. (ADMIN) [FC,16] = perhaps this is not a practical option This example illustrates that although the modal is morphologically marked for negation, it is the main predication that is affected by negation; the speaker’s assessment of the proposition remains unaffected. (cf. Facchinetti 2003, 312)
Time reference Dušková (1972, 30-1) observes that, in dependence on the context, epistemic MAY in conjunction with present infinitive refers either to the present or to the future, while a possible event in the past has to be indicated by MAY + perfect infinitive. (10)
The confusion between /r/ and /l/ is relatively rare in J1’s speech and, in this instance, may, in fact, be a case of overcompensation. (ACAD) [JJ,63] = in this instance it is perhaps a case of overcompensation; the proposition refers to the moment of speaking
(11) The Government will be working with local communities to identify other areas where radicalisation may be taking place and to help communities protect themselves and counter the efforts of extremist radicalisers. (ADMIN) [IT,13] = … where radicalisation will be perhaps taking place; the proposition refers to the time subsequent to the moment of speaking
The modal predication remains unaffected in both examples. In a considerable proportion of instances, time reference of the proposition is clearly indicated by other verb forms or temporal indicators in the immediate context, as in these two examples. In ACAD and ADMIN, MAY with present time reference constitutes 71% of all the tokens of epistemic MAY, whereas future time reference has been found rare (15%). To sum up, although MAY can occur freely with future time reference, present is considered to be more central. With the future, the issue is not so much the truth of a proposition but the occurrence of an event. Perfect aspect has been recorded in 9 instances, the reading of which is obviously epistemic, as in: (12)While we understand and recognize the reasons why politicians of all parties have called for prosecution of such men for rape, it does appear that this may have been counter-productive. (ADMIN) [HR,11] = perhaps this has been counter-productive
This example illustrates that the function of perfect aspect is to assign past time reference to the proposition because the modal meaning itself cannot refer to the past. The proposition of MAY + perfect infinitive can refer either to indefinite past (extending up to the moment of speaking), as in (12) above, or to definite past (prior to the moment of speaking), as in the following example: 51
(13) The occasional pragmatic failure may have occurred but passed unnoticed or without comment by the interlocutors, both at the time and during the subsequent playback of the recordings. (ACAD) [JJ,84] = although the occasional pragmatic failure (possibly) occurred, it passed unnoticed
Hypothetical marking MIGHT is interpreted hypothetically on account of a condition which may be realized formally as a conditional clause or may be implicit in the context of utterance. Hypothetical MIGHT, also called “conditional” or “remote of MAY”, can occur in epistemic (2 tokens) as well as root possibility meanings (22 tokens). These two are, however, quite distinct: (14) We have also been looking at some important, if essentially technical, changes to the Proceeds of Crime Act 2002 (POCA). These would enable us, for example, to enable financial investigators who are police staff to exercise more of the powers under POCA, to contract out the enforcement of confiscation orders, and to examine what improvements might be necessary to the “consent regime” in POCA. (ADMIN) [FC,25] = it is possible that some improvements would be necessary… (15) Operational experience of the legislation over the last three years has shown areas where it might be improved. (ADMIN) [FC,38] = areas where improvements would be possible
As with the scope of negation or time reference, in epistemic reading, the main predication is affected by the unreality while the modal predication remains unaffected, i.e. the speaker/writer expresses his/her opinion (at the moment of speaking) about an unlikely present or future situation. (cf. Coates 1983, 158 or Dušková 1972, 32) The paraphrases indicate that (14) conveys epistemic possibility, while (15) conveys root possibility since the modal predication is affected. As for distribution, like root possibility MAY, hypothetical root possibility MIGHT37 occurs particularly in formal language where it might be substituted by COULD.
Concessive Clauses Epistemic MAY has been found to occur frequently in sentences having concessive force, in particular 19 tokens (out of 66) have been identified. Quirk et al. (1985) and Leech (2004) term this use of MAY “quasi-subjunctive”, for its concessive function is actualised according to the context. All instances are interpreted epistemically although they do not convey the prototypical epistemic reading of MAY, for example: (16) The occasional pragmatic failure may have occurred but passed unnoticed or without comment by the interlocutors, both at the time and during the subsequent playback of the recordings. [JJ,84] = although the occasional pragmatic failure (possibly) occurred, it passed unnoticed
The proposition in the second clause contradicts the proposition in the first clause and the writer appears to admit that a certain assumption is not ruled out by his/her current knowledge. Collins (2007) believes that the speaker concedes the truth of the proposition, rather than expressing a lack of confidence in its truth. On the other hand, Huddleston (1993) justifies this use as epistemic, arguing that with epistemic possibility the speaker implies, minimally, that he/she does not know that the proposition is false. In ACAD and ADMIN, concessive use of MAY occurs predominantly in concessive clauses introduced by although/though or while/whilst (14 tokens) , for example: (17) Whilst such a system may offer some advantages over current arrangements, the Government considers that they are outweighed by significant disadvantages. (ADMIN) [HC,17] = although such a system perhaps offers some advantages…. MAY seems
to be preferred to the alternative simple present perhaps because of politeness; modalized sentences are felt to be more tentative than their unmodalized counterparts. (cf. Quirk et al. 1985, 224)
37
Some linguists, for example Leech (2004) or Palmer (1990), do not acknowledge hypothetical root possibility MIGHT. 52
Another type of concessive environment in the examined material is represented by coordinate clauses joined by the conjunction but , as in (16) above (3 instances) and by subordinate clauses beginning with whatever, whenever or whoever (2 instances): (18) As Alexander argues, “Such terms now simply block understanding rather than allowing English teachers wherever they may originate and wherever they may work to acknowledge that English as an International Language (EIL) is here to stay” (1996, 5) (ACAD) [JJ,11]
In comparison with the instances discussed above these seem to be identical to their unmodalized equivalents, i.e. to the indicative interpretation. (cf. Leech 2004)
Indeterminate Cases Altogether 17 tokens of MAY have been interpreted as indeterminate in the analyzed registers, 8 of them can be discussed in terms of merger, 9 in terms of gradience. As has been explained, the term “merger” denotes the instances which might be interpreted as epistemic or root with little difference to the message conveyed. Such instances contain elements of both root and epistemic possibility and the two interpretations coexist in a both/and relationship in that the context fails to exclude one of them. (see Coates 1983, 16), as in: (19) Weinberger suggests that within a second language, awareness of potential ambiguity may increase with proficiency. (ACAD) [JJ,119] = epistemic: perhaps awareness of potential ambiguity will increase with proficiency but perhaps it will not = root: it is sometimes the case that awareness of potential ambiguity increases with proficiency
The instances of merger occurred in ACAD, which proves that merger tends to occur in formal written language owing to the constraints of formality relating to the root possibility interpretation of MAY. Being restricted to particular contexts, merger may be termed “contextual neutralisation”. (see Coates 1995) Nine tokens of root MAY can be discussed in terms of gradience where the core expresses permission and the periphery possibility. All 9 tokens of root MAY indeterminate between permission and possibility have been identified in ADMIN, for the analyzed governmental documents deal with rules and regulations, as in: (20) If there is information or evidence that there is a risk to the individual, removal may be postponed or cancelled. (ADMIN) [HR,16] = permission: some authority will allow postponement = possibility: information or evidence that there is a risk to the individual will make it possible to postpone …
Conclusions Since MAY / MIGHT can be employed to express epistemic and root possibility, which are in most contexts mutually exclusive, they should be characterized as polysemous. Nevertheless, the two seemingly distinct senses co-occur in formal settings, where it is not always possible to distinguish between them. They merge in scientific discourse, where it can be difficult to differentiate between cautious statements (epistemic possibility) and presenting information as a fact (root possibility). Such indeterminate cases indicate that epistemic and root possibility senses of MAY / MIGHT are weakly distinguished. The findings show that the basic criterion in interpreting MAY / MIGHT is the dependence of the respective meaning on the context. It was the context that provided the necessary clues for the final disambiguation of many instances. However, it was sometimes difficult to establish the point at which one interpretation was no longer possible. The notoriously known paraphrases (epistemic it is possible that p vs. root it is possible for p to… ) posited by a large number of authors have proved to be inadequate and often failed to distinguish root and epistemic possibility. The analysis has confirmed that syntactic co-occurrence patterns and correlations do not always represent a reliable criterion in distinguishing the two possibility readings because they focus largely on differentiating epistemic possibility from root permission. Consequently, many of the suggested factors (especially those 53
associated with the nature of subject and verb) do not relate adequately to the differences between the two possibility senses of MAY / MIGHT and are thus seen as mere tendencies in particular contexts. In place of syntactic correlations, a reliable criterion has proved to be the operation scope of the modal. Epistemic possibility is basically understood as concerning the proposition as a whole, whereas root possibility as concerning merely the verbal element (an event or state). Stated differently, epistemic possibility has proposition as well as modality in its scope, as opposed to root possibility, which has only proposition in its scope.
References Biber, D. and S. Johansson, G. Leech, S. Conrad, E. Finegan. 1999. Longman Grammar of Spoken and Written English. London: Longman. Coates, J. 1995. “The expression of root and epistemic possibility in English”, in J. Bybee and S. Fleischman, eds. Modality in Grammar and Discourse. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 55 – 66. Coates, J. 1983. The Semantics of the Modal Auxiliaries. London: Croom Helm. Collins, P. 2007. “Can and may: monosemy or polysemy?”, in I. Mushin and M. Laughren, eds. Annual Meeting of the Australian Linguistic Socie ty, Brisbane. Dušková, L. 1972. “A contrastive study of can, may, must and their Czech equivalents”. Studies in modern philology 1: 5 – 77. Facchinetti, R. 2003. “Pragmatic and sociological constraints on the functions of may in contemporary British English”, in R. Facchinetti, M. Krug and F. R. Palmer, eds. Modality in Contemporary English. Berlin: Mounton de Gruyter, 302 – 327. Halliday, M.A.K. 1970. An Introduction to Functional Grammar. London: Longman. Huddleston, R. 1993. Introduction to the Grammar of English. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Huddleston, R. and G. K. Pullum. 2002. The Cambridge Grammar of the English Language. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Leech, G. 2004. Meaning and the English Verb, London: Longman. Leech, G. 2003. “Modality on the move: The English modal auxiliaries 1961 – 1992”, in R. Facchinetti, M. Krug and F. R. Palmer, eds. Modality in Contemporary English. Berlin: Mounton de Gruyter, 223 – 240. Leech, G. and J. Coates. 1980. “Semantic Indeterminacy and the Modals”, in R. Quirk, S. Greenbaum, J. Svartvik and G. Leech, eds. Studies in English Linguistics . London: Longman, 79 – 99. Lyons, J. 1977. Semantics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Matthews, R. 2003. “Modal auxiliary constructions, TAM and interrogatives”, in R. Facchinetti, M. Krug and F. R. Palmer, eds. Modality in Contemporary English. Berlin: Mounton de Gruyter, 47 – 70. Palmer, F. R. 1990. Modality and the English Modals. London: Longman. Palmer, F. R. 2001. Mood and Modality . Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Papafragou, A. 2000. Modality: Issues in the Semantics-Pragmatics Interface. Oxford: Elsevier. Perkins, M. 1983. Modal Expressions in English., London: Frances Pinter. 54
Quirk, R., S. Greenbaum, G. Leech and J. Svartvik. 1985. A Comprehensive Grammar of the English Language. London: Longman. Silva-Caravan, C. 1995. “Contextual Conditions for the Interpretation of poder and deber in Spanish”, in J. Bybee and S. Fleischman, eds. Modality in Grammar and Discourse. Amsterdam/ Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 67 – 105. Tárnyiková, J. 1979. Analýza komponent ů základních modálních sloves v angli č tině , Olomouc: Univerzita Palackého. Tárnyiková, J. 1985. Modalita v angli č tině (část 1). Olomouc: Univerzita Palackého. Tárnyiková, J. 1978. “Semantic components of some modal verbs”. Germanica Olomucensia 4: 7 – 22.
Source Texts http://www.official-documents.gov.uk/ : New Powers Against Organised and Financial Crime Countering International Terrorism: The United Kingdom’s Strategy Human Trafficking (the government reply to the twenty-sixth report from the joint committee on human rights session) Government Response to the Health Committee’s Report on NHS Charges Jenkins, J. 2000. The Phonology of the English Language . Oxford: Oxford University Press
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Ambiguity in Business Language – Communication Barrier or Effective Tool? Dagmar Sageder The importance of business English in today’s society is growing considerably, and the numbers of people learning business English have seen exponential growth in recent years. The reason is undoubtedly clear. Due to globalization, outsourcing, off shoring and e-commerce, the English language has become a global language for business communication. An aspiring business leader or entrepreneur with a good command of the English language will definitely have a cutting edge. Business English is a tool that helps global teams communicate and collaborate as one unit. The need for English is pervasive, critical for all levels of the organization, present in an ever-growing number of job situations, and necessary for both internal and external communications. Communication barriers often leave businesses struggling with poor negotiations, increased financial losses, and the incapability of finalizing a contract, for example. As Alejandro Gardella, human resources manager for ArcelorMittal in the Am er icas , says: “In a world where companies are globalizing, business English is the ultimate tool to prevent you from being left behind.” Language is naturally ambiguous and vague. The term “ambiguity” can be defined in many ways, but is primarily explained as a condition where information can be understood or interpreted in more than one way. Phrases, sentences or utterances are said to be ambiguous if they have two or more possible meanings or interpretations, if they are capable of two or more denotative or connotative meanings, or if they allow for two or more simultaneous interpretations, all of which can be supported by the context of a work.“ A surface form is ambiguous with respect to a linguistic process (p) if it has several process-specific representations and the outcome of p depends on which of these representations is selected. The selection of a process-specific representation in context is called disambiguation or ambiguity resolution” (Shütze 1997, 2). The reasons for ambiguity are various. They stem from the indeterminacy of language caused by its metonymic and deictic nature (Jovanovic 1999, 41). Such reasons may be phonological, morphological, syntactical, semantic or lexical in nature. We often distinguish intentional (also called deliberate) and unintentional ambiguity from the point of view of the addressee. Some researchers see ambiguity as a problematic or accidental property of language. Historical linguists hypothesize that people create new meanings to enhance the expressivity and informative nature of words. According to this view, ambiguity arises from the opposing forces of innovation (which introduces new meanings/uses) and conservatism (which retains old meanings/ uses) (Shütze 1997, 4). Harvard Linguistics Professor George Zipf (1949) claims that the principle of least effort is making ambiguity across languages more universal. According to Zipf, ambiguity is a compromise between the speaker's desire to limit the number of words he or she needs to choose from to express a certain meaning (to minimize the effort in production), and the hearer's desire to limit the number of meanings he or she needs to choose from to understand a word (to minimize the effort in comprehension) ( Shutze 1997, 5). Due to the obvious omnipresence of ambiguity in the English language, it is apparent that business English is also, in many ways, unavoidably and undoubtedly ambiguous. The English language contains a number of words and phrases with meanings that are often unclear.. Intentional and unintentional ambiguities are often an inherent part of written or oral business communication, and, as in the case of general English, they can exist at all levels of language (phonological, morphological, syntactic, semantic or lexical). Unintentional ambiguity occurs when a speaker or writer is unaware of the ambiguity of his sentences and utterances. It is considered to be a flaw or a source of misunderstanding. It can obscure meaning, as well as confuse and inconvenience readers. Most of the time when we talk or write in an ambiguous style, we do so unintentionally. Look at the following example: "The non-profit group is expected to get a portion of the proceeds, about $7,000." To what does $7,000 refer? To the proceeds or a portion of the proceeds? We can guess that the writer meant to express that the non-profit organization would get about $7,000. To leave little room for misunderstanding, the sentence should be revised to read: "The non-profit group is expected to get about $7,000, a portion of the proceeds.”
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This particular type of unintentional ambiguity is due to the use of a misplaced modifier - a phrase, clause or word too far from the noun or pronoun it is meant to describe. The following example provides an easy and fun way to understand and remember what a misplaced modifier is: "The little girl stood next to the horse in the blue dress. Of course everybody knows that horses prefer red dresses, not blue.” (Alexander 1986). Such unintentional ambiguities should always be avoided. In business language, unintentional ambiguities occur also for other reasons. For example, business terminology has been influenced by multicultural perspectives. Cultural diversity caused by multinational mergers and acquisitions has increased in the workplace. Different cultural backgrounds affect communication; misunderstandings and cross-cultural communication barriers occur due to lack of knowledge and understanding of other cultures. German speakers, for example, would use the verb “claim” in the following sentences: “We had to remove the advertisement, because so many people claimed about it. We have to claim about late delivery .” The word “claim” from their point of view means “complain,” because in German the word “reklamieren” can also mean “to complain.” As a result, when native German speakers attempt to speak English, they do not distinguish between the utterances “claim ” and “complain. ” In English these words are not synonymous and cannot be used interchangeably. German speakers also often confuse the English verbs “control ” and “check.” For example, they might attempt to say, “The safety officers controlled the building.” To a German speaker, this sentence would be synonymous with saying, “The safety officers inspected the building.” However, to an English speaker, these sentences portray two distinct meanings. A German speaker’s tendency to misuse the English verb, “control” stems from the definition of the German word “kontrolieren,” which, in the German language, can mean “to check something.” Another factor that often leads to communication barriers in business English is misunderstanding or misinterpretation caused by limited knowledge of the language. Sometimes even native English speakers lack knowledge of a particular field of the language (e.g. legal English). For example, some native English speakers may have trouble understanding the sentence “Let’s meet in front of the Exchange or in the AmE Switching Office,” due to limited knowledge about telecommunications jargon. Many English speakers also don’t often understand the wider context of the language in order to fully comprehend the meaning of a passage or text. Unintentional ambiguities can definitely be considered a barrier in effective business communication. Speakers and writers should be aware of common mistakes in English language usage that can cause ambiguity. They should then strive to avoid those mistakes. Intentional ambiguity is generally perceived as an artistic device, playing a very important role in poetry and fiction. It can contribute to the effectiveness and richness of an artistic work. Fiction writers very often strive for ambiguity to achieve a specific but and compelling communication effect. In business situations, however, clarity, brevity and simplicity are the three principles of effective communication. (Alexander 1986). The aim is to make one’s point unambiguous and unequivocal. There are occasions, however, when intentional ambiguities can play an active part in business communication as well. One factor that can often lead to the use of intentional ambiguity in business English is the author’s deliberate intention to keep his message less blatant or overt. He may want to be vague to soften a harsh message, hide the message’s true meaning, imply a different meaning or allow space in the message for adaptability (Alexander 1986). Let’s look at a few examples of such ambiguity. Softening a harsh message “XYZ Corporation pleads guilty and agrees to pay $50 million.” versus “XYZ Corporation confirms $50 million settlement agreement.” The first sentence was a headline in a major metropolitan newspaper. The second was a headline in an industry newsletter. The second sentence softens the bad news by avoiding the mention of the plea of guilt. To “plead guilty” is an unambiguous and very exact legal term that means the same to all readers (Alexander 1986). Hiding a message’s true meaning and implying a different meaning 57
Intentional ambiguities are designed to manipulate the language and deliberately mislead the reader. They are often used in politics, diplomacy and advertisements. Politicians are the masters of ambiguity; they frequently use equivocal language to say something in a sly and dubious manner, hoping that the real meaning will come through. They tend to want to keep most people happy (so that they get re-elected) and make as few enemies as possible. Sometimes they simply must speak or communicate cautiously for national or international safety reasons. Encoded language is an essence of diplomacy found, for example, in a lot of speeches given by presidents of companies that have had bad financial years. Of particular importance is the ambiguity used in contracts. Lawrence Solan, in his article “Pernicious Ambiguity in Contracts and Statuses ,” points out that the role of ambiguity in contracts becomes an important issue in the case of an undesired event or disagreement about meaning. If the contract is clear, there is no reason for trial. However, if a contractual text is deemed ambiguous, a trial by jury may be required to resolve the ambiguity (Solan 2004, 859). Allowing space for adaptability Dr. Florian Menz, a linguistics professor at the University of Vienna, focused on the selforganization, ambiguity and decision-making in a business enterprise, arguing in his article that in some cases it is more efficient for the members of an organization to be as ambiguous and lowly structured as possible in order to keep different options (adaptability to change) available (Menz 1999). He argues that from a traditional point of view, meetings are more efficient when they are better prepared, and messages are clearly structured and less ambiguous. But if the environment and tone of the meeting changes so that planned preparations no longer suit the meeting’s context, Florian says that it is necessary for the participants of the meeting (and organizations in general) to adapt to the change. In doing so, meeting participants and company leaders should maintain a degree of complexity, contradicting the principle of complexity reduction defined by high structure (Menz 1999). To write intentionally in an ambiguous style is definitely a skill. Though it is a skill that is not always admirable, sometimes it might become a necessary and effective communication tool due to context and/or subject matter. Ambiguity is a very interesting and intriguing linguistic phenomenon that deserves attention, observation and research. Unintentional ambiguity in business language can cause inconvenience and confusion, and as such it should be avoided or exposed and eliminated. On the other hand, intentional ambiguity plays an important role in business English; it can serve as an efficient tool to help an author keep communication options available. As Scottish Philosopher Thomas Reid said, “There is no greater impediment to the advancement of knowledge than the ambiguity of words.”
References http://www.globalenglish.com/m/globalbusiness/business_english Shütze, H. 1997. Ambiguity resolution in language learning. Stanford. Stanford University. Center for the study of language and information. Jovanovic, M. 1999. “Linguistic and Literature.” In Facta Universitas, Scientific Journal.Vol.2. No 6. 41 – 54 Solan, L.M. 2004. “Pernicious ambiguity in contracts and statutes.” In Chicago Kent Law Review. Vol. 79 Menz, F. 1999. ”’Who Am I Gonna do this with?’ Self-Organization, Ambiguity and Decision-Making in a Business Enterprise.” In Discourse & Society , Vol.10, No.1, 101-128. Zipf, G. K. 1949. Human Behavior and the Principle of Le ast Effort . Cambridge MA: Addison-Wesley Press. Alexander, Y. Business writing seminars.[online] http://www.alexcommunications.com/articles.htm
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English Language Teaching 59
E-learning Ambiguities Eva Kaščáková Slippery Nature of Definitions Learning, usually defined as the cognitive process of acquiring skill or knowledge, may occur with or without conscious awareness of the learner. It can be formal, informal, nonformal, as well as enhanced by various media, electronics, methods, and processes. What is e-learning? There are numerous definitions of e-learning – often quite dissimilar in nature – the wide ones claim that any kind of learning that is aided by information and communication technologies (ICT) is considered e-learning; the narrow ones apply the term exclusively to special courses using virtual learning environment. Tsai and Machado tried to unveil the ambiguities surrounding learning enhanced by the utilization of ICT by suggesting the following definitions (Tsai and Machado, 2002, 3): •
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E-learning is mostly associated with activities involving computers and interactive networks simultaneously. The computer does not need to be the central element of the activity or provide learning content. However, the computer and the network must hold a significant involvement in the learning activity. Web-based learning is associated with learning materials delivered in a Web browser, including when the materials are packaged on CD-ROM or other media. Online learning is associated with content readily accessible on a computer. The content may be on the Web or the Internet, or simply installed on a CD-ROM or the computer hard disk. Distance learning involves interaction at a distance between instructor and learners, and enables timely instructor reaction to learners. Simply posting or broadcasting learning materials to learners is not distance learning. Instructors must be involved in receiving feedback from learners.
For each of these concepts, they claim, “the discriminating feature must be the primary characteristic of the learning activity. Intensive use of the feature is required, since incidental or occasional use of a characteristic feature is not sufficient to qualify for a certain type of learning. For instance, running a CBT application from a file -server does not qualify as elearning; and e-mailing a teacher after taking a class on a campus is not sufficient to qualify as distance learning.”
However, there is no consensus in the usage of these terms; American Society for Training and Development (ASTD) state on their website 1 that: „Electronic learning is a term covering a wide set of applications and processes, such as Web-based learning, computer-based learning, virtual classrooms, and digital collaboration. It includes the delivery of content via Internet, intranet/extranet (LAN/WAN), audio- and videotape, satellite broadcast, interactive TV, CD-ROM, and more.“
Similarly, a structured definition of e-learning suggested by Romiszowski covers all the processes that involve utilization of ICT in education, see Table 1. (Romiszowski 2004, 6) To avoid confusion, elearning should probably serve as an umbrella term for all of the mentioned activities, including practices utilizing mobile technologies (sometimes called m-learning).
Table 1 Romiszowski’s structured definition of e-learning (plus some representative examples). (A) (B) INDIVIDUAL SELF-STUDY GROUP Computer-Based Instruction/ COLLABORATIVE Learning/Training (CBI/L/T) Computer-Mediated Communication (CMC)
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(1) ONLINE STUDY Synchronous Communication (“REAL-TIME”) (2) OFFLINE STUDY Asynchronous Communication (“FLEXI-TIME”)
Surfing the Internet, accessing Websites to obtain information or to learn (knowledge or skill) (Following up a WebQuest)_
Chat rooms with(out) video (Electronic Whiteboards) Audio/Videoconferencing
Using stand-alone courseware/ Downloading materials from the Internet for later local study (LOD-learning object download)
Asynchronous communication by e-mail, discussion lists or a Learning Management System (WebCT; Blackboard; etc.)
Blended learning is most frequently described as a combination of face to face and elearning/computer-mediated learning. However, again, there are more approaches and definitions than necessary to make the notion clear and unambiguous. Glossaries available on the web offer numerous definitions; the following are listed to illustrate the situation: •
• •
•
•
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a combination of learning methods, such as e-Learning, face-to-face instruction, group and individual study, and coaching.2 When a student attends both a classroom in a school and participates in distributed learning.3 An approach to learning that blends different technologies or that blends technology and other approaches in the learning process. May include just about anything: Books, classroom instruction, hands-on experience, online self-paced instruction, online chat, online conferencing, podcasting, etc. 4 An educational formation the integrates elearning techniques including online delivery of materials through web pages, discussion boards and/or email with traditional teaching methods including lectures, in-person discussions, seminars, or tutorials.5 An online course that uses various methods of delivery. For example, using WBC with a F2F class is blended learning. Using an asynchronous mode of delivery with synchronous tools is also another example.6 e-Learning alone is not always the answer. Sometimes a real-live classroom is advisable, while other times a self-directed learning module on a PDA is ideal. The key is to match the training requirements with what's most suitable for the content and the audience. ISITE Design instructional designers have a strong track record designing deep-dive web-based software training as well as extensive experience delivering virtual and face-to-face (F2F) training around the world. We will analyze your training needs and provide recommendations on the training blend that's best for your organization. 7 is the teaching and learning activities and experiences that intermingle or mix the face-to-face instruction with a myriad of tools and venues such as manipulatives for math, overhead projectors, computers, chalkboard, calculators, web sites, online instruction, field trips (both real and virtual), guest speakers, web conferences, virtual classrooms, display projectors, etc. 8
In his criticism of many educators’ search for the holy recipe for balanced blended learning, Morrison (Morrison 2004, 2) suggests talking about the strategic use of learning delivery channels rather than about ‘blended learning’. He claims that: “Every enterprise has learning delivery channels—it's a question of identifying them and deciding which to use when. Typical channels include the physical classroom, the virtual classroom, print, e-mail, the telephone, print, coaching and mentoring, EPSS, software simulations, online collaboration, self-paced e-learning, and Knowledge Management channels. Increasingly, mobile or wireless channels are also available. It’s clear from this list that learning delivery channels are more than technology channels. Coaching, for example, is a learning delivery channel that can be delivered by phone, e-mail, message boards, Instant Messaging, and face to face.“
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www.syberworks.com/glossary/b/b1.htm www.learnnowbc.ca/course_finder/glossary.aspx 4 www.ostyn.com/ostynglossary.htm 5 www.teach-nology.com/glossary/terms/b/ 6 www.edu.gov.mb.ca/k12/dl/wbc/wbcgloss.html 7 www.isitedesign.com/services/e-learning/e-learning-glossary 8 www.jwriddle.net/wridwref/terms.html 3
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We have to agree with Morrison, that the most crucial aspect that determines the effectiveness of learning is the quality of the instructional design and content not the choice of channel.
Teacher / Learner Roles What is the teacher’s role in contemporary language learning? According to Richards, the teacher’s role is (Richards 1999, 169): “No longer simply a presenter of materials or an implementer of a method, the teacher now has a role that is not only more complex but more crucial, for the teacher must serve variously as material developer, needs analyst, and investigator of his or her own classroom, negotiating both syllabus content and methodology with the learner.”
Hašková lists the following new roles of a teacher in the e-learning process: consultant, team player, advisor, evaluator, tutor, and creator of syllabus and study programmes (Hašková, 2004, 151). Student moves along the unlimited quantity of information in a non-linear manner, which also requires new skills and abilities (cf. Siemens 2004). Widdowson comments on the traditional teacher/learner roles (Widdowson 2002, 186): “A teaching role that determines learner activity by directing it radially, so to speak, form the pedagogic podium is, of course, based on the assumption that learners can only learn from approved and appointed teachers and not from each other. Thus the collective potential that learners bring to class as a resource for learning is left unexploited.”
He even goes further to say:
“...such a close adherence to fixed prescripted roles in the classroom is detrimental to effective (and affective) learning.”
There is one important fact concerning the education process that all teachers and learners should take into consideration. According to Thornbury (Thornbury 2004, 153), “Teaching doesn‘t necessarily cause learning – not in any direct way. Rather than occurring as flashes of insight, language learning is more than not a process of gradual approximation. Instead of teaching grammar, therefore, try to provide the right conditions for grammar learning.”
This fact is supported by the theory of constructivism, which believes that learning involves constructing knowledge from person’s experience or reconstructing knowledge from one person's mind by another person's mind. The process of active incorporation of new experience / knowledge will vary among different minds. The theory emphasizes, that the process of acquiring knowledge is as important as reaching the aim (learning) itself. The ability to learn and process information should not be only the means of acquiring knowledge, but one of the objectives of education. Ability and willingness to learn is the end product of the education system and not the “production method” for reaching partial goals. Especially in the times when very few people have single careers and most embark on various careers in different fields throughout their productive lives. They need to continuously acquire new skills and abilities. Besides know-what and know-how of performing various tasks on the job another skill is needed – know-where – where to search for relevant information (Siemens, 2004): “Our ability to learn what we need for tomorrow is more important than what we know today. A real challenge for any learning theory is to actuate known knowledge at the point of application. When knowledge, however, is needed, but not known, the ability to plug into sources to meet the requirements becomes a vital skill. As knowledge continues to grow and evolve, access to what is needed is more important than what the learner currently possesses. Connectivism presents a model of learning that acknowledges the tectonic shifts in society where learning is no longer an internal, individualistic activity. How people work and function is altered when new tools are utilized. The field of education has been slow to recognize both the impact of new learning tools and the environmental changes in what it means to learn. Connectivism provides insight into learning skills and tasks needed for learners to flourish in a digital era.”
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Internet as a Source of Information The access to the Internet and information brings vast opportunities especially for the learners of foreign languages, especially English. It enables learners to find information related to specific fields of interest, texts or even native speakers online. However, it is important to bear in mind that knowing about the vast opportunities of the internet; most students are tempted to look for the easiest way of solving their tasks. They rely on the advertising slogan ideas suggesting that ‘everything is on the web’. Let’s say they have been asked to write an article about their national cuisine. They will ask a little ambiguous question: “Can we search for information on the web?” If the teacher allows them to, they suddenly give their original question a special meaning that translates into “Can we just copy something from the web?” Situation that follows is familiar to most teachers. They all have experienced reading assignments that were surprisingly good, surprisingly similar to one another, or just surprisingly suspicious. Statistics showed that 60% out of 50 observed students of English for International Tourism at the Technical University of Košice (TUKE) submitted written assignments that showed signs of plagiarism (see Figure 1) in spite of having been given instructions on proper use of resources and citation.
Figure 1 Plagiarism in students’ written assignments (in %) The extent of plagiarism ranged from omitting bibliographical references to copying the entire work. Surprisingly, it had no relation to students’ language skills and class performance. Students often feel wronged if their teacher is not satisfied with a perfect piece of writing that had been copied from the web. Following reactions have been noted to occur frequently: “How else should I have written it? That is exactly how I would have said it myself!” Students often believe that if they identify with the writing it does not matter that they are not identical to the writer. “This is what we are expected to do in other courses, why is it a problem with you?” This is something to think about. Perhaps students need more detailed instruction on proper use of information resources and media in relation to any of their work. “Sorry, I didn’t think you’d find out.” For some reason, students often doubt their teachers’ digital literacy. •
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This situation leads the teacher to several possible solutions: 63
1 “No more surfing for my classes!” (Not the best idea, since the “vast opportunities” would become neglected and the teacher’s refusal of the web resources does not guarantee that students would stop using them.) 2 Zero tolerance – “No more copying for my classes! Any plagiarism will guarantee you zero points for the assignment.” (Some students even dare to ask “And how will you ever know?” This solution requires checking the authenticity of every assignment. However, there are still a few students who will give “copy & paste” a try in their next assignment.) 3 Setting more complex assignments that require research of numerous resources before being able to work out the final draft. Finding the information is not enough, the task ought to require altering, rewriting, reorganizing, adding to – recasting the collected bits of information in a meaningful way to create something completely new. Such assignments involve working with information that thus becomes personalized. The final listed solution worked well with a group of 3 rd year students where all submitted assignments were students’ own work (See Figure 1). Of course, students convicted of plagiarism (in all other groups) had to submit new assignments.
Extra Theory, Practice and Communication Besides students’ own search for information, ICT enables teachers to focus students’ attention on specific learning objects by utilising various e-learning solutions. E-learning portal of the Technical University of Košice proved efficient in providing extra information, support, listening comprehension practice (time of which is limited in face-to-face classes), interactive tests, copies of handouts and useful links for foreign language learning. Although foreign languages at non-philological faculties of the Technical University of Košice are usually taught as 90 minutes/week face-to-face courses, by using the e-portal outside the classroom we can create a balanced blended learning and thus maximize the quality learning time for students. Since its usage is voluntary for teachers, it is not (yet) commonly used in all study groups. At the beginning of the first year, a few students usually complain why they have to do extra work if they have courseand workbooks. Most of them soon understand how helpful it is. There even occurred cases when students of groups where it was not used asked another teacher for permission to visit his/her pages with useful resources.
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Figure 2 E-learning portal at TUKE Social Media for Collaboration ICT has the potential to bridge the distance and natural borders separating the learners from the country of the target language. However, utilization of standard e-learning tools in foreign language acquisition has some limitations. Transforming a face-to-face language course into an e-learning course is risky. The SWOT analysis of e-learning showed that the major threats and weaknesses are related to the isolation of the learner from the tutor and other learners. This may not be such a serious drawback of elearning used in other courses; however, in case of language courses, communication is both the aim and the means of learning. To turn the weaknesses and threats of technology based/aided language learning into strengths and new opportunities, it is essential to enhance the social aspect of foreign language learning and utilize ICT in a balanced blend with face to face learning. Language is a social phenomenon. The primary function of language, according to Vygotsky, is the function of communication, social contact and influencing surrounding individuals. With the Web 2.0 generation we have witnessed the creation of new emerging technology – social software, which has opened new horizons for language learning. By using the social media that were intended for communication, interaction and collaboration, such as blogs, podcasts, wikis, RSS feeds and social bookmarking, learning a foreign language can get a little closer to the natural experience of learning the mother tongue.
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Bartolomé (2008, 1) describes the main aspects of Web 2.0 and its impact on learning (and naturally also on e-learning): „ Since 2004 the term “Web 2.0” has generated a revolution on the Internet and it has developed some new ideas for Education identified as “eLearning 2.0”. The ambiguity of both terms does not allow the affirmation of a new paradigm for technology-enhanced distance education, but it seems that some ideas do change key aspects in the old curricula: the Net as the platform, or the multi-device oriented system, changes the concept of studying at any place, any time; collective intelligence and rich user experiences affects the concept of authority in educational systems; tags and RSS readers allow us to revisit traditional taxonomy, knowledge organization and information retrieval; the option to choose between several devices to work on learning tasks (PDA, iPod, computer…) seems to be a technical and not relevant question, but that implies the option to learn at every time: while travelling, walking, etc. In Web 2.0, the difference between study times and other times seems to disappear. „ •
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From Delivery to Creation E-learning tools have become widely accepted media for delivery of learning objects. E-learning 2.0, however, enables educational institutions to enrich the learning (and e-learning) experience by shifting its focus from mere delivery of the content to its creation. The role of learners thus changes from content consumers to content authors, enabling them to construct their own knowledge system.
Blog A blog (web+log) is a website, usually maintained by an individual, with regular entries of commentaries, descriptions of events, or other materials such as graphics or video. Entries are commonly displayed in reverse chronological order. Blogs normally enable uploading and linking of files. Some provide commentaries or news on a particular subject; others function as more personal online diaries. A typical blog combines text, images, and links to other blogs, web pages, and other media related to its topic. Most blogs are predominantly textual; although some include art, music, photographs, audio, and videos. Writers typically make rich use of hypertext to connect to resources on the Web, or to connect to what others have written on a certain topic. Blogs usually have “comment” buttons that allow readers to write a reaction. All reactions and comments are linked to the original text. While most blogs are created and managed by individuals, group blogs are also possible. Blogs are easily linked and crosslinked, thus creating large online communities. Blogs are well suited to serve as personal journals for students. They offer practical tools enabling students to create digital archives of their work and display their portfolios, showing the development of their foreign language skills over time. They allow for comments and discussions with readers in an interactive format, thus creating a collaborative environment. Students are aware that their work will not be read only by their teacher – their audience may be much wider, which is motivating. All readers can comment on what they have read, although blogs can also be placed in secured environments, allowing no comments. In setting up a blog there is no necessity to use HTML. A student creating a blog can use a website such as Blogger 9, which enables using several available templates.
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Figure 3 Website allowing for setting up blogs Too Many Cooks Spoil the Broth vs. More Heads are Better Than One An interesting collaborative environment we will focus our attention on is ideally suited for collaborative on-line language projects. WikiWikiWeb ( wiki wiki is Hawaiian for "quick") or wiki is collaborative in its nature. A wiki is a set of loosely structured hyperlinked pages that can be viewed and edited by their readers. Wikis allow adding, modifying and even deleting their contents by anyone who visits them. Any visitor can read what the wiki's community has written. By clicking on the "edit" button they are able to edit bits of the text, add links, upload pictures, videos, etc. (Godwin-Jones 2003, 12-16) This simplicity and ability to modify and delete any part of a wiki may cause many people to doubt or even reject the idea. They assume that since anyone can edit a wiki, its content must be flawed. But wiki supporters claim this is an incorrect assumption. Not only anyone can delete or modify information to change it into incorrect (unintentionally or on purpose), but it works vice versa as well – any incorrect data can be corrected as soon as it is identified. Wikis are usually protected against malicious behaviour (page changes are recorded along with the identification of their author, and page deletions must be seconded to take effect). There are wiki encyclopaedia projects, the most popular being Wikipedia10, which is also functioning in languages other than English. The system expects users who are willing to follow the community’s practices and rules and are serious about working towards a common goal. What is more, wiki sites can be also private, i.e. secured with password protection. This means that only invited people can become members of the wiki community and their rights may differ; ranging from registered reader, through writer, moderator to administrator. Wiki sites aim to become a constantly growing repository of knowledge to be shared within the community. In foreign language learning a wiki site created for/by a group of students provides an excellent collaborative and peer-to-peer learning environment. Students can create pages together, correct each other’s mistakes, help each other, discuss language problems, and work together on team projects. 10
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Figure 4 English for International Tourism Wiki Wikis can serve also for project-based learning by giving the community a way to gather information and modify it as things change or collaborate on specific projects. An example idea is uploading a short text containing grammatical and/or factual mistakes and asking each student to correct anything that they consider wrong and add an extra paragraph. The final version will be completely different from the original one as a result of getting everybody involved in collaboration.
Conclusion It is very important to provide students with a blend of various opportunities to use and learn foreign languages (regardless of the ambiguous or even vague names of the processes, and disputes about what is and what isn’t considered a certain type of xy-learning). ICT can enrich learning and enhance language practice outside the classroom, provided that students are given instruction on proper use of resources. The advancements of Web 2.0 technologies and their meaningful utilization enable students to benefit not only from access to information but also from collaboration and peer-to-peer learning. “Second generation” e-learning shifts its focus from mere delivery of the content to its creation by all the participants. The role of learners thus changes from content consumers to content authors, enabling them to construct their own knowledge system, which conforms to the theories of constructivism and connectivism. Such activities require working with information which is thus transformed into personal knowledge. This, as we certainly can agree on with the theory of constructivism, should be the purpose of learning.
References Bartolomé, Antonio. 2008. “Web 2.0 and New Learning Paradigms” In: elearningeuropa.info portal. http://www.elearningeuropa.info/files/media/media15529.pdf . (accessed April 2009) Morrisson, Don. 2003. Search for the Holy Recipe. http://www.morrisonco.com/downloads/blended_learning_holy_recipe.pdf . (accessed January 2009) 68
Godwin-Jones, Robert. 2003. Emerging Technologies, Blogs and Wikis: Environments for On-line Collaboration. Language Learning & Technology . Virginia Commonwealth University. Vol. 7. No. 2. Richards, Jack C. 1990 (Seventh printing 1999). The Language Teaching Matrix , Cambridge University Press. Widdowson, Henry G. 1990 (Fifth impression 2002). Aspects of Language Teaching , Oxford University Press. Romiszowski, Alexander J. 2004. How´s the E-learning Baby? Factors Leading to Success or Failure of an Educational Technology Innovation. In: Educational Technology , Volume 44, No.1, 6. Hašková, Alena. 2004. Technológia vzdelávania, UKF, Nitra. Thornbury, Scott. 1999. (sixth impression 2004) How to teach Grammar , Pearson Education Limited. Tsai, Susanna, Machado, Paulo. 2002. E-learning, Online Learning, Web-based Learning, or Distance Learning: Unveiling the Ambiguity in Current Terminology. eLearn Volume 2002 , Issue 7 (July 2002). http://elearnmag.org/subpage.cfm?section=best_practices&article=6-1. (accessed April 2008) Siemens,George. 2004. Connectivism: A Learning Theory for the Digital Age. www.elearnspace.org/Articles/connectivism.htm. (accessed June 2008)
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Ambiguity as an Option to Pursue Jaroslav Marcin Introduction The British philosopher H. P. Grice wrote more than 30 years ago that our talk exchanges “are characteristically, to some degree at least, cooperative efforts; and each participant recognizes in them, to some extent, a common purpose or set of purposes, or at least a mutually accepted direction” (Grice 1999, 78). Drawing on this reflection, Grice formulated his Cooperative Principle, pertaining to interpersonal language communication, with four underlying maxims. Among them, the Maxim of Manner requires that the speaker “avoid obscurity of expression” and “avoid ambiguity” (ibid., 79). However, Grice was aware that this requirement is one of an ideal, desired state, and he also understood that there are several reasons why the speaker might fail to meet it, and thus end up producing an obscure or ambiguous utterance. In fact, I dare argue that ambiguity in language (speaker performance) is, more often than not, a deliberate choice. We see it exploited on virtually everyday basis—by our elected officials, or by advertising companies, each of whom has their own agenda. They use ambiguity to persuade, or even manipulate individuals, arguably to the disadvantage—if not detriment—of the latter. If, then, ambiguity can be used “against” us, the question is: why not use it also for the benefit of those on the receiving end? In other words, why not employ it as a means of facilitating language learning, for instance? Indeed, as I am going to argue (although I do not necessarily mean to attack or hurt anyone), in the hands of a skilled teacher ambiguity can be a powerful and motivating tool for teaching English to speakers of other languages (the preferred term nowadays). The reason I believe this to be a suggestion language learners, as well as language teachers themselves, could benefit from is that there are at least three advantages to be gained: (a) the availability of ambiguous elements (words, phrases, sentences, or even texts), which makes them a valuable resource the teacher does not have to “fish for” too long (the examples I will be using come mainly from back issues of Readers Digest and Calvin and Hobbes ); (b) the effect produced by these ambiguous elements, namely tragic or comic effect, which can help motivate and engage the students; and (c) the lessons to be learned from ambiguity: from linguistic and paralinguistic features of language to its socio-cultural context.
Ambiguity in Language Teaching/Learning Before any discussion about using ambiguity in language teaching/learning can begin, it must be made clear that ambiguity is not the same as vagueness, although they bear a semblance of relation and do, as a matter of fact, somewhat overlap. For the purposes of this paper, however, let us assume that “[t]o be overtly ambiguous, either by accident or design, is to offer the listener information the latter finds relevant—but to offer it in the form of well-structured alternatives through which the hearer can sort. To be vague, either by accident or design, is to offer the listener none of this. It is simply to fail to specify at the level of detail that one is capable of, and to leave the listener in a state of unstructured indecision about what has remained unsaid” (Kaufer 1983, 212).
Ambiguity presents itself quite readily in English. Many sentences heard in everyday use are, at least potentially, ambiguous. Take, for example, the sentence “I didn’t leave because I was scared” (Bloomer, Griffiths and Merrison 2005, 452), which, without further context, leaves us at a loss as to whether the speaker did or did not leave (and if the speaker did, what was the actual reason for his/her departure). However, this phenomenon is not exclusively a matter of lexical units. Even grammatical structures feature an inherent ambiguity as, for instance, the present simple tense can be used to talk about at least four different concepts: (a) the present, (b) the universally true, (c) the regularly repeated, or (d) the future, as can be seen from sentences 1-4, respectively. (1) (2) (3)
I know the answer to your question. Too many cooks spoil the broth. My sister goes swimming every Thursday morning. 70
(4)
It’s his birthday next week.
Of course, in each of these cases, the meaning is immediately clear, even without the need of further context, with regard to what is entailed (1 entails “You have asked a question”, so “I know” is a single temporary “action”), some shared cultural knowledge (2 is a proverb, and proverbs reflect culturally accepted “universal truths”) , or because of other disambiguating elements present in the sentence (3 and 4 both feature adverbials of time, which leave us no room for further speculation). However, sentences such as “The tour of the Museum starts at 10 o’clock” can be, without proper context, understood either as referring to a specific event later in the day (d), or to an action repeated on a regular basis (c). Moreover, ambiguous statements have long been exploited by the creative minds of the English-speaking nations in genres such as tragedies and comedies performed on stage, comic strips found in the dailies, or sitcoms and cartoons seen on TV. The tragedy of Macbeth, for instance, rests on a seemingly unnoticeable ambiguity: a prophecy that he is to be king and that “none of woman born” can ever defeat him (or, in other words, that he will not be defeated until “great Birnam Wood to high Dunsinane Hill shall come against him”). Taking it to mean what most English speakers naturally would leads Macbeth to a major misconception—that he is never to be defeated—an error of which he only becomes aware when he sees the advancing soldiers disguising themselves with tree branches, thus creating the semblance of a “marching forest,” and when he hears that Macduff, his rival, was not “born” of a woman per se, but rather that he was “from his mother’s womb untimely ripped.” Similarly, but this time to serve a comic purpose, ambiguity is used in A Midsummer Night’s Dream when Oberon, king of the fairies, commands his servant Puck to sprinkle the eyes of an Athenian man with the juice of a love-inducing flower but, as it turns out, there are two Athenians in the forest that night. Certainly, not everybody loves Shakespeare (although, reportedly, everybody loves Raymond). But how about the inconspicuous ambiguity exploited in a joke found in June 1999 edition of Reader’s Digest , which shows a man and a woman catching sun on the beach, setting the scene as “Philosophical discussion in Beverly Hills”: (5)
He: Sometimes I wonder what it’s about. She: It’s about two o’clock.
Another example of a perfectly “harmless” sentence (actually an encouraging comment) turned ambiguous can be found in an episode of the (still) popular sitcom Friends, where Joey models for City Free Clinic ads: (6)
Chandler: You know which one you’re gonna be? Joey: No, but I hear Lyme disease is open so... (crosses his fingers) Chandler: Good luck, man. I hope you get it.
Or take the infamous kid Calvin who answers the phone: (7)
Person on the phone: May I speak with your father, please? Calvin: Heck, you don’t need my permission! Be my guest (hangs up).
These ambiguities simply “call for” being used in teaching English, especially to teenage/adolescent learners who so often find school boring because, as Dörnyei points out, “[s]chool attendance is compulsory for students, and the content of the curriculum is almost always selected on the basis of what society—rather than the learners themselves—considers important” (Dörnyei 2001, 123). Perhaps the motivation is slightly different in countries where English is taught as a second language (as opposed to “foreign language”), i.e. where English is the country’s main language and so the students are immersed in an English-speaking environment. In the case of Slovakia or any of its neighbours, however, this motivation to “learn for survival” may be a lot more limited. For this reason, examples like the ones above can become a useful means of motivating our students, and thus not only teaching language but teaching it more effectively. After all, the great truth pointed out by Jeremy Harmer, himself a well-experienced teacher of English, tells us that “[s]tudents will learn more successfully if they enjoy the activities they are involved in and are interested or stimulated by the topics we (or they) bring into the classroom” (Harmer 2007, 29).
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Lessons to Be Learned The fact that ambiguous elements of language and/or communication can be enjoyed by students of English and are, at the same time, easily available to teachers, does not, however, provide an adequate substantiation for using them in classroom setting. On the contrary, there has to be a learning goal in mind whenever we use them, for one should only use a springboard if he/she is ready to dive in. In still other words, presenting an ambiguity-based joke only “cracks open the shell”, but we would be foolish not to look deeper inside and discover the pearl concealed within (the “pearl” in this case meaning “a piece of knowledge to give one wisdom and understanding”). There are, in fact, many such pearls—of varying size, colour and lustre—that can be found in ambiguous sentences (utterances, etc.). Take, for instance, the misfortunate Macbeth, whose understanding of the word “born” (“having come to life”) is slightly wider than the sense intended by the prophecy (“having been delivered in a natural way”). Also, Macbeth fails to identify the figurative meaning of “Dunsinane Wood”. Both can be used as excellent examples of miscommunication where the message is incorrectly decoded. They can also be used to point out the type of ambiguity (in this case lexical ambiguity) and the individual causes (i.e. polysemy in the former, and metaphor in the latter—although really they are both two different facets of the same approach employed by language speakers). Different authors offer differing accounts of how many types of ambiguities can be found in language/communication. Bucaria (2004, 281), for instance, maintains that there are lexical, syntactic, and phonological ambiguities while Kaufer (1983, 210-211) identifies syntactic or lexical ambiguities (as forming one group), ambiguities of illocution, ambiguities of perlocution, and ambiguities of use/mention, stating that “[t]his is far from an exhaustive classification of ambiguity.” To me, these both seem a bit unsatisfactory, as the former completely disregards the pragmatic aspects of language, while the latter emphasizes them so much that it places syntactic and lexical ambiguities, two rather distinct (though obviously related and/or interconnected) phenomena, in a single group. Therefore, I believe that for practical purposes, especially in teaching ESOL, it is sufficient to adopt a threefold classification, identifying three (basic) types of lessons to be learned from ambiguity: lexical, syntactic, and pragmatic. Lexical ambiguity refers to the existence of multiple senses of one lexical unit, or the existence of several lexical units with identical form but different meanings. Syntactic ambiguity, then, refers to that type of ambiguity which stems not from different meanings/senses of the same form, but rather from alternative ways of interpreting and understanding sentence structure. Finally, pragmatic ambiguity relates to a further level, beyond the two already mentioned, which involves, for instance, our presuppositions and inferences. As for the individual causes of ambiguity, we can identify homonymy (also homophony and homography), polysemy, metaphor, idioms and slang as some of the most typical phenomena underlying lexical ambiguity. Syntactic ambiguity can be the result of one form falling in several word classes at the same time, or the result of one part of sentence qualifying as two (or more) sentence constituents. Deixis, conversational implicature, and politeness can be the causes of pragmatic ambiguity. To illustrate this theory in terms of practical language in use, consider the following examples: (8)
Sign seen on a maternity-ward door: Push! Push! Push!
and: (9)
Calvin: I call this “lookout” hill. Hobbes: Yes, you certainly see far from up here. Calvin: I call it “lookout” hill because that’s what you yell whenever we go down it.
Both examples demonstrate lexical ambiguity, with “push” identifiable as a polysemantic word (the concept of “exerting pressure” applies to both; what differs is the body part exerting pressure and, obviously, the eventual goal of the pushing), and “lookout” as two homonyms (possibly)—one derived from the phrasal verb “look out”, the other formed regularly from the verb “look” and the adverb “out”. Syntactic ambiguity can be exemplified by the sentence “Sometimes I wake up grumpy; other times I let him sleep.” where the first clause is ambiguous (either as subject+verb+complement; or as subject+verb+object) until the moment “other times I let him sleep” is uttered and we realize the grumpy person is not the speaker themselves. Pragmatic ambiguity can be found in: (10) Rachel: (looking for the engagement ring she has misplaced ) Has anybody seen my engagement ring? Phoebe: (encouraging comment ) Yeah, it’s beautiful.
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Or: (11) We were driving home after a party one night when my wife asked me, “Honey, has anyone told you how handsome, sexy and irresistible to women you are?” “No, darling,” I replied. “Not lately.” “Then what gave you that idea at the party tonight.”
In these sentences, for instance, a plea for help is confused with boasting (10); and reproach with flattery (11). Another example of pragmatic ambiguity, of which language learner might be unaware, is the ambiguity of address. In other words, a non-native speaker of English, might not realize that, for instance, “the address Dr. can be used alone without a last name, and still be respectful. This is not so true of Mr., Mrs., or Miss (Chaika 1994, 108-109). Therefore, it is essential that the point in question be made clear to our students. In addition to these basic three types, our students can learn the importance of correct intonation and sentence flow through ambiguity. As Harmer (2007, 61) points out: Changing our pitch in an utterance is absolutely crucial for getting our meaning across. The word ‘Yes,’ for example, can be said with a falling voice, a rising voice or a combination of the two. By changing the direction of the voice we can make ‘Yes’ mean ‘I agree’ or ‘Perhaps it’s true’ or ‘You can’t be serious’ or ‘Wow, you are so right’, or any number of things.
In a similar vein, the ambiguous question tags we find in writing can be disambiguated using proper (rising or falling) intonation. No less important is teaching our students to observe appropriate sentence flow, i.e. segmenting the sentence in the act of locution into as many (or few) segments as necessary. In this case, the ambiguity resulting perhaps from speaker’s insecurity/unfamiliarity with individual sentence constituents should be used to “point them” to the right sentence flow in the case of “Eats shoots and leaves.”, “Eats shoots, and leaves.” and “Eats, shoots, and leaves.” The example of “Eats, shoots, and leaves” has, in fact, been borrowed from a book by Lynne Truss, who uses it to make a number of points concerning English punctuation. Another one of her examples gets the point across even better that punctuation does matter: “Am I looking at my dinner or the dog’s?” (although it could just as easily be “dogs’” with a final apostrophe) as compared with “Am I looking at my dinner or the dogs.” Clearly, ambiguity can also be used to teach punctuation. Besides, with a little bit of creativity on the part of the teacher, the ambiguous material can be exploited to a greater extent.
Oh, the Possibilities! Modern textbooks do a great job offering language learners an appealing blend of grammar, vocabulary, conversational and pragmatic skills, notes on culture and more. It seems that pop culturebred audience responds well to such an impressive array of activities and exercises, which gives each class a dynamic character and makes it more “palatable” to the learner. Such approach can very well be used with ambiguities. Take, for instance, the following example: (12) My neighbour was on vacation in Miami and decided to walk the beach and gather some shells. Mostly he found .38 specials and .357 magnums.
In order to successfully use this anecdote in classroom setting, there are several questions we (as a teacher) have to ask ourselves, e.g. What learner group can this ambiguity be used in? What lessons can be learned from this ambiguity and how do we go about teaching them? How can we use the punch line to set the utterance into a specific cultural context, quite readily recognizable by the native speaker, but much less obvious to the language learner? Let us say we have chosen this anecdote for a predominantly male group of adolescents, basing our judgment on the supposition that (a) males are more likely to show interest in the topic of guns; (b) they are also more likely to be knowledgeable in this area, and thus capable of understanding what is meant by “.38 specials” and “.357 magnums;” and (c) as opposed to younger individuals, adolescents should be capable of more mature insights and opinions on gun use and control. In this group, we can use the anecdote above to point out lexical ambiguity. Students should identify the ambiguous element (the word “shell”) and explain the two different meanings involved. The ambiguous word and its possible meaning should then be written on the board, to help students 73
grasp the concept and to serve as an example for the subsequent activity. During this activity, they will be given a short time to find (in pairs or small groups) other English words with multiple meanings. When time is up, the teacher will elicit ambiguous words from the students, making sure they are all written on the board and that all students present are aware of the different meanings. With the words in plain sight, the teacher will proceed to the theoretical part: He/she will ask the students to explain the difference between homonymy and polysemy, concepts they might be familiar with from L1. Afterwards, they will be asked to identify which of the words on the board are polysemantic (the remaining ones being homonyms), and to verify their answers using a dictionary. Since the anecdote is set in Miami, this might also be opportune time to learn about this city, and since the anecdote deals with guns, further elements of socio-cultural background can be explained. These could include connotations of Miami in the mind of a native speaker of English with a view to the series Miami Vice (or more recently CSI: Miami). Furthermore, 2 nd Amendment and the right to bear arms could be introduced (noticing that “right”, “bear”, and “arms” themselves are potentially ambiguous words), along with the National Rifle Association and recent debates about this particular issue (comparing L1 and L2 cultures). Another option, is that learners’ vocabulary could be expanded, e.g. by distinguishing between a “pistol” , “revolver” and other types of guns, identifying the individual parts of a gun, etc. For those completely devoid of any interest in guns, ambiguous newspaper headlines (analyzed by Chiara Bucaria) might just do. The class might start with a handful of newspaper headlines, some potentially ambiguous while others clearly not. Students would first be asked to identify the specifics of “headline English,” e.g. the omission of auxiliaries and articles, or conveying a dramatic impression. Afterwards, the students would be asked to pick out the ambiguous headlines and explain the different types of ambiguities, e.g. in: (13) (14) (15) (16)
FARMER BILL DIES IN HOUSE COUNTY OFFICIALS TO TALK RUBBISH RED TAPE HOLDS UP BRIDGE KIDS MAKE NUTRITIOUS SNACKS
Or even: (17) WOMAN OFF TO JAIL FOR SEX WITH BOYS
Such headlines, regardless of whether or not they actually appeared in any newspaper, provide priceless material for introducing new phrases and idioms (“talk rubbish”, “red tape”), socio-cultural issues (“Farmer Bill”, “the House”), as well as helping students to develop a certain linguistic awareness in L2. Analysis of the headlines could then be followed by a short writing activity, where each student would try to produce a story based on the unintended meaning of these headlines. (Needless to say, some headlines would be much more popular than others.) Additional tasks could include asking the students to write a newspaper headline of their own, possibly about a recent event, trying to avoid any ambiguity, or trying to produce an intentionally ambiguous (humorous) headline. Students could also use the Internet to browse recent newspaper headlines, comparing headlines of articles describing the same story in different newspapers, and discussing which work best and why. In fact, ambiguity can be exploited to teach us so much more than a second (or foreign) language. By observing gender ambiguity in English (“speaker”, “teacher”, etc.), for instance, and comparing it with the notion of grammatical gender expressed in some other languages, students will realize that “the meaning of lexical items rests on cultural assumptions and symbolic structures in subtle but crucial ways” (Keesing 1979, 15). They might become aware that language, as a matter of fact teems with ambiguity (Robinson 1941, 141), partly because very few signs “are clearly defined and do not allow for varying interpretations” ( Černý and Holeš 2004, 9). It is in this way that they might start to see linguistic signs as cultural constructs. In a similar way, viewing language within the framework of interpersonal communication, students can learn that, on the one hand, proper context (situational, linguistic, etc.) helps to clarify the meaning of a potentially ambiguous utterance, but at the same time, because of the complexity of the communication process (encoding/decoding issues, for instance), the intended meaning might not get through to the receiver, highlighting a new dimension in human communication where “[t]o wonder what a word means is to ask the wrong question. Better to ask what the person who said it meant” (Griffin 1991, 50).
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Conclusion Perhaps in interpersonal communication avoiding ambiguity is the desired state. However, in language teaching, my unambiguous suggestion is that we use ambiguity to serve educational goals. Ambiguity is convenient and readily available in English—owing to a large number of homonyms and polysemantic words, as well as the fact that English features very few inflections. In addition to “our daily” ambiguity, it is even more often used by the creative types in works of art and/or popular culture, where its tragic and comic effect can be used to motivate students, as “things are learnt much better if both our minds and our hearts are brought into service. Engagement of this type is one of the vital ingredients for successful learning” (Harmer 2007, 52). Most importantly, ambiguity should be used in English language teaching because it creates opportunities for students to understand more about the way language functions—that, for example, “[t]he meaning of a sentence depends upon the meaning of its constituent lexemes (...); and the meaning of some, if not all, lexemes depends upon the meaning of the sentences in which they occur” (Lyons 1981, 40). Understandably, this proposal does not present a systematic approach (other works should be considered for that). Rather, I have argued that ambiguity can be one of the “ploys” or devices in the teaching/learning process. Among its greatest advantages are that it answers the need for creativization of classroom experience. By focusing on some problematic issues, we can also raise learner awareness of L2, providing insight into linguistic and paralinguistic features, as well as into the socio-cultural background of English itself. Finally, from a purely practical point of view, ambiguity can be used in ESOL teaching regardless of the selected method (e.g. grammar translation, direct method, etc.). That, and all of the other above reasons make ambiguity an option to pursue—at least as far as teaching English is concerned.
References Bloomer, Aileen, Patrick Griffiths, and Andrew John Morrison. 2005. Introducing Language in Use: A Coursebook. London and New York: Routledge. Bucaria, Chiara. 2004. “Lexical and syntactic ambiguity as a source of humor: The case of newspaper headline.” In Humor 17-3: 279-309. Chaika, Elaine. 1994. Language: The Social Mirror. Boston: Heinle & Heinle. Černý, Jiř í and Jan Holeš. 2004. Sémiotika. Praha: Portál.
Dörnyei, Zoltán. 2001. Teaching and Researching Motivation. Harlow: Pearson. Grice, H. P. 1999. “Logic and conversation.” In The Discourse Reader , edited by A. Javorski and N. Coupland, 76-88. London: Routledge. Griffin, Em. 1991. A First Look at Communication Theory. McGraw-Hill. Harmer, Jeremy. 2007. How to Teach. Harlow: Pearson. Kaufer, David. 1983. “Metaphor and Its Ties to Ambiguity and Vagueness.” Rhetoric Society Quarterly 13: 209-220. Keesing, Roger M. 1979. “Linguistic Knowledge and Cultural Knowledge.” American Anthropologist 81: 14-36. Lyons, John. 1981. Language and Linguistics: An Introduction. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Robinson, Richard. 1941. “Ambiguity.” Mind 50: 140-155.
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Culture and Literature 76
Intangible Referencing as a Means of Creating Ambiguity in the Poetry of Emily Dickinson Zsuzsanna Ujszászi Introduction Towards the end of “A Midsummer Night’s Dream”, on the day of his wedding, Theseus has to choose from a list which of the shows offered for entertainment to see first. After rejecting a few, the Duke’s choice falls on the workmen’s play, because its description reads as follows: A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus, And his love, Thisbe; very tragical mirth.
The duke responds to the ambiguity of the description and exclaims: Merry and tragical! Tedious and brief! That is, hot ice, and wondrous strange snow. How shall we find the concord of this discord?1 (Act V, scene 1)
The reaction of Theseus reminds us of how the human mind is constructed: when faced with ambiguity it searches for order, i.e. disambiguation with a need for unequivocal sense. My paper is intended to show by what means and to what effect ambiguity works in the poems of Emily Dickinson. The question is whether ambiguity can be seen as Dickinson’s artistic intent and thus a relevant means of communicating significant experience. If it is intentional and an integral part of her poetic design, what is its meaning? What is the “concord of discord”? Emily Dickinson was a 19 th century American poet, who lived in New England, in Amherst, Massachusetts, and when she died at the age of fifty-six, in 1886, she left behind some 1700 poems, or perhaps more, all but seven unpublished. She never married, lived in her parents’ house with her sister Lavinia, but the common image of her as a recluse is a false myth. She had many friends, both male and female, as well as at least two major love affairs. It is true that she did not travel much, and in her 40s she withdrew from physical contact with the outside world more and more. Dickinson did not achieve literary recognition during her life, although she maintained a long term correspondence with a representative literary critic of the time, Thomas Wentworth Higginson. She wrote short lyric poems, but because of the idiosyncrasy of her language, despite the brevity of the form, readers often find her verse enigmatic. Meaning in Dickinson’s poetry is communicated through indirection, and often in such an almost privately coded manner as opens ways to multiple interpretations. Emily Dickinson relies on ambiguity, a phenomenon of poetic compression, to such an extent that she could rightly be called the “queen ambiguist” in 19 th century American poetry. In the first quatrains of “I dwell in Possibility–” (P657)2 she clearly states it as her chief poetic ethos: I dwell in Possibility– A fairer House than Prose– More numerous of Windows– Superior–for Doors– Of Chambers as the Cedars– Impregnable of Eye– And for an Everlasting Roof The Gambrels of the Sky–
1
The Illustrated Stratford Shakespeare (London: Chancellor Press, 1982), 186. The poems of Emily Dickinson are cited from the following edition: Thomas H. Johnson, ed., The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson (Boston: Little , Brown and Company, 1960) 2
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Major Means of Ambiguity in Dickinson’s Poetry The purpose of poets, especially since Wordsworth, is to make the familiar appear new, and the only thing poets can rely on to achieve this is language. As a challenge to the readera1s expectation, good poetry most often entices by deviating from everyday phrases and patterns, and unlike ordinary language use, whose business is reference and thus requires clarity, the language of poetry is often marked by the deliberate exploitation of ambiguity. William Empson regards ambiguity in an extended sense, as “any verbal nuance […] which gives room for alternative reactions to the same piece of language.”3 Later on, however he distinguishes two types: one in which the pleasure belongs to the act of working out and understanding, and which, once understood, remain an intelligible unit in the mind; and another in which the ambiguity works best if it is never discovered. 4 In poetry, the former type is part of the reader’s reception, whereas the latter forms part of the poem’s meaning. Ambiguity in the reader’s reception is usually caused by stylistic compression, for example by syntactic elision. Syntactic elision makes the reader look at the syntax of the lines more closely and recover the missing parts. After some syntactic analysis disambiguation can take place, which makes the sense complete and unequivocal. This first type of ambiguity can be illustrated with the final four lines of “I can wade Grief–” (P252), which exhibit recoverability by parallelism 5: Give Balm–Giants– And they'll wilt, like Men– Give Himmaleh–[to Giants] [And] They'll carry–Him!
Although Dickinson’ poetry is a treasure house of this first type of ambiguity, my paper focuses only on the second type, in search for a meaning communicated through it. Most often ambiguity in Dickinson’s poems does not allow unambiguous decoding, and thus multiple interpretations remain possible. It is assumed that ambiguity in Dickinson’s poetry is intentional, an inherent part of the poet’s design, some central quality pervading every level of poetic expressiveness: emphasis, imagery, visual form, syntax, tone, vocabulary, rhetorical figures, and it can best be detected in Dickinson’s pronominal referencing.
Emphasis and Imagery Meaning often depends on emphasis, and as the following example shows, this may generate lexical ambiguity in a work of poetry. In the opening line of the poem “There’s a certain Slant of light” (P258), depending on emphasis, “certain” may mean “definite but not specified”, in which case the emphasis in the phrase falls on the capitalized noun; or it might also mean when emphasized “certain to occur, destined, inevitable”. Both senses are valid, since the poem associates the natural phenomenon of heavy light on winter afternoons with death, suggested by all ends and losses in nature. On the one hand the kind of slantness of light mentioned by the speaker is as difficult to define as the heaviness of the awe inspired by death, and on the other hand both are destined to appear. This poem also illustrates how imagery can serve as a source of ambiguity. Often in a Dickinson poem observation of nature ends in conveying some emotional content related to a human experience associated with it. The poem first claims to be about a slant of light, but as it communicates feelings associated with darkness, the source of the simile in the final stanza (“like the Distance/On the look of Death”) becomes the emotional referent of the entire poem, or, as Jay Rogoff points out, “death emerges as the shadowy actuality lurking precisely behind it all” 6: There's a certain Slant of light, Winter Afternoons– That oppresses, like the Heft Of Cathedral Tunes– Heavenly Hurt it gives us– We can find no scar, But internal difference, 3
William Empson, Seven Types of Ambiguity (London: Pimlico, 2004), 1. Ibid., 57. 5 John Schmit, “’I Only Said–the Syntax–’: Elision, Recoverability, and Insertion in Emily Dickinson’s Poetry.” Style, 27.1 (1993) http://www.cswnet.com/~erin/ed7.htm (accessed August 20, 2009). 6 Jay Rogoff, “Certain Slants: Learning from Dickinson’s Oblique Precision,” EDJ 12.2 (2008): 42. 4
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Where the Meanings, are– None may teach it–Any– 'Tis the Seal Despair– An imperial affliction Sent us of the Air– When it comes, the Landscape listens– Shadows–hold their breath– When it goes, 'tis like the Distance On the look of Death–
Unorthodoxies of Visual Form Considering Dickinson’s graphic features, the two most conspicuous visual peculiarities of Dickinson’s style, namely, capitalization and the frequent uses of the dash, are among the chief creators of ambiguity. Dickinson’s habit of capitalizing words is partly a sign of her respect for the individual word, and at the same time it is also like an instruction for the reader to take the word imaginatively, with all its possible implications, i.e. with an invitation to multiplicity of meaning. Another physical feature of Dickinson’s poetry is the frequent uses of the dash, which functions as a substitute for almost all of the other marks, also an instrument to underscore rhythm and, at the same time, by marking a pause, to lend emphasis to words. The dash contributes to ambiguity also when it occurs at the end of a sentence, or especially of a poem, where as a result the statement missing definite closure leaves the reading open to multiple implications of meaning. Besides a number of other effects, when controlling syntactic relations, the dash promotes doubling of meaning by blurring syntactic relations, like in the concluding verse of “On a Columnar Self–” (P789), where the poet defines the crowd constituted by the self: Suffice Us–for a Crowd– Ourself–and Rectitude– And that Assembly–not far off From furthest Spirit–God–
Here, as Suzanne Juhasz states, it is impossible to decide if the dash between “furthest Spirit” and “God” indicates connection or discreteness, i.e. whether God is included in the self’s society or the self is everything but God. The ambiguity offers two contradictory definitions of the self’s relationship to God, but since the major point of the poem is that the self relies on itself, its claim to be distinct from God is not a rejection. Thus the alternative readings extend our understanding and together form a more complete picture. 7
Idiosyncratic Syntax Dickinson’s disruptions of conventional syntax (missing causal/temporal relations, omission of words, uninflected verbs, using inverted phrase order, etc.) have been the focus of extended studies by Cristanne Miller and Brita Lindberg-Seyersted, who regard the syntactic idiosyncrasies as structurally symbolic, i.e. imitative of the poem’s sense. Dickinson’s most characteristic type of non-recoverable deletion is to omit phrases providing the logical links between consecutive statements or between stanzas, which allows a freedom of interpretation. Omission of logical links leads to suspense, like in parataxis, or to syntactic doubling. Investigating the syntax of “My Life had stood” (P754) Miller defines parataxis as “disjunctive or coordinate linking of ideas where information is presented sequentially, without hierarchical conjunction”. In this poem the abrupt succession of sentences also means shifts in tense and subject almost from line to line, connected with “and”, which accounts for an emotionally tense quality. 8
7
Suzanne Juhasz, “Reading doubly: Dickinson, gender, and multiple meaning,” in Approaches to Teaching Dickinson’s Poetry, ed. Robin Riley Fast and Christine Mack Gordon (New York: The Modern Language Association of America, 1989), 87-88. 8 Cristanne Miller, Emily Dickinson: A Poet’s Grammar (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1987), 31. 79
Syntactic doubling, Empson’s second type of ambiguity, occurs when “lines form an interpenetrating and, as it were, fluid unity,” 9 i.e. a line can equally continue the previous thought, or start a new one which goes on in the next line, like in “The Bird came down the Walk” (P328): He stirred his Velvet Head [stanza division] Like one in danger, Cautious, I offered him a Crumb
The middle line here forms a double link with the preceding and the following line, thus the interpretation hinges on “one”, which can be either the speaker or the subject of the poem, the bird. To what effect does ambiguity work here? The syntactic inter-changeability seems to su ggest identification between the speaker and her object of description, the bird. 10
Shifts in Tone When unexpected, though slight shifts of tone occur in a poem, they are impossible to account for, and thus create ambiguity. In the main part of “He fumbles at your Soul” (P315) the tone is personal and dynamic, full of emotional intensity, which is marked by the verbs and adjectives, whereas the tone of the concluding part is impersonal and tranquil, almost stoic. Both parts describe an action, but the first part focuses on the effect while the second part expands the reader’s view to some general truth: He fumbles at your Soul As Players at the Keys Before they drop full Music on– He stuns you by degrees– Prepares your brittle Nature For the Ethereal Blow By fainter Hammers–Further heard– Then nearer–Then so slow, Your Breath has time to straighten– Your Brain–to bubble Cool– Deals–One–imperial–Thunderbolt– That scalps your naked Soul– When Winds take Forests in their Paws– The Universe–is still–
The poem’s masterful regularity of form resembles a Shakespearean sonnet, which allows the reader to regard the final part as a couplet communicating the point. However, there is a puzzling absence of explicit connection between the two structural units, and this deletion, a means of poetic compression, leaves it open to interpretation how the two parts are related and what the stillness of the universe means: solidity and inertial resistance due to its vastness, or ignorance and perhaps undisturbed indifference?
Daring Word Combinations Although her poems were not prepared for publication and thus cannot always be regarded as authoritative texts, Dickinson edited her poems and most of them exist in finished form. Several of her poems, however, survived in differing fair copies and these textual variants provide evidence not only how important for her the choice of “the words to every thought” (P581) was, but also that her poems originated in cumulative possibilities of meaning, and thus they show, as it were, her need for ambiguity, i.e. her intention not to decide between variant possibilities. For a poet who “dwells in possibility” the conception of the poem itself must be an indefinite, unfinished act. The variants are
9
Empson, ibid., 50. Miller, ibid., 38.
10
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most often approximate synonyms, which, as Miller states, “broaden the possibilities for what any single choice might mean.” 11 Dickinson believed in the power of the individual word, which she employs with remarkable pointedness. The unique brevity of her poems in itself lends emphasis to each word she uses, but she also resorts to various means to give her words a poetic luminousness, or as Wells puts it, using a term common in Dickinson’s poetry, she aims to present each word in “italic”. 12 The poetic word or phrase differs from the non-poetic in that the former is rich in implications. Poetic words are suggestive by surprising the reader as unusual, mostly because they are not used in their common context. Dickinson delights in rare words, bold formation, she often changes parts of speech and invents daring word combinations with great inventiveness: mountains are called “purple territories”, noon–“parlour of the day”, sunlit meadows–“meadows of majesty”, angels–“sapphire fellows”, frost–“blond assassin”, she also speaks of a “pile” of wind, “alabaster zest”, “sumptuous” destitution, “fleshless chant”, “seamless company”, a flower’s “unobtrusive” face, she uses “orchestra” as a verb, and coins words, e.g. “russetly”. 13 These word combinations are striking because the words constituting them belong to different vocabularies or to different etymological or other linguistic categories.
A Rhetorical Figure – the Oxymoron Dickinson delights not only in possibilities provided by synonyms and not only in joining words belonging to differing lexical fields, but also in joining words with opposing meanings to form a new union and thereby defining a special quality. In a typical oxymoron two opposing terms make one sensation, like in “’Tis so appalling–it exhilarates–” (P281), which describes the speaker’s reaction to death, and in “Its Amber Revelation/Exhilarate–Debase–” (P552), where the impact of sunset on the mind is described. What is the meaning of ambiguity produced by the frequent use of oxymora, beyond the meanings that these figures of speech carry within the individual poems? As literature is imitative of reality, what reality is mirrored here, or rather, what perception of reality by the poet? Ambiguity of this type, although a means of compression and a quality produced by the language of the text itself, certainly cannot be resolved from the text alone. Any resolution of ambiguity needs the support of the larger context, the macrostructure of the poetic corpus, the author’s biography and the cultural environment. During Dickinson’s lifetime there were religious revivals in Amherst, and many of her friends as well as relatives, including her sister Lavinia, converted. Dickinson however could not but accept uncertainty as the only certainty and this is the view of the world reflected in her poems: How Human Nature dotes On what it can’t detect. (P1417) Wonder–is not precisely Knowing And not precisely Knowing not– A beautiful but bleak condition He has not lived who has not felt– (P1331)
If things may not be understood and cannot be believed, they can only be wondered at, and a consistent effort can be carried on to try and define the subjective experience. Consequently the poet’s vision of the world often effects intrusion of one quality/emotion/fact on another and a constant simultaneity of opposites in the poems. Karl Keller regards the oxymoron, which is simultaneity of reference, as Dickinson’s poetic means of representing the richness of reality. He believes that “the oxymoron served as the main language structure for the poet’s sense of the indecipherable ambiguity of existence.”14 In Dickinson’s oxymora alternatives are juxtaposed without offering a choice in order to undercut certainty. This is seen by Keller as Dickinson’s attempt to define, to reconstitute reality as ambiguity. 11
Ibid., 47. Henry W. Wells, “The Exact Word,” in Critics on Emily Dickinson. Readings in Literary Criticism, ed. Richard H. Rupp (Coral Gables, Florida: University of Miami Press, 1972), 95. 13 Ibid., 98. 14 Karl Keller, The Only Kangaroo among the Beauty: Emily Dickinson and America (Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press, 1979), 132. 12
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In the following long oxymoron, the sequence of opposing terms is devised to create one sensation, the sense of equilibrium, unity made up of opposites. “The Love a Life can show Below” (P673) gives a description of the love of a “Life Below” in terms of opposites: ’Tis this–invites–appals–endows– Flits–glimmers–proves–dissolves– Returns–suggests–convicts–enchants– Then–flings in Paradise–
Dickinson’s “Compound Vision” enabled her to see contrasting qualities of the same thing simultaneously, without feeling compelled to make a choice. This vision originated in her profound awareness of the link between the finite and the infinite, the threshold being Death, where the power of the infinite allows the finite to be seen in true light, or as it is said in Paul: “… now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face”. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully…” (1 Corinthians 13.12) In Dickinson’s “The Admirations–and Contempts–of time–” (P906) the moment of dying, a meeting point of time and eternity, is described as one providing the true perspective of existence: a “Convex–and Concave Witness–” which “Reorganizes Estimate”. It seems to Dickinson that the truly authentic perspective is one with an angle wide enough to include opposing qualities: “The Finite–furnished/With the Infinite–”.
Intangible Pronominal Referencing Dickinson frequently uses pronouns of unclear reference. A classic example is in “This was a Poet–It is that” (P448): This was a Poet–It is that Distills amazing sense From ordinary Meanings–
Here “this” may either refer to the text of the poem, and in such case “Poet” is a synecdoche, or it refers to a figure unknown to the reader but present to the speaker. “That” might mean “the fact that” or may refer back to “this”, and neither of the readings can be chosen as the only valid interpretation. 15 There are poems in which shifts between non-specific and definite uses of “it” create ambiguity, as in P531 “We dream–it is good we are dreaming–”: We dream–it is good we are dreaming– It would hurt us–were we awake– But since it is playing–kill us
The first “it” is a non-specific grammatical subject, but the second “it” may either stand for the condition of being awake, i.e. it would hurt us if we were awake. However, in this “it” there is a suggestion of some ominous, unspecified tormentor, as Miller points out. 16 This latter sense is supported by the third line, where “it” is without an antecedent, yet specific, although unspecified. More interesting are those poems in which the lack of reference for “it” or “the thing” or “he” takes on thematic significance, as in “It was not Death” (P510), “’Twas like a Maelstrom, with a notch” (P414) , “The first day’s night had come” (P410), “I gained it so” (P359), “It struck me every Day–” (P362 ), “If I may have it when it’s dead” (P577) and “He fumbles at your soul” (P315). The identity of these pronouns and “things” is never unfolded, instead, we learn about the psychic states that they generate and which the poems re-enact. One of the most riddling, therefore most widely discussed poem in this category is “My Life had stood–a Loaded Gun–” (P754): My Life had stood–a Loaded Gun– In Corners–till a Day The Owner passed–identified– And carried Me away– And now We roam in Sovereign Woods– And now We hunt the Doe– 15 16
Miller, ibid., 78-79. Ibid., 81. 82
And every time I speak for Him– The Mountains straight reply– And do I smile, such cordial light Upon the Valley glow– It is as a Vesuvian face Had let its pleasure through– And when at Night–Our good Day done– I guard My Master's Head– ’Tis better than the Eider-Duck’s Deep Pillow–to have shared– To foe of His–I’m deadly foe – None stir the second time– On whom I lay a Yellow Eye– Or an emphatic Thumb– Though I than He–may longer live He longer must–than I– For I have but the power to kill, Without–the power to die–
The diverse interpretations of “My Life had stood–a Loaded Gun–” (P754) centre round the following three aspects: transcendental, cultural and psychological.
Interpretation in a Transcendental Aspect Assuming that Dickinson’s riddling pronominal references relate to God, who is hidden, therefore does not allow direct identification, Cynthia Wolff interprets P754 on the level of the transcendental: the speaker is Death and “He” is the Saviour. The test of any interpretation of the poem is the concluding quatrain, with the resolution of the paradox in it. The last stanza says that both the owner and the gun live longer, which is a senseless statement on the literal level. The paradox however is decipherable in a transcendental plane as follows: Christ can be subjected to death and still destroy death. Death “may” live longer than Christ, as he died on the cross, yet Christ “must” live longer than Death, as the righteous cannot be raised from their low graves unless Christ first vanquishes Death. The focus of the poem, however, is not this biblical truth, Wolff claims. In the poet’s view Christ is the God-man who came to save man from death, but he is also one and the same as the Father, the Destroyer and Avenger who employs death as his agent. Although Christ may triumph over death, death also acts as an instrument of Christ’s will, and what is most appalling in Dickinson’s poem is that this agent of God enjoys his job. In the poem death happens as an effect of killing, a violent act, aimfulfilment of hunting with a shotgun. This interpretation of Wolff is further justified by reference to the Old Testament, where death is figured as an angel with a special assignment (Samuel, 24:15-17). This angel had always existed and had always been capable of performing his eventual task. However, until God decided to use him, his singular role had not been “identified” and he had to wait like “a Loaded Gun/In Corners”. Once chosen for his mission, he became the “Angel of Death” and could begin the relentless process of annihilation that all men and women must submit to. The relentlessness of the drive towards death is emphasized by the anaphoric lines: “and carried…”, “and now…”, “and every time…”, “and when at night…”, “and do I smile.” 17 An interpretation of this kind sounds logical and convincing, although it examines the poem in a biblical context alone, without any attempt to support it by references to Dickinson’s other poems of a similar view or to the poet’s letters and readings. Not to mention the problem that although the identity of “He” and “I” are crucial for any particular interpretation, the intangible nature of the reference itself also must have a significance, which can perhaps be perceived more clearly after considering wider contexts.
17
Cynthia G. Wolff, Emily Dickinson (Reading, Mass.: Addison-Wesley Publishing Company, 1988), 443-444. 83
Interpretation in a Cultural and Psychological Aspect Interpretations in this group all focus on the poet’s psyche, but feminist criticism of Dickinson emphasizes the cultural aspect more than the rest. Feminist scholars place P754 in the category of poems on marriage, such as “Doubt Me! My Dim Companion!” (P275), “The World–stands–solemner– to me–” (P493), “My Worthiness is all my Doubt–” (P751), “Title divine–is mine!” (P1072) and “My life closed twice before its close–” (P1732), and interpret the speaker as wife and the Master/Owner as husband in 19 th century North-American patriarchal society. They regard the poem as a critique of the male-identified woman who has achieved power by complicity with male power. It is a critique, Joan Kirkby states, as Dickinson exposes the woman’s position as a form of non-being: she cannot die because she is not alive, just an instrument of the Master. Full of hidden power, the woman is a loaded gun that dwells in corners until she is given identity by male nomination and is carried away. However, she is carried away by a new form of subservience: she is used for the purpose he appoints, deadly pursuits. They hunt the Doe, which is traditionally a metaphor for a beloved woman or woman in love in English poetry, so the woman is complicit in acts of violence against her own sex and in maintaining male authority: her subservience gives him power. 18 More complex are the interpretations that combine a cultural aspect with the psychological. Adrienne Rich states that in P754 the poet perceives herself as a lethal weapon, and sees herself as split not between anything so simple as “masculine’” and “feminine” identity, but between the hunter, admittedly masculine, yet also a human person, an active, willing being, and the Gun, an object, condemned to remain inactive until the hunter/the owner takes possession of it. The Gun contains a kind of energy capable of rousing echoes in mountains and lighting up the valleys; it is also its owner’s defender against the “foe”, since it is the Gun who speaks for him. The “Owner” is the poet and the gun is a kind of Keatsian “Genius of Poetry”, essential, creative and powerful self, yet also possibly unacceptable, perhaps even monstrous. 19 Sandra Gilbert and Susan Gubar also explicate the poem in terms of the feminine and the masculine. They consider the Gun emblematic of autonomous power, which is suggested by phrases that indicate the pleasure which the speaker gains from hunting: “smiling Vesuvian face” and “none stir the second time”. This autonomous power is a poet’s, and He/Owner/Master functions as a catalyst, a muse, in whose presence the deadly vocabulary of the poet is activated. In the last quatrain, which is the test of any interpretation, it is the gun that will have the last word, and in his humanity the Master has the power, i.e. the capacity to die. The Master, being human, must live, whereas the Gun, living only when it speaks/kills, may or may not be obliged to live. Inhumanly energized by rage and flame, the Gun has but the power to kill. Thus the Gun is a metaphor for the enraged poet, who speaks with Vesuvian intensity, attains masculine authority over the Doe, a metaphor for the timid female who rose to patriarchal requirements. The enraged poet turns upon that passive and suffering Doe in herself and hunts her down. 20 When examined in the light of Jungian psychology, though still on the basis of the cultural approach of feminist scholars, the poem is read by Albert Gelpi as an assertion of masculine artistic freedom. “He” is an image symbolic of certain aspects of the poet’s own personality, i.e. qualities, needs and potentialities which have been identified culturally and psychologically with the masculine. In patriarchal society a woman is subjected to assigned roles, which controls the process of growth. Dickinson sees the chances of fulfilment in her relationship to the animus figure (the masculine aspect of the woman’s psyche – a Jungian term), in her identification with him. Till he came, her life had known only inertia, standing neglected in tight places, “Corners” (not a corner!), i.e. confined places. But all the time she knew she was something other and more. Her identification happened, paradoxically, on her being carried away by her own Master, on a submission of her womanhood to the internalized masculine principle. 21 Interpretations ignoring the feminine vs. masculine aspect focus on qualities more universal. Robert Weisbuch sees the subject of the poem as relationship between power and freedom, nothingness and self-realization through subservience, the dilemma of power and identity, transcendence at the cost of freedom or freedom at the cost of meaning. 22 Sharon Cameron believes that the central image, i.e. life 18
Joan Kirkby, Emily Dickinson (London: Macmillan Education Ltd., 1991), 77-79. Adrienne Rich, “Vesuvius at Home: The Power of Emily Dickinson,” in Shakespear’s Sisters, ed. Sandra Gilbert and Susan Gubar (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1979), 99-121. 20 Sandra M. Gilbert and Susan Gubar, The Madwoman in the Attic. The Woman Writer and the Nineteenth Century Literary Imagination (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2000), 608. 21 Albert Gelpi, “Emily Dickinson and the Deerslayer,” in Shakespeare’s Sisters, ed. Sandra Gilbert and Susan Gubar (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1979), 122-124. 22 Robert Weisbuch, Emily Dickinson’s Poetry (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1975), 25-39. 19
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as a loaded gun belonging to someone else, which, when claimed, goes off, is about identity conceived of as violence, and life as rage. Coming to life involves accepting the power and inescapable burden of doing violence wherever one is and to whomever one encounters. The speaker imagines herself immortal in order to find protection from violence, as violence turned upon the world can be returned by it. The Master is the world and the gun is one’s power. It is against or for the world that one does battle, a world whose identity is shadowy and is a projection of the force against which one fights. 23 What accounts for this diversity of interpretation? What is the meaning of ambiguity here? How can concord of discord be found? In contrast to the first type of ambiguity, where the ambiguity appears in the reader’s reception and passes when the immediate linguistic context is consulted, with the second major type, where ambiguity forms part of the poem’s meaning, the more diverse the context consulted, the richer and the more complex the interpreted meaning. It is as though Emily Dickinson deliberately controlled the reader’s interpretation, wanting to make possible multiple interpretations and opportunities of perception. If art represents reality, what reality is mirrored here? Obviously there is a certain sense behind the avoidance of naming the referent in P754. Naming, as it is by itself an act of identification and recognition, forms part of knowing. Applying a name to a phenomenon would mean defining it with a certainty that the richness and mysteriousness of the world do not seem to allow Dickinson to do. The poet might have been especially wary of naming the referent if it belonged to the transcendental. Dickinson’s aim is obviously not to describe the external world, physical or transcendental, but rather to present the subjective experience which it evokes. Since the speaker probably knows from her own experience whom “He” refers to, there is no need for her to use a name and give external identification. What she focuses on instead is how belonging to “Him” feels and what it causes. Dickinson’s poems with tangible pronominal referencing assert subjective experience as the only certainty, and the ambiguity in the poems mirrors the poet’s own uncertainty concerning the ultimate source of human existence. David Porter concludes that the semiotic message of the poem lies in its very indefiniteness: in the failure of identity, the experience that significance is to be found not in what is said, but what cannot be put in words and cannot even be in human consciousness. Indefiniteness in Dickinson’s poetry indirectly communicates this drama in life; it is a reflection of the absence of firm meaning, the void at the centre of being. 24 Dickinson’s pronouns will always allow multiple interpretations; commentators are desperate to infer the hidden and find out about the external aspect of the experience communicated in the poem. If this is worth doing, it seems worth doing in a complex, multifaceted manner. It is always context that makes sense unequivocal, and this is all the more so in Dickinson’s case. Because of their indirectness and indeterminacy, meaning in her poems relies on context more heavily than meaning with other poets: on the context of the biography, her other verses and other writings, as well as of the culture she lived in. How can a more complex contextual approach, integrating also the aspects of the poetic corpus and the author’s biography, contribute to a richer understanding of a poem with oblique reference? A study of the poetic corpus and the biography reveals to the reader what power of the word Dickinson believed in, as the sense of language as autonomous power is a central idea in some of her poems: “A word is dead” (P1212), “A word dropped careless on a page” (P1261) and “A word made flesh is seldom” (P1651). She always ascribed terrible power to language in poetry, and it is also testified by her famous definition of poetry, given to Higginson when he visited her in August 1870: “If I read a book [and] it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know that is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry. These are the only way I know it. Is there any other way?” 25 The image of language in poetry as having destructive power is consistent with the Gun image in P754, where a line in the second stanza (“And every time I speak for Him–”) makes it clear that it is the instrument of language. Porter examines the poetic corpus and relates the image of the Gun, a personified abstraction, to similar images in Dickinson’s poetry, images of personified instruments in separation from their original actors: knives and wielder in “She dealt her pretty words like Blades–” (P479), news and writer in “How News must feel when travelling” (P1319), memory and individual in “That sacred Closet when you sweep–” (P1273). All this leads the reader to see that the Gun in P754 is the emblem of Dickinson’s inordinate power of language and of her undefined life. It becomes active when the Master identifies it and takes it with him. Porter believes that the poem is about Dickinson’s “sense of language as autonomous power, its independent life for good or ill”, and it is also about the relentless “need for definition, to displace the 23
Sharon Cameron, “‘A Loaded Gun’: Dickinson and the Dialectic of Rage,” PMLA, 93.3 (1978): 423- 437. David Porter, Dickinson: The Modern Idiom (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1981), 217. 25 http://www.wisdomportal.com/Poems/DickinsonDefinitionPoetry.html (accessed June 21, 2009). 24
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affliction of spontaneity.” 26 The view that this poem deals with the dilemma of instrument and purpose, search for the authority that will confer identity seems justified in light of the poet’s correspondence with Higginson. She wrote she had no Monarch in her life, described herself as an explosive and being without organization or authority: “I had no monarch in my life, and cannot rule myself; and when I try to organize, my little force explodes and leaves me bare and charred.” 27 Still another aspect supporting this complex, contextual explication is the centrality of the theme of receiving identity in Dickinson’s poetry, e.g. “The World–stands–solemner–to me–” (P493), “He found my Being–set it up–” (P603) and “I heard, as if I had no Ear” (P1039).
Conclusion Ambiguity of pronominal referencing can be a major means of communicating the poet’s most essential message. Unlike some other means of indirection, the meaning communicated through this kind of ambiguity, as it is a phenomenon of utmost compression, requires more than an imaginative act on the part of the reader or commentator, and cannot be deciphered linguistically, fro m the text alone. It is macro-structural contextual investigation that is found a reliable source to reveal significance in ambiguity of this type. Unlike with simple ambiguities, where context helps find unequivocal sense, ambiguity which endures becomes enriched, more complex and more diverse in meaning if its larger context is consulted, and thus unequivocal sense is simply excluded.
References Cameron, Sharon. 1978. “A Loaded Gun”: Dickinson and the Dialectic of Rage. PMLA, 93.3 423- 437. Empson, William. 2004. Seven Types of Ambiguity. London: Pimlico. Gelpi, Albert. 1979. “Emily Dickinson and the Deerslayer.” In Shakespeare’s Sisters, edited by Sandra Gilbert and Susan Gubar, 122-134. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Gilbert, Sandra M., and Susan Gubar. 2000. The Madwoman in the Attic. The Woman Writer and the Nineteenth Century Literary Imagination. New Haven: Yale University Press. Juhasz, Suzanne. 1989 . “Reading doubly: Dickinson, gender, and multiple meaning.” In Approaches to Teaching Dickinson’s Poetry, edited by Robin Riley Fast and Christine Mack Gordon, 85-94. New York: The Modern Language Association of America. Keller, Karl.1979. The Only Kangaroo among the Beauty: Emily Dickinson and America. Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press. Kirkby, Joan. 1991. Emily Dickinson. London: Macmillan Education Ltd. Lindberg-Seyersted, Brita. 1968. The Voice of the Poet: Aspects of Style in the Poetry of Emily Dickinson. Uppsala: Almquist and Wiksells. Miller, Cristanne. 1987. Emily Dickinson: A Poet’s Grammar . Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Porter, David. 1981. Dickinson: The Modern Idiom. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Rich, Adrienne. 1979. “Vesuvius at Home: The Power of Emily Dickinson.” In Shakespeare’s Sisters, edited by Sandra Gilbert and Susan Gubar, 99-121. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Rogoff, Jay. 2008. Certain Slants: Learning from Dickinson’s Oblique Precision. EDJ, 12.2: 39-54. Schmit, John. “’I only said–the Syntax–’: Elision, Recoverability and Insertion in Emily Dickinson’s Poetry.” Style, 27.1 (1993): 106-125. http://www.cswnet.com/~erin/ed7.htm (accessed August 20, 2009). Wells, Henry W. 1972. “The Exact Word.” In Critics on Emily Dickinson. Readings in Literary Criticism, edited by Richard H. Rupp, 93-98. Coral Gables, Florida: University of Miami Press.
26 27
Porter, ibid., 209-218. http://www.theatlantic.com/unbound/poetry/emilyd/edletter.html (accessed June 21, 2009). 86
The Holy Bible. The New Revised Standard Version. 1989.World Bible Publishers, Inc. The Illustrated Stratford Shakespeare. 1982. London: Chancellor Press.
Weisbuch, Robert. 1975. Emily Dickinson’s Poetry. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Wolff, Cynthia G. 1988. Emily Dickinson. Reading, Mass.: Addison-Wesley Publishing Company.
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Ambiguity of the Political Fiction for Children – Analysing Beverly Naidoo’s Out of Bounds Mária Kiššová It is true that many books of contemporary children’s and juvenile literature written in English reflect and depict serious issues including political and social problems. We may say that one of the key challenges of the modern era of globalisation and massive cultural migration is to prepare children for the life in multicultural society, in which educated young people would be equally aware of their present and the past cultural heritage. For us, political fiction and namely postcolonial fiction and fiction about cultural encounters are closely linked. The objection that mixing multicultural literature with political fiction is extremely far-fetched is a vague one. We strongly perceive them to be related as the postcolonial fiction – the main field of our analysis – originates right from the cultural clash between the political players of the colonizer and the colonised. Since the analysed short story collection belongs to the postcolonial literature for children, it is important to suggest two aspects of the analysis – both examining ambiguity from different viewpoints. There are two basic questions concerning ambiguity of political fiction for children; the first asks if this type of serious fiction is suitable for children; and it discusses WHAT is presented. The second aspect explores the ways HOW is politics presented; and it focuses on the ambiguity of a political standpoint of each particular work. It has already been suggested that modern children´s literature brings a lot of politics and political ideas, the issues hardly related to the fiction traditionally oriented either towards education or entertainment. What seems to be different – if we compare children´s literature of the past and the present - is that while in the past politics was rather in the background of the stories; modern children´s literature often pushes politics forward as its thematic concept. There are several authors of children´s literature in English (Peter Dickinson, Gillian Cross, David Almond, Meja Mwangi, Ibtisan Barakat, etc) who focus on specific political problems. A very recent publication of the short story collection Free? Stories Celebrating Human Rights (2009, published by Amnesty International) supports the trend. Fourteen acclaimed children´s literature authors such as Theresa Breslin, Eoin Coifer, Margaret Mahy and others use human rights as the linking political theme in the collection. Many of the above mentioned authors deal particularly with the politics of postcolonial experience. The depiction of the marginalised and oppressed groups as the recent trend in children’s literature has also been rooted in the modified social concept of a child and in loosening boundaries of the suitable or the taboo topics in children´s literature. Pat Pinsent adds that the ‘foregrounding of marginalised groups appears to result from a more widely embracing understanding and empathy with the underprivileged’ (2005, 174) This is also the consequence of the global world in which problems are being reported and spread by the media all around the world which makes people more aware of them. Beverly Naidoo – the author of the collection analysed in the paper - is one of the most popular current children’s literature authors focusing on political problems. She presents political and social problems such as terrorism, wars, social unrests and hatred, racial discrimination and the problems of migration. In some of her works, political matters are just the background for the story; while in others politics is a major factor strongly influencing lives of characters. Naidoo is a white South African born in Johannesburg in 1943. (Suggesting the colour of Beverly Naidoo might not be politically correct, however, its function in the paper is to highlight the position of the author whose skin colour puts her to the colonised scale of politics.) Being politically active as a student, Naidoo joined the resistance to the politics of South African apartheid and before moving to exile in England she had spent eight weeks in jail. After her studies in Britain Naidoo has become a teacher, started writing children’s books besides being still politically active in the Defence and Aid Fund for Southern Africa. Her fiction for children deals with serious and current political topics including racism and the consequences of discriminating laws such as oppression, racial violence and purges. Naidoo depicts the problems through the eyes of children (both black and white) and all her stories are inspired by her experience of a child growing up in the apartheid South Africa. Among her well-known books for children belong Journey to Jo'Burg: A South African Story (1985), No Turning Back (1998), Chain of Fire (1989), the collection of short stories Out of Bounds (2001) and Burn My Heart (2007). Her novel for children The Other Side of Truth (2000) was awarded the Carnegie Medal and the Nestle Smarties Silver Medal in 2000. The analysis of the short story collection Out of Bounds will focus on two ambiguous issues/ questions which political fiction for children appeals for. The answer to the question - if political issues (WHAT is presented) are not too unfamiliar and difficult to comprehend for children - is given by the 88
author in a straightforward way. Naidoo emphasises the strong educative and informative function of her literary works and when the author was interviewed on her needs and reasons to write about the South African experience, she noticed: “I wanted to talk to children directly, including my own two children who were born in exile, here in England. I knew it was important first to touch the heart, and then the head would follow - with questions. I would like to feel that my South African fiction can provide a space for young South Africans - as well as children internationally - to explore the terrible damage that racism does to people’s relationships with each other as well as their own potential to imagine and create alternative, interdependent futures.” There are voices of adult political reasoning in the collection as well. In the foreword of Out of Bounds the 1984 Nobel Prize Winner for Peace Archbishop Desmond Mpilo Tutu and Beverly Naidoo both emphasize the educative significance of the stories. Archbishop Tutu claims here that “this record is important so that we South Africans can never with any degree of credibility deny that we could reach such depths of depravity”. Naidoo highlights the importance of knowledge about the country which she had to flee from; the country with the history deeply affected by its colonial past. In other words the author claims that children should read about problems the oppressed and marginalised children in other countries face so they know about them and learn from them as well. In this case the educative function of political fiction for children is emphasized. With the seriousness of the topics discussed one must take the perception and the knowledge of politics of a child reader into consideration. The use of author’s notes and explanations in Out of Bounds makes complicated problems of politics understandable and provides the reader with the background which helps the overall text comprehension. For instance, in the introduction Naidoo quotes a political document – to be exact the law which once defined a white person – focusing on its absurdity: “A ‘White’ person means a person who in appearance obviously is, or who is generally accepted as, a White person, but does not include a person, who, although in appearance obviously a White person, is generally accepted as a Coloured person.”
To mark further political and historical references in the collection, there is a Time-line across Apartheid which follows the stories and provides essential links between major political events (e.g. Population Registration Act accepted in 1950; The Abolition of Passes Act from 1952 or Mandela’s fight for freedom) and short stories in the book. Without the reference, The Playground would be just a story about the first coloured girl attending school for whites. With the Time-line we find more detailed background with three years connected with the story: 1990 – when Nelson Mandela is released after twenty-seven years in prison; 1994 – when South Africa holds its first free elections and finally 1995 – when schools had to be opened for all children regardless their skin colour. Using specific references, Naidoo emphasizes educative and informative function of her stories. They are read not to entertain but to think critically about the world around. With her use of serious political issues as the backbone of the stories she claims that children are mature enough to understand and comprehend them. The second ambiguity of political fiction for children relates to the way the opposing political parties are (re)presented by the author. If we glance at the history of children´s literature there are many cases which proved that politics - or rather political standpoints – are difficult to avoid for the author who naturally belongs to the specific cultural and political milieu (though the story itself had been thematically very far from politics). Children´s literature has been politically motivated since its early beginnings so one may presume that modern political fiction may not be clear of questionable political references, too. Bob Dixon in Catching Them Young 2 – Political Ideas in Children´s Fiction (1977) makes a few interesting observations on postcolonial aspects found in children´s literature which does not discuss post-colonialism as such. Starting with the 18 th century The Adventures of Robinson Crusoe he shows how the 19 th century became “the heyday of the imperial tradition in children´s literature.” (ibid., 79) Since then children´s fiction has shown colonial exploitation and its ´ideological justification´ perceived today as ethically unacceptable (ibid., 74). It is interesting how the analyses of works such as Morryat´s Masterman Ready, Kingsley´s Westward Ho!, Ballantyne´s Coral Island and Kipling´s Stalky & Co show the typical elements of colonial politics taking sides of the oppressor. The second blueprint of colonialism (after 1880) comes with The Voyages of Dr Doolittle by Lofting. Typical for this type of fiction are mainly the unquestioned racial hierarchy, a strong impact on religion, clashes with other imperial powers and rather stereotypical portrayal of the slave characters. Bob Dixon makes his analysis more challenging showing that even in – one would say altogether ´innocent´ book in terms of political references - Roald Dahl´s Charlie and the Chocolate Factory the echoes of colonialism still resonate. Two editions of the book – the original United States edition of 1964 and the first British edition slightly differ. Let us quote some fascinating Dixon´s observations: 89
“In those earlier editions, the children exclaim, on first seeing the Oompa-Loompas, ´Their skin is almost black!´(not rosy-white´) and Wonka explains, ´Right!... Pygmies they are! Imported from Africa!´ ´ Now, neither “Africa” nor “Pygmies”are mentioned in the Penguin edition and nor are Wonka´s original details of the immigrant or guest-workers given: ´I brought them over from Africa myself – the whole tribe of them, three thousand in all. I found them in the very deepest and darkest part of the African jungle where no white man had ever been before.´ In the original edition, the Oompa-Loompas are illustrated as being black, unlike either of the other editions.” (ibid., 112)
Then what about modern political fiction which IS about politics? One would inevitably expect clichés in terms of one-sidedness, black-and-white characters, and hopes for the happy-child end. Politically correct language as the one ethically acceptable prevails in modern fiction for children. The closer look at the collection of short stories Out of Bounds with the subtitle Stories of Conflict and Hope will map the presentation of children of different cultural and racial background by the author who “would have potentially been a member of a hegemonic group” (Pinsent 2005, 185). Seven stories tracing the political history of apartheid in South Africa starting with 1948 and ending with 2000 thus serve as an example of modern trends in children´s fiction focusing on political problems. The contents of the stories will show that Naidoo emphasizes the values of friendship, equality and tolerance as the key issues in inter-racial relations among children and adults. The Dare is set in 1948 - at the time when introduced apartheid laws worsen the position of the coloured and the black. The story centres on a ten-year-old Veronica Martin who lives with her parents in Johannesburg. The family come to stay for the holiday in a small cottage let out by the Dutch family of the Van Reenens. Veronica befriends the twins Marika and Piet and the eldest Anton. Once, in the game, children make Veronica to do a dare – which is a sort of a test she has to do in order to be still their group member. The dare obliges her to pick the flowers from Meneer Venter’s garden, a Dutch man who resembling Wilde´s Selfish Giant ‘ran one of the biggest orange estates in the area and everyone knew that he threatened to shoot any trespasser on his land like he shot baboons .’ (Naidoo 2001, 6) When Veronica hears Venter’s shouts, she is terribly frightened of being caught. However, it is not her who shall be severely punished, but a black boy whose mischief is not any worse than hers. The Dare is a story about cruelty and injustice of both children and adults. The Van Reenen children may not be fully aware of dangers and cruelty of their bullying which they consider a game; however, Venter’s adult cruelty towards an innocent black child is then even more striking and shocking. Both children are caught, but while white Veronica leaves freely; a black boy is beaten. A ten-year-old girl realizes the cruelty and injustice of the adult world around her, but she is still unable to oppose, too fragile faced with powerful Venter. In The Noose, set in 1955, a ten-year-old boy dreams of a strongly wished birthday present of a cowboy outfit. However, if you are labelled as ‘coloured’ in the 1955 Jo’burg, childhood dreams often disappear in the grim realities. Since Jo’burg shall be cleaned from other than white families, the Peters family has to move to Coronationville, the town just for Coloureds. When the birthday comes, Mr Peters - instead of buying son’s present - has to go to the Pass Office because he has been caught without an important document to legitimize himself. At the Pass Office he is said not to be registered as ‘coloured’ anymore and shall be recorded as ‘African’ which is a much worse official status. The family know and the boy realizes: ‘ however bad things were for Coloured people, they were much worse for Africans. (…) If the Boers said Pa was an African, they wouldn’t let him live with us!’ (ibid., 37) The boy feels that he may easily lose his father so even though he gets the wished Lone Ranger’s outfit, the birthday present has a bitter flavour. There is no time for childhood dreams any more. The story One Day, Lily, One Day set in Johannesburg in 1960 presents a white six-year-old girl Lily whose parents help black people. Lily’s classmates know that something strange is going on in Lily´s family and she has the only friend Caroline at school. Lily feels that Caroline’s mother does not like black people and does not like Lily as well. There is a struggle within Lily. Her experience tells her that the natives are nice people and she likes Janey, her African maid a lot. On the other hand she realizes that it makes her awkward in other people’s eyes. Like Veronica, Lily stays silent when Caroline’s mother is referring to a black servant Janey and she feels guilty about it: ‘ I should have said, ‘What about you being polite about Janey?’ But I didn’t. Even with her horrible parents, I wanted Caroline to be my friend.’ (ibid., 45) Janey’s brother’s child Busi is shot during the protest against the passes which are to control the natives. There is panic at school and parents come to take children home being afraid that the natives may attack the school. Lily leaves with Caroline and her mother. When Caroline’s mother has some loathing remarks for Janey again, Lily’s thoughts again reveal her burning with anger when she cannot express what she feels and oppose the adult view. There is a strong contrast between Lily and Caroline. Lily knows and admits that the suffering of the natives is unjust while Caroline ignores the problem following her mother’s opinion. When Lily wants to tell her about Busi, Caroline shouts angrily: ‘ Stop it, Lily! You’ll give me nightmares! My mom doesn’t let me 90
listen to anything like that – she knows what I’m like.’ (ibid., 55) The conflict puts an end to the friendship and the story is full of the loss: Lily loses her father, her only friend, and her childhood. In the fourth story The Typewriter - set in 1976 - the black students of the Soweto high school protest against the laws forbidding them to learn in their mother tongue and refuse to attend classes. An 11-year-old Nandi is afraid to give the student protest leaflet – in which students ask parents to join the revolt – to her mum. When Nandi’s friend Esther – who is an active protester - has to flee, Nandi gets the mission to take and hide Esther’s typewriter which would reveal her involvement in the rebellion. Nandi sees the seriousness of the affair. As things get more complicated it is Esther’s grandmother Khulu who takes the typewriter, but unfortunately, Khulu is caught and imprisoned. Experiencing this, Nandi changes and at the end she claims not to be afraid to tell her mother about the leaflet any more. She realizes that values and ideas which students fight for are worth the suffering it may bring: ‘The police had taken her friends, and now her granny. Her cousin Esther may have escaped, perhaps to carry on fighting… Well, she was proud of them! She would tell Ma all about it and give her the leaflet herself.’ (ibid., 77)
Esi has been fascinated by The Gun which he has to dust in the room of the farm owner for a very long time. Now, in 1985, when he is 15, the gun disappears because Mackay - the farmer - assumes that it is too big temptation for the native mind of Esi. Mackay comes to his land just from time to time for a break from the work as a director at a large mining company. Paradoxically, it is Esi’s father who looks after the farm and knows more about the land than the owner himself. The life at the farm changes with the arrival of Mackay’s future son-in-law. Proud and arrogant Williams expects Esi - just a few years younger than Williams – to be his full-time obedient servant. As it is natural for him, Esi starts to rebel. The turning point comes when Williams accidentally wounds himself on the walk with Esi who decides not to help; but takes the gun and flees to become one of the rebels. Rosa is the first 11-year-old black girl to attend the school for the white. The Playground is set in 1995 and describes an important change in the South African society when ´rainbow schools´ appeared, which was immediately followed by the strong protests of the white parents´ majority against the black children being in the class with white children. Rosa feels unwanted and abandoned; in fact she is racially discriminated and bullied psychically and physically because of her skin colour. However, after her white friend Hennie takes Rose´s side, the girl manages the school troubles without the parental/ adult help. The seventh story called Out of Bounds takes place in 2000. An Indian Rohan lives with the parents not far from the segregated squatters. The poverty of the squatters tempts them into stealing and robbing and they are perceived in the neighbourhood as the unwanted community of beggars. In consequence, wealthier families refuse squatters’ demands for money, food or water. One day after Rohan’s parents leave, the poor squatter boy called Solani comes to ask for water explaining that his mother is giving birth. Rohan first hesitates but then decides to help carry water with Solani to his squatters’ district. Seeing the poverty and misery of the people, Rohan learns about the strong contrast between his and Solani’s life. The story ends with Rohan’s decision to keep the story secret from the parents knowing that they would not accept Solani as his new friend. In Naidoo’s fiction children face problems of adults, they learn about the harshness and bitterness of the world and gradually find themselves involved in the machinery of the racial hatred and oppression. Veronica from The Dare is scared to death when she thinks the farmer shouts at her. However, still more distressing is to find out that only the white skin and family background make her superior to the black boy and she faces the absurdity of racism openly for the first time in her life. At once Veronica understands that she is too weak to oppose it, stays silent and does not confess to her mischief to the farmer. However, what is vitally important is her discovery of the truth – a sort of bitter epiphany which she has to experience to change her worldview. A boy in the Noose quickly loses his birthday happiness and joy of the present, too: ‘If I had been given the suit in the morning, I would have been crazy with joy. I would have wanted to show it off straight away to Omar and Billy, like the white boy galloping around the garden. Three hours had changed all that. I suddenly felt much older. Too old for a childish outfit.’ (ibid., 40)
He is terrified when he learns that his father might be separated from the family just because of the laws someone creates artificially. Problems which white children face take their childhood away and they learn about the absurdity of racial discrimination and oppression. Though, first, they do not want their childhood/ comfortable safety of their life been taken from them, later they often change and understand the inevitability to change their opinions. This is evident, for instance, in the case of Lily in One Day, Lily, One Day. She first regrets not having parents like other children: ‘why couldn’t Mommy 91
and Daddy be like the other parents who don’t bother with politics and don’t care if things aren’t fair? What about me and Mark? Don’t we matter?’ (ibid., 57) Later, she fights against silence which is still a stronger force in her when she opposes Caroline’s mother’s prejudiced view on the native Janey: ‘Why didn’t I tell them that Janey had looked after me since I was a baby? Why didn’t I tell them that she was one of the safest people I knew? Instead I let Caroline tell me about her new compendium of games.’ (ibid., 51)
Finally she finds the strength and says Caroline what she really feels, regardless the definite consequence - the loss of friendship. Was that true friendship at all? Children in Naidoo’s stories often have to face problems on their own which serves as a proof or a test of their ability to oppose and manage the trouble. There is very little or no help from the side of adults – mostly parents - either because they are not present ( The Typewriter , The Playground , Out of Bounds) or adults are too weak and unable to oppose the general opportunistic view ( The Dare, The Noose, The Gun). Of course, there are also some exceptions. In some short stories, adults are opposing political oppression, but their role is less important in comparison to children. For instance, in The Playground , it is Rosa’s mother who makes Rosa attend the school, but at school it is the girl who has to fight the battle for the acceptance. Though children in Naidoo’s stories are weak in the physical sense, they are strong in their mental effort to oppose the oppression. Physical weakness might also suggest fragility of the character. Though some characters seem t o be passive, their rebellion just takes different – and often not visible forms. Some of them rebel just in silence – in their minds as they understand the depravity of the oppressive adult world. It is often children who show how to face and solve problems; they open the eyes of adults who had already given up the protest as pointless. In this way children are more radical and rebellious, even more politically conscious than adults. Nandi in The Typewriter learns that what she does is not a part of the child game anymore: ‘When she had acted as ‘lookout’ for their meetings, she had known it was something serious, yet it had still been a bit like a game. Although she had known there was danger, it was also exciting. But what she had to do this time contained no enjoyment, o excitement of that kind at all. The danger was all around now.’ (ibid., 67)
Despite the danger, she decides to join the protest. Esi, similarly, does not accept passivity and submission of his father and leaves everything behind so that he can fight for the ideas he believes in. In Out of Bounds both boys realize that parents are not prepared to face their ’coloured’ friendship and they decide to hide it. It can be summarized that children in Naidoo’s fiction are fragile, but they are not passive, often prove to be stronger than adults and superior to them in the politics of tolerance and acceptance of others. The subtitle of the collection ´Stories of conflict and hope’ suggests that Naidoo’s stories are not light-hearted reading. They are disturbing and we do think that though being addressed primarily to children and young adults, older readers may unquestionably learn a lot as well. Through the use of specific political standpoint – based on values of understanding and tolerance - the stories in Out of Bounds want to prove that history is not made by adults only but it is and has been significantly changed by children as well. Children become aware of politics and political decisions with their consequences. Even more importantly, characters become politically active; they decide to oppose adults who often lack enthusiasm and will to protest. The analysed collection is thus the example of an attempt to raise political awareness of modern child readers. In terms of ambiguity of such literature, we may conclude that the current trend in children´s literature highlights universal human values and politically correct writing. References: Dixon, B. 1977. Catching Them Young 1 – Sex, Race and Class in Children’s Fiction. London: Pluto Press. Dixon, B. 1977. Catching Them Young 2 – Political Ideas in Children’s Fiction. London: Pluto Press. Eccleshare, J. 1996. Teenage Fiction: Realism, Romances, Contemporary Problem Novels. In: Hunt, P. International Companion Encyclopaedia of Children’s Literature. London & New York: Routledge. Free? Stories Celebrating Human Rights. 2009. Amnesty International. London: Walker Books.
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Hunt, P. 1996. International Companion Encyclopaedia of Children’s Literature. London & New York: Routledge. Naidoo, B. 2000. The Other Side of Truth. London: Penguin Books. Naidoo, B. 2001. Out of Bounds. London: Penguin Books. Pinsent, P. 2005. Postmodernism, New Historicism and Migration: New Historical Novels. In: Reynolds, K. Modern children’s literature. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 173 – 190. Pinsent, P. 2005. Language, Genres and Issues: The Socially Committed Novel. In: Reynolds, K. Modern children’s literature. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 191 - 208. Reynolds, K. 2005. Modern children’s literature. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Zipes, J. D., eds. 2005. The Norton Anthology of Children’s Literature. New York.
The paper is a part of the KEGA3/6468/08 project: Teaching Intercultural Awareness through Literature and Cultural Studies.
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Provoking Discussion: Ambiguity as a Vitalizing Literary Tool Simona Hevešiová At the end of The French Lieutenant’s Woman, John Fowles’ narrator offers the reader two different endings – a romantic reunion of Charles and Sarah and a non-happy ending where they take different paths (not to mention the traditional Victorian ending he provides in the middle of the book). The reader is encouraged to choose whatever ending s/he likes best and is thus entrusted with an illusionary power to determine the course of events. David Lodge’s novel Changing Places freezes one of the main characters in mid-gesture without giving him the opportunity to finish his sentence. Thus, one of the main conflicts of the novel, i.e. the marital problems of the two professors, is not resolved at all and as Lodge admitted some of his readers “have complained […] that they felt cheated by it.” (1992, 229) Joyce’s masterpiece Finnegan’s Wake, on the other hand, concludes with an unclosed statement that “floats” directly into the opening sentence of the novel and establishes a never-ending reading circle. In the Victorian era, the writers usually preferred to resolve the conflicts in a rather exhausting manner, leaving no space for the reader to participate in this part of the creative process. The modern era, however, with its open endings and unfinished statements provides the readership with new challenges. Apparently, the representatives of postcolonial literature did not fail to take this chance either. At first sight, Chinua Achebe’s most discussed novel Things Fall Apart concludes, in words of Richard Bergam, “with the least ambiguous of all endings, the death of the hero” (1997). The book centers on the story of a great warrior and a respected man Okonkwo living in the village of Umuofia that has been transformed by the arrival of European missionaries. There is almost nothing left to say about the book since it has been analyzed and interpreted endlessly. Yet, the ending of the novel, despite Bergam’s seemingly straightforward statement, still posits numerous questions and therefore challenges the readers’ understanding of the whole text. Without going deep into the well-known plot, one has to state the obvious facts that are crucial to the comprehension of the novel’s ending. Okonkwo’s rise and reputation that is “associated with the supernatural” (Friesen 2006) and celebrated in the opening passages of the novel would not be possible without his hard work, ambition and strong will. Since “his whole life was dominated by fear, the fear of failure and of weakness” (Achebe 2006, 13), his path to prosperity and social recognition was not easy; yet Okonkwo’s determination paid off. Despite his personal achievements, it is crucial to situate the main protagonist in the social context. Even though he is a strong-minded and ambitious individual, the necessity of communal life and collective well-being, as established by the traditions and customs of his tribe, are of utter importance to Okonkwo. One cannot dissociate him from the life and people living in his village; even during his forced exile, Okonkwo’s connection to and his honest interest in Umuofia is indisputable. So when the peaceful, almost idyllic, life of his community is disrupted by the arrival of European missionaries, Okonkwo acts without hesitation and attempts “to rouse his people to action” (Begam 1997). It is precisely the presence of the Europeans in Umuofia that stirs the calm waters of the whole community and inevitably leads to Okonkwo’s downfall. Needless to say, Achebe’s novel represents a direct response to Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness and is therefore concerned with the damaging effects of European colonialism on indigenous African communities. There is a clear dividing line between the protagonist and the antagonist leaving no space for confusions. Despite Okonkwo’s fiery temper and occasional aggressiveness, his leadership and heroic attributes are never questioned; his positive qualities seem to prevail while the Europeans appear as flat, schematic characters. Moreover, the narrative strategy, focusing on the story from Okonkwo’s perspective, establishes his dominant position in the text quite obviously. (It was one of Achebe’s main aims to write the book from African point of view, of course.) The clash between European and African perspectives and the “civilizing mission” that the colonialists attempt to impose upon the people of Umuofia inevitably lead to Okonkwo’s tragic death. The consequent rejection of local customs and traditions by certain parts of the community, so valued and respected by the main hero, threatens its whole existence and slowly leads to its disintegration. Okonkwo “mourned for the clan, which he saw breaking up and falling apart, and he mourned for the warlike men of Umuofia, who had so unaccountably become soft like women.” (Achebe 2006, 173) Obierika’s statement explaining the desperate situation to Okonkwo after his arrival from exile seems to acquire, in terms of what is going to happen, a more profound meaning.
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“Our own men and our sons have joined the ranks of the stranger. […] he says that our customs are bad; and our own brothers who have taken up his religion also say that our customs are bad. How do you think we can fight when our own brothers have turned against us?” (ibid., 166-7)
Okonkwo’s suicide that concludes the novel will definitely come as shock to some readers. In most of the European countries, this act of desperation is somehow attributed to weaker, mentally unstable individuals what is, evidently, not Okonkwo’s case as I have demonstrated earlier. There seem to be no hints in the text either (concerning Okonkwo’s behaviour or potential suicidal thoughts) that would prepare the reader for such a dramatic turn. That is why it is so difficult to interpret this enigmatic conclusion since there are several possibilities how to read it. The novel’s ambiguity resides then specifically in its enigmatic ending. Most critics associate Okonkwo’s decision to end his life with personal defeat, frustration and failure and regard it as a natural consequence of his tragic fate. Yet, there are voices which call for a different reading of the conclusion and point to other interpretative possibilities. One of them belongs to Richard Begam who, in his essay Achebe’s sense of an ending: history and tragedy in Things Fall Apart , provides even three distinct endings or “three different ways of reading the events that conclude the novel” (1997). The first possible reading is derived “from an African perspective, equating Okonkwo’s demise with the collapse of Igbo culture.” (ibid.) In this case, the main protagonist “has come to personify the destiny of his community” (ibid.) and acquires a mythical quality. His death then symbolizes the collective suicide of the Igbo people who refused to protect their own culture and submitted to the influence of the British. Secondly, Okonkwo’s suicide is commented on by the District Commissioner whose perspective on these events is utterly external. The suicide is heavily ironized by this character since he summarizes this tragic event – a story of a man “who had killed a messenger and hanged himself” (Achebe 2006, 197) - in few words that would, in his opinion, create “a reasonable paragraph” (ibid.) in the book he intends to write. Even though the Commissioner has no knowledge of the Igbo community and its culture, he believes that his authority and power entitle him to make judgments about it that he assumes are correct. In this view, Okonkwo, the hero and great leader, transforms into an insignificant nonentity. The third reading is related to Achebe’s novel No longer at ease which Begam takes as a sequel to Things Fall Apart but which is outside our scope in this paper. Nevertheless, Begam’s analysis, which follows the mode of tragedy as its point of departure, seems to overlook the cultural context, i.e. cultural implications of suicide that are valid in Igbo culture. He asserts that suicide is “a profound violation of Igbo law, which strictly prohibits acts of selfdestruction” (Begam 1997), but he does not develop the thought further. Yet this very idea may again lead to another interpretation. Alan R Friesen claims that “Okonkwo’s suicide was an affirmative act, that is, a conscious decision to promote a positive ideal instead of an act of failure.” (2006) This thesis opens up a completely different reading of the whole novel which, in fact, seems to be more compatible with the heroic characteristics that are attributed to the main protagonist in the course of the story. Simply said, “Okonkwo’s suicide can be seen as his last attempt to remind the Igbo people of their culture and values in the face of impending colonization.” (ibid.) Friesen supports his thesis with a detailed analysis of the concept of fate or chi as it manifests itself in Okonkwo’s life. By making it clear that suicide represents the worst act in Igbo culture and is considered not only a crime against the individual but a crime against the village as well, Friesen’s arguments demonstrate that Okonkwo “is lamenting the village’s turn away from their traditional customs” (ibid.) His hope was probably to provoke discussion among his people about their traditions, customs and their importance. In this view then, Okonkwo’s voluntary death may be regarded as an act of self-sacrifice “designed to immortalize the traditions that his people are so close to throwing away.” (ibid.) Whatever author’s intention, it is clear that by interweaving this ambiguous action into the story, Achebe succeeded in arousing a vivid discussion among his readers. The novel gains a new dimension since it lives its own life (or lives) in the mind of the reader after s/he finishes the book. The uncertainty related to Okonkwo’s personal victory or defeat, two diametrically different readings of the story, forces the readers to investigate textual and cultural territories that might hold some answers to their questions. Thus, the novel and the characters it has produced live on outside the book. Likewise, the motif of self-sacrifice appears in the experimental novel of another Nigerian writer Gabriel Okara who is more known for his fine poetry. The main protagonist of his novel The Voice, Okolo (translated, it means ‘the voice’), returns to his native town of Amatu after completing his studies. Yet what he finds there does not correspond to his idea of a well-functioning community. Okara depicts an African society in transformation; the transformation again caused by the influence of European colonialists that endangers genuine African heritage. The Europeans are, however, not
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present in the story; it is merely what they have left behind that causes the tension among the inhabitants. Similarly to Achebe’s novel, the leaders of Okolo’s town (personified by Chief Izongo) have submitted to European values, materialism and hypocrisy which Okolo attempts to fight with his voice and his words. He boldly questions the principles according to which his neighbours live and, similarly to Okonkwo, he is trying to arouse people from passivity and lethargy. Threatening thus the position of the elders, he endangers their authority and therefore becomes a social outcast, an unwanted citizen whom Izongo discredits whenever possible. Rumours spread saying that something is wrong with him, that his “chest was not strong and he had no shadow.” (Okara 1986, 23) But unlike in Okonkwo’s case, Okolo’s self-sacrifice that concludes the novel may be perceived rather as a conscious act which the reader anticipates to certain extent. The mood of the novel and a number of hints interwoven into the text clearly foreshadow this tragic ending. The most noticeable aspect of the novel is definitely the language that it is written in. The disrupted syntax, unusual word formation and word order strike the reader immediately. Okara “draws upon some of the linguistic characteristics of Ijaw” in order to “break into the inner consciousness of his characters” (Ravenscroft, 14, 17). Such a subtle handling of language helps readers to step into the characters’ minds and follow their thinking process as if expressed in their native language. What is, however, more interesting is Okara’s ambiguous usage of certain words and expressions. The word inside (or insides), for example, is probably the most frequently used word in the text and it becomes quite obvious that its meaning changes due to the context it is used in. Ashcroft et al. name only few possibilities of the word’s understanding, i.e. self-referentiality, outlook on life, personality, intellectual perception, understanding, intellectuality, heart, mind, etc. (2005, 42) Okara does not provide any clues nor does he explain the meaning of this word directly; so it is upon the reader to decipher it from the context using his/her intuition primarily. Nevertheless, the most ambiguous aspect of the novel is Okolo’s search for something that he simply names it. The desire to find it becomes Okolo’s main goal so it seems rather surprising that Okara does not specify what that it is. This ambiguous concept lies at the core of the whole novel. As the chapters unfold, however, the reader eventually comes to realize that Okolo’s concept of it stands for the meaning of life. Nonetheless, no other specifications as to what the meaning of life might be are provided. Okolo’s quest may seem a little bit vague and strange, yet there is a good reason for this conscious obscurity. As the main protagonist states in one part of the novel: “Names bring divisions and divisions, strife. So let it be without a name; let it be nameless…” (Okara 1986, 112) Or in the words of Arthur Ravenscroft: “To name your ‘meaning of life’ too specifically is to mark it off from other ‘meanings’ which have much in common with it, and so to create divisions and strife.” (8) By acknowledging that everyone “has a meaning of life to himself” (Okara 1986, 111), Okolo situates the root of the conflict not in the diversity of peoples’ ideas and desires but in the way people pursue them. He does not intend to persuade everyone that his way of life is the best one; he is rather advocating a forbearing approach that would simply accept and tolerate this natural inclination of people to different things. Despite these clashes, what seem to be of great importance to him are the quality, determination and zealousness with which people follow their ideals. “[…] those who are earnest in their adherence to a morally valuable way of life, however much it may differ in outward shape from others’ ways, have a good deal in common with the others.” (Ravenscroft, 8) In this view, the ambiguous it transforms into a universal concept that is shared by all people and all nations; it simply differs in its form. At the end of the novel, the reader thus realizes that despite different social and cultural background and a potentially exotic setting of the novel, s/he can easily identify with Okolo’s struggles and persuasion. There are no exclusions or limitations. It is only then that one may appreciate the real profit of Okara’s narrative strategy. This ambiguous concept that is located at the core of the novel functions as a unifying element that engages readers from different cultural or social spectrums alike. In conclusion, both novels exemplify that the usage of ambiguous motifs or concepts prove to be vitalizing for the whole text. The interpretative possibilities that are offered in this way only activate the reader and force him/her into further analysis or investigation of the textual material. Instead of direct explanations or straightforward plot development, an intricate yet rewarding web of diverse paths is created. Moreover, these ambiguous concepts prove to enlarge the novels’ scope by not limiting its message or audience in a particular way and thus contribute to the effectiveness of the work.
References Achebe, Chinua 2006. Things Fall Apart. London: Penguin Books. 96
Ashcroft, Bill et al. 2005. The Empire Writes Back. London/New York: Routledge Begam, Richard. 1997. Achebe's sense of an ending: history and tragedy in 'Things Fall Apart.'. Studies in the Novel. http://www.chicagomanualofstyle.org/tools_citationguide.html. Friesen, Alan R. 2006. “Okonkwo’s Suicide as an Affirmative Act: Do Things Really Fall Apart?” In: Postcolonial Text . Vol. 2, No. 4, 2006. http://postcolonial.org/index.php/pct/article/viewArticle/453 Lodge, David. 1992. The Art of Fiction. London: Penguin Books. Okara, Gabriel 1986. The Voice. New York: Africana Publishing Company. Ravenscroft, Arthur. Introduction to The Voice , by Gabriel Okara, 1-21. New York: Africana Publishing Company.
This publication is the result of the project KEGA 3/6468/08 Vyuč ovanie interkultúrneho povedomia cez literatúru a kultúrne štúdiá (Teaching intercultural awareness through literature and cultural studies).
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The Ambiguity of Hannibal Lecter’s Evil Korinna Csetényi In this paper, I examine the infamous protagonist of Thomas Harris’s novels – Hannibal, the Cannibal. Until Hannibal, no serial killer had reached such an iconic status in popular culture. He has become a point of reference, and we often find critics praising a new novel’s protagonist as the most terrifying, strangest or scariest character since Hannibal Lecter. What is his secret? Why is he so immensely popular? Why are we drawn to his personality, even though he is a ruthless killer – a man whose pulse rate remains steady even while ripping out someone’s tongue? I propose to shed some light on these contradictions and the attraction he exerts on characters in the books and on readers alike. Barbara Creed calls Lecter a “hybrid figure” (2004, 201), claiming that he belongs to two different worlds at the same time: his profession (a psychiatrist) connects him firmly to the modern world (though we might recall that Freud joked about the analyst as “cannibal” (Creed 2004, 200)), whilst his name ties him to ancient times. The Carthaginian general of the same name was renowned for his bravery and is considered to have been a master of military tactics (some historians also surmise that he may have been a cannibal (Gregory 2002, 101)). Cunning is a trait which Lecter shares with his famous namesake; suffice it to remember his ingenious escape from his cell, when he draped a dead policeman’s face upon his own, thus assuming a new identity, deceiving everyone. His being “interested in medieval things” (H 365) 1, his immense knowledge of Renaissance culture, and Harris’s various descriptions of Lecter as Giotto (H 297) or as “a figure in a medieval tapestry” (H 330), all cement his bond with the past. The opposing tendencies buried in his name were also commented upon by Karen Mann (1996), who observed a striking difference between Hannibal, an active hero and warrior, and Lecter, which suggests a reader, a passive observer. I intend to unravel some of the mystery surrounding this figure, who seems to be both the most civilized and the most savage figure in the books. Harris’s series comprises four novels thus far, the first being Red Dragon, written in 1981, in which Lecter makes his debut. When we meet him for the first time, he is already behind bars, confined for life in the Chesapeake State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. He had been caught by Will Graham, an FBI profiler, who comes to visit Lecter to consult him regarding a serial killer he is trying to track down. “There was an opinion he wanted. A very strange view he needed to share; a mindset he had to recover” (RD 57). The paradox presents itself immediately: the monster-catcher calls for the assistance of the monster himself. One of the feats of the Lecter novels, as pointed out by Linda Holland-Toll (2001, 54), is the blurring of the line between the detective and the killer. The demarcation lines, usually very distinct in the case of detective and horror fiction, are no longer easy to discern. In fact, monstrosity no longer bears an external sign, it is not written upon the body (the only nod Harris makes towards this tradition is to put a sixth finger on Lecter’s left hand (SL 14), which clearly marks him as the Other). It is not just Lecter who, on the surface, appears absolutely normal; so do the active killers in the series. As Judith Halberstam remarks, the postmodern monster is no longer the “hideous other”: a human has become the locus of horror with his careful construction of “the facade of the normal” (1995, 162). Serial killers occupy a prominent place in the collective psyche, inspiring many works of both fiction and non-fiction. In Peter Hutchings’s opinion, the figure’s popularity (especially in the cinema) can be seen as “symptomatic of an increasingly violent, dehumanised and alienated society” (1996, 91). They are extremely frightening because of the seeming randomness of their choice of victims, their seeming lack of motive; hence, they are incomprehensible, and we fear our inability to identify them among our ranks. In the case of Lecter, he was not an inconspicuous, average person (unlike the other two killers in the series); he lived a very active social life, organized gatherings (where he served delicacies containing human flesh), was an excellent psychiatrist, and the envy of both men and women because of his charm, wit, good manners and culture. One of his acquaintances describes him in the following way: “He was an extraordinarily charming man, absolutely singular. Sort of made a girl’s fur crackle” (H 352). A brilliant scholar, knowledgeable about art, medicine, literature and music, he symbolizes an apex of Western culture, as pointed out by Richard Bleiler (2007, 367). The clash between his savagery (his habitual consumption of human flesh) and his cultural polish provokes a deep unease in the reader, who sees Matthew Arnold’s thesis of culture equalling civilization crumble to dust. 1
In the course of this paper, Harris’s works are abbreviated as follows: RD (Red Dragon), SL (The Silence of the Lambs), H ( Hannibal). All quotes from these primary texts are from the editions listed in the Reference section. 98
Arnold observed that it is culture which gives us our humanity, “as distinguished from our animality” (1981, 47). He described it as “an inward condition of the mind and spirit” (1981, 48), which can be achieved by everyone, regardless of class. Fahy remarks (2003, 30) that Lecter represents the failure of Arnold’s thesis, which claims that culture humanizes us and protects society from “anarchy and disorder” (1981, 203). Barbarism and civilization are inextricably linked in Lecter’s personality, and his perfect manners only make him more dangerous – since we tend to assume that “high culture reflects civility as well as an elevated personal and moral character” (Fahy 2003, 30). The usual relegation of crime and acts of violence into the sphere of poverty, deprivation and desperation leaves us exposed to the allure of sophisticated monsters. Lecter is clearly aware of his resemblance to the man who captured him. He taunts investigator Graham with the following: “The reason you caught me is that we’re just alike” (RD 67). Graham, sickened by the assumption that he shares the mindset of a dangerous psychopath, has “the absurd feeling that Lecter had walked out with him” (RD 67) out of the asylum after he visited him. The connection between the two men is also underscored by the fact that Graham was briefly hospitalized for depression in an asylum, following a confrontation with a murderer whom he was forced to shoot. Lecter projects his own murderous impulses onto Graham when he asks the investigator: “When you were so depressed after you shot Mr. Garrett Jacob Hobbs to death, it wasn’t the act that got you down, was it? Really, didn’t you feel so bad because killing him felt so good? ” (RD 270) Lecter’s remark touches a vulnerable point in Graham, who feels he is looked upon as a freak – even by his co-workers. Graham has “an uncomfortable gift” (RD 152) – the uncanny ability to place himself in the position of the killer. “He can assume your point of view, or mine – and maybe some other points of view that scare and sicken him” (RD 152). He tries to see with the killer’s eyes, to understand his desires through establishing a psychic bond with him, and tries to guess his next steps. However, this process takes its toll psychologically. As David Punter observes, “overidentification with the killer” (2004, 266) might eventually destabilize the boundaries between the pursuer and the pursued. Graham is aware of the danger posed to the stability of his self, which is why he chose early retirement after capturing Lecter. He returns only on the insistence of his boss, who maintains that “there’s nobody better with evidence” (RD 8). However, Crawford also knows that Graham has “the other thing too. Imagination, projection, whatever. He doesn’t like that part of it” (RD 8). This ability gains Graham respect (after all, due to it, he succeeded in catching three killers), but people also feel a bit uncomfortable around him. As Holland-Toll claims, he is “tarred with the monster brush” (2001, 63), which has turned him into a pariah. He is contaminated, as if monstrosity were a virus which affects anyone who comes close. Francis Dolarhyde, the serial killer in Red Dragon, clearly perceives his enemy in this way: “Graham knew. The son of a bitch was a monster” (RD 313). Graham succeeds in eliminating the murderer, but not before he is seriously wounded: his face is carved up with a knife making him “hard to look at” (SL 71). Paradoxically then, and in a quite unfair way, it is the detective who ends up looking like a monster. The reader feels considerable unease because, by disfiguring Graham’s face, Harris further connects him to the hare-lipped monster whom he was trailing. Thus, the clearly dividing line between the hunter and the hunted is again shown to be fuzzy. The Silence of the Lambs (1989), the second, and probably the best known novel in the series (thanks to the immensely popular film version), focuses more on Hannibal Lecter: it is as if Harris has realized he should not confine such a mesmerizing character to a secondary role. Now Lecter occupies center stage. The pattern shown in Red Dragon repeats itself, in a certain sense: a representative of the law, an FBI trainee, Clarice Starling, is sent to seek help from Lecter, who is supposed to have information regarding Buffallo Bill, a killer who skins his female victims. An interesting difference between the previous novel’s detective, Graham, and Clarice, is that while Graham identifies with the perpetrator, Clarice does so with the victims. This enables her to find clues which male colleagues overlooked, simply because they could not identify with a woman’s position. When trying to convince her boss to involve her in the investigation, she says: “I can walk in a woman’s room and know three times as much about her as a man would know” (SL 286). Clarice feels part of a sisterhood and makes it her personal mission to save the next woman from being slaughtered. However, she is still as much of a freak as Graham – being a pretty, intelligent, young woman operating in a male world, constantly being ogled, harassed, and belittled. A female detective upsets the traditional balance of power: she occupies a male space, as remarked by Andrew Schopp (2003, 140). Clarice’s independent attitude and “smart mouth”, which win the approval of other women (“you’re kind of [...] special to us”(H 367)), also win her a lot of enemies at the Bureau. She is often appraised by the male characters because of her good looks, but, instead of being content in the role of the “passive recipient of the gaze” (Dubois 2001, 300), she is also an active looker: she looks for clues, looks at the victims’ rooms with eyes that see differently from those of her male colleagues, and she is also brave enough to look into herself at the prompting of Lecter. 99
Her authority is often called into question, and men rarely treat her on equal terms – but Lecter is an exception. Though he cruelly dissects Clarice during their first meeting, criticizing her poor taste and reminding her of the poor, rural environment she hails from (calling her a “hustling rube” (SL 21)), after this humiliation, he establishes a level playing field with her; “quid pro quo” (SL 142), as he calls it, leading to reciprocity and mutual respect in their dealings with each other. Whatever information he is willing to share with Clarice, regarding Buffallo Bill, there is a price to pay: Clarice must reveal episodes of her painful childhood, which Lecter immediately identifies as a period of trauma that she is trying to repress. In Wolfe’s words (1995, 158), Clarice is made to disrobe emotionally in front of Lecter. His intrusion into her psyche could be seen as an act of aggression (Caputi describes Clarice as being “mind fucked” (1993, 109) by Lecter), but ultimately he liberates her. Her repeated visits become therapeutic for her. Though Lecter is the one who is imprisoned in body, we also learn that “he was free in his head” (SL 164). Clarice, on the other hand, while not imprisoned physically, is imprisoned in her mind, where she is stuck with the awful memories of the dark episodes of her childhood. Halberstam compares Lecter to Buffallo Bill in his dealings with Clarice, arguing that “stripping the mind is no less a violation than stripping the body” (1995, 174). Clarice has to expose scenes from her life which she would prefer to keep inside, and this process shows Lecter’s utter disrespect for boundaries. As a cannibal, he takes the exterior other, and by incorporating it, turns it into something interior. Schopp (2003, 137) remarks that, with the same ease, Lecter is capable of turning insides out: not just metaphorically, as in the revelations of Clarice prompted by his probing questions, but also literally: on one occasion he disembowels a policeman, turning all his insides out. Clarice accepts the deal, and, at all times, treats Lecter with respect, calling him “Doctor” (SL 14), and seeing him as a human being alongside his being a murderer. To other people, he is just a monster to study, a freak to look at, and his open cell in Memphis (to where he is transferred), in the middle of an old courtroom, echoes a cage holding an exotic animal in a zoo. The asylum chief talks about him in terms of a rare species: “a pure sociopath. It’s so rare to get one alive” (RD 60), and in the film version a senator completely objectifies Lecter by calling him “this thing”. Throughout the series, interpretative and analytic skills fail when one is confronted with Lecter: he is variously referred to as a “monster” (SL 6), the “Devil” (H 181), the “fiend” (H 470), or the “Other” (H 368). In effect, he remains an enigma, an opaque character, the roots of whose obsession are not revealed, yet we see him as being capable of bonding with another human being and we remain, involuntarily, under his spell. Lecter also seems to be able to read minds, which probably results from his extra-acute senses and depth of experience: he is able to deduce a lot from a very little. We might recall that his name, in Latin, suggests “reader”. He is excellent at reading clues, which is why the police turn to him for help. He also possesses uncanny rhetorical skills, and achieves a great deal with his suave words: he hypnotizes a fellow-inmate by whispering to him all night long and makes him carry out his command to commit suicide. For a wrong committed against Clarice, the inmate is made to swallow his own tongue. So caging Lecter is not an effective way of containing this persuasive monster. Mann (1996) calls our attention to how much power resides in his mouth, both literally and metaphorically: his words can destroy people, or heal them for that matter (he was a practicing psychiatrist), and his gory escape from Memphis was made possible by his having hidden in his mouth a small metal tube, with which he opens his handcuffs. We should also remember that Lecter often attacked his victims with his teeth, tearing away body parts, so, when surrounded by people, he is made to wear a hockey mask to prevent him from biting. The ambiguity surrounding the power issuing from his mouth is made explicit when a female character is warned: “ “Be careful of the mouth.” She didn’t know if Tommaso meant Dr Lecter’s mouth or his words.” (H 475) Mann (1996) further remarks that if we keep in mind what Lecter does to tongues (ripping out a nurse’s and making Miggs swallow his), we have to see the considerable risk Clarice is running when she is not careful about her own mouth: by revealing personal information, she puts herself into a vulnerable position. Lecter is not a cannibal simply in the literal sense of the word. As Halberstam points out (1995, 171), he “feeds upon both flesh and fiction”: he cannibalizes stories. He penetrates both bodies and minds, and, according to Peter Messent (2000, 27), his profession as a psychiatrist enables him to colonize the minds of others. His ability to “see” the contents of another person’s brain, to poke around in their memories, is a sort of psychic invasion. People feel almost naked when he points his “high-powered perception” at them (SL 22): “Graham felt that Lecter was looking through to the back of his skull” (RD 63). No wonder that Crawford, a stern paternal figure, warns Clarice before her first meeting with Lecter (in phrases reminiscent of fairy tales in which the parent bids farewell to the child before sending him/her on a quest). “Be very careful with Hannibal Lecter. Dr. Chilton, the head of the mental hospital, will go over the physical procedure you use to deal with him. Don't deviate from it. Do not deviate from it one iota for any 100
reason. If Lecter talks to you at all, he'll just be trying to find out about you. It's the kind of curiosity that makes a snake look in a bird's nest. We both know you have to back-and-forth a little in interviews, but you tell him no specifics about yourself. You don't want any of your personal facts in his head." (SL 6)
What role does Lecter play in Clarice’s life? To answer this question, we first have to reveal a part of her past: her father, a town marshal, was killed in the line of duty while Clarice was still a child. Following his death, Clarice was sent to her mother’s cousin’s ranch, where horses and lambs for the slaughterhouse were raised. The screaming of the lambs kept her awake on many nights, and her relentless pursuit of justice as an FBI agent can be traced back to this traumatic experience, this feeling of helplessness which overwhelmed her when she realized she could not save the lambs. Now, for her, the lambs are the victims of Buffallo Bill, and, by aspiring to eliminate the killer, she hopes to silence the lambs – forever. Having grown up without a father, she gravitates towards various father figures in the series: Jack Crawford, her immediate boss; John Brigham, her firearms instructor; and Hannibal Lecter, her mentor and analyst, who holds out the promise of professional advancement and psychic healing. There is a curious competition between the rival figures of Lecter and Crawford. The doctor shows his jealousy quite explicitly when he asks Clarice: “Do you think Jack Crawford wants you sexually?” (SL 59) Crawford is also anxious when he has to discuss Lecter with Clarice, trying to minimize the special nature of the relationship between her and the doctor: “You know he’d do it to you, just like he’d do anybody else” (SL 342). Lecter acknowledges the peculiar bond connecting them together in their mutual involvement with Clarice: “you’ve had Crawford’s help and you’ve had mine” (SL 59). If she interprets the clues correctly and saves Bill’s last victim, it will aid her in her career. However, while still obsessed with her father, she cannot develop a lasting relationship with a man. At the end of the book we see her on a date with a decent man (tellingly called Noble), but there is no trace of him in the next installment. That there is a subdued erotic tension between Clarice and Lecter can be inferred from the scene of their farewell in The Silence of the Lambs, when Clarice comes to consult him in the Memphis prison without having the right to do so. Officially off the case, she has to deceive the guards surrounding Lecter in order to have a few moments of privacy with him. He immediately remarks: “People will say we’re in love” (SL 216). When her preteens is discovered, and she is forcefully removed from the room, Lecter’s fingertips lightly brush hers. “The touch crackled in his eyes” (SL 222), and she commits this last scene to memory: Lecter, “caught in the instant when he did not mock”, “standing in his white cell, arched like a dancer” (SL 222). The book ends with his letter to Clarice, where he uses a language otherwise fit for love letters: “Orion is above the horizon now, and near it Jupiter [...] I expect you can see it too. Some of our stars are the same” (SL 351). Lecter is emphasizing a common feature here: a detective, and a criminal, who should occupy diametrically opposed positions, share some stars, which suggests some kind of a connection. Judging from the venomous public attack mounted against the next book of the series, Hannibal , from 1999, these subtle hints must have been overlooked by a lot of people. Stephen Fuller (2005, 820) remarks that for many conservative, middle-class Americans, Clarice represented a hero, a female warrior: uncorrupted, loyal, unswerving, the upholder of a strict morality. Even her name seems to evoke a positive characteristic: Clarice, as in the Latin “claritas”, suggests brightness and clarity. Her ability to tell right from wrong, her moral clarity is a defining trait. Readers thought she held these qualities intrinsically, and were disappointed to learn that her behaviour had stemmed from a childhood trauma. What proved to be even more difficult for them to accept was the denouement of the novel, where Lecter and Clarice become lovers after Lecter’s successful therapy with her. Enraged readers did not realize that Harris, in fact, had succeeded in injecting even more humanity into Clarice by revealing her insecurities, her vulnerability, and her unresolved conflicts with her father. People looked upon her as an idol and did not take well to her becoming the partner of the demonic antihero. Once again, with this masterly stroke, Harris confounded his readers’ ability to clearly distinguish hero from villain. Hannibal further destabilizes our preconceived notions of good and bad. Crawford, Clarice’s boss, fades into the background, and a certain Krendler appears, an ambitious bureaucrat at the Justice Department, who abuses the system. He accepts money from Mason Verger, the only surviving victim of Lecter. Verger, bent on a personal revenge, is bribing police officers and employing small-time hoodlums whilst setting up an intricate worldwide web to capture Lecter, who is currently residing in Florence. Verger is hideous to look at; he peeled off almost all his face with a shard of glass while in a drug-induced state, at the suggestion of Lecter, his psychiatrist, who deemed it a just punishment for Verger’s sins (he being a sadist, paedophile and rapist of his own sister). But Verger is also the heir of a meatpacking dynasty, so his immense wealth gives him a degree of immunity in the eyes of the law and now he spares no expense in order to find his nemesis. So, involuntarily, we find ourselves rooting for 101
Lecter, who is living a low-profile, secluded and highly artistic life, as the curator of a library. So, a cannibal is pitted against a rich sociopath, a corrupt bureaucrat and a greedy Italian cop. In serial killer novels, we usually assume that the menace is going to come from serial killers (Lecter) and that we should trust the representatives of the law (the police and special agents) to shield us from them, but a paradoxical situation has been created: Clarice’s mission is, now, to save Lecter from the fate reserved for him by Verger, made possible with the help of various members of law enforcement. The FBI, which played a “redeeming role” (Holland-Toll 2001, 64) in The Silence of the Lambs, and represented a strong community, a group of dedicated people whose mission was to safeguard the society against disruptive forces, undergoes a radical change. No longer characterized by a cooperative spirit and commitment to the task and public good, we find infighting, vying for position, professional misconduct and widespread corruption. People are not judged on the basis of their merits, and private agendas take precedence over public concerns. Brigham, the firearms instructor, and Crawford, Clarice’s boss, the incorruptible face of the FBI, both die, and their deaths leave an emotional and professional vacuum (Ling 2004, 392). Hannibal, in a certain sense, is about Clarice’s disillusionment with the FBI, which previously meant almost everything to her, during a time when she was driven by the fierce desire to be “approved, included, chosen” (SL 277). In fact, by the end of the novel, she will retire from the world of public duties and responsibilities and choose an alternative lifestyle, prioritizing her personal needs and desires. Verger takes full advantage of this decadent atmosphere and bribes Krendler to manipulate the system in order to facilitate his personal vendetta. In Platt’s opinion (2003), Krendler and Verger both symbolize a cultural decline, the “awfulness of modern life”. Lecter’s intellectual refinement becomes all the more striking when compared with such abysmal figures. Krendler repeatedly assaults Clarice with vulgar sexual remarks, calling her a “country pussy” (H 311), always assuming the stance of a predator: “Mixed hungers crossed his face; it was Krendler’s nature to both appreciate Starling’s leg and look for the hamstring” (H 51). When she tries to explain to him her search method, tracking certain high-end goods which might lead her to Lecter, assuming that his sense of taste is a constant in his life, Krendler’s reaction reveals his inability to understand Lecter’s sophistication: “Does he hire S and M whores, that kind of thing? Male prostitutes?” (H 309) He has no sophistication in language either, so when a source tells him that Lecter would not “deign to lie”, he exclaims: “Wouldn’t do what to lie?” (H 322) When a letter is intercepted, in which Lecter calls Clarice “the honey in the lion”, Krendler again shows the total absence of aesthetic sense in him. “ Il miele dentro la leonessa, that’s nice,” Montenegro said, filing it away for his own use at a later time. “It’s what?” Krendler said. The Italian waved the question away, seeing that Krendler would never hear the music in Dr Lecter’s metaphor, nor feel its tactile evocations anywhere else.” (H 418)
Krendler is even willing to endanger Clarice’s life, using her as bait to flush Lecter from his hiding place. Thanks to his manipulation, Clarice is suspended from her job, and is working on her own when she finds Lecter, trussed up by Verger’s henchmen. In the showdown, when Clarice frees Lecter from his bonds, we witness again the reciprocity permeating their strange relationship. After Clarice kills most of his captors (and significantly, among them an ex-sheriff, still wearing his star, which clearly shows she no longer considers shooting at the badge an inviolable taboo), she is shot with a tranquilizer rifle by the only remaining criminal. Now it is Lecter’s turn to return the favour: he sucks the wound, gathers her into his arms and takes her to his home, where the therapy begins. Lecter shows immense empathy towards her and does everything possible to cure her of her obsession with her father (he even disinters her father’s remains to make her accept his dead presence in her life). He kidnaps Krendler, “the icon of failure and frustration” (H 529), who ends up part of a gourmet dish on his table. Clarice, who is both “herself and not herself” (H 515) during these sessions with the doctor (partly because of the hypnotic drugs he administers to her), partakes in the strange dinner, reminiscent of a communion ceremony. Turning Clarice into a cannibal is no small decision on Harris’s part. Many people objected to this scene, and did not realize the symbolic value inherent in the otherwise slightly disgusting and grotesque dinner. Clarice, by ingesting parts of Krendler’s brain, takes revenge against the bad father figure and against patriarchy in a more general sense, an unjust system which makes it hard for a woman to succeed and be treated on equal terms with her male colleagues. In Schopp’s interpretation (2003, 129), the eating of Krendler is a symbolic act of taking his power and authority and of diminishing them in the process. Cannibalistic acts are often associated with the belief that by eating the flesh of the enemy, the person also acquires the virtues and powers of the opponent. During her therapy, Clarice is able to vent her repressed anger and frustration with her father, whom she “could not 102
forgive [...] for dying” (H 528). This meal, regeneration for her, is the last step in her therapy. Lecter is a stand-in figure for the lost father, in a sense, but by becoming her sexual partner, as well, they redefine their relationship along different lines and mutually help each other. In this novel, Harris finally decides to reveal the origins of Lecter’s evil. Through various flashbacks, we learn that, after the collapse of the Eastern Front in 1944, six-year-old Hannibal found himself orphaned with his adored little sister, Mischa. Retreating deserters stumbled upon their hunting lodge and in their crazed hunger they cannibalized Mischa. His later compulsion to kill and eat parts of people (usually ones whom he considers to be bad) can be traced back to this childhood tragedy. During these acts of cannibalistic oral aggression, he attempts to rid himself of the haunting horrors, he tries to murder the traumatic memory. As Bettina Gregory points out (2002, 100), he suffers from posttraumatic stress disorder and cannot yet leave the past behind. This is the point where we see how Clarice can help: she replaces the lost “good object” in Hannibal’s life. In a sense, he retrieves his lost sister through Clarice (Ling 2004, 385). Mischa cannot be resurrected, but Lecter might, perhaps, begin a new life cycle with Clarice and a process of reparation might start, with his beginning to mourn the loss of his baby sister. Almost as in their quid pro quo exchanges in the prison, both of them have equal interest in the rounding out of their relationship. Clarice achieves full maturity, “her passage from repression and innocence to sexual awakening” means her “embracing of carnality”, to quote Fuller (2005, 829), while Hannibal might have finally found his substitute for Mischa. Though this ending might sound a bit “sugary” to readers, after all the bloodshed and mutilations, Harris does not venture to promise eternal happiness for his couple. However, he has presented us with a story wherein he pointed out that a childhood trauma might lead one to become an FBI agent, another to become a serial killer. Thus, an uncomfortable affinity is shown between the traditionally contrasting positions of hero and villain, leaving readers with disturbing memories of the text, which proved we are never really that far from the monstrous.
References Arnold, Matthew. 1981. Culture and Anarchy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bleiler, Richard. 2007. “The Monster.” In Icons of Horror and the Supernatural, edited by S.T. Joshi, 341-373. Westport: Greenwood Press. Caputi, Jane. 1993. “American Psychos: The Serial Killer in Contemporary Fiction.” Journal of American Culture , Vol. 16 Issue 4: 101-112. Creed, Barbara. 2004. “Freud’s Worst Nightmare: Dining with Dr. Hannibal Lecter.” In Horror Film and Psychoanalysis, edited by Steven Jay Schneider, 188-202. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Dubois, Diane. 2001. “Seeing the Female Body Differently: gender issues in The Silence of the Lambs .” Journal of Ge nder Studies 10.3: 297-310. Fahy, Thomas. 2003. “Killer Culture: Classical Music and the Art of Killing in Silence of the Lambs and Se7en.” The Journal of Popular Culture , Vol. 37, No. 1: 28-42. Fuller, Stephen M. 2005. “Deposing an American Cultural Totem: Clarice Starling and Postmodern Heroism in Thomas Harris’s Re d Dragon , The Silence of the Lambs , and Hannibal .” The Journal of Popular Culture , Vol. 38, No. 5: 819-833. Gregory, Bettina. 2002. “Hannibal Lecter: The Honey in the Lion’s Mouth.” American Journal of Psychotherapy , Vol. 56, No. 1: 100-114. Halberstam, Judith. 1995. Skin Shows. Durham and London: Duke University Press. Harris, Thomas. 1992. Red Dragon . London: Corgi Books. ---. 1999. The Silence of the Lambs. London: Arrow Books. ---. 2000. Hannibal . London: Arrow Books. 103
Holland-Toll, Linda. 2001. As American as Mom, Baseball, and Apple Pie . Bowling Green: Bowling Green State University Press. Hutchings, Peter. 1996. “Tearing your soul apart: horror’s new monsters.” In Modern Gothic , edited by Victor Sage and Allan Lloyd Smith, 89-101. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Ling, L.H.M. 2004. “The Monster Within: What Fu Manchu and Hannibal Lecter Can Tell Us about Terror and Desire in a Post-9/11 World.” Positions 12:2: 377-400. Mann, Karen. 1996. “The Matter with Mind: Violence and ‘The Silence of the Lambs.’” Criticism: A Quarterly for Literature and the Arts 38.4: 583-605. http://go.galegroup.com/ps/start.do?p=LitRG&u=szegedi (accessed September 15, 2009). Messent, Peter. 2000. “American Gothic: Liminality in Thomas Harris’s Hannibal Lecter Novels”. Jour nal of Amer ic an and Comparative Cult ures . 23.4: 23-35. Platt, Len. 2003. “The Hannibal Lecter Novels: Modern/Postmodern Fables.” Am ericana: The Journal of American Popular Culture 2:2. http://www.americanpopularculture.com/journal/articles/fall_2003/platt.htm (accessed June 15, 2009). Punter, David and Glennis Byron. 2004. The Gothic. Blackwell Publishing: Oxford. Schopp, Andrew. 2003. “The Practice and Politics of “Freeing the Look”: J onathan Demme’s The Silence of the Lambs.” Camera Obscura 53, Vol. 18, No. 2: 125-151. Wolfe, Cary and Jonathan Elmer. 1995. “Subject to Sacrifice: Ideology, Psychoanalysis and the Discourse of Species in Jonathan Demme’s Silence of the Lambs.” Boundary 2 22:3: 142-170.
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Ethno-Cultural Ambiguity in Recent American Gone Indian Stories - the Camouflage Forest Superman White Savage and Two-Falling-Voices, the White Seneca. Judit Ágnes Kádár The problem of ethno-cultural ambiguity is a central theme of a number of recent American and Canadian prose writings that explore shape shifting processes in gone Indian stories. Deborah Larsen’s The White (2003) and Fintan O’Toole’s White Savage (2005) present the many-coloured and often ambiguous process of becoming partly indigenous, as opposed to the red and white binary opposition of the stereotypical historical tradition of Native American versus white European cultures. The stories of Sir William Johnson/Warraghiyagey, the Buckskin Tory and Forest Superman of the Mohawk Valley, and Mary Jemison/Two-Falling-Voices both provide a post-colonial approach to the dislocation of the self and colour lines in the view of the historiographic metafiction underlining the epistemological relativism of such stories and figures. Moreover, both texts offer a backwards critical glance at European culture that is supremely ambivalent. In the following paper I examine these two texts from four perspectives. First I consider them as portrayals of the ambiguous process of becoming partly indigenous. I then indicate post-colonial approaches to the dislocation of the self/colour lines and give short analyses of the defamiliarization of whiteness in b oth novels. O’Toole’s novel presents a culturally only superficially committed, dynamic, practical-minded and morally ambivalent culture broker who constructs his world from the carefully selected fragments of the cultures involved. Johnson is not confused about his identity, but indeed more static in his core identity, at least in O’Toole’s narrative, not too concerned about the internalized elements of cultures, though he elaborates his reception in his mother and host communities.. On the contrary, Larsen’s novel presents Mary as a creative non-victim in Margaret Atwood’s well-known terminology, whose previous cultural identifications are overwritten by Native culture and she is forced to elaborate alternative modes of being. Her core identity changes from a culturally close Anglo ethnic identity to a more fluid in-between person, who can enjoy the luxury of selecting the more advantageous and valuable cultural traits of each culture only in her later life, when she consciously merges worlds in her heart, mind, family and conceptualization of the world. While the fusion of personality traits thought of as characteristic of or innate to a particular race/community makes the shape shifter’s personality uniquely ambiguous but not highly successful in either culture, personal ambitions are reachable only in the individual sphere and less in the broader social framework. Nevertheless, when s/he does not clearly commit him/herself to either the original or new cultural affiliation, the result seems to be an ambivalent person whose identity and image is confusing and is primarily seen as controversial, even if that character can effectively utilize his/her bicultural knowledge and skills.
Fictional In-Betweenness in Deborah Larsen’s The White (2003) The trans-cultural stories of going indigenous imply the constructed nature of both identity and the notion of race and ethnicity. The so-called métissage texts call attention to the ambivalent hybrid identities continuously in flux (Vautier 270). As Vaultier claims, the life experience of so-called “‘side-by-sideness,’ leads to the possibility of sharing cultural experiences rather than ‘resisting’ the imposition of alien forms of culture (Vautier 269).” The “culture brokers,” liaison persons, and biracial shape shifters of all periods go through the inclinations of belonging, contributing and socializing correlated with internal and external anomalies of all sorts. O’Toole’s biography incorporates the sociological and historical context of Colonial Period mediators’ and patriarchs’ cultural oscillation between the poles of two cultures, underlining the uncertain nature of any approach to understanding such a swinger shifter character. Larsen’s novel, however, is a contemporary novel that expands on the early captivity narratives with a present-day psychoanalytical understanding of intercultural transfer and shape shifting. The White provides us with a 21st Century interpretation of the original story of the daughter of Irish immigrants living on the dangerous edge of the Pennsylvania frontier in 1758, at the time of the French and Indian War. The sixteen year-old girl, captured along with her entire family and a few neighbours by a raiding party of Shawnees and French mercenaries, experienced the murder and 105
scalping of her kin and kind, and then found herself adopted into a family of Senecas. Mary/TwoFalling-Voices lived as a member of the tribe for fifty years, marrying twice, raising seven children, and at the end of her life allowing herself to be interviewed by a New York state physician and amateur historian, Jeames Seaver, who noted down her account, and interestingly, since then 28 more editions of Mary Jamison’s captivity have been created. 1/ The Indigenization Process In an earlier paper I examined how shape shifting and developing an in-between identity is textually marked in The White (“Fictional In-Betweenness in Deborah Larsen’s The White 2003”). Essentially my contention was that the overlapping stages of Mary/Two-Falling-Voices’s life and character development are depicted by the valleys that provide the metaphorical habitats of her life. The first is the Buchanan Valley (-1758), which is the location of her captivity and ritual initiation. The second is the Ohio Valley (1758-62), the site of her gradual accommodation, while the Genesse Valley (1762-1833), the final location of Jemison’s life, completes her adoption and provides a comfortable environment, making repatriation all but pointless. In these valleys, the two hill slopes always signify her in-betweenness in two cultures, with all the correlated ups-and-downs of her life and identity formulation. The protagonist’s unconscious motivations (e.g. the dramatic breakup of her image of her father, the shock of violence, the impacts of several childbirths and deaths, as well as the encouraging power of sisterhood) affect her psyche and imagination and revitalize her after the numbing shock of captivity, loss and alienation. However, each experience makes her into a more-and-more conscious, strong-willed and energetic agent who not only actively shapes her own life, but is also capable of formulating her story within and beyond the limitations of Dr. Seaver’s narrative. The psychoanalytical perspective of the central characters provides the reader with an understanding of the motivations behind the intercultural transfer, its possible impact, and potential responses to the original and new human environment. The personality of such a shape-shifting character can be understood in terms of schizophrenic (transform identity, shifting boundaries) and paranoiac (pressed to territorialize, mark out, take possession of) poles. For Mary/Two-Falling-Voices, her personality is torn between the paranoiac urge to mark out her own position in the society and on the land and take possession of a firm name, identity and piece of land that belongs to her exclusively on the one hand, and on the other, the schizophrenic urge to leave her ties behind and shift into a less limited existence. Alongside the natural inclinations of any person to escape captivity and find firm ground in the world, a woman is always somewhat more forced to seek security while trying to find peace of mind and happiness. The physical, mental and spiritual challenges almost drive her mad, even suicidal, at the crossroads of schizophrenic and paranoiac pressures. Nevertheless, she is able to identify, elaborate and sustain some constant elements to grab hold of: the land, human affection, respect and a positive, stabile, self-supporting attitude towards life in general. 2/ Post-Colonial Approach As for genre, The White is a captivity account, adventure tale, lyrical meditation on a woman’s coming of age, and frontier romance, first written as a screenplay and then was transformed into a twenty-first century novel. “My novel is an invention, not a recreation,” Larsen claims in an interview, adding “[Mary Jemison’s] voice was a gift, pure and simple. I just listened for the voice that wasn’t obviously there, for the voice that lay between the lines in the narrative (www.readinggroupguides.com/guides3/white2.asp#interview).” The post-modern narrative strategy of voice giving is an essential part of Larsen’s text, as is the emphasis on the possibility of seeing a character and a story from various perspectives and the acknowledgement of the fundamentally ambiguous nature of those sources of opinion. In addition, with the author’s empathy and experience of a woman and ex-nun, she provides us with the womanly perspective of the Jemison story, which includes psychoanalytical insight into the counter-passing character as an addition to and extension of Dr Seaver, the Latinist rhetorician, and his objectivizing white male discourse. The novelist underlines the lack of emotional understanding presented by the previous narrative, arguing, “How little of her lay on his pages. He had in no way captured her face ( W 210).” Larson says in an interview, “The Mary of history was plainly concerned about her children’s welfare. My Mary—for The White is not a ‘history’ as such—chooses to remain on her lands for complicated reasons which accrue throughout her life (author interview 106
www.readinggroupguides.com/guides3/white2.asp#interview).” She captured the complexity of the captive shape shifter’s situation, motivations, emotions and image. 3/ The Defamiliarizaion of Whiteness and a Critical View on European Culture Larsen presents the development of her protagonist’s comprehension of reality from the white v. red dichotomy into a more sophisticated understanding of ethnic relations. In the new captivity situation, Mary’s attitude towards whites and Indians, her family and peers, is primarily shaped by preconceptions, such as the prejudice that it is better to be dead than living with an Indian. The initial events even strengthen these prejudices, for the brutality and loss she experiences turn her resolutely against her captors. Once we enter the tribal scenes, the Noble Savage image of Cooperian sentimentalism clashes in the reader’s mind with the naturalistic details of combat and savagery. However, as the narrative of Mary’s life unfolds, we can share her sensitivity to cultural coding and received notions of race and colour. In a semi-intentional acculturation stage of such stories, a part of the central character’s former identity is eventually erased, a process depicted in The White by the heroine’s temporary numbness (as also experienced by Standing-with-Fist, the heroine of the popular movie Dances with Wolves). Her previous cultural identifications are overwritten by Native culture and she experiences a kind of racial absorption. In the long run, she is forced to elaborate alternative modes of being, while her conversion is a temporary or permanent social strategy of survival. Fictional shape shifters first face the problems posed by the different sets of values of the two cultures between which they move and then seek acknowledgement in the new culture, which takes form in the social prestige they manage to achieve. Prestige is a symbolic reward, the “subjective dimension of social stratification (Goldstein 182)” that exercises a considerable influence on how we locate ourselves in a community. The first set refers to the pre-received images to which she had had access to prior to her encounter with Native culture. The second is the more realistic set of virtues that she recognizes throughout the contact experience. Initially “the Other must be seen as the necessary negation of a primordial identity—cultural and psychic--that introduces the system of differentiation which enables the ‘cultural’ to be signified as a linguistic, symbolic, historic reality (Bhabha 118-9).” The act of refusing to return to the original, allegedly socio-culturally superior majority culture of the white Anglo-Saxon Protestant community underlines the critical view of her original culture. However, in the last part of her life she keeps herself physically removed from the Native community as well, and this fact challenges any hasty assumption concerning her negation of white culture. In fact, by isolating herself from both and taking the freedom of dwelling in the vacuum of in-betweeness, she refuses the negative tendencies in both cultures, thereby equating them on a more general human level. 4/ Ambiguity In the “extremity of colonial alienation (Bhabha 114),” Mary is in the “state of shipwreck (Ghosh-Schellhorn 181)”. Her displacement and alienation, through her self-awareness, is similar to a white Creole woman, a ‘white nigger’, confronting the challenges of Otherness and then shifting its boundaries (Bhabha 118). The path from being the Other to being ‘One of Us’ is symbolically implied in many ways. In The White, the cultural in-betweenness of the heroine is indicated in different ways. It is there for instance in verbal utterances, like when Sheninjee tells Mary, “I am not white, but you are now truly one of our race ( W 63),” but also in symbolic actions, objects and locations. By the time she becomes a ‘white Indian,’ a proto-feminist heroine through appropriation, our perceptions and understanding fluctuate with the ebbs and flows of the heroine’s emotions, attitude and fate. However, in her more mature life, she understands the apparent benefit of being inter/biracial, while her environment faces the challenge of locating her identity (or pigeonholing) her in a sensible way. (The same ambivalence is depicted by the contemporary “hyphen dwellers” presented in Living in the Hyphen). The story can be read as a rejection of either/or -s and an attempt to replace them with both, in other words to suggest an understanding of these two cultures as adjacent rather than opposed.
The Camouflage Forest Superman of the White Savage. Fintan O’Toole’s biography of Sir William Johnson (1715-74), the Forest Superman is a historiographic metafiction that primarily explores the phenomenon of the slippage of “the mimicry man” (Bhabha 121), while this “slippage” is in fact a constant shape-shifting between two social 107
roles/masks/personalities, making him a highly successful Indian “wannabe” and European patriarch in the same person. On a more abstract level, it touches on the exciting problem of epistemological relativism that surrounds this highly influential historical personality, underlining the constructed nature of his ethnic affiliation and thereby implying the highly fictional nature of racial (colour) divides. 1/ The Indigenization Process Within the broader group of gone indigenous characters , there are those who stand for the subtype of what I refer to as swinger shifters, temporary Indians who oscillate between their native and white selves and activate the required component of the identity that best happens to fit the given historical moment and situation. What makes Johnson particularly unusual is that he made his sojourner experience, this intercultural oscillation, his permanent lifestyle and became a cross-cultural chameleon on the one hand, while on the other, the impact and success of his ethnic shape shifting was outstanding and almost incomparable. Deep-rooted social demands appeared as important motivations for Johnson. He realized that it was not so much a military officer who was needed to organize Indians at war, but rather an interpreter/mediator ( WS 125) who could facilitate the rugged terrain of the encounter and settlement times. Moreover, making himself indispensable to both parties under the imperative of protection and control over land, he secured an opportunity to expand his power and significance ( WS 76). The Iroquois needed him to become parts of the imperial system ( WS 69), which was depicted by his Mohawk initiation and sachem role: “To serve as the image of white America in relation to the continent’s indigenous population, the real Johnson has to be transformed into a monarch who has the right to rule absolutely because even the savages recognize his innate magnificence ( WS 346).” As for the actual process of Johnson’s partial shape shifting and semi-indigenization, I believe that his life in North America can be seen as a series of overlapping phases marked by events, motivations, and challenges, as well as his personal reactions and the strategies he adopted in order to meet these demands. From the beginning, i.e. his initial contact with Indian culture for business purposes, he developed superb social skills and methods and then elaborated a native image and identity component, including family ties and political connections that created his new position and a hybrid identity. While in the first phases the private sphere is active in cultural brokerage and learning, in the next phases Johnson’s commitments become very complex, and his skills help him become an extremely powerful player in the colonial fight for power. He becomes a protector of the Mohawks, presents himself in community rituals as a superb orator, and at the same time distances himself from establishment white authorities and creates his ultimate position with the active manipulation of both private and public cultural spheres of power and sexual politics, counterbalanced by an official acknowledgement of his heroism in Great Britain. The new strategies of warfare, peacemaking and negotiating are necessary to facilitate Johnson’s grand plan: an Iroquois confederacy under his leadership and an expanding alliance between Western tribes and Canadian Indians. Interestingly, in the later part of his life the political strategies are extended with a particular spiritualism that becomes fully visible in his afterlife when he becomes a Frontier icon. This fictional, mythic feature of Johnson’s character is depicted in detail by O’Toole. The author makes us understand that Johnson’s remarkable command of cultures and intercultural communication include not only the recognition of the fluid nature of his reality, where strategic loyalties and compromises are required, but also awareness that this knowledge is not sufficient to be successful: in order to obtain long-standing influence, authority, and power in the New World, he must locate himself in the imagination and heart of the Mohawk in the form of a sachem, a culture broker of mythic vistas. 2/ Post-Colonial Approach O’Toole’s book has three remarkably insightful features that one recognizes reading between the lines of William Johnson’s biography: one is the emphasis on the mutual recognition of the complex reality of the Other ( WS 18) within the Colonial context of the European versus Native dichotomy. The second is the highly relative and epistemologically uncertain nature of Johnson’s figure, deeds and impact, while the third is the satirical view of European culture implied by his critical Indian-ness. His process of elaborated construction of an imaginary Other Self was extremely successful and had major social and historical impact in his own age, whereas his fictional and mythic 108
features, discursive passing, and uniquely employed strategies have created an immortal figure on the borderlands of cultural encounters. 3/ The Defamiliarization of Whiteness and a Critical View on European Culture The imaginary native of these stories is the embodiment of projected desires, fears, and ambiguous attractions of white Europeans. Johnson was a combination of white racial purity and raw Indian toughness ( WS 343), a charismatic white man of natural carelessness with the “ability to marry whiteness with the best aspect of Indian culture ( WS 345).” He was a Frontier playboy, too: in a way he was a projection of European sexual desires. His unique lifestyle was a representation of the effective merging of sexual and colonial politics. His “domestic [multicultural] utopia ( WS 348)” was an attempt to challenge both the European garrison mentality and the disparity of wild and tame that had long existed in the European imagination. O’Toole presents some Indians in London (Ch 2), where the rather ignorant general public is excited about the newcomers and superimposes on them a mixture of the Noble Savage and the Vanishing Indian images: “They were noble and majestic, austere and sceptical—a moral rebuke to English dissolution. They were also savage creatures of the night, lurking in the night with designs of irrational and unprovoked violence, bogeymen with which to frighten children and wives into good behaviour ( WS 14).” In the English and French imagination the word Mohawk referred to a wild gang or a pagan savage ( WS 13), and there was little trust in Mohawks in terms of diplomacy ( WS 11). After the Treaty of Paris, there was an ideological stigma alteration: Noble Savages became Vanishing Indians in the European imagination. The Native Americans lose their indispensable appeal and become burdensome problems to get rid of: in the European view at the time, they seemed “social fossils” of Old Condition ( WS 50), prehistoric man in an Edenic state of ignorance. Interestingly, Johnson embodies an additional strange ambiguity: the notions of “providential success” and Manifest Destiny, i.e. the natural right of white Europeans to ‘spread civilization over North America,’ taking possession of native land, and the challenge to the vanishing Indian ideology of genocide represented by Captain Amherst. As for this “natural right” of colonial expansion, however, Johnson would rather justify only the right of those who are able and ready to understand and live on the frontier of two cultures to obtain the benefits. In this sense, his character challenges and at the same time reconstructs the validity not only of the Noble Savage stereotype but also of Manifest Destiny. The process of semi-indigenization (going Other/passing) is a kind of ironical American mirror to European culture. It presents a character who alters his/her characteristic features/identity primarily on the basis of a fake/stereotypical Indian image. However, perhaps it is even more important to see that the values and features sought and longed for in the indigene represent precisely the set of features that one considers mistaken or lost in European culture. A tangible example is the well-known close-to-nature notion cherished by the environmentalist Grey Owl syndrome people. As for the White Savage, there is a long list of the negative features of European culture that occasionally also seems to be equally over-generalizing and stigmatizing, very much like the above mentioned stereotypical images of the natives. Such over-generalized negative features include snobbish dismissal of the “supposed nobility of Europe ( WS 12)”, an authoritative attitude, a speculative profit and wealth oriented nature ( WS 37), violence, widespread moral erosion ( WS 81), cunning, and manipulation. At the bottom of his heart he never truly shifted to an indigenous self. He shared many of the pitfalls of European colonists and urged a mutual recognition of needs, friendship, protection, trust, alliance, obligations and common humanity ( WS 234). 4/ Ambiguity Sir William Johnson, “the man between,” was a dispossessed Irish Catholic turned Protestant who in the New World partly became an Iroquois (Warraghiyagey), while his “white self” still lived in the service of Westminster and owned 170,000 acres of land in North America. He had three intertwined lives: first, he was a British subject and servant, commissioner for Indian affairs and a freelance general; second, Johnson was an honorary Indian with, among many other closely related women of different backgrounds, a Mohawk wife Molly Brant, many children and a large mixed-race, multi-lingual family; and last but not least, he was an imperialist adventurer and an enthusiastic slave owner. Labels attached to his figure are telling of his ambiguous nature: Buckskin Tory, Frontier superman, chameleon. His personal motivations are explained in the following excerpt:
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Behind this fascination was the search of a way out of chaos. He had come to live a life in which multiple historical forces—the fall of Gaelic Ireland and the rise of Protestant Britain, the ambitions of a European exile and the Iroquois struggle for survival, the reality of conflict and the dream of civility—were in constant motion. Competing visions of the world spun around him. They met but did not always cohere, and were kept from collision only by the force of his own multi-layered personality. ( WS 100) His last paradoxical goal of defining a fixed border between Indian and white territories was achieved under the Royal Proclamation of 1763. “The racially pure embodiment of American values who is yet at home in the wilderness because he had adopted the best of Indian culture. An American with white skin but Indian dress, Christian decency but Indian simplicity, European accomplishments but Indian skills, would have the right to take the West W est ( WS 339).” A closer look at the hybrid nature of Johnson’s character reveals constant resonances of various ambiguities: he was a combination of “English gentility with exotic barbarity ( WS 15),” a mediator between the Indians and colonizers, a master not only of Gaelic, English and Mohawk languages but also of religious and ethnic pragmatism ( WS 23, 25, 27, 309), and at the peak of his public career an indispensable conciliator, negotiator, and mediator who was constantly working both ways in “a world of hidden layers and quiet undercurrents ( WS 29),” apparent contradictions and uncertain loyalties ( WS 28). In the identity vacuum of his borderland personality, Johnson’s “middle ground of cultural diplomatic and economic exchange ( WS 246)” was threatened from both sides. Nonetheless, “he became the fixed point around which a storm of contradictory emotions could spin. He inspired disgust and envy. He embodied the fear of pollution and the excitement of erotic freedom; base abandonment to the unregulated desires of the savages and the natural, fecund impulse of life amid the putrefaction of war and death ( WS 103).” His role as a mediator is more dynamic than for instance that of the hybrids by birth, which is why I refer to him as a chameleon/swinger shifter. His unfading moral ambivalence contrasts him with value-oriented shifters, more simple Indian “wannabes”, like the Grey Owl Syndrome people. He is a semi-integration of Mohawk and British in the same person, never absolutely compact in any of his roles, but always a bit more than any one, and always incorporating features of the Other, as well.
Conclusion Stories of trans-culturation depict “process where one gives something in exchange for getting something; the two parts of the equation are thereby modified. A new reality is produced. Transculturation is in a state of constant transmutation tr ansmutation (Vautier 269).”
Process (rituals of separation/ transfer/ return or refuse to repatriate)
post-colonial discourse
De-familiarization of whiteness Ambivalence/ambiguity
Larsen: The White - separates, transfers and does not wish to return - initial refusal, then acceptance - emotionally moved - one-way - profound changes in her personality, identity - Did not intend to recreate a story, rather to invent, write fiction - Heroine less consciously critical about identity formulation Implied criticism: does not wish to return (like Dunbar in Dances with Wolves ) - Morally not ambivalentvictim position - Less aware, especially in 110
O’Toole: The White Savage - does not clearly separate, his transfer is uncertain, hesitant, temporary and superficial (e.g. no marriage), he consciously selects traits, manipulates others with his image, very powerful actor/wizard - two-way - rational -swinger shifter/dynamic - no fundamental change in personality - Biographical, more traditional approach, but also aware of the epistemological relativism of historical traces - Recognizes the complexity of the Other Literally critical about European ignorance, manners, ways of thinking, especially racism - Practical-minded, manipulative (masculine, ambitious, conquers and utilizes the Other colonial superiority
early phases of identity transformation - Non-manipulative victim (passive—active) (feminine, fragile, less clearly oriented, except for the last stage, gives in to external forces colonial inferiority implied) - Primarily non-selective - Her new personality organically develops out of the confusion of the we-they disparity fuse/incorporate/enrich
implied) - Morally ambivalent victim position - His personality is not fundamentally altered, rather: incorporates new traits on a selective basis and then eventually activates the components required by the given situation requires for the most effective outcome acquire/select/activate/exploit
What James Clifton calls an “alternative subculture available for inspection, testing, and at least temporary affiliation (Clifton 277)” is a different way of life for Johnson/Warraghiagey and Mary/Two-Falling-Voices. Both experience the essential “ambivalences of identification, antagonistic identities of political alienation and cultural discrimination (Bhabha 119),” as well as some undeniable benefits of others’ inability to pigeonhole such characters of ambiguous ethno-cultural identity. As the examples of these two novels present, ethno-cultural ambiguity is an essential feature of indigenization, regardless of the different motivations, circumstances, or actual processes of ethnic transfer. However, ambiguity is not necessarily ambivalence. While the fusion of personality traits thought of as characteristic of or innate to a particular race/community makes the shape shifter’s personality uniquely ambiguous but not highly successful in either culture, personal ambitions are reachable only in the individual sphere and less in the broader social framework. Nevertheless, when s/he does not clearly commit him/herself to either the original or new cultural affiliation, the result seems to be an ambivalent person whose identity and image is confusing and is primarily seen as controversial, even if that character can effectively utilize his/her bicultural knowledge and skills.
References Bhabha, Homi. 1993. “Remembering Fanon: Self, Psyche and the Colonial Condition.” Colonial Discourse and Post-Colonial Theory . Eds. P. Williams and L. Chrisman. New York: Harvester. Harvester. 11223. Print. Clifton, James A. 1989. Being and Becoming Indian: Bibliographical Studies of North-American Frontiers. Chicago: The Dorsey P. Costner, Kevin dir. 1990. Dances with Wolves . Ghosh-Schellhorn, Martina. 1994. “Transcultural Intertextuality and the White Creole Woman.” Across the Lines . ASNEL Papers 3. Amsterdam: Rodope. 177-90. Print. Goldstein, Jay E. 1985. “The “The Prestige Dimension of Ethnic Stratification.” R. M. Bienvenue and and J.E. Goldstein. Ethnicity and Ethnic Relations in Canada . Toronto: Butterworks. 181-5. Print. Kadar, Judit Agnes. 2003. “Fictional In-Betweenness in Deborah Larsen’s The White.” Americana. Szeged: U Szeged online publication. Larsen, Deborah. 2002 The White. New York: Knopf. Print. Nakagawa, Anne Marie dir. 2005. Between: Living in the Hyphen Hyphe n. NFB . O’Toole, Fintan. 2005. White Savage: William Johnson and the Invention of America. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux. Print. Vautier, Marie. 2003. “Religion, Postcolonial Side-by-Sidedness, and la transculture.” In Is Canada Postcolonial? Ed. Laura Moss. Waterloo, ON.: W. Lauriel UP. 279-81. Print. 111
From Bildungsroman to Assimilation Narrative–Three Chicano Novels Tamás Vraukó The Mexicans living in the USA have been struggling with a wide range of negative stereotypes and clichés deeply embedded in mainstream American literature and public thinking since times long before the treaty of Guadelupe-Hidalgo. Literature has been added to social protest and political movements as a means of fighting the negative ideas concerning their community. For constraints of space, the present paper focuses on Chicano novel, deals with poetry very briefly and does not include other genres of Chicano literature, e.g. the Campesino Theatre. As Leal and Barrón (1983: 23) assert, “The most effective form for the literature of social protest has been the novel.” Prejudice and stereotypy often experienced in the U. S. in connection with African Americans and several other national/cultural/religious minorities are well known and have become part of public thinking. Considerable efforts have been made to dispel such prejudice. Much less is known about how these factors work in connection with the Chicanos. In this paper examples are provided of stereotypes and clichés attached to the Chicanos and Chicanas by the Anglo-Saxon population and, in contrast, of the ways authors of Mexican-American ethnic background tend to look at their own community. Using some other examples as well, three novels will be discussed in more detail, as they are characteristic examples of how Chicanos have reacted to the circumstances they live under in the U.S., and their efforts aimed at finding a place within their own community, traditions, and in mainstream American life. Special attention will be devoted to the ways Chicanas are presented by Chicano authors, as female members of the family have different roles in the Chicano community than in Anglo life. Another reason why Chicanas are important because when the male protagonists make any progress– bildung–it is often because female members of the family create a solid background for them. Although more and more attention is focussed on the Chicano community, and an extensive and expanding sociological, cultural and historical literature is devoted to the Mexican Americans, they are relatively less known outside the U.S. than several other ethnic groups. In spite of various encyclopaedias and other sources making efforts to provide concise definitions of who and what Chicanos are, it is not always easy for the layman to find a straightforward and reliable entry on Mexican Americans. If we look up for instance the Concise Dictionary of American History (1983) or Tomasz Jurczynski’s Dictionary of the United States (1995) in search of a definition of the word Chicano, we will not find one. The explanations that various other dictionaries used by scholars and students provide mention that the word is a misspelled or modified version of the Spanish word Mejicano, and the term Chicano is now applied to the Mexicans living in the United States. By the end of the 20 th century the old and widespread notion of America as a melting pot vanished. The "pot" seems to have been unable to "melt" the multitude of national, ethnic and religious groups and communities into one standard mass. As Virágos (1999: 5) asserts in the title of one of his essays, America has arrived ”From Melting Pot to Boiling Pot.” After the turmoil of World War II, people belonging to various ethnic and religious groups began to pay more attention to their cultural background and heritage than ever before. People arriving on the crests of new and new waves of immigration find it natural to seek the company of their own nationality, where they expect assistance for a start in the new world. New immigrants and second or third-generation members of an ethnic or religious community make efforts to preserve or resurrect their own culture. As the ethnic groups have slowly become more organized and coherent, their political awareness increased, and they began to recognize their own in-group priorities within American society. In the last decades of the twentieth century, technical inventions such as computerized newspaper publishing made it possible to print the same newspaper at different places, thousands of miles from the editorial office at the same time, making papers available to distant members of a community. Satellite television and radio and the world wide web conveyed information to small groups and even to individual people who had formerly been isolated from the bulk of their respective nations or ethnic groups. Preserving the native language and native culture is now also much easier than it used to be. Finding and contacting other members of a community have become easier, as an increasing number of 112
people who are members of ethnic groups that used to be traditionally less wealthy than the national average, African Americans, native Americans etc., can now afford a car, or a flight ticket, and attend the meetings of their respective communities or simply visit each other more often than before. Although it was not new technology in itself that instigated the process of national or ethnic reunion, the emergence of Spanish-language media is a result of the national and ethnic revival and a catalyst of further development at the same time. As a result, intense attention has been focussed on the ethnic, cultural, religious, sexual and other minorities of America. Sociologists, movie makers, historians, students, journalists and other professionals study the life, history, culture and customs of these minorities, and their relationship and connections to the majority groups. The attention that various ethnic groups receive is, however, not uniform and equally intense in the case of all the ethnic communities. It seems that certain minorities receive less attention than others, or than the attention they would deserve after their number and share in the total population. In addition to this, it appears to be extremely difficult to eradicate some old stereotypes and prejudice rooted deeply in the thinking of the mainstream society. The general image of Mexicans in the way of thinking of the Anglos has been predominantly negative, even at times before, but especially since the Mexican War in the middle of the 19th century. As Rocard (1989: 18) observes, “Authors in the years following the war saw the MexicanAmerican as more devious and treacherous than cruel and bloodthirsty. [...] The Mexican was portrayed as a born traitor, a villain who could not be trusted, a ‘back-stabber’ [...]. In Hall’s Dime Novels, every Mexican was ‘villainous-looking’ and ‘serpent-eyed.’” Hall’s Dime Novels were a series of cheap, patriotic stories, published by Beadle & Adam after 1859. The publishers selected authors for their knowledge of the Southwest rather than for their literary talent. Although Rocard (1989: 4) believes that these writings were “third-rate” and “pseudoliterature,” she points out that the sheer numbers in which they were produced made them able to expand patriotic feelings and enthusiasm in a whole generation. Negative images of Mexicans are by no means limited to “pseudoliterature.” Stephen Crane’s short story titled “The Bride Comes to Yellow Sky” is set on the new border between Mexico and the U.S.A. The reason why Crane deals with the Chicanos, although this term was not used in those days, is that this border was relatively new–only half a century old–when Crane wrote his story in 1898. There are two brief references to Mexicans in the story and neither one is very positive. One is about the “sound of a tumult like the fighting of two hundred Mexicans.” (1974: 749) Crane does not explain why he believes that Mexicans fight any noisier than any other nationality. This is here the new frontier, the “fresh-cut bank of the Rio Grande” (Crane 1974: 745) circles near the town, and the place is full of enthusiastic people converting the sleepy border town into a flourishing settlement. Mexicans are only feeble ghosts here. They are no longer involved in the affairs of this land. They immediately disappear when something disturbing happens: “The two Mexicans at once sat down their glasses and faded out of the rear entrance of the saloon.” (Crane 1974: 745) There is nothing dignified about their departure. The Mexicans do not simply run away from trouble–they do not walk out of the saloon, they do not flee–they disappear, vanish, evaporate like ghosts in the air–and they do it through the back door of the bar. Mexican women, on the other hand, were imagined and depicted in a more positive way–at least as far as their external appearance is concerned. They are often described as mysterious señoritas of exotic beauty, graceful creatures of a different culture. As Horsman (1981: 234) points out, “The stereotype of exotic, receptive Mexican women and lazy, inept Mexican men was to sink deep into American racial mythology.” ”Receptive” means that it was also believed that the morals of the Catholic Mexican women, whose entire civilization attributed great significance to religion and family, were not as strict as that of the Anglo-Saxon, protestant civilization. Mexican women were allegedly more open and ready for relationships with men than Anglo women. The idea was probably dictated by the strong belief in the cultural-moral superiority of the protestant Anglo-Saxon civilization that looked upon Catholicism as a hypocritical religion. Ronald Takaki (1993: 176) describes that some sort of a “manifest masculine destiny” goes back to the days of the Mexican war: American men bragged how they were displaying their prowess in the Southwest not only on the battlefield but also in bed. A poem, published during the Mexican War, boasted: 113
The Spanish maid, with eye of fire, At balmy evening turns her lyre And, looking to the Eastern sky, Awaits our Yankee chivalry Whose purer blood and valiant arms Are fit to clasp her budding charms (Takaki 1996: 176-177)
Similar was the attitude of Victorian Englishmen to Irish women: red-haired, green-eyed Irish women were regarded as less virtuous than English women. Helen Hunt Jackson in her Ramona depicts a more positive image of the Mexicans living California. In the novel people live in harmony with each other and with the natural environment around them, and the only problem is that the Yankees conquered the land, and the Mexicans are no longer able to make themselves at home in the land that was originally their own. Ramona merges her Mexican and Indian heritage into harmony when she adapts the Indian name majel, meaning wood dove, and adds the Spanish feminine ending: Majella. The relationship between natives and Mexicans was in reality far from idyllic, and Paredes calls the characters created by Helen Hunt Jackson “not swarthy, treacherous greasers, but charming–if artificial–creatures.”(Paredes 1982: 51) Dottie Webb in her on-line notes on Jackson quotes Wyck Van Brooks who says that Jackson intended “to write the romance that paralleled Uncle Tom’s Cabin, the book that roused the popular mind to the sorry state of the [enslaved] conquered race and led to a change of policy in dealing with it.” (Webb on the Internet) Gloria Anzaldúa (b. 1942), the popular Chicana poetess of the 1980s and 1990s also writes about injustice suffered by her people from the Anglos, thus calling public attention to Mexican Americans. Her “We Call Them Greasers” is a fine example of what Raymund Paredes (1982: 47) describes as “Nothing exercised the poets [...] like the subject of Anglo prejudice.” In this poem Anzaldúa provides a bitterly ironic collection of all the negative clichés and stereotypes the “gringos” have about the Chicanos in a dark and depressing poem, at the end of which the brutal rape and murder of a Mexican woman and the lynching of a Mexican man follows. Although the woman is raped, it is not done for sexual pleasure, but in order to humiliate her and her man before they die. It is made clear by showing that the woman is not the enchanting beauty of romantic stereotypes. She is not attractive enough to raise the desire of her rapers: she is but a dull and ugly peasant woman: in that instant I felt such contempt for her round face and beady black eyes like an Indian's (Anzaldúa on the Internet)
Anzaldúa turns the Anglos’ negative stereotypes against them. The woman, the victim of the rape, is not a romanticized beauty. A beautiful woman would make the crime of rape, if not more pardonable, but at least more understandable–a pretty and sensuous woman arouses men’s sexual desire. This is, however, not the case here. The woman does not attract the attention of any man, and the reason for her rape is sheer hatred and a desire to humiliate her and her husband. It makes the whole crime even more abominable and despicable. One of the first classic novels of Chicano literature is Bless Me, Última by Rudolfo Anaya. The novel is summed up briefly by Shirley and Shirley (1988: 105) in the following way: ”[it] is concerned with the maturation of a young boy [...] and his relationship with his spiritual guide, the Última of the title. She is a curandera, a wise woman, a dispenser of curing herbs and potions who also heals with spiritual advice and some “'magic.’” The world of Última is the closed, a relatively well-protected world of the family, where people know their place and the community takes care of them. Nobody is left alone when too old or ill to take care of himself or herself: “’Gabriel, we cannot let her live her last days in loneliness…’” “‘No,’” my father agreed. ‘It is not the way of our people.’” (Anaya 1994: 3) The mother, whose ages-old task is keeping up the family and preserving its integrity at all times, initiates steps to receive somebody in need, and the father agrees. After all, that is “the way of our people.” The importance of family ties as a central point in the value system of the Chicanos is made clear in the very first pages of the book. It is in this environment that young Antonio grows up. In addition to family bonds, religion is also a central part in the life of the community. Antonio even finds it difficult to accept Christian faith and Última’s 114
alleged powers as a witch at the same time. Finally he finds satisfaction in believing that both religion and Última’s witchcraft serve good purposes. The outside world is a distant place, the characters of the novel are rarely exposed to it. Such an occasion is when the boys go to school. They expect a lot from it, but when they realize that not much attention is paid to the specific needs of Chicanos, and therefore education was not the same thing to them as to Anglos, they are no longer really interested. The circumstance that Antonio was not very deeply integrated in the school life of the Anglos–in fact, he was ejected by the system–made it easier for him to grow up to be a man within his own original world, in the traditions of his people. As he grows older, he shoulders more and more responsibility, and he is accepted as a grown-up man, a reliable and respected man of his community. Anaya's novel was published in 1972 to become one of the most widely known and best-selling Chicano literary works. Another novel that rapidly received great acclaim is Always Running–La Vida Loca: Gang Days in Los Angeles by Luis Rodriguez. His work was published two decades after Anaya's work. This is also the story of a young boy's way to maturity, but the differences between the two novels are as great as the similarities. Rodriguez's novel is based upon his own life, and he received prizes for non-fiction. In his novel there is no wise magician to assist the hero on his way–he has to run his own race, and there are in fact very few who help him. There are many more of those who work against him directly or indirectly. One of the characters who always support young Luis without reservations is his mother. The mother in Rodriguez's novel matches the traditional Chicana mother who, against all difficulties, financial and other, keeps the family together. She is, however, not the romantic beauty with the ravenblack hair, often found in stereotypical images of Mexican women: Mama always seemed to be sick. [...] she was overweight and suffered from [...] diabetes. She had thyroid problems, bad nerves and high blood pressure. She was still young then [...] in her thirties, but she had all the ailments. She didn't even have teeth; [...] Despite this she worked all the time, [...] and held up the family when almost everything else came apart. (Rodriguez 1993: 23)
The last sentence is particularly important, as Mama, with her ability to keep the family together, will be one of the cyclically returning images throughout the whole novel, until Rodriguez will at the end be able to offer his own positive experience to his son. Women described in novels and short stories often suffer under a double burden: one is the generally underprivileged situation of the Chicanos, and the other is the lack of a man–a husband, a father of their children, a permanent partner, a wage earner–in the family. In this situation the mother becomes what Charles Ramirez Berg (1992: 38) describes as follows: The naive, good-natured, long-suffering mother, [...] is the norm [...] and the typical way ethnic mothers are portrayed in Hollywood movies in general. In the assimilation narrative the mother figure serves as the font of genuine ethnic values and the protagonist’s (and the narrative’s) cultural conscience. When the hero listens to ‘his people’ he is listening to his mother.
Berg is discussing traditional Mexican family values in connection with movies, but his observations are applicable to literature as well. These values are described by Harry H. L. Kitano (1991: 139) as follows: The women are expected to cook, raise the children, and serve the needs of the men. Male and female roles tend to be clearly proscribed; masculinity (machismo) is of great importance, even outside marriage. The family remains the most important unit; close relationships outside the family are mostly with age peers.
The barrio was a place that distorted many of the basic values of the Chicanos. Such was máchismo. Originally, máchismo used to mean that men were allowed to have relationship with other women outside marriage, it was in fact a sign of their masculinity, but most of them did not desert their families, they supported and provided for wife and children. In the barrio, masculine pride for grownup men often meant that they had many children from many different women, but they did not care much about the children or the women. But when the father is present, he has not deserted the family, the mother is usually described in the same way. Somehow, the role of the father is different, and from the aspect of the daily life and work of the family, the problems of the children, the father is an unimportant character, hovering somewhere in the background, on the peripheries of the sto ry. 115
For a young man, identification with a gang began to replace identification with a family. A barrio is not rural or small-town America, where the betrayal of the family was the gravest crime, the punishment for which was contempt or even death. Here one could easily desert his family, and survive. For young people the lack of any sexual education meant that introduction into sexual life was often a painful and frustrating experience. The naturalistic description of such scenes in the book indicate that this experience was very often not very romantic, what is more, often disappointing for many young people–both girls and boys–who were frequently barely older than a young child. The barrio, while distorts traditional values, also acts like a trap–several times, whenever somebody appears to have a chance of breaking out, the barrio with is misery, deprivation, prejudice and petty crime prevents him or her from succeeding. But the first thing–and one of the most important–that we learn about the barrio is that it is not exclusively a Spanish-speaking community. There are other nationalities there as well, because poverty is just as important a fact in bringing people to the barrio as nationality: “large numbers of Asians from Japan, Korea and Taiwan also moved into the area. Sections of Monterey Park and even San Gabriel became known as Little Japans or Chinatowns. [...] The barrios which were not incorporated [...] became self-contained and forbidden, incubators of rebellion.” (Rodriguez 1993: 40-41) “Incorporated” means that a town has its own public services and utilities and normal housing conditions–middle-class, as opposed to the slums of the immigrants. The third recurrent image–or rather event–is the drop-out of school. The drop-out is usually the end of a hopeless, or sometimes not completely hopeless, effort to catch up with the mainstream society. The drop-out of school has more tragic consequences for Luis than it was for Antonio in Anaya’s novel. The barrio Luis lives in is deeply embedded in a big city, and any chance of finding a decent job and earning a middle-class salary is good education. Luis is not growing up in his own community, relatively isolated from an unfriendly and not receptive but remote mainstream America. A similarly hindering factor is police harassment–Chicanos are often subject to arbitrary and excessively rude police action. Police action is, however, a highly controversial issue in the novel. Young Luis's life is spent in a way a natural part of which is petty crime–burglary, mugging, theft and street fighting. Still, police action is not regarded by the pachucos as an act of law enforcement and a retaliation for something that is not right–it always remains harassment, the sole reason for which is racial. This is the case on page 95, when they mug a group of youngsters, and the police appears on the scene: They started to run, but we surrounded them and forced them to fork over some bills. As they ran off, Lencho kicked one of them in the ass. [...] We turned and walked down Hellman Avenue. Suddenly a Monterey Park police car drove by and stopped. Two uniformed officers rushed out. 'Hold it right there,' one of them ordered. This became routine with us. Whenever the people from the Hill made it down to Monterey [...], the police departments [...] made a habit to roust us out. (Rodriguez 1993: 95)
Rodriguez does not explain what he thinks about interrelation between poverty and petty crime, but he described the risks of this way of life, as he tells several stories when, as a child, he was very close to committing a murder, thus becoming a serious offender. Explanation comes later in the novel: 'You stole from me. You have to pay for it.' 'I don't mind that. The problem is we end up paying more for the same thing than other people do. On this side of town, the cops don't beat up people. On this side of town, the cops don't stop you for no reason. They don't be hitting you in the head, trying to make you mad so you do something you regret later. (Rodriguez 1993: 144)
At school most Chicano boys and girls do not have an adequate preliminary education, they very often struggle with the language, and even when they are juvenile criminals, they are offended that they are treated as juvenile criminals. At these passages Rodriguez does not make any comments and does not suggest any solution, apart from the fully justified complaint that the educational authorities did not provide for proper Spanish-language education. The fact that for decades nothing really happened in recognition of the educational needs of one of the largest ethnic groups in America, affords a rather sad image of the woeful shortcomings of the American educational system. In fact, providing for adequate Spanish education would have been just one possible solution. Paying more attention to teaching English with special and effective methodology to those whose mother tongue was different, could have been another way of addressing the problem, but this apparently did not happen either. It seems that for decades (Anglo-)American school boards and police departments behaved as if they had 116
believed that the presence of “foreigners” in their country was a transitory phenomenon. They believed that all they had to do was wait, and these people would disappear, and all the social, educational and other problems with them, relieving the majority society of all obligation to do something for them. On top of page 120 of the novel Luis is glad that he is fired from school–at the bottom of the page he regrets that he has to do a dirty and humiliating job. Those of us still in school were expelled. This was fine with me. I hated school. And I loved fighting. I worked as a bus boy in a Mexican restaurant in San Gabriel when I was 15 years old. [...] It was kicking, hard work. [...] We carried thick plastic trays heaped with dirty dishes, cleaned up tables, poured water into glasses, provided extra coffee–and took abuse from the well-to-do people who came there. 'Hey boy, clean up this mess.' 'Hey boy, how about some more water.' Hey Boy became my new name. (Rodriguez 1993: 120)
At similar scenes Rodriguez does not provide his own comments or explanations– when he was 15, it was “fine with him” to be expelled from school, and did not understand that lack of education was equal to getting nothing but dirty jobs. What made it especially difficult for him to understand this was the generally hostile atmosphere, the prejudice that deprived them of equal opportunities at schools. There are two factors in the novel that finally pushed Rodriguez towards the first efforts at finding some sort of a solution to his apparently hopeless life. One is the absolutely senseless violence of the gang warfare. We find abundant descriptions of violence and destruction in the novel: “Things soon exploded. More cops came but they too were pelted. A major confrontation erupted [...]. Soon the police pulled out. The ambulance took Carlitos and sped off, but not before receiving a barrage of rocks, bottles and debris. We assumed that more police and firepower were coming.” (Rodriguez 1993: 96) In order to become a member of a gang, one has to undergo a similarly cruel “inauguration” ritual. The ritual has its own choreography, the players know their parts, and the preparations have, in their own grotesque and bizarre way, some dignity. But the reader will soon forget that, when reads lines like these: Topo swung a calloused fist at my face. I went down fast. Then an onslaught of steel-tipped shoes and heels rained on my body. I thought I would be able to swing and at least hit one or two–but no way! Then I [...] pulled my arms over my head, covered it the best I could while the kicks seemed to stuff me beneath a parked car. Finally the barrage stopped. [...] Hands came at me to congratulate. There were pats on the back. (Rodriguez 1993: 110)
Violence, which occurred in the form of rare and tragic events in Anaya’s novel, is close to becoming a way of life in Rodriguez’s barrio. In addition to being increasingly nauseated by the violence and destruction, Luis received another impetus that helped him continue his own personal Bildungsroman. As a result of the gang wars and the increasing crime rate, the authorities finally realized that there was something wrong, and paid more attention to the problems of the Chicanos. The process was hampered by several setbacks, but community and educational programmes were launched and those who were ready and willing to accept it, help was offered. It happened at the time when the Chicano Movement first appeared. America began to learn new abbreviations: UMAS for United Mexican American Students, MEChA for Movimiento Estudiantil Chicano de Aztlán and many more. Several of these organizations exist today. Luis discovers for himself that art and literature may be a point of breakout of his miserable situation. First he paints murals, a common activity among barrio boys. It was recognized by social organizations, and they soon made efforts to organize the painters by selecting walls, agreeing with the owners of the property, and providing paint and brushes to the participants in the programme. A real revelation for Luis was literature. He went to the library, and under the suspicious and contemptuous eyes of the librarian he selected books for himself: And then there was Piri Thomas, a Puerto Rican brother, un camarada de aquellas: His book Down These Mean Streets became a living Bible for me. I dog-eared it, wrote in it, copied whole passages so I wouldn't forget their texture, the passion, this searing work of a
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street dude and hype in Spanish Harlem–a barrio boy like me, on the other side of America. (Rodriguez 1993: 138)
Here, and at other parts of the novel, we also find code-switching that is used here to create an atmosphere. At the end of the book the Spanish terms are explained in alphabetical order. Codeswitching is also characteristic in Anaya’s novel. Luis Rodriguez was lucky as he came of age together, in fact hand in hand with the Chicano Movement. Still, the Movement in itself was not sufficient. He needed his own will, his own determination to change things for the better. This is what makes Luis’s story a real Bildungsroman. His efforts to catch up with the mainstream of American society seem to refute what Nobel Prizewinning Mexican author Octavio Paz says about the pachuco not wanting to become a part of American life. Rodriguez makes it clear when he says, “It's about time we become part of America.” (Rodriguez 1993: 212) Integration does not necessarily mean assimilation. The Chicanos do long for America and all the positive things American way of life has to offer and it does not mean that they want to give up their identity. On the contrary–finding their own identity, creating literature and arts based on their own traditions help them in fighting for their rights and due place in American society more effectively. Chicano poetry, Campesino Theatre and Chicano prose all call for action–and as Leal and Barrón (1983: 13) put it, “Action is much more effective, when backed by knowledge of one's roots.” Sandra Cisneros’s The House on Mango Street aims at less than Rodriguez’s novel. Cisneros’ ambitions are primarily personal–she longs for a personal American dream: a decent middle-class lifestyle. The story, similarly to Rodriguez’s work, is highly autobiographical. Esperanza has positive memories of her mother only. Her memories about her father are either neutral–he used to shave in front of the mirror while listening to music–or explicitly negative, when his snoring at night disturbed the others. The reason why fathers are relatively unimportant characters in both Rodriguez’ and Cisneros’ works is perhaps that they fail as providers. They are supposed to provide their families with American living standards, financial stability, good education for the children, but in the barrio they are unable to do so. Many Mexican-American families live in the barrio, that is, the district populated primarily by Hispanic people, but we learn from Rodriguez that many other nationalities living in poverty and deprivation share the barrio with Hispanics. Rodriguez often refers to the place they used live in as barrio, whereas Cisneros does not. In her novel not even the word barrio is used, perhaps because Cisneros is, typically, more interested in detailing the dynamics of her own community rather than representing conflicts between Anglo-Americans and Mexican-Americans. Conflicts between Anglo and Latino cultures are, of course, present in Cisneros's writing, but they often take the form of encounters between relatively assimilated Latinos and relatively unassimilated ones. (Romero on the Internet)
The avoidance of the word barrio may come from the fact that Cisneros grew up in Chicago, a northern city, where the Hispanic community was smaller than in the cities of the Southwest. What we find in the novel is however, not any different from any barrio: a rundown neighbourhood with small and crowded houses with many people with Hispanic names in it. What Romero claims about the description of the conflicts between Anglo and Latino cultures is clear in ”Never Marry a Mexican,” the heroine of which, Clemencia leaves their middle-class home to go to the barrio when her mother marries a ”white” man, that is, a non-Mexican person. ”Never Marry a Mexican” for Cisneros is perhaps never marry at all–she is single, does not have a husband and children–”nobody’s mother and nobody’s wife,” as described in the ”Notes about the author” at the end of the novel. As Romero points out, when discussing her experience about teaching Cisneros to international students is that ”One potential source of discomfort for students is Cisneros's manifestly feminist sensibility. Some students may accuse her (as they would accuse virtually any other feminist writer) of ’man-bashing.’” (Romero on the Internet) It is difficult to escape that conclusion when we read descriptions which suggest that men are the reason for somebody’s being bad and miserable: ”They are bad those Vargases, and how can they help it with only one mother who is tired all the time from buttoning and bottling and babying, and who cries every day for the man who left without even leaving a dollar for bologna or a note explaining how come.” (Cisneros 1991: 29) The suffering mother appears together with the image of the man who fails as a provider for the family. Where there is no reason for blaming a man for ignoring his family, the man is simply ugly and repulsive, whereas the woman is kind and attractive:
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The grandpa slept on the living room couch and snored through his teeth. His feet fat and doughy like tamales, and he powdered and stuffed into white socks and brown leather shoes.
The grandma’s feet were lovely as pink pearls and dressed in velvety high heels that made her walk with a wobble, but she wore them anyway because they were pretty. (Cisneros 1991: 39) It does not occur to the author that a man may also suffer, if from nothing else, then from some disease. Cisneros, unlike Anzaldúa, has not become lesbian, but her rejection of the male sex makes her live alone. At the end of the novel Cisneros longs for a house of her own, and makes it clear what kind of a house it is going to be: ”Not a man’s house. Not a daddy’s. A house all my own. With a porch and my pillow, my pretty purple petunias. My books and my stories. My two shoes waiting beside the bed. (…) Nobody’s garbage to pick up after.” (Cisneros 1991: 108) In the case of Cisneros, the melting pot does not fail to melt; it functions well. Her desires are strictly personal, she does not mind melting up in American society, leaving behind her cultural and ethnic heritage. This is pure assimilation: personal goals, personal desires to be satisfied. Luis wanted to leave poverty and deprivation, Esperanza wanted to leave behind her entire former life, including her heritage, with all the negative and positive features and examples including. It is likely that we find fewer and fewer mothers suffering and serving the way described by Berg and Kitano. As an increasing number of Chicanos elevate themselves to middle class status, and more and more of them adopt values of the Anglo middle class, Chicanas become more ”emancipated” as it is regarded by the mainstream society. During the demonstrations against the new immigration laws in the streets of the cities of California a few years ago, many women wearing the T-shirts of the Latinos Unidos fought for their rights side by side with men. But these were ethnic-conscious demonstrations– as turning away from old family values, and entirely giving up the role of the mother as the person keeping the family together would probably be the same as giving up one of the most important core elements of Hispanic cultural heritage. -.It is possible to sum up the similarities and difference between the three novels in the form of a chart: Novel Bless me, Última! Always Running House on Mango Street Feature Mother as central figure ****** ****** ** Code switching ****** ****** * Violence ** ****** * Rude language * **** Dreams ****** ****** Religion ****** -
References Anaya, Rudalfo. 1994. Bless Me, Última. New York: Warner Books. Anzaldúa, Gloria. “We Call Them Greasers.” Internet: www.uwm.edu”/gjay/Multicult/anzaldua.htm Accessed: January 9, 2003. Berg, Charles Ramirez. 1992. “Bordertown, the Assimilation Narrative, and the Chicano Problem Film.” Chicanos and Film: Representation and Resistance. Chon Noriega (ed.). Minneapolis. University of Minnesota Press. Cisneros, Sandra. 1991. "Never Marry A Mexican." Woman Hollering Creek and Other Stories . New York: Random House, 68-83. Cisneros, Sandra. 1991. The House on Mango Street. New York: Vintage Books, Inc. Crane, Stephen. 1979. ”The Bride Comes to Yellow Sky .” In The Norton Anthology of American Literature. 3 vols. Edited by Nina Baym, et al. New York: W.W. Norton, Vol. 2, 741-50. Horsman, Reginald. 1981. Race and Manifest Destiny. The Origins of American Racial AngloSaxonism. Cambridge: Harvard University Press.
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Leal, Luis and Pepe Barrón. 1983. “Chicano Literature: an Overview.” In Three American Literatures. Edited by Houston Baker. jr. New York: MLA, 9-32. Paredes, Raymund A. 1982. “The Evolution of Chicano Literature.” In Three American Literatures. Edited by Houston A. Baker jr. New York: MLA, 33-80. Rocard, Marcienne. 1993. The Children of the Sun: Mexican Americans in the Literature of the United States. Translated from French by Edward G. Brown, Jr. Tucson: University of Arizona Press. Rodriguez, Luis. 1993. A lways Running. La Vida Loca. Gang Days in L. A. New York: Touchstone. Romero, Lora. http://college.hmco.com/english/heath/syllabuild/iguide/cisnero.html Accessed: April 24, 2003. Shirley, Carl R. and Paula W. Shirley. 1988. Understanding Chicano Literature . University of South Columbia: Carolina Press. Takaki, Ronald. 1993. A Different Mirror. A History of Multic ultural America. Boston: Little. Virágos, Zsolt K. 1999. “From Melting Pot to Boiling Pot: Observations on the American Multicultural Scene.” In Multicultural Challenge in American Culture–Hemingway Centennial. Edited by Lehel Vadon. Eger: Károly Eszterházy College of Higher Education, 5-20. Webb. Helen Hunt Jackson on the Web. Internet: http://www.traverse.com/people/dot/jackson.html48 - p. 1 - the material about H. H. Jackson is now hosted on the website of Traverse City, Michigan. Accessed: April 24, 2003.
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Resisting the Blimps: Ambiguity, Memory and Heritage in Three Films by Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger Zsolt Győri A love of tradition has never weakened a nation, indeed it has strengthened nations in their hour of peril; but the new view must come, the world must roll forward. (Winston S. Churchill)1
I. “Hours of peril” – caused by wars and the accompanying economic, social and political crises – bring about ambiguity and disorientation. None should know this better than Winston S. Churchill who during the Second World War (and especially in 1940) delivered numerous speeches hoping to make it unmistakably clear for every single person in the country what principles and values Britain could rely on, which traditions should assist the British Empire in its persistence to endure the Nazi threat and how a time of prosperity would follow the victory of the Allied forces. Why did Churchill spend so much of his valuable time encouraging the nation, the people? Having a instinctual talent in psychology (as most outstanding statesmen do) he understood that at a time of war the loss of human lives and material wealth brings confusion as people have to find ways to cope while their lives are turned upside down, the values cherished become meaningless and basic existential needs remain unmet. This is one key psychological phenomenon R.D. Laing discusses in his book entitled The Divided Self . He convincingly argues that in an accustomed and unambiguous environment “a person will encounter all the hazards of life, social, ethical, biological, from a centrally firm sense of his own and other people’s reality and identity.”(Laing 1990, 39) Amongst others three things characterise such a person. These are: integral selfhood or personal identity; “the permanency of things”; and “the reliability of natural processes” (ibid.). The loss of the accustomed coordinates of finding one’s way around the world results in a situation Laing identifies as “ontological insecurity”. It is easy to imagine how the incalculable and hostile war conditions make this “centrally firm sense” of one’s own disintegrate, giving way to ambiguity and anxiety. Ontological insecurity is compared to the experience of utter emptiness which the individual is often incapable of filling. Unless external assistance is offered in the regaining of selfhood and identity the personality is likely to disintegrate. I believe that the psychology of social alienation may unveil one of the most important aspects why communal means of assurance is a priority, especially in “hours of peril”. But not only is it important to address the condition of ontological insecurity on the level of the group, it is likewise important to achieve this in an effective way. One particular use of propaganda is to communicate a positive selfimage both of the individual and the group. To fight confusion, ambiguity and widespread disorientation the government or state authorities – who are supposedly aware of the degree and complexity of public morale – bring into motion the propaganda machinery, the responsibility of which is to re-establish self-confidence and validate one’s position in relation to the world and oneself. This may be just one amongst the many objectives of mass propaganda but it is of essential importance, yet one which strongly depends on the social structure, the cultural climate and ideological underpinnings of the institutional body (that issues it) and the general public (which receives it). There may be significant differences in the nature of propaganda practices depending on whether it wants to reassure the people (like in so called democratic societies) or re-educate them (as seen in totalitarian ones). On the one hand we have political art while on the other hand there is what German-born philosopher Hannah Arendt calls ideological indoctrination. The aim of the latter is not to work towards a consensual reality through negotiation but through the assimilation of masses into the world of ideologically formed fictions where they feel secure only as long as these fictions are maintained. 2 Depending on the degree or shall we say depth of re-education totalitarian states, according to Arendt, 1
Speech given in the House of Commons (November 29, 1944). James, Robert Rhodes, ed.. Winston S. Churchill: His Complete Speeches (New York: Chelsea House, 1974), 7040. 2 The different mode of address in regard to propaganda is evident in regard to public speeches, festivals, celebrations and commemorations, which served the primary location of eradicating ambiguity, difference and individuality in Nazi Germany and Soviet Russia. Taking the geography of everyday existence into account, the most widespread medium of propaganda during WWII were posters: dogmatically disciplinarian in totalitarian states, while emphatic-informative in so called democratic countries. 121
set out to destroy the sphere of politics 3. They partly do this – I may add – by superimposing an almost religious transcendence over the group which does not represent but rules over it like a superego, or represents only their absolute incapability to create a “centrally firm sense” of their own. And still what people in totalitarian regimes experience is never the feeling of being ruled but just the opposite, the feeling of being saved, recovered from utter ontological insecurity. After this short introduction, let me turn to more specific issues. This essay sets out to analyse how three films of Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger – The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp (1943), A Canterbury Tale (1944) and I Know Where I am Going (1945) – comprehend the role of cinema to fight ontological insecurity and underlying ambiguity and confusion. The filmmakers whose lifelong collaboration produced some truly British masterpieces and numerous influential films during and after the war participated actively (although confined to the field of cinema) in the reassurance of consensual values, cultural identities and the renewed framework of national self-image. And yet we cannot say that they fall within the mainstream of wartime cinema, in fact, my paper concentrates on the ways they deviated from official guidelines of political propaganda. I will further argue that their masterpiece by the title Colonel Blimp very consciously reflects upon the general mode of propagandistic address and reveals how cinema in the early forties created a critical distance from specific trends of thirties cinema.
II. As far as the motion picture is concerned, the decade before the war saw the rise of patriotic, yet often pacifist historical narratives which frequently moulded the generic form of historical/period films and costume melodramas. Looking upon the achievement of Hollywood cinema and its effectiveness to construct a consensual national past, directors (most notably Hungarian émigré Alexander Korda) took up a very ambitious program of producing and often directing films that guide the spectators into the past, to the almost mythical roots and decisive events of British history but more importantly, to the foundations of national unity. The past was excavated to inform and bring legitimacy to the present, even to ease the feeling of alienation and ontological insecurity. Films were able to achieve this by defining in rather straightforward terms the basic system of values, rules of conduct and behavioural patterns to follow, in short those beliefs which strengthen group binding. This was the period when cinema explored the normative social field, the symbolic sphere of obligations that every member of the given group must share if s/he wants to become an equal member of that group, or shall we say, to enjoy the protective shield and stimulating environment communion offers. The guidelines underlying group integration had to be unambiguous and unchallenging. Well, what can be presented as more unambiguous than the past no one can claim to know precisely, yet everyone shares? At this point I have to relate to the argumentation of Nóra Séllei, who in her essay published in the present volume gives a very concise summary of Jan Assmann’s concept of cultural memory. The only addition I would make to her conclusive remarks is that cultural memory – as described by the German Egyptologist and cultural historian – is a vehicle of remembering by which a community establishes the legitimacy of its present existence through a processes of selecting, interpreting and conserving its past and consequently determining what to remember as heritage and what to omit and forget. Without such affirmative reading of tradition the question of “who we are” could only be answered in ambiguous terms and could not propagate collective means of identification. Although cultural memory conserves, it is not necessarily reactionary; it possesses strong progressive elements as it links not only the past to the present but the past and the future. Cinema is an ideal medium not only for preserving (documenting) the past but for constructing an image of the past. The more it does the latter the more irresistible and worthy medium of cultural memory it becomes. The constructive aspect of cultural memory brings about both its reactionary and progressive applications. It would be a false assumption to regard the producer and/or director as the sole originator of such an image and application. Especially in the case of genre films where the makers themselves are mediums of the public in that they have to be absolutely aware of the audience’s general mood, and the given socio-psychological climate. As the supplementary study of Kracauer’s already mentioned book convincingly argues, genuine social forces cannot be excluded from the screen. Films 3
Siegfried Krakauer in his analysis of Nazi propaganda argues that documentaries portraying military action and celebrating the irresistible power of the Wehrmacht in fact launch an offensive on spectators, bombarding them with series of short shots which calls forth intense, yet easily manipulated meanings. They furthermore carry little information or form a desire to be ‘read’ by the heart rather than the mind. For further details on war documentaries see Kracauer, Siegfried, From Caligari to Hitler: The Psychological History of the German Film (Princeton University Press, 1974), 275-331. 122
for Kracauer reflect the most immediate social reality, yet it is just as valid to suggest that cinema itself is a reflection of society: the perceptions, concerns and wishes of a specific group. This is surely a legitimate claim in the case of generic cycles, exemplified by the classical Hollywood western genre which reflects the longing of early 20 th century urbanised man (and the surrounding hierarchal society) for the frontier experience and the less stratified rural life of the previous centuries. Both a nostalgic evocation of the past and an attempt to create the historical foundation for all people American 4, the western cycles were highly demanded commodities of cultural memory during the Depression Era and at times of war: periods of great ontological insecurity. In my understanding the work of Alexander Korda – similar to the western genre – undertakes an affirmative but not a progressive reading of tradition. 5 This is true to both cycles Korda’s studio 6 and crew can be associated with. The private life cycle including The Private Life of Henry VIII (1933), The Private Life of Catherine the Great (1934), That Hamilton Woman (1941) portray history in narratives which thematise the connection between private and public spheres linked together by a strong sense of service. The private individual in these films is bestowed with a responsibility which can only be addressed by being transformed into a public servant. Patriotism, dignity, self-constraint and strong moral sense – as the spirit of Victorian Britain – prevails in these heroic characters. Service becomes an even more dominant motif in the so called empire-cycle [including Sanders of the River (1935), Elephant Boy (1937), The Drum (1938) and Four Feathers (1939)], which celebrate the glorious decades of the Empire during the reign of Queen Victoria, at a time when Britain had such an irresistible military force, to be an active member of which must have undoubtedly been an honour. And it was honourable, highly respected profession too, making its impact on British culture and also British cultural memory. So it was all the more plausible for Korda – a devout supporter of the empire who even had Churchill write screenplays for him during the thirties – to make monumental cinematic memories to the unequalled courage, bravery and heroism of the British, a race depicted in these narratives as superior not only to the colonised natives but to other European nations as well. While the expanding Third Reich cast its shadow over Europe, these films plunged into the heroic and glorious representations of the past, testifying to the blindness of many Brits (including premier Neville Chamberlain) towards the alerting situation taking shape around them. Without their blindness to the evolving threat, the monumental representation of the national past as a reactionary-nostalgic use of cultural memory could not have become so influential, lasting and ambiguous. Traumatic memories of the Great War left many in Britain psychologically fragile and inert towards new threats. The Empirecycle ambiguously stood as a kind of “rotten-sanctuary” to people who were destined to remember, although would rather forget: the films in focus did not offer relief by transferring individual memory to collective/cultural memory but by celebrating the long gone capacity of the Empire to look after the well-being of all its subject. Instead of handling personal traumas as shared burden (like most wartime films would do), they create a false sense of security in the audience and extinguish their inner sense of alertness. In sum, ontological insecurity may be addressed by cinematic cultural memory either by affirming monumentality and adopting a backward-looking mentality or by affirming re-evaluation and tradition as something forward moving. The former represses, the latter – as my exemplary readings will reveal – explores and resolves ontological insecurity.
III. Powell and Pressburger started their carrier at London Films, and it was likewise Korda who introduced the two young men to one other and later helped start up their own film production company called The Archers. Despite the excellent working relationship with Korda their understanding of British heritage and perception of the Empire are as different as chalk to cheese. In fact I am convinced that Powell and Pressburger made films that reveal and resist the populist and 4
Since most immigrants (a considerable fraction of the American population) did not have any personal/family memories of the conquest of the West, it was cinema, a medium of cultural memory which allowed for the individualization of personally never lived experiences. This claim strongly relies on the observation of Pierre Nora who suggests that in case memory is lacking internal experience, it will take shape in external forms and signifiers. Nora, Pierre, “Between Memory and History: Les Lieux de Mémoire,” Representations 26 (1989): 13. 5 I believe this claim is valid even though there are exceptions. William Cameron Menzies’ Things to Come (1936) – also produced by London Films – looks into the immediate future, predicts a major international conflict and urges a social transformation involving the containment of nationalism and the propagation of collectivism. 6 London Films Ltd. was set up be Korda in 1932 and based in Denham, which ran Alexander Korda Films Inc. as its subsection with a profile of producing films primarily for the American market. 123
nostalgic tone of the empire cycle. To determine the critical distance between these two paradigms of remembering I would like to turn to the work of James E. Young, whose concept of counter-memory offers a fresh alternative to populist memory-traditions. Originally a researcher of Holocaustmonuments and memorials, Young describes how memorial processes have changed, tracing the metamorphosis of the monument from the heroic, self-aggrandizing figurative icons of the late 19th century, which celebrated national ideals and triumphs, to the antiheroic, often ironic and self-effacing conceptual installations that mark the national ambivalence and uncertainty of late 20th-century postmodernism. (Young 1999, 2) According to the author a whole new generation of memory-artists have emerged all over the world who, in order to undertake the task of remembering, have to first resist and overcome monumental forms of memory. Traditional memorials emphasize permanence, they proudly propagate (through physical location and materials used) the will “to stop time, to block the work of forgetting” (Nora 1989, 19), to mummify past ideals and idols 7. It is only through the adoption of a more progressive and less formulaic memory-work can the community enrich itself and renew its inner responsibility to remembering. The counter-monument 8 – a form of memory against itself, as Young calls it – never satisfies an audience aspiring to remember in ceremonial terms. Modes of addresses with a preference for interactive and transitory artistic practices such as performances, installations and assemblages are best utilized to excavate the ordinary, everyday practice of memory. The artist of memory does not look for legitimacy in official taste; his/her aim is to provoke public reaction outside the sphere of popular ceremonialism, of obedient yet empty commemoration. It is all the more crucial that Young discusses socially purposive aesthetic innovations in the field of public art. This critical, even deconstructive turn in relation to memory traditions is the feature that may illuminate both Nóra Séllei’s arguments regarding Virginia Woolf’s texts as disobedient narratives and my attempt to explore the resistance exercised by The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp . Woolf and Powell are usually praised for their narrative and stylistic innovations, yet their art can be fully enjoyed if we realize that the aesthetic layer is supplemented by a social strategy of provoking awareness towards the necessity to overcome disenchanting national myths and fictions. In the case of both disobedience and resistance we have the memory and legacy of the Empire being questioned, made ambiguous and turned against itself. In fact, I believe that Colonel Blimp can be regarded as a cinematic example of the disobedient narrative, a text which while remembering the past deconstructs or rather debunkers its monumentalism. It resists the ceremonious mode of address characterising generic formulas: it is neither war film, nor romance but satire. The film portrays a Blimp-like figure (here called Clive Candy) as the iconic character of monumental memory, the pompous, flag-waving and quick-tempered stereotypical colonel who embodies the values, ethics and spirit of the Empire, and yet is unable to answer the challenges of modern warfare thus becoming more of a threat than an asset to the security of the nation. Powell and Pressburger depict the power of the Blimp figure to be a myth and furthermore suggest that as long as colonels like Clive Candy lead military efforts, Britain has little chance of escaping total defeat. As a kind of warning against populist cultural memory, the film urges viewers to break with the idealistic and short-sighted perception of the Empire as an assurance to the survival of the nation and suggests that the Blimp figure (as a central trope of group cohesion) only cherishes false pretensions. Still, Colonel Blimp cannot be regarded as a full-fledged satire. It questions a specific memory tradition without declining the responsibility to address the question of national identity and ontological insecurity. As A. L. Kennedy writes: “[it] is a film about home and the meaning of home, the meaning of self.” (Kennedy 1997, 17) It is in this search for the new meaning of home and source of group cohesion that the idolization of the Empire comes under attack and the character of Spud Wilson comes into focus. Instead of metaphorically stopping time Spud literary speeds it up to give a lesson in modern warfare to the imperial – that is self-centred and arrogant – military elite. Beside the character of the young sergeant, the figure of Theo Kretschmar-Schuldorff demonstrates in a rather complex yet powerful manner the dangers of being lost in the past and blind to the present. In fact the narrative depicts the flaws of the Blimp-character through the relationship of Clive Candy and Theo, the German officer who shifts from enemy to rival and later to friend. It is their warm-hearted friendship and the portrayal of the aging Theo finding refuge in Britain (in the Clive 7
These features not only make visible the close correlation between monumentalism and memory but – as both Nora and Young underlines – remove the responsibility of remembering from humans and transfer it on inanimate monuments. 8 This term was used first by artists Jochen Gerz and Esther Shalev-Gerz who referred to their Monument against fascism in Harburg (1986-1993) as Gegen-Denkmal – Counter-Monument. 124
household) that has above all angered the watchdogs of Churchill who after a pre-release screening started shouting traitors at Powell and Pressburger. Although their attempts to ban the film was not successful, this telltale incident revealed that the “Colonel Blimps” do not simply live in the imagination of the filmmakers but are alive and kicking in influential political and administrative positions The prime minister’s “love of tradition” taking shape in the attempted banning of the film clearly weakened the nation, sending an alarming message to the world. But what made the character of Theo so threatening and unacceptable? The answer is simple: he is portrayed as a German but not a Nazi, in fact he appears in the latter part of the film as a victim of the Third Reich. Actually there is strong correlation established between Theo and Candy not only at the height of their lives but also in their downfall: we see both as weary old man, victims of their own blind idealism. From the contemporary official point of view such comparison is nonsensical, insulting and outrageous, for all the wrong reasons I must add. The filmmakers consciously neglected the principles of wartime propaganda cinema. They refused to follow the unambiguous “we-them” antagonism, a form of oversimplifying populist discourse, which tends to perceive the world in black and white and victimize whole groups based on the actions of their leaders. They furthermore declined the corresponding practice of over-estimating the public and underrating the private spheres. It is in this respect that the development of Candy’s character takes a very different road from the one introduced in the thirties. The generic cycles associated with Korda depict the transformation of the individual into a public figure, while Powell and Pressburger concentrate on the change from public figure into an individual. In other words whereas narratives with considerable propaganda value defined individualism as the willingness to sacrifice one’s beliefs and undertake services for the benefit of the group 9, Colonel Blimp portrays the rise of individuality in the character’s resigning from the sphere of action and active duty. The title of the film literary describes this shift; the death of Colonel Blimp allows Clive Candy to be born. This symbolic rebirth follows from the insight that the value of a community, the strength of national identity is not acquired through the all-pervasive efforts to destroy the enemy. Far from being pacifist or anti-patriotic, this position embraces the idea according to which the reality of war poses many challenges, the greatest of which is not the enemy on the battlefields but the discriminative stereotypes, fictions of indoctrination and artificially promoted antagonisms which dwell in the social unconscious and make wars inevitable. We can say that Powell and Pressburger view the war from a new perspective and frame of mind. Whereas fighting to victory for Churchill was self-fulfilling, an achievement which was meant to restore the “order of the Empire”, for the makers of Colonel Blimp war was but a dividing line in history, the precursor of a new paradigm of sociopolitical reality 10. Colonel Blimp is a disobedient narrative or a text of counter memory. It relies on the insight according to which the progressive aspect of cultural memory will be liberated by seeing beyond the war and revealing the logic that starts wars. Similar to counter monuments which attack neither the past nor memory but a paradigm of commemoration which in its monumentality and ceremonial qualities belongs to the same tradition it disavows, Powell and Pressburger become the enemies of the Empire and the corresponding mind-set which in its “love of tradition” conserves – less the image than the spirit of – Blimpism. The filmmakers very consciously embraced this progressive aspect of remembering and their subsequent films can be thought of kinds of founding narratives for a renewed Britain. It may seem ambiguous why these movies altogether resist the depiction of battles, heroism and sacrifice, why the stories take place in rural Britain, in Canterbury and the surrounding fields in A Canterbury Tale and in the Scottish Inner Hebrides in I Know Where I am Going. Lacking the claustrophobic and psychologising atmosphere of front line dramas or metropolitan stories, these films disclose the beauty and cultural richness of the rural Britain. Besides they also suggest that although Scottish, Welsh, Cornish, English come together to form a monolithic “We” fighting against the Axis powers, the accompanying cultural homogenization and the loss of native folklore, traditions, belief systems and ways of thinking is a threat the people must fight against. Unless this is done, tradition might evolve once again into a myth and the fostering of heritage might become idolization. The films in question clearly prove that Powell and Pressburger are not against the newly established sense of community and the miraculous strengthening of the national identity experienced during the wartime. In fact they 9
This Above All (Anatole Litvak 1942) and The Halfway House (Basil Deadren, 1944) tell the story of how people shocked by the traumas of war and incapable of action come to regain their full and true personalities while joining community efforts. 10 Even A Matter of Life and Death (1946), a film with elements of fantasy and fairy-tale qualities makes a reference to the war as a historical demarcation line which annuls the usefulness of national mythologies in the formation of identity and celebrates the responsible individual.
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map up ways in which community cohesion can be maintained after the fighting ends, when the slogans of propaganda lose their actuality and war culture can no longer serve as a kind of melting pot. The new home of cultural memory they envision is not an assimilative memory but a colourful assembly of various class and ethnic identities, the invaluable richness of the British countryside, its material and immaterial wealth, folkloristic treasures and enchanting festivals. I Know Where I am Going – a film possessing all these elements of heritage – expresses the progressive aspect of cultural memory in a parabolic narrative, where the heroine, Joan Webster despite all her efforts to reach his elderly but wealthy fiancé comes under the spell of Scottish folklore and finally abandons her prospects for a lucrative marriage. Sir Robert Bellinger, a magnate of the industry and a power thirsty, egoistic representative of the old order is never seen in the film, he is hidden by the narrative just like he himself hides from the rest of the world, identifying his aristocratic superiority as a form of alienation. At the same time, Miss Webster’s behaviour acknowledges the view by which any culture can become a melting pot as long as it can validate an understanding without self interest but not without selfreflexivity. This responsibility of memory is already proposed by A Canterbury Tale, by the provocative actions of village magistrate Colpeper who secretly pours glue into the hair of young women making sure they either stay at home after dusk or attend the lectures he holds on local history to the British and American soldiers stationed in town. A radical activist of cultural memory – beautifully captured by the motif of gluing the past to the present – Colepeper follows on the paths laid down by John Grierson. Actually A Canterbury Tale forms close ties with the mature work of Grierson who after re-evaluating his initial position of popularising cinema as a marketing tool of the Empire 11 came to view it as a means of cross-cultural communication, a mirror and a medium of the social realities populating the British Isles.12 The Archers envision a cinema that is national before being propagandistic, one that serves as the very protective arch above identity. If the main hero of A Canterbury Tale is the forerunner of the “heritage industry” than A Canterbury Tale is the first heritage film, possibly one of the very few true heritage films ever made. It places the past and heritage into focus not to satisfy the requirement for a passing nostalgia, a thirst for romanticism and sentimentalism. Unlike the Heritage films of the 1980s it envisions a central role for cinema within the national culture, a place as important in the progressive “love of tradition” as Chaucer’s literary achievement.
References Arendt, Hannah. 1973. The Origins of Totalitarianism . New York: Harvest Books. Assmann, Jan. 1995. “Collective Memory and Cultural Identity.” In New German Critique 65 125-133. James, Robert Rhodes, ed. 1974. Winston S. Churchill: His Complete Speeches Vol. VII: 1943-1949 . New York: Chelsea House. James, Young. E. 1993. The Texture of Memory: Holocaust Memorials and Meanings. New Haven: Yale University Press. James, Young E. 1999. ” Memory and Counter-memory.” Harvard Design Magazine 9.2 1-10. Kennedy, A. L. 1997. The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp . London: British Film Institute. Kracauer, Siegfried. 1974. From Caligari to Hitler: The Psychological History of the German Film. Princeton University Press. Laing, R.D. 1990. The Divided Self. An Existential Study in Sanity and Madness . London: Penguin Books.
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While working for the Empire Marketing Board Grierson produced over hundred films including Song of Ceylon (1934) and Industrial Britain (1933). 12 The sequence in which US Army sergeant John Sweet has a lengthy conversation with a local farmer about cutting and processing wood recalls the down-to earth social realism found in the works of the British documentary movement spearheaded by Grierson. 126
Nora, Pierre. 1989. “Between Memory and History: Les Lieux de Mémoire.” M émoire.” Representations 26. 7-25.
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Ambiguous Afterwards – Haunted Places in the Poetry of Derek Mahon Péter Dolmányos “Places as such are dead / or nearly” (Mahon 155) is a provocative claim that would demand much explanation in support if it were regarded as an all-encompassing declaration. Yet the weapon of quotation is a dangerous and tempting one, and Derek Mahon provides a clue which functions as a compulsion to consider both that “nearly” after the line break and the context of this specific statement too – the former cuts the edge of the statement and the latter opens a temporal framework in which the present is to be assessed in the light of the past. The utterance then involves some embryonic portion of hope in that “nearly” yet at the same time emanates a pervasive sense of disillusionment. This duality of response is observable in a number of Mahon’s poems and the focus of the two diverging claims provides a unique and ambiguous world to explore, a world simultaneously populated as well as deserted, a world at once in and out of time. “Displacement, dispossession, disconnection, discontinuity, exile, migrancy: these are central themes and conditions of Mahon’s poetry,” as Elmer Kennedy-Andrews sums up the general critical stance towards the poet (Kennedy-Andrews 21). These imply an apocalyptic approach, a sense of decadence and a generally pessimistic assessment of experience. This, however, is a stance which comes to be treated with a touch of irony which manages to preserve the humane dimension of this poetry, and it also creates a framework of tension in which the poems exist. This tension is neatly outlined by Edna Longley: “His poetry has always been torn between a view of the human condition as ‘terminal’ and a view of the human imagination as sheltering some ‘residual’ spark.” (Kenneally 280) Brendan Kennelly recognises another type of tension in Mahon’s work and labels it “humanism” (Kennelly 127). In his understanding this is romantic and anti-romantic at the same time, since it insists on human responsibility (anti-Romantic) and “lays a primary emphasis on the potential of the solitary self” (romantic) (ibid). All these approaches maintain that Mahon’s poetry is built on a conflict of contrasting claims and it offers dilemmas and ambiguous perspectives rather than neat resolutions. Despite the general association of Mahon’s name with the position of the alienated outsider, he is a poet whose work cannot dispense with the category of place. Hugh Haughton even goes so far as to provide a list of titles of poems in which placenames feature (cf. Corcoran 98-99), and the result is comparable to a compendium of geographical items. From this point of view Mahon fits properly the substantially place-oriented world of contemporary Irish poetry. Mahon’s places, however, embody a different quality than most other places in the work of other poets: he mainly opts for places which signal decay and desolation. His locations often lack human presence and they rarely intimate visions; even when they do, it happens to be a rather bleak one in which civilisation appears a dispensable element, either by its own decision or by historical necessity. These deserted and often rather decrepit reminders of former human habitation suggest the general transitoriness of the human world, often in a strong Beckettian manner, and they simultaneously evoke the power of nature to reclaim what has been carved out from her by humans. At the same time these very locations also point to the former human significance of the chosen places and their subsequent abandonment, thus the locations inhabit a space which is both natural and human yet at the same time it is neither really natural nor human. The fact that several of Mahon’s chosen places share the motif of having been abandoned points to the importance of the temporal dimension in the assessment of these places. Though the chosen locations are depicted in their present state, a temporal context is always implied and the process of change is incorporated in the account. Places are thus not simply regarded as places but are functions of time – these locations are places in time, in a specific moment of history, which makes history an integral element in the assessment of experience. The poems thus insist on the inseparability of place and time and the inescapable confines of human existence in relation to these dimensions. This inevitable temporality of existence underpins the significance of the t he motif of change, or in the preferred critical term, of metamorphosis (cf. Hughes in Kennedy-Andrews Kennedy-Andre ws 106-109). The principal agent of metamorphosis is nature in most cases. The observation that nature repossesses the formerly human locations provides an important commentary on the human condition too. This involvement of nature as the representative of the permanence of change in the temporal world serves as a reminder that the human being only possesses the faculties to contemplate this but has no power to alter the basic pattern. This may not seem much yet in the final analysis is perhaps not a small gift either since a scene requires an observer in order to acquire significance and meaning, which supports the (romantic) claims on the power of the imagination in constituting the reality it 128
observes. Mahon’s speaker is aware of this and his accounts are accordingly haunted by various dilemmas of existence, which renders them a part of the metamorphosis they depict as they comment on the changing human significance of the contemplated locations. The poem “Rathlin” gives an account of a visit to the eponymous small island off the north coast of the North and comes to a profound dilemma as its conclusion. The heavy historical heritage of the island (it was the last refuge of a clan in conflict with the British), including massacres of women and children as a power demonstration by the British, forms a kind of frame for the poem – “the last scream”, “an unnatural silence” and “the unspeakable violence” all recall the tragic past of the island which in turn is contrasted with its peaceful present of “a natural silence” (Mahon (Ma hon 107). The island now functions as a nature conservation area, a home to hosts of seabirds, and its human population is generally negligible – the poem renders it even less significant as human presence is only mentioned through the lighthouse and the comfortable matrix of elsewhere represented partly by the visit and partly by a reference to the contemporary conflict of the mainland in which “Bombs doze in the housing estates / But here they are through with history.” (Mahon 107) Nature has reclaimed the island, it has become a “sanctuary” (Mahon 107) with its own “dream-time” (Mahon 107) which owes nothing to the external world, except for the human acknowledgment of its status sta tus as a piece of protected nature. The details of one of the past massacres provide a sharp contrast with the “singular peace” (Mahon 107) of the present when the brief visit comes to an end. The speaker leaves the place in a state of uncertainty “Whether the future lies before us or behind.” (Mahon 107) The pronoun is general enough to liberate its referent, and the question is one that similarly allows for a range of possible interpretations, especially in the light of the explicit reference to the brooding conflict of the North, with the implication of the past by the future, that journeys involve both origins and destinations, that across from the future lies the past, depending only on the direction of the movement. Given the historical significance of the location, temporal and spatial may also be collapsed into each other: what is left behind is at the same time the before of the temporal dimension. This could hint at some form of optimism in relation to the present conflict of the North, yet at the same time it may also lose its entire significance: as the island visit implies, nature is the beginning as well as the end – then the future is before as well as behind, and the only permanence is that of nature. Even the status of the island as a nature conservation area can be understood as the embodiment of the dilemma: the supremacy of nature is officially acknowledged in the context of the island, but there is an insistence on the fact that it is a human decision to do so. “A Disused Shed in Co. Wexford” preserves historical elements of a different kind. The poem lends significance to a place rarely considered worth even thinking about, with ‘characters’ not less unusual for attention than the place itself, as the shed is a home for a colony of mushrooms. The shed acquires a rather unusual status as it is regarded a special place where “a thought might grow” (Mahon 89), a phenomenon not too frequent in Mahon’s vision of the contemporary world. The somewhat vague reference to a location in the Republic of Ireland claims kin with the exotic world of “Peruvian mines, worked out and abandoned” and “Indian compounds” (Mahon 89), they are connected by the lack of practical significance and, in turn, by their discovery as potentially fertile imaginative environments, in spite of or perhaps exactly because of this lack of immediate economic or social significance. The more exact details of the shed are grounded in history: the “burnt-out hotel” and the “civil war days” (Mahon 89) provide the explanation, in several senses, for the harsh conditions of the mushrooms crammed together in that claustrophobic environment. The conditions for the ‘life’ of the mushrooms are evoked through a rich use of vivid detail, which creates an emphatic picture of deprivation. The mushrooms eventually become analogies to the “lost people of Treblinka and Pompeii” (Mahon 90), broadening the context of the poem to embrace and encompass human suffering caused by excessive violence. The conditions are harsh and depressing, yet endurance yields some sort of deliverance – the door of the shed is finally opened and the mushrooms are flooded with light. Though there may be little consolation in the context of the individual, the notion of continuity persists, and the poem is closed by a wish, which may even carry an implicit sense of hope that the future will be something so mething better, or at least different from what has been endured so far. In a characteristically Mahonian way more questions are raised in the poem than come to be answered. The rather peculiar idea that such abandoned and forgotten places may be the home of thoughts is a sceptical comment on the contemporary world yet it does not provide an unquestionably satisfactory answer to why it is so. It is tempting to see the opening of the poem as an instance of proper irony since the depicted locations are the places where new thoughts are the least likely to appear, at least according to usual expectations. Still, the exotic world of abandoned mining settlements in South America is credited with the possibility of discovery and the likewise exotic world of the shed in a rather vaguely circumscribed location in Ireland manages to offer a fresh perspective. persp ective. The haunting 129
details of the life of mushrooms, or more accurately, of generations of mushrooms, support the initial claim of the speaker as his evocation of life in repression indeed cuts deeper than any usual perspective would do so – the objective correlative throws light on aspects that would otherwise be quickly overlooked, especially by the modern sensibility trained on and conditioned by media representations of violence. The story of the mushrooms presents the dilemma of the lived life versus the unlived ones in a potent way. The overtly melancholic tone of the poem acknowledges the tragedy of suffering: there is no compensation for what has been lost or denied. This, however, prompts the old question of priorities as well: in the end the door of the shed is opened and the mushrooms (or one generation of them) are ‘liberated’ – endurance is rewarded, at least for a faction of the community, thus a pattern larger than the individual receives some form of compensation. How this relates to the individual is not addressed within the confines of the poem, the wish closing the poem does not indicate any clear-cut pattern of resolution – Mahon suggests the dilemma but does not go any further in assessing it. The nature of the compensation is likewise dubious as the opening of the door of the shed offers light for the mushrooms. Though in the description of their repressed state this seems to be the only thing they yearn for, the seemingly generous final moment of the poem captures only the moment of the fulfilment of this wish: what the mushrooms used to little light will do when faced with a flood of light is another of those implications which remain unresolved at the end of the poem. Freedom is suddenly offered to the deprived yet there is no further indication as to the practical consequences of this. The poem is finished in a fitting way yet the conclusion retains the tension that keeps the whole poem going rather than releasing it. The poem ‘A Garage in Co. Cork’ is often regarded as a companion piece to the previous one. The location is again a deserted country place, a garage abandoned and left to slow decay, which in turn becomes a memorial to the industrial world of the twentieth century. The place is evoked in the matrix of other, more exotic locations and times, and it is declared a “roadside oasis” with a “mound / Of never-used cement” (Mahon 130). At first glance the building is as hollow and fake as a “frontier storefront in an old western” (Mahon 130) but on closer scrutiny the “cracked panes reveal a dark / Interior echoing with the cries of children” (Mahon 130), indicating the fact that the place is deserted now but once it boasted of life. The hint at the Irish tradition of emigration is at once a paradoxical moment as it restores the human (and personal) significance of the place: “Somebody somewhere thinks of this as home” (Mahon 130), and the place is imaginatively reconstructed in its heyday as one both ancient and modern, bridging the gap between Noah and the 20 th century achievements of technology. The place, however, is deserted now, and nature has reclaimed what was once carved out of her. This process is ironically depicted through the disintegration of the man-made items of the garage but Mahon does not stop there: he introduces the supernatural as well to complement the image by a grotesque transformation: A god who spent the night here once rewarded Natural courtesy with eternal life – Changing to petrol pumps, that they be spared For ever there, an old man and his wife. (Mahon 131)
This is an act of immortalising humanity, a grotesque rewriting of artistic endeavour in a profoundly anticlimactic way. This sardonic vision gives way to a general conclusion of the poem which retains a more emphatic perspective: “We might be anywhere but are in one place only” (Mahon 131). Though this hints at the generally acclaimed ideas of roads taken and not taken, Mahon seems to lay down his preference in favour of the taken ones, insisting on the uniqueness of particular experience and thus regarding a place in the context of its own significance rather than that of its external features. The garage may be deserted but it retains its human significance and Mahon is (uncharacteristically) generous in contemplating the scene with benevolent nostalgia. Whether the place has been abandoned because of economic, political or other considerations is not clarified – and in fact it is virtually unimportant from the point of view of the speaker of the poem. What offers more for him is the potential of the location to launch the project of envisioning the past, of imaginatively recreating the picture of the garage as a location which is at once a home for the people working there. The divine intervention turning the garage into a lasting element of the landscape is a bizarre moment but it suggests a drive contrary to the usual process: nature reclaims the spot yet the petrol pumps are seen as permanent parts of the scene, as if they pointed beyond the generally transitory nature of the rest of the site, creating a world which is thus not purely natural but not human any longer, either. As Hugh Haughton suggests, the poem may be considered “a poem not about place but our place in the world” (Corcoran 111) as well as a “commentary on Irish emigration, a traveller’s view of a lost past” (ibid). The latter idea is more specifically concerned with the ‘sense of place’ whereas the former 130
opens a more potent range of references for the poem. The end of the poem acknowledges this dimension, and though the language becomes overtly didactic and generalising, the dilemma is properly arrested. Each place may boast of its “intrinsic nature” (Mahon 131) and may have its own significance without any order of priorities or prestige, yet the fact of choice and its exclusiveness remains an essential feature of life. This phenomenon works in the other direction as well – any place may forge its own significance regardless of its actual situation. Mahon only acknowledges this but does not assess its basis – whether choice may be understood as a curse or a blessing remains a question unresolved at the end of that final stanza. Mahon’s poetic oeuvre involves a significant number of poems to feature placenames in their titles, and these poems register a rather wide range of geographical reference. There are poems, however, which seem to cluster as they suggest similar concerns. These locations have their own historical heritage and in one way or other comment on the omnipresence of metamorphosis. Massacre, civil war or emigration all produce abandoned places but these in turn become haunted ones as the historical dimension does not let the past disappear. The observing imagination keeps the human dimension of the locations afloat, thus the metamorphosis remains a process rather than a finished project, even when there is a definite temporal point of reference, that of the moment of the contemplation of the chosen scenes. The tension of ‘terminal’ and ‘residual’ is thus actively present and marks the playground of the poems. The three poems capture the metamorphosis in its different phases in the chosen locations. In “Rathlin” the metamorphosis is in an advanced stage as the tiny island is a home for birds rather than for men. The historical trauma is a thing of the past, it is only preserved in the memory of the contemplating intelligence and the actual location does not possess any memorial to it. Still, the speaker chooses to frame the poem by references to its human past rather than viewing it in the context of an excursion to a piece of unspoilt nature, insisting on the motif of metamorphosis as a relevant one in relation to the island. With this metamorphosis in that advanced stage the direction of change may indeed appear uncertain, destabilising the temporal dimension to such an extent that the relation of the future to the present comes to be questioned. In “A Disused Shed in Co. Wexford” the location is transformed as the title already suggests yet the scene preserves many if its basic features. The shed is still a recognisable shed, and though it is disused, it has not entirely lost its function as some form of shelter – it has metamorphosed into a ‘home’ for mushrooms. The human significance of the place is gone, yet the place develops an imaginative appeal as a result of its metamorphosis. The colony of mushrooms eventually becomes analogous to suffering human beings, and the presentation of their conditions evokes the question of life as opposed to mere existence. The location of “A Garage in Co. Cork” is probably the least transformed as it still boasts of its major landmarks yet the place has been abandoned and it has lost its function as a result. The garage is still recognisable but it is already changing, with the human constructs slowly crumbling and the natural world making a slow but inevitable return to the spot. It is the most intact and therefore the most provocative of the three locations and its more overtly general conclusion shifts the emphasis from external circumstance to choice, which indicates more profound dilemmas of existen ce. The active interaction of conflicting forces, the omnipresence of metamorphosis and the subsequent change of the human significance of the given location all work together to foster a basically elegiac mood for assessing the chosen places. Elegies, however, by their very nature are paradoxical and therefore ambiguous since “memories falsify as they preserve” (Johnston 184). Mahon’s closures are accordingly both haunting and haunted – “We might be anywhere but are in one place only” (Mahon 131), with its carefully placed “but” is both a lament and a consolation, with no clear-cut priority implied in its phrasing.
References Mahon, Derek. 1999. Collected Poems. Loughcrew: Gallery. Haughton, Hugh. 1992. “’Even now there are places where a thought might grow’: Place and Displacement in the Poetry of Derek Mahon.” In: Corcoran, Neil.(ed) The Chosen Ground. Essays on the Contemporary Poetry of Northern Ireland . Bridgend: Seren Books.
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Hughes, Eamonn. 2002. “’Weird / Haecceity’: Place in Derek Mahon’s Poetry. In: Kennedy-Andrews, Elmer (ed.) The Poetry of Derek Mahon Gerrards Cross: Colin Smythe Limited. Johnston, Dillon. 1997. Irish Poetry After Joyce . (2nd ed.) Syracuse: Syracuse UP. Kennedy-Andrews, Elmer (ed.) 2002. The Poetry of Derek Mahon Gerrards Cross: Colin Smythe Limited. Longley, Edna. 1995. “Derek Mahon: Extreme Religion of Art.” In: Kenneally, M. (ed.) Poetry in Contemporary Irish Literature . Gerrards Cross: Colin Smythe Limited. Kennelly, B. 1994. Journey into Joy. Selected Prose. Newcastle: Bloodaxe.
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Veils or Mirrors? The Use of Blogs as Means of Shaping Romanian Sociologists’ Personal and Professional Identities Valentina Marinescu 1. Introduction Ambiguity is a central characteristic of the online communication environment. Mantovani (2002) referred to three aspects that contributed to the ambiguous nature of cyberspace: the user’s self-presentation, involving the fabrication of any appearance at will; the social context, which refers to the lack of visible social cues and the reliance on an assumptive social environment; and the estimation of the situation’s reality, which is related to the subjective perception of the virtual reality, of what is individually experienced in electronic environments. In all, these factors assign a major role to an individual’s cognitive processes, referred to by Mantovani as “the ubiquity of mediation” (2002), by which he stresses the overwhelming and critical human experience in cyberspace over mere technology. Ambiguity, thus, is inherent in computer-mediated communication, resulting in dynamic personal processes that stem from the very subjective perception of the nature of the situation. New technologies have come to have a significant impact on our lifestyles. Of great significance for the social sciences are in particular the effects of new technologies on human interaction and communication. The field of Computer Mediated Communication has developed precisely around these issues. Computer Mediated Communication can be defined most simply as communication that takes place between human beings via the instrumentality of computers (Herring 1996). The present article aims to explain Romanian sociologists’ use of blogs – as forms of Computer Mediated Communication – for the purpose of reconstructing their personal and professional identities.
2. Theoretical Background Our analysis employs as its first theoretical axis the approaches to the study of “social identity”; more precisely, it starts from the theories that explore the relationship between an individual’s personal identity and his group identity, and the manifestations of this relationship in everyday talk (Hogg and Abrams, 1988; Holmes and Meyerhoff, 2003). Identity is often characterized in terms of one’s interpersonal characteristics, such as self-definition or personality traits, the roles one assumes and the relationships one enters in various interactions, and one’s personal values or moral beliefs (Calvert, 2002). In general, individual identity is conceived as a unique complex of interacting aspects of different group and personal identities (Holmes and Meyerhoff, 2003). In any interaction – while all facets of an individual’s social identity are potentially relevant resources – individuals tend to present or focus on particular aspects of their social identity, emphasizing gender, ethnicity, power, authority, professional status, and sometimes organizational or institutional identity. “Identity” is an extremely complex construct (De Fina, 2004) and the study of this issue has “attained a remarkable centrality within the human and social sciences” (du Gay et al., 2000) in recent years. According to Zimmerman (1998), there are three main types of identity that can be discerned in a person: transportable, situational and discourse identity. The first type can be described as the essence of a human being, that which a person carries, or “transports” along with him/her and that is present in any context. The second type is the identity that emerges depending on a specific situation and that changes in different contexts. Finally, there is discourse identity, which is constructed locally in every single stretch of talk or text that a person produces. Bauman (2000: 1) describes this final type of identity construction as follows: “…in this perspective identity is an emergent construction, the situated outcome of a rhetorical and interpretive process in which interactants make situationally motivated selections from socially constituted repertoires of identification and affiliation resources and craft these semiotic resources into identity claims for presentation to others”.
The second theoretical axis used in the present article is that of blogs – which emphasise the presentation of self (Goffman 1959) and the performative aspects of the writing culture, in particular the blurring distinctions between producers and consumers of knowledge, and between public and private, since so much personal information becomes publicly available online. Miller (1995) questions the utilization of Goffman’s theory in 133
understanding CMC (Computer-Mediated-Communication). He argues that in face-to-face interactions we are generally aware of the context of the interaction. We have information which allows us to “frame” (Goffman. 1974) the interaction, so that all parties involved know how to interpret the situation. Alternately, reading someone’s blog carries the risk of taking the interaction out of context. The viewer may not have arrived to the page through the expected channels, and may be interpreting the information in a manner contradictory to the producers’ intentions. However, empirical studies show users of CMC utilizing the Internet to construct, negotiate, and redefine identities, positions, and presentations. The context of various Internet sites acts as a structure within which these negotiations, constructions, and re-constructions take place (Gatson and Zweerink, 2004). A blog is considered to be a new kind of asynchronous CMC and it is used in a variety of ways, but often as a personal journal or ongoing commentary about oneself (Herring et al., 2004; Huffaker, 2004; Halavais, 2002). Blog posts are primarily textual, but many include photographs and other types of multimedia content. In everyday life, there are areas of identity that an individual can control, such as work roles, ideological values, and social relationships. However, there are many other dimensions that individuals have little control over, such as their biological sex, race, age, and other physical features, all important in identity construction. In virtual environments, these areas can be controlled, making the exploration of identity more flexible (Calvert, 2002). This exploration can be a search for a “unitary” construct about the self or it may be aimed at building a “social” construct with multiple selves. Social interactionists such as Turkle (1995) suggest that people construct multiple selves in virtual environments. Such places offer possibilities for constructing and reconstructing identities, and projecting multiple selves. The most interesting and intriguing metaphor associated with blogs is that of a “mirror”. A mirror provides an image in which we can see ourselves and postulate what others see. In The Mirror Stage, Lacan (1901) discusses the formation of I . From his perspective, it is in the mirror stage in development that infants first get a notion of themselves as unique individuals. He proposes that infants pass through a stage in which the external image of their body, reflected in the mirror produces the mental representation of an “I” for them. For Lacan, this formation of the ego is fundamentally dependent on external objects, on an “other”, which is the same as the Ideal-I. Throughout his/her lifetime, as the so-called “individual” matures and enters into social relations, this perception of self extends and develops. The mirror is an interesting metaphor for consideration. In the physical world, this mirror reflection provides a source of feedback that allows people to adjust their presentation in order to convey what they want to project. In the virtual world, they lack the body with the help of which to project themselves. Therefore, they project their ideas, values, and desires into a digital representation that serves as their online agent. By operating their agent, they are able to perceive themselves. While this may seem deceptive – since people may mislead others in terms of how they represent themselves to others online – Boyd (2001) points out that it is not; in fact, it gives people access to all that could possibly be seen about them. It also helps them understand how their different facets of self operate online and how they can adjust them. Blog writing is similar in this respect: the player develops his/her character/avatar and constructs his/her identity through the reflective connectivity that his/her identification has with the avatar’s narration on the blog. Therefore, the virtual character and avatar the player chooses – whether female or male, thin or fat, of a specific race or age, etc. – operates in fact as an externalized Lacanian “mirror image” of the player. In other words, as the players are exploring their identity through their virtual characters, to some extent those images reflect their selves, as they wish others to see them. In addition to fulfilling the role of digital mirrors to project images and identities, virtual environments can provide a space called a psychosocial moratorium that allows people to take risks. The psychosocial moratorium is a consequence-free period of experimentation that facilitates the development of identity. It can help individuals explore their identities and experiment dimensions of their selves that they are not always comfortable expressing in real life (Gee, 2005). They can provide spaces for consequence-free experimentation and facilitate identity development; they can create worlds where people can have meaningful new experiences. Jill Walker (2006) identifies three kinds of academic blogs: blogs used for political debate by public intellectuals, research blogs (including student blogs) and pseudonymous blogs about academic life. According to this schema, purse lip square jaw would be located between a public intellectual blog and a research blog, or in what Walker (2006: 5) refers to as a hybrid genre, “the blog that both discusses the content of research, the ideas themselves, and that also discusses the process and experience of researching”. Blogging emerges, as such, first and foremost as a way of doing social and cultural research that combines both online and offline activities. Just as anthropological fieldnotes create culture as well as they describe it, blogging can be seen as a kind of performative assemblage involving multiple subjects and objects: multiple researchers, multiple audiences and multiple publics. The research question addressed in this article is, as such: How do Romanian sociologists make use of blogs in the reconstruction of their professional identities? Are their blogs “mirrors” or not?
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3. The Data Set, the Variables and the Research Hypothesis The research methodology of this article is based on a mixed analysis of two basic sets of empirical data: A. The analysis of sociologists’ self-definition, as it results from the posts and discussions Romanian sociologists published on their personal blogs. The sample analyzed in this case consists of seven blogs of Romanian sociologists. B. The identification of the key-elements used in the formal definition of the “profession”, as it resulted from public debates within the sociologists’ community. Here we will focus our analysis on two books about Romanian intellectuals after 1989, with an emphasis on the sociologists’ identity in the academic world: Adrian Gavrilescu (2009) and Gheorghe Onu ţ (2008). We used discourse analysis and virtual ethnography as main methods of analysis. Following Fairclough (2001) who linked language use with power and ideology, seeing language as both a social artefact and a social process (Fairclough, 2001), we consider that language plays a significant role in the production, maintenance, and negotiation of social relations of power. It is so because contained within language are supposed commonsense assumptions and ideologies relating to the dominant groups in society (Fairclough, 2001). Thus, stereotypical beliefs about disabled people are encoded in our culture through language as well as images. These assumptions are also reproduced through the communications media (Barnes, 1992). Barnes argues that labels for groups of people tend to be imposed, not chosen (Barnes, 2003). In contrast, when appropriate terminology is used, it can provide disabled people with a sense of individual and collective identity, while reminding nondisabled people of society’s continuing oppression of people with disabilities (Barnes, 1993). Language usage is also related to how language is processed through a communications medium, a point made by both Sweeney (2003) and Sancho (2003). At the same time, discourse analysis showed that the way in which audiences take information from language may subvert the author’s intended meaning of a text. Society, language, and interpretation do not exist independently of each other; meaning is constructed through all three (Hall, 1997). The decision to concentrate on discourse analysis in this study results from the impossibility to do more than simply touch on the role of the audience in the construction of meaning from texts posted on blogs. Since one set of data included Romanian sociologists’ blogs, we used virtual ethnography as the second method of research. In its most basic sense, virtual ethnography is the written product of the ethnographic research conducted in a virtual space - one divorced from usual conventions of geography, corporeality and embodiment, but nevertheless a space or place of communication or interaction. In her book, Virtual Ethnography , Christine Hine (2000) points out the value of ethnography in the study of technology (Hine, 2000: 4): “An ethnography of the Internet can look in detail at the ways in which technology is experienced in use”.
Following Hine (2000: 7) we consider that virtual ethnography is appropriate for the methodological framework of the present article due to the fact that: “the new communication technologies are part of the process where doubt is cast on authenticity, representation and reality, the unitary self and the distinction between self and society”.
Blogs in particular problematise and make explicit many of these questions of authenticity, representation and the self, a topic that will be addressed in detail in the following chapters.
4. The Analysis of the Results In our analysis of online personal identity construction modes used by Romanian sociologists, we considered as starting point M. Janowitz’ definition of the sociologists’ activity (1972: 105): “As an academic profession, students are, of course, the immediate clients of sociologists. It is a professed goal that academic sociologist will accept the responsibility to teach, although the audience for teaching may variously defined to include other professional groups or extra-mural assemblies. Ideally, teaching is thought of not only as a professional responsibility per se but as an essential activity for improving one’s research”.
According to this definition, the sphere of sociology, taken as a profession, overlaps with the didactic activity, in particular with the university and research activities, situation encountered in Romania after the fall of the Communist regime. As A. Gavrilescu wrote in his analysis of the field of sociology (2006: 188), the postCommunist era means not only the reconfiguration of the scientific framework, but also the beginning of a great ascent in the public sphere. This is the moment when the notion of ‘intellectual’ is brought to life again, and so is the necessity of transferring a symbolic professional capital to public life – all for achieving the common good. 135
The general perception regarding sociology referred to this profession as a ‘rescuer’ meant to offer solutions to the economic, social and power crisis characterising Romania, due to its offering a precise radiography of the Romanian society (A. Gavrilescu, 2006: 188). Thus, we are dealing with two main reference fields for the construction of the sociologists’ identity at the personal level: ‘the public sphere’ and ‘the professional field’. In the first case, the sociologist’s identity is publicly presented via the political field, society as a whole and mass-media, while in the second situation, the identity’s external reference point is the link to ‘peers’ (people who also work as sociologists) and the norms and constraints deriving from this profession. By convention, (Williams, quoted in Mortensen and Walker, 2002: 249): “[...] the blog concept is about three things: Frequency, Brevity, and Personality”, although different blogs may emphasize each of these aspects differently.
The key element in the construction of a personal identity (and also a professional one, as we are going to see) through the means of blogs may be identified in the ‘tensions’ – evident in these blogs – between the public and the private sphere. On the one hand, some blog owners consider blogging an activity similar to keeping a personal diary, read only by its author, while others see the blog as part of the public space, created taking into account that others might read it, if not for this very purpose. According to the rich corpus of literature on this topic (namely Lessig, 1999; Park, 2003), blog authors are aware of the place their blogs hold in the public sphere, and they consider them an informal space where they can express themselves more colloquially than usually, despite admitting they should pay attention to the language used and the topics they approach in their posts. Most bloggers’ attitude towards their audience is marked by tension. On the one hand, a blog is a private/personal space, while on the other, it is a public space created with certain expectations about the prospective audience. Bloggers take into consideration the importance they assign to their readers, of the desired number of readers and of the desired impact of the posts they publish. Hence, most of the times they find themselves in self-conflicting situations, feeling uncertain and embarrassed, yet at the same time supported by and protected from the thoughts and/or actions of their blogs ‘visitors (virtual or future visitors). Bloggers should always seek to create a balance – because on the one hand, they remain themselves (or, at least, they put forward a version of themselves) and they protect their privacy, while on the other hand they entertain their audience, they ‘captivate’ it. Blogs address a certain category of individuals, an audience, but they do so using an intimate tone. The mediation of communication via blogs – with the screen standing in front of the audience, and the members of the public unseen while writing the post – encourages revelations and, at the same time it provides privacy. While face to face interactions allow us to selectively reveal pieces of information to certain persons, but not to others, most blogs do not allow this limitation of expression since blogs themselves impose these limits protecting the user’s privacy (Lessig, 1999; Park, 2003). In order to understand the privacy management strategies chosen by Romanian sociologists who blog, we will consider Goffman’s (1959) approach to the actors’ means of self-introduction by using “settings and props”. These two means reveal who the actor really is – and Goffman (1959) emphasizes the difference between the open presentation (”given”) of identity and the (“given off”), more-limited control expressions of identity – in order to determine the real identity of the actor. In the second situation, actors rely on the symbols they share with others, hoping that they might reach the checking of their identity (Burke, 2004). Thus, the seven blogs we analysed contain a blogroll (a “whom I talk to on a daily basis” list) in order to emphasise the important members of the audience. Furthermore, in most of the cases we can notice that the blogroll includes a special category, – a special group called “The Sociologists” – displaying the Internet links to the blogs of peers and friends working as sociologists. At the same time, every subject who fills in the “About me” box of the blog, mentions his professional identification – “sociologist” (varying by adding other labels, such as “interested in sociology/anthropology”, “polls” and so forth). So the followers of the blog see a relatively unified picture of the blogger’ personal identity, the way it is shown through his blog. In the relationship with the outside world – more specifically with the public sphere and mass media – this monolithic image seems to be dominated by the profession. Nevertheless, the image is contradicted by a series of analyses. Thus, in a study focused on identifying the definitory elements of sociology in nowadays’ Romania, Gh. Onu ţ (2008) introduces a basic internal distinction between “academic sociologists” (he used to call them “seraglio sociologists”) and “apprentice sociologists” (Onuţ, 2008: 226) 1. 1
. “We may encounter both categories, seraglio sociologists and professional ones. Professional sociologists make up most of their number. But they are not the ones who offer the identity of the social body of sociologists. They are just voiceless. The voice speaking on behalf of sociologists belongs to the seraglio sociologists. Who want to make sure that their universities will keep benefiting from huge numbers of students, figure that is blatantly big in comparison with the consumption statistics, and they have to speak on behalf of their professional peers. They want to be the ones who wage the war of 136
This identity distinction is evidenced also by the themes chosen for the blog posts. Thus, in a post written by a sociologist the “divide” between the academic education “ideal” and the labour market’s reality is referred to by the word “mirage”, hence hinting at the confusing character the profession of sociologist, susceptible to attacks. Table 1– “The mirage” of sociology 2 Post B3 Today one of my colleagues defended her dissertation in sociology… so now five of us hold a “degree” in sociology, and we’re all working for a company that despite having established a target to find the common points between the advertisers’ messages and the targeted audience… is still just a company offering services such as implementation, buying, gathering information about the local market and update with world tendencies ... have little in common with sociology (anyway, they have no connection whatsoever with the “theory” taught in school). Despite the absence – in many cases – of definitions of this profession, or at least of mentions of the capacities one needs for it, and despite the fact that this profession is so susceptible to attacks and so blurry, sociology remains one of the few faculties that add value to a CV and it tends to be mentioned during conversations. I call it a ‘mirage’ because I get the feeling that despite the fact that there are more and more people willing to study this field, they do not turn it into their profession, but still they keep their interest into social logos or they want to keep it :D and they turn it into an advantage in exercising other professions. PS: this post is just a “fizzled out interpretation” by means of “redefining the situation”, a technique that I am not generally very keen on using (since it’s way too “psychological” :D)
Comments B1 – It’s still a port-manteau profession. Romania has not reached yet that stage of awareness of and immunity to the spell of sociology, a stage that western cultures (“advanced democracies” – as others call them in their wooden language) went through during the ’70s– when – in the over promising context of the ’40s-’60s – they realized that sociology talks a lot, but does less. And that’s fuzzy like hell . You see, we’ll end up left only with the rigour of measurement, devoid of any theory. But that’s just my opinion... :D B3 – Do you reckon that social engineering, including the measurement/prediction process is going to have enough success on the market? ‘Cause I’ve heard that chorus saying “I don’t want to see figures, I want useful words... more times than I’ve seen Radu complaining ... I do not value much “the essayist trend” either, but “the rigour of measurement” is nothing more than a nice syntagma, more and more difficult to support financially :D because “measuring” diversifies in such an alert way, that it makes it increasingly difficult to get a grip on it. That’s why I’d rather head towards valid data and hypotheses... where they can be assessed and they may also be of use to society. But that takes “trust” in the expertise itself, and... the dilution I am talking about... I don’t think it helps.
In addition to emphasizing “technical” elements, the dialogue that emerges between the two sociologists (B1 and B3) reveals the inherent ambiguity surrounding the sociologists’ position in the public sphere; we notice the use of the syntagma “port-manteau profession”, a label attached to sociology, and its distinguishing feature - being “ fuzzy like hell ”.
professionalization. [...] Assuming that they might have something to say, professional sociologists do not have the chance to take the floor. For instance, I wonder how many professional sociologists read this magazine. If they do not read it, I do not think it is their fault, since sociologists’’ magazines are seraglio magazines. And I am referring to that kind of places where some humourless people utter humourless things to other humourless people. La reproduction, voila and see”.. 2
The titles used for each table represent the titles of the post taken as it is. For deontological considerations we used abreviations in order to refer to the owners of the blogs undergoing our survey, without indicating their identity or their websites. We did not change their identity of the other people joining the discussion because we considered that they are part of the virtual cult readers of the blog. 3
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Thus, we come to witness the emergence of the first type of “screening” of the personal identity of Romanian sociologists – that offered by the juxtaposition between the professional ideal (internalized in a set of normative rules and values associated to the profession of sociologist) and the real demands of society from sociologists. Nevertheless, the sociologists’ self-perception is a relatively positive one. Based on a research project focused on with this profession, one may conclude that Romanian sociologists define themselves as strong, adaptable and unpredictable persons, able to surmount conflicting situations and obstacles 4. In the blogs included in this analysis, this rather positive self-perception is expressed through posts in which they manifest their so-called “ideal identity”. According to Higgins (1987), there are three fields of identity, and each one of them can be activated in various situations: the real identity (real qualities and attributes belonging to an individual); the ideal identity (the qualities an individual would have ideally) and the possible identity – the one the individual ought to have, the ou gh t id en ti ty (referring to the qualities an individual desires to have). In the case of communicational interactions via blogs, the blogger’s need to portray reality in a veridical, correct way, enters into contradiction with their “natural” tendency to project an attractive, successful and desirable image of themselves – a phenomenon that falls into “the management of impression” model developed by Goffman (1956). Bloggers attempt to reconcile these aspects by creating on their blogs profiles and identities which illustrate an ideal self – as opposed to the real one – in fact an ideal identity. Table 2 – And sad we are post coitum Post Comments B1 Nostalgic and Anonymous – Did you start getting the results of the latest amused, I am surveys, the ones you were talking about the other day, when you rereading now, one said that you are on the field? month after the B1 - Nope. Not yet. events, about the mihnea.-boss, I really do like your post. Best wishes! :) turmoil created by this B1 – As one of my good friends – the one who shares the skull post about the results with me – used to say: whoever likes it, gets a glass of cognac of the pre-electoral from me. Who doesn’t like it, gets a head butt and a flower on the polls. All the passion back of his head. Cause this is how sociology behaves on the geared towards these forums. :) :rofl: :wink: two-cent people, for Anonymous – I’m back, I read your post (obviously!)... but tell inversions between me, how would I dare leave a comment, if this might get me a unknown persons. Oh, head butt? :( God, You, God that B1 – But, please! But, please... Don’t be shy! Be my guest. do not exist! People Pleasure’s all mine. What side would you like me to hit: the left or go mad when drinking the right zygomatic bone ? Or the centre, so i can hit your teeth? or when voting. To lol. rofl. Man, these sociologists! So savage and aggressive! In this our health! I raise this world of tolerance and Scandinavian common sense minimalism, glass of VSOP some trimmed moustache, shaved head come to embarrass our cognac (yes; I’ve Latin ancestry! What did you say you wanted to say? Something started drinking positive, or should I put on my helmet so that I do not get a bruise cognac meanwhile) in in the middle of my forehead?:) :rofl: :p :p :p PS: No, really. I was honour of past kidding. I can’t do such a thing. You’re allowed to say anything 4
These assessments are extracted from the research presented by Gh. Onuţ in his book. The sampling involved approximately 350 subjects, who had to answer the question: “Which plants, animals, cars or dishes would you associate with sociologists, which one best personify this profession?” In this case the author identifies the following characteristics of Romanian sociologists’ self-perception (Onuţ, 2008: 216): “The common point between all epithets and specific actions generally listed by sociologists is the idea involving obstacles. The sociologist resists, though he faces the toughest trials. He is endowed with various accessories who make him come clean out of every trial he has to face. […] Everything revolves around challenges, difficulties he face and then overcomes. The sociologist is the hero facing trials. He seems not to have reached the last lap, and not to have received his award yet. The principle of adjustment is also generally valid. Should he not have everything he needs, he does not die, nor does he lament. He is not picky, he lets others think that he is satisfied with almost anything. He clings to you (if you did not reach to him) and you cannot get rid of him, not even after shaking off or after you stop feeding him. He just adapts. The elements he is made of represent another common aspect. The sociologist is an amalgam, a weird mixture of elements that make him strange, unique. He is not easy to understand at all, he is rather complex and surprising. You do not really know what to expect of him, he can always turn into a new person, he always offers unpredictable answers.” 138
hysteria, of lost youth and of sudden irritations. A storm in a glass of jelly-like substance, noseoriginating. Oh, I almost forgot: our polls were good. CCSB rulz, as always. The figures indicated in advance the positions of the candidates! They emphasized the correct tendencies. Only the detractors were busy eating shit, more that they were supposed to. Cause that’s their position description, right? Long live probabilistic logic and professional probity, untouched by affiliations to shareholders. As scientist Mircea Badea would put it, with a bloody scalpel in hand, and a mike behind his ear: suck my... :)
you want on this blog. Including bad things. Of course you do it at your own risk. And no, no, I don’t head butt people. I target only the liver. There are no o marks and the move is easier. :lol: again. :rofl: again. D Anonymous – you’re sad... I think I am sad too... if you think it’s good for you, I’ll let you imagine that you’re hitting me... and so? so what? who cares? why me? B1 - Neah. You’re making a semantic decoding mistake. It wasn’t sadness or aggression (or was it?). It was irony. Making fun of you. Playing. Empty talk. I don’ head butt people and I am the kind of person willing to accept another’s point of view ( except if he comes here to make blatant propaganda during the electoral campaign, advertising who knows what pathetic candidate, of course). And when I post like this, such biting phrases, I’m actually trying to be ironic. Playing the fool tongue-in-cheek . As Geertz used to say: the wink of a wink . Just that not everybody gets it. :) :p :wink: Anonymous – I didn’t get it. Though I’m not ‘everybody’, I’m just myself......"One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh; but the earth abideth forever." Anonymous - "In order to produce A Effects the actor has to discard whatever means he has learned of persuading the audience to identify itself with the characters which he plays. Aiming not to put his audience into a trance, he must not go into a trance himself. His muscles must remain loose, for a turn of the head, e.g., with tautened neck muscles, will "magically" lead the spectators' eyes and even their heads to turn with it, and this can only detract from any speculation or reaction which the gestures may bring about. His way of speaking has to be free from ecclesiastical singsong and from all those cadences which lull the spectator so that the sense gets lost." :P Anonymous – yeah, A Short Organum for the Theatre B1 – So you are calling me an actor. A two-faced person. A hypocrite. Yeah. I guess you are right. In my smallness, as a rabid dog, I bit the hand that fed me authenticity, I spat it and I chose the path of multiple voices! Aaaaaaargh! Let me out! Let me out... :p Anonymous – you mixed us up again, oh dear! You mistook me for Hemingway, and her for Brecht ("Kleines Organon für das Theater"), so I gave you a clue, UI dear ... histrionically, somewhat rabid... otherwise I would never come again... what would I do at the finishing school? :)
The most appropriate metaphor for introducing the identity of the sociologist and author in the previous example is the metaphor of the “foggy mirror”. This post shows that the reflexive representations of identity are illustrated not only in the case of the author of the blog, but also of “significant others” – as Mead (1934) used to call them – the ones who introduce themselves as readers and partners of dialogue with the author of the blog. Identity is perceived by the author of the blog himself as continuous and dynamic, not static. ( “Nostalgic and amused, I am rereading now, one month after the events…” ). Thus, in the dialogue with various interlocutors certain facets of the sociologist-author’s identity are emphasized: in the same set of comments included in one post, there is a shift from the official identity of the sociologist (“Anonymous – Did you start getting the results of the latest surveys, the ones you were talking about the other day, when you said you were on the field?; B1 Nope. Not yet”.) to the “ideal” one, the identity of the ironical narrator of reality (“Anonymous – you’re sad... I think I am sad too... if you think it’s good for you, I’ll let you imagine that you’re hitting me ... and so? so what? who cares? why me?; B1 - Neah. You’re making a semantic decoding mistake. It wasn’t sadness or aggression (or was it?). It was irony. Making fun of you. Playing. Empty talk. I don’ head butt people and I am the kind of person willing to accept another’s point of view ( except if they come here to make blatant propaganda during the electoral campaign, advertising who knows what pathetic candidate, of course). And when I post like this, such biting phrases, I’m actually trying to be ironic. Playing the fool tongue-in-cheek . As Geertz used to say: the wink of a wink . Just that not everybody gets it. :) :p :wink:”).
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5. Conclusions We can formulate the following general observation: the blogs of Romanian sociologists bear a high degree of resemblance to the clothes we are wearing; in a conscious or unconscious way, one might compare – based on similitude – the fashionably dressed woman described by Simone de Beauvoir to blogs that present idealized variants of identity to the public. Through the choices he/she makes when introducing himself/herself and through the parts he plays in front of an audience, the blogger conveys the idealized, constructed, public variant of his identity, the one intended for the readers of his blog. We reckon that Hugh Miller’s observations on the presentation of self on websites are equally valid for blogs. Miller discusses how information may be “given off” on the web, describing “given off” information as “para-linguistic” or “para-communicational”, hence comprising the tone one uses, the choice of words and subjects and so forth (Miller, 1995). Despite the fact that they are not explicitly part of the self-introduction, all these elements participate in the presentation of the author’s identity via the blog. Consequently, we can assert that blogs have a self-assertion purpose for the bloggers, expressed through phrases such as: “ blogito ergo sum ”, or “ I blog, therefore I am ”.. The mere fact of writing a blog offers the author a sense of identity, because as time goes by and the number of posts and the blog’s archive increase, the author is able to see for himself this development, as the aforementioned example demonstrates (See Table 2 above). In what concerns the dimension we analysed – the construction of Romanian sociologists’ personal identity through blogs – we can assert that the blogs subjected to our analysis are characterised by this type of communication, and offer bloggers the possibility to understand themselves by means of a new type of text. Thus, the blogs of Romanian sociologists become what Goffman calls a “personal front” for their authors, this syntagma carrying here its original meaning (Lemert and Branaman, 1997: 98): “One may take the term “personal front” to refer to the other items of expressive equipment, the items that we most intimately identify with the performer himself [or herself] and that we naturally expect will follow the performer where ever he [or she] goes. As a part of personal front we may include: insignia of office or rank; clothing; sex; age and racial characteristics; size and looks; posture; speech patterns; facial expressions; bodily gestures; and the like. Some of these vehicles for conveying signs, such as racial characteristics, are relatively fixed and over a span of time do not vary for the individual from one situation to another. On the other hand, some of these sign vehicles are relatively mobile or transitory, such as facial expression and can vary during a performance from one moment to the next”.
Hence, Romanian sociologists-bloggers are caught up in a sort of “creative double bind” when they choose to present their personal identity on their blogs. They wish to create a somewhat unconscious presentation of an authentic identity, in order to retain the number of readers. But at the same time they also wish to keep the audience engaged in the narrations they tell when they make use of literary conventions (plot, revelations, attacks) in order to create veridical stories of their day-to-day life (Langellier and Peterson, 2004: 179). The most “narrative” stories are the ones that describe extraordinary experiences in common-language terms, making the stories seem sincere or trustworthy, in the context of the normal tone used in the blog (See in this respect the posts previously presented in Tables 1 and 2). Even when a blogger tries to present a “real” variant of his personal identity, he often chooses the best one, the most attractive and full of drama – see, for instance, the situation presented in Table 2 – the sociologist blogger introduces in his narration elements that belong both to his personal/private space, such as his hobby – rugby – and to his profession – sociologist . In regards to self-presentation, the most significant tension noticed in the case of the Romanian sociologists was one not unique to the online medium: Mediating between the pressures to present an enhanced or desired self (Goffman, 1959) and the need to present one’s true self to a partner in order to achieve intimacy (Reis and Shaver, 1988). In their profiles and online interactions, they attempted to present a vision of self that was attractive, engaging, and worthy of pursuit, but realistic and honest enough that subsequent face-to-face meetings would not be unpleasant or surprising. Constructing a profile that reflected one’s “ideal self” (Higgins, 1987) was one tactic by which participants reconciled these pressures. In general, although all of our participants claimed they attempted to be honest in their self-presentation, misrepresentations occurred when participants felt pressure to fudge in order to circumvent the search filters, felt the closed-ended options provided by the site didn’t describe them accurately, or were limited by their self-knowledge. In addition to the cases in which misrepresentation was triggered by the tendency to present an idealized self, the phenomenon of “foggy mirror” arrived. The term (e.g. “foggy mirror”) thus describes the gap between selfperceptions and the assessments made by others. The difference might be overly positive (which was typically the case) or a negative one. Cyberspace thus presents a classic environment for filling in gaps through and by virtue of one’s personal psychological repertoire. This is where imagination and imagery are played out. Imagination entails the general cognitive capacity of human beings to fantasize about the nature of others, both people and environments or 140
objects, through ideas, narratives, concepts, explanations, assumptions and beliefs (Thomas 2003). Imagery refers to the visual representation of imagined objects – namely, assigning them forms (Thomas 1999). In the context of online communication, in which ambiguity prevails, the role of imagination in generating emotions in cyberspace is even greater than in actual-space. The factual information we have about an online partner is usually more limited than our knowledge an offline partner and our imagination must fill in the gap (Ben-Ze’ev 2004: 80).
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