Metalanguage in Interaction: Hebrew discourse markers (Pragmatics & Beyond New Series)

Metalanguage in Interaction

Pragmatics & Beyond New Series (P&BNS) Pragmatics & Beyond New Series is a continuation of Pragmatics & Beyond and its Companion Series. The New Series offers a selection of high quality work covering the full richness of Pragmatics as an interdisciplinary field, within language sciences.

Editor Andreas H. Jucker

University of Zurich, English Department Plattenstrasse 47, CH-8032 Zurich, Switzerland e-mail: [email protected]

Associate Editors Jacob L. Mey

University of Southern Denmark

Herman Parret

Jef Verschueren

Susan C. Herring

Emanuel A. Schegloff

Belgian National Science Foundation, Universities of Louvain and Antwerp

Belgian National Science Foundation, University of Antwerp

Editorial Board Shoshana Blum-Kulka Hebrew University of Jerusalem

Jean Caron

Université de Poitiers

Indiana University

Masako K. Hiraga

St.Paul’s (Rikkyo) University

University of California at Los Angeles

Deborah Schiffrin

David Holdcroft

Georgetown University

Sachiko Ide

Kobe City University of Foreign Studies

Sandra A. Thompson

Thorstein Fretheim

Catherine KerbratOrecchioni

John C. Heritage

Claudia de Lemos

Teun A. van Dijk

Marina Sbisà

Richard J. Watts

Robyn Carston

University College London

Bruce Fraser

Boston University University of Trondheim University of California at Los Angeles

University of Leeds Japan Women’s University

University of Lyon 2 University of Campinas, Brazil University of Trieste

Paul Osamu Takahara

University of California at Santa Barbara Pompeu Fabra, Barcelona University of Berne

Volume 181 Metalanguage in Interaction. Hebrew discourse markers by Yael Maschler

Metalanguage in Interaction Hebrew discourse markers

Yael Maschler University of Haifa

John Benjamins Publishing Company Amsterdamâ•›/â•›Philadelphia

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TM

The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences – Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ansi z39.48-1984.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Maschler, Yael. € Metalanguage in interaction : Hebrew discourse markers / Yael Maschler. €€€€€€ p. cm. (Pragmatics & Beyond New Series, issn 0922-842X ; v. 181) Includes bibliographical references and index. 1.€ Hebrew language--Discourse analysis. 2.€ Discourse markers. 3.€ Hebrew language-Spoken Hebrew--Israel.€ I. Title. PJ4752.M37 ╅╅ 2009 492.4'0141--dc22 isbn 978 90 272 5426 9 (hb; alk. paper) isbn 978 90 272 8950 6 (eb)

2009004733

© 2009 – John Benjamins B.V. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, by print, photoprint, microfilm, or any other means, without written permission from the publisher. John Benjamins Publishing Co. · P.O. Box 36224 · 1020 me Amsterdam · The Netherlands John Benjamins North America · P.O. Box 27519 · Philadelphia pa 19118-0519 · usa

In memory of my deeply beloved sister Dorit Bahir Maschler Jerusalem 8.5.1972 – Singapore 30.8.2000

Table of contents Transcription conventions Preface Acknowledgments

xi xiii xv

chapter 1.╇ Introduction Metalanguage in interaction: Discourse markers as a system Metalanguagingâ•… 1 1. Language alternation at discourse markersâ•… 2 2. 2.1 Relation to previous approaches to discourse markersâ•… 7 3. The dataâ•… 9 Distributional patterning: Negotiating frame shifts via discourse 4. markersâ•… 10 Defining discourse markersâ•… 16 5. 5.1 Previous approaches to prosody in defining discourse markersâ•… 20 6. Functional patterning of discourse markersâ•… 21 6.1 Previous approaches to realms of operation of discourse markersâ•… 26 7. Structural patterning of discourse markersâ•… 27 Grammaticization of discourse markersâ•… 33 8. 8.1 Traugott’s theory of grammaticization and semantic changeâ•… 37 9. Interacting as an Israeliâ•… 39

1

chapter 2.╇ The interpersonal realm The discourse marker nu: Israeli Hebrew impatience in interaction 41 Introduction╅ 41 1. Data╅ 45 2. Hastening co-participant to get on with some non-verbal action╅ 46 3. Nu urging further development within a topic╅ 52 4. 4.1 Narrational discourse╅ 52 4.1.1 Urging a move on to the next episode of a narrative╅ 52 4.2 Urging further development within a non-narrational topic╅ 55 4.3 Nu as a continuer╅ 59

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4.4

5. 6. 7.

8.

Summary of the ‘urging further development of topic’ functionâ•… 64 Granting permission to perform an actionâ•… 64 Summary of sequential functions of nuâ•… 68 Keying functions of nu: joking/provokingâ•… 69 7.1 From joking to provokingâ•… 69 7.2 Nu in combination with other discourse markersâ•… 71 7.2.1 Nu in combination with 'az ma? (‘so what?’)â•… 72 Grammaticization of nuâ•… 74

chapter 3.╇ The textual realm The discourse marker bekitsur: Retroactively constructing digressions 79 Introduction╅ 79 1. Data╅ 84 2. Summarizing bekitsur╅ 85 3. 3.1 Summary following a list╅ 85 3.2 Summary of episode╅ 87 3.3 Drawing conclusions from episode╅ 91 4. Resumptive bekitsur: Returning to the main topic╅ 95 4.1 Collaboration in returning to the main topic╅ 96 4.2 Returning from interaction-based digressions╅ 103 4.3 Returning from content-based digressions╅ 104 4.3.1 Following listener-initiated digressions╅ 104 4.3.2 Following storyteller-initiated digressions╅ 106 4.3.2.1 Following a story aside╅ 106 4.3.2.2 Following orientation╅ 108 4.3.2.3 Following evaluation╅ 110 4.3.2.4 Organizing the hierarchy of episodes in a story╅ 112 4.4 Returning from insertion sequences╅ 114 5. Foregrounding bekitsur: Introducing a new narrative╅ 116 Grammaticization of bekitsur╅ 119 6. Interacting as an Israeli via bekitsur╅ 124 7. chapter 4.╇ The cognitive realm The discourse marker ke'ilu: Realizing the need to rephrase Introduction╅ 127 1. Data and methodology╅ 132 2. A quantitative perspective on the different functions of ke'ilu╅ 133 3. 4. Functional distribution of ke'ilu: A qualitative perspective╅ 134 4.1 Ke'ilu as a conjunction in the literal sense╅ 134

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Table of contents 

Ke'ilu as hedgeâ•… 137 4.2.1 Post-positioned ke'ilu as hedgeâ•… 137 4.2.2 Pre-positioned ke'ilu as hedgeâ•… 138 4.2.3 Interpersonal constraints on hedging ke'iluâ•… 140 4.3 Ke'ilu as focus markerâ•… 143 4.3.1 Pre-positioned ke'ilu as focus markerâ•… 145 4.3.2 Post-positioned ke'ilu as focus markerâ•… 147 4.3.3 Post-positioned focus-marking ke'ilu in aposiopesisâ•… 148 4.3.4 Interpersonal constraints on focus-marking ke'iluâ•… 150 4.4 Ke'ilu as discourse marker of self-rephrasalâ•… 152 4.4.1 Ke'ilu in self-rephrasals of clarification sequencesâ•… 154 4.4.2 Self-rephrasal ke'ilu tokens as fillersâ•… 157 4.5 Ke'ilu in quotationsâ•… 158 4.5.1 Ke'ilu in double-voiced ironic quotationsâ•… 160 The functional itinerary of ke'iluâ•… 162 Grammaticization of ke'ilu in cross-linguistic perspectiveâ•… 165 Interacting as an Israeli via ke'iluâ•… 166 4.2

5. 6. 7.

chapter 5.╇ Between realms The discourse marker tov: Accepting while shifting 171 Introduction╅ 171 1. Data╅ 176 2. Interpersonal tov╅ 176 3. 3.1 Acceptance of some state of things╅ 177 3.2 Third turn receipt╅ 180 3.3 Concession╅ 181 3.4 Ironic agreement: Disagreement╅ 185 4. Textual tov: Marking expected transition╅ 188 4.1 Transitional tov into the beginning of a narrative╅ 188 4.2 Transitional tov between the episodes of narrative discourse╅ 189 4.3 Transitional tov returning to an interrupted action╅ 190 4.4 Transitional tov ending a topic/action╅ 191 5. Ambiguous cases: Between interpersonal and textual tov╅ 193 5.1 Third turn receipt + ending an action╅ 193 5.2 Third turn receipt + transition into following episode/action╅ 195 5.3 Acceptance of some state of things + transition into following episode/action╅ 196 5.4 Concession + transition into following episode/action╅ 198 5.5 Concession and return to main topic╅ 200 6. Grammaticization of tov╅ 201

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Metalanguage in Interaction

chapter 6.╇ Concluding remarks Grammaticization from interaction The system of discourse markers permeating interaction╅ 207 1. 1.1 Function╅ 207 1.2 Metalaguaging at frame shifts╅ 209 1.3 Structure╅ 210 2. Grammaticization of discourse markers╅ 214 2.1 Grammaticization of nu, bekitsur, ke'ilu, and tov╅ 214 2.2 Common threads and differences among the grammaticization patterns studied╅ 220 2.3 Projectability and grammaticization of constructions╅ 225 3. Interacting as an Israeli╅ 229

207

Bibliography

233

Author index

251

Subject index

253

Transcription conventions Each line denotes an intonation unit (Chafe 1994). For Hebrew texts, each line is followed by an English gloss. Where this gloss is not close enough to an English utterance, it is followed by a third line supplying a usually literal (but sometimes functional) translation. Transcription basically follows Chafe 1994, with a few additions: ... – half second pause (each extra dot = another 1/2 second) .. – perceptible pause of less than half a second (3.22) – measured pause of 3.22 seconds ´ – primary stress ` – secondary stress ´´ – particularly marked primary stress , – comma at end of line – continuing intonation (‘more to come’) . – period at end of line – sentence final falling intonation ? – question mark at end of line – sentence final rising intonation, ‘appeal intonation’ (Du Bois et al.€1992). ! – exclamation mark at end of line – sentence final exclamatory intonation ø – lack of punctuation at end of line – a fragmentary intonation unit, one which never reached completion. -- two hyphens – elongation of preceding vowel sound square bracket to the left of two consecutive lines indicates overlapping speech, two speakers talking at once alignment such that the right of the top line is placed over the left of the bottom line indicates latching, no interturn pause /??????/ – transcription impossible /words within slashes/ indicate uncertain transcription p – piano (spoken softly) pp – pianissimo (spoken very softly) mp – mezzo-piano (spoken fairly softly) f – forte (spoken loudly) ff – fortissimo (spoken very loudly) mf – mezzo-forte (spoken fairly loudly)

 Metalanguage in Interaction

acc. – accelerando (speeding up) ritard. – ritardando (slowing down) cresc. – crescendo (progressively louder in volume) decresc. – decrescendo (progressively softer in volume) {in curly brackets} – t ranscriber’s comments concerning paralinguistics and prosody which do not have an agreed upon symbol in this transcription system. [xxxxx] – m  aterial within square brackets in the gloss indicates exuberances of translation (what is not there in the original (Ortega y Gasset 1959, Becker 1982)). ' – uninverted quotation mark in the middle of a transliterated word indicates the glottal stop phoneme. ’ – inverted quotation mark in the middle of a transliterated word indicates an elided form (e.g., ts’xa instead of tsrixa (‘needs’, fem. sg.)). Utterances under consideration are given in boldface.

Preface I remember making a point to myself as an eight-year-old coming to live in the U.S. for a year: whenever you need some time to think in the midst of conversation, don’t say 'e--m, as they do in Israel; rather, say u--h or uhm. This will make you sound more like the other kids in class. Many years later, as an undergraduate student of classical Indo-European philology, certain words, such as Greek gar, men, de; Latin enim, autem, nam; Sanskrit tadaa, tathaa; or Old English þaa, hwaet caught my attention in the various languages I was studying. They often appeared at key locations in the text, such as at beginnings of stories or paragraphs. Each such word had several translations, usually into high-register Hebrew words. And perhaps most interestingly, my professors were a bit lost whenever I inquired about the relationships among the different translations of a single such word and about its ‘exact meaning’. This is mirrored by what Longacre has written about what he termed ‘mystery particles’: the “sentential particles continue to defy analysis even at a relatively advanced stage of the research” (1976:€468). Later, as a graduate student working on a dissertation on Hebrew-English bilingual discourse, this type of word and the ‘hesitation utterances’ from my childhood turned out to have a very interesting property in common. In the HebrewEnglish bilingual corpus I was studying, about 2 out of every 3 such utterances involved the bilingual discourse strategy of language alternation (what has been termed ‘code-switching’, a language metaphor I would like to avoid here) (Wittgenstein 1958, Reddy 1979, Maschler 1988, 1991). Just as my Hebrew-English bilingual informants often alternated from English to Hebrew when about to verbalize such words as look, yeah, but, on the other hand, anyway, or first of all, so they often switched to Hebrew when they were about to hesitate with an uh or an uhm. It turned out that this pattern of language alternation showed up again and again in other language contact situations (e.g., Brody 1987, Salmons 1990, Matras 1998, and the collection of articles in Maschler 2000a). The more linguistics I studied, the more phenomena seemed to be encapsulated by these mystery particles. I decided to go back to my first language, Hebrew, and investigate in depth these words, which by now had a name – ‘discourse markers’ (Schiffrin 1987).

 Metalanguage in Interaction

Research in the field of discourse markers has flourished in the past two decades. The goal of the present study is to investigate in depth these elements in Hebrew discourse, both as individual utterances and as a system. I focus on how such utterances may come about, on their functions in conversation, on what processes of grammaticization (Hopper 1987, 1988) they may undergo, and on what we can learn from them about Israeli culture and society. Katriel has written several rich ethnographies of communication in Israeli culture (e.g., 1986, 1991, 1999, 2004). Her research focuses on key words in the contemporary Hebrew lexicon as a window onto Israeli culture. Through a close exploration of the life of certain content-words in Israeli culture (e.g., dugri, lefargen, gibush, kiturim), she illuminates the essence of being Israeli. In this book, I am interested in exploring the essence of interacting as an Israeli. Rather than focus on content-words, then, I focus on function-words – the grammatical category of discourse markers – which are employed for frame shifting in Hebrew talk-in-interaction, as will be shown. I study the system of discourse markers punctuating spoken discourse because I view these markers as the backbone of interaction. The study thus provides a bridge between the two disciplines of linguistics and communication. The opening chapter of this book explores Hebrew discourse markers as a system. Through this exploration, my own approach to discourse markers is unraveled and compared to some previous approaches. In the chapters that follow, I focus on several particular markers, illuminating through them certain quintessential aspects of Israeli society, identity, and culture. The final chapter ties together the patterns gleaned from the studies of the individual markers and delineates my approach to the grammaticization of discourse markers. I do not, of course, claim this to be a comprehensive study of all the discourse markers of Hebrew – a task far too ambitious for the current project. Rather, it is intended as an exploration into a variety of such markers, in the quest for unraveling the essence of interacting as an Israeli. This study is informed by a variety of approaches to the study of discourse: studies of intonation and spoken discourse (e.g., Chafe 1987, 1994, Du Bois et al.€1992), work in the discourse functional tradition (e.g., Hopper 1979, Chafe 1980, Becker 1984, Thompson 1984, Du Bois 1985), the methods and findings of conversation analysis (CA) (e.g., Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson 1974, Jefferson 1993, Sacks 1992, Schegloff 1993, 1996a,b), and studies in linguistic anthropology (e.g., Becker 1979, Goffman 1981, Gumperz 1982, Katriel 1986, 1991, 1999, 2004, Tannen 1984, 1989). It contributes to a cross-language perspective on the grammaticization of discourse markers (cf. Auer 1996, Traugott and Dasher 2002, Fleischman and Yaguello 2004) and asks “how linguistic structures [discourse markers] and patterns of use are shaped by, and themselves shape, interaction” (Selting and CouperKuhlen 2001:€1). This book, then, is about Hebrew interactional linguistics.

Acknowledgments Metalanguage in Interaction: Hebrew discourse markers was inspired by the work of many linguists to whom I feel deeply indebted. It was my great privilege to study under the mentorship of Alton L. Becker. Although this took place over two decades ago, his humanistic linguistics, inseparable from his character and personality, sparkles brightly in my mind. Wallace Chafe taught me how to approach spoken discourse and think about cognitive constraints. From Paul Hopper I learned about grammaticization and emergent grammar, and also how to read Wittgenstein. I have also learned much from John Du Bois, Emanuel Schegloff, Deborah Schiffrin, Deborah Tannen, Sandra Thompson, and Elizabeth Traugott, all of whom I had the good fortune to study with at one or another of the Linguistic Society of America summer institutes in 1985, 1987, and 2001. I am grateful to the people who have read various parts and versions of this book and provided many useful comments. They include Mira Ariel, Peter Auer, Elizabeth Couper-Kuhlen, Cecilia Ford, Susanne Günthner, Paul Hopper, Tamar Katriel, Deborah Schiffrin, Sandra Thompson, Elizabeth Traugott, and several anonymous reviewers. Of course, I remain solely responsible for the use I have made of all their comments. I also owe a debt to Suzanne Fleischman, who sadly passed away in 2000. It was Suzanne who, back in the summer of 1999, on the terrace of the Israel Museum in Jerusalem, encouraged me to begin my first study of a discourse marker in monolingual Hebrew conversation. My colleagues and students at the University of Haifa have provided me with an important context for research. I am especially grateful to Gonen Dori-Hacohen, Roi Estlein, Tamar Katriel, Irit Meir, Carmit Miller, Bracha Nir, Chaim Noy, Hilla Polak-Yitzhaki, Rivki Ribak, Michele Rosenthal, and Tamar Zewi for the intellectually stimulating environment they create and for their friendship. Likewise, I am grateful for the friendship of Jenny Mandelbaum and Susanne Uhmann. Permission to update and expand two articles is gratefully acknowledged: Maschler, Yael. 2002. On the grammaticization of ke‘ilu (‘like’, lit. ‘as if ’) in Hebrew talk-in-interaction. Language in Society 31: 243–276. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Maschler, Yael. 2003. The discourse marker nu: Israeli Hebrew impatience in interaction. Text 23: 89–128. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. It has been a pleasure to work with the people at John Benjamins. Andreas Jucker has been a wise and most efficient series editor. Isja Conen and Martine van

 Metalanguage in Interaction

Marsbergen from the production department have been professional, considerate, and patient with me. I am also extremely grateful to the Freiburg Institute for Advanced Studies (FRIAS) at Albert-Ludwigs-Universität, Freiburg, Germany, for an External Senior Fellowship I received at the School of Language and Literature. This fellowship provided me with an ideal setting in which to complete the very final touches on this book. In Israel, I have been especially lucky for close friendships, particularly Shari and David Satran, Lilach and Eran Ishai, Ilan Yaniv and Daniela Yaniv Richter, and Naomi De-Malach and David Blanc. I would also like to mention my gratitude to Tamar Kron and David Wieler. My parents have been a source of much support throughout the years. My mother Hanna Maschler also proved to be an excellent proof-reader. It is my great sorrow that my father Michael Maschler did not live long enough to see this book in print. His genuine interest in my work has always been a source of much happiness, and the example he set of a hard-working, devoted, and honest academic – an inspiration. I dedicate this book to the memory of my deeply beloved sister Dorit, whose sudden untimely death will always darkly color our lives in many more ways than we would have ever imagined. My own family deserves the greatest acknowledgment. My children, Shira, Maya, and Yotam, have not only provided a wealth of excerpts for analysis (some of which have found their way into the pages of this book); they continue to be my partners in unearthing Israeli ways of talking and being in the world, while constituting a source of great joy, pride, and meaning in life. Lastly, and most importantly, I owe an immense debt of gratitude to my husband and partner Paul Woodward Inbar for listening to me talk about this book endlessly, for his sharp linguistic insights, criticism and advice, for his sound editing, generosity, and care, and most importantly, for his love and friendship.

chapter 1

Introduction Metalanguage in interaction: Discourse markers as a system

1. Metalanguaging I begin by elaborating on what is unique to my own approach to discourse markers. There have been many studies of discourse markers over the past two decades, most notably, Schiffrin 1987 (for overviews, see Brinton 1996, Jucker and Ziv 1998, Schourup 1999, Maschler 2000a, Schiffrin 2001, Fischer 2006, Maschler 2008). While there exist a few article-length studies of Hebrew discourse markers (e.g., Ariel 1998, Even-Zohar 1982, Henkin 1999, Livnat and Yatziv 2003, 2006, Shloush 1998, Ziv 1998, 2001), my own are exceptional in being based on naturally occurring conversation (Maschler 1997a, 1998b, 2001, 2002 a,b, 2003, 2009). However, the most unique aspect of the present approach is that it focuses on the process of metalanguaging in relation to employment of discourse markers. With the term ‘metalanguaging’, I wish to evoke a term coined by A. L. Becker, ‘languaging’. Becker moved from a notion of ‘language’ to a notion of ‘languaging’ in order to shift from an idea of language as something accomplished to the idea of languaging as an ongoing process (1988:€25). A similar shift is found in Hopper’s ideas about emergent grammar (1987, 1988, see below), which he contrasts with a priori grammar. Languaging is possible at two levels of discourse. Generally when we use language, we look through it at a world we believe to exist beyond language. However, we can also use language in order to look through it at the process of using language itself (Maschler 1994b). I investigate here this latter process of metalanguaging – using language in order to communicate about the process of using language. Metalanguaging, I argue, is the semantic-pragmatic process which is at the heart of both the employment and grammaticization (Hopper 1987) of discourse markers. Discourse markers are viewed here as linguistic elements employed for metalanguaging – languaging about the interaction, as opposed to languaging about the extralingual world. In other words, rather than referring to the world perceived by speakers (through language) to exist beyond language, discourse markers refer to the text itself, to the interaction among its speakers, or to the cognitive processes taking place in their minds during verbalization.

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Metalanguage in Interaction

Every act of languaging involves always both levels – the lingual and the metalingual1. On the one hand, the utterances we employ for metalanguaging almost always (apart from very few utterances such as uh or uhm) refer also to something in the extralingual world. On the other hand, languaging about the world involves continually signaling the frame (Goffman 1974) through which our utterance is intended; in other words, it involves metalanguaging. Languaging, then, always happens at these two levels, but some utterances are particularly high in their metalingual dimension, and it is those utterances which form the focus of this book. In this chapter, I first show that, from the emic perspective of participants in an interaction, discourse markers constitute a distinct linguistic category employed for metalanguaging. I then move on to give a detailed definition of discourse markers based on their semantic and structural properties. I show that discourse markers constitute a system exhibiting three types of patterning involving: (1) the moments at which discourse markers are employed in interaction, (2) the functions fulfilled by discourse markers, and (3) their structural properties. I introduce the topic of grammaticization of discourse markers, which will be explored for particular markers in the ensuing chapters and portrayed as a whole in the concluding chapter, and I close with a brief overview of the particular discourse markers studied in depth in the remainder of this study. 2. Language alternation at discourse markers My approach to discourse markers originates in a phenomenon I noticed many years ago in bilingual conversation – language alternation at utterances which all have something in common; namely, that they are high in the metalingual dimension and occur at conversational action (Ford and Thompson 1996) boundaries (Maschler 1988, 1994b). Examine, for instance, the following excerpt, typical of much bilingual conversation. Shira and Grace, two bilingual relatives in their early thirties who emigrated to Israel from the U.S. 17 and 6 years prior to this conversation, respectively, are discussing two children, a brother and sister (Gad and Nira) in their family. They are in the midst of a discussion concerning whether boys are treated differently than girls by their parents2:

1. I prefer the term ‘metalingual’ to ‘metalinguistic’, because we are concerned here with the level meta to language, not to linguistics. 2. The larger conversation from which excerpts 1 and 2 are taken was analyzed in detail in Maschler 1988.



Chapter 1.╇ Introduction

Excerpt 1: 1 Shira: ... they shòuld not be tréated so differently. 2 I’m sáying 3 Grace: áre they? 4 /really?/ 5 .. réally? 6 Shira: .... kén (‘yeah’), 7 ... mà shebarúr (‘what’s for sure’) is that, 8 ... the totsa'á (‘result’) is vèry different. 9 Grace: yés. 10 .. but 11 Shira: 'axshav (‘now’) grá--nted, 12 .... I accé--pt, 13 ... that.. whát’s his name is a lìttle different. {referring to the boy Gad} 14 .. 'aval (‘but’) 15 ... kén (‘yeah’), 16 Grace: Gad? 17 Shira: gám (‘also’), 18 he doesn’t get the sá--me yaxas (‘attentiveness toward the other’), 19 ... as Níra does, 20 .. he gets dífferent 21 .. and sometimes 22 Grace: yeah but that’s also cause she’s ó--lder, 23 .. and hè’s yóu--nger, 24 Shira: bé--seder (‘alright’), 25 Grace: I think there’s something about, 26 ... that you treat a bóy dìfferently 27 .. do yóu treat 28 .. do you think yóu treat Yo'av {Shira’s son} 29 Shira: 'ani betuxá (‘I’m sure’), 30 ... that if hé was a gì--rl, 31 ... I would treat him dífferently. 32 ... 'ani betuxá (‘I’m sure’), Apart from the nouns yaxas3 (‘attentiveness toward the other’, line 18) and totsa'á (‘result’, line 8), two relatively highly culture-bound concepts in Israeli culture, 3. Katriel writes that yaxas (‘attentiveness toward the other’) is among the relational terms which have greatly proliferated in recent years in Israeli society. “These terms denote interpersonal behavior that concretizes the notion of interpersonal support. The term yaxas refers to humanizing gestures of attentiveness and considerateness” (2004:€206–207).

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Metalanguage in Interaction

perhaps even ‘key words’ (Katriel 1999), all the utterances accompanied by the strategy of language alternation here are high in the metalingual dimension. In these 32 mostly English intonation units (Chafe 1994), we find 9 such Hebrew utterances. Some of them function metalingually in the realm of the text, signaling relationships between prior and upcoming discourse: 'axshav (‘now’, line 11), 'aval (‘but’, line 14), gam (‘also’, line 17). Others function metalingually in the interpersonal realm, negotiating relations between speaker and hearer (ken (‘yeah’, lines 6, 15)) or between speaker and text (mà shebarúr (‘what’s for sure’, line 7), 'ani betuxá (‘I’m sure’, lines 29, 32)). One Hebrew utterance, the concessive béseder (‘alright’, line 24), functions metalingually both interpersonally – granting the interlocutor her point – as well as textually, indicating an upcoming utterance which will oppose prior discourse (here, that differences in the ways boys and girls are related to have more to do with their sex than with their relative order in the family). Yet another type of Hebrew metalingual utterance is illustrated in excerpt 2, in which Grace compares working women with working men: Excerpt 2: 1 Grace: ... do you think that they’re any léss ìsolated than mèn are. 2 .. now they have the sàme competítion at work. 3 ... they have the sàme láck of ti--me, 4 .. as a mán who wo--rks, 5 Shira: ze lo4 (‘it’s not’) have the sáme competition, 6 ... sòmetimes they have hárder situations at work, 7 Grace: okáy, 8 okáy, 9 Shira: ... but they ha--ve 10 'e-- (‘uh’).. agaí--n, 11 ... they há--ve a dífferent nétwork of suppórt. {-------------ritard.---------------------} Here we find another type of switched utterance, the Hebrew hesitation utterance 'e-- (‘uh’), at the return to a previous point, marked also by English again. Over and 4. Here we find another motivation for language alternation. The strategy is employed here in an iconic manner (Becker 1982, Maschler 1993), in order to highlight a contrast in the discourse by presenting the two contrasting segments, each one in a different language. Shira contrasts her opinion with Grace’s, by repeating Grace’s English utterance (‘have the same competition’) following its negation in Hebrew (ze lo – ‘it’s not’). The contrast between the two languages is employed here not to highlight the contrast between the lingual and the metalingual (as in the case of discourse markers), but rather in order to mirror the contrast between old and new information, and between Grace’s opinion vs. Shira’s (see Maschler 1997b for a detailed study of this iconic strategy).



Chapter 1.╇ Introduction

over, we find Shira employing the Hebrew hesitation markers 'e-- and 'e--m (with the front, half-open vowel [ε]) at conversational action boundaries. Only once in a 40-minute conversation does she employ in this environment the mid-central vowel, or the schwa [∂]; namely, English uh. This use is particularly prominent because Shira, having learned Hebrew later in adolescence, generally speaks Hebrew with an accent very much influenced by English. As one of the most difficult things to adopt when acquiring another language is nativelike usage of fillers, we would expect to hear an American accent when employing fillers, not vice versa. Chafe has shown that spoken discourse, as it unfolds, manifests evidence of the cognitive processes taking place at the time in the mind of the speaker (1987, 1994). One notable phenomenon is that episode boundaries generally involve longer pauses and hesitations, because more time is necessary at those moments of discourse for the processing of greater amounts of new information. Shira’s hesitation markers at conversational action boundaries can be viewed as metalingual at the cognitive realm of talk, referring to (in the sense of attesting) the cognitive processes taking place in her mind during verbalization. Just as Shira consistently employs the strategy of language alternation at textual and interpersonal metalingual utterances, so she employs it at cognitive metalingual utterances. Thus, Shira’s employment of Hebrew fillers can be explained once we view these hesitation markers as operating on a level meta to discourse, as in the case of the textual and interpersonal metalingual utterances. The two excerpts above illustrate three types of metalingual utterance – textual, interpersonal, and cognitive. We have seen that this classification is not always clear-cut, as some utterances operate in more than one realm simultaneously. What is common to all of these metalingual utterances, however, is that each one functions to negotiate a frame shift (Goffman 1981), or a conversational action (Ford and Thompson 1996) boundary in the interaction. The shift can be a fairly minute one, such as the shift from a first pair part to a second in an adjacency pair (Sacks 1992, vol. 2: 521–570); for example, the shift from Grace’s assertion in excerpt 1, lines 22–23 to Shira’s response to it in line 24, negotiated via the discourse marker béseder (‘alright’, line 24). It could be a somewhat more pronounced frame shift, as in a return to a previous discourse topic, such as ‘women’s different network of support’ in excerpt 2 (lines 10–11) negotiated via 'e-- (‘uh’) and English again. Alternatively, it could be a very major frame shift, such as the beginning of a completely new narrative or discourse topic. We shall return to this point in Section 4. We have seen that what is common to all these switched utterances is that they are metalingual and occur at conversational action boundaries, or at frame shifts. Bilingual discourse offers the unique possibility of iconically separating actions of languaging from those of metalanguaging by performing each of these two types of activity in a different language. The bilingual employs one of the two available

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languages in order to comment on, or manage, interactions taking place mostly in the other. The result is a discourse taking place mostly in one language, whose metalingual frame of discourse markers takes place generally in the other5. In my data, the phenomenon of language alternation at discourse markers occurred for 66% of the discourse markers throughout the speech of the more balanced bilingual, Shira6. Furthermore, 85% of all her discourse markers occurred in a cluster of discourse markers including at least one Hebrew marker (Maschler 1994a,b). The phenomenon of language alternation at discourse markers has since been documented in many situations of bilingualism (e.g., Brody 1987, McConvell 1988, Salmons 1990, Stroud 1992, de Rooij 1996, Auer 1995, Li Wei and Milroy 1995, Ösch-Serra 1998, Alfonzetti 1998, Matras 1997, Moyer 1998, Maschler 1988, 1998a, 2000a,b,c, Hlavac 2006, and Kyratzis 2007, to mention just a few). It is the phenomenon responsible for the eventual borrowing of words such as English okay or Yiddish nu into many of the world’s languages, to the point that such words have become part of the language now used also by monolingual speakers7. The study of bilingual discourse strategies thus leads us to a characterization of discourse markers which is applicable also to the study of discourse markers in monolingual discourse: they are metalingual utterances occurring at conversational action boundaries, or frame shifts. We have seen that bilingual discourse provides evidence for considering fillers and hesitation markers which occur at conversational action boundaries to be discourse markers. Furthermore, the strategy of language alternation at discourse markers suggests that discourse markers are perceived as a distinct and unified category – the category of utterances employed to metalanguage conversational action boundaries – because bilinguals consistently switch languages in verbalizing discourse markers. Bilingual linguistic behavior thus constitutes evidence that the category ‘Discourse Marker’ is not merely a linguists’ construct, but rather a substantial and meaningful category for speakers. Unlike some other linguistic categories, it constitutes a linguistic category operating only at the discourse level, with no existence at lower levels of linguistic analysis.

5. Recent studies show that this strategy is in use by bilingual children already at preschool age (Kyratzis 2007). 6. Furthermore, returning to these same two speakers twelve years later, I found further grammaticization of this pattern in their emergent bilingual grammar, such that cognitive and textual discourse markers occurred in Hebrew significantly more frequently than in the earlier corpus and interpersonal markers were further grammaticized in a qualitative sense, exhibiting more fixed, formulaic expressions compared to the earlier corpus (see Maschler 2000c). 7.

For the different stages of this process of language contact, see Goss and Salmons, 2000.



Chapter 1.╇ Introduction

2.1

Relation to previous approaches to discourse markers

In a recent comparison of some major approaches to discourse markers, Fischer (2006) posits several dimensions along which to compare the multitude of approaches to these utterances. One such dimension is that of integratedness – the degree to which a discourse marker is viewed as part of the utterances it connects, as opposed to viewing it as an independent element. By showing that discourse markers constitute the metalingual frame of the discourse, the present approach views discourse markers as maximally detached from the discourse they frame. The bilingual discourse strategy of iconically separating out this frame through the strategy of language alternation underscores the unintegratedness of these elements of talk. Another dimension of comparison posited by Fischer is the question of what type of class discourse markers constitute: semantic, syntactic, functional, or no class at all (2006:€2). By focusing on the function of discourse markers to negotiate frame shifts in interaction, the present approach views discourse markers primarily as a functional class. However, we will see that through their repetitive use in this function, and by nature of the process of grammaticization, discourse markers also form a syntactic category, one operating at the discourse level. Many studies approach discourse markers based on relevance theory (Sperber and Wilson 1986). According to these approaches, discourse markers impose constraints on the way an utterance is relevant in its context (e.g., Blakemore 1987, Watts 1988, Jucker 1993, Andersen 1998). The present approach begins not with a theory, but rather with a corpus. I ask what the particular discourse markers are doing in the interactions in which they appear. As Aijmer writes in relation to relevance theory: “a different approach may be better suited to explain what [discourse markers] are doing in authentic texts and why the speaker has chosen one particle and not another. Moreover, the focus on a single explanation [i.e., the issue of relevance] means that other reasons for using them […] may be neglected” (2002:€11). Many previous approaches to discourse markers relate to their textual function of relating utterances to other discourse units. For instance:

(1) according to Schiffrin, discourse markers are “sequentially dependent elements which bracket units of talk. […T]he beginning of one unit is the end of another” (1987:€31).



(2) according to Fraser, a discourse marker is “an expression which signals the relationship of the basic message to the foregoing discourse” (1996:€186).



(3) according to Hansen, discourse markers are “linguistic items of variable scope, and whose primary function is connective” (1997:€160).

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(4) according to Redeker, discourse markers are “linguistic signals of textual coherence links” (1991:€1139).

Other approaches relate to the interactional functions of discourse markers, for instance:

(1) Schourup writes that discourse markers “constitute the range of conventionalized reponses in English” (1985:€3).



(2) according to Östman, discourse markers “implicitly anchor the act of communication to the speaker’s attitudes towards aspects of the on-going interaction” (1981:€5, 1982:€152).



(3) Stubbs (1983:€193) considers discourse marks as “essentially interactive”.

Many approaches relate the textual and interactive functions of discourse markers to each other in various theoretical frameworks (e.g., Östman 1982, Schiffrin 1987, Traugott 1995a, Brinton 1996, Aijmer 2002). However, very few approaches relate to the cognitive functions of discourse markers. Zwicky, for instance, considers the English hesitation marker uh a discourse marker (1985), but as Schourup writes, this item would regularly be excluded from the group of elements considered discourse markers by many scholars (1999:€235). Even-Zohar (1982:€191) combines the textual with the cognitive when he characterizes these elements (‘void pragmatic connectives’ in his terminology) as indicating “ ‘the speaker’s strong need to organise his discourse’ or ‘the speaker’s anxiety to draw maximum attention to all his shifts of mind’ ” (emphasis mine). This last phrase combines the focus on cognitive constraints with the idea of shifting; however, the focus is not on frame shifting in Goffman’s sense, as it is here. The present approach, as we have seen, differs from most previous approaches by extending the categorization of discourse markers from elements whose function is in the textual and/or interpersonal realms, also to those functioning in the cognitive realm of discourse8. I have presented evidence from bilingual discourse to justify this categorization. Furthermore, we shall see that the present corpusbased approach suggests a framework in which these three realms of interaction – textual, interpersonal, and cognitive – constitute a coherent whole enabling particular affinities across realms.

8. Two more recent approaches relating discourse markers to the cognitive realm of discourse are Bazzanella 2006 and Yang 2006.



Chapter 1.╇ Introduction

3. The data We now move to the study of discourse markers in Hebrew monolingual conversation. The present study is based on the Haifa Corpus of Spoken Israeli Hebrew (Maschler 2004), comprised of casual Hebrew conversations among college-educated Israelis in their twenties with their friends and relatives, which I have been collecting over the past decade or so. The data comprise 50 conversations, ranging in length from approximately 1 to 9 minutes and taking place between 2 to 5 participants. Altogether, the corpus comprises approximately 150 minutes of talk among 124 different speakers, collected over the years 1994–2002, with the exception of one conversation recorded by myself in 1986. The conversations were recorded by my discourse analysis students over the years, in interactions in which they participated. They were submitted as part of course projects, along with information concerning the prior-text (Becker 1979) of the interaction, the nature of interpersonal relations among participants, and, occasionally, relevant non-verbal behavior which participants were able to recall. I include here only those interactions for which consent was obtained from participants9. Many of the conversations in the corpus constitute narratives. This is not to say that discourse markers are employed only in narrative discourse – Maschler 1997a, 1998b show the contrary (and see Section 4 below). This has more to do with the texts students happened to select for their projects. The instructions given were to record several long stretches of naturally-occurring casual talk (at least two audio-cassettes’ worth) and choose a segment one feels enthusiastic about, one they see themselves spending an entire semester with, a text having a clear beginning, middle, and end. Interestingly, the majority of conversations selected turned out to be narratives. The data have been carefully transcribed and segmented into intonation units (Chafe 1994), marking intonation contours, pauses, primary and secondary stress, as well as other paralinguistic features such as tempo and volume which seemed prominent in the particular excerpts (See the Transcription Conventions Section which opens this study)10. This transcription method reflects the importance of the intonation unit as the basic unit of spoken interaction (Chafe 1987, 1994), a unit serving as the structural basis for my definition of discourse markers (see below). 9. These students attended my courses at three different institutions in Israel: at the University of Haifa, at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, and at Oranim College near Haifa. They studied at departments of Communication, Hebrew Language, and English in these three institutions. I wish to express my gratitude to the students for their generosity with the data. 10. I wish to thank my research assistants Michal Peled-Kaveh, Tamar Rubin, Shlomo Kim, Tamar Mencher, Tal Dori, Hilla Polak-Yitzhaki, Hadar Netz, Roi Estlein, and Carmit Miller for help with transcription and coding.

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4. Distributional patterning: Negotiating frame shifts via discourse markers There is a great deal of systematicity in the ways discourse markers are employed besides the systematicity of language alternation at discourse markers observed in bilingual conversation. First, we return to the issue of the employment of discourse markers as a function of the type of frame shift involved. In his study of footing, Goffman writes: A change in footing implies a change in the alignment we take up to ourselves and the others present as expressed in the way we manage the production or reception of an utterance. A change in our footing is another way of talking about a change in our frame for events. [...] participants over the course of their speaking constantly change their footing, these changes being a persistent feature of natural talk (1981:€128, emphasis mine).

Goffman ends his study with the belief that “linguistics provides us with the cues and markers through which such footings become manifest, helping us to find our way to a structural basis for analyzing them” (ibid.: 157). Because of their metalingual nature, discourse markers play a significant role in framing the discourse. They are employed in order to create and reflect frame shifts, thus functioning as contextualization cues (Gumperz 1982) signaling those shifts (Maschler 1997a, 1998b). Discourse markers constitute one of the most prominent linguistic strategies for negotiating footing, or frame shifts, in interaction. In a study of 11 out of the 50 Hebrew conversations on which the present study is based11, altogether 336 discourse markers were employed. Of the 595 frame shifts found throughout that database, 247 (42% of all frame shifts) were accompanied by at least one discourse marker (Maschler 1997a, 1998b). Furthermore, the corpus shows systematicity in the ways discourse markers are employed at frame shifts. In general, the ‘higher’ the boundary between conversational actions, the more the linguistic material necessary for its construction. ‘Larger packages’ (Sacks 1992), such as the beginning of a new episode in a narrative, open with more discourse markers – and particularly more clusters of discourse markers – than ‘smaller packages’, such as the beginning of a ‘second’ in an adjacency pair. Table 1 illustrates the distribution of discourse markers across the 595 frame shifts found throughout the 11 conversations, separated into segments of narrative and non-narrative discourse stretches12:

11. These 11 conversations comprise 30 minutes of naturally-occurring monolingual Hebrew casual conversation among 31 different participants (friends and family relatives), collected throughout the years 1994–1997. 12. For more detail, see Maschler 1997a, 1998b.



Chapter 1.╇ Introduction

Table 1.╇ Distribution of discourse markers and discourse marker clusters at boundaries (Maschler 1997a, 1998b) Type of boundary

Number of boundaries

Number of boundaries + marker

Number of boundaries + cluster

I supertopic/story

25

11 (44%)

3 (12%)

II episode (narrative) III sub-episode (narrative)

61 99

30 (49%) 38 (38%)

9 (15%) 8 (8%)

II subtopic (non-narrative) III turn in adjacency pair (non-narrative)

99 311

46 (46%) 122 (39%)

10 (10%) 20 (6%)

Total

595

247 (42%)

50 (8%)

We see that higher-level boundaries between conversational actions (i.e., level-II boundaries), such as those between episodes in narrative or between sub-topics in non-narrational discourse, involve the use of a discourse marker in 49% and 46% of such boundaries, respectively, whereas lower-lever boundaries (i.e., level-III boundaries), such as between sub-episodes in narrative or between the two parts of an adjacency pair in non-narrative discourse, involve the use of a discourse marker in only 38% and 39% of such boundaries, respectively. The pattern is particularly apparent when examining boundaries involving employment of clusters of discourse markers (right-most column of Table 1). Clusters are almost twice as common at level-II boundaries (15%, 10%) as they are at level-III boundaries (8% and 6%). Level-I boundaries (beginnings of new stories or major discourse topics) exhibit an employment rate of discourse markers somewhere in between level-II and level-III boundaries (44% of all level-I boundaries involve discourse markers, 12% involve clusters). This has to do with the fact that at such moments in interaction, we often find longer metalingual utterances, such as rotse lishmoa keta? (‘wanna hear something weird/funny [lit. ‘a segment’]?’) or 'ani 'asaper lexa mashehu 'al… (‘let me tell you something about…’) – longer utterances (usually sentences) not sufficiently crystallized in order to be considered discourse markers. An illustration of this point can be seen in excerpt 3, a conversation among 5 family members – a couple and their 3 children Shmulik, Meirav, and Noga. Shmulik and Meirav are in their early twenties. Noga is their little sister. Shmulik is in the midst of an orientation (Labov 1972) to a story about a little boy, but he is constantly being interrupted by his family members:

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Metalanguage in Interaction

Excerpt 3 (‘Wounds’): 54 Shmulik: .. 'az hayeled haze--, so the boy this so this boy, 55

... 'eh kaze, uh [is] like,

56

min profesor, sort of [a] professor,

57

kmo she'amarti, as I said,

58

hu sho'el hakol vehu v he asks everything and he an

59

ve'im 'at lo 'ona lo beduyak and if you (fem.) don’t answer him in accur

60

be.. bimduyak, in.. in accuracy accurately,

61

vehu yode'a be'erex, and he knows just about and he knows only the general idea of things,

62

.. 'az 'eh 'i 'efshar lehapil 'oto. so uh [it’s] impossible to fool him.

63

z’tomeret hu-in other words he-- [is]

64 Meirav:

.. ben kama? son of how much how old?

65 Shmulik:→ .. 'eh 'ani yode'a? uh [do] I know uh what do I know? 66

'e.. 'ole le.. kita 'aleph sh u.. going up to grade a uh.. going up to first grade



Chapter 1.╇ Introduction

67

be'od shnatayim shalosh. in another two years three in another two-three years. 'eifo hatelefon? where[’s] the phone?

68 Father: 69 Shmulik:→ ... bekitsu--r, anyway, 70 Meirav: 71 Mother:

.. kan kan. {concerning the phone} here here. sivanush shalxa 'otam. Sivanush sent them.

72 Father:

'ah tov. {concerning the phone} oh good.



73 Noga:

shshshshshsh.



74

.. n--u!

75

tnu lo lesape--r! let him tell!

76 Shmulik: →'az 'eh so uh 77

→ ki haya fadixot, because there were screw ups,

78

hi 'eh hayta xola sham, she uh was sick there,

79

ve.. revital ve'ani halaxnu levaker 'otam. and.. Revital and I went to visit them.

80

→ve'az 'e--h, and then u--h,

81

hu kaze mis he like loo

82

ba kaze, comes like,

Throughout these lines, Shmulik attempts a return to the narrative (a task he finally accomplishes at line 81) while also dealing with the interruptions. The move from a first to a second pair part of an interruption (such as from a clarification question to an answer, or from a side-comment to a response to it) is of a lower

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Metalanguage in Interaction

order than the move from responding to an interruption back to the narrative. Let us compare Shmulik’s employment of discourse markers throughout his attempts to return to narration (level-II boundaries) with those he employs in order to deal with participants’ side comments (level-III boundaries). One of Shmulik’s sisters, Meirav, latches on at line 64, asking how old the boy is. After answering her question (lines 65–67), Shmulik attempts a return to the narrative with the discourse marker bekitsur (‘anyway’, line 69). His father is meanwhile engaged in asking where the phone is (line 68). Meirav answers the father (line 70), while the mother makes a side comment related to Shmulik’s orientation, giving the reason why Shmulik and his friend Revital went to the place where they met the boy whom this story concerns (line 71): sivanush shalxa 'otam. (‘Sivanush sent them.’). While the father acknowledges finding the phone (72), the little sister, Noga, quiets everybody down (73) and hastens Shmulik to go on with the narrative (lines 74–75). Shmulik attempts another return, this time with a cluster of two discourse markers – 'az 'eh (‘so uh’, line 76). He then stops this move at mid-utterance (as indicated by the fragmentary intonation unit at 76) and switches to relate to the mother’s side comment (lines 77–79). His response begins with one discourse marker – ki (‘because’), explaining why Sivanush sent them – she was sick (line 78). Finally, at line 80, he returns to the story yet again, this time with a cluster of 3 discourse markers – ve'az 'e--h (‘and then u--h’). We see that at level-II boundaries of attempting to return to his narrative, Shmulik generally employs more discourse markers, and particularly more clusters: bekitsur (‘anyway’, 69), the cluster 'az 'eh (‘so uh’, 76), and the cluster ve'az 'e--h (‘and then u--h’, 80)13, whereas at the level-III boundary of relating to a side-comment, he employs only one discourse marker - ki (‘because’, line 77). However, this pattern is not adhered to in 100% of the cases. For instance, in responding to Meirav’s question (line 64) concerning the age of the boy (a level-III boundary), Shmulik actually employs a cluster of 3 discourse markers: 'eh 'ani yode'a? 'e (‘uh what do I know? uh’, lines 65–66). Furthermore, Meirav’s move at the level-II boundary of line 64 manifests no discourse markers at all. Perhaps in order to minimize the disruption, she shapes her question as a co-construction (Lerner 1991), building on Shmulik’s previous utterance. She grafts her question onto the subject of the previous utterance – hu (‘he’) – introduced by Shmulik in the previous intonation unit in the midst of a rephrasal of his own utterance, which he began with the discourse marker z’tomeret (‘in other words’, line 63). Table 1 shows a general tendency throughout the corpus – the higher the boundary in the hierarchy of frame-shifts, the greater the amount of metalingual 13. These 6 discourse markers employed by Shmulik to return to the narrative were counted as occurring at 3 separate level-II boundaries: lines 69, 76, and 80.



Chapter 1.╇ Introduction

material that is employed to construct that boundary. This does not mean, of course, that no level-III boundaries (for instance) will ever exhibit a discourse marker cluster. On the whole, however, this happens in only 6% of level-III boundaries in non-narrative discourse and in only 8% of level-III boundaries in narrative discourse. We see, then, that discourse markers constitute a system exhibiting patterning in terms of their quantitative distribution in conversation. This patterning can be compared with Couper-Kuhlen’s finding (1998) concerning the role of high onsets (the height of the first stressed syllable in a turn constructional unit) in indicating that a ‘big package’ is underway. This is a nonverbal strategy for managing the production of a multi-unit turn (1998:€ 19), whereas the current study shows a metalingual (and therefore verbal) strategy accomplishing a similar end. Studies in the field of historical discourse analysis (e.g., Enkvist and Wårvik 1987) also mention a patterning reminiscent of the one presented here. Studies of ancient Germanic written texts note that certain formulas, termed ‘introductory saga formulas’, ‘narrators’ formulas’, ‘transition formulas’, and ‘concluding formulas’, although not fixed and quite productive, function to shift scenes and mark new episodes in the written texts (e.g., Clover 1974, 1982, Lönnroth 1976). “These formulas are not obligatory and their presence is in large part determined by the length of time elapsed between scenes. The longer this is, the more likely and the more elaborate the formula is” (Clover 1982:€88, cited in Brinton 1996:€18). We see that in this approach as well, the size of the ‘package’ is related to the type and quantity of metalingual utterances employed at the boundary. The larger the ‘package’, the greater the amount of metalingual material necessary for the frame shift. Furthermore, as in the present approach, these metalingual utterances are seen to have not only a textual function, but often an interactive one as well14. They are viewed as “a set of narrative directions – formulas in which the narrator addresses the audience on the mechanics of composition” (Clover 1982:€89). Finally, these studies provide further evidence for the view taken here on the emergence of some discourse markers from longer metalingual utterances, as will be elaborated in the following chapters.

14. Not surprisingly, the cognitive function of such utterances in not discussed in relation to these written texts.

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5. Defining discourse markers We are now in a position to define discourse markers more clearly. A variety of terms have been used to refer to discourse markers15 (e.g., pragmatic markers, discourse particles, connectives, pragmatic expressions, discourse operators, markers of pragmatic structure) and they have not always been clearly defined. Brinton mentions more than twenty such terms (1996:€29) and notes that the many definitions bear little resemblance to one another. The differences result from the pragmatic function of these markers that is viewed as primary. Some approaches stress their function in expressing relevance to prior discourse, others stress their structural function, or their function as response signals, as a means to achieve conversational continuity, or their interactive character (ibid.: 30–31). None of the previous approaches anchors the definition of discourse markers in the process of metalanguaging involved in their employment. Schiffrin (1980, 1987:€328) mentions that meta-talk expressions such as this is the point, or what I mean is can function as discourse markers. However, for her, this is a subcategory of the set she considers discourse markers. In the present approach, on the other hand, the claim is that all discourse markers are metalingual. This approach stems, as we have seen, from observations concerning the ways these markers function in bilingual conversation. However, there are some metalingual utterances that do not constitute discourse markers. The following excerpt, also from the conversation between Shira and Grace (excerpts 1,2) illustrates this: Excerpt 4: 1 Grace: ... I don't 2 .. but I meá--n, 3 .. if you say, 4 .. somebody is.. s..eárching for apprecià--tion, 5 ... it seems like they're 6 .. it soú--nds like, 7 .. they're searching to b--e, 8 .. pùt on a pédestal.. n.. to s.. to sóme extent 9 .. I mean /????/ 10 Shira: 'a.. lò 'ani lo mitkavénet leze, oh.. no I don’t mean this oh.. no that’s not what I mean,

15. For a comprehensive review, see Brinton 1996:€29–31.



Chapter 1.╇ Introduction 

In intonation unit 10, we find the Hebrew ‘equivalent’ of the English change-ofstate token (Heritage 1984, Schiffrin 1987, Maschler 1994b) 'a (‘oh’) and the discourse marker lo (‘no’) followed by the metalingual utterance 'ani lo mitkavénet leze (‘that’s not what I mean’). This is a longer metalingual utterance not sufficiently grammaticized in order to be considered a discourse marker (cf. Section 4 above). It is, however, reminiscent of the Old Germanic metalingual utterances cited by Clover (1982) and Lönnroth (1976), a metalingual utterance which might some day develop into a discourse marker. We shall return to this point below. Having examined many discourse markers in both bilingual and monolingual conversation, I noticed that the great majority of them share not only the semantic property of metalinguality, but also certain structural properties. I thus arrived at an operational definition of discourse markers in this study. Definition of discourse markers In order to qualify as a discourse marker, the utterance in question must fulfill a semantic requirement: a. The utterance must have a metalingual interpretation in the context in which it occurs. In other words, rather than referring to the extralingual world, it must refer metalingually to the realm of the text (in which case we are concerned with a ‘textual discourse marker’), to the interaction among its participants (including relations between speaker and his/her utterance – ‘interpersonal discourse marker’), or to their cognitive processes (‘cognitive discourse marker’). In order to qualify as a prototypical discourse marker, the utterance must fulfill a structural requirement as well: b. The utterance must occur at intonation-unit initial position, either at a point of speaker change, or, in same-speaker talk, immediately following any intonation contour other than continuing intonation. It may occur after continuing intonation or at non-intonation-unit initial position only if it follows another marker in a cluster (Maschler 1998b: 31). We have already seen that all of the boldfaced utterances in excerpts 1 and 2 above are metalingual in one of the three realms – textual, interpersonal, or cognitive. This is the case also for the discourse markers discussed in excerpt 3: 'eh is cognitive, attesting the cognitive processes occurring at frame shifts, 'ani yode'a? (‘what do I know’) is interpersonal, referring to relations of uncertainty of the speaker towards his utterance, while bekitsur (‘anyway’), ve- (‘and’) 'az (‘so’) and ki (‘because’) are textual, constructing relations between parts of the text. Similarly, the 'a (‘oh’) of excerpt 4 functions cognitively, realizing new information, and the lo

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Metalanguage in Interaction

(‘no’) following it functions in the interpersonal realm, disaligning the speaker with the interlocutor’s previous words. As for the structural requirement, all the discourse markers in the preceding excerpts occur intonation unit initially, unless they are part of a cluster. The discourse markers at excerpt 1, lines 6, 11, 24, and 29, and excerpt 3, lines 65, 76, and the 'a (‘oh’) of excerpt 4, line 10 occur at points of speaker change. Those at excerpt 1, lines 14, 15, and 32, excerpt 2, line 10, and excerpt 3, lines 69, 77, and 80 occur in same-speaker talk following non-continuing intonation contours. The remainder – those at excerpt 1, lines 6–7 and 14–17 occur in same-speaker talk in discourse marker clusters: ken, ma shebarur (‘yes, what’s for sure’) and 'aval[ø16] ken, gam (‘but[ø] yes, also’), as do those at excerpt 3, lines 65–66 ('eh 'ani yode'a? 'e ‘uh what do I know? uh’), lines 76 ('az 'eh ‘so uh’) and 80 (ve'az 'e--h ‘and then u--h’)17 and the lo (‘no’) of excerpt 4, line 10. Thus, all discourse markers discussed so far fulfill both the semantic and the structural requirements for discourse markerhood and constitute therefore prototypical discourse markers18. In Maschler 2002a, I investigated all the discourse markers employed throughout 16 of the 50 recorded conversations on which the present study is based19. Altogether, 613 discourse markers fulfilling the semantic requirement above were employed. Of those, 574 markers (94%) fulfill the structural requirement as well, i.e. constitute prototypical discourse markers. The remaining 39 discourse markers (6%) occur at intonation-unit initial position in same-speaker talk, but they follow continuing intonation and no discourse marker precedes them (i.e., they do not follow another marker in a cluster). These, then, are the non-prototypical discourse markers, to which we shall return in Section 7. As for the structural requirement concerning intonation-unit initial position, all but one instance of ke'ilu (Chapter 4, footnote 23) share this property in the present corpus. I will suggest a reason for this property of Hebrew discourse markers in the concluding chapter and relate also to the phenomenon of discourse

16. The lack of punctuation at the end of line 14 (highlighted by the ø) indicates a fragmentary intonation unit (Chafe 1994). 17. In other words, 'ani yode'a? (‘what do I know?’, excerpt 3, line 65), for instance, indeed does not occur at intonation-unit initial position, but it satisfies the structural requirement because it follows another marker – 'eh – in a cluster. 18. All other discourse markers appearing in excerpt 3 (but not discussed here) fulfill these two requirements as well. 19. The database for the 2002a study is comprised of the 11 conversations of the 1997a and 1998b studies (see footnote 11), as well as of five more conversations. Altogether, the 2002a corpus consists of 40 minutes of naturally-occurring monolingual Hebrew casual conversation among 43 different speakers, collected throughout the years 1994–1997.



Chapter 1.╇ Introduction 

markers regularly occurring at intonation-unit final position in languages typologically different from Hebrew (Chapter 6, Section 1.3). The first study to examine in detail a discourse marker negotiating relations of speaker to text (‘stance discourse marker’) in spoken Hebrew discourse is Maschler and Estlein 2008. In that study, we followed Biber and Finegan’s definition of stance as “the overt expression of […] attitudes, feelings, judgments, or commitment concerning the message” (1988:€1) and investigated Hebrew be'emet (‘really, actually, indeed’, lit. ‘in truth’) in the corpus20. Our study shows that 8 out of 44 (18%) metalingual tokens of be'emet do not fulfill the structural requirement for prototypical discourse markerhood. The majority of these tokens still occur intonation-unit marginally; however, they are found at intonation-unit final position21. It seems that in the case of stance discourse markers, a percentage greater than 6% do not fulfill the structural requirement for prototypical discourse markerhood, but further study is needed here. With respect to the syntactic category of adverb, based on a study of adverbs in a variety of languages, Ramat and Rica have suggested a scalar, or even radial category “with prototypical instantiations and less typical or even marginal ones” (1994:€289). For example, in one of two approaches they present, prototypical adverbs are those identified as manner predicate adverbs (e.g., English quickly), whereas ‘setting’ adverbs of space and time, such as today, now, here are less prototypical, and focalizers such as only, also, even are even further away from the center. At the very margin of their classification are what they call ‘text adverbs’ like firstly, consequently, nevertheless, pertaining to the level above the sentence. These are the ‘textual discourse markers’ in the present approach. Based on the study of be'emet, we have suggested a prototypical syntactic category of discourse marker, which is constituted by tokens fulfilling both the semantic and the structural requirements in the definition above. Non-prototypical tokens fulfill only the semantic requirement: […] just as the category of adverb is a scalar, or even radial one […], so the category of discourse marker can be viewed in a similar fashion: prototypical be'emet discourse markers (those which are highly metalingual (interactional) and have a very minor referential dimension) fulfill both the semantic and the structural requirements in the definition of discourse markers, whereas less prototypical discourse markers (those operating metalingually (interactionally) as well as 20. By then the corpus was extended to 91 conversations constituting approximately 270 minutes of talk among 223 different speakers. 21. Another Hebrew discourse marker which sometimes appears intonation-unit finally is 'aval (‘but’), though no examples were found in the corpus (cf. Mulder and Thompson (in press) for English but). Interestingly, like some instances of be'emet, this discourse marker expresses adversativity.

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Metalanguage in Interaction

referentially) fulfill the requirements only partially. Of this latter category, discourse markers having a higher interactional dimension […] occur intonationunit initially or finally, while those which are both interactional and referential occur intonation-unit internally (Maschler and Estlein 2008:€312).

I suggest, then, conceptualizing the category of discourse marker as a scalar category, with tokens fulfilling both the semantic and the structural requirements constituting the prototypical instantiations. In Section 7 and throughout the continuation of this study, we will see various factors resulting in non-prototypical discourse markers. We shall also see that in the process of grammaticization, it is the tendency of discourse markers to gradually ‘gravitate’22 towards the structural position reserved for discourse markers in the language. 5.1

Previous approaches to prosody in defining discourse markers

No other approach to discourse markers that I am aware of supplies an operational definition of discourse markers based, among other things, on the concept of the intonation unit and on prosody in general. As noted by Aijmer (2002:€262), prosody is a neglected area in the research on discourse markers. Few approaches relate to prosody at all, and when they do, it is not for the purpose of defining discourse markers, but rather for separating out different uses of a particular marker23. Tabor and Traugott, e.g., emphasize the intonation contour of the discourse marker itself (1998:€ 254). Ferrara 1997, Aijmer 2002, and Yang 2006, e.g., show that different functions of discourse markers are correlated with particular intonation contours and durational features across different markers. In the present approach, as we have seen, prosody constitutes one of the major components in the definition of prototypical discourse markers, and it is the intonation contour of the intonation unit preceding the discourse marker that is found to be relevant for the analysis. Another one of the dimensions along which Fischer compares the different approaches to discourse markers is that of the medium through which the interaction takes place. According to her, approaches that focus on the unintegrated nature of discourse markers in relation to the discourse they connect (see 2.1 above) study the medium of conversation, whereas those focusing on the integrated nature of the items often account also for written text (2006:€9). The current definition of prototypical discourse markers stems, of course, from the spoken nature of the data on which this study is based. However, Chafe has shown that the concept 22. Cf. Mulder and Thompson (in press) for this metaphor of ‘gravitation’, or “movement along a pathway of grammaticization” in their terminology. 23. In the following chapters, we shall see that the present approach also correlates different uses of a particular discourse marker with different prosodic features.



Chapter 1.╇ Introduction 

of the intonation unit is relevant also to written discourse, where it becomes the ‘idea unit’ (1985). Written idea units are generally separated from each other by punctuation marks, which partially imitate the intonation contours of spoken discourse. Thus, although my approach takes an ‘unintegrated view’ of discourse markers in Fischer’s terms, the present definition of prototypical discourse markers could be adapted to written discourse without too much difficulty24. 6. Functional patterning of discourse markers One way of characterizing frame shifts can be achieved by viewing them through the prism of Becker’s approach to text as constrained by six different realms of context: the interpersonal, referential, structural, prior-textual, medial, and silential (1988). In Becker’s view, any act of languaging involves at least these six different contextual realms, because in using language, we are always performing acts from these six different realms simultaneously. In languaging, we are always simultaneously interacting with people (often with ourselves), referring to an extralingual world we believe to exist beyond language, shaping linguistic structures, remembering and evoking prior-text (Becker 1979), using a particular medium, and occupying space which, if not for our utterance, would have consisted of silence. We have already seen that not all frame shifts are alike. In focusing on changes in “the alignment we take up to ourselves and the others present” (Goffman 1981:€128), it appears that Goffman views frame shifting as a phenomenon shaped mostly by interpersonal constraints. However, a closer look reveals that besides a shift in interpersonal alignment, additional shifts in other contextual realms often occur at these moments of talk, particularly when we are concerned with a higherorder frame shift. At this type of frame shift, one also often switches to another referential world (a new discourse topic or sub-topic), thus making other priortextual material relevant. One often switches then to a new linguistic structure (e.g., different tense or aspect), and one switches into cognitive processes of a different nature in relation to those taking place at other moments of interaction (Chafe 1994), as we have seen manifested by the fillers and hesitation markers employed at conversational action boundaries. In his article on footing (1981), Goffman provides examples of shifts in prosody and non-verbal behavior often accompanying frame shifting as well. A moment of frame shift (or a conversational action boundary) can be defined on the basis of Becker’s approach to text as 24. Indeed, in a recent M.A. thesis, this approach has been applied to studying the discourse markers segmenting Hebrew Quasi-Synchronous Computer-Mediated Communication (‘Chat discourse’) (Krupik 2007).

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Metalanguage in Interaction

constrained by the various contextual realms. A moment of frame shift is perceived here as a moment at which we find maximal shifts, relative to the surrounding discourse, in constraints from the various contextual realms shaping discourse (For elaboration and an example, see Maschler 1994b). I have suggested sorting out discourse markers according to the realm in which there are maximal shifts in contextual constraints when the particular marker in question is employed (Maschler 1994b, 1997a). Markers were found to function in three of the realms identified by Becker (1988) – the interpersonal, referential, and structural, as well as in the cognitive realm. Table 2 presents the 574 prototypical discourse markers (fulfilling both the semantic and the structural requirements) found throughout the 16-conversation corpus (Maschler 2002a). Markers constrained mostly by the interpersonal25 realm negotiate issues of closeness vs. distance among participants of an interaction (Bateson 1972[1956], Scollon 1982). They include perception verbs, verbs of saying, agreement and disagreement tokens, urging tokens, expressions of amazement, enthusiasm, lack of enthusiasm, discontent, and maintaining contact, among others. Markers constrained mostly by the referential realm are comprised of both deictics and conjunctions. The conjunctions mark relations between conversational actions in a way that mirrors semantic relations in the extralingual world marked by those conjunctions (e.g., consequence, coordination, contrast, cause, disjunction, condition, and concession). The deictics have a discourse function which mirrors their deictic function in the world narrated by the text (e.g. proximal vs. distal deixis). Markers constrained mostly by the structural realm include utterances signaling the ways conversational actions are related to one another in terms of order and hierarchy (e.g., organizing the order of actions, introducing or ending a conversational action, returning to a main action, summarizing an action, or closing a digression). The referential and structural markers together make up the textual markers, because they all deal with relationships between different parts of a text. Markers constrained mostly by the cognitive realm include markers attesting the cognitive processes taking place at conversational action boundaries (e.g., processing information, realizing new information, realizing the need to rephrase one’s previous utterance).

25. Recall that interpersonal markers negotiating relations between speaker and text were generally not investigated in these earlier studies.

Organizing order of actions Deictics 'axshav (now) (13) kodem kol (first of all) (3) 'axar kax €(then) (2) hadavar hasheni (second) (1) rega (one sec) (12) xake / xaki (wait) (3)

'at shoma'at? (you hear?) (1) tishma (listen) (1) 'ata yode'a / 'at yoda'at (you know) (7) 'ani yode'a? (what do I know?) (1) lo y'dat (I dunno) (2) 'an’lo yoda'at (I don’t know) (1)

'ani 'asbir lexa€(I’ll explain to you) (1) tsapri li (tell me) (1)

yaxol lihyot (could be) (1) ze yaxol lihyot €(this could be) (1) betax (sure) (1) mhm€(10) be'emet (really) (2) hm€(7) 'aha (aha) (1)

ma pit'om (no way) (1) lo naxon (wrong) (1) higzamt (you’ve gone too far) (1)

Perception verbs tir'e / ti'ri (look) (5) 'at ro'a! (see!) (1) ta'amini li (believe me) (2) lo ta'amini (you won’t believe [this]) (1) 'ata mevin? / 'at mevina? (you see?) (2) tavin (understand) (2) lo hevanti ((I) didn’t get it) (1)

Verbs of saying tagidi (say) (3) tagidi li (tell me) (2) me'anyen ma tagidi (I wonder what you’ll say) (1)

Agreement ken (yeah) (28) naxon (right) (4) 'okey (okay) (3) bídyuk (exactly) (1) beseder (alright) (2) metsuyan €(great) (1)

Disagreement lo (no) (20) 'an’lo betuxa (I’m not sure) (1) bexáyexa (come on) (1)

Realizing the need to rephrase s’tomeret (I mean) (7) ma s’tomeret (meaning) (1) ke'ilu€ (like) (7) klomar (that is to say) (1)

Realizing new information 'a (oh) (15) 'aha (3) 'oy (4)

Processing information 'e--h (uh) (39) 'e--m€ (uhm) (4) 'e (2) hm (1)

(11 Types, N=84)

Cognitive 15%

(92 types) (Maschler 2002a)

Back to main action bekítsur (anyway) (5) hakítser €(anyways) (1) 'akítser (in short, anyways)(1)

Ending an action zehu €(that’s it) (8) ya (German ‘yes’) (1)

Coordination ve... (and) (81)

Contrast 'aval (but) (28)

Introducing an action tov (okay) (15) kaxa (like this) (1)

Consequence 'az (so) (96)

(14 Types, N=56)

(10 Types, N=231)

(57 Types, N=203)

Structural 10%

Referential 40%

Interpersonal 35%

Table 2.╇ Distribution of the 574 Discourse Markers throughout the Hebrew Database

Chapter 1.╇ Introduction 

tsk (1)

he (stance marker) (1) ha'emet (truth is) (1) naxon? (right?) (1)

Expressing discontent lo bseder (very bad) (1)

Other bo/bo'i.... (let’s...) (4) ha (stance marker) (1)

Lack of enthusiasm 'az ma (so what) (1)

Concession lamrot she- (although) (1) meyle she- (never mind that) (1)

Displaying enthusiasm 'axla keta! €(great story!) (1) 'eize keta! (what a story!) (1)

'eize tsxok (how funny) (1) yofi (great) (2)

Condition 'im (if) (1)

Closing digression lo xashuv (never mind) (1)

Disjunction 'o € (or) (3)

yo (wow) (1) shyo (wow) (1) wow (10) wai (6) (wow)

Amazement ken? (yeah?) (4) be'emet? (really?) (5) ma€ (what) (10)

Maintaining contact ken (yes) (1)

Summarizing besax hakol (all in all) (2) basof€(in the end) (2)

Cause ki (because) (5)

ken? (yeah?) (1) yalla (go on) (1)

Urging speaker to continue nu (go on) (26)

(14 Types, N=56)

(10 Types, N=231)

(57 Types, N=203)

Structural 10%

Referential 40%

Interpersonal 35% (11 Types, N=84)

Cognitive 15%

 Metalanguage in Interaction



Chapter 1.╇ Introduction 

Each column consists of utterances operating in a different realm of discourse, but all markers have something in common – they function metalingually – as we have seen. Clearly, a discourse marker can operate in more than one of these realms, which is why we sometimes find the same marker in more than one column in Table 2. Furthermore, many markers operate in more than one realm simultaneously (excerpt 1, line 24, for instance). In such cases, the marker was classified into the realm which seemed the most dominant in that particular context, a decision which is not always clear-cut. It turns out that more often than not, constraints from all contextual realms are at work when a particular discourse marker is employed, just as constraints from all contextual realms are usually at work at every moment of languaging (Becker 1988). This is one of the major factors motivating the grammaticization of discourse markers. We shall return to this point in Section 8 below and in the following chapters. Table 2 is, of course, not exhaustive of all prototypical discourse markers employed in Hebrew, but only of those found in the 16 conversations on which it is based. The above caveats in mind, one can still draw some general quantitative conclusions based on Table 2 concerning casual Hebrew talk among friends and family members of this socioeconomic group. The largest group of discourse markers (exactly 50%) function in the textual realm, creating and reflecting relations between different parts of a text. 35% of all discourse markers deal with interpersonal relations between discourse participants. However, the relatively high number of different types available for this purpose (57 different types) points to the great complexity of interpersonal relations negotiated in interaction, in contrast to the much more limited variety of relations between parts of a text (24 types). Only 15% of all discourse markers attest cognitive processes occurring at frame shifts26. As for the most common functions within each realm, we see that in the referential column, by far the most common relations between conversational actions are those of consequence and coordination (96 and 81 occurrences, respectively). In the structural column, speakers are engaged in organizing the order of conversational actions most frequently, with introducing them, and somewhat less frequently with ending actions. In the interpersonal realm, participants engage most frequently in agreeing and disagreeing, in displaying their amazement, and in urging each other to continue. Despite the high tolerance for disagreement in 26. It must be remembered that only hesitation markers occurring at conversational action boundaries are considered in Table 2. There are far more hesitation markers throughout the data, such as at instances of self-repair (Schegloff, Jefferson, and Sacks 1977), but as long as they did not fulfill the structural requirement for discourse markerhood, they were not included in this table.

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Metalanguage in Interaction

this culture (Katriel 1986, Maschler 1994a, Blum-Kulka 1997), tokens of agreement are far more frequent than those of disagreement (60 as opposed to 25)27. A glimpse at this table provides a very general quantitative portrait of what it is that Israelis do most at conversational action boundaries in casual conversation. Whereas Table 1 is probably less language specific (as suggested by historical discourse analysis studies such as Clover 1982, Lönnroth 1976), Table 2 is particular to the genre of informal discourse among Israeli students, their friends, and family relatives studied here. According to Aijmer, “among the characteristic properties of discourse particles which have not received enough attention in the literature is their ‘clustering’ (2002:€31). The classification of discourse markers into interpersonal, referential, structural, and cognitive categories is useful also in explaining their tendency to cluster at conversational action boundaries. If each discourse marker in a cluster is associated with a change in a particular type of contextual constraint, and if a conversational action boundary (particularly a higher-level one) is characterized by shifts in constraints from several contextual realms, then indeed we would expect to find clusterings of discourse markers around conversational action boundaries (Maschler 1994b). Table 1 gives some initial quantitative findings concerning the frequency of discourse marker clusters as a function of the level of the boundary. However, further study is needed in order to reveal the exact patterning of clustering. Many questions remain open, such as what the restrictions are on the types of markers that can appear together in a cluster, or what constraints exist on the order of markers with respect to the contextual realms they come from in a cluster. 6.1

Previous approaches to realms of operation of discourse markers

The present view of discourse markers functioning in the four realms of discourse – the referential, structural, interpersonal, and cognitive – bears some resemblance to Schiffrin’s view of discourse markers as “contextual coordinates of talk” (1987:€312). According to Schiffrin, discourse markers locate an utterance in five planes (1987:€24–28) or ‘domains’ (2006:317) of talk: the ideational structure (“propositions with semantic content” (1987:€ 26)), the action structure (the sequence of speech acts in a discourse), the exchange structure (“the organization of turns at talk” 2006:317), the participation framework (“the more social side of speaker and hearer: their identities, alignments, relationships to each other and to what they are saying” (ibid.), and the information state (“what speakers and hearers know: their 27. This finding must be regarded with caution, however, since many agreement tokens appear in ‘yes, but’ constructions, as part of a disagreement actually. This word of caution applies to Table 2 in its entirety: counting forms removed from context can be misleading.



Chapter 1.╇ Introduction 

organization and management of knowledge and meta-knowledge” (ibid.)). Each discourse marker is seen to be primarily associated with one of these planes, but all markers have secondary uses in at least one other plane (1987:€316, Figure 10.2). The actual classification into realms differs across the two approaches. What is shared is the idea that a marker may function within more than one realm. This view is shared by many other previous approaches, as we have seen in 2.1. 7. Structural patterning of discourse markers So far we have seen systematicity in two aspects regarding employment of discourse markers in monolingual conversation – the moments in discourse at which they are employed and the functions they fulfill. In order to investigate the third type of systematicity – that involving their structural properties – let us return to the non-prototypical 6% category of markers fulfilling only the semantic but not the structural requirement in the definition of prototypical discourse markers28. For example, in the following excerpt, Sharon recounts a conversation she had with her father. Excerpt 5 (‘Obituaries’): 51 Sharon: ... 'amárti lo, I said to him, 52

.. 'ata yodéa shehu mèt. you know that he died.

53

... 'az hu 'omér li, so he says to me,

54

'òy yoy yó--y! oh n--o!

55

... 'az xashávti--, so I thought,

56

... she--hu st´ám mitbadeax 'iti 'oy yoy yoy, {----very high pitch-------} { regular pitch} that he’s just kidding around with me [saying] oh no,

57

... ke'ilu ló’xpàt lo, sort of like [it] doesn’t matter to him,

28. Parts of Section 7 draw on Maschler 2002a. However, whereas that article explores the construction of multivocality via discourse markers, here I focus on the general structural patterning of discourse markers.

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Metalanguage in Interaction

Sharon constructs her father’s response following her announcement of bad news (lines 51–52). The father’s constructed dialogue (Tannen 1989) consists of the discourse marker 'òy yoy yóy, roughly equivalent to English oh no (line 54). We see that this discourse marker occurs at intonation-unit initial position in samespeaker talk (Sharon’s), but it follows a continuing intonation contour (line 53) with no additional discourse marker preceding it (i.e., not following another marker in a cluster, as, e.g., in excerpt 1, line 17). The 'òy yoy yóy of line 54 follows the continuing intonation of an intonation unit presenting the constructed dialogue into the discourse: 'az hu 'omér li, (‘so he says to me,’ line 53). In the database, there are no cases in which the intonation unit introducing constructed dialogue and the discourse marker opening the constructed dialogue itself are separated by final intonation. The connection between these two parts of an utterance is too strong to be separated by final intonation. If they are at all separated into two intonation units, the first one is verbalized in continuing intonation. As Chafe writes, the simplest way to signal a link between one intonation unit and the next is by separating them with continuing intonation (1988). Thus, the frame shift between the speaker’s voice introducing the constructed dialogue and the constructed dialogue itself is accomplished via a compromise – employing a discourse marker signaling the frame shift, but one that is not separated as strongly from the intonation unit introducing it. This is not the only environment in which discourse markers follow continuing intonation in same-speaker talk. In line 57 we find another discourse marker, ke'ilu, following continuing intonation (line 56). Sharon tells here how at first she didn’t think her father was responding seriously to her bad news29: xashávti--, she-hu st´ám mitbadeax 'iti 'oy yoy yoy, (‘I thought, that he’s just kidding around with me [saying] oh no’, lines 55–56), imitating the father’s voice ('oy yoy yoy) in a pitch contour different than that of the first part of this intonation unit. She then moves away from imitating the father’s voice and adds a self-rephrasal of this somewhat unusual construction (see below). The discourse marker ke'ilu precedes the selfrephrasal: ke'ilu ló’xpàt lo, (‘sort of like [it] doesn’t matter to him’). Ke'ilu will be studied in depth in Chapter 4. At this point I mention only that a speaker’s realizing the need to rephrase his or her utterance is a cognitive process attested by ke'ilu, which is therefore classified here as a cognitive discourse marker. 29. Sharon had good reason to suspect that this might be the case. Her story tells of macabre humor she tried out on her father: she arbitrarily picked out some name from the obituaries section of the newspaper he was reading, planned to ask him whether he knew the person (assuming he wouldn’t), and upon his negative answer, planned to say that he also never will know him. This didn’t turn out to work so well, because Sharon happened to pick a name of a person her father actually did know. For more detail here, see Maschler 1998b.



Chapter 1.╇ Introduction 

According to Chafe, during verbalization, speakers move from one focus of consciousness to the next, forming superfoci of consciousness which “bring together chunks of information too large to be accommodated within a single focus of consciousness” (1994:€145). These chunks are termed ‘centers of interest’ and they represent “attempts, with varying degrees of success, to push the mind beyond the constraints of active consciousness” (ibid.). Once a speaker judges that a scanning of a center of interest has been accomplished, he or she expresses that judgment with a sentence-final intonation contour. The realization that one’s utterance is in need of rephrasal is independent of the judgment concerning completion of a center of interest. This is why we sometimes find continuing intonation preceding self-rephrasals30. In moving from imitating the father’s 'oy yoy yoy to the self-rephrasal at line 57, Sharon also moves back from constructed dialogue to non-constructed dialogue. Thus, this move actually blends the two categories illustrated so far: moving between non-constructed dialogue and constructed dialogue (albeit in the opposite direction here) as well as rephrasing one’s previous utterance. The strategy of constructed dialogue often involves also moving into a different voice of the speaker’s, because speakers often include their own (ridiculing, ironic, joking, etc.) evaluation of the speech they are constructing. In Bakhtin’s words, “the speaker’s expressivity penetrates through the boundaries and spreads to” (1986:€92) the voice of the person whose voice is being constructed. This is the “layering of voices” studied by Günthner (1997, 1999a). Thus, the two strategies investigated here often blend in interaction. Of the 39 discourse markers following continuing intonation throughout the data (Maschler 2002a), 59% open constructed dialogue and another 13% begin self-rephrasals31. What is common to these two environments, besides the continuing intonation unit preceding the discourse marker, then, is that both involve the phenomenon of multivocality, or polyphony (Bakhtin 1981, 1986) in conversation. In both cases, we find a move to a different voice of the speaker – either the voice of another in some narrated world as constructed by the speaker (constructed dialogue), or another voice of the speaker, rephrasing what he or she just said in the world of narration. This is a move of a level lower than that between subepisodes in narrative or between turns in an adjacency pair (i.e., lower than 30. However, it is still more common to complete a center of interest prior to self-rephrasal.€ In the study of ke'ilu (Chapter 4), I found 58 tokens of self-rephrasal ke'ilu. Of those, 44 (75.9%) occurred following non-continuing intonation, whereas only 13 (22.4%) followed continuing intonation, as seen in excerpt 5. One token occurred intonation-unit finally. 31. In the remaining 28%, we find referential ve- (‘and’, 4 tokens) and 'az (‘then’, 2 tokens), cognitive 'uysh (realizing negative information), and interpersonal 'at yoda'at (‘you (fem.) know’), ze naxon (‘it’s true’), ma (‘what’), and naxon? (‘right?’). See Maschler 2002a: 28–30.



Metalanguage in Interaction Higher-level boundary

complex metalingual utterance cluster of several consecutive prototypical discourse markers prototypical discourse marker fulfilling both semantic and structural requirements non-prototypical discourse marker fulfilling only semantic requirement Ø discourse marker Ø intonation unit boundary blurring of syntactic properties

Lower-level boundary

Figure 1.╇ Strategies for the construction of frame shifts in interaction (Maschler 2002a)

level-III boundaries of Table 1) because it is a move to a voice ‘of second order’ in relation to the speaker’s voice. In Section 4 we saw that higher-order frame shifts generally appear with heavier discourse marking compared to lower-order frame shifts. Here we see that this pattern is adhered to also when lower-level boundaries (level-IV boundaries) are concerned. The lower the boundary between conversational actions, the more subtle the strategy constructing it. Figure 1 sketches the various strategies found throughout the conversations for constructing frame shifts on a scale from heavier to lighter marking. As seen earlier, highest-order frame shifts, such as the beginning of a story or a supertopic, are characterized by the heaviest metalingual material – complex metalingual utterances which haven’t crystallized into discourse markers because they are less frozen (i.e., they vary for person, number, gender) and are longer in nature. With time, some of these will undergo processes of grammaticization and become full-fledged discourse markers. Next we find clusters of several consecutive prototypical discourse markers, often each from a different contextual realm. For the majority of boundaries, the frame shift is accomplished via a single prototypical discourse marker fulfilling both the semantic and the structural requirements in the definition of discourse markers (as do 94% of the markers throughout the data). For more subtle frame shifts, such as those introducing a voice ‘of second order’ of the speaker, we find a non-prototypical discourse marker fulfilling only the semantic requirement, as in excerpt 5, lines 54 and 57. Frame shifts of an order even lower than this exhibit no discourse markers at all, or no boundary between intonation units, as for instance in the following excerpt, exhibiting the discourse marker within the same intonation unit introducing the constructed dialogue:



Chapter 1.╇ Introduction

Excerpt 6 (‘Reznik Residence Halls’): 89 Li'at: ...'amarti la tir'i, I said to her look, 90

tevareri 'od hatsa'ot. find out [about] other offers.

When listening to intonation unit 89, it is clear that none of the criteria for identifying intonation unit boundaries (Chafe 1994:€57–60) are found between its two grammatical units. There is no pause between 'amarti la (‘I said to her’) and tir'i (‘look’), no terminal pitch contour, no acceleration-deceleration pattern, and no change in overall pitch or voice quality (e.g., creakiness). The further down we progress along the continuum of Figure 1, strategies for indicating the ‘upcoming package’ become more subtle, and the ‘packages’ themselves become smaller. Higher-level frame shifts are constructed via semanticpragmatic strategies such as clusters of prototypical discourse markers and longer metalingual utterances, whereas lower-level frame shifts are constructed prosodically through the distinction between final vs. non-final intonation contours or not marked at all. Strategies for constructing the most minute frame shifts may even interfere with the syntactic patterns of the language. We have already mentioned the unusual syntactic construction of excerpt 5, line 56. The discourse marker 'oy yoy yoy (‘oh no’) imitating32 the father’s constructed dialogue at line 54 occurs at intonation-unit final position, following the verb mitbadeax (‘kidding around, joking’). This is another case in which the element introducing the (imitated) constructed dialogue and the (imitation of) the constructed dialogue itself appear with no intonation unit boundary separating them (cf. excerpt 6). However, if the strategy of constructed dialogue constitutes a voice ‘of second order’ of the speaker, imitating constructed dialogue constitutes a voice of an even lower order. This is mirrored by an even more subtle frame shifting strategy at line 56. The verb mitbadeax functions at intonation unit 56 as a verbum dicendi in an uncharacteristic way. Mitbadeax (‘joking, kidding around’) is an intransitive verb and should thus take no complements. In the present context, however, it has become a verb of saying introducing imitated constructed dialogue, with the imitation ('oy yoy yoy, ‘oh no’) having the relation of direct object to the verbum dicendi. Thus, an intransitive verb has become transitive in this particular context, and the motivation to mark this extremely low-level boundary preceding imitated 32. That this is a direct quote is supported by the prosodic properties of intonation unit 56: the very high pitch at the beginning of the intonation unit is contrasted with the regular pitch employed to imitate the father’s voice in the latter part of the unit.

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Metalanguage in Interaction

constructed dialogue has not only erased intonation unit boundaries but also interfered with the syntax of the language, blurring syntactic properties of verbs. Thus we see that motivation to mark the very subtle boundary between the imitation of constructed dialogue and its introduction into the discourse can interfere with the argument structure of a verb. In their study of transitivity and argument structure based on conversation, Thompson and Hopper come to the conclusion that predicate […] ‘meanings’ are actually generalizations from many repetitions of hearing predicates used in association with certain types of human events and situations over the course of a person’s lifetime. What appears to be a fixed ‘structure’ [such as the argument structure of a particular verb] is actually a set of schemas, some more ‘entrenched’ […] than others, arising out of many repetitions in daily conversational interactions. […] ‘Argument structure’ needs to be replaced by a greatly enriched probabilistic theory capturing the entire range of combinations of predicates and participants that people have stored as sorted and organized memories of what they have heard and repeated over a lifetime of language use. (2001:€47).

The current use of the verb mitbadeax (‘joking, kidding around’) as a transitive verb is not a very ‘entrenched’ use at all, one with a rather low probability in Thompson and Hopper’s proposed probabilistic theory of argument structure. It is the fluidity of grammatical categories that enables this very ‘unentrenched’ use originating from the discourse situation – the need to signal an exceptionally minute frame shift in interaction. Excerpt 5 provides an example of one of the least entrenched uses of this particular verb, as well as a possible context for its employment. In a more recent study of the openness of grammatical construction, Hopper writes: Because grammar is a result of interactions rather than a prerequisite to them, it is not a fixed code but is caught up in a continual process of local adaptation (emergence). These adaptations are microscopic (for instance, the nonce use of an intransitive verb with a direct object), and either go unnoticed or are dismissed as “errors”, but they provide the potential basis for future use and for the analogical spread of forms. (2004:€153, emphasis mine).

Excerpt 5 is precisely an example of such a “nonce use of an intransitive verb with a direct object”. This excerpt thus makes the ties between discourse and grammar apparent both in the structural patterning of discourse markers and in their relations to the syntactic structures of the language. This concludes the third patterning involving discourse markers illustrated in this chapter. Discourse markers were shown to exhibit patterning in terms of (1) the moments at which they are employed in interaction, (2) the functions they



Chapter 1.╇ Introduction 

fulfill, and (3) their structural properties. Combining the first and third patterns discussed here, we see that the system of discourse markers permeating Hebrew interaction constitutes part of a larger, iconic system of grammatical and prosodic features (and most likely kinesic ones as well), helping participants distinguish higher-order frame shifts from those that are more subtle in nature. Example 5, along with the quote from Hopper 2004 above, lead us next to consider the grammaticization of discourse markers. 8. Grammaticization of discourse markers Studies in the Social Sciences often focus on the tension between structure and event. An event among people, be it a news broadcast, talk show, job interview, or casual conversation, takes place against the background of a structure, a fixed scheme functioning as a mold for that event. As this structure is employed in the various events of that genre, however, a process of negotiation takes place. This process leads to changes in the initial structure and to the emergence of a new structure. Hopper pointed out that, parallel to this cultural process, which Giddens (1984) termed “structuration”, there is a linguistic process, grammaticization, by which new grammatical patterns emerge from interaction. As an unintended outcome of communicative behavior, grammar is a product of “structuration” (Giddens, 1984) rather than a bounded object to be thought of as structure (Hopper 1998:€158).

It is this linguistic process of grammaticization which I am interested in investigating with respect to discourse markers here. Hopper and Traugott define grammaticalization as “the change whereby lexical items and constructions come in certain linguistic contexts to serve grammatical functions and, once grammaticalized, continue to develop new grammatical functions” (2003: xv). In the earlier edition of their 2003 study, they discuss the two terms – “grammaticalization” and the newer “grammaticization”: Some linguists have told us that they avoid the longer word because “grammaticalization” could be understood as “entering the grammar of a language”, i.e., becoming “grammatical”. “Grammaticization”, by contrast, suggests a process whereby a form may become fixed and constrained in distribution without committing the linguist to a view of “grammar” as a fixed, bounded entity. A similar point is sometimes made in a different way: it is said that “grammaticalization” stresses the historical perspective on grammatical forms, while “grammaticization” focuses on the implications of continually changing categories and meanings for a synchronic view of language, thus placing the entire notion of synchrony into question” (1993: xvi).

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Metalanguage in Interaction

Grammaticalization is the more common term and the one used by linguists prior to Hopper and Traugott’s 1993 publication (e.g., Meillet 1912, Kuryłowicz 1964, Heine and Reh 1984, Lehman 1985, Traugott and Heine 1991, Heine, Claudi, and Hünnemeyer 1991). Hopper and Traugott write that, because it is far from obvious to them that these distinctions between the two terms actually exist, and because the work they are writing – an introductory textbook on the subject – doesn’t seem the right place to use a new term, they opt for the more traditional “grammaticalization” (1993: xvi). I, however, do perceive a distinction between the two terms. I would like here to move away from the notion of grammaticality and wish to focus on the continually changing categories and meanings from a discourse-pragmatic, rather than a historical-diachronic, perspective. I therefore use the newer term, as it is used by Hopper (1987, 1988, 1998): The notion of Emergent Grammar is meant to suggest that structure, or regularity, comes out of discourse and is shaped by discourse as much as it shapes discourse in an on-going process. Grammar is hence not to be understood as a pre-requisite for discourse, a prior possession attributable in identical form to both speaker and hearer. Its forms are not fixed templates, but are negotiable in face-to-face interaction […] Because grammar is always emergent but never present, it could be said that it never exists as such, but is always coming into being. There is, in other words, no “grammar” but only “grammaticization” – movements toward structure which are often characterizable in typical ways (1987:€142, 148).

Grammaticization has been studied both from a diachronic and a synchronic perspective (Lehmann 1985:€303). The majority of studies are historical, investigating the sources of grammatical forms and their “grammaticalization chains” (Heine, Claudi, and Hünnemeyer 1991:€171–174). Less frequently, grammaticization is also seen as a “primarily syntactic, discourse pragmatic phenomenon, to be studied from the point of view of fluid patterns of language use” (Hopper and Traugott 2003:€2). It is from this latter synchronic perspective that I approach discourse markers in the present study. Consistent with Hopper and Traugott’s view that grammaticization “is motivated by speaker-hearer interactions and communicative strategies” (ibid.: 73), and with Bybee and Hopper’s view that “the notion of emergence [...] relativizes structure to speakers’ actual experience with language” (2001:€ 3), this study concerns itself with identifying some actual patterns of language use which have resulted in grammaticization of discourse markers in Hebrew. Grammaticization has come to be investigated in the context of discourse markers in a variety of languages: e.g., for English, Romaine and Lange 1991, Finell 1992, Traugott 1995a,b, 2003a,b, Ferrara 1997, Tabor and Traugott 1998; for Old and Middle English, Brinton 1996; for English, French and other languages,



Chapter 1.╇ Introduction 

Fleischman and Yaguello 1999, 2004; for Hebrew-English bilingual discourse, Maschler 1994a, 1997b, 1998a; for Hebrew, Maschler 2001, 2002b, 2003, Maschler and Estlein 2008; for English and Japanese, Traugott and Dasher 2002; for German, Günthner 2000; for French, Vincent 2005; for Swedish, Lindström and Wide 2005; for Italian, Visconti 2003, 2005; for Spanish, Pons Bordería and Schwenter 2005. Let us return now to the metalanguaging property of discourse markers. In the following chapters, I wish to illuminate some aspects of the emergent grammar by which the metalanguage employed in interaction crystallizes into the fixed utterances we call ‘discourse markers’. This, then, is a synchronic study of the grammaticization of discourse markers, a phenomenon studied so far mostly from the diachronic perspective. Book-length studies of the grammaticization of discourse markers are very few (Brinton 1996, Suzuki 1999, Aijmer 2002, Onodera 2004). Previous articlelength studies of the grammaticization of discourse markers (e.g., Finell 1989, 1992, Brinton 1990, 2001, König 1991, Traugott and König 1991, Abraham 1991, Onodera 1995, Traugott 1995a,b 2003a,b, Wårvik 1995, Aijmer 1985, 1996, Jucker 1997, Tabor and Traugott 1998, Manoliu 2000, Schwenter and Traugott 2000, Traugott and Dasher 2002 (Chapter 4), Visconti 2003, 2005, Lindström and Wide 2005, Pons Bordería and Schwenter 2005) trace a particular marker throughout its history in various written documents from different periods of a language. While illuminating in many respects, this approach is also problematic. For example, in the beginning of her book Pragmatic Markers in English, Brinton writes: I investigate whether medieval narrative might be structured much like contemporary oral narrative and whether these linguistic features might be functionally motivated in ways analogous to pragmatic markers in Modern English discourse, that is, textually and interpersonally. However, I recognize that the function of oral features in the written texts of Old and Middle English may be somewhat different from the function of comparable features in the strictly oral discourse of Modern English, perhaps being used self-consciously as stylized pragmatic markers (1996:€8).

Almost a decade later, ending a study of the grammaticization of Swedish particles of the you know type, Lindström and Wide come to a similar conclusion: There is […] a general difficulty that these oldest texts are not very interactive in their nature, and thus there is little room for the use of dialogically sensitive elements. This remains a methodological problem in diachronic studies like the one carried out here (2005:€232).

The written nature of the data, and the fact that they do not always come from the same genre, render this approach somewhat problematic.

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Metalanguage in Interaction

The natural habitat of language, its primordial site (Schegloff 1993, 1996a,b), is casual everyday conversation. Bakhtin (1986) viewed conversation as the most basic genre from which all genres derive. Since this is the prime locus of the use and development of language, it is only natural that this is where we should study grammaticization processes, and in particular, those relating to quintessentially interactional phenomena such as frame shifting. The present study is based, as we have seen, on a synchronic corpus of Hebrew conversations recorded over the years 1994–2002. Ideally, it would have been better to have spoken corpora from at least two different periods of the language in order to investigate grammaticization processes. However, an earlier corpus of casual Spoken Hebrew does not exist33. As Schourup writes, “historical investigation of DMs obviously cannot rely on naturally-occurring spoken texts” (1999:€261). One might wonder how, missing a diachronic perspective, it would still be possible to investigate grammaticization phenomena. This is possible because, upon a close synchronic analysis of the tokens of a particular discourse marker in the spoken corpus, we often find that a certain token functions in more than one way simultaneously. These ambiguous tokens are particularly illuminating for research on discourse markers, as close examination of the contexts in which they occur reveals how a particular marker might come to serve more than one function, thus suggesting the functional itinerary followed by the particular marker34. Comparisons with “equivalent” discourse markers in other languages can also be made in order to support the grammaticization paths suggested. This is because, as noted by Hopper and Traugott, grammatical morphemes “tend to be polysemous in similar ways across languages, and to undergo similar paths of development as a result of human discourse and interaction.” (2003:€33). Grammatical morphemes “reflect the metaphorical processes that are based on human cognitive make-up, and they reflect the inferences that humans commonly make when they communicate” (Bybee, Perkins, and Pagliuca 1994:€302). 33. For the chapter on ke'ilu (‘like’) (see below), a discourse marker which has greatly proliferated in the language in recent years, it was possible to compare conversations collected during the earlier part of the corpus construction (1994–1997) with those collected later (1998–2002), and thus arrive at a diachronic perspective based on two spoken corpora. 34. Thus, if we assume that this variation of more than one function per marker is representative of a diachronic process underway, the study can be viewed as a diachronic analysis of sorts. I thank Cecilia Ford for pointing this out to me. For other synchronic studies of grammaticization, see Thompson and Mulac 1991, Thompson 2002, Kärkkäinen 2003, Imo 2007, Keevallik 2006, 2007 – all on the grammaticization of epistemic parentheticals from the canonical Subject + Verb form – and Auer 2005, Günthner 2007, 2008, Pekarek Doehler 2007, Laury and Seppänen 2008, Hopper 2004, Hopper and Thompson 2008, for synchronic studies of grammaticization of other constructions.



Chapter 1.╇ Introduction 

Other studies of the grammaticization of discourse markers taking this synchronic perspective include Auer 1996, 2005, Günthner 1996, 2000, Fleischman and Yaguello 1999, 2004. 8.1

Traugott’s theory of grammaticization and semantic change

Recall that in the present approach, the metalinguality of discourse markers was discovered through a synchronic investigation of the strategy of language alternation at metalingual utterances (Section 2). This led to the semantic criterion in the definition of discourse markers – that the utterance have a metalingual interpretation in the context in which it occurs. What is interesting to remark on from the very start is that the metalinguality of discourse markers, discovered through synchronic investigation in the current approach, is judged to be the final stage of grammaticization, a judgement arrived at in diachronic approaches. Based on a series of diachronic studies of Old, Middle, and Present Day English (e.g., Traugott 1980, 1982, 1986, 1989, 1995a,b, 1999, 2003a,b, Traugott and Dasher 2002), Traugott proposed a model for the semantic change involved in grammaticization phenomena. She showed certain pragmatic-semantic tendencies in this change (see Figure 2 below). As forms become increasingly grammaticized, there is “a tendency toward metatextual meaning, or more specifically a shift from […] ‘the world being talked about’ to ‘the speaker’s organization of that world in the act of speaking’” (Traugott and Dasher 2002:€40). With this shift towards the world of the speaker, as s/he is involved in the act of speaking, meanings become first more subjective (“increasingly based in the speaker’s subjective belief/state/attitude toward the proposition” (Traugott 1989:€35)), and then more intersubjective: [intersubjectivity is best construed] in parallel with subjectivity […as] the explicit expression of speaker’s/writer’s attention to the ‘self ’ of addressee/reader in both an epistemic sense (paying attention to their presumed attitudes to the content of what is said), and in a more social sense (paying attention to their ‘face’ or ‘image needs’ associated with social stance and identity). (Traugott 2003a: 128).



a. b. c. d.

non/less subjective > subjective > intersubjective content > content/procedural > procedural non-metatextual > metatextual scope within clause > scope over clause > scope over discourse

Figure 2.╇ Pragmatic-semantic tendencies (Traugott 2001)

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Metalanguage in Interaction

There is a move from focusing on the “world out there” to the world of the interaction, with its metatextual structure, procedures for organizing that structure, and interactional aspects such as intersubjectivity. Correlated with these changes is an increase in the scope of the grammatical element from an element whose scope is within the clause, to one whose scope is over the entire clause, and finally to one whose scope is over a discourse segment. However, “[a]lthough correlated, the individual horizontal trajectories [in Figure 235] are not necessarily vertically aligned” (Traugott and Dasher 2002:€40). Earlier studies by Traugott claimed that early grammaticization involved unidirectional meaning change which may proceed along the path: propositional > (textual) > expressive

(Traugott 1982:€257)

where “expressive” was later replaced by “subjective”. (Both terms can be subsumed under the term “interpersonal”, as it is used in the present study – negotiating relations between speaker and hearer or between speaker and text). This ordering later appeared to be too strong (e.g., Heine, Claudi and Hünnemeyer 1991:€ 190–191, Brinton 1996), and was therefore revised as a set of tendencies which may overlap: Tendency I: meanings based in the external described situation > meanings based in the internal (evaluative/perceptual/cognitive) described situation. Tendency II: Meanings based in the external or internal described situation > meanings based in the textual and metalinguistic situation. Tendency III: Meanings tend to become increasingly based in the speaker’s subjective belief state/attitude toward the proposition. (Traugott 1989:€34–35).

Notice that although Traugott’s studies do not address cognitive discourse markers per se, as does the present study, Tendency I covers this type of discourse marker as well. In the present, synchronic, approach, we have seen that languaging is perceived of as happening in all realms of discourse simultaneously (Becker 1988), that is, in the referential, interpersonal, structural, prior-textual, medial, and silential realms. Languaging is constrained also by the cognitive constraints to which human interlocutors are subject (Chafe 1987). Correspondingly, metalingual utterances are constrained by these various contextual realms simultaneously, 35. The figure in Traugott and Dasher 2002 is slightly but crucially different than the one of Traugott 2001, which I have adopted. Instead of the trajectory non-metatextual > metatextual of Traugott 2001, Traugott and Dasher 2002 have truth-conditional > non-truth-conditional.€ However, below their figure they mention that “it [...] follows that there is a tendency toward metatextual meaning, or more specifically a shift from de re to de dicto meaning” (ibid.: 40). Since truth-conditions are completely irrelevant to my analysis, whereas metalanguage is central, I adopt the figure in Traugott 2001.



Chapter 1.╇ Introduction 

although, as we have seen, often a particular realm is more prominent than others in a particular context. Therefore, there is no fixed cline of unidirectionality in the present approach, as found in Traugott’s earlier studies (e.g. 1982). By starting out with the notion of the interaction, with its three aspects of (1) structure of the text, (2) interaction among participants, and (3) cognitive processes taking place in a speaker’s mind during verbalization, we saw that metalanguage operates at these three realms of discourse – the textual, interpersonal, and cognitive (Section 2). There are no hierarchical relations between these realms, and so the present approach avoids getting into the question of whether interpersonal meanings stem from textual ones or vice versa. Every act of languaging is constantly constrained by the various contextual realms shaping discourse, and discourse markers are no exception. There are, of course, many affinities and interrelations among the various contextual realms, but they are not fixed and depend on the particular utterance in question. In the following chapters, most of all in Chapter 5, we will see that these affinities are responsible for the particular functional paths followed by the discourse markers. What is interesting, however, is the fact that Traugott’s final stage of grammaticization arrived at through diachronic study – the “metatextual”, relating to the speaker’s organization of the world being talked about in the act of speaking – correlates precisely with the most essential property of discourse markers – their metalingual nature, arrived at synchronically in the present approach. Synchronic and diachronic approaches, then, are seen to complement, other rather than to contradict, one another. 9. Interacting as an Israeli We have seen that Table 2 allows only a bird’s-eye view of all the discourse markers found throughout the database. In order to achieve a more accurate understanding of the ways discourse markers function in interaction, one must complement this table with a detailed study of every single discourse marker, a task far too ambitious for the present study. I have chosen to focus on four particular discourse markers. Three of them are representative of the three main realms in which discourse markers operate – the interpersonal, textual, and cognitive. In order to study more closely the ways constraints from these different contextual realms interact and result in grammaticization of discourse markers, I have chosen an additional discourse marker – one that functions ‘in between’ realms. For the interpersonal realm, I focus on the urging token nu ( ‘yeah, go on’), for the textual realm – on the resumptive token bekitsur (‘anyway’, lit. ‘in short’), and for the cognitive realm – on the token of self-rephrasal ke'ilu (‘like’, lit. ‘as if ’). As a



Metalanguage in Interaction

marker functioning ‘in between’ realms, we shall examine tov (‘okay, fine’, lit. ‘good’), which operates both interpersonally and textually throughout the interactions. Table 3 supplies quantitative information concerning the extent to which each one of these markers is employed throughout the database – the 50 conversations on which the present study is based. We see that nu is the most widespread of all four markers. In fact, it is the second most common interpersonal discourse marker throughout the database (following ken (‘yeah’)). Of the markers investigated in depth in this study, nu is followed by tov in terms of frequency, with 62 tokens in this corpus. Ke'ilu is the most widespread utterance of the four (120 tokens), but only 58 function as discourse markers. Finally, the least frequently employed discourse marker among the four is bekitsur, with 49 tokens. These four discourse markers have not been chosen for further study arbitrarily. Not only is each one relatively prevalent throughout the conversations in relation to other discourse markers from the same realm36, but also each marker illuminates certain quintessential aspects of Israeli identity, society, and culture. I therefore believe these four discourse markers are particularly telling for understanding the essence of interacting as an Israeli. In order to explain this statement, however, we must turn to the actual studies of the particular markers. Table 3.╇ Distribution of the four discourse markers focused on in this study Interpersonal

Textual

Cognitive

nu 115

bekitsur 49

ke'ilu 120 (58)

Interpersonal and Textual tov 62

36. Although based on a smaller corpus, Table 2 provides quantitative support for this claim.

chapter 2

The interpersonal realm The discourse marker nu: Israeli Hebrew impatience in interaction

1. Introduction1 Growing up in a Jewish-Israeli household to a mother of Austrian-German background, there were several things I was not allowed to say to my mother. One of them was nu. If I used nu in conversation, I would get scolded. My mother perceived this word as disrespectful and impolite2, though she couldn’t help employing nu sometimes in her own talk to me. There is no satisfying English equivalent for this word, but some tokens may be translated as ‘well?’, ‘go on’, ‘so’, or ‘so what’. Nu often sounds impolite also to Americans living in Israel. My American husband once said to me: ‘Don’t nu me!’ following my use of this word in our English discussion. In another genre, classroom discourse, nu is considered highly inappropriate, particularly in the talk of student to teacher, at least at the university level. I distinctly recall only two such incidents in the course of my teaching over the past ten years, both of which struck me at the time as rather impolite. Hebrew casual conversation, however, is abundant with nus. Although the word is often generally perceived by Israelis as having an impolite aura, most of its tokens do not seem to be interpreted as impolite in actual ordinary talk-in-interaction because in fact they function to encourage the flow of discourse rather than obstruct it. Examine, for instance, the following conversation between a man and two women in their early twenties. The women are co-telling the man about their experiences in a diving course down in Eilat, humorously describing how most of the women in the group dropped out at various stages of the course: 1. This chapter was originally published in 2003 in Text 23: 89–128. It has been extended and updated here to examine additional nu tokens from 20 more conversations so as to fit in with the larger study. 2. The term ‘impolite’ is used here in its everyday sense, rather than as a term in a theory of politeness.

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Metalanguage in Interaction

Excerpt 1 (‘Diving Course’): 29 Orna: harofé hipìl 'ota, the doctor dropped her [i.e., caused her to drop out], 30

.. ya'ani. sorta.

31

.. 'al.. 'e--h.. refu'í hi naflà. on uh medical [reason] she fell. for uh medical reasons she dropped out.



32 All:

{laughter}

33 Ran: /'atem 'al?????????/ you [dropped out] for???????? 34 Orna: ló /naxon/. {--laughing--} not true. 35 Anat: ... 'anàxnu nafálnu, we dropped out, 36 tude]

'al sotsyométri. {---laughing---} on sociometric [grounds] for sociometric reasons. [i.e., for not having the right social atti-

37 All:

{laughter}

38 Orna: ... nish'àrnu 'árba banot. {----------laughing---------} we were left four girls. 39

... to al

40

... tóv! alright!



41 Ran: ... nu,

42

'ani maksh I’m listn

43

.. 'ani mexake lá-{-----laughing---} I’m waiting for the



Chapter 2.╇ The interpersonal realm 

44

.. lapo'énta. {--laughing--} for the point. la-- pántsh layn. {-------laughing-----} for the punch line

45 Anat: 46 Orna: ... tóv! alright! 47

.. magía hayom hashenì. arrives the day the second the second day arrives.

The story (which had actually begun several minutes before line 29) proceeds at length, with many long digressions and much laughter. Ran employs nu at line 41 immediately preceding his metalingual comment 'ani maksh.. 'ani mexake la--.. lapo'enta. (‘I’m listn.. I’m waiting for the.. for the point’, lines 42–44) in the midst of Orna’s narrative (lines 38–40), urging her on to get to this story’s point. This is flavored with humor indicated by Ran’s laughter as well as with perhaps some degree of patronizing. However, no impoliteness is oriented to by the other participants here: Anat picks up the humor and laughingly co-constructs (Lerner 1991) with Ran, completing his 'ani mexake la-- (‘I’m waiting for the’, line 43) with the English borrowing la-- pantsh layn, (‘for the punch line’, line 45); and Orna proceeds enthusiastically, as her tov3! (‘alright!’, line 46) indicates, to the next episode of the narrative, concerning the second day of the course (line 47). Nu is a non-lexical form in Hebrew. Only two of five Hebrew dictionaries I checked list nu as an entry. Even-Shoshan’s dictionary (2003) classifies nu as an interjection borrowed from European languages4 meaning 'efo (‘therefore’) hava (‘let us’) uvxen (‘well then’)–all words of high register. However, this classification says little about the uses of nu in casual Hebrew conversation, such as the one above. Avneyon’s dictionary (1997) comes closer: milat zeruz (‘hastening word’). Although nu was borrowed from European languages, particularly Yiddish and Russian, this word has gained new meanings in Israeli Hebrew, different from those it had in the languages of origin5. For instance, as I am often told by Israelis 3.

For the study of tov, see Chapter 5.

4. See Goss and Salmons 2000, Maschler 2000 a, b, and Chapter 1 of the present study, for studies of the role of language alternation in the grammaticization of discourse markers. 5. Nu is often heard also in varieties of Jewish American English whose speakers originate in Eastern Europe. In Weinreich’s Yiddish-English dictionary (1977), we find Yiddish nu translated as English ‘go on! well? on!’. According to Rosten (1968: 271–273), aside from oy and the

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Metalanguage in Interaction

upon hearing that I am studying nu, one characterization of new immigrants from the former Soviet Union to ‘Israeli ears’ is that when these people speak Hebrew, they employ nu much more frequently in comparison to native-born Hebrew speakers, and often in contexts which do not seem appropriate. In a pilot study, Mazo and Voloshin (1999) found that Russian nu has some softening functions which are not found for Israeli nu. In previous studies of the system of discourse markers segmenting Hebrew talk-in-interaction (Maschler 1997a, 1998b, 2002a. See Table 2, Chapter 1), nu was classified as a discourse marker functioning in the interpersonal realm of discourse (Becker 1979) ‘urging speaker to continue’. Recall that in the present study, a prototypical discourse marker is defined as an utterance fulfilling two conditions; one semantic, the other structural: a. Semantically, the utterance must have a metalingual interpretation in the context in which it occurs. In other words, rather than referring to the extralingual world, it must refer metalingually to the realm of the text, to the interaction between its participants, or to their cognitive processes. b. Structurally, the utterance must occur at intonation-unit initial position, either at a point of speaker change, or, in same-speaker talk, immediately following any intonation contour other than continuing intonation. It may occur after continuing intonation or at non-intonation-unit initial position only if it follows another marker in a cluster (Maschler 1998b: 31)6.

articles, nu is the most frequently used word in Yiddish. Rosten adds: ‘From Russian nu: ‘well’, ‘well now’, etc.; cognates are common in Indo-European languages.’ (Rosten 1968: 271). I wish to express my gratitude to Sandra Thompson for showing me this reference. In a recent article, Sorjonen studies two Finnish particles, no, which she characterizes as a go-ahead response (Schegloff 1990), and nii, another Finnish continuer (Schegloff 1982), both manifesting some of the functions of Hebrew nu (see below). She mentions that the Finnish etymological dictionary compares Finnish no to German nun and na and suggests that ‘it is partially an original Finnish word, also found in other Baltic-Finnish and Sámi languages, [...] which has also been influenced by foreign languages, most notably by Germanic languages’ (2002: 166). See also Hilmisdóttir’s study of Icelandic nú and núna (2007). It seems, then, that other languages besides Hebrew and Jewish varieties of English have borrowed forms related to nu from Germanic languages. 6. In Chapter 1 we saw that the two criteria in this definition coincide for 94% of the discourse markers found throughout the database. We saw that the remaining 6% satisfy the semantic, but not the structural requirement, and that the majority of these 6% category discourse markers are employed to construct two types of multivocality in discourse–constructed dialogue (Tannen 1989) and self-rephrasal.€ In this chapter, I include nu tokens following continuing intonation in same-speaker talk as well. All but two such instances occur in the move from non-constructed to constructed dialogue.



Chapter 2.╇ The interpersonal realm 

The nu of excerpt 1, for example, satisfies both requirements for prototypical discourse markerhood. It functions metalingually in the interpersonal realm as Ran is urging Orna to continue her story and finally get to its point (lines 41–44), and it fulfills the structural requirement as it appears at intonation unit initial position at a point of speaker change. This nu, then, like the majority of tokens throughout the database (68.7% of all instances of nu, see Table 1 below), fits the characterization ‘interpersonal discourse marker urging speaker to continue’. However, there are many subtleties in the functions of nu which the characterization above does not capture, and we will also see some tokens of nu for which this characterization is less relevant. The present chapter attempts a finer characterization of the functions and flavor of nu in a corpus of casual Hebrew talk-ininteraction. At the same time, it relates to the possible grammaticization path followed by nu in Hebrew and to the role of impatience in creating interpersonal involvement in Israeli discourse. 2. Data Nu was found to be the second most common interpersonal discourse marker throughout the 50 conversations of the Haifa Corpus of Spoken Israeli Hebrew (Maschler 2004) on which the present study is based (see Chapter 1, Section 3). Following ken (‘yeah’) with over 240 occurrences, nu manifests 115 tokens, which corresponds to an average of one nu token every 1.3 minutes7. A few additional excerpts manifesting tokens of nu were broadly transcribed immediately after having heard them employed in interactions in which I participated. They, too, will be discussed in the present chapter, although they are not counted in the following table. Table 1 sketches an overall picture of the functions of nu in the recorded database: Table 1.╇ Distribution of nu tokens according to function throughout the database Hastening non-verbal action

Urging further development within main topic

Granting permission to perform action

Providing joking/provoking key

Total

6 (5.2%)

79 (68.7%)

3 (2.6%)

27 (23.5%)

115 (100%)

7. The next most common interpersonal marker in the corpus after nu, lo (‘no’), was employed significantly less frequently.

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Metalanguage in Interaction

The following sections elaborate on the headings of this table and illustrate the various functions of nu in this corpus of casual Hebrew talk-in-interaction. 3. Hastening co-participant to get on with some non-verbal action Let us begin with the least metalingual use of nu. This word can be employed in order to hasten a co-participant to get on with some non-verbal action. For example, in the following interaction, David is cooking some soup in the kitchen while telling his close friend Dalia a story. At the end of the story, he wants her to taste his soup, an action she repeatedly refuses to perform: Excerpt 2 (‘Soup’): 124 David: .. pashút, simply, 125

.. ló rotse lehaxzir ta’ xovòt. doesn’t want to return the debts.

126

'axsháv nit'am mehamara/ve/k8. now we’ll taste from the soup now we’ll taste the soup.

127

{David tastes the soup}

128 Dalia: (4.05) nu 'éx yatsa? nu how came out nu how did it come out? 129 David: .. 'aní xoshev sheyatsa tòv, I think that came out good I think it came out good, 130

.. bó'i tit'amì. come taste [it].

131 Dalia: .. ló rotsa. don’t want [to]. 132 David:

bó'i tit'amì! {-----ff-----} come taste [it]!

8. The Hebrew word for soup is marak and we know that this is what is cooking from other parts of the text. However, something approximating the syllable -ve- is heard inserted within the final syllable of this word here: mara/ve/k.



Chapter 2.╇ The interpersonal realm 

ló rotsa. don’t want [to].

133 Dalia:

'ani 'eshpóx 'et ze 'alàyix. I’ll spill this on you I’m gonna spill this on you.

134 David: 135 Dalia: .. ló rotsa. don’t want [to]. 136 David: (3.92) 'amrù lax pá'am they told you once did they ever tell you 137

'amárti lax pà'am, I told you once did I ever tell you,

138

she'at domà egárfild? that you similar to Garfield that you look like Garfield?

139 Dalia: .... kén, yes, 140

'amárta li, you’ve told me,

141

shloshím 'elef pà'am, thirty thousand times,

142 David:

nu! get on with it already! {moving soup spoon closer to Dalia’s mouth}

143 Dalia:

she'ani domá le that I similar to that I look like

144

.. ló rotsà! {-------ff-------} don’t want [to].

145 David: tit'amí--! {----ff----} taste [it]! At line 127 David tastes the soup and Dalia asks him nu 'ex yatsa? (‘nu how did it come out?’, 128). This use of nu will be dealt with in Section 7. David then invites

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Metalanguage in Interaction

her to taste the soup herself in a series of two requests (lines 130, 132), both of which Dalia refuses (lo rotsa (‘don’t want [to]’), lines 131, 133). It takes several additional increasingly direct requests to get Dalia to taste the soup. At line 142, David moves the soup spoon closer to her mouth9, uttering nu! in sentence final exclamatory intonation. Dalia refuses yet again (line 144), this time more loudly, at which point David resorts to a direct order: tit'ami--! ‘taste [it]!’, line 145. The nu at line 142, then, urges Dalia to perform a non-verbal action. Here it is accompanied by impatience mixed with humor, as indicated by the prosody of lines 142 and 145, particularly the fact that the intonation contour of 145 imitates that of 144, with a marked high-low-high intonation pattern on the last syllable of tit'amí--! (line 145) uttered in loud volume. In excerpt 3, Yosi tells his wife about a conversation he engaged in with two cashiers at the local grocery store. Yosi retells how one of the cashiers was telling the other about some extraordinary place which her husband had taken her to while they were abroad. The other cashier responded with some embarrassment that she, too, had been there, at which point Yosi joins in, expressing his curiosity about the place. At a crucial point in the story, right before the identity of the place is revealed, Yosi describes the cashier dealing with the customer ahead of him in line. Yosi employs nu (line 68) in his own constructed dialogue (Tannen 1989) addressed to the cashier, dramatizing his hastening of the cashier to be done with that customer so that she could tell him the end of the story: Excerpt 3 (‘Cashiers’): 63 Yosi: .. 'ani kvar ló yax I already not ca I can’t anymo 64

.. 'ani / muxráx/ lishmòa, I / must/ hear,

65

.. 'ani mét mimètax 'axshav. I’m dying of suspense now.



{laughter}

66 Tali:

67 Yosi: ... 'ani ló yaxol lehaxzík ma'amàd, {---------laughing------------} I not can hold on I can’t wait any longer, 9. The interaction was audio-, rather than video-taped, but the person who first transcribed it was Dalia, who remembered the non-verbal action accompanying this utterance. The warning 'ani 'eshpox 'et ze 'alayix (‘I’ll spill this on you’) at 134, and the ensuing discussion concerning her resemblance to Garfield (136–142), further support this location of the spoon relative to Dalia’s face.



Chapter 2.╇ The interpersonal realm 

68

.. nú, {laughing, change of tone} come on,

69

.... tigmerí maher 'im haben'adám haze! {-------------laughing-----------------} finish quickly with the human being this be done with this person already!



70 Tali:

..... nú?



71 Yosi:

{laughter}



72 Tali:

{laughter}

73 Yosi:

... 'az hi 'oméret, so she says,

74

.. tishmá, {Â�Â�Â�Â�---pp---} listen,

75

.... lakxú 'otanu, {-------pp----------} they took us,

76

lexanùt le'avizarèy mín. {--------pp---------} {----laughing-----} to a store for accessories of sex to a sex shop.

The key is quite humorous in this narrative, indicated by the laughter, as Yosi constructs his talk to the cashier (lines 68–69) and her response (lines 74–76). In fact, Yosi’s laughter while uttering the cashier’s response (line 76) reveals his evaluation of her constructed speech: as he later says explicitly (excerpt 3a below), he views these cashiers’ bashful attitude towards sex shops ridiculous. The laughter accompanying line 76 manifests the layering of voices (Bakhtin 1986, Günthner 1999a) in discourse–specifically, the layering of Yosi’s ridiculing voice over the cashier’s constructed dialogue. The action Yosi would like the cashier to hasten in the midst of this humorous segment is described by the verb of the intonation unit following nu: tigmeri maher (‘finish quickly’) 'im haben'adam haze (‘with this human being’), or ‘be done with this person already’, line 69. Unlike the previous example, then, here nu occurs in continuing intonation and is followed by an utterance spelling out the action being urged. Note that while Yosi’s nu of line 68 hastens an action in the extralingual world, Tali’s nu of line 70, to which we shall return later, relates to the world of the text and is therefore considered metalingual here.

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Metalanguage in Interaction

Discourse markers are often employed in the little dialogues we carry on with ourselves. A speaker can also urge him/herself to perform some action. No such examples were found in the corpus, but an interaction around our dinnertable supplies an example. In the following excerpt, which I transcribed immediately after the utterance took place10, five-year-old Yotam begins to sing to us his version of a song they learned that day at school: Excerpt 4 (‘Song’): 1 Yotam: hashu'al, {--singing--} the fox, 2

'avar miderex, {-----singing---} passed from a path,

3

'el 'el 'el, {--singing--} to to to,



... nu.

4

5

.... 'ex kor'im le'eifo sheha'anavim? how one calls to where that the grapes what do you call the place where the grapes are?

6 Mother: kerem. vinyard. 7 Yotam: 'el 'el 'el, {--singing--} to to to, 8

hakerem. {--singing--} the vinyard.

At line 4 Yotam stops singing because he had forgotten the continuation of the song. Employing nu in sentence-final falling intonation, he hastens himself to remember the missing words. Following a longer than average pause, in the following intonation unit, he requests my help in this task. Once reminded, he continues singing (line 7 and on).

10. These excerpts are transcribed using broader transcription conventions because they were not recorded.



Chapter 2.╇ The interpersonal realm

Children are aware of this use of nu quite early. Following Yotam’s employment of nu at a similar context, I asked him why he said nu there. His answer was quick and simple: nu she'ani 'ezkor kvar! (‘nu [so] that I remember already!’). In this case, then, nu may be better characterized as a cognitive discourse marker–one providing information about cognitive processes occurring at frame shifts which are often revealed in the medium of spoken discourse, rather than as an interpersonal discourse marker. The context of recalling a word also places this use of nu closer to being metalingual, rather than functioning in the extralingual realm. The following excerpt supplies another nu token urging an action which is on the boundary between the lingual and metalingual. It comes from an interaction I heard between my two daughters. Nine-year-old Maya was trying again and again to get her sister, twelve-year-old Shira, to play the Harry Potter trivia game with her, which Shira repeatedly refused. Following a series of attempts on Maya’s part, Shira finally said: Excerpt 5 (‘Trivia Games’): 1 Shira: nu, 2

'aval 'ani sonét lesaxek, but I hate to play but I hate playing,

3

misxakèy trívya! games of trivia trivia games!

When I immediately asked why she said nu there, the answer was as quick as her brother’s was in the previous example: nu sheday lenadned! (‘nu [so] that enough already with the nagging!’). In other words, the action Maya was urged to do in this context was ‘stop nagging her sister’. The action of stopping to nag somebody here clearly involves language, although it involves other aspects of behavior as well, a fact making this instance of nu another token functioning on the fuzzy boundary between the lingual and the metalingual. Nu as a hastener of non-verbal actions is not that common in the corpus–only about 5.2% of the tokens–because most of the conversations do not take place while participants are also performing accompanying non-verbal actions. Yet this function seems to me to be the basic function of nu, the non-metalingual function from which other functions originate. It is difficult to confirm this, as it would involve examining the functions of nu in Yiddish, Russian, and Hebrew spoken corpora from the time in which nu was first borrowed into Hebrew. However, it is in agreement with characterizations of the semantic process involved in grammaticization as involving a metaphorical shift from the concrete to the

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Metalanguage in Interaction

abstract (Traugott 1982, Sweetser 1988), or from the propositional to the ‘metalinguistic’ (Traugott 1988, Traugott and König 1991). 4. Nu urging further development within a topic Just as one can be urged to perform a non-verbal action, so can a speaker urge an interlocutor to perform a verbal action. The majority of nu tokens in this database (more than 2 out of every 3 tokens, 68.7%) function to urge the speaker to move on in the development of a discourse topic (Chafe 1994). This happens in both narrational and non-narrational discourse, and the flavor of nu changes as a function of the genre in which it is employed. We will see that this type of nu can be characterized as a ‘continuer’ (Schegloff 1982) with some modification. 4.1

Narrational discourse

Nu can function to urge a participant to move on in the development of a narrative. This includes urging the speaker (1) to begin a narrative the hearer knows is about to be told, (2) to move on to a current narrative’s next episode (Chafe 1987) thus advancing towards its point, or (3) to return to the narrative following a digression. I illustrate only the second category here. 4.1.1 Urging a move on to the next episode of a narrative In the following excerpt, Tamir describes to his male friend Erez a fight he witnessed between two men: Excerpt 6 (‘Violence’): 35 Tamir: .. 'axsháv, now, 36

.. hahù kvar haya-- 'al haritspá, the other one already was on the floor, the other one [i.e., the victim] was already on the floor,

37

.. ke'ilu, like,

38

.. hu baràx bizxilá, he had escaped crawling,

39

.. hu ló-- barax beritsà. he hadn’t escaped running.



... 'ata mevín?

40



Chapter 2.╇ The interpersonal realm 



you understand see?

41

.. ke'ilu--, like,

42

.. kaze, like



{demonstrating victim’s crawling}.

43

44 Erez:

.... wá wá! wow wow



... nú?

45

46 Tamir: .. vedofék bo makòt, and slamming at him blows and [he] is hitting him hard, 47

48 Erez:

.. vehu ló, and he doesn’t, /xxxxxxxx/

49 Tamir: ... lò meraxém 'alav. doesn’t have [any] pity for him. At line 36 Tamir describes the state the victim of the fight was in at that point in the story: hahù kvar haya-- 'al haritspá (‘the other one was already on the floor’). He backtracks to point out that the victim had been hurt in the fight so badly, that he had escaped crawling, not running (lines 37–39). This is done via two rephrasals employing kaze and ke'ilu (lines 37–43) (two ‘equivalents’ of English like11), both verbally (lines 38–39) and non-verbally by demonstrating the victim’s crawling (lines 42–43). At line 44 Erez manifests his involvement in this description/ dramatization with the interjection wa wa! uttered in sentence-final intonation. He then employs nu? (line 45) in appeal intonation12. This is followed by Tamir’s move on to the next episode of the narrative, describing the next complicating action: vedofek bo makot, (‘and [he] is hitting him hard’, line 46). The shift to the new episode from the background of the narrative to its foreground is indicated by Tamir’s use of the discourse marker ve- (‘and’, line 46) as well as by his switch in tense and aspect (Hopper 1979) from barax (‘had escaped’, past perfective, lines 11. For the functions of Hebrew kaze (lit. ‘like this’) and ke'ilu (lit. ‘as if ’), see Maschler 2001 and Chapter 4, respectively. 12. “The question mark (?) indicates a class of intonation contours whose transitional continuity is regularly understood as an appeal [...] ‘Appeal’ here refers to when a speaker, in producing an utterance, overtly seeks a validating response from a listener” (Du Bois et al.€1992: 30).

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Metalanguage in Interaction

38, 39) to dofek (‘is hitting’, present imperfective, line 46). Thus, this nu was indeed interpreted as a request to move on to the following episode of the narrative. Another such move can be seen in excerpt 3, line 70, when Tali’s nu? occurs at the boundary between Yosi’s complication (Chafe 1994) describing his hastening of the cashier (lines 68–69) and the climax (Chafe 1994) of the story (lines 73–76) revealing the identity of the place–a sex shop. In fact, nu here can be seen as a direct response to the well known evaluative strategy of delaying the point of a narrative (Labov 1972), thereby increasing audience involvement. This use of nu is reminiscent of the use described by Sorjonen for Finnish nii: [T]he utterance to which nii(n) responds forms a place of maximum incompleteness. That is, the speaker has reached a place in her talk after which the delivery of a point of the activity is imminent. Before proceeding to the point she momentarily stops her talk, thereby yielding a place for a possible response by the recipient (202: 183).

However, Sorjonen does not discuss the interpersonal dimension of this momentary stop preceding the use of nii. The nu of excerpt 3, line 70 shows a particularly high degree of interpersonal involvement partly due to the iconicity (Becker 1982) it reveals: Tali’s impatience in the interaction, concerning getting to the story’s point, mirrors Yosi’s impatience in the storyworld, concerning discovering the identity of the place. One more example is, of course, the one opening this chapter. Ran’s nu (excerpt 1, line 41) is uttered precisely at the end of Orna’s episode describing how the first of five women dropped out of the diving course on the first day: nish'àrnu 'árba banot... to... tóv! (‘we were left four girls... al... alright!’, lines 38–40). Following Ran’s metalingual comment (lines 41–45) which begins with nu, Orna proceeds to the next episode, describing the second day of the course (lines 46–7). It is in this sense that nu can reflect a high degree of interpersonal involvement between speaker and hearer. By exhibiting their impatience in moving towards the climax of a story–to the point of taking the liberty to control the flow of another’s discourse–hearers can show maximal involvement in the narrative. This is another aspect of the Israeli dugri (‘direct’) way of speaking (Katriel 1986), an aspect which may be paraphrased in the following manner: ‘we are so close, that not only can I tell you things without worrying too much about your positive face wants (Brown and Levinson [1978] 1987, Katriel 1986, Blum-Kulka 1992), I also don’t have to waste too much time on your negative face wants and can thus take the liberty to speed up the flow of your talk’. Within this frame (Goffman 1981), impatience contributes positively to the interaction, rather than being interpreted as impolite, because it is viewed as indicative of the audience’s high involvement in the talk.



Chapter 2.╇ The interpersonal realm 

This is in agreement with previous studies of the high degree of interpersonal involvement in Israeli discourse (Blum-Kulka and Katriel 1991, Maschler 1994a, Blum-Kulka 1997), and it is similar to the positive functioning of overlaps (Tannen 1984) and argumentativeness (Schiffrin 1984) in the talk of Jewish Americans of East European background. The parallelism is particularly apparent in the case of overlap, because overlap and employment of nu can be viewed as two diametrically opposed strategies: in the strategy of overlap, the hearer takes the liberty to begin his or her talk without waiting for a transition relevance place which is to follow the turn constructional unit being produced (Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson 1974). In the case of nu, the hearer not only gives up the floor, but also takes the liberty to hasten the speaker upon reaching a transition relevance place13, indicating that the speaker should go on. In both cases there is an attempt to control the flow of discourse. In the former case–in order to grab the floor, in the latter–in order to hasten the other’s occupying of it. 4.2

Urging further development within a non-narrational topic

As an example of nu in non-narrational discourse, examine excerpt 7 from the argumentative genre–a family dinner conversation between two parents, their son, Gabi, and daughter, Shani, both in their early twenties. The context here is a political argument between father and son, following the peace agreement signed between Israel and Jordan in 1994. Excerpt 7 (‘Political Argument’): 20 Gabi: .... 'atá lò maskím 'iti, you don’t agree with me, 21

.. shehaheském hateritoryali, that the agreement the territorial, that the territorial agreement,

22

'im yardén, with Jordan,

23

hu mutsláx? is successful is good?

13. This transition relevance place, however, is not necessarily a complex transition relevance place (a ‘CTRP’, Ford and Thompson 1996), because intonation can be non-final at this point (see below).

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Metalanguage in Interaction

24 Father: ... 'ìm 'anì lo maskim 'itxá, if I don’t agree with you, 25 Shani:

todá. {to Mother, concerning the food being served} thank you.

26 Father: .... 'ìm 'anì lo maskim 'itxá, if I don’t agree with you, 27

... 'ata titén li lehagìd 'et da'ati? you will let me say my opinion will you let me express my opinion?

28 Gabi:

... /rak / tipa ki 'ani lo yaxol /????????/. /just/ a bit because I can’t /????????/.

29

.. 'avál, but,

30

.... 'ata maskím 'iti, you agree with me do you agree with me,

31

.. shehaheském hateritoryali, that the agreement the territorial, that the territorial agreement,

32

'im yardén, with Jordan,

33

hu-is

34 Father: ló. no. 35

'eh.. /tir'e/, uh.. look,

36

.. 'ani lò maskím 'itxa! I don’t agree with you!

37

.. 'amárti lexa, I’ve told you, láma lo. why not.

38 Gabi:

'ata kól pa'am sho'èl 'oti, you every time ask me,

39 Father:

40

'et 'otá

sh



Chapter 2.╇ The interpersonal realm 



the same qu

41

.. ló maskìm. don’t agree.



shshsh--

42 Mother:

láma hu lo mutslàx? why it’s not successful why isn’t it good?

43 Gabi:

'ani ló sovèlet, I can’t stand [it],

44 Mother: 45

..she/'anaxnu tso'akím bamitbax/. that /we scream in the kitchen/. 'ani 'asbír lexa, I’ll explain to you,

46 Father: 47

làma ló. why not.



... nú.

48 Gabi:

49 Father: ... xaké! wait!

50 Gabi:

51

... nu, tasbír! explain!

52 Father: ... 'áleph, a {first letter of Hebrew alphabet}, 53 54 Gabi:

...... 'im if 'ata 'omèr leshem havikúax? [are] you saying [this] for the sake of the argument?

55 Father: ... ló. no. 56 Gabi:

..... nu 'az láma hu lo mutslàx. nu so why it not successful nu so why isn’t it good.

57 Father: .... mipney she, because,

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Metalanguage in Interaction

Already at the beginning of this excerpt we learn that this is not these speakers’ first political argument and that the father feels his son doesn’t allow him to express himself (lines 26–27). At line 38 and then again at line 43, the son, Gabi, asks his father why he views the peace agreement with Jordan as lo mutslax (‘not successful’) or ‘not good’. The father answers announcing in a rather patronizing way that he will explain to him why the agreement is not a good one: 'ani 'asbír lexa, làma ló. (‘I’ll explain to you, why not’, lines 46–47). Perhaps as a response to this patronizing tone, at line 48, employing nu, Gabi urges his father to get on with the argument. But unlike the cases above, this particular urging to move on in the development of the topic does not serve to move the discourse forward. On the contrary; the father pauses even further in his argument and orders his son: xake! (‘wait!’, line 49). In the previous Section (4.1.1), we have seen that in casual Hebrew conversation, it is acceptable for one to attempt to control the flow of another’s discourse by hastening the speaker, as long as it is clear that this is done in the name of genuine enthusiasm concerning his or her talk. When a participant takes the liberty of controlling another’s flow of discourse, a momentary inequality between participants is created in the interaction. In the argumentative context, such a move is more likely to be perceived as ‘be done with your argument already, so that we can get to my turn finally’. In such contexts, an attempt to control the other speaker’s talk may well be perceived negatively, and the nu may be destructive to the flow of talk. The speaker might decide to pause purposely and make the urging participant wait even longer, in protest of this hastening. This is precisely what happens in the present interaction. Note the minor dueling over who will get to control the flow of discourse in the exchange at lines 48–51. Gabi does not accept his father’s order to wait, and once more attempts to control the situation with an elaborated rephrasal of line 48: nu, tasbir! (‘nu, explain!’, lines 50–51), explicitly mentioning, via the metalingual verb tasbir (‘explain’), the action which nu hastens. We are now in a position to understand the infrequent employment of nu in the talk of student to teacher in classroom discourse. Nu is highly inappropriate in this context not only because this is a relatively formal situation, but particularly because the student is perceived as attempting to control the discourse flow of a participant quite higher than him/her in status. On the other hand, the frequency of nu in the discourse of parents to their young children can be explained by the parents’ higher status relative to the child and the informality of the situation. Thus we see that the nature of the interaction can mitigate those aspects of nu related to impoliteness. While nu usually does carry an impolite aura, at least in speakers’ metalinguistic awareness, this aura is often neutralized by the nature of the interaction and the relationship between its participants. Whether or not nu is perceived as impolite and functions to obstruct the flow of talk depends on the



Chapter 2.╇ The interpersonal realm 

genre and the general context of the interaction. Interpretation of nu, then, is an emergent phenomenon, shaped by a variety of contextual constraints. 4.3

Nu as a continuer

In discussing English uh huh, yeah, mm hm and the like, Schegloff writes that a continuer is a minimal vocalization exhibit[ing...] an understanding that an extended unit of talk is underway by another, and that it is not yet [...] complete. It takes the stance that the speaker of that extended unit should continue talking, and in that continued talking should continue that extended unit. [It] exhibit[s] this understanding, and take[s] this stance, precisely by passing an opportunity to produce a full turn at talk. (1982:€81).

This characterization of a ‘continuer’ fits nu with some modification: nu involves not only taking the stance that the speaker should continue talking, but actively urging the speaker to do so. The extended unit of talk underway can vary in size from a single prosodic sentence14 to a whole narrative. One Hebrew continuer is ken (‘yeah’), the most common interpersonal discourse marker throughout the database (over 240 tokens). Indeed, the functions of ken and nu show some overlap, as can be seen from the following non-narrational excerpt. This is a conversation between David, Avner, and myself. A certain degree of tension exists between Avner and David throughout this interaction, resulting from their different attitudes towards patriotism, about which I have written elsewhere (Maschler 1997a). About half an hour into the beginning of this dinnertable conversation, David summarizes why he wanted to go into an army pilot training course after high school: Excerpt 8 (‘Pilot Training’): 1 David: ... bekìtsur 'anáxnu hayinu patriyotim, in short we were patriots, 2 Yael:

.... kén? yes?

3 Avner: .... nu--?

4 David: ... vekulà--nu ratsinu lihyot kraviyí--m, and we all wanted to be battle unit [soldiers], 14. A prosodic sentence is defined by Chafe (1994:€137–145) as an intonation unit, or a group of successive intonation units separated by continuing intonation, ending in sentence-final intonation. Chafe observes that once a speaker judges that the scanning of a center of interest (such as a sub-episode in a story-episode) has been completed, s/he expresses that judgment with a sentence-final intonation contour.

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5

.. ve--'éx ze holex hayom, and how it goes today and how does it go these days,

6

.. be--xèl 'avir kulám harey holxim, in force air everybody PART. goes to the air force, as you know, everybody goes,

7

.. ma, .. what [do you mean],

8

ze--.. ze.. kavòd gadó--l. it it honor great it’s.. it’s.. a great honor.

David ends intonation unit 1 with continuing intonation. He pauses for a period which both Avner and I judge to be too long, and we both employ continuers at precisely the same moment (manifesting what Erickson and Shultz (1982) call rhythmic synchrony). I employ the continuer ken? (line 2), and Avner employs nu? (line 3), both in appeal intonation. David then continues his utterance in the following lines, ending his prosodic sentence at line 8. In this instance, then, nu functions as a continuer, overlapping one of the uses of ken. However, the nature of the interaction between Avner and David results in the flavor of Avner’s continuer being not only ‘I’m listening, go on’, as in the case of my ken?, but also ‘go on, let’s hear what you’ve now got to say’. Nu, however, can be employed as a continuer even when no particular tension in the discourse is involved, as in the following narrative in which a young man begins to tell two women friends about a revelation he had concerning the type of woman he liked: Excerpt 9 (‘Women’): 134 Eyal: .. li, to me, 135

.. ze karà pa'am 'axát, it happened one time,

136

.. kshehayiti be'ey--ze kontsért, when I was at some concert,

137 Yafit:

.... nu.

138 Eyal:

be'avonotáy. in [all] my sins to my shame.



Chapter 2.╇ The interpersonal realm 

Eyal begins to tell a story that took place when he went to some concert. He ends intonation unit 136, the orientation to his narrative, in continuing intonation and pauses for longer than average (indicated by 4 dots at line 137). A point of incompletion is thus achieved. Yafit judges this pause to be ‘too long’, at which point she employs nu as a continuer: she displays her understanding that a larger discourse unit (a prosodic sentence in this case) is underway, and urges Eyal to continue its production. Eyal indeed continues and adds be'avonotáy (lit., ‘in [all] my sins’), a formulaic phrase roughly equivalent to English ‘to my shame’, only then ending in sentence-final intonation (line 138). Going to a concert is apparently not a ‘cool’ thing to do among members of this social group, and Eyal jokingly admits to having performed this ‘shameful’ deed. His narrative continues in a light key, with no tension between participants throughout the interaction. This use of nu as a continuer, then, carries a neutral flavor, unlike the one of excerpt 8. Another typical place for the continuer nu is right after an initial conditional clause. The following excerpt comes from a conversation between three male students in their early twenties arguing over the quality of their departmental newspaper. Here they compare this newspaper (called perspektivi,‘Perspectival’) to the newspaper edited by the university’s student union (called pesek zman ‘Time Out’). The latter newspaper’s readers are compared to the readers of Bazuka gum wrappers: Excerpt 10 (‘Departmental Newspaper’): 122 Yoni: ... 'ím 'ata ben 'adà--m, if you[’re a] person, 123

shel 'e--h, of u--h,

124

... sheyésh’xa koax lashèvet, that there is to you energy to sit, that you have the energy to sit,

125

velikró, and to read,

126

velehit'amék, and to go deeply [into things],

127

... 'az 'ata tikrà perspektívi. then you’ll read Perspectival.

128 Ido:

ha.. ha'idiot hax the the idiot the most the bi[ggest] idiot

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Metalanguage in Interaction

'aval 'ím 'ata ben 'adàm, but if you[’re a] person,

129 Yoni: 130

shekore bazúka, who reads Bazuka,

131 Avner:

nú.

132 Yoni:

.. 'ata tikrà pesek zmán. you’ll read Time Out.

Avner employs his continuer immediately following Yoni’s second conditional clause 'aval 'ím 'ata ben 'adàm, shekore bazúka, (‘but if you’re a person, who reads Bazuka’, lines 129–130). Yoni pauses just slightly past this conditional clause–long enough for Avner’s continuer, which in fact overlaps the beginning of Yoni’s ‘then’clause 'ata tikrà pesek zmán. (‘you’ll read pesek zman’, line 132). Note that Avner does not employ nu between the two clauses of the first conditional sentence in this excerpt (lines 122–127), even though there is actually a longer pause between these two clauses (line 127) in comparison to the barely audible pause in line 132. We have here a parallel construction of two conditional sentences, contrasted by 'aval (‘but’), whose ‘if ’-clauses both open with the formula 'ím 'ata ben 'adàm, she (‘if you’re a person, who’) and whose ‘then’-clauses both open with ['az]'ata tikrà ((‘then) you’ll read’). This parallelism makes a strong projection that the end of this rather long figure is approaching, as well as a projection concerning what its ending might be. Avner and Yoni are on the same side in this argument–they both think the departmental newspaper is of high quality, while the student union’s paper is not (Ido is the one who thinks less highly of it). Thus, Avner’s nu urging Yoni at line 131 is neutral; it is not prompted by any particular tension between himself and the person he is hastening, as was the case in excerpt 8, but rather by a projection of the end of a rather long figure15. Previous studies (e.g., Haiman 1978, Schiffrin 1992, Ford 1993) document the function of conditionals in presenting given information. In her study of adverbial clauses in American English conversation, Ford writes that initial adverbial 15. However, the 7 tokens of nu throughout the three-minute male interaction from which excerpt 13 is taken are one of many factors contributing to its somewhat more rough nature, placing this conversation closer to a ‘masculine’ end of a continuum of discourse styles as a function of gender (Coates 1997). This is particularly so because employment of this token of nu between two clauses of a conditional sentence–a likely place for the strategy of co-construction (Lerner 1991) or co-production (Ferrara 1992), and particularly within the parallel construction we have seen above–comes at the expense of employing this latter collaborative strategy. This is one of the features placing this conversation closer to a ‘masculine’ end of a continuum of discourse styles, in which participants assume less collaborative footings (Goffman 1981) towards each other (Maltz and Borker 1982, Tannen 1990, 1999).



Chapter 2.╇ The interpersonal realm 

clauses, and initial conditional clauses in particular, “form pivotal points in the development of talk and present explicit background for material that follows” (1993:€62). This would motivate the function of nu to urge further development of the (‘new’) topic in excerpt 10, particularly in this double contrastive conditional, where the second initial conditional is ‘given’ not only because of its initial position, but also because of its contrast with the previous conditional clause. Ford also writes that “ordering an adverbial clause before its main clause insures that no point of possible completion will be reached before the entire complex is delivered” (ibid.: 52). Nu between the adverbial and main clauses can be viewed as the interlocutor’s response to this strategy: nu hastens precisely that part of the utterance that presents the ‘given’ background and is there to delay reaching a point of possible completion. Nu, then, can be a response to two types of delay on the part of the speaker–delaying the point of a narrative (Section 4.1.1) or delay in reaching a point of possible completion, further supporting its characterization as a marker of impatience. Clancy et al. define a reactive token as “a short utterance produced by an interlocutor who is playing a listener’s role during the other interlocutor’s speakership. That is, reactive tokens will normally not disrupt the primary speaker’s speakership, and do not in themselves claim the floor” (1996:€356). They further subcategorize reactive tokens into four groups, one of which is the backchannels–a nonlexical vocalic form, serving as “a ‘continuer’ (Schegloff 1982), display of interest, or claim of understanding” (Clancy et al. 1996:€359). This is relevant to those instances of neutral nu functioning as continuers, as seen in the last two excerpts. Clancy et al. compared reactive tokens in English, Japanese, and Mandarin, showing that these languages differ in the reactive tokens they favor and in their frequency and distribution in conversation. The goal of their study was “to examine the communicative strategies in each language with respect to culture-specific expectations about the degree of interaction that the non-primary speaker will engage in”. None of the languages investigated in their study manifest a reactive token similar to nu. We have seen that in Hebrew discourse, there are culturespecific expectations about a relatively high degree of interaction that the nonprimary speaker will engage in, to the point of allowing this non-primary speaker to attempt to control the flow of the primary speaker’s talk. 4.4

Summary of the ‘urging further development of topic’ function

The majority of nu tokens in this database, then, are employed in order to urge a speaker to move on in the development of a topic. This can be done in both narrational and non-narrational topics, at discourse unit boundaries of various hierarchical levels, from a prosodic sentence to a whole narrative. We saw that the

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Metalanguage in Interaction

general impolite aura accompanying nu in speakers’ metalinguistic awareness can be neutralized by the nature of the interaction and the relationship between its participants. In fact, the impatience exhibited by nu is often a sign of high involvement and enthusiasm. Finally, we saw that this type of nu can be characterized as a continuer, except that rather than just “taking the stance that the speaker should continue talking” (Schegloff 1982), nu actively urges it. 5. Granting permission to perform an action Another function of nu, not nearly as common as the function described in Section 4, is that of granting permission to perform some action. This ‘allowing’ of some action, usually verbal, is often done somewhat reluctantly. Only 2.6% of all tokens throughout the database function in this role. The following excerpt supplies two examples. This is a conversation between a young woman in her early twenties, Orna, and her parents. The mother is telling a story which is interrupted at line 193 by the father suddenly making a comment concerning the tape recorder: Excerpt 11 (‘Family Gossip’): 192 Mother: .. mà 'ód hu 'amar, what else he said what else did he say, tagídi, tell (fem. sg.) me,

193 Father: 194

.. 'at hexláft po batarìya? you changed here battery did you change batteries here?

195 Orna:

.. ló. no.

196 Father: ... 'át yoda'at shehadavàr haze 'ovéd you know that the thing the this works you know that this thing works 197

.... 'ani ganávti 'et ze--, I stole this,

198 Mother:

'ani be'émtsa mishpàt. I[‘m] in [the] middle of [a] sentence.

199 Orna:

'ima be'émtsa Mom[‘s] in [the] middle of



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200

{laughter}

201 Mother: .. 'ani mishtagá'at mimxa! I’m going crazy from you you’re driving me crazy! tòv 'aval ze norá xashuv, okay but it’s terribly important,

202 Father: 203

ladá'at 'et ze. to know this.

204 Orna:

{laughter}

205 Father:

{laughter}

206

... beshiv'ím veshmòne, in seventy eight,

207

ganàvti 'et ze mimé'ir 'adív, I stole this from Meir Adiv,

208

.. meshumásh. used.

209 Orna:

... tizahér hakol maklitím po, be careful everything is being recorded here,

210

.. 'ába. Dad.

211

{laughter}

212 Father: ... ga I st 213

.. ganavti bemerxa'ót. I stole in quotation marks.

214 Orna:

{laughter}

215 Mother: ... 'at shomá'at? you (fem. sg.) hear do you hear what I’m saying? 216 Orna:

nu.

217 Father:

hish'árti lo 'et hamaxshev sheli 'al hashulxan. I left him the computer mine on the table I left him my computer on the table.

218 Orna:

'ába, Dad,

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Metalanguage in Interaction

219

.. 'ima hayta be'èmtsa mishpát! Mom was in [the] middle of [a] sentence!

220 Father: ... nú. 221 Mother: ... 'az hu 'amàr la shehi 'itít, so he told her that she is slow so he told her she was slow, In all of the excerpts of Section 4, nu was employed as a first pair part of an adjacency pair (Schegloff and Sacks 1973). In Excerpt 11, nu is used as a second pair part. Rather than initiate a new move, a return to the main topic, each of the two nu tokens in this excerpt responds to an utterance which itself initiated a new move. In line 215 Orna’s mother addresses her daughter with 'at shoma'at? (lit., ‘you (fem. sg.) hear?’ or ‘do you hear what I’m saying?’). This is a pre-pre (Schegloff 1980), as the mother here requests her daughter’s cooperation in getting back to the story despite her husband’s interruption. Orna responds to this pre-pre with a nu (line 216) granting the mother permission to go on with the story, i.e., as a goahead token (Schegloff 1990). However, the father overlaps this nu with a continuation of his justification for having ‘stolen’ the tape recorder back in 1978–in return, he left his own computer for the person whose tape recorder he ‘stole’ (line 217). This further attempt to make himself look better is interrupted by Orna’s objection, a partial repetition of lines 198–199 earlier: 'aba, 'ima hayta be'emtsa mishpat! (‘Dad, Mom was in the middle of a sentence!’, lines 218–219). This objection functions also as the daughter’s request (and thus, first pair part) that her father stop interrupting and let her mother go on with the telling. The father agrees to this somewhat reluctantly, as the prosody of line 220 suggests, with another nu in second position, responding to Orna’s first pair part of lines 218–219, and allowing the mother to continue her story, as she indeed does at line 221. Although relatively few tokens of nu function in this role in the corpus, family discourse in which young children are present (a context abundant with pre-pre’s, as Sacks (1972) has shown) often manifests such uses of nu, as, for example, in the following interaction between my then nine-year-old daughter and myself: Excerpt 12 (‘Ballet’): 1 Maya: ... 'ima, Mom, 2

... yesh li she'ela. there is to me question I have a question.

3 Mother: ...nu.{impatiently, in the midst of preparations for leaving the house}



Chapter 2.╇ The interpersonal realm 

4 Maya: ... 'ani lo yoda'at ma la'asot, I don’t know what to do, 5

... ki, because,

6

.. 'im 'ani 'eshan 'etsel hadasi, if I sleep over at Hadasi’s,

7

.. 'ani 'etstarex lehafsid, I’ll have to miss,

8

shi'ur balet. lesson ballet [my] ballet lesson.

Again we find a pre-pre (Maya’s announcing her upcoming question, lines 1–2). The tone of my nu (line 3) is rather impatient, and allows her to proceed with the requested act somewhat reluctantly, thus functioning as a go-ahead token. Unlike the impatience in most of the previous excerpts, here it is definitely not genuine interest in the topic that motivates the tone. In this instance, we might tie the impatience to the rush in the midst of which this utterance occurred, but many such nu tokens are found in our family’s discourse when no special rush is involved. This use of nu is very similar to the use of Finnish no described by Sorjonen: [A]s a turn of its own no typically provides a response to coparticipant’s prior utterance that acts as a preliminary (pre) to something else yet to come [...] The particle no offers a second pair part to the preliminary: it provides a ‘go-ahead’ response (Schegloff 1990:€61), that is, it invites the coparticipant to get on with the production of the main action. (2002:€166–167).

The adjustment I would suggest for Israeli discourse is that rather than inviting the coparticipant to get on with the talk, nu allows it, and often rather reluctantly. Thus, while Finnish employs two different particles, one–nii(n)–urging further development within the topic, the other–no–functioning as a ‘go-ahead’ token, in Hebrew, a single utterance–nu (originating probably from the same Germanic source as the two Finnish particles)–performs both functions. Lines 43–53 from excerpt 7 are telling for understanding how it might come about that a single form will come to be used in these two functions. The nu of line 48 is a borderline case between urging further development within a main topic and granting permission to perform an action. If lines 46–47 'ani 'asbír lexa, làma ló. (‘I’ll explain to you, why not.’) are viewed as a response (and, therefore, a second pair part) to line 43 láma hu lo mutslàx? (‘why isn’t it [the peace agreement with Jordan] good?’), then the nu of line 48 can be viewed as a first pair part of the following sequence, in which Gabi is urging his father to go on with the explanation.

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Metalanguage in Interaction

But if we view lines 46–47 as beginning something new, rather than as responding to line 43 (and the mother’s comment at lines 44–45 can certainly be said to break the continuity of the previous sequence), then 'ani 'asbír lexa, làma ló. (‘I’ll explain to you, why not.’) can be viewed as a pre-pre. We have seen that nu granting permission to perform an action generally occurs in response to a pre-pre, and often reluctantly so. Viewed this way, the nu at line 48 can be interpreted as a very reluctant granting of permission by the son to his father to proceed with his explanation. It is these ambiguous cases that constitute transitional examples between the function of nu to urge further development of a topic and the function of granting permission to perform an action. 6. Summary of sequential functions of nu All of the functions of nu seen so far in Sections 3, 4, and 5, have to do with moving the (verbal) action along, and thus have sequential implications. I would like to suggest a continuum of ‘degree of encouragement to proceed with action’ along which this discourse marker could be described. The continuum includes (from ‘most encouraging’ to ‘least encouraging’): hastening, urging, granting permission, allowing, and allowing reluctantly, and it involves both metalingual and nonmetalingual actions. All of the tokens of nu examined thus far fall at various points along this continuum. 7. Keying functions of nu: joking/provoking In sharp contrast to the previous three categories, which all have to do with sequential functions, the fourth category, consisting of about 23.5% of all nu tokens, has to do with the notion of key. Structurally, what is common to these tokens is that they are always followed by additional talk of the same speaker, very often within the same intonation unit. This additional talk does not specify an action being urged (as in excerpt 3, for instance). Keying nu adds a joking or provoking tone to the following utterance and it often involves some resultative meaning. Excerpt 2, line 128 constitutes such an example. At 126 David declares somewhat dramatically: 'axsháv nit'am mehamara/ve/k. (‘now we’ll taste the soup’). At line 127 he proceeds to taste it, after which Dalia asks nu 'éx yatsa? (‘nu how did it come out?’, line 128). Dalia’s question is a result of David’s declaration of the action he was about to engage in and of his actual tasting of the soup. Nu adds a joking tone to Dalia’s utterance, perhaps in response to David’s dramatic declaration of this rather mundane act.



Chapter 2.╇ The interpersonal realm 

7.1

From joking to provoking

A clearer example of the joking key is found in excerpt 13. Shani constructs here an utterance which was said upon the descent of her boyfriend, Shaxar, her father, and herself from an approximately $80,000 new jeep of a friend: Excerpt 13 (‘Jeep’): 122 Shani: ... basof sháxar /??? / in the end Shaxar /??????/ 123

'e--h yarádnu, uh we came down [from the jeep],

124

.. 'az 'ába sheli 'omèr leshaxar, so father my says to Shaxar so my father says to Shaxar,

125

.. nu mat'ím lexa jìp kazè? nu suits to you jeep like this nu does a jeep like this suit you?

126

.. 'az /ab/ shàxar 'osé lo, so /my f/ Shaxar does to him so /my f/ Shaxar goes,

127

ló! no!

128 Dalia: {laughter} 129 Shani: {laughter} 130

... ka'éle xamudìm, like these cute so cute,

131

.. ya 'ála! boy!

The joking key originates from the fact that it is evident to all that such a jeep is way beyond Shaxar’s means. Without this nu, it would have been possible to ask Shaxar seriously whether such a jeep suited him. Following this utterance, Shani tells (line 126) that Shaxar responded to this question in the same joking key lo! (‘no!’, line 127), i.e., that such a jeep does not suit him, both women laugh at the telling of this short interchange, and Shani concludes with an evaluation of her boyfriend and her father: ka'éle xamudìm, ya 'ála! (‘so cute, boy!’)–all further supporting the joking reading of this excerpt. The resultative meaning comes from the

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Metalanguage in Interaction

fact that her father’s question is relevant as a result of the fact verbalized in the preceding utterance (line 123)–that they had just descended from this jeep. The boundary between joking and provoking is, of course, not always clear. In the following conversation, which took place the morning after a party, Amir is telling his girlfriend Tami about the breakup of another couple: Excerpt 14 (‘Breaking Up’): 19 Tami: .. hu nifràd midalít? he broke up from Dalit? ken. yeah.

20 Amir: 21 Tami: .... 'ani lò ma'aminá. I don’t believe I can’t believe it. 22 Amir: ... nu ma xashávt, nu what did you think, 23

shehu bá 'etmòl e--h, that he came yesterday u--h,

24

.... levád, on his own,

25

.. ki bá lo? because came to him because he felt like it?

Amir is half mocking, half ridiculing Tami for not having understood why the man came to the party unaccompanied by his girlfriend Dalit. He does so by employing the utterance nu ma xashavt (‘nu what did you think’, line 22) followed by the ridiculous interpretation of the event, that the man showed up at the party on his own because he happened to feel like it (lines 23–25). Nu allows Amir to construct this partly mocking, partly ridiculing tone. The doubt concerning whether the key is mocking or ridiculing/provoking, is no longer apparent in the case of the political argument of excerpt 7, when Gabi asks his father nu 'az láma hu lo mutslàx (‘nu so why isn’t it good’, line 56 ), about the peace agreement with Jordan, following the dueling over who will get to control the flow of discourse (lines 48–51). The general tone of the conversation at that point indicates that we are no longer dealing with mocking or even with ridiculing. A provocation, quite disrespectful, is at issue. The resultative meaning is constructed here also by the discourse marker 'az (‘so’), but the disrespect is provided not by 'az, but rather by the nu, as well as by the prosodic elements of the utterance.



Chapter 2.╇ The interpersonal realm 

We have seen that the nature of the interaction and the relationship between its participants determines whether or not the impatience exhibited by nu is perceived as impolite, and whether or not the continuer nu functions neutrally. Similarly, whether keying nu functions jokingly or provocatively is also a matter of the context in which it is employed. In the present corpus, out of the 27 tokens of this type of nu, 12 are employed in a joking key whereas 15 are used provocatively. This suggests a characterization of Israeli humor; namely, that the boundary between humor and provocativeness in this culture is elusive and blurry. However, more study is needed in order to support this claim. 7.2

Nu in combination with other discourse markers

Keying nu often occurs in conjunction with other discourse markers. In this database, it is found most frequently (in 8 out of 27 keying tokens) with 'az (‘so’) (supporting the resultative meaning frequently involved in its use), as well as with betax (‘sure, of course’), bexayex (‘come on’, lit. ‘in your life’), and ve- (‘and’). Another common cluster is nu be'emet (‘nu really’), though it is not found in the present database16. Nu is almost always the first member of these discourse marker clusters. I elaborate here on only one combination, because it is particularly relevant to the interpersonal function of nu. 7.2.1 Nu in combination with 'az ma? (‘so what?’) The idiom 'az ma? is the Israeli version of the much-discussed ‘so what?’ question (Labov 1972:€366). As Labov has noted in relation to narratives (and as Tannen (1989) has observed in relation to non-narrational discourse), this question is the worst response to be encountered by a storyteller upon ending their story. Much of what conversationalists do is ward off this question by continually employing involvement creating strategies throughout their talk. The ‘so what?’ question is accompanied by an additional threat for the Israeli storyteller. The Israeli hearer might not only wonder about the worthiness of the telling. This hearer might also take the opportunity to mock/ridicule/provoke/act derogatorily towards the speaker for not having considered this matter beforehand. This additional tone is what nu provides when added to the 'az ma? question, as, for example, in the continuation of excerpt 3:

16. Surprisingly, Maschler and Estlein 2008 found only one instance of this cluster in the extended corpus, comprised of 91 conversations (270 minutes of talk among 223 different speakers), adding 41 conversations to the present corpus.

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Metalanguage in Interaction

Excerpt 3a (continued) (‘Cashiers’): 73 Yosi: ... 'az hi 'oméret, so she says, 74

.. tishmá, {Â�Â�Â�Â�---pp---} listen,

75

.... lakxú 'otanu, {-------pp----------} they took us,

76

lexanùt le'avizarèy mín. {--------pp---------} {----laughing-----} to a store for accessories of sex to a sex shop.



77

{laughter}



78 Tali:

{laughter}

79

... habe'alím shelahem? the husbands theirs their husbands?

80 Yosi:

.... habe'a the husb

81

.. habe'alím, the husbands,

82

.. 'o ha'áx shel habà'al, or the brother of the husband,



83

.. /???????/.



84

{laughter}



85 Tali:

{laughter}

86 Yosi:

... 'ani 'omér, {laughing} I say,

87

.. nú, {laughing}

88

.. 'az má--, {laughing} so what,



.. yófi--!

89



Chapter 2.╇ The interpersonal realm 



{laughing} great!

90

... hi 'oméret li, she says to me,

91

.. 'aval hadór shelí, {imitating cashier’s talk (Russian accent?)} but the generation mine but my generation,

92

.. shonè legámre--y! {imitating cashier’s talk (Russian accent?)} different completely is completely different!

93

... /???? holex lesham/. {imitating cashier’s talk (Russian accent?)}



/???? goes there/.

94

.. 'az nú, so nu,

95

.. 'az hirgàsht tse'irá, so you felt young,

96

.. 'az má yesh. {laughing} so what is there so what’s the big deal.



97

{laughter}



98 Tali:

{laughter}

We have already seen that Yosi views these cashiers’ bashful attitude towards sex shops as ridiculous. After recounting the cashier’s revealing of the identity of the place to him, and after much laughter on the part of both Yosi and his wife, Yosi proceeds to recount his response to the cashier (lines 86–89): 'ani 'omér, nu, 'az ma, yofi! (‘I say, nu, so what, great!’). This is an explicit instance of the dreaded ‘so what?’ question, ornamented by the extra ridiculing tone provided by nu. After reporting the cashier’s objection to this unimpressed and ridiculing response, saying (in what sounds like a poor imitation of perhaps a Russian accent) that in her generation things are different (lines 90–93), Yosi recounts (back in his own voice) his further belittlement of the point of the cashier’s story: 'az nú, 'az hirgàsht tse'irá, 'az má yesh. (‘so nu, so you felt young, so what’s the big deal’).

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Metalanguage in Interaction

The occurrence of nu in conjunction with the ‘so what?’ question is related, of course, to the fact that nu is often employed at points of maximal incompleteness, such as right before the climax of a narrative in response to the storyteller’s delay of the delivery of the point, as illustrated in excerpt 3, line 70. Nu preceding the ‘so what?’ question is, in fact, the mirror image of nu immediately preceding the climax of a narrative, because it is employed immediately following the climax, and rather than exhibiting enthusiasm, it communicates a lack of enthusiasm concerning the point. 8. Grammaticization of nu We have seen that nu is the second most common interpersonal discourse marker throughout the database, and that speakers in this corpus employ nu most frequently (in 68.7% of the cases) in order to urge further development of an ongoing topic. This suggests that part of the Israeli discourse experience is to allow a fairly high degree of impatience in casual interaction. Impatience is manifested in hearers’ attempts to speed up the flow of their interlocutors’ discourse. However, despite the impolite aura nu carries in Israelis’ metalinguistic awareness, the impatience constructed by this discourse marker in Hebrew casual conversation is not necessarily perceived negatively. Quite the contrary. We have seen that impatience is most often interpreted in this corpus as indicative of the audience’s high involvement in the speaker’s talk. By exhibiting their impatience in moving forward in a topic–to the point of attempting to control the flow of another’s discourse via nu–hearers show maximal involvement in the talk. Thus, the nature of the interaction and the relationship among its participants can neutralize the impolite aura often associated with nu. In this way, its meaning is emergent from the discourse. We have also seen that of the four main functions of the discourse marker nu, three have to do with moving the (verbal) action along, and thus involve the sequential aspect of talk: hastening non-verbal actions, urging further development within a topic, and granting permission to perform an action. The fourth function has to do with key; namely, providing a joking/provoking tone. I have already related to the functional itinerary (Traugott 1995a) of nu with respect to the first three functions. Of course, without a corpus providing diachronic perspective (as in Traugott 1989 or Traugott and Dasher 2002, e.g.), the path of development of nu can only be hypothesized. I suggested the primacy of nu as a hastener of non-verbal actions. The one example provided in the dictionary (Avneyon 1997) which is relevant to nu in casual conversation–nu kvar (‘nu already’), hastening mostly non-verbal actions–provides partial support for this, as-



Chapter 2.╇ The interpersonal realm 

suming examples given in dictionaries have something to do with providing representative, basic examples. Certainly, this is the first function learned by children acquiring nu. More support comes from studies of grammaticization, claiming that such processes generally happen in the less metalingual to more metalingual direction (e.g., Sweetser 1988, Traugott 1988), but only external evidence of nu from Yiddish, Russian and earlier periods of Hebrew will clarify this point. We have seen that just as one can be urged to perform a non-verbal action, so can a speaker urge an interlocutor to perform a verbal action. Sequential nu was described along a continuum of ‘degree of encouragement to proceed with action’, moving from ‘most encouraging’ to ‘least encouraging’: hastening, urging, granting permission, allowing, allowing reluctantly. Nu could be described along another continuum–that of key, with joking and acting derogatorily towards addressee on either end, and the additional possibilities (mocking/ridiculing/provoking/ provoking disrespectfully) in between. (These two continua are illustrated schematically by the diagonal lines in Figure 1 below). Thus, nu is ambiguous both with respect to its sequential nature as well as with respect to key. Again, the meaning of a particular token emerges from the context in which it is employed. The question is, how is it that a word involved in encouragement to proceed with an action comes also to have a keying function in discourse? I would like to suggest that the keying function of nu originates in the impolite aura nu may carry in its sequential functions. Attempting to control the actions of another is inherently impolite; indeed in some cases we have seen that nu is accompanied by a derogatory tone (excerpt 7, e.g.). However, when the nature of the interaction neutralizes its inherent impoliteness, the speaker employing nu will often do it humorously (excerpt 1, e.g.). The humor can compensate for the impoliteness sometimes associated with this type of move, and it can also attribute the utterance with a somewhat self-mocking tone, as if saying ‘I know I’m doing something which could, in some contexts, be considered impolite’. To further explain how a token functioning in the sequential realm of discourse comes to function also in its interpersonal realm, we need to posit yet a third continuum along which nu could be described–that of metalanguage (illustrated by the horizontal line in Figure 1). On one of its ends would be nu urging non-metalingual actions (such as in excerpt 2, line 142); on the other would be nu urging metalingual actions via explicit metalingual utterances. The majority of cases fall in between these two ends–urging metalingual actions (mostly, further development of a topic) unaccompanied by a longer metalingual utterance. In other words, sometimes the metalingual utterance is spelled out, as in excerpt 7, lines 50–51: nu, tasbir! (‘nu, explain!’). But more frequently, the metalingual utterance is only implied and is to be gathered from context, as in excerpt 6, line 45: nu?.

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Metalanguage in Interaction

This is the case particularly with the tokens in the fourth category; namely, keying nu. The metalingual utterance is seldom spelled out in these instances. For example, the nu of excerpt 13, line 125 nu mat'ím lexa jìp kazè? (‘nu does a jeep like this suit you?) can be interpreted as urging an implied metalingual utterance such as nu tagid li, or nu ma 'ata 'omer, mat'ím lexa jìp kazè? (‘nu tell me’ or ‘nu what do you say, does a jeep like this suit you?’), or the nu of excerpt 3a, lines 94–95 'az nu, 'az hirgasht tse'ira (‘so nu, so you felt young’) can be interpreted as implying a longer metalingual utterance such as 'az nu, ma 'at mitlonenet, 'az hirgasht tse'ira (‘so nu, what are you complaining about, so you felt young’). Other metalingual utterances implied by keying nu tokens found in the corpus are: nu, 'ata lo mevin she... (‘nu, don’t you see that...’), nu, tasik kvar 'et hamaskana (‘nu, draw the conclusion already!’), or even nu 'az tasbir li 'im 'ata yaxol, ve'ani lo ma'amin she'ata yaxol (‘nu so explain to me if you are able to, and I don’t believe you are’) in the political argument of excerpt 7, line 56: nu 'az láma hu lo mutslàx (‘nu so why isn’t it good’). An interaction around our dinnertable supports this suggestion. Yotam, 7 years old at the time, was telling us how he and his friends were cracking unshelled pine nuts with hammers. His 11-year-old sister Maya said that she preferred cracking them with a big stone, because this doesn’t crack the meat inside. To this, Yotam responded in a slightly belittling tone: Excerpt 15 (‘Pine Nuts’): Yotam: nu gam 'im patish ze lo shover. nu also with [a] hammer it doesn’t break [them]. When I asked him why he said nu there, Yotam couldn’t answer the question. Maya, however, said that it was because she didn’t understand that when he had told us about cracking the nuts with a hammer, hu kvar hitkaven shegam 'im patish hem lo nishbarim (‘he had already meant that also with a hammer they don’t break’). In other words, this nu stands for a longer metalingual utterance such as nu 'at lo ro'a she'hitkavanti shegam 'im patish ze lo shover (nu don’t you see that I meant that also with a hammer they don’t break’). Thus, a longer metalingual utterance is implied in her interpretation of this belittling nu token. Figure 1 summarizes the three continua along which nu could be described. Had the keying nu tokens occurred accompanying such explicit metalingual utterances, they might have carried a derogatory, impolite aura, as in excerpt 7, lines 50–51: nu, tasbir! (‘nu, explain!’). Alternatively, their impolite aura could have been neutralized by the nature of the interaction, and a humorous tone could have replaced it, as in many of the nu tokens throughout the data (e.g., excerpt 1, lines 41–44). Accordingly, what is left of these longer metalingual utterances–the nu–embodies only the key, from derogatory to joking; it verbalizes only the tone encompassed by the longer utterance vaguely in the background. Like the smile of



Chapter 2.╇ The interpersonal realm 

the Cheshire Cat, then, the keying nu token is all that remains of the longer metalingual utterance implied. In this way, a word functioning in the sequential realm of discourse comes also to have an interpersonal keying function. joking

reluctantly allowing action key

urging nonmetalingual action

nu

metalanguage

urging metalingual action via metalingual utterance

sequentiality hastening action

Figure 1.╇ Nu along the dimensions of sequentiality, key, and metalanguage

derogatory

chapter 3

The textual realm The discourse marker bekitsur: Retroactively constructing digressions

1. Introduction The Hebrew word bekitsur (‘succinctly, in short’) is a Modern Hebrew manner adverb associated with the adjective katsar (‘short’), found already in Biblical texts. Bekitsur is composed of the preposition b(e)- (‘in’, ‘with’)1 attached to the verbal noun2 kitsur (‘doing something in short, shortening’) of the verb lekatser which came to be used only later on, starting in the Talmudic period. Bekitsur is not found as a separate entry in Even-Shoshan’s 2003 dictionary, but in a sub-entry of the adjective katsar (‘short’) it is listed as an equivalent of another manner adverb from the same root, biktsara, a higher-register equivalent of bekitsur (also from the Modern period): lo ba'arixut, bekitsur, bemilim mu'atot (‘not at length, succinctly, in few words’). An example in fairly high register is provided: saper-na biktsara 'ex kara hadavar. A translation might be: ‘pray-tell succinctly how the matter happened’. 1. The adverb bekitsur belongs to a group of adverbs, all composed of the preposition b(e)- attached to a nominal form associated with an adjective, such as: ba'arixut (‘at length’, lit. ‘with length’), bimhirut (‘quickly’, lit. ‘with quickness’), bizrizut (lit. ‘with agility’), be'itiyut (‘slowly’, lit. ‘with slowness’), bixvedut (‘heavily’, lit. ‘with heaviness’), bekalut (‘easily’, lit. ‘with ease’), etc. In fact, prefixing adjectival nouns with the b(e)- morpheme is a productive way of forming adverbs in Hebrew. 2. This verbal noun belongs to the verbal group (binyan) pi'el, which in 3rd person sg. past tense consists of the three verbal root consonants, √k.ts.r., the first two separated by the vowel i, the second two by the vowel e: kitser (masc. sg. past, ‘he lessened, reduced’ (Biblical period), ‘he did something in short’ (Talmudic period), or ‘he shortened’ (Modern period (Enlightenment period and on)). The symbol ts in the middle root consonant (sometimes transcribed as c, as e.g. in Shloush 1998), denotes here the affricate composed of the stop t and the fricative s, which constitutes a single phoneme in Hebrew. Note that the adjective katsar is found already in Biblical Hebrew (though only in the form ktsar-, as the first member of the smixut construction (‘construct state’), e.g., ktsar-yad (lit. ‘short-handed’, ‘weak, incapable of doing things’)), whereas the verb lekatser meaning ‘to shorten’ is not found before the Modern period (Even-Shoshan 2003, Avneyon 1998).

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Metalanguage in Interaction

However, in the corpus of 50 casual conversations on which the present study is based, bekitsur is never found to function as an adverb. A typical usage is given in excerpt 1, a conversation between two young women in their early twenties, in which Hanna tells the story of how she was wounded during her army service at the Lebanese border. In the orientation (Labov 1972) to the narrative, she describes what she and her women soldier companions were wearing – heavy equipment which caused her to stumble and “be wounded”: Excerpt 1 (‘Wounded in Lebanon’): 91 Hanna: .. hem 'e--h sàmu 'aleynu shaxpáts. they u--h put on us [a] shaxpats {a type of bullet-proof vest}. 92

... 'aval kavéd kazè, but heavy like3,

93

.. mehaye--shaním. of the old [ones]. of the old kind.

94 Galia: .. max.. matól neged tànkim? {------------laughing-----------} max.. matol {a type of weapon} against tanks? né--shek, [a] gun,

95 Hanna:

96 Galia:



97 Hanna:

{laughter} {laughter}

98

.. né--shek, {---laughing--} [a] gun,

99

... shéva maxsaniyòt mele'òt, seven magazines full seven full magazines,

100 Galia: 101

má 'at 'omèret, what are you saying,

.. she'áf 'axat ló yoda'at lirò--t betax. that no one not knows to shoot probably when no one knows how to shoot probably.

102 Hanna: ... máshehu kazè. something like that. 3.

For a study of Hebrew kaze, one ‘equivalent’ of English like, see Maschler 2001.



Chapter 3.╇ The textual realm 

103

.... xagór, [an] ammunition belt,

104

... sh--téy meymiyòt, two canteens,

105

.. shehayu tsrixót lihiyot, that had to be,

106

.. mele'ót kòl 'axat, full each one full each,

107 Galia:

mhm.

108 Hanna: .. ve--kaplá--d! and [a] kaplad! 109

... kaplá--d! [a] kaplad! ze, it’s,

110 Galia: 111

... má ze kaplád? what[’s a] kaplad?

112 :

kaplád,

113

... ke'ílu, like4,

114

.. kasdá, [a] helmet,

115

.. 'avàl mipladá, but [made out] of steel,

116 Galia:

'áh! oh!

117 Hanna: ... ló ha'ele hakalòt. not the those the light not those light ones. 118 Galia: 119

mhm. ... s.. slixá 'al haburùt. s.. sorry for the ignorance.

4. For the study of Hebrew ke'ilu, another ‘equivalent’ of English like, see Chapter 5.

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Metalanguage in Interaction

120 Hanna: ... ló meshane. doesn’t matter never mind. 121

..... bekitsú--r,

122

az 'e so uh

123

... 'e--h, u--h,

124

... baleyló--t, during the nights,

125 ... 'axarey shehayinu mexapsòt lalevanòniyot bayamím, after that we would search the Lebanese (fem.pl.) during the days after we would search the Lebanese women during the days, 126

.... baleylòt hayinu yoshvót 'e--h, during the nights we would sit u--h,

127

ba.. xamál. in the.. xamal {acronym5 for war room}.

Bekitsur of line 121 appears as a separate intonation unit, is not part of any grammatical sentence, and cannot be said to function as an adverb of any verb. It occurs after the rather long orientation describing the equipment Hanna and the women were carrying, which includes a clarification sequence concerning the blending kaplad (‘steel helmet’) (lines 110–120), which Galia was not familiar with. At the end of this clarification sequence, Galia apologizes half-jokingly for not knowing what a kaplad was: s.. slixa 'al haburut. (‘s..sorry for the ignorance’, line 119), Hanna accepts with lo meshane (‘never mind’, line 120), pauses a rather long pause, and then moves on to describe the location of the incident (lines 122–127). This is still part of the orientation to her narrative, but a different sub-episode (Chafe 1994) of it – one describing the location rather than the equipment. The move to this new sub-episode, and out of the preceding clarification sequence, apology, and acceptance, is signaled by bekitsur (line 121). In previous studies of the system of discourse markers segmenting Hebrew talk-in-interaction (Maschler 1997a, 2002a. See Table 2, Chapter 1), bekitsur was classified, along with its slang variants hakitser and 'akitser, as a textual discourse 5. Israeli army parlance is noted for its pervasive invention of acronyms and blendings. The focus of the clarification sequence of this segment, kaplad, is another case in point: kasda (‘helmet’) miplada (‘made out of steel’).



Chapter 3.╇ The textual realm 

marker denoting the function ‘back to main action’, somewhat equivalent to that of the English discourse marker anyway (e.g., Kussmaul 1978, Owen 1985, Altenberg 1986, Schourup and Waida 1987, Chafe 1987, Schiffrin 1987, Bublitz 1988, Lenk 1995, 1998, Ferrara 1997, Takahara 1998, Tabor and Traugott 1998). Recall that in the present study, a prototypical discourse marker is defined as an utterance fulfilling two conditions; one semantic, the other structural: (a) Semantically, the utterance must have a metalingual interpretation in the context in which it occurs. In other words, rather than referring to the extralingual world, it must refer metalingually to the realm of the text, to the interaction between its participants, or to their cognitive processes. (b) Structurally, the utterance must occur at intonation-unit initial position, either at a point of speaker change, or, in same-speaker talk, immediately following any intonation contour other than continuing intonation. It may occur after continuing intonation or at non-intonation-unit initial position only if it follows another marker in a cluster (Maschler 1998b: 31)6. For example, bekitsur of excerpt 1 satisfies both conditions. Structurally, it occurs at intonation-unit initial position following final intonation (line 120) (here in same-speaker talk). Semantically, bekitsur cannot be interpreted to function literally here – the ensuing discourse is neither ‘short’ nor ‘succinct’ and, as we have seen, there is no verb in the surrounding intonation units to which bekitsur could function as adverb. This word refers to the realm of the text, rather than to the extralingual world. In other words, it functions metalingually, rather than lingually, and signals a move from the aside clarifying the word kaplad back to the main topic of (the orientation to) the narrative. Bekitsur is reminiscent of the English discourse marker anyway, marking “prior discourse as tangential to the main point” (Schiffrin 1987:€165). Another argument for the discourse marker status of bekitsur relies on the tendency of discourse markers to cluster at conversational action boundaries7: in excerpt 1, bekitsur opens a cluster of four discourse markers: bekitsur,..'az 'e...'e--h (‘bekitsur,..so uh... u--h’). When linguistic elements come to function as discourse markers, they often undergo prosodic and phonological changes (Schiffrin 1987:€328, Ferrara 1997). This is apparent in a series of prosodic and phonological changes undergone by 6. In Chapter 1 we saw that the two criteria in this definition coincide for 94% of the discourse markers. The remaining 6% satisfy the semantic, but not the structural requirement. These statistics are based on a sub-corpus consisting of 16 conversations (40 minutes of discourse among 43 participants, see Maschler 2002a). In the present extended corpus of 50 conversations, only 2 out of 49 instances of bekitsur (4.1%) did not satisfy the structural requirement. We will examine one of these cases below. 7.

See Chapter 1, Section 6.0.

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Metalanguage in Interaction

bekitsur and its variants, beginning with the change in the position of the stress of this word from bekitsúr to bekítsur8, following with a vowel change to bekítser, the deletion of the prepositional component b(e)- in hakítser, 'akítser, and kitsúr, and on to the more complicated sound changes (modeled after Arabic word patterns) of be'uktsur, all of which are found in the present corpus. Other, more playful forms which I have heard on occasion are bekítskets, hakítskits, and even 'akíbitser9. Based on made-up examples, and paying no attention to prosody, Shloush studied bekitsur with reference to relevance theory. Her work will be discussed below. The goal of the present chapter is to deepen our understanding of the functions of bekitsur and of the conversational actions of digressing and returning from a digression, based on the study of naturally occurring Hebrew conversation. First, I examine the employment of bekitsur in my corpus and compare it to that of English anyway. Second, I suggest a path of grammaticization (Hopper 1987, 1988, 1991, Hopper and Traugott 1993, Bybee and Hopper 2001) for bekitsur. Finally, I consider this discourse marker in the wider context of Israeli culture. 2. Data In the 50 conversations of the Haifa Corpus of Spoken Israeli Hebrew (Maschler 2004) on which the present study is based (see Chapter 1, Section 3), altogether 49 tokens of bekitsur are employed. Thus, bekitsur is employed at an average frequency of one token every 3.06 minutes in this corpus. The tokens are distributed among the following functions: Table 1 shows that, far and away, the main function of bekitsur in this corpus (approximately 77.6% of all tokens) is to signal a move by the speaker back to the main topic, or, in other words, to return to the main topic following what is marked retrospectively as a digression. Let us examine these functions in more detail. Table 1.╇ Functions of bekitsur throughout the database Summarizing

Signaling resump- Requesting tion of main topic resumption of main topic

Foregrounding new narrative

Total

5 (10.2%)

38 (77.6%)

5 (10.2%)

49 (100%)

1 (2%)

8. This stress displacement does not take place in all instances of the discourse marker bekitsur. The token in excerpt 1 is such an instance where it does not. More on this below. 9. This last token involves fusion with the Yiddish word for ‘beggar’, kibitser.



Chapter 3.╇ The textual realm 

3. Summarizing bekitsur I begin with the least metalingual use of bekitsur, that of summarizing some point in the discourse. We will see two variants here: summarizing a list (3.1) and summarizing an episode (3.2). A related function, drawing conclusions from an episode, will be discussed in Section 3.3. 3.1

Summary following a list

In the following excerpt, Nili, a woman in her forties, tells another couple and her own husband about her first experience using Chat on the internet: Excerpt 2 (‘Chat’): 40 Nili: .... 'az, so, 41

.. 'az hayù kàma hitkatvuyó--t, so there were [a] few correspondences so there was some writing back and forth,

42

.. s’tomeret, I mean,

43

.. 'eh uh

44

.. nehenèti mehamisxá--k, I enjoyed the game,

45

... shel 'e--h la'anó--t, of u--h answering,

46

.. velehakshí--v, and listening,

47

.. vetikra pratí--m, and you read details and reading details,

48

.. ve, and,

49

.... bekitsúr, in short,

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Metalanguage in Interaction

50 51 Gil'ad: 52

.. letargél 'et ha'inyàn. drilling the issue getting some practice with the whole thing. ken, yeah, .. ze ktsàt nexmád kaze bahatxala. it a bit nice like at first it’s sort of like nice at first.

Shloush mentions an ‘appositional’ or ‘equative’ use of bekitsur, whose occurrence “is motivated by an urge to conclude, or more specifically [...] to summarize the preceding list under a ‘super category’, once the information is taken to be selfevident” (1998:€ 63). Shloush’s characterization fits here. Nili lists the things she enjoyed about that first experience of using chat: neheneti mehamisxa--k,... shel 'e--h la'ano--t,.. velehakshi--v,.. vetikra10 prati--m, (‘I enjoyed the game, of uh answering, and listening, and reading details’, lines 44–47). The final two members of this three-item list begin with the coordinative conjunction ve- (‘and’, lines 46, 47), and ve- introduces also a fourth member of the list which is never completed, ending in continuing intonation (line 48). After a pause and a token of bekitsur (line 49), Nili summarizes the list of things she enjoyed: letargel 'et ha'inyan (‘getting some practice with the whole thing’, line 50). The actions of answering, listening, and reading on Chat are summarized by the ‘super-category’ of ‘getting some practice with the whole thing’. Gil'ad’s response at lines 51–52, overlapping the summary, ken,.. ze ktsat nexmad kaze bahatxala. (‘yeah, it’s sort of like nice at first’), shows that the information Nili was conveying was indeed ‘taken to be self-evident’ by at least some of the audience immediately before it was summarized. Prosodically, bekitsur occurs following a series of continuing intonation contours (lines 45–48) which it summarizes under a ‘super-category’. Here, the literal English translation of bekitsur, ‘in short’, is adequate. This is paralleled by the fact that this is one of only two tokens of bekitsur following continuing intonation throughout the database (see footnote 6). In this instance, it is the continuing intonation of the unfinished list ending at line 48, which contributes to the impression that the list actually contains many more items that just did not get mentioned. As we have seen (Chapter 1, Section 7), iconically, higher-level 10. Notice, however, the lack of equivalence between the syntactic elements conjoined in this list. Whereas the first two consist of infinitives – la'anot, lehakshiv (‘to answer’, ‘to listen’) – the third consists of a finite verb + complement: tikra pratim (‘read details’). Here we find the second person masculine singular future form of the verb, tikra (‘you will read’), used as an imperative in the impersonal sense. Summarizing the list, the speaker returns to the infinitive – letargel (‘to drill/get some exercise’).



Chapter 3.╇ The textual realm 

boundaries are marked by a ‘heavier’ strategy, namely, final intonation, whereas lower-level boundaries are marked by a ‘lighter’ strategy – continuing intonation. The boundary between listing items of some category and summarizing them by a ‘super-category’ is certainly of a lower level than the boundary between a digression and a return to the main topic, as in excerpt 1. Therefore, it is not surprising to find continuing, rather than final intonation at line 48. In this instance, then, the structural requirement for discourse-markerhood is not fulfilled, and the semantic requirement is only partially fulfilled: the literal translation ‘in short’ is adequate here, but this bekitsur does not function as adverb to any verb in the surrounding intonation units. The bekitsur of line 49 is interpreted as standing for (in a way that is no longer apparent to the speaker) some longer metalingual utterance, such as 'im lomar bekitsur (lit., ‘if to say in short’, ‘to say succinctly’ or ‘put succinctly’), and is therefore considered to function metalingually here. One of Hopper’s principles of grammaticization is persistence, which he formulates in the following manner: When a form undergoes grammaticalization from a lexical to a grammatical function, so long as it is grammatically viable some traces of its original lexical meanings tend to adhere to it, and details of its lexical history may be reflected in constraints on its grammatical distribution (1991:€22).

This principle is a refinement of a phenomenon first observed by Bybee and Pagliuca and termed ‘retention’, according to which older meanings of a form “glimmer through” as they are retained from their original lexical sources (1987:€109). “The phenomenon of retention is usually associated with single tokens of a form observable at different stages of development and in different linguistic contexts” (Ziegeler 2000:€31). We see the retention, or persistence, of lexical features at this stage of the grammaticization of bekitsur from adverb to discourse marker. 3.2

Summary of episode

In the following excerpt, which takes place during a breakfast conversation about a couple who recently broke up, Amir explains to his girlfriend Tami why the man, Shmulik, who had been married before, left his girlfriend, Dalit:

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Metalanguage in Interaction

Excerpt 3 (‘Breaking Up’): 39 Tami: .. haya lahem kol kax tóv beyàxad harey. it was to them so good together PART11. they were so happy together after all. 40 Amir: ... gam ló haya tov, also to him it was good he too was happy, 41

.. 'aval 'e--h, but u--h,

42

.. pashut hi--, simply she it’s just that she,

43

.... Dalít kvar ló tse'ira. Dalit already not young Dalit isn’t young anymore.

44

.... ratsta--, [she] wanted,

45

.. hi bikshá mimeno, she asked him,

46

ke'ílu--, like,

47

.. sheya'avrù-- lagur beyáxad, that they move in to live together to move in together,

48 49

ve-and .... bekitsúr, in short,

50

lehitmaséd shuv. to become established again.

51 (2.5) hahu nivhál. that one became scared that one [i.e., Shmulik] got cold feet. 11. In a study of this particle, Ariel notes: “A speaker who uses Hebrew harey indicates to her addressee that the proposition under its scope imparts information which is already available to him.” (Ariel 1998: 224).



Chapter 3.╇ The textual realm 

52 (4.5) 'amár la, told her, 53

shetsàrix la'asot 'eyze hafsaká. that it’s necessary to do some break that they had to take a break.

54 (3.00) bekítsur, in short, 55

.. hem ló medabrim kvar shalósh12 shavu'ot. they not talking already three weeks. they haven’t been talking for three weeks now.

56 Tami: .. lò medabrím kvar shloshà shvu'ot? not talking already three weeks haven’t been talking for three weeks now? lo medabrím. not talking haven’t been talking.

57 Amir: 58

.... lo nifgashím, not meeting haven’t been meeting,

59

.. lo klúm. not anything nothing.

In this elicitational discourse segment (Chafe 1994, see footnote 16) discussing the couple Dalit and Shmulik, Amir begins, in ‘listing intonation’, to recount the things Dalit asked Shmulik prior to his leaving her: hi bikshá mimeno, ke'ílu--,.. sheya'avrù-lagur beyáxad, ve-- (‘she asked him, like, to move in together, and’, lines 45–48). This list is never completed and ends with a fragmented intonation unit (line 48). Instead, after a longer than average pause at line 49, Amir summarizes this neverto-be list with bekitsúr, lehitmaséd shuv. (‘in short, to become established again.’). This case is similar to the one we saw in excerpt 2, except that the list here is much shorter. After a 2.5 second pause, at line 51, Amir moves on to describe Shmulik’s

12. Agreement between numerals and the nouns they modify is one of the first morphological patterns to become neutralized in Israeli Hebrew (see Ravid 1995). Notice, however, Tami’s correction of this grammatical ‘mistake’ in the following intonation unit: Amir’s shalosh shavu'ot (‘three (fem.) weeks (masc. pl.)’) gets corrected to shlosha shvu'ot (‘three (masc.) weeks (masc. pl.)’).

 Metalanguage in Interaction

reaction to Dalit’s request. This is done via two prosodic sentences13 separated by a long pause: hahu nivhál. (‘he got cold feet.’) (4.5) 'amár la, shetsàrix la'asot 'eyze hafsaká. (‘told her, that they had to take a break.’). Following another long pause at line 54, he summarizes the result of these actions: (3.00) bekítsur,.. hem ló medabrim kvar shalósh shavu'ot. (‘in short, they haven’t been talking for three weeks now’). Here bekitsur occurs following a series of final intonation contours. Line 55 both summarizes the result of the actions described in the preceding intonation units (lines 51–53) and returns the participants to the discussion of the state Shmulik and Dalit are at now, the topic they were discussing prior to this segment. Excerpt 3, then, manifests a transitional case between summarizing an episode and returning from a digression. Indeed, a likely conversational action prior to returning to a main action is summarizing the previous action. Summarizing in this way can also help construct the previous action as ‘tangential to the main point’, as noted by Schiffrin (1987) for anyway. Thus, even if throughout lines 42– 53 the participants did not perceive the discourse taking place as a digression from some main topic, employment of bekitsur following this stretch of talk helps to construct it as such in retrospect. Note the position of the stress in these two instances of bekitsur. We see that stress placement here is not a matter of personal style, as both tokens are uttered by the same speaker. At line 49, summarizing a list, Amir verbalizes bekitsúr with the stress in standard position. However, in the transitional case between summarizing an episode and returning to a main action, he verbalizes bekítsur, displacing the stress in the more colloquial fashion. In this instance, then, we find a prosodic feature distinguishing the two functions of bekitsur, such that the function further away from the literal meaning of the word (summarizing an episode and returning to the main action) is the one accompanied by the prosodic change. This is reminiscent of a different prosodic shift described for anyway: Ferrara found that this resumptive discourse marker is accompanied by an intonation contour that differs markedly from the intonation contours of the adverbial uses of anyway as an additive (‘besides’) and a dismissive (‘nonetheless’), which are similar to one another (1997:€354–359).

13. A prosodic sentence is defined by Chafe (1994:€137–145) as an intonation unit, or a group of successive intonation units separated by continuing intonation, ending in sentence-final intonation. Chafe observes that once a speaker judges that the scanning of a center of interest (such as a sub-episode in a story-episode) has been completed, s/he expresses that judgment with a sentence-final intonation contour.



Chapter 3.╇ The textual realm 

3.3

Drawing conclusions from episode

There is one case throughout the database in which bekitsur is employed not preceding a summary of the episode, but rather preceding a conclusion that is drawn from it. This comes from a story that Ada, a woman who accompanied the Israeli delegation to Oslo during the peace talks with the Palestinians in the mid-1990’s, tells her friend Micha. She tells about an incident in which she and a member of the Palestinian delegation, Abdullah, found themselves lost on a tram in Oslo because the group they were with had gotten off the tram while they weren’t paying attention. After realizing their group was no longer there, they got off the tram and started walking back: Excerpt 4 (‘Ada and Abdullah in Oslo’): 60 Ada: .... hitxalnu lexapés ta’kvutsà, we started looking for the group, 61

... /'aval/ lo matsánu otam. /but/ not found them /but/ we didn’t find them.

62

.... velo yadànu gam le'éyfo hem holxim, and not know also to where they are going and we also didn’t know where they were going,

63

.. ki lo hikshávnu, because we didn’t listen because we didn’t pay attention,

64 Micha: (2.45) /nu/ 'éyfo ze haya, /go on/ where it was /go on/ where was it, 65 66 Ada:

be'óslo? in Oslo? ken. yeah.

67 Micha: (2.47) nu? go on?

68 Ada:

69

..... bekítsur, .. hitxàlnu laxzór laxzór laxzór laxzór, we started to go back to go back to go back to go back, we started going back back back back,



Metalanguage in Interaction

70

ve'az 'amarnu tóv 'èn 'e--h.. derex, and then we said okay there isn’t u--h a way [to find them],

71

'az nitkashér la--madrixìm shelanu. so we’ll call to the guides ours so we’ll call our guides.

72

...... 'az 'e--h, so u--h, hamadrixìm yad'u--.. norvégi the guides knew.. Norweg

73 Micha: 74

'e--h... 'anglít? u--h.. English?

75

/dibártem 'itam/? /you spoke to them/? ken. yes.

76 Ada: 77

.... 'az 'amarti, so I said,

78

yá--, {interjection}

79

yésh li t’a-there is to me the I’ve got the

80

yesh li t’a télefon shel ha--, there is to me the phone of the I’ve got the phone [number] of the,

81

.. madrixim batík, guides in [my] bag,

82

... ve'ani matxila lexapès batík, and I start looking in the bag,

83

... ló motsèt. don’t find can’t find anything.



84 Micha:

85 Ada:

{laughter} matxila lexapes ba --xagoràt béten shehayta li, [I] start looking in the--beltstomach that there was to me I start looking in the money belt I had,



Chapter 3.╇ The textual realm 

86 87 88 89

... ló motsèt. don’t find can’t find anything. .... ve'az hu 'omér, and then he says, 'á--h, yesh lax t’atélefon shel hamadrìx haze vehaze? there is to you the phone of the guide this and this do you have the phone [number] of some particular guide?

90

... kén ken bétax! {Ada’s voice to Abdullah} yes yes sure!

91

.. 'ani matxila lexapés beze, {--laughing--} I start looking in this I start looking here,

92

.. 'an’ló motsèt. can’t find [anything].

93

.. mexapéset, [I] look [there],

94

.. ló motsèt. can’t find [anything].

95

... bekítsur hayinu mevohalím laxalutín. bekitsur we were alarmed completely bekitsur we were completely alarmed.

96

.. 'amarti tóv, I said okay,

97

nitkasher venish'al beshagrirùt yisra'él. we’ll call and ask at embassy Israel we’ll call and ask at the Israeli embassy.

98

.... hitkasharti lamerkaziyà shel.. 'e--h.. 'óslo, I called the operator of.. u--h.. Oslo,

99

... bikáshti /ta’ telefon shel/ hashagrirùt, I asked for /the telephone [number] of/ the embassy,

100

... hitkashárti lashagrirùt, I called the embassy,



Metalanguage in Interaction

In lines 60–72 Ada describes in past tense the actions she and Abdullah took in order to try to locate their group (there is a short clarification sequence concerning where all this happened in the midst of this description (lines 64–67), with bekitsur employed to return from it at line 68). After dealing with another clarification request from Micha concerning the language they spoke with the guides (lines 73–76), she moves on to the present tense, to the episode of looking to no avail for the guide’s phone number in various places: in her bag (lines 78–83), in her money belt (lines 85–86), and in other places (lines 87–94). In conclusion, she returns to the past tense and describes the state they were in as a result of these various unsuccessful searches: hayinu mevohalím laxalutín. (‘we were completely alarmed’, line 95). This conclusion is preceded by bekitsur. However, with this word, Ada also returns to the past tense description of the actions they took in order to try to locate their group which she began earlier (lines 60–72). At line 96 she begins to describe the next action; namely, calling the Israeli embassy. Thus, the ‘looking to no avail’ episode (lines 77–94) is retroactively constructed as a digression from the main storyline of describing the actions taken in order to locate the group. In this sense, the bekitsur of line 95, too, is a transitional case – here, between drawing a conclusion from an episode and returning from a digression. Indeed, a likely way to end an episode is to describe its conclusions or results14. As in excerpt 2, this token of bekitsur likewise follows a series of prosodic sentences ending in final intonation contours: lines 77–83, 85–86, 87–89, 90, 91–92, 93–9415. Throughout the database, there is only one such case of drawing conclusions from an episode preceded by bekitsur. Because drawing conclusions and summarizing are closely related activities, I consider them both to be in the same category of ‘summarizing’. Table 1 shows that only 5 instances (10.2%) of this less metalingual use of bekitsur are found in the corpus, two of which are already borderline between this function and that of returning to the main topic following a digression, as we have seen in excerpts 2 and 3. Let us move now to this latter function, the main function of bekitsur, which is never found following continuing intonation. 14. This point is underscored by one of the meanings of the English verb ‘to conclude’; namely, ‘to end’. 15. Note that this is different from Shloush’s ‘inferential use’ of bekitsur, for which she constructs the following example: david mevsSel, menake, Sotef ricpa, megahec ... bekicur, keday lax leha’asik oto (‘David, cooks, cleans, does the floors, irons ... in short, you should hire him’). (1998: 63). Shloush characterizes this case in the following manner: “once sufficient information has been provided, what follows bekicur is an inference rather than a mere equation [as in the case of summarizing a list]” (ibid.: 64) and “the cutting of the list in question by bekicur signals a conclusion related to the discourse topic” (ibid.: 67). No such lists were found in the corpus. The only time bekitsur was employed to draw conclusions from previous discourse occurred following an episode which was made up of a series of prosodic sentences (i.e., units ending in final intonation contours), unlike Shloush’s constructed example. This is one of the problems of constructing examples – one cannot look at prosody.



Chapter 3.╇ The textual realm 

4. Resumptive bekitsur: Returning to the main topic I use the term ‘topic’ or ‘discourse topic’ here in Chafe’s (1994) sense. In Chafe’s model of information flow in discourse, as people speak, ideas of events, states, and the referents that participate in them are constantly changing activation states in their minds. Information can be in any one of three activation states: active, semiactive, or inactive. As new concepts become activated, previously used concepts gradually become inactive. “Intonation units are hypothesized to be the linguistic expression of information that is, at first, active in the consciousness of the speaker, and then, by the utterance of the intonation unit, in the consciousness of the listener, or at least that is the speaker’s intent” (1994:€69). In chapters 10 and 11 of his book, Chafe considers units larger than the intonation unit: We need now a name for the larger amount of information that can be semiactive [in the speaker’s mind]. I will use the term topic in this way, qualifying it when necessary as discourse topic to distinguish it from the other phenomena to which the term has been applied. The usage here is thus in accord with such expressions as the topic of a paragraph, changing the topic, and the like (cf. Keenan and Schieffelin 1976, Brown and Yule 1983, pp. 71–106). [...] We can think of each such topic as an aggregate of coherently related events, states, and referents that are held together in some form in the speaker’s semiactive consciousness (ibid.: 120–121).

In Chafe’s approach, then, topics are on the one hand aggregates of semiactive information that segment discourse into chunks larger than intonation units. On the other hand, a topic is interpreted in the lay sense of what speakers understand they are talking about at a given time. The question of when one topic ends and another begins, or of when one topic is briefly interrupted for a digression (in itself a new topic) and then returned to, is open to negotiation by the participants of an interaction, as is the question of whether or not a topic is of secondary importance and therefore a digression. The notion of topic, then, is a flexible one, and whether or not a digression has occurred is a relative issue. In what follows, we will continue to see that one of the main functions of bekitsur is to retroactively construct the topic that has just ended as a digression relative to the continuation of the discourse. Table 2.╇ Distribution of bekitsur according to discourse type Narrational discourse

Elicitational discourse

45 (91.8%)

4 (8.2%)



Metalanguage in Interaction

Table 2 shows the distribution of bekitsur tokens in the present database according to the type of discourse16 in which they appear. We see that the great majority of bekitsur tokens (45 tokens or 91.8%) occur in narrational discourse, although this word is not restricted to this type of talk. Interestingly, 3 out of the 4 tokens of bekitsur employed in elicitational discourse are of the summarizing variety (Section 2). We will see bekitsur employed in particular in the moves from elicitational back to narrational discourse. 4.1

Collaboration in returning to the main topic

Ferrara found that the majority of anyway discourse marker tokens in her data, which consisted of narrative discourse17, were teller-triggered. In other words, 74% of anyway tokens followed a digression initiated by the teller of the story, while only 26% followed a digression initiated by the listener. She concludes that the discourse marker anyway is mainly a self-digression management marker (1997:€ 359). By contrast, in the present corpus, bekitsur is more often listenertriggered than it is teller-triggered: Table 3.╇ Distribution of resumptive bekitsur according to trigger of digression Listenertriggered

Tellertriggered

Listener+ teller triggered18

Situational digression

Indeterminable19

Total

22 (57.9%)

11 (28.9%)

1 (2.6%)

1 (2.6%)

3 (7.9%)

38 (100%)

16. Chafe distinguishes two types of discourse topics: narrational and elicitational.€ While movement through a narrational topic develops according to the narrational scheme (cf. Labov’s narrative structure (1972)), movement through an elicitational topic is driven by the interaction between participants. One participant functions as an eliciter and the other as a responder. The eliciter introduces the topic, but it is the responder “who possesses the bulk of the interesting information. The topic is, in other words, one about which the eliciter finds it interesting to gain more knowledge, and he or she accomplishes that goal partly by asking questions, partly in other ways” (Chafe 1994: 123). 17. There is a difference in employment of the term ‘narrative discourse’ here in comparison to Ferrara (1997). Whereas Ferrara takes the elicitational segments interrupting the stories to be part of her corpus of narratives, I count bekitsur tokens appearing in these elicitational segments as occurring in elicitational discourse. 18. This is a case in which bekitsur is employed after a long stretch of laughter by both teller and listener, following an orientation of a narrative. Thus, the digression was triggered both by the teller and the listener. 19. No recording of the earlier segment is available.



Chapter 3.╇ The textual realm 

In other words, bekitsur occurs following digressions initiated by the listener roughly twice as often as it occurs following digressions initiated by the teller. However, listener-triggered digressions in this corpus often develop into long elicitational segments, and the question of who triggered the digression is no longer relevant because speakers are probably no longer aware of who initiated the digression when they attempt to resume the main topic. What is more important is their collaboration in getting back to the main topic. A case in point is the following excerpt from a conversation between two women in their early forties. Nurit is recounting to Sarah the long story of the dealings her husband Ofer had with various medical doctors: Excerpt 5 (‘Doctors’): 39 Nurit: .. 'axsháv doc now Doc 40

.. haláxnu lif we went bef

41

.. lifnéy shehalaxnu la'ortopèd, before that we went to the orthopedic surgeon before we went to the orthopedic surgeon,

42

hayìnu 'etsel doctor 'ábu, we were at Doctor Abu[’s],

43

.. kvar ló zoxeret bishvil mà. no longer remember for what [I] can’t remember anymore what for.

44

.. nidmé li, seems to me I think,

45

bishvil hapétek shel haxofesh maxalà. for the note of the vacation sickness for the sick leave note.

46

.. ló meshane. doesn’t matter never mind.

47

.. ve.. doctor 'ábu 'amàr, and.. Doctor Abu said,

48 Sarah:

xòfesh maxala lemí? vacation sickness for whom sick leave for whom?



Metalanguage in Interaction

49 Nurit: .. le--'ófer, for Ofer, 50

lir'ót, to see,

51

'uláy 'e--h.. bitùax te'unot 'ishiyo--t, maybe u--h.. insurance accidents personal maybe u--h.. personal accident insurance [will pay for his sick leave], 'ah 'ah 'ahá, oh oh aha,

52 Sarah:

'ulày bituax le'umí, maybe insurance national maybe social security,

53 Nurit: 54 Sara:

hevánti. I understood got it.

55 Nurit:

míshehu. somebody.

56

tishme'i, listen,

57

xodsháyim hu kvar lò 'ovéd! two months he already not working it’s been two months now that he hasn’t been working! naxón, right,

58 Sarah: 59

naxon. right.

60

.. yésh bitùax leze, there is [some] insurance for this,

61

.. 'ad káma she'ani yodà'at. as much that I know as far as I know.

62 Nurit:

ló yoda'at. don’t know.

63 Sarah: yésh mashehu. there is something.



Chapter 3.╇ The textual realm 

64 Nurit:

ló yoda'at. don’t know.

65 Sarah:

nú? go on?

66

kén? yeah?

67 Nurit: .. bekitsú--r,

68

.. doctor 'àbu 'amár, Doctor Abu said,

The listener, Sarah, is the one who interrupted the flow of this story, asking for clarificatory information (sick leave for whom?, line 48), but she is also the one who initiates the return to the main topic with nu? (‘go on?’) ken? (‘yeah?’) in lines 65–66. Only after this urging does Nurit return to the main storyline, opening with bekitsur (line 67). This digression was listener-triggered, but the storyteller collaborated with the listener in following the digression for a relatively long stretch of talk (lines 49–64), so that at line 65 it was the listener, not the storyteller, who initiated the move back to the story. We see that this type of bekitsur, like the episode-summarizing variety, follows a series of prosodic sentences ending in final intonation contours (lines 49–55, 56–57, 58–59, 60–61, 62, 63, 65, 66). Most importantly, the intonation unit immediately preceding it (ken?, ‘yeah?’) ends in sentence-final intonation. This is the case with all but one bekitsur token in the resumptive category as well as with all narrative-introducing bekitsur tokens. Collaboration with the sequence listener: nu? (‘go on’) storyteller: bekitsur, can also be found in much shorter digressions, as in excerpt 4, lines 64–68. In fact, about a fifth of resumptive bekitsur tokens and bekitsur tokens introducing new narratives (9 out of 43 cases) in this corpus follow a token of nu (‘go on’) uttered by the listener. The mere fact that the second most prevalent interpersonal discourse marker in Hebrew, nu (‘yeah, go on’), is one whose main function is to urge further development within a main topic20 is proof of the highly collaborative nature of returning from digressions in this culture. In a study of English anyway and some of its corresponding Japanese discourse markers, Takahara writes: “a close of digression or return to the main topic is almost always marked by this characteristic linguistic unit anyway” (1998:€335). 20. See Chapter 2.

 Metalanguage in Interaction

Bekitsur is indeed the discourse marker most frequently employed to return from digressions in my Hebrew data. There seems to be an important difference, however, between bekitsur and English anyway with respect to collaboration. The Israeli language games of digressing and returning from a digression are more collaborative. First, as we have seen, in contrast to Ferrara’s study of anyway (1997), digressions preceding bekitsur are more often initiated by the listener than by the teller. Second, the listener is also more involved in returning from them. This is in line, of course, with other features of this relatively high-involvement (Tannen 1984, Schiffrin 1984) speaking style (Katriel 1986, Blum-Kulka and Katriel 1991, Maschler 1994a, Blum-Kulka 1997). To explain the relatively high frequency of digressions in discourse, Ferrara quotes Basgoz, who suggests a possible rationale for this frequency – that of bridging the cultural gap between speakers and hearers (Ferrara 1997:€366): “A gap – small or big, historical, linguistic, social or ecological in nature – develops between the past and present cultures. [....] Digression bridges this gap, making the unknown known, irrational rational, obscure clear, incredible credible...” (Basgoz 1986:€3). In the conversations collected here, the cultural gap between participants is minimal because they are usually close friends or family members. Yet their conversations abound with digressions. The reason for this is interactional: digressions tie discourse participants to each other, enabling them to make their interlocutors’ discourse more relevant to their own experience. When digressing-listeners then also initiate a move back to the main topic, they are able to reassure the speaker of their continuing involvement in their talk. Even the listener herself can employ bekitsur in order to return the storyteller from a digression. This happens in only one instance throughout the corpus, in a conversation between two women in their early twenties about a couple who had broken up. Beforehand, the couple had bought sofas the woman did not like: Excerpt 6 (‘Sofas’): 95 Gila: ..... hayu shlosha tsva'ím shel 'e--h, there were three colors of u--h, 96

... praxìm 'al hasapá. flowers on the sofa.

97

.. 'az hi hexlìta shehi titsbá. so she decided that she will color [in].

98

... 'exad mehatsva'ím shehi lo 'ahavà. one of the colors that she didn’t like.



{laughter}

99



Chapter 3.╇ The textual realm 

100

.... tikne tséva, [she]’ll buy [some] color,

101

vetitsbá 'otam. and color them [in].

102

... 'ani nisiti lehoríd 'ota mehara'ayòn, I tried to get off her from the idea I tried to get her off the idea,

103

.. shetetsapé 'et zè! that she put upholstery [on] it! get her to upholster them!

104

.... 'o máshehu. or something.

105

.. 'an’ló yoda'at, I dunno,

106

.. 'aval she but that lamròt sheze 'ód kesef, {------laughing-----} although that that more money although that’s more money,

107 Yonat: 108

.. ken? yeah?

109 Gila:

.... ze be'ayà shel mi shekone sapót, this [is the] problem of [one] who buys sofas,

110

velo bodék, and doesn’t check,

111

.. 'im hu 'ohév 'otam, if he likes them,

112

'o ló 'ohèv 'otam, or doesn’t like them,

113

.. 'o 'im hem mat'imòt lo labáyit. or if they match for him to the house or if they match his house.

114 Yonat: .. tòv 'akítser, okay 'akitser,

 Metalanguage in Interaction

115

sof hasipùr hu shehem nifredú? [the] end of the story is that they broke up?

116 Gila:

shehem nifredu, that they broke up in the end they broke up,

117

vehadavar harishón sheli'at 'amrà, and the thing the first that Li'at said and the first thing Li'at said was,

118

'òy yófi, oh great,

119

'ani 'etèn lo 'et hasapót, {--------laughing------} I’ll give him the sofas,

120

ve'ani 'eknè li xadashót. {-------laughing--------} and I’ll buy myself new [ones].

121

..... zéhu. that’s it.

sóf hasipùr end of the story

At lines 102–104, Gila says she tried to dissuade her friend from coloring in the flowers on the upholstery and to get her to re-upholster the sofas instead. At line 107 Yonat objects to this idea with the concessive discourse marker lamrot she(‘although’) (cf. Günthner 2000), saying that that would have cost even more money. Gila answers her at lines 109–113, beginning with the formula ze be'aya shel mi she... (‘this is [the] problem of one who...’), justifying her solution with the idea that if one buys unwisely, one should ‘pay for it’ (i.e., it’s the unwise woman’s problem, not hers). Yonat does not pursue this line, and at line 114 returns Gila to her story, requesting its ending: tov 'akitser, sof hasipur hu shehem nifredu? (‘okay 'akitser, the end of the story is that they broke up?’), which Gila then provides (lines 116–121). We see that Yonat brings Gila back from the digression (which Yonat herself started at line 107) with the colloquial 'akitser in the discourse marker cluster tov21 'akitser (‘okay 'akitser’). Using this more jocular form of bekitsur may also be functioning to compensate for the disagreement between them. Thus, while initiating return from a digression allows participants to manifest their involvement 21. On the dual nature of tov (‘okay’) here, as both an interpersonal and a textual discourse marker, see Chapter 5, Section 5.



Chapter 3.╇ The textual realm 

in each others’ talk, when the digression is a disagreement, it can also help avoid unwelcome topics. Let us move now to a closer look at the various types of digression from which bekitsur returns. Dascal and Katriel classify digressions into three types: utterancebased, interaction-based, and insertion sequences: Utterance-based digressions are characterized by the fact that some kind of ‘content’ relation holds between the mainstream utterance and the digressional ones. Interaction-based digressions exhibit no such relations. Insertion sequences, in our use of the term, refer to a large variety of corrective and clarificatory speechacts. They have an intermediary standing between utterance- and interactionbased digressions (1982:€82).

While defining a ‘content’ relation is not a simple matter, and Dascal and Katriel acknowledge this, I use their classification as a preliminary way of describing the employment of resumptive bekitsur in the corpus. 4.2

Returning from interaction-based digressions

Only one instance of bekitsur throughout the data functions to return participants from an interaction-based digression to the main topic. However, this paucity of tokens is due mainly to the nature of the data; namely, that participants in this corpus are not generally having a conversation while also doing something else. I have often heard this discourse marker employed to return from interaction-based digressions, such as following a phone call or an interruption of a conversation by a child. In the following excerpt two women, Sharon and Dalia, close friends in their early twenties, are sharing a night-shift in one of the offices of Israel’s Electric Company. As Sharon later explained to me, they are sitting in front of a map in which locations of callers who call in to report problems are flagged. Their job is to dispatch engineers in order to deal with the problems. In line 1, Dalia asks Sharon whether she has dealt with two calls that had come in: Excerpt 7 (‘Prince’): 1 Dalia: ... 'asìt 'et shneyhém? {-----------------pp-----------------} you did both of them did you do both of them? 2 Sharon: ... 'asiti 'exád. { ---pp---} I did one.

 Metalanguage in Interaction

3 Dalia: .. betuxá? { ---pp---} [are you] sure? 4 Sharon:

ken. { -pp-} yeah.

5 Dalia: ... hakítse--r, {------f------} 6

.. hi 'oméret li, {------f------------} she says to me,

7

.... yashávnu dibárnu veze--, {-------------f---------------} we sat [and] talked and so on,

Following this short interchange concerning the calls they are supposed to deal with (lines 1–4), Dalia returns to a story she heard from another friend (line 6). The return to this story is preceded by hakitser (5) and accompanied by a marked prosodic change in volume, as well as by employment of the pronoun hi (‘she’, line 6), which would not have been employed at the beginning of a narrative. No ‘content’ relation holds between this digression and the narrative, and we have here an interaction-based (or ‘situational’, Lenk 1998:€60) digression. 4.3

Returning from content-based digressions

By far, the great majority of bekitsur tokens in this corpus function to return participants to the main topic following a digression which does bear some ‘content’ relation to the main topic. I present here a finer classification of these instances, based on the nature of the digression. 4.3.1 Following listener-initiated digressions Oftentimes during narration, the storyteller pauses for a question or an elicitational segment related to the story which is initiated by some member of the audience. After dealing with this new topic, the storyteller moves back to the narrative with bekitsur or one of its variants. In the following excerpt, David describes to his close friend, Dalia, a chase after a tractor that he was supposed to repossess as part of his work that day:



Chapter 3.╇ The textual realm 

Excerpt 8 (‘Tractor Chase’): 11 David: haxokér hapratí 'amar, the investigator private said the private investigator said, 12

shehu nimtsa be'eyze makóm, that he is located in some place that he [the defaulting purchaser] can be found in some place,

13

... géshem zal'afót baxuts, rain raging outside it’s raining cats and dogs outside,

14

ke'ílu, I mean,

15

... má ze gèshem, what is rain what [do I mean by] rain,

16

... shexavál 'al hazmàn. that it’s a waste of time. unimaginable rain.

17

.. ràk metumtamím, only idiots,

18

yots'ím mehabàyit. go out of the house. kamóxa. like you.

19 Dalia:

naxón. right.

20 David: 21

.. nu 'az mí yefarnès, nu so who will earn the living,

22

.. 'át? you?

23 Dalia:

nu--? go on. {smiling}

24 David: .... be'uktsú--r, {in American accent}

 Metalanguage in Interaction

25

.... 'anaxnu mezahìm 'et ha.. klí, we identify the.. vehicle,

To illustrate how strong the rain was during this tractor chase, David adds: rak metumtamim, yots'im mehabayit. (‘only idiots, go out of the house’., lines 17–18). Dalia quickly joins in, mocking her close friend: kamoxa (‘like you’, line 19), to which David responds with humorous sarcasm: nu 'az mí yefarnès,.. 'át? (‘nu22 so who will earn the living, you?’, lines 21–22). At line 23, smiling, Dalia urges him to go on with the story with the discourse marker nu--?, which David does at line 25 following the most playful variation on bekitsur in this corpus – be'uktsur. This form is modeled after an Arabic word pattern and is uttered in an American accent continuing the mockery and playfulness of this digression. We see, then, a return to the main topic following an audience-initiated, topically-relevant digression. In this case, the digression is only 5 intonation units long, but in other instances throughout the data (such as excerpt 4), the digression often becomes a long elicitational segment and bekitsur functions to move from elicitation back to narration. The mocking tone of be'uktsur in the preceding example is influenced by the general mocking tone of the digression. However, in considering the variation in form of the discourse marker anyway (anyways, anyhow, at any rate), Ferrara mentions the jocular form anyhoo as one of the variants of anyhow (1997:€370). It is not surprising to find a jocular tone when a speaker returns from a digression, particularly one initiated by the listener. In doing so, the speaker signals to the listener that what they have just said is of secondary importance, a move potentially carrying interpersonal ramifications. Joking is a natural compensation for an interpersonally threatening move of this type. 4.3.2 Following storyteller-initiated digressions 4.3.2.1 Following a story aside Bekitsur can be employed by the storyteller to return from a digression she herself initiated, as in the following case in which Li'at tells her friend Anat a story about trying to switch residence halls with some woman: Excerpt 9 (‘Reznik Residence Halls’): 34 Li'at: .. kódem kol, first of all,

22. While nu at line 23 functions to urge the speaker to go on with the story, at line 21 it precedes the discourse marker 'az (‘so’) and functions to add a mocking tone to this statement. See Chapter 2.



Chapter 3.╇ The textual realm 

35

hi kol hazman norà paxadá, she all the time terribly was afraid she was constantly terribly scared,

36

.. biglal zé she, because of the fact that,

37

... yitfesú 'otanu--, they’ll catch us,



.. veya'alú

38

'al ze,



and they’ll find out about it,

39

.. vema yikré--, and what[’s gonna] happen,

40

ve..ma haprotsedúra. and what[’s] the procedure.

41

hi hayta betuxa shehì teshalem lí ta’, she was sure that she would pay me the,

42

.. 'et ma she'ani be.. berám? what I [pay] in.. in Ram?

43

... begiv'at rám? in Ram Hill [residence hall]?

44

vehi and she

45

'aní 'ashalèm la ta’reznik, I’ll pay her the Reznik [residence hall],

46

ve--bixlál, and in general,

47

.. hi haytà me'ód lo ba'inyanim. she was very much not in the issues she was very much out of it.

48

... vehitbarèr bixlal shehi lomedet 'itánu! and it turned out at all that she studies with us and it turned out she even studies with us!



49 Anat:

/????/



50

/????/

51 Li'at:

ken, yeah,

 Metalanguage in Interaction

52

shaná rishonà. year first first year.



.... hakítser,

53

54

'amárti la, I said to her,

At line 48 the storyteller digresses to give an external fact about the woman she was trying to switch residence halls with; namely, that it turned out she was a first year student in their department. After a very short discussion of this (lines 49–52), she returns to the narrative with hakitser (line 53), clearly marking the preceding digression as tangential to the main point. The relativity of digressions is underscored by the employment of bekitsur by the storyteller in the midst of a narrative, between its various episodes (Labov 1972, Chafe 1994). Such episodes are clearly not digressions from the narrative, but in the progression towards the climax of the story (Chafe 1994), they can be retroactively constructed as secondary, thus aiding the listener in following the main storyline. Sections 4.3.2.2 - 4.3.2.4 illustrate this retroactive construction of backgrounding (Hopper 1979) in narrative via bekitsur. 4.3.2.2 Following orientation In the following excerpt, the storyteller employs 'akitser to move from the orientational episode of her story to the beginning of the complication. First, she describes a computerized form that workers in her office are supposed to fill out when interviewing women for some job: Excerpt 10 (‘Office Gossip’): 154 Galit: .. 'axshav yésh bamaxshe--v, now there is in the computer 155

.. 'e--h.. kmo-- rúbrika, u--h like [a] rubric,

156

.. rúbrika kazot, [a] rubric like,

157

... shel 'e--h, of u--h,

158

.... hofa'á. appearance.

159

... 'az yésh 'e--m, so there is uh--m,



Chapter 3.╇ The textual realm 

160

... gru'á, awful (fem. sg.),

161

... regilá, ordinary (fem. sg.),

162

... 'e--h tová, u--h good (fem. sg.),

163

.. yitsugít, presentational (fem. sg.),

164

.. vetovà me'ód. and good (fem. sg.) very and very good.

165

.... beséder? okay?

166

... ve'ef and wh

167

... vebedérex klal, and usually

168

.. mà she'ani 'amura lasím, what (that) I[’m] supposed to put [down],

169

... ze regilá. is ordinary.

170

.. ke'ilu, like,

171

.. 'ata yodé'a, you know,

172

.. lò--.. yitsugí bi..myuxad, not presentational especially not particularly presentational,

173

.. velò.. garú'a bimyuxad. and not awful especially and not particularly awful.

174 Nir:

{cough}

175 Galit: ..... 'akítser, 176

.. hayom 'ani-- korét xavat dà'at, today I[’m] read[ing a] report,

 Metalanguage in Interaction

177

... 'az 'eh 'ari'éla kotèvet, so uh Ariela writes,

178 ... 'e--h.. baxurà mamash mexo'éret. {-----laughing----} uh young woman really ugly u--h.. a really ugly woman. Following the orientation explaining the form workers in this office are supposed to fill out, at line 175 Galit moves on to describe a particular form she encountered that day that was filled out rather tactlessly by one of her co-workers. This is the beginning of the complication of her narrative, and it is preceded by 'akitser (line 175). Certainly, lines 154–170 are not a digression from her story. However, in progressing towards the climax of the story, they are of secondary importance compared to the complicating action, and 'akitser helps construct them as such. This is similar to Ferrara’s characterization of English anyway: in 40% of this discourse marker’s tokens throughout her data, anyway occurs “after preceding orientational detail given by the teller” (1997:€359). This use is much less prevalent in the Hebrew data – only 2 such cases (out of 37 resumptive bekitsur tokens, 5.4%) were found in the present database. However, as the following sections show, bekitsur occurs not only between orientation and complication in narratives, but also at other narrational episode boundaries. 4.3.2.3 Following evaluation A storyteller can retroactively construct an evaluative section of the narrative as being of secondary importance. One example comes from the Tractor Chase conversation, in the midst of the complicating action, as David describes his chase after the owner of the tractor that he is supposed to repossess: Excerpt 11 (‘Tractor Chase’): 46 David: .... ve'ani kmo metumtám, and I like an idiot, 47

... rodéf 'axaràv. am running after him.

48

... ke'ilu like

49

.. barégel, by foot,

50

'axarèy tráktor, after a tractor,



Chapter 3.╇ The textual realm 

51

betòx kol habóts haze? in all the mud this in all this mud?

52

... veke'ilu haragláyim sh’xa, and like the feet your (masc. sg.) and like your feet,

53

nitka'ot bifním kaze, get stuck inside like get stuck inside like,



kx kx kx kx. {sounds imitating the sound of feet in the mud}

54

55

... bekitsúr vela'inyá--n, in short and to the point,

56

... 'axaré--y, after,

57

.. mirdáf she--, a chase that,

58

ne'eràx kemispàr dakó--t, lasted roughly a few minutes,

59

.... hitslàxti lehagia 'ad latráktor, I managed to get to the tractor,

60

.. lisgór lo ’ta to close for him the to close his

61

ke'ìlu lexabót ta’manòa, like to turn off the engine like to turn off his engine,

62

lakáxti ta’maftèax. I took the key.

In lines 46–47, David describes the ridiculousness of the situation. Lines 48–51 are a self-rephrasal of this description, preceded by the discourse marker of self-rephrasal ke'ilu (‘like’, line 48), explicating the phrase kmo metumtam (‘like an idiot’) of line 46. From these lines we learn why David felt like an idiot running after the guy whose tractor he was supposed to repossess: he was running after a moving tractor by foot, in the mud. To further enhance his story and involve the audience, he adds a short evaluative episode depicting the feet getting stuck in the mud (lines

 Metalanguage in Interaction

52–53) along with the sound they make in this state (line 54)23. At line 55, however, he returns to the complication describing the actions he took – reaching the tractor, switching off its engine, and taking the key (lines 59–62). This return to the complicating actions is preceded by the discourse marker bekitsur embellished by the fixed formula (Pawley and Syder 1983) bekitsúr vela'inyán (‘in short and to the point’), implying that the previous utterance was perhaps not precisely ‘to the point’. Again, the evaluative episode, contribute as it might to audience involvement in the story, is constructed as being of secondary importance as far as progressing towards the climax of the story is concerned. The characterization of evaluative material as being of secondary importance is consistent with Labov’s description: A complete narrative begins with an orientation, proceeds to the complicating action, is suspended at the focus of evaluation before the resolution, concludes with the resolution, and returns the listener to the present time with the coda. The evaluation of the narrative forms a secondary structure which is concentrated in the evaluation section but may be found in various forms throughout the narrative (Labov 1972:€369, emphasis mine).

This characterization of the secondary nature of evaluation is also in agreement with other studies of foregrounding and backgrounding in discourse, e.g., Reinhart 1984:€783, Brinton 1996:€45. 4.3.2.4 Organizing the hierarchy of episodes in a story In long and involved stories which often include embedded stories as episodes, bekitsur functions to organize the hierarchy of episodes, thus aiding the listener in following the main storyline. In the continuation of the ‘Doctors’ narrative, Nurit tells that Doctor Abu had recommended some antibiotic, but the orthopedic surgeon they then went to on a Thursday decided to take a culture and give another antibiotic instead. Nurit then proceeds to an episode constituting an embedded story lasting 37 intonation units (only the end of which is given here) about how the nurse sent this culture to the lab only on Sunday, and how they found that out from Doctor Abu. In the following segment, Nurit summarizes this embedded story and moves on to the continuation of the first story: Excerpt 12 (‘Doctors’): 172 Nurit: .. ve... vedoctor 'ábu berèr, and and Doctor Abu checked,

23. For a detailed study of this segment, particularly with respect to the tokens of kaze (‘like’) and ke'ilu (‘like’) found in it, see Maschler 2001 and Chapter 4.



Chapter 3.╇ The textual realm 

173

.. pashút, simply,

174

.. hitkashér lama'abadà--, called (to) the lab,

175

.. venatàn ta’mispar te'udat zehú--t, and gave the number of certificate identification and gave the number of the ID card, ke--n. yeah.

176 Sarah: 177 Nurit: .. veta’ and ev 178 Sarah:

ken. yeah.

179 Nurit: .. ta’kó--l, everything, 180

.. vehistabé--r, and it turned out,

181

sheràk beyom rishón, that only on day first that only on Sunday,

182

hi masrá 'et ze. she sent it.

183

.... kitsú--r,

184

.. hu-- 'amár, he said,

185

shexayavìm lehaxlif ta’'antibyótika. that they must change the antibiotic.

At line 183 Nurit employs kitsur to return from this embedded story about the nurse, and proceeds to the following complicating action of the main story describing Doctor Abu’s instructions to change the antibiotic given by the orthopedic surgeon. This token of bekitsur, then, helps organize the various embedded stories in this 262 intonation unit long story. Several linguists suggest that grounding is not a dichotomous matter of some binary foreground vs. background distinction, but rather, that it is a scalar matter (e.g., Hopper and Thompson 1980:€ 252, Fleischman 1985:€ 854, 862, 1990:€ 169, 184–185, Enkvist and Wårvik 1987:€ 224, Wårvik 1987:€ 380, 385–386, Brinton

 Metalanguage in Interaction

1996:€269). The majority of these studies focus on the formal aspects of the verb constructing grounding in discourse. The present study examines employment of discourse markers for this purpose. The existence of a marker retroactively constructing background episodes supports the view of grounding as scalar, because it shows that participants themselves treat grounding as a flexible matter that they can manipulate. 4.4

Returning from insertion sequences

The final category in Dascal and Katriel’s classification of digression is that of insertion sequences; namely, corrective and clarificatory conversational actions which “have an intermediary standing between utterance- and interaction-based digressions” (1982:€82). One such case was seen in excerpt 1, line 121, following the clarification sequence initiated by the addressee concerning the term kaplad. Another case, less content-related, is found in the following excerpt, in a conversation between three young women about Yonit’s shopping with her friend Yo'av for a pair of gym shoes which turned out to be quite a bargain: Excerpt 13 (‘New Shoes’): 61 Yonit: histovávnu, we turned around, 62

ra'ìnu 'et 'éle. we saw these. {i.e., the pair of gym shoes she is wearing}

63 Michal:

míshehu rotsè? {offering some food} anybody wants does anybody want some?

64 Yonit:

pìt'om kám suddenly how

65

.. káma ze 'olè? {Yonit’s voice while shopping} .. how much [does] this cost?

66 Morit:

lo todá. {concerning the food offer} no thanks.

67 Yonit: lo-- todá. no thanks. 68

... tish'ìm vetésha shekel. ninety (and) nine(fem.) shekels.

69 Michal: ... tish'á. nine (masc.)



Chapter 3.╇ The textual realm 



70 All:

{laughs}

71 Michal: .... tish'im vetish'á shkalìm. {---------laughing-----------------} ninety (and) nine (masc.) shekels. 72 Yonit: .. shkalí--m, shekels (pl.), 73

'aval 'ani 'amàrti shékel! {--------slightly laughing----} but I said shekel (sg.)!

74 Michal: .. nu 'az má? nu so what?

75 :

... bekitsú--r,

76 Michal: shèkel ze gám zaxar. shekel is also masculine. 77 Yonit: ... yo'àv mistakel 'al hana'aláyim, Yo'av looks at the shoes, 78

... hu 'omér li, he says to me,

79

ló yaxol lihiyòt, not can be can’t be,

80

hem betax moxrìm na'al 'axát. they probably selling shoe one they must be selling one shoe.

In giving the price of the shoes, 99 shekels (roughly 25 dollars at the time), Yonit employs the feminine form of the numeral, tesha (‘nine, fem.’) although the monetary unit shekel is a masculine noun (line 68). This is an instance of the common neutralizing of agreement patterns with numerals in casual spoken Hebrew (Ravid 1995). Michal and Yonit are both students at a Hebrew Language Department. Perhaps this (and the fact they are being recorded24) is why Michal corrects Yonit at line 69 with tish'a (‘nine’, masc.). She then rephrases Yonit’s utterance: tish'im vetish'a shkalim (‘ninety nine shekels’), using the plural form for shekel, shkalim25. 24. Their laughter throughout lines 70–73 is perhaps evidence of their awareness of the recording of this ‘grammatical mistake’. 25. In certain contexts of enumerating in Hebrew, it is possible to use the singular instead of the plural form of the noun.

 Metalanguage in Interaction

At lines 72–73, Yonit objects, saying she used the singular shekel, not shkalim (presumably justifying the feminine tesha, which she had used back in line 68). At lines 74 and 76, we find Michal’s nu so what (the Israeli ridiculing/mocking version of Labov’s famous ‘so what?’ question (1972:€366)26) ridiculing Yonit’s justification (line 73) because shekel ze gam zaxar (‘shekel is also masculine’, line 76). Overlapping this, Yonit returns to her story at line 75 with bekitsur. Thus we find this word employed to return from an insertion sequence that is relatively unrelated to the content of the discourse. 5. Foregrounding bekitsur: Introducing a new narrative The final function of bekitsur found in this corpus underscores, more than any other function, the retroactive construction that is accomplished by this word. This type of bekitsur is found opening narratives, with no digression in the immediately preceding discourse. As a result of employment of bekitsur, whatever happened beforehand (and this could be another foregrounded narrative) ‘moves to the background’, and the new narrative is foregrounded even more brightly. Such is, for instance, the beginning of theTractor Chase narrative. This narrative is told by David while cooking some soup in his kitchen, while Dalia, a close friend of his, with whom he is not romantically involved, is visiting him. In the immediately preceding moments of the interaction, David is answering Dalia’s question concerning how to prepare a béchamel sauce. Following his sketchy instructions, Dalia requests an accurate recipe, and David jokingly says, ze gám 'ole kèsef! (‘this, too, costs money!’). This is a reference back to the immediately preceding topic, in which David tells Dalia about a woman who calls him up and comes to his house solely for sexual purposes, and how disgusted he is with the situation. Dalia mocks him, saying that he should charge her for this, something he jokingly says he has considered doing. He then recounts to Dalia a conversation he had recently had with this woman on the phone, telling her he was fed up with the meaninglessness of their meetings. In the moments following this reference back to the previous topic (transcribed below and immediately preceding excerpt 8), David and Dalia return to this previous topic of the phone conversation, and David constructs his imaginary dialogue to the woman, in which he charges her money. This is the only time throughout the 60 minute cassette I received from Dalia in which they speak any English:

26. See Chapter 2, Section 7.2.1 for the collocation nu 'az má? (‘nu so what?’).



Chapter 3.╇ The textual realm 

Excerpt 14 (‘Tractor Chase’): –15 David: ... ze gám 'ole kèsef! this too costs money! –14 Dalia: ... 'ó--y, –13

hakó--l kè--sef. everything [is] money.

–12 David: ... mhm. –11 Dalia:

mhm.

–10 David: ... óne nìght, {David’s imaginary dialogue to the woman}

–9



–8 Dalia:

òne-night stánd,



–7 David:

for óne night,



–6 Dalia: ... with your wífe,



–5 David:



–4



... a míllion dòllar,

wi .... I’m gonna téll you, {-------pp-------}



–3 Dalia:



–2 David: ... gò to hé--ll!

–1

/??????/ {-------pp-------} .... 'ex hi nexneká mize! {------- mf, slightly laughing---} how she choked from it! {i.e., from his telling her he was fed up with the situation}

0 Dalia: ..... /????/

1 David: ..... bekítsu--r, {-----ff-----} 2

.... shavùa she'avá--r, week last last week,

3

.... haya lanu 'eyze kéta--27, there was to us some segment we had something happen to us,



... ba'avodá--,

4

27. For a discussion of the word keta, see Maschler 1998b as well as Chapter 6, Section 1.2.

 Metalanguage in Interaction



at work,

5

.. má ze kèta madlìk. what is segment cool such a cool thing.

6

... halàxnu lexapes 'eyze tráktor, we went to look for some tractor,

7

.. le--'akél, to repossess,

8

.. be.. támra, in.. Tamra,

9 Dalia: .. nu. go on. {laughing} 10 David: .. betox hasadòt shel támra. in the fields of Tamra. At lines -4 and -2, David constructs his imaginary dialogue telling the woman to go to hell (line -2). The co-constructed move to English and mention of a million dollars for one night with your wife (lines (-10) - (-6)) go back to the film Indecent Proposal, which this imaginary situation most likely evoked for the speakers at this point in their conversation (the film came out in 1993, about 4 years before this conversation took place). The imaginary dialogue is constructed pianissimo, in English, and in future tense. At line -1, back in average loudness and in Hebrew past tense, he repeats the woman’s response to the words he did have with her; namely, that he was fed up with the situation. Thus, the contrasts English vs. Hebrew, future vs. past tense, pianissimo vs. mezzo forte all mirror the contrast between the imaginary and real parts of the previous narrative28. In other words, they mirror the contrast between its background (what could have happened) and foreground (what did actually happen). Line -1, then, constitutes the foreground of the previous narrative. Following a long pause, at line 1, David begins a completely unrelated story about a tractor he had to repossess that day at work. In order to highlight this new (much less personal, and therefore perhaps inherently less foregrounded) narrative, David employs bekitsur in very loud volume and continues the new story, never again mentioning the previous topic. This functions to move the previous story into the background, making room for the new

28. For a study of the bilingual iconic strategy of language alternation for mirroring discourse contrasts, see Maschler 1994a and 1997b.



Chapter 3.╇ The textual realm 

story and foregrounding it more vividly. Dalia’s laughing nu at line 9 is perhaps evidence of her perception of the abruptness of this move. Note that the same speaker, David, who in excerpt 8 used be'uktsur, is using bekítsur in excerpt 14, and bekitsúr in excerpt 11, line 55. Thus, it is not only a matter of personal style, as in Ferrara’s (1997) study of the sociolinguistic variation between anyway, anyways, anyhow, and at any rate and the patterns of their distribution in the population. David employs the particular variant of bekitsur as a function of the particular context and not only as a function of the social group he belongs to. This use of bekitsur to introduce new narratives is found in at least29 5 instances (10.4%) throughout the corpus. We see that no digression or background material is involved here – only the highlighting of a new topic. 6. Grammaticization of bekitsur Recall that grammaticization is defined as the change “whereby lexical items and constructions come in certain linguistic contexts to serve grammatical functions, and, once grammaticalized, continue to develop new grammatical functions” (Hopper and Traugott 2003: xv). Hopper and Traugott note the principle of unidirectionality in grammaticization, according to which a typical path of grammaticization follows a cline of de-categorialization (2003:€106–109). Thus, typically, the starting point of the process is a full category, such as noun or verb, and over time, the lexical item becomes more grammatical and “tends to lose the morphological and syntactic properties that would identify it as a full member of a major grammatical category [...] In its most extreme form such a change is manifested as a cline of categoriality, statable as: major category (> adjective/adverb) > minor category” (ibid.: 107). Adjective and adverb thus constitute an intermediate category, whereas the term ‘minor category’ includes grammatical categories such as preposition, conjunction, auxiliary, pronoun, and demonstrative. In her study of anyway, Ferrara (1997:€371) adds that the grammatical category of discourse marker should also be considered a minor category. We saw that bekitsur came to function as a manner adverb (‘succinctly’) according to a productive process of deriving adverbs from adjectival nominals via prefixation with the preposition b(e)-: 29. There are two possible additional cases of bekitsur beginning new narratives, but the segment preceding them was not provided in the recordings I received.

 Metalanguage in Interaction

Preposition (b(e)-) + Verbal Noun (kitsur)

Adverb (bekitsur).

Once it became an adverb (i.e., entered the ‘intermediate category’), bekitsur followed the second half of Hopper and Traugott’s schema and came to function in the minor grammatical category of discourse marker30. We have also seen that this process was accompanied by prosodic and phonological changes of bekitsúr into bekítsur, bekítser, hakítser, 'akítser, kitsúr, be'úktsur, bekítskets, hakítskits and 'akíbitser. In its later development, bekitsur followed a path similar to that of other adverbs which have evolved into discourse markers, such as actually (Aijmer 1986, Watts 1988, Tabor and Traugott 1998, Traugott and Dasher 2002), well (Jucker 1997, Traugott and Dasher 2002), in fact, indeed (Traugott 1995a, 2003b, Traugott and Dasher 2002), really, basically (Watts 1988), frankly (Traugott 2001), anyway (Ferrara 1997, Traugott 2003b), and Hebrew be'emet (‘really, actually, indeed’, lit. ‘in truth’) (Maschler and Estlein 2008). Consistent with the view that “grammaticalization [...] is motivated by speaker-hearer interactions and communicative strategies” (Hopper and Traugott 2003:€73), and with the view that “the notion of emergence [...] relativizes structure to speakers’ actual experience with language” (Bybee and Hopper 2001:€3), this chapter concerned itself with identifying the patterns of language use which have resulted in this grammaticization in the case of Hebrew bekitsur. Grammaticization of bekitsur did not stop once it became a discourse marker. In this minor grammatical category, it continued to develop. The present corpus suggests that it came to have three functions. The question arises as to the connection between these three functions; in other words, what was the functional itinerary followed by bekitsur once it became a discourse marker? I will argue that in its continuing semantic development, bekitsur came to function more and more metalingually. This is in agreement with characterizations of the semantic process involved in grammaticization as involving a metaphorical shift from the concrete to the abstract (Traugott 1982, Sweetser 1988), or from the propositional to the ‘metalinguistic’ (Traugott 1988, Traugott and König 1991). In the absence of a

30. The verbal noun kitsur itself followed a more complex path. The root √k.ts.r. is found in Biblical Hebrew in the verb (‘major category’) of the verbal pattern (binyan) pa'al; i.e., katsar, with the meaning ‘to reap, to harvest’ in the context of cutting wheat and other grains. The passive meaning of this verb was then extended (Even-Shoshan 2003) and the verb katsar came to mean ‘to be short’. From this, according to the cline of de-categorialization, the adjective (‘intermediate category’) katsar (‘short’) was developed. Thus, the first half of Hopper and Traugott’s cline of de-categorialization (major category > intermediate category) was also followed. From the adjective katsar, found already in Biblical Hebrew, a verb in the verbal pattern (binyan) pi'el was later formed, i.e. kitser ‘to lessen, reduce’ (Biblical period), ‘to do something in short’ (Talmudic), ‘to shorten’ (Modern). Kitsur is the verbal noun of this verb.



Chapter 3.╇ The textual realm 

diachronic spoken corpus, of course, the following grammaticization path of bekitsur can only be hypothesized. As for the first function illustrated in this study, the list summary function, the discussion of excerpt 2 suggested that a metalingual utterance consisting of a clause involving a metalingual verb + manner adverb, such as 'im lomar bekitsur (‘if to say in short’, ‘said in short’, or ‘put succinctly’) developed into a discourse marker of summarizing, which can be translated as English in short. In this summarizing use, bekitsur manifests Hopper’s principle of persistence in grammaticization (1991:€ 22) in its original sense of ‘retention’ (Bybee and Pagliuca 1987) rather transparently. We see here a metaphorical shift from the realm of the extralingual world (the concept of ‘shortness’ in the extralingual world) to that of the text (making a list ‘short’) with respect to the concept of space (cf. Heine, Claudi, and Hünnemeyer’s discussion of the space-discourse metaphor (1991:€179–186)). Not only lists, but episodes, too, can be summarized. Following the summary or conclusion of an episode, a previous topic is often resumed. Excerpts 3 and 4 exhibit two transitional cases in which bekitsur could be said to function both to summarize / draw a conclusion from a previous episode as well as to return to a previous topic following a digression. The summarizing function of bekitsur is not as prevalent as that of returning from digressions in this corpus. It was employed by only 10.4% of the tokens throughout the database. I suggest that bekitsur gradually came to be used more frequently as a resumptive discourse marker, the seeds of which were found in transitional examples such as excerpts 3 and 4. Approximately 80% of all bekitsur tokens in this database function as resumptive discourse markers (77.6% signaling resumption and 2% requesting resumption by listener). In this later use, one is no longer required to follow bekitsur with an actual summary of the previous episode, and bekitsur comes to signal a return to the main topic following the digression that has just ended (excerpt 5, e.g.). Hopper’s principle of persistence (1991:€22) is still manifested, though less transparently than for summarizing bekitsur: by ending digressions, the discourse as a whole is made shorter. Because of this lesser transparency, resumptive bekitsur is considered higher in the metalingual dimension compared to summarizing bekitsur. This stronger metalingual dimension is paralleled by a prosodic fact: when bekitsur functions as a resumptive discourse marker, it is preceded by sentencefinal intonation, whereas in the case of list-summarizing bekitsur, the immediately preceding unit may end in continuing intonation. Thus, while Tabor and Traugott emphasize the intonation contour of the English discourse marker anyway itself (“Typically […] disjunctive, requiring comma intonation” (1998:€254)), here it is the intonation contour of the preceding intonation unit that is focused on. We have seen that episode-summarizing bekitsur, too, follows sentence-final

 Metalanguage in Interaction

intonation, being a transitional case between the two categories. These prosodic patterns are consistent with the iconic strategy of marking the boundary more clearly (i.e. with sentence-final and not continuing intonation) when a higherlevel boundary is concerned (see Chapter 1, Section 7, Maschler 2002a). On the basis of the current corpus, it is not possible to prove that a metalingual utterance such as one involving the phrase lomar bekitsur ‘put succinctly’ or ‘said in short’ is the origin of the resumptive discourse marker bekitsur. However, in support of this claim I found two pieces of evidence. The first is a quote from an excerpt of written Hebrew published in the Hebrew daily Ha'aretz by Amia Lieblich, a leading professor of clinical psychology and author of several novels. In this rather formal genre, we would not expect to find the colloquial resumptive discourse marker bekitsur which is so frequent in casual conversation. Instead, we find something else. In reviewing a recent collection of psychotherapeutic case-studies published by the psychotherapist Yoram Yovel, Lieblich begins the following paragraph: ve'axen, giborey hasefer haze 'eynam haponim le'ezra 'ela dmut hametapel-hamesaper ha'ola mimenu. yihiyu mi sheya'asku beshushelet hayexasim shel yovel (hu nexdo shel yesha'ayahu leybovitch), kfi she'ose hamol, ve'af hamexaber, bitsni'ut 'amitit, po vesham beyn dapey hasefer. 'ani 'omar bekitsur: ze 'adam, shekol mi shnizkak 'o yizdakek 'ey pa'am letipul nafshi hayiti rotsa le'axel lo sheyifgosh bo. 'emdato hatipulit hi kazot shehayiti rotsa lehaknot letalmiday. hu metapel ragish ve'empati (kfi she'omrim 'etslenu) haboxen lelo heref 'et tguvotav shelo umesik mehen maskanot lemahalax hatipul. veyaxad 'im zot hu maskil me'od.... Indeed, the protagonists of this book are not those seeking [therapeutic] help, but rather the image of the therapist-narrator that emerges from it. There are those who will concern themselves with Yovel’s family tree (he is the grandson of Yesha'ayahu Leibovitch [a prominent philosopher]), as does the publisher, and even the author, in genuine modesty, here and there between the pages of the book. I will say bekitsur: This is a person I wish for anyone, who needs or ever will need therapy, to have the good fortune of meeting. His therapeutic stance is one which I would like to impart to my students. He is a sensitive and empathetic therapist (as we say in our jargon) who constantly examines his own responses and draws conclusions from them for the continuation of the therapy. And in addition to all this, he is highly knowledgeable... (Lieblich 2001, translation and emphasis mine).

With the sentence 'ani 'omar bekitsur (‘I will say in short / succinctly’), the writer is not summarizing previous discourse. Rather, she is moving from what she considers of secondary importance (the fact that Yovel is the grandson of a very prominent philosopher) with which others will concern themselves, to what she considers most prominent – Yovel’s virtues as therapist. Furthermore, what comes next is a long elaboration of Yovel’s virtues (only the beginning of which is reproduced here); in other words, nothing ‘short’. Because of the similarities between this



Chapter 3.╇ The textual realm 

context and the colloquial ones we have seen throughout this study, I surmise that metalingual utterances of this type are the source of the colloquial resumptive discourse marker bekitsur. The way to prove this would have been to collect instances of the adverb bekitsur from an earlier corpus of spoken discourse and see how frequently they occurred with a verb of saying, such as lomar, lehagid (‘to say’) or lesaper (‘to tell’) in such contexts31. The present corpus, as will be recalled, contains no bekitsur tokens functioning as adverbs. Given that the discourse marker function was not provided in the dictionary at all (and considering that dictionaries are less likely to list newer, more colloquial meanings), this in itself is support for the grammaticization pattern suggested here32. In the absence of an earlier corpus, I offer a second piece of evidence supporting the origin of bekitsur in metalingual utterances. The explanation given in the dictionary for the higher register equivalent of bekitsur – biktsara – involves a highly metalingual context: ‘lo ba'arixut, bekitsur, bemilim mu'atot’ (‘not at length, succinctly, in few words’). Furthermore, the example provided: saper-na bikstara 'ex kara hadavar (‘pray-tell succinctly how the matter happened’) involves a verb of saying, saper (‘tell’), also high in the metalingual dimension. Thus, when providing an example for the adverbial form, the example Even-Shoshan comes up with is highly metalingual. Examples given in dictionaries presumably have something to do with frequency and representativeness. One might conclude, then, that the frequency of co-occurrence of bekitsur with a metalingual verb such as lomar (‘to say’) or lesaper (‘to tell’) was high when this dictionary was written, further supporting the grammaticization path suggested here. In resuming a previous topic, the immediately preceding discourse is retroactively constructed as a digression and backgrounded, while future discourse is foregrounded. This backgrounding function of bekitsur was extended to contexts in which no real digression is apparent, such as between the various episodes of a narrative (excerpts 10, 11, 12) in order to guide the listener in following the main storyline.

31. Cf. this methodology with that of Tao 2001, 2003, the volume entitled ‘Frequency and the Emergence of Linguistic Structure’ (Bybee and Hopper 2001), Thompson 2002, and Hopper and Thompson 2008. 32. Cf. Ferrara’s study of English anyway: “A further indication of grammaticalization is the noted increased frequency of the discourse marker (89% discourse marker vs. 11% adverbs in the corpus)” (1997:€372).

 Metalanguage in Interaction Adverb Summarizing D.M. within clause, List-summarizing: following continuing intonation within intonation unit Episode-summarizing: following final intonation Resumptive D.M. Foregrounding D.M. following final intonation following final intonation, accompanied by additional prosodic means

Figure 1.╇ Functional itinerary of bekitsur and corresponding prosodic properties

In the most grammaticized and least transparent function of bekitsur, its foregrounding function was extended to the foregrounding of new narratives. This strategy can move a previous foregrounded narrative into the background, thus foregrounding the new narrative more brightly (excerpt 14). Prosodically, this type of bekitsur is not only preceded by sentence-final intonation, but also accompanied by other prosodic means, such as a longer pause or a drastic change in volume. The functional itinerary of bekitsur and the corresponding prosodic properties are summarized in Figure 1. We have seen that all but one function of discourse marker bekitsur (‘list-summarizing: following continuing intonation’) fulfill both the semantic and structural requirements for prototypical discourse markerhood and thus constitute prototypical discourse markers. 7. Interacting as an Israeli via bekitsur To conclude this chapter, I would like to return to the most common function of bekitsur in this corpus. It is not self-evident that in order to return to a main topic, a word meaning also succinctly or in short would come to be used. The most widely used English resumptive discourse marker, anyway, for example, does not tie resumption of main topic with the concept of ‘shortness’. Furthermore, other higher register Hebrew resumptive discourse markers which are more literal translations of anyway exist, but they are much less frequent: bexol 'ofen (‘in any way/ manner’, 3 tokens in this database), bexol mikre (‘in any event’, ‘at any rate’, 0 tokens in this database). Upon hearing that I was studying bekitsur, I have often been told by Israeli friends that using this word implies some reproach that one is not speaking tersely and to the point. This hue of reproach does not accompany a resumptive discourse marker with no associations of terseness, such as anyway. The grammaticization of the resumptive discourse marker bekitsur from an adverb meaning succinctly or in short is consistent with a particular aspect of Israeli culture and identity.



Chapter 3.╇ The textual realm 

According to Katriel, the term ‘Sabra’, which literally denotes a local cactus bush and its thorn-covered fruit, was applied metaphorically [‘thorny outside but sweet inside’, cf. Oring 1981] to Jewish children born in Palestine during the British mandate (roughly, between the early 1920s and late 1940s). These youngsters’ formative years were spent in the preÂ� statehood educational system and in other socializing contexts such as the Zionist youth movements, where the mythic image of the native-born New Jew, the Sabra, was cultivated. (2004:€139).

The construction of the identity of this New Jew, an identity now in decline (Kimmerling 2001, Katriel 2004, and see Chapter 4), involved first and foremost constructing new social practices and in particular, new ways of speaking and interacting. The main staple of these new ways of interacting is the Sabra’s dugri (‘direct’) speaking style (Katriel 1986, 2004), which emerged in opposition to the speaking style of the Diaspora Jew. While forthrightness is not at issue in this chapter (but see Chapter 4), this characteristic of the Sabra speaking style goes along with another, more relevant characteristic: According to the “New Jew” ideology, the Israeli Jew was to be everything the Diaspora Jew was not. In communicative terms, this cultural gesture of refusal implied the rejection of ways of speaking associated with Jewish diaspora life, [and] with European bourgeois culture. [...] As depicted in Zionist ideology, diaspora Jews’ ways of responding to life’s exigencies, and especially their ways of interacting with the non-Jewish world, were marked by a sense of restrictiveness, defensiveness, and passivity as an adaptive mechanism. Traditionally, Jews recognized the value of using speech adroitly as a way of coping with a potentially hostile environment. Furthermore, Jewish talmudic tradition colored Jews’ disposition toward pilpul, an elaborate form of discussion that involved a recognition of the complexity and many-sidedness of issues, the inherent ambiguity of human affairs, and the role of confrontation and debate in clarifying issues. […The New Jew, by contrast, was to prefer] the modernist, pragmatic ethic underlying the Sabra’s straight talk, which privileged nonmanipulative openness, simplicity of expression, and explicitness of purpose. (2004:€140–141).

In this new way of speaking, then, not only forthrightness, but also terseness and speaking ‘to the point’ are valued. The New Jew is no longer to be debilitated by a sensitivity to the complexity of issues and to external social pressures leading to obfuscation and indirectness. When “simplicity of expression” and “explicitness of purpose” are the preferred ways of speaking, it is not surprising that digressions, while very common, will be perceived as an object of reproach.

chapter 4

The cognitive realm The discourse marker ke'ilu: Realizing the need to rephrase

1. Introduction1 In a comparative study of the English discourse marker like and its French equivalent genre, Fleischman and Yaguello (1999, 2004) address the question posed by Traugott of “whether there are cross-language generalizations to be made about the development of discourse particles in terms of both their likely semantic sources and their semantic-pragmatic paths” (Traugott 1995a: 4). In particular, Fleischman and Yaguello address this question in relation to the phenomenon of different languages independently grammaticizing markers with the same range of functions, and having similar lexical sources in their corresponding languages. In the case of English like and French genre, this lexical source involves some comparative meaning “whereby an item is considered in relation to a norm or paradigm” (2004:€139). In the case of Hebrew talk-in-interaction, we find the use of two more elements involving comparative meaning, kaze (‘like’, lit. ‘like this’) and ke'ilu (‘like’, lit. ‘as if ’). Examine, for instance, the following excerpt recorded in Haifa in 1998, from a conversation between two close friends in their early twenties, David and Dalia. David, while cooking some soup in his student-apartment kitchen, describes to Dalia how, as part of his day at work, he ran after a guy whose tractor it was his job to repossess: Excerpt 1 (‘Tractor Chase’): 46 David: .... ve'ani kmo metumtám, and I like an idiot, 47

... rodéf 'axaràv. am running after him.

1. A similar study, based on only 28 conversations comprising the present corpus, appeared as Maschler 2002b ‘On the Grammaticization of ke'ilu (‘like’, lit. ‘as if ’) in Hebrew Talk-in-Interaction’ in Language in Society 31: 243–276. It has been extended and revised here to fit in with the present study. The article was dedicated to the memory of Suzanne Fleischman. Section 7 is new but contains a few paragraphs published in Maschler 2001.

 Metalanguage in Interaction

48

... ke'ilu like

49

.. barégel, by foot,

50

'axarèy tráktor, after [a] tractor,

51

betòx kol habóts haze? in all the mud this in all this mud?

52

... veke'ilu haragláyim sh'xa, and like the feet your (masc. sg.) and like your feet,

53

nitka'ot bifním kaze, get stuck inside like get stuck inside like,



kx kx kx kx. {sounds imitating the sound of feet in the mud}

54

55

... bekitsúr vela'inyá--n, in short and to the point in short,

56

... 'axaré--y, after,

57

.. mirdáf she--, a chase that,

58

ne'eràx kemispàr dakó--t, lasted roughly a few minutes,

59

.... hitslàxti lehagia 'ad latráktor, I managed to get to the tractor,

There are two tokens of the utterance ke'ilu in this excerpt and one token of kaze, both translated into English here as ‘like’. Both words begin with the Hebrew preposition of comparison k(e)- (‘as’, ‘like’)2. In the case of ke'ilu, this preposition is attached to the conjunction of hypothetical conditionals, or counterfactual conjunction 'ilu (‘if ’, irrealis). In the case of kaze, it is attached to the demonstrative ze (‘this’, masc. sg.). Literally, then, ke'ilu is to be translated as ‘as if, as though’ and kaze as ‘like this’. However, new uses have emerged for these two utterances in Hebrew

2. The element of comparison k(e)- is apparent also in line 46, in the preposition kmo ‘like’.



Chapter 4.╇ The cognitive realm 

talk-in-interaction, different from their literal meanings. This chapter is concerned with the emergence of these new meanings, focusing on the case of ke'ilu. Non-literal uses of kaze and ke'ilu have become extremely widespread over the past decade or so, particularly in the language of younger Israelis, to the point that they are often stigmatized as ‘the kaze ke'ilu generation’, who employ these expressions ‘too frequently’ in prescriptivists’ eyes. The Slang Lexicon (1993) defines both of these words as “void fillers which find their way into the sentence for no reason” (translation mine). In September 1990, an issue of the Israeli magazine Politika, dealing with Israeli society, policy, and culture (Samet 1990), was devoted to the study of the then 16–21 year-olds. The subtitle of that issue was dor hakaze ke'ilu, ‘the kaze ke'ilu generation’. In that magazine, we find an article by Ariel Hirschfeld entitled 'al kaze veke'ilu (‘On kaze and ke'ilu’) in which Hirschfeld, a literary critic at the Hebrew University who also teaches at a prestigious high school in Jerusalem, discusses these expressions from a cultural-philosophical perspective, based, among other things, on his conversations with his students. Hirschfeld’s study is often linguistically naïve, but his students provide an angle which complements the present study from a cultural perspective, adding what might be found if one were to conduct playback interviews (Gumperz 1982) with participants. I will therefore return to Hirschfeld’s findings throughout this chapter. Hirschfeld ends his essay with the statement that when these high school students “grow up and graduate from the army, the kaze and the ke'ilu disappear from their language” (1990:€9, translation mine). Over almost two decades later, now that these teenagers have long graduated from the army to become adults, kaze and ke'ilu have far from disappeared from the language. About a decade following Hirschfeld’s article, kaze and ke'ilu had become associated with a style of speaking called tsfóni (‘Northern’) in Israel. The stress on the first syllable of tsfóni indicates that the implication is not Northern Israel, but rather Northern Tel Aviv, i.e. the most urban and yuppie region in the country. In an interview with Shula Modan, a woman in her early fifties, a successful publisher, psychotherapist, and author of novels, children’s books, and a ‘down to earth’ cookbook, we find two relevant utterances. She is cited in a weekend issue of the Ha'aretz daily newspaper, criticizing the pretentious yuppie culinary tradition that has been sweeping Israeli society in recent years: hakol kaze-ke'ilu, lo shayax latarbut shelanu, ba mibaxuts. ‘Everything is kaze-ke'ilu, doesn’t belong in our culture, comes from outside’.

 Metalanguage in Interaction

Modan is described by the interviewer as soledet mitarbut hahay vehabay umityaxeset bevuz lanefixut shenotsra sviv nose habishul, bimdorey ha'oxel ba'itonim uvesifrey bishul 'axerim. “hakaze vehake'ilu”, hi mexana 'et hatofa'a, kmo bat kfar shebemikre legamrey nikle'a la'ir hagdola. ‘revolted by the culture of the ‘hi’ and the ‘bye’ [i.e., by the use of English words often punctuating Hebrew speech] and treating with contempt the pompousness created around the topic of cooking, in the food columns of the papers and in other cookbooks. “The kaze and the ke'ilu”, she calls these phenomena, like a villager who happened upon the big city’ (Lori 2000:€87–88, translation mine).

There was also a comedy show in the 1990s called kaze ke'ilu. And in a best-seller (Zeltzer 2000:€68–69) about charming corners to visit in Israel, a section describing trendy cafés on Shenkin Street – perhaps Tel Aviv’s most yuppie street – in which to enjoy a Friday3 morning breakfast, is entitled ‘Tel Avivi kaze ke'ilu’. One of these cafés is called kafe kaze. Finally, my daughter attending elementary school during the late 1990s was instructed by her teacher not to use kaze ke'ilu when speaking up in class. I cite all this to emphasize that the frequent employment of kaze and ke'ilu has gained attention not only among linguists, but among lay-people as well. Furthermore, they ‘go together’ in people’s perception, suggesting that they share some properties in common. Kaze, however, is not a discourse marker since it is not very high in the metalingual dimension and hardly ever occurs intonation-unit initially (see Chapter 1, Section 5). I focus here only on ke'ilu, while the functions of kaze are investigated in Maschler 2001. New uses of ke'ilu have emerged, of course, not only in the language of youngsters, and not only among yuppies from Northern Tel Aviv. For example, in a study of Hebrew-English bilingual conversation, a close comparison was made between the speech of the same two speakers at two time periods, twelve years apart (Maschler 2000c). The first set of data was collected in Jerusalem in 1986 and 1987, and the second set was collected in 1998, when the speakers were in their mid-forties. From no cases of non-literal ke'ilu in the 40-minute 1986 corpus or in the 20 hours of follow-up interviews conducted with these speakers in 1987, to 9 cases of nonliteral ke'ilu in the 33-minute interaction twelve years later, we can clearly see that ke'ilu has entered the bilingual grammar emerging in these speakers’ talk as well (Maschler 1997b).

3. The weekend spans Friday and Saturday for most Israelis. Friday morning, when the children are in daycare or at school but the shops are open, is a time many young adults enjoy leisure activities not involving children, such as relaxing with the weekend paper in a café.



Chapter 4.╇ The cognitive realm 

Fleischman and Yaguello 2004 mention ke'ilu as one ‘equivalent’ of English Ke'ilu was investigated as part of the general study of the system of discourse markers segmenting Hebrew talk-in-interaction (Maschler 1997a, 1998b, 2002a, see Chapter 1, Table 2). In those studies, which examined only tokens collected in the period 1994–1997 (at most 16 of the 50 conversations of the present database), only those tokens of ke'ilu (1) functioning metalingually in the contexts in which they occurred, and (2) occurring at intonation-unit initial position (or in a discourse marker cluster at intonation-unit initial position) were investigated. Ke'ilu satisfying these two requirements was characterized as a cognitive discourse marker of ‘realizing the need to rephrase’. For example, the ke'ilu of excerpt 1, line 48, manifests this function. In the two preceding lines (46–47), David describes himself running after the man driving the tractor: ve'ani kmo metumtám, rodéf 'axaràv. (‘and I like an idiot, am running after him.’). Following this statement comes a rephrasal, further explicating the phrase ‘like an idiot’ and elaborating on the ridiculousness of the situation: by foot, after a tractor, in all this mud? (lines 49–51). This further elaboration along with the rising question intonation at the end of the utterance suggest that the motivation for rephrasal here is the need to involve the audience. Preceding this self-rephrasal is the discourse marker ke'ilu, fulfilling both requirements for prototypical discourse markerhood: (1) It functions metalingually, referring to the cognitive processes of the speaker (realizing the need to rephrase) as opposed to referring to something in the extralingual world. In other words, the expression ke'ilu itself refers to what is happening in the speaker’s mind during verbalization, a process that may be paraphrased as ‘what I just said should be rephrased / elaborated on....’. (2) It appears at intonation-unit initial position (line 48), following final intonation in same-speaker talk (line 47)5. Henkin 1999 studied the hedging functions of kaze and ke'ilu, among other expressions, based on modern Hebrew informal written discourse6. However, her like4.

4. Given the fact that the Israelis of this corpus are quite fluent in English (it is the most prominent second language among the Jewish population of the country and is learned at schools starting from around fourth grade and often earlier), we must consider the possibility that the grammaticization of Hebrew ke'ilu was influenced by that of English like. This possibility is highly unlikely, first, because there are some significant differences in the grammaticization of the two (see below); and second, because, as Jane Hill has pointed out to me (p.c.), Israelis speaking English do not use like in the American way. 5. However, we will see below that ke'ilu differs from the other discourse markers in the database in that it often follows non-final intonation in same speaker talk as well. 6. A few tokens of ke'ilu in Henkin’s study consist of isolated utterances collected on a Kibbutz (1999:120, footnote 21).

 Metalanguage in Interaction

study focuses mostly on kaze. Henkin is aware of the “distortion of the spoken language in its representation in literature” (1999:€118, footnote 2, translation mine). Ke'ilu has other functions in the discourse besides hedging and self-rephrasal. Maschler 2002b investigates these functions in 28 out of the 50 conversations comprising the corpus of the present study, i.e. those collected during the years 1994–1999. In the present chapter, I investigate the various uses of ke'ilu on the basis of its distribution in the entire 50 conversation corpus, i.e. including the 2000–2002 data. I examine all tokens of this word found throughout the database – those considered prototypical discourse markers in previous studies as well as those that were not, and those that occur both intonation-unit-initially and noninitially – in hope of further contributing to the elucidation of the grammaticization and functional itinerary of this word and to the question posed in Traugott 1995a concerning implications for cross-language pragmatics. 2. Data and methodology The 50 conversations of the Haifa Corpus of Spoken Israeli Hebrew (Maschler 2004) on which the present study is based (see Chapter 1, Section 3) are divided into two groups according to time of data collection: (1) 25 conversations comprising approximately 79 minutes of talk collected during the years 1994–1997, (2) 25 conversations comprising approximately 72 minutes of talk collected during the years 1998–20027. All tokens of ke'ilu employed throughout the database were considered for this study. Altogether, there were 120 tokens of ke'ilu. Table 1 shows only the non-literal tokens, as they were distributed throughout the two time periods of data collection. Altogether, there were 113 tokens of non-literal ke'ilu. Table 1.╇ Distribution of non-literal tokens of ke'ilu 1994–1997 data 79 minutes

1998–2002 data 72 minutes

Total (1994–2002) 151 minutes

31

82

113

7. The cut-off point was decided to be 1997/98 because this is when it seemed to me that kaze and ke'ilu had begun to become extremely widespread. Coincidentally, it turned out that this resulted in two sub-corpora of similar size. Since the conversations were collected in a similar fashion in the case of both sub-corpora, the average age of speakers is roughly the same in the two databases (mostly students in their early twenties, with family members occassionally participating). None of the speakers contributed to both sub-corpora.



Chapter 4.╇ The cognitive realm 

The 1998–2002 data, then, show significantly more employment of ke'ilu in its non-literal uses compared to the 1994–1997 database. Ke'ilu is employed at an average frequency of one token approximately every 2.55 minutes in the earlier data, as opposed to one token approximately every 0.88 minutes in the later corpus. Compared with the figure of one token approximately every 0.4 minutes for the 1998–1999 database (Maschler 2002b), this data supports the general impression that this word has continued to greatly proliferate in the language during the later years of corpus construction. 3. A quantitative perspective on the different functions of ke'ilu Surveying several studies of English like and examining their own data on like and its French equivalent genre, Fleischman and Yaguello (1999, 2004) summarize the following pragmatic functions of English like: HEDGE (Schourup 1985, Jucker and Smith 1998, Andersen 1998) FOCUS MARKER (Underhill 1988, Miller and Weinert 1998) QUOTATIVE (Blythe et al. 1990, Butters 1982, Schourup 1985, Tannen 1986, 1989, Romaine and Lange 1991, Ferrara and Bell 1995, Fleischman 1995, Haiman 1993, Lucy 1993, Tagliamonte and Hudson 1999). These functions of English like were found relevant for Hebrew ke'ilu to differing extents. Table 2 shows that another function – self-rephrasal (not considered as a separate category by Fleischman and Yaguello) is crucial when we consider this expression. Table 2 shows that about half the ke'ilu tokens (48.3%) are employed in selfrephrasals. The second most common use of ke'ilu is that of focus marker (29.2%); next comes its hedging function (13.3%). Seven ke'ilu tokens (5.8%) are employed in the literal sense, and there are only 4 ke'ilu tokens (3.3%) preceding quotes. Fleischman and Yaguello suggest the following functional itineraries for English like and French genre. Table 2.╇ Functional distribution of ke'ilu tokens LITERAL (‘as if ’)

HEDGE

FOCUS

SELFREPHRASAL

QUOTE

TOTAL

7 (5.8%)

16 (13.3%)

35 (29.2%)

58 (48.3%)

4 (3.3%)

120 (100%)

 Metalanguage in Interaction

LEXICAL MEANING: ‘similar to’, ‘approximately’

FOCUS

?

QUOTATIVE

?

HEDGE

Figure 1.╇ Development of the pragmatic functions of like/genre (Fleischman and Yaguello 1999)

As illustrated in this figure, Fleischman and Yaguello see the three functions of focus, quotative, and hedge as stemming from the lexical meanings of these words in English and French, and they hypothesize that there are also paths of development between these three functions in the two languages. The analysis presented below will support this hypothesis for Hebrew as well. We turn now to a qualitative analysis of the functions of ke'ilu in order to understand the employment and functional itinerary of this utterance in Hebrew. 4. Functional distribution of ke'ilu: A qualitative perspective 4.1

Ke'ilu as a conjunction in the literal sense

Ke'ilu has an additional element of lexical meaning in comparison to English like, because it is composed not only of the comparative k(e)-, but also of the irrealis conditional 'ilu. We will see how this affects its functional itinerary. 'ilu itself is composed of the conditional conjunction 'im (‘if ’) plus the hypothetical conditional, or counterfactual conjunction lu. The definitions Even-Shoshan’s dictionary (1986) gives for ke'ilu are: kmo 'ilu (‘as hypothetical if, as though’) (i.e., a conjunction) and dome le- (‘similar to’). I relate to the latter meaning of ke'ilu in the next section. As a conjunction in the literal sense, ke'ilu is found already in Talmudic Hebrew: bexol dor vador xayav 'adam lir'ot 'et 'atsmo ke'ilu hu yatsa mimitsrayim ‘In every generation one is obliged to see oneself as though he/she him/herself had actually gone forth from Egypt’ (Psaxim 10:5, translation mine).

There are only 7 tokens of ke'ilu throughout the database in this literal conjunction sense (‘as if ’, ‘as though’). For instance, in the following excerpt, Roni, a secular Israeli, ridicules the minute details of keeping the Jewish custom of letting the soil rest every seventh year (called ‘the shmita year’) by not planting anything in it during that whole year. In the following utterance he is talking about a plant in a flower pot with a hole in its bottom (i.e., having contact with the soil):



Chapter 4.╇ The cognitive realm 

Excerpt 2 (‘Shmita Year’): 144 Roni: 'asúr lehaziz 'oto mimkomò bixlal. it’s forbidden to move it from its place at all it’s forbidden to move it at all from its place. 145

.. ze ke'ilu she'ata shotél 'oto bemakom 'axèr. it’s as though that you plant it in place another it’s as though you plant it in another place.

Roni says that a flower pot that has contact with the soil may not be moved from its place all shmita year (line 144). If one moved it, that would count ke'ilu (as though) one had planted it in another place (line 145), an action that is against the shmita custom. We see that ke'ilu is used here literally at intonation-unit non-initial position, immediately preceding the subordinator she- (‘that’) and a full accompanying clause: 'ata shotel 'oto bemakom 'axer (‘you plant it in another place’). Literal ke'ilu is also found at intonation-unit initial position. The following conversation concerning an opera singer takes place between a man, Eyal, and two women, Yonat and Hila: Excerpt 3 (‘Women’): 145 Eyal: .. hi hayta kazót magnivà, she was like this cool she was so cool, 146

... vehi gam shára, and she also sang,

147

.. kol káx magnìv, so cool,

148

.. shepit'óm, that suddenly,

149 Yonat: 150 Eyal:

baxura tse'irá? woman young a young woman? ... kén. yeah.

151 Yonat: ... 'ani yodá'at mì zot. I know who this I know who she is. 152 Eyal:

.. pit'om kaláteti, suddenly I got it,

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153

ve'amárti, and I said,

154

... waí, wow

155 Hila:

má 'at yodà'at mì zot! what [do you mean] you know who this what [do you mean] you know who she is!

156

.. ke'ìlu sheyésh 'eh, as if that there is uh as if there’s uh,

157

.. zamèret 'opera 'axát. singer opera one one opera singer.

Eyal begins to tell about an opera singer he found very attractive (lines 145–147). Yonat overlaps him, asking whether she is young (line 149). When Eyal answers affirmatively (line 150), Yonat says she knows who the singer is (line 151). Hila then objects at line 155: what [do you mean] you know who she is! ke'ilu (‘as if ’) there's uh one opera singer (lines 155–157). Here, again, the literal meaning of ke'ilu is used, and it is followed by the subordinator she- (‘that’) and a full clause (spanning two intonation units). Note that both here and in the preceding example, the hypothetical condition is ridiculed by the speaker. In this database, ke'ilu as a conjunction in the literal sense almost always8 precedes a full clause which often begins with the subordinator she- (‘that’). We have seen that this use of ke'ilu is extremely limited – only 5.8% of all tokens of ke'ilu throughout the database (7 out of 120 tokens). 8. In one of the 7 cases, there is no full clause following literal ke'ilu. The speaker describes two drunken women who had had a serious fight upon coming home at night, but in the morning woke up ke'ilu klum (‘as if nothing’):

‘Drunk on Campus’:

169 Yifat: .. lemoxorat, the next day, 170

kamot baboker, [they] wake up in the morning,

171

ke'ilu klum. as if nothing.

172

.. lo zaxru klum. not remember nothing didn’t remember anything.



Chapter 4.╇ The cognitive realm 

4.2

Ke'ilu as hedge

Henkin 1999 examined ke'ilu as a hedge in informal written Hebrew discourse. In the present corpus of spoken discourse, we find only 13.3% of ke'ilu tokens functioning as hedges. The hedging function is related to one of the uses of ke'ilu listed in Even-Shoshan’s 1986 dictionary: dome le- (‘similar to’), and is derived directly from the approximative meaning of the preposition k(e)-. When ke'ilu functions as a hedge, the speaker acknowledges a mismatch between what is said and “what he/ she has in mind or feel ideally might or should be said” (Fleischman and Yaguello 2004:€131). There is a ‘loose fit’ (Schourup 1985) between the expression and the intended meaning. Interestingly, since the publication of the initial version of my study of ke'ilu (Maschler 2002b), in the recently published 2003 edition of Even-Shoshan’s dictionary, ke'ilu has changed its status. In the 1986 version of this dictionary, it does not appear as an entry of its own but rather as a sub-entry of 'ilu (the irrealis conditional conjunction) with the two meanings of kmo 'ilu (‘as hypothetical if, as though’) (i.e., a conjunction) and dome le- (‘similar to’). It is listed there, as we have seen, as originating already in Talmudic Hebrew. In the 2003 version of the dictionary, however, ke'ilu appears in addition to this as an entry of its own. There it is listed as an adverb, and two additional meanings from the modern period of Hebrew are given: 1) kivyaxol (‘supposedly’) and 2) [colloquial] haba'a hamexuvenet lehaxlish 'et mashma'ut hadvarim (‘an expression meant to weaken the meaning of the utterance’), in other words, a hedge. Neither of these new definitions, however, covers the additional functions of ke'ilu found in the present study. Henkin characterizes hedging ke'ilu as common mostly in conversation between people of differing status (1999:â•›116). The spoken data upon which the present study is based consist mostly of interactions among friends, often very close ones. Status distinctions play no role in their relationships. Nevertheless, their speech shows a considerable degree of hedging ke'ilu. The position of hedging ke'ilu relative to the element it hedges is flexible. In this corpus, we find it preceding the utterance it modifies, following it, and also in the middle of the modified utterance. 4.2.1 Post-positioned ke'ilu as hedge In the following excerpt, the mismatch between the words chosen and the meaning intended is commented on in the continuation of the text: The following intonation unit (line 172), comprised of a repetition of klum (‘nothing’) of line 171 in a clause construction (as object of the clause lo zaxru klum (lit. ‘didn’t remember nothing’)), supports the interpretation of this occurrence of ke'ilu as the conjunction ‘as if ’ in the literal sense.

 Metalanguage in Interaction

Excerpt 4 (‘Family Gossip’): 183 Sara: ... 'axshav hú--, now he 184

.... tsoxék 'aleha ke'ìlu, laughs at her sort of,

185

.. káxa ze hate this is the desc

186

.. te'ùr shel ronít. description of Ronit this is Ronit’s description.

187

.. má zot 'omeret hu tsoxèk 'aleha, what this says he laughs at her what does it mean ‘he laughs at her’,

188

.. hu 'omér la, he says to her,

189

.. 'an’ló mevin mà lakaxt 'arixà--, I don’t understand what you took editing I don’t understand why you took editing,

190

... 'at me'òd 'ití--t, you’re very slow,

Sara is discussing a couple, Ronit and her boyfriend. The man is highly critical of Ronit’s choice of taking an editing course. Sara uses the verb tsoxek 'aleha (‘laughs at her/ridicules her’, line 184) to describe this lack of respect for Ronit’s decision, but she immediately realizes it is not adequate for what she intends. Sara hedges it with ke'ilu and continues to relate to the inadequacy of her choice of words: they are Ronit’s words kaxa ze hate'ur shel ronit (‘this is Ronit’s description’, lines 185– 186), not Sara’s. She further explicates this choice of words – ma zot 'omeret9 hu tsoxek 'aleha (‘what does it mean “he laughs at her”’, line 187) – by providing an instantiation of his lack of respect: he says to her ‘I don’t understand why you took editing, you’re very slow’ (lines 188–190). These further explanations indicate the speaker’s lack of satisfaction with her initial word choice. 4.2.2 Pre-positioned ke'ilu as hedge In the following excerpt, Eyal describes the type of woman he likes: 9. Note the metalingual utterance ma zot 'omeret (‘what does it mean’) here. This, I think, is the origin of one equivalent of the discourse marker ke'ilu, s'tomeret (‘I mean’, lit. ‘this means’), see Section 4.4.



Chapter 4.╇ The cognitive realm 

Excerpt 5 (‘Women’): 99 Eyal:

lì gám, to me also I too,

100

haytà 'et hahitgalút hazot. there was the revelation this had this revelation.

101

.. tamíd 'ani 'ahàvti, always I liked I always used to like

102

baxurót ke'ilu, young women like young women like,

103

shenir'òt mamash fíks. who look really perfect.

104

.. ke'ilu, like,

105

.. 'at yoda'at, you know,

106

.. razót ka'elu, thin like these thin sort of,

107

.. 'im... xazè gadól, with... bust large with a large bust,

108

.. ve.. yi.. sheyihiyù norà yafót, and..the..they should be terribly pretty,

109

.. ve-- and

110

.. vekol miney shtuyót ka'èlu. and all sorts of nonsense like these.

'eh bapaním, uh in [their] face,

To describe the type of woman he used to like, Eyal uses the expression nir'ot mamash fiks (‘look really fiks’, line 103). Fiks is slang for something that is perfect, just the way it should be. The inadequacy of this expression for the present context in Eyal’s mind is indicated by the hedge ke'ilu immediately preceding the expression

 Metalanguage in Interaction

(line 102), as well as by his continuing to elaborate10 on what this woman should look like (lines 106–110). The feeling of inadequacy may also be related to a certain discomfort Eyal may feel about this sexual and not very politically correct topic. His point, or the ‘revelation’ he refers to (lines 99–100), is that he discovered that he is not really attracted to this type of woman any more. 4.2.3 Interpersonal constraints on hedging ke'ilu Hedging ke'ilu is often employed at ‘uncomfortable’ moments, such as moments of a certain embarrassment about the topic discussed, or about imposing on the addressee. In excerpt 6, a conversation between one unmarried couple about another couple, the woman is described as having asked the man, previously married, to move in with her: Excerpt 6 (‘Breaking up’): 45 Amir: .. hi bikshá mimeno, she asked him, 46

ke'ílu--, like,

47

.. sheya'avrù.. lagur beyáxad, that they move in to live together to move in together,

48

ve-and

49

.... bekitsúr, in short,

50

lehitmaséd shuv. to become established again.

The delicate matter of asking a partner to move in together is hedged by ke'ilu (line 46). Although these words are in the speaker’s voice11, rather than being the constructed dialogue (Tannen 1989) of the woman who had made the request, this is

10. This elaboration is also preceded by ke'ilu (line 104), a case of self-rephrasal dealt with in Section 4.4. 11. The distinction between ‘direct’ and ‘indirect’ speech in Hebrew is quite clear, as the latter always involves some ‘subordinating’ element such as she-. At the beginning of line 47 we find this element of ‘subordination’ she-. In addition, the verb of line 47 is in third person: ya'avru (‘they will move in’).



Chapter 4.╇ The cognitive realm 

a delicate matter for the speaker, since he is telling this story to his girlfriend, and the issue of getting married is in the background for this couple as well12. In the following part of ‘Family Gossip’, we find self-mockery about the speaker’s own use of hedging ke'ilu: Excerpt 7 (‘Family Gossip’): 264 Sara: 'az hi 'oméret, so she says, 265

.. ma-what

266

.. bikóret notnì--m, cricitism one gives,

267

... kshemáshehu, when something,

268

... boné. is constructive.

269

... 'aval 'im ben 'adá--m 'eh, but if a person uh,

270

... ma'avìr bikóret, passes criticism criticizes,

271

.. bebèn zúg, [one’s] partner,

272

... she--, that,

273

... xayím ke'ilu beyàxad, live like together one like lives with,

274

... veke'ìlu 'ohavím, and like love and like loves,

12. The employment of ke'ilu here may also be related to the fact that we are dealing with a case of reported speech. The speaker is reporting on the speech of someone else, and this is always only an approximation of what was actually said (see Section 4.5). Furthermore, ke'ilu may be hedging not only the request itself, but also the verb biksha (‘asked’) introducing it, as the request was perhaps not made explicitly. However, the interpersonal constraints seem to me more acute here.

 Metalanguage in Interaction

275

.. ve ke'ìlu ke'ílu, and ke'ilu ke'ilu,

276

.... 'az, then,

277

... má habikoret hazot 'osá, what the criticism this does what does this criticism do,

278

.. rak mesaréset, only castrates,

279

.. ve'od moridá 'et habitaxón ha'atsmì. and also lowers the confidence the self and also lowers one’s self-confidence.

The speaker, Sara, is a parent discussing a couple of the younger generation living together out of wedlock. She is speaking in the voice of the woman, but this voice coincides with her own thoughts on the matter, as we know from the remainder of the conversation. The first two ke'ilu tokens (lines 273–274) are hedges of sensitive or emotional topics: xayim beyaxad (‘living together’, line 273) and 'ohavim (‘love’, line 274). The second two ke'ilu tokens (line 275), however, are a self-mockery about her own abundant use of ke'ilu’s. Line 273 also provides an example of hedging ke'ilu occurring at mid-utterance position: xayim ke'ilu beyaxad (‘live ke'ilu together’). Hedging ke'ilu is found not only in self-mockery, but also in actual contexts of parody. I could not find any such instances in the database, but a newspaper review of the televised Miss Israel contest, entitled ke'ilu malkot yofi (‘ke'ilu Miss Universes’, lit. ‘ke'ilu beauty queens’), supplies a wealth of examples. The journalist sarcastically describes the 20 participants in the contest – floating in gondolas in a hotel in Las Vegas, of which one of the floors was reconstructed as Venice – in a show hosted by Nir Xaxlili, who is known, according to the journalist, as “the Israeli Richard Gere”: lo be'emet venetsia, ke'ilu. vexaxlili hu ke'ilu richard gir. ve“malkat hayofi” hi ke'ilu malkat yofi. veha'ish baxalifat hadonald dak bedisnilend hu ke'ilu donald dak. kax shelo tsarix lehizda'em mitaxarut malkat hayofi. ze misxak beke'ilu. harov yod'im sheha'ish baxalifat hadonald dak 'eyneno donald dak, veshehabaxura hanirgeshet 'im haketer 'al harosh 'eynena malkat hayofi. 'ela she-20 hamo'amadot hasofiyot lo behexrax yod'ot shehakol ke'ilu. lo yod'ot shehen ke'ilu 20 hamo'amadot hasofiyot betaxarut ke'ilu malkat hayofi. ze 'ikron hake'ilu: kedey lihiyot “ke'ilu” yesh lehityaxes 'elav ke'el “be'emet”. mila ktana, ke'ilu. yesh lishkol lehosifa lato'ar: “ke'ilu malkat hayofi”.



Chapter 4.╇ The cognitive realm 

Not really Venice, ke'ilu. And Xaxlili is ke'ilu Richard Gere. And “the beauty queen” is a ke'ilu beauty queen. And the man in the Donald Duck suit in Disneyland is ke'ilu Donald Duck. So there’s no need to become enraged about the beauty queen contest. It’s a game of ke'ilu. Most people know that the man in the Donald Duck suit is not Donald Duck, and that the ecstatic young woman with the crown on her head is not the beauty queen. But the final 20 candidates don’t necessarily know it’s all ke'ilu. Don’t know that they are ke'ilu the final 20 candidates in the ke'ilu beauty queen contest. This is the ke'ilu principle: in order to be a ke'ilu one must relate to it as real. A tiny word, ke'ilu. One should consider adding it to the title: “the ke'ilu beauty queen” (Alper 2000, Ha'aretz daily newspaper, translation mine13).

There is an allusion here to a very common activity among young children, pretend play, which in Israel is known as lesaxek beke'ilu (‘playing ke'ilu’)14. This expression is, of course, directly related to the literal meanings of ke'ilu – the conjunction ‘as if ’, as well as the hedging meaning ‘close (to reality), but not quite it’. All hedging ke'ilu tokens in the database hedge the predication of the utterance15 – either the predicate along with some of its complements (e.g., as in excerpt 4), or the entire clause (e.g., as in excerpt 6). We have seen that the position of hedging ke'ilu is flexible in relation to the utterance it modifies. 4.3

Ke'ilu as focus marker

In this database, 29.2% of all tokens of ke'ilu function as focus markers. These tokens of ke'ilu do not carry any of the meanings specified in the dictionaries for this utterance (i.e., ‘as though’ or ‘similar to’, ‘supposedly’, or ‘used as a hedge’). The concept of focus marking employed here builds on that developed by Lambrecht: “The focus is that portion of a proposition which cannot be taken for granted at the time of speech. It is the UNPREDICTABLE or pragmatically NON-RECOVERABLE element in an utterance” (1994:€207). Lambrecht’s full definition is as follows: 13. I thank Rivki Ribak for showing me this passage. 14. Henkin (1991) argues that in order to mark their play as ‘pretend play’, Israeli children employ the past tense in utterances referring to the present. This, she argues, has to do with the fact that the counterfactual conditional ('i)lu (‘if, irrealis’) must combine with a verb in the past tense (in adult speech); as, e.g., in Fiddler on the Roof ’s famous song lu hayiti rotshild (‘if I were a rich man’, lit. ‘if I were Rothschild’). The verb hayiti (‘I were’) is in simple past tense (lit. ‘I was’). The past tense here represents a modal distance from reality. 15. Most tokens of ke'ilu in the newspaper passage above (Alper 2000) are different from the tokens appearing in the spoken database, in that they hedge nominal nuclei as opposed to predications, e.g., ke'ilu malkat hayofi (‘the ke'ilu beauty queen’).

 Metalanguage in Interaction

Focus: The semantic component of a pragmatically structured proposition whereby the assertion differs from the presupposition. (ibid.: 213).

The terms ‘assertion’ and ‘presupposition’ are defined as follows: Pragmatic Presupposition: The set of propositions lexicogrammatically evoked in a sentence which the speaker assumes the hearer already knows or is ready to take for granted at the time the sentence is uttered. Pragmatic Assertion: The proposition expressed by a sentence which the hearer is expected to know or take for granted as a result of hearing the sentence uttered. (ibid.: 52).

Although focused information is frequently the accented constituent, Lambrecht argues (ibid.: 214–257) that at the theoretical level, the two concepts of focus and emphasis must be kept distinct. The means for focus marking may be prosodic (as in accentuation), morphological, syntactic, or some combination of these. However, Lambrecht’s criteria of ‘unpredictable’, ‘non-recoverable’, and ‘cannot be taken for granted’ are somewhat too weak, since they can also apply to utterances which are not in focus. I would add the adjective ‘surprising’ to Lambrecht’s list of attributes. The focused part, then, is that portion of the utterance which the speaker finds unpredictable, non-recoverable, and surprising. It is the portion which cannot be taken for granted that the speaker draws the hearer’s attention to most. Fleischman and Yaguello, citing Underhill 1988, mention that like “marks as focal information whatever occurs to the right16 of it […], which can be a word […], a phrase […], a sentence constituent […], or an entire utterance” (2004:€131). Focusmarking ke'ilu, too, is flexible in terms of its position relative to the focused utterance. In 23 out of 35 cases (65.7%), ke'ilu marks as focal information immediately following it; in the remaining 12 cases (34.3%) it marks as focal information immediately preceding it. In this corpus, it does not occur at mid-utterance position.

16. The written- (and formal syntax-) biased expressions ‘to the right of ’ and ‘to the left of ’ are of course irrelevant for Hebrew, which is written right-to-left. In any event, I agree with Auer 2000, who concludes that “the supposed parallel between ‘left’ and ‘right’ in syntax [. . . ] is fundamentally mistaken when applied to spoken syntax; in speaking, there is no ‘left’ and ‘right’, but only ‘earlier’ and ‘later’. At least for an approach to syntax which takes the in-time (‘on-line’) emergence of (particularly) oral language units seriously, what is dealt with first and what is taken care of later cannot be seen as a decision between two logical equivalents (as between ‘right’ and ‘left’). Rather, it involves one of the most basic and far-reaching decisions a speaker can make, with all kinds of cognitive, interactional and structural repercussions” (199).



Chapter 4.╇ The cognitive realm 

4.3.1 Pre-positioned ke'ilu as focus marker In the present database, initial ke'ilu focuses phrases, verbs along with their complements, and full clauses. In the following excerpt, ke'ilu marks a phrase as focused information. This comes from a conversation between four religious Israelis in their early twenties, in which one of them tells an unusual Midrash from the Gemara17 about Jesus: Excerpt 8 (‘Lions’): 28 Yo'av: .... nixnás yeshu.. lekodesh hakodashìm, entered Jesus to the holy of holy places Jesus entered the holy of holies [in the Temple], {19 intervening intonation units} 47

... lakáx 'et hashem hameforàsh, took the name explicit took the Name of God,

48

.. ra'á 'otò, saw it,

49

.. he'etìk 'al xtáv. copied [it] out in writing.

50

... he'etík. copied [it] out.

51

... xatàx 'et ha.. yaréx shelo, cut the thigh his cut his thigh,

52

..... kará, tore,

53

... ke'ílu, like,

54

... 'im sakín. with [a] knife.



55 Eran:

56 Yo'av:

mhm. hixnis 'et hapètek bifnóxo, put in the note inside put the note inside,

17. The Talmud is comprised of the Mishnah, the first major redaction into written form of Jewish oral traditions, and the Gemara, which contains rabbinical commentaries and analysis of the Mishnah. Midrash is one method of textual interpretation employed in the Gemara.

 Metalanguage in Interaction

Yo'av relates Jesus’ act of cutting his thigh in order to put the note with the Name of God inside the thigh (so as not to forget it when he came out of the holy of holies in the Temple). He refers to this act with two verbs – xatax (‘cut’, line 51) and kara (‘tore’, line 52). Whereas one can cut a thigh or tear things without any instrument, in order to further focus this unpredictable and surprising information, he adds the method by which he cut it – with a knife (line 54). This information is prefaced with ke'ilu. Thus, ke'ilu marks here a phrase as focused information. Indeed, the audience responds to this further focus with the minimal response ‘mhm’ (line 55). We see that while hedging ke'ilu always hedges the predicate of the utterance (either with or without its complements), focus marking ke'ilu can be found modifying the verbal complement alone. In the following excerpt, ke'ilu marks a verb along with its complement as focused information. Excerpt 9 consists of the orientation of a narrative (Labov 1972) in which Eynat describes to her friend a burglary of an apartment of a mutual acquaintance: Excerpt 9 (‘Burglary’): 74 Eynat: .... 'az 'e--h, so uh, 75

... hig'ìa habáyta, [she] came home,

76

... 'axarèy hatsohoráyim, after noon in the afternoon,

77

.... 'olá bamadregòt veze, [she]climbs the stairs and so on (lit. ‘and this’),

78

... ra'atà-- zug garbáyim sh’la, [she] saw [a] pair of socks of hers,

79

.. ke'ilu zrukót 'al ha--madregòt. like thrown on the staircase.



80 Meytal: .. wow!

The focused information here is that the pair of socks the friend saw was thrown on the staircase (line 79) leading to her apartment. Not only is this not the place one normally expects to find socks, this was also the friend’s first clue to the fact that someone had broken into her apartment. Thus, we find a clause constituent (V+ verbal complement) in focus, preceded by ke'ilu. Again, the audience responds to this focus (‘wow’, line 80).



Chapter 4.╇ The cognitive realm 

In excerpt 1 above, ke'ilu focuses a full clause. Earlier, we saw how David describes himself running in the mud after the tractor. To further enhance his story, he adds the unpredictable information of his feet getting stuck in the mud (lines 52–53), along with the sound they make in this state (line 54). This is focused information, an entire clause preceded by ke'ilu (lines 52–53). Fleischman and Yaguello mention that the scope of like is often ambiguous, being marked in most cases only on the left of a focused segment (2004:€132). One solution to the problem of ambiguity that they mention is repeating like at the end of the focused segment. Interestingly, in excerpt 1, we find the other element, kaze, at the end of the focused segment (line 53). However, kaze has additional functions in this context (see Maschler 2001). 4.3.2 Post-positioned ke'ilu as focus marker There are 12 cases of ke'ilu following the constituent it focuses. In the following excerpt, ke'ilu focuses a phrase immediately preceding it. This comes from the ‘Burglary’ conversation, towards the end of the narrative. Eynat says that the current mode of operation of thieves is that they don’t even bother to bring their own gloves when breaking into an apartment. They simply use socks they find in the apartment, and the only thing they touch with their bare hands – the lock of the front door – they take with them: Excerpt 10 (‘Burglary’): 182 Eynat:

mistabèr shehayó--m, it turns out that today,

183

.. hastíl18 hu, the deal is,

184

.... hem lokxìm garbáyim, they take socks,

185

.. shel ha--nignáv ke'ìlu, belonging to the [person who was] robbed like,

186

.. hem /'afilu/ lo megi'ìm 'im ze mehabáyit. they /even/ don’t arrive with it from home they don’t even bother to bring it from home.

The focused information here is that the socks used by the thieves belong to the person whose apartment is robbed (and not, as one may predict, to the thief). This information is focused via ke'ilu following the focused phrase shel hanignav (lit. ‘of 18. The slang expression stil was explained to me by the participant who recorded the interaction as a blending of the Englishisms ‘style’ and ‘deal’.

 Metalanguage in Interaction

the stolee’, ‘of the robbed’) (line 185). However, this is a borderline case, since here ke'ilu can also be functioning as a hedge. The passive participle nignav (‘the stolee’) is not commonly used as an animate noun, to refer to the person who was robbed19. The speaker may be hedging it with the thought that she perceives some inadequacy in this word (see discussion of hedges, Section 4.2 above). It is these ambiguous cases that constitute transitional examples for the shift from the hedging meaning to the focus meaning of ke'ilu. The functional itinerary here is fairly straightforward, since hedged material is also what is in focus. In other words, the fact that the expression is not a precise ‘fit’ for the present context, too, is judged by the speaker ‘unpredictable’ or ‘non-recoverable’ for the hearer at the time of utterance. 4.3.3 Post-positioned focus-marking ke'ilu in aposiopesis In the following excerpt, Anat describes to Ran the first dive she went on. She was taken on this dive alone by the diving instructor of a course that she, Orna (also present in the interaction), and a few other girlfriends took, in order to convince her not to leave the course on the first day: Excerpt 11 (‘Diving Course’): 91 Anat: ... sha'á hayinu mitàxat lamàyim. an hour we were under (the) water. 92 Ran: .. sha'á? an hour? 93 Anat: ... vehaya.. madhí--m! {----------pp---------} and it was amazing! 94 Orna: sha'à ze harbé--. an hour is a lot. 95 .. vetaxshóv, and think (masc. sg.) [about it], 96 Anat: .. haya madhím. it was amazing. 97 Orna: .. leyòm rishón. for a day first for a first day. 98 Ran: mhm. 99 Anat: .. ve.. le--míshehi, and for someone, 19. The participle nignav (from the root √g.n.v. in the nif 'al (passive) pattern) would generally refer to the property stolen.



Chapter 4.╇ The cognitive realm 

100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107

.. she'áf pa'am lò haytà, who never was who had never been, mitàxat lamáyim, under the water under water, .. ke'ilu--, I mean, ..... ve--, and, .... vehu 'asa and he did hu 'amár li, he said to me .. lifnéy ze, beforehand, ta'así ma she'áni 'ose bamàyim. do what [ever] I do in the water.

Anat describes their being under water for a whole hour (line 91) and evaluates how amazing it was (madhim, line 93). Orna, who also participated in this diving course, further points out to the main addressee of this story, Ran, that an hour is a lot, particularly for a first day [of diving] (lines 94–95, 97). Overlapping Orna (and therefore also probably not completely aware of Orna’s utterance), Anat, to further involve her audience, repeats the predicate madhim (‘amazing’) at line 96, and adds the information and for someone who had never been under water (lines 99–101) to focus on how unusual this experience is. This information can be viewed as ‘non-recoverable’ at the time of utterance in a very local sense. Anat’s story up to this point has been very long and involved. It began over ten minutes beforehand and was punctuated by many digressions. This may be contributing to her assumption (as well as to Orna’s) that at this point in the discourse, Ran may not be thinking about this being Anat’s first dive. In other words, the speaker can assume the hearer is not ready to take this information for granted at the time the sentence is uttered. Following this focused information we find ke'ilu20. Here ke'ilu focuses a sentence constituent, the noun mishehi, (‘someone’, fem. sg.) along with a relative clause modifying it she'af pa'am lo hayta mitaxat lamayim (‘who had never been under water’). Beginning with the preposition le- (‘for’), we see that this entire sentence constituent functions as a complement of a predicate 20. I translate this token with English I mean, which seems to better capture the function of ke'ilu here.

 Metalanguage in Interaction

in a sentence that was never completed. Furthermore, ke'ilu is uttered in continuing intonation, but the speaker, following a longer than average pause (line 102), never completes it and moves on to a different matter – what the guide had told her before the dive (lines 103–107). This is a case of the trope, or figure of speech, rhetoricians term ‘aposiopesis’ (Quinn 1982); its function is “suddenly discontinuing speech as if one is unable or unwilling to continue (for example, rendered speechless by emotion)” (Tannen 1989:€25). Post-positioned ke'ilu is often found in such contexts in the interactions. This particular context fits well with Hirschfeld’s description concerning the place of ke'ilu in the sentence: [... ] the main thing is the gaps in the sentence: ke'ilu requires a continuation. ke'ilu what? And here the ke'ilu appears by itself, as if it were something in and of itself and not a component, a scaffolding for another floor in the sentence. (1990:€6, translation mine).

4.3.4 Interpersonal constraints on focus-marking ke'ilu The question arises as to why a speaker would point out to the addressee something which is unpredictable or non-recoverable at the time of utterance. In his study of narrative discourse, Chafe writes that “a narrative that fails to conflict with expectations is no narrative at all” (1994:€122). In order to ward off the threatening ‘so what?’ question (Labov 1972), people usually tell narratives about topics they judge their interlocutors will find interesting in some way. “The topics worth verbalizing are those that have a point, which is usually to say that they conflict with expectations” (Chafe 1994:€122). Thus, one reason to point out unpredictable information is precisely in order to involve the audience. Indeed, in all the focus marking examples involving ke'ilu, the motivation to put things in focus in the discourse has to do with interpersonal involvement. It stems either from the speaker’s need further to involve the audience (as in all the examples of Section 4.3 above), or, less frequently, from the speaker’s own involvement with the text. Indeed, in the former case, the audience very often responds to this involvement creating strategy with an utterance showing involvement, such as mhm (excerpt 8, line 55), wow (excerpt 9, line 80), or a longer utterance such as madhim (‘amazing’). The following example from a conversation between two young women, best friends discussing their intimate relationships, illustrates the speaker’s own involvement with the text. Merav tells Tali that there are times when she clearly feels that she loves the man she is involved with, but that she has difficulty telling him so explicitly:



Chapter 4.╇ The cognitive realm 

Excerpt 12 (‘Best Friends’): 85 Merav: ... vekén yesh pe'amìm, and yes there are times, and there are times, 86

.. she'ani--, that I,

87

... sheze-that this

88

... ke'ílu, like,

89

'ani kol kbx margishà 'et ze, I so much feel it, I feel it so deeply,

90

.. shehu 'e that he uh

91

.. hu yodéa, he knows,

92

... vehu shoméa, and he hears,

This token of ke'ilu focuses information that the speaker clearly feels very emotional about: 'ani kol kbx margisha 'et ze (‘I feel it so deeply’, line 89). The fumbling at line 87 and the expressive prosody of these lines further contribute to the interpretation that she was deeply involved in her utterance, to the point of losing her train of thought. Thus, the motivation for focus-marking here seems related more to the speaker’s involvement with the text than to her need to involve the audience. We have seen, then, that both the focus-marking and the hedging functions of ke'ilu are often associated with the evaluative aspect of discourse (Labov 1972, Tannen 1989). They are frequently employed around topics that are sensitive or emotional for the speaker and/or addressee. These empirical findings fit well with Hirschfeld’s cultural-philosophical analysis: How would a real boy tell a real girl something that really goes from the heart and to the heart despite the fact he is not a poet? He will lead her to the edge of language, to the place from which one sees what one doesn’t see from the center of language. The kaze and the ke'ilu point to whatever is beyond what was said, to the non-language. [... ] kaze and ke'ilu have to do with emotion and they proliferate with the increase of feelings. There are moments in which there is perhaps only kaze and ke'ilu – and this is where language goes completely bankrupt. [... ]

 Metalanguage in Interaction

If one listens carefully, one hears that the kaze and the ke'ilu are in fact the expressive parts of the sentence, and not just a verbal connecting tissue. (1990:€ 8–9, translation mine).

However, excerpt 12 involves also self-rephrasal, as Merav switches to a new direction and to a new grammatical construction, not continuing the ‘subordinate’ clause she began at line 86 or 87 with the complementizer she- (‘that’). Being ambiguous, this token of ke'ilu therefore constitutes another transitional example, this time for the shift between the focus-marking use and the self-rephrasal one. Again, the functional itinerary is rather straightforward, since what is self-rephrased in the discourse is also what is in focus. In other words, it is precisely the reformulation of the utterance that the speaker judges ‘unpredictable’ or ‘non-recoverable’ at the time of verbalization. This leads us to the next function of ke'ilu. 4.4

Ke'ilu as discourse marker of self-rephrasal

The majority of ke'ilu tokens throughout the data (48.3%) function as discourse markers opening self-rephrasals21. Fleischman and Yaguello, too, mention that English like often connects two utterances the second of which “provides an example, explanation, justification, or elaboration of the first” (2004:€134). For them, this is a subcategory of the hedging function of like. I consider these two cases separately because of the different levels of discourse at which they operate – the lingual (hedging) and the metalingual (self-rephrasing). As mentioned earlier, previous studies of discourse markers in Hebrew talkin-interaction (Maschler 1998b, 2002a) have shown that intonation-unit-initial ke'ilu often functions metalingually as a discourse marker of ‘realizing the need to rephrase’. We have seen one example in excerpt 1, line 48. This use of ke'ilu is different from previous uses we have seen so far because it is metalingual. Rather than referring to something in the extralingual world, such as some hypothetical condition, some unpredictable and surprising information, or the inadequacy of the words chosen to describe some state of affairs, metalingual uses of utterances refer to the text, to the interaction between its participants, and/or to the cognitive processes taking place in their minds during verbalization. Ke'ilu of excerpt 1, line 48 is a cognitive discourse marker because it refers to the speaker’s realization that his previous utterance should for some reason be rephrased. This reason, too, often has something to do with the need to involve the addressee. 21. For another look at this discourse marker, relating to the ways it fits in the system of discourse markers negotiating frame shifts in Hebrew talk-in-interaction, see Chapter 1, Section 7 and Maschler 2002a.



Chapter 4.╇ The cognitive realm 

There are also structural arguments for considering this use of ke'ilu a discourse marker. In excerpt 1, line 48, ke'ilu appears following sentence final intonation in the immediately preceding intonation unit (line 47), as do 94% of the discourse markers in the database22. However, the discourse marker ke'ilu is the most frequently employed discourse marker in the remaining 6% category of discourse markers which follow continuing intonation in the immediately preceding intonation unit. Of the 58 tokens of the discourse marker ke'ilu employed in the present database (50 interactions), 44 (75.9%) occur following non-continuing intonation in the immediately preceding intonation unit (as in excerpt 1), whereas 13 (22.4%) occur following continuing intonation23. For example, earlier on in the orientation to this story, David tells about the place and participating characters: Excerpt 13 (‘Tractor Chase’): 11 David: haxokér hapratí 'amar, the investigator private said the private investigator said, 12

shehu nimtsa be'eyze makóm, that he is located in some place that he [the defaulting purchaser] can be found in some place,

13

... géshem zal'afót baxuts, rain raging outside it’s raining cats and dogs outside,

14

ke'ílu, I mean,

15

... má ze gèshem, what is rain what [do I mean by] rain,

16

... shexavál 'al hazmàn. that it’s a waste of time. unimaginable rain.

22. This is the database on which Maschler 2002a is based, comprising 16 out of the 50 conversations on which the present study is based, in other words, 40 minutes of naturally-occurring casual conversation among 43 different speakers, collected throughout the years 1994–1997 (see Chapter 1, sections 5, 7). 23. One case of ke'ilu throughout the database appears at intonation unit final position. Since it functions metalingually, I counted it as a discourse marker, even though it does not appear at intonation-unit initial position.

 Metalanguage in Interaction

David mentions that it was raining very heavily outside (line 13). He elaborates: ma ze geshem (‘what [do I mean by] rain’), shexaval 'al hazman (‘unimaginable rain24’). Preceding this self-rephrasal is the discourse marker ke'ilu (line 14), following continuing intonation in the immediately preceding intonation unit (line 13). Chafe (1994) ties prosodic phenomena such as types of intonation contour to cognitive processes taking place during verbalization. For instance, he notes that once speakers judge that the scanning of a center of interest (such as a sub-episode in a story-episode) has been completed, they express that judgment with a sentence-final intonation contour. The realization that one’s utterance is in need of rephrasal is, of course, independent of one’s decision concerning whether or not a center of interest has been completed. Therefore, we find both continuing and non-continuing intonation preceding self-rephrasals that begin with ke'ilu25. 4.4.1 Ke'ilu in self-rephrasals of clarification sequences Sometimes the need for rephrasal is not first realized by the speaker but instead originates from the addressee. A common case of the discourse marker ke'ilu following continuing intonation occurs in sequences of request for clarification, schematized as follows: 1. A: utterance 2. B: request for clarification 3. A: repetition of problematic utterance (in continuing intonation contour) 4. ke'ilu 5. rephrasal of problematic utterance For example, in the same conversation, David tells how he pulled ‘it26’ out of the mud, and the hearer requests clarification concerning the identity of ‘it’:

24. The expression xaval 'al hazman literally means ‘it’s a pity on the time’, or ‘it’s a waste of time’. Originally it was used in the more literal meaning of ‘not worth wasting time on / paying attention to’. Over the last fifteen years or so, the expression has gained a slang meaning, and is used also to intensify the property attributed (to take the present context, ‘it was raining so hard that it’s a waste of time to waste words describing it’, whence the translation ‘unimaginable rain’). In this new use, and by influence of the many acronyms originating in Israeli army slang, the expression has also become an acronym in casual spoken Hebrew: xavlaz (acronym of sorts of xaval 'al hazman, taking the first two consonants, /x/ and /v/, from the first word xaval (‘pity’), the middle consonant /l/ either from the preposition 'al or from the third consonant of xaval, and the final consonant /z/ from the word zman (‘time’)). 25. For an elaboration of this, see Maschler 2002a: 5–8. 26. Since there is no neuter in Hebrew, there is no way of knowing whether this ‘it’ ('oto, excerpt 14, line 92) refers to an animate or inanimate entity (whence the ambiguity in the translation: ‘him/it’). In other words, David may be referring here to pulling out the tractor, or the



Chapter 4.╇ The cognitive realm 

Excerpt 14 (‘Tractor Chase’): 91 David: ... higía hagràr. arrived the towing truck the towing truck arrived. 92

... shaláf 'oto, pulled out him/it pulled him/it out,

93

'axarey 'eyze.. sha'á shel 'avoda sham, after about [an] hour of work there

94

betox habóts, in the mud,

95

.. 'et ha'emét? the truth?

96 Dalia: 97

má, what,

shalàf má? pulled out what?

98 David: .. shaláf ’to, pulled out him/it pulled him/it out, 99

ke'ílu, like,

100

... garár 'oto haxútsa. towed him/it out [of the mud].

Following Dalia’s request for clarification (lines 96–97), David repeats the problematic utterance shalaf ’to27 (‘pulled him/it out’, line 98) in continuing intonation, and then rephrases it: garar 'oto haxutsa (‘towed him/it out’, line 100). This selfrephrasal is preceded by ke'ilu. David still does not specify in his clarification (lines 98–100) what 'oto (‘him/it’) refers to, but the verb garar (‘towed’) seems sufficient to disambiguate the reference for Dalia, since it is usually tractors that are towed, not people.

owner of the tractor (who was perhaps sitting inside the tractor). This is the source of the request for clarification in line 96. 27. In fast speech, the initial glottal stop + vowel 'o of 'oto are often dropped.

 Metalanguage in Interaction

In a related use of ke'ilu, A’s response to the request for clarification proceeds directly to ke'ilu + self-rephrasal, skipping stage 3 in the scheme above, the repetition of the problematic utterance, as in the following excerpt: Excerpt 15 (‘Sex Shop’): 50 Yosi: ... 'az hi 'oméret lah--ì, so she says to the other one, 51

.. hù mishelánu, he’s of ours he’s one of our people,

52

.. ze beséder, it’s okay,

53

.. 'efshár lesapèr lo. {-------laughing---------} it’s okay to tell him.



{laughter}

54

55 Tali:

... má ze shelànu? what is ‘ours’?

56 Yosi:

.... ke'ìlu 'ani mishelahém, like I’m one of theirs, like I’m one of their people,

57

.. she'efshár le-that it’s okay to

58 Tali:

/nu/. {laughing} /go on/.

59 Yosi:

... 'at ló makira 'et habitùy ba'àrets, you don’t know the expression in the country, don’t you know the Israeli expression,

60

.. hu mishelánu? ‘he’s one of ours’?

Tali requests clarification of the utterance hù mishelánu (‘he’s one of ours’, line 51). Yosi’s self-rephrasal here occurs immediately following the request for clarification ma ze shelanu? (‘what is “ours”?’, line 55), without repetition of the problematic utterance (i.e., skipping stage 3 of the scheme above). It is preceded by ke'ilu (line 56). The function of ‘realizing the need to rephrase’ is performed not only by the discourse marker ke'ilu, but also by several other overlapping discourse markers



Chapter 4.╇ The cognitive realm 

throughout the database, such as s’tomeret (lit., ‘this means’), klomar (lit. ‘that is to say’), ya'ani and ya'anu (these last two forms from Arabic28 ‘it means’). However, ke'ilu is by far the most common discourse marker employed for this purpose. 4.4.2 Self-rephrasal ke'ilu tokens as fillers As one realizes the need to rephrase, one is often also groping for the right word. It is in this sense that ke'ilu can also function as a ‘filler’ (as we find it in The Slang Lexicon (1993): milat miluy reyka: mila hameshurbevet lelo siba lamishpat (‘a void filler which finds its way into the sentence for no reason’), see also Ben Shachar 2000). This ‘filler’ function of ke'ilu is illustrated in the following example, which will lead us to a very recent development in the employment of ke'ilu in Hebrew talk-in-interaction. In the continuation of excerpt 1, David says: Excerpt 16 (‘Tractor Chase’): 55 David: ... bekitsúr vela'inyá--n, in short and to the point, in short, 56

... 'axaré--y, after,

57

.. mirdáf she--, a chase that,

58

ne'eràx kemispàr dakó--t, lasted roughly a few minutes,

59

.... hitslàxti lehagia 'ad latráktor, I managed to get all the way to the tractor,

60

.. lisgór lo ’ta to close for him the to close his

61

ke'ìlu lexabót ta’manòa, like to turn off the engine like to turn off his engine,

62

lakáxti ta’maftèax. I took the key.

28. For the phenomenon of language alternation at discourse markers leading to borrowing phenomena, see Goss and Salmons 2000, Maschler 2000a,c, and Chapter 1, Section 2.

 Metalanguage in Interaction

63

.. 'ani omér lo, I say to him,

64 Dalia: 'í 'efshar leta'èr. it’s not possible to imagine one cannot imagine. 65 David: ke'ílu, like, 66

.. 'ani omér lo, {----laughing----} I say to him,

67

.. léx le'azazèl, go to hell,

68

.. tamút. die I wish you dead.

In line 60, David begins with the verb lisgor (‘to close’), but then self-corrects to lexabot (‘to turn off ’), a more appropriate verb in the context of switching off the engine of a tractor. This is a straightforward case of the discourse marker ke'ilu (line 61) beginning self-rephrasal. The more interesting case for our purpose here, however, starts at line 63, when David begins to tell what, upon finally getting hold of the tractor, he said to the owner who had tried to escape: 'ani omer lo (‘I say to him’). He is overlapped by Dalia (line 64) still showing involvement in the previous episode: 'i 'efshar leta'er (‘one cannot imagine’, or ‘incredible’). David then repeats his previous utterance – 'ani omer lo, ‘I say to him’ (line 66) – but not before he precedes his repetition with ke'ilu (line 65). Presumably, Dalia’s overlap distracted him for a moment, and ke'ilu is employed here as a filler, while he takes a split second to return to his line of thought. This brings us to the final use of ke'ilu found in the interactions – ke'ilu in quotations. 4.5

Ke'ilu in quotations

I found only four instances of ke'ilu in quotations (3.3% of all tokens in the database). This is a relatively new use of ke'ilu, as indicated also by the fact that all four tokens come from two interactions recorded in 199929, in spite of the fact that the database abounds in instances of constructed dialogue (Maschler 2002a). 29. Conversations collected later on in the process of corpus construction and not included in the present study indeed show more cases of quotative ke'ilu.



Chapter 4.╇ The cognitive realm 

In the following excerpt, Uriel tells three women about an incident in which he had told a friend that he was feeling somewhat depressed. A few hours later, this friend’s friend, Orit (whom he barely knows), called him up to ask him how he was feeling. Uriel was amazed that such an incident could happen in today’s alienated age. We find a token of ke'ilu introducing constructed dialogue, as well as the overlapping marker ya'anu (from Arabic ‘I mean’): Excerpt 17 (‘Intruding One’s Privacy’): 172 Uriel: ... 'aval 'amárti ke'ilu, but I said like, 173

... ba'idán, in the age,

174

... ba'idàn hamodérni ya'anu. in the age the modern like. in the modern age like.

175

... ha.. ha.. ha'adam haxàd meymadí shel merkúza, the.. the.. the individual the one dimensional of Marcuse the.. the.. the One Dimensional Man of Marcuse,

176 Dalit:

ze ki orìt xamudá. that’s cause Orit is nice.

177 Uriel: ... 'az 'e--h, so uh, 178

... ze kéta30, it’s a segment it’s a thing,

179

... pashút 'e--h, simply uh,

180

... madlík. cool [it’s just a] cool [thing].

The statement of lines 173–175 lacks an ending. The implication is that in the alienated age described in Marcuse’s 1968 book One Dimensional Man (line 175), one wouldn’t expect a phone call from a person one barely knows, inquiring about how one is feeling. In line 172, we find ke'ilu following the verbum dicendi

30. For the use of the word keta in Hebrew talk-in-interaction, see Maschler 1998b and Chapter 6, Section 1.2.

 Metalanguage in Interaction

'amarti (‘I said’), immediately preceding constructed dialogue31 of Uriel to himself in the story world. This is similar to the quotative function found for English like. The connection between ke'ilu as a hedge and ke'ilu in quotes is straightforward: in the strategy of constructed dialogue, the actual dialogue is seldom repeated verbatim; it is always an approximation of what was actually said, always a hedge. Notice the ‘equivalent’ ya'anu (‘like’) in Uriel’s constructed dialogue to himself (line 174). Here ya'anu hedges the expression ba'idan hamoderni (‘in the modern age’), which the speaker seems to judge not completely fit for the present context, as his further elaboration of the expression indicates: ha'adam haxad meymadi shel merkuza (‘Marcuse’s One Dimensional Man’, line 175); in contrast, ke'ilu (line 172) is employed to hedge the entire constructed dialogue32. Another possible reason for Uriel’s judgment concerning the unsuitability of this expression for the present context has to do with the ‘academic’ register to which the words ba'idan hamoderni (‘in the modern age’) belong. This is Uriel’s ironic comment on his employing such an academic register in this highly casual conversation among friends33. Nevertheless, ke'ilu as a quotative is different from English like in this function, in that, at least in the present database, it does not occur unaccompanied by a verbum dicendi, as often found for the English ‘equivalent’34: (30) And I’M LIKE: “What the hell’s going on here?” (Fleischman and Yaguello 2004:€135). 4.5.1 Ke'ilu in double-voiced ironic quotations Fleischman and Yaguello mention a related use of English like and French genre, the double voiced ironic quotation (1999, 2004): “like and genre enable dual-voiced utterances in which narrators can use the direct quote form to report thoughts/ attitudes they attribute to participants in their narratives while at the same time superimposing onto those internal quotations their own evaluative judgments” (2004:€137–138). Note Haiman’s example: Yeah, sure, LIKE I haven’t heard that one before (Haiman 1998:€53).

31. The lack of a ‘subordinator’ such as she- (‘that’) is evidence that this is ‘direct speech’. 32. However, in other parts of this text, ya'anu functions as an equivalent of ke'ilu not only in the hedging function, but also in the self-rephrasal and quotative functions. 33. I thank Tamar Katriel for suggesting this point to me. 34. However, the second utterance involving comparative meaning, kaze (‘like’, lit. ‘like this’), does appear in the present database as a quotative which is often unaccompanied by a verbum dicendi. See Maschler 2001.



Chapter 4.╇ The cognitive realm 

This use was not found in the present database, but in our household, an interaction between an eleven-year-old and her parents provides a lively example. Our eldest daughter was asked to do her part in helping with the preparations for dinner and the bedtime routine. When she objected, she was told by her father that there would be no dessert unless she kept her part of the deal. Storming out of the room on her way to perform the task, she shouted bitingly35: Excerpt 18 (‘Sweets’): 1 Shira: hu me'ayém 'alay, he’s thereatening me, 2

she'ani ló 'akabel dessèrt. that I won’t get [any] dessert.

3

ke'ilu 'eize mamtakím, like what sweets,

4

yesh babáyit haze! there are in the house this there are in this house!

This young teenager is ridiculing her father for the admittedly poor strategy of threatening to withhold sweets (lines 1–2), and she is attributing to him the thought that there is a wide array of tasty sweets around the house (lines 3–4). Prefacing this attribution with ke'ilu and employing very marked prosody (cf. Günthner 1999a), at the same time she expresses her own evaluative judgment about the quality of these sweets. A special case of the double-voiced ironic quotative ke'ilu can be found in a relatively new idiom, ke'ilu da?. Livneh (2002) cites this idiom in a slang dictionary she published in a special Independence Day supplement of the Ha'aretz daily newspaper. One of the then latest Hebrew slang expressions was da?, very much related to the American slang expression duh?, and interpreted by Livneh as ‘bezilzul, ma 'ata 'omer? (‘in contempt, you don’t say!’). Livneh supplies the following example: shokolad ze mashmin hu 'omer li. ke'ilu da? (‘chocolate is fattening, he tells me. Like duh?’). In this constructed example, the speaker verbalizes self-evident constructed dialogue (Tannen 1989) concerning chocolate: shokolad ze mashmin (‘chocolate is fattening’). As we know from studies of polyphony in discourse (Bakhtin 1981, 35. I transcribed this excerpt immediately after it happened. However, as I do not have a recording of it, I was not able to obtain the minute details of transcription, such as information about pauses between intonation units.

 Metalanguage in Interaction

Günthner 1999a), in the strategy of constructed dialogue the speaker often superimposes his or her own stance towards the speech constructed. This is generally done via paralinguistics or kinesics (as seen in the preceding excerpt). In the present case, the speaker superimposes a contemptuous stance on the constructed dialogue (i.e., ‘what is he telling me the obvious for?’). Just in case the recipient did not pick up the contemptuous key, the speaker adds da?, lexically elaborating the stance expressed earlier via paralinguistics and kinesics. Quotative ke'ilu is thus employed here to introduce a speaker’s self-quote concerning the previous utterance. It connects the previous utterance about chocolate (including the prosodically superimposed stance of the speaker toward this utterance) with a self-quote (da?) which elaborates the speaker’s stance towards this utterance (‘you don’t say!’) and spells it out more explicitly. 5. The functional itinerary of ke'ilu We have seen, then, five different uses of ke'ilu. Three of these uses are more directly related to its literal meaning: the conjunction ‘as though’, hedging, and quotation; two are more distant: focus-marking and self-rephrasal. I suggest two functional itineraries: one in the lingual realm, originates more from the comparative element in ke'ilu; the other, in the metalingual realm, originates more from its irrealis conditional component. Of course, without a corpus providing diachronic perspective, the following comments concerning the path of development of ke'ilu can only be hypothesized. In the lingual realm, we start out with the lexical element of comparison and approximation k(e)-. From the lexical meaning of this preposition to the hedging use of ke'ilu, the itinerary is rather direct: what is intended is ‘like but not quite what was said’. This fact often requires elaboration (‘how is what was said different from what was intended?’), whence the self-rephrasal function of ke'ilu and the common juxtaposition of ke'ilu in these two functions, as seen, for example, in excerpt 5, lines 102–104, and in excerpt 19, a continuation of excerpt 9: Excerpt 19 (‘Burglary’): 74 Eynat: .... 'az 'e--h, so uh, 75

... higì'a habáyta, [she] came home,

76

... 'axarèy hatsohoráyim, after noon in the afternoon,



Chapter 4.╇ The cognitive realm 

77

.... 'olá bamadregòt veze, [she]climbs the stairs and so on (lit. ‘and this’),

78

... ra'atà-- zug garbáyim sh’la, [she] saw [a] pair of socks of hers,

79

.. ke'ilu zrukòt 'al ha--madregót. sort of like thrown on the staircase.



80 Meytal: .. wów!

81 Eynat: .. yeshanót ke'ilu, old like, 82

... ke'ilu, like,

83

.. shehi mizmàn kvar lo halxá 'itam, that she for a long time already didn’t go with them that she hadn’t worn for a while,

84

.. spórt ka'ele. sport like these sporty sort of.

In line 79 we see the focus-marking ke'ilu with which Eynat describes the socks her friend found thrown on the staircase. Eynat further describes them as yeshanot ke'ilu (‘old sort of ’, line 81). This is hedging ke'ilu. Immediately following this hedge, Eynat adds a further elaboration on the socks: shehi mizman kvar lo halxa 'itam36 (‘that she hadn’t walked with for a while’, line 83). In other words, the socks are ‘old’ not in the usual sense, but in the sense that they hadn’t been used for a while. This elaboration is preceded by the discourse marker of self-rephrasal ke'ilu, line 82. Thus we see how a hedge is naturally followed by a case of elaboration and self-rephrasal. Furthermore, excerpt 19 provides us with examples of three of the functions of ke'ilu – focus-marking (line 79), hedge (line 81), and self-rephrasal (line 82) – in close proximity to each other. When a speaker is constructing someone else’s speech, the report is never verbatim but always an approximation, whence ke'ilu in quotations: ‘like what was actually said, but not quite’. Thus we see the contribution of the lexical element of similarity and approximation k(e)- to the discourse functions of ke'ilu. Of course, 36. Here, as in many other spoken contexts, agreement of fem. pl. is no longer maintained in the discourse and we find the masculine singular resumptive pronoun 'itam (‘with them’, masc.), rather than feminine 'itan, referring to what the speaker perceives of as a feminine plural entity garbayim yeshanot (‘old (fem. pl.) socks’). For studies relating to resumptive pronouns in spoken Hebrew discourse, see Ariel 1999 and Maschler and Shaer (forthcoming).

 Metalanguage in Interaction

the hypothetical conditional component 'ilu also adds to the hedging-based functions: a condition, and a hypothetical condition in particular, is at a modal distance from the reality described (Fleischman 1989:€2). We have seen that a self-rephrased utterance (excerpt 12) and a hedged utterance (excerpt 10) are generally also what is in focus. However, a more direct route to focus marking was studied by Haiman, who noted a universal link between comparison and focus: “[a] comparative construction is one which contrasts, and hence, focuses the elements which are compared;... the element compared... [being] more highlighted” (Haiman 1988:€ 310, cited in Fleischman and Yaguello 2004:€ 140). From the lexical component of comparison k(e)-, then, the focusmarking function can also be derived, though less directly. Fleischman and Yaguello note also that a direct quote is always necessarily the focus of the utterance in which it occurs. “The QUOTATIVE function [...] thus represents a natural extension of an item already operating as a FOCUS marker” (2004:€141). In the metalingual realm, we relate particularly to the lexical element of the irrealis conditional 'ilu (‘as if ’, ‘as though’) with which ke'ilu is composed. Employed in the literal sense, this conjunction would require a full clause following it. A paraphrase of the self-rephrasal function of ke'ilu would be something like ke'ilu 'amarti ‘as if I were saying’ or ke'ilu lomar ‘as if to say’. In other words, when a speaker rephrases an utterance, he or she prefaces it with ke'ilu which may ‘stand for’ (in a way that is no longer apparent to the speaker) a longer metalingual utterance such as ‘as if I were saying’ or ‘as if (I were) to say’. This functions metalingually, in the realm of the text, the interaction, and the cognitive processes in the mind of the speaker, as opposed to referring to the extralingual world. The most common function of ke'ilu is that of self-rephrasal (48.3% of all tokens). Fleischman and Yaguello’s study is not quantitative, but it seems to me that English like is much less common in self-rephrasals than ke'ilu. We have seen that the function of self-rephrasal is arrived at by three paths (paths 1, 4, and 6 schematized in Figure 2), both in the metalingual and lingual realms. We can hypothesize the development of ke'ilu’s pragmatic functions as follows: lexical meaning comparison and approximation 6) irrealis

lingual realm 1) hedge 2) hedge 3) focus 4) focus 5) focus



metalingual realm

self-rephrasal quote hedge self-rephrasal quote self-rephrasal

Figure 2.╇ Hypothesized development of the pragmatic functions of ke'ilu



Chapter 4.╇ The cognitive realm 

Comparing this figure with Fleischman and Yaguello’s itineraries for like and genre (1999) reproduced earlier in this chapter as Figure 1 (Section 3), we see that although the number of realms involved differs, there are many similarities between the two figures. The present study provides additional evidence for the functional itinerary paths, suggested with question marks in Figure 1, between the focus marking, quotative, and hedging functions. 6. Grammaticization of ke'ilu in cross-linguistic perspective We return, finally, to Traugott’s question concerning cross-language generalizations to be made about the development of discourse particles in terms of both their likely semantic sources and their semantic-pragmatic paths. In the conclusion of their study of English like and French genre, Fleischman and Yaguello write: The interest of our data for cross-language pragmatics lies in presenting a casestudy in which similarly functioning discourse markers in two languages have evolved, independently, from similar lexical sources and have followed relatively parallel paths of development, particularly once they came to function as pragmatic operators. If additional cases of the same parallelisms can be found, these might be used to identify lexical sources and pathways of grammaticalization for discourse markers in the same way as we have identified lexical sources and pathways of grammaticalization for many grammatical categories. We might then be able to predict that, e.g., expressions of comparison/approximation may give rise to focus markers, hedges, and/or quotatives. (2004:€142).

The data presented in this study, from a language unrelated to English or French, provides further evidence for this prediction. Close analysis of Hebrew ke'ilu tokens in context further supports the affinity between the discourse functions of hedging, focus marking, and quotation across languages as well as the claim concerning the development of these particular discourse functions from expressions of comparison/approximation. The case of Hebrew constitutes an example of a system in which one of the functions (quotation) has only recently begun to develop. This provides an opportunity to observe a discourse function in emergence and suggests the secondary nature of the function of quotation as compared to those of hedging and focus marking in this particular functional itinerary. More generally, this chapter supports the claim that there exist parallel pathways of grammaticization for discourse markers in various unrelated languages. Moreover, we find further support here that the nature of the lexical sources influences the uses of the markers that derive from them. According to Hopper’s principle of ‘persistence’ in grammaticization, “when a form undergoes grammaticalization from a lexical to a grammatical function, so long as it is grammatically

 Metalanguage in Interaction

viable some traces of its original lexical meanings tend to adhere to it, and details of its lexical history may be reflected in constraints on its grammatical distribution” (1991:€22). Since the lexical source of ke'ilu involves the additional semantic element of the hypothetical condition 'ilu, and not only the comparative element k(e)-, we should not be surprised to find a widespread additional function of ke'ilu in comparison to the functions of English like and French genre – the function of self-rephrasal. 7. Interacting as an Israeli via ke'ilu We started out noting that ke'ilu and kaze have greatly proliferated in Hebrew casual conversation in recent years. Whereas the most widespread function of ke'ilu is selfrephrasal, that of kaze is hedging (around 70% of all kaze tokens in the database involve hedging, as opposed to only 13.3% of all ke'ilu tokens, Maschler 2001). In Fleischman and Yaguello (1999), we find a list of a variety of languages exhibiting similar functional itineraries of words originating in the concept of comparison which have developed at least one of the functions of hedge (including, in Fleischman and Yaguello’s categorization, self-rephrasal), focus, or quotative. Besides English like and French genre, as we have seen, they list German so, Finnish niinku, Bislama (New Guinea) olsem, Swedish likson, Italian tipo, Swedish typ, Lahu (Tibeto-Burman) qhe, Japanese nanka, Tok Pisin olsem, and Buang (New Guinea) (na)be. This tendency across many languages to independently develop similar functional itineraries for elements having similar lexical sources can shed light not only on linguistic processes, but also on cultural ones (cf. Tagliamonte and Hudson 1999:€ 147). The recent proliferation of ke'ilu and kaze in Hebrew reflects a cultural change witnessed in many societies recently. However, in the case of kaze and ke'ilu, there is a specific Israeli bent to this cultural change. Recall Katriel’s characterization of the Sabra (1986, 2004), the mythic image of the New Jew born in Palestine during the British mandate (see Chapter 3, Section 7). Katriel has shown that constructing the identity of this New Jew involved acquiring new social practices, and, in particular, new ways of speaking and interacting, first and foremost of which is the dugri speaking style – direct, straightforward, often blunt, consciously “suspend[ing] face-concerns so as to allow for the free expression of the speaker’s thoughts, opinions, or preferences in cases in which they might pose a threat to the addressee’s face” (2004:€152). As one of Katriel’s informants put it, “to speak dugri is to act like a Sabra” (2004:€143). In a chapter entitled “Confrontational Dialogues: The Rise and Fall of Dugri Speech”, Katriel (ibid.) argues that during the past quarter of a century, this



Chapter 4.╇ The cognitive realm 

speaking style, along with the Sabra myth, have been in decline (cf. Kimmerling 2001). She traces the beginnings of the decline of the dugri mode of speaking to the early 1980s, by which time Israelis “refused to accept the Sabra myth at face value, yet were similarly reluctant to give it up completely, at least as a reminder of past longings and dreams” (ibid.: 195). By the late 1990s, the change has become more definite: For a couple of decades, the small group of Sabras of European extraction retained its status as a cultural elite. This position of social advantage became translated in terms of military, political, and civilian careers, keeping the Sabra ethos and dugri style alive in some influential domains of the Israeli social scene, especially in military and political circles. However, even in these contexts it became increasingly contested in the 1990s. This was indicated by the scandal triggered by [Knesset member and former General] Ori Or’s remarks that touched on interethnic relations in Israel, which were described by some as dugri and by others as racist. The scandal that came to be known as the Ori Or affair [in the fall of 1997] hints at what has become of the dugri idiom in a society where cultural diversity could no longer be ignored, and social exclusion buttressed by the demands for a monolithic interactional style no longer held their sway. (ibid.: 197).

At the core of a dugri interactional style rests a decided, self-assured, and undoubting voice. One cannot constantly hedge and rephrase oneself and speak dugri at the same time. I have argued (Maschler 2001) that the proliferation of kaze and ke'ilu beginning in the 1990s is a linguistic manifestation of the decline of the dugri interactional style. According to Katriel, this “newfound tolerance for tentativeness, lack of resoluteness, and self-questioning” is a manifestation of what she calls the softening of the dugri mode, “the affective display of tentativeness with respect to one’s own speech through a variety of mitigating devices”. One of the reasons for this softening is a growing recognition of the interpersonal costs of the bluntness implicated by the dugri style in a society that has become increasingly heterogeneous and hierarchical (Katriel 2004:€206–208). Another reason for the softening of the dugri mode is “a shift towards interpersonal focus and introspective stance”, which has been “reinforced by the increasing influence in Israeli culture of the Western therapeutic ethos” (ibid.: 207). To Katriel’s surprise, some of her teenage informants now interpret the term dugri “with reference to self-disclosure and intimacy” (ibid.). I have found an additional change in the way this word is used among teenagers, one quite relevant to our interest in discourse markers. For example, a conversation in which my 15-year-old daughter participated (in June 2006) illustrates the word dugri employed as a discourse marker of emphatic agreement, somewhat reminiscent of some functions of the discourse marker be'emet (‘really, actually, indeed’, lit. ‘in truth’) (Maschler and Estlein 2008),

 Metalanguage in Interaction

another word involving the notion of truthfulness. Complaining about the heavy workload at their high school, these teenagers lament the huge amount of material to be studied for an upcoming exam: Excerpt 10 (‘Unfair Exam’)37: 1 Maya: 'ex hem metsapim, how [do] they expect, 2

shenilmad kazot kamut shel xomer, that we study such a quantity of material,

3

lamivxan? for the exam?

4 Noy:

veze lo ke'ilu38 she, and it’s not as if SUBORD,

5

natnu lanu 'et haxomer, they gave us the material,

6

harbe zman merosh. lots of time in advance.

7 Maya: dugri! exactly/just so! In this excerpt, Maya presents an argument in support of her claim about the unfairness of the upcoming exam (namely, the large quantity of material, lines 1–3). Her friend Noy adds a further argument in support of this claim (namely, the short notice, lines 4–6). Upon presentation of a further argument in support of her own claim, Maya cannot but agree emphatically. This she does with the utterance dugri, unattached to any other word, occurring at intonation unit initial position (as a separate intonation unit, in fact) at a point of speaker change, thus fulfilling the structural requirement for prototypical discourse markerhood. This unattached dugri does not modify any noun or verb (as in Katriel’s examples, see below) referring to the extralingual world. Rather, it functions metalingually in the world of the interaction among speakers, expressing emphatic agreement, thus fulfilling the semantic requirement for discourse markerhood as well. Of course, the use of dugri in this sense is not unrelated to its original sense of ‘directness’. What I say in a ‘direct’ and self-assured voice is also exactly what I strongly believe in and completely agree with. However, this use is far removed 37. This example has been reconstructed, as I do not have a recording of it. Its transcription is therefore broader. 38. Note the literal use of ke'ilu here, followed by a subordinate clause.



Chapter 4.╇ The cognitive realm 

from the adjectival and adverbial uses found in Katriel’s data (e.g., hu dugri (‘He is dugri’) or tedaber dugri (‘Speak dugri’, i.e. ‘Speak straight’), (2004:€152)). Note that this shift from an adjective or adverb to a discourse marker follows a common grammaticization path (Traugott 1995a, Traugott and Dasher 2002, and also Chapter 3, Section 6 and Chapter 6). Furthermore, the Hebrew word dugri comes from Arabic dugri (which itself derives from Turkish dogru). However, whereas in Arabic (as well as in Turkish), dugri utterances are those in which the speaker claims to be true to the facts “out there”, in Hebrew the speaker claims to be true to him/herself, reporting subjective experiences, thoughts, and opinions (and to some extent feelings) (Katriel 2004:€152). Of course, this being true to one’s self has ramifications for the addressee, particularly pertaining to his/her face wants, as illustrated by Katriel (1986). Thus we see that in the shift from Arabic to present day teenage Hebrew, dugri has not only changed grammatical categories but also undergone both subjectification and intersubjectification, in accordance with the tendencies noted by Traugott for semantic change (Traugott 1989, 2003a, and also Chapter 1, Section 8.1). We see that the path followed by dugri is a typical grammaticization path of discourse markers. Returning to kaze and ke'ilu, the words of an eighteen-year-old high school student, interviewed by Hirschfeld (1990) in his cultural-philosophical study of kaze and ke'ilu, manifest an interesting reflection on the decline of the decided, undoubting dugri voice: “‘halaxti kaze lakolnoa ke'ilu (‘I went kaze to the movies ke'ilu’)’ [... ] is said with the feeling that there is something pretentious, scornful, or pathetic [... ] about really wanting, really going, really doing. In other words, I really did go to the movies, but this going didn’t have in it what was supposed to be in it. I went kaze. It’s only similar to going. The movies, too, are just similar to movies. Things are much less what they are, what we’ve heard they were, what we know they could be. I went – indeed. But what happened was ‘kaze’”. (Hirschfeld, 1990:€9, translation mine).

However, this change in Israeli culture did not occur in vacuum. The widespread functional path followed by equivalents of kaze and ke'ilu in so many of the world’s languages (Fleischman and Yaguello 1999) suggests a wider phenomenon. The words of Hirschfeld’s young man echo the larger postmodern context Israelis are exposed to. Gergen (1991) writes about the saturation of society by multiple voices. According to him, our exposure to new technologies in the postmodern era has resulted in our being able to sustain relationships with an ever-expanding range of other persons, and, therefore, in our increased awareness of the multiplicity of voices: “[This] social saturation brings with it a general loss in our assumption of true and knowable selves. As we absorb multiple voices, we find that each ‘truth’ is relativized

 Metalanguage in Interaction

by our simultaneous consciousness of compelling alternatives. We come to be aware that each truth about ourselves is a construction of the moment, true only for a given time and within certain relationships.” (ibid.: 16, emphasis mine).

In this postmodern world, in which “persons exist in a state of continuous construction and reconstruction, [...] where anything goes that can be negotiated” (ibid.: 7), it is no surprise that so much is hedged and rephrased. As we have seen throughout this chapter, kaze and ke'ilu have a major role in this. “The limits of language... mean the limits of my world”, wrote Wittgenstein in his Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus. The motivation to hedge and rephrase utterances originates in the same place, in recognizing the limits of one’s language (and of one’s world). It is an attempt to ke'ilu overcome these limits. In the Israeli context, however, a special bent is added to this postmodernity. Besides the dialogue with the now-fading Sabra ethos, there are other cultural factors shaping this new way of interacting as an Israeli. Hirschfeld writes that in the silence that was created in the classroom following the words of the youth quoted above, another student raised her hand and said plainly: “We go to the movies ke'ilu, because I feel that the important things in the world are not us and what we do or want to do. The important things are (and she didn’t think for long) Memorial Day, Intifada, The Holocaust. We’re just ke'ilu kaze”. (1990:€9, translation mine).

There is an awareness here not only of the multiplicity of voices, but also of a particular history and political situation leading to their multiplicity. As in Du Bois’ model of the internal and external forces to which grammars adapt in the process of grammaticization (1985:€361), cultural change, too, is subject to both types of influence. Following the words of the young woman in Hirschfeld’s classroom, the “complete sadness that descended suddenly” (ibid.) upon this room full of eighteenyear-olds is instructive of what is so Israeli about this way of being in the world.

chapter 5

Between realms The discourse marker tov: Accepting while shifting

1. Introduction The Hebrew word tov is listed in Even-Shoshan’s dictionary (2003) in two separate entries. The first, with which we shall not concern ourselves in this chapter, is as a verb (a use found only in Biblical Hebrew). The second, with which we will be concerned, is as an adjective meaning ‘good’ (ba'al 'erex xiyuvi (‘of positive value’)), a meaning it has had since Biblical Hebrew times, with cognates in the other Semitic languages of Ugaritic, Aramaic, and Arabic. Even-Shoshan mentions that tov may function as an adverb as well and, particularly in Biblical Hebrew, also as a masculine noun. The final, least frequent meaning he lists, found already in Biblical texts, is the following: milat haskama vexiyuv (‘a word of agreement and affirmation’) [meaning] ken (‘yes’), nixa (‘fine, let it be’, [translated by Sivan and Levenston’s Hebrew-English dictionary (1967) as ‘good!’, ‘all right!’]). The Biblical context provided is the first Book of Kings, Chapter 2, verse 18. There, King Solomon’s older brother, Adoniyahu, asks Bath Sheba (Solomon’s mother) to request her son, King Solomon, to allow Adoniyahu to marry Avishag Hashunamit. The Biblical author continues: vatomer bat sheva tov 'anoxi 'adaber 'alexa 'el hamelex (‘And Bath Sheba said: tov, I shall speak to the King on your behalf ’). The common understanding of tov both as an adjective as well as ‘a word of agreement and affirmation’ is perceived early by young Israelis, as the words of my son, seven years old at the time, reveal. Upon hearing that I was studying tov, he said: yesh shney tov (‘there are two tovs’), 'exad ze kshemashehu hu tov (‘one is when something is good’), vehasheni ze kshemaskimim la'asot mashehu (‘and the second is when you agree to do something’). The present chapter is concerned with this last meaning of tov, as well as with another meaning common in spoken Hebrew but not listed by any of the dictionaries with which I am familiar. For the first meaning, in which tov is employed by the recipient, examine the following excerpt from a conversation between two women in their early twenties.

 Metalanguage in Interaction

Yafit is attempting to begin a story about a pair of shoes she found on one of her shopping trips, while Meirav wants to know first how much they cost: Excerpt 1 (‘New Shoes’): 25 Meirav: káma 'alu? how much [did they] cost? /xip/.. réga, /[I] loo/.. [just a] sec,

26 Yafit: 27 28 Meirav: 29

.. 'ani 'agía leze. I’ll get to it. 'im 'at lò 'omeret káma 'alu, if you don’t tell how much [they] cost, 'í 'efshar lehitrakèz. [it’s] impossible to concentrate. 'ani 'agía. I’ll get [to it].

30 Yafit: 31

takshívi! listen! tóv. okay.

32 Meirav: 33 Yafit:

haláxti, I went,

34

xipàsti na'aláyim. looked [for] shoes.

Meirav humorously tells Yafit that unless she tells her first how much the shoes cost, she won’t be able to focus on the story (lines 28–29). Yafit promises her again that she’ll get to it (line 30), and asks her to listen to the story from its beginning with takshivi! (‘listen!’, line 31). Meirav agrees to this request with tov (line 32), and Yafit begins the story (lines 33–34). This use of tov is equivalent to the English use of okay to affirmatively respond to a request (Merritt 1978, Condon 1986, Beach 1993), as in the following excerpt provided by Beach: (4) UTCL: Family Phone: 2 (Beach 1993:€330). Subscriber: Hang on I got a call on the other line. Partner: ’Kay.



Chapter 5.╇ Between realms 

In both the Hebrew and the English examples, a speaker requests the recipient to do something, and the latter agrees. I have, therefore, translated the tov of line 32 as ‘okay’. The second function of tov, not listed by any of the dictionaries, is employed not by the recipient, but rather by the speaker him/herself. In the following excerpt, two archaeology students at the University of Haifa are discussing a paper they were assigned concerning an ancient city of their choice in the region. They are making fun of the strange names some of these cities have (Constantinople, Serageyopolis). Ami then jokingly tells Liraz to let their professor know that he’ll be writing his paper on the ‘ancient’ city of Haifa. This should suffice, he adds, because Haifa, too, has a ‘strange’ name: Excerpt 2 (‘Archaeology’): 114 : .. tagídi lo, tell him, 115

.. she'aní 'ose 'avodà, {---laughing---} that I am doing a paper that I’ll be writing a paper,

116

'al xeyfá, on Haifa,

117 Liraz: (laughs) 118 Ami:

.. she/??/ that /??/

119

(laughs)

120

... gam káxa, also this way this way too,

121

.. ze shèm meshuné. {------laughing------} this strange name it’s a strange name.

122 {laugh} 'ani nish'àr bexeyfá. I’m staying with [the topic of] Haifa. 123 Liraz:

(laughs)

124 Amir: ..... tóv, okay,

 Metalanguage in Interaction

125

'az legabèy hanose hashení--, so concerning the topic the second so about the second topic,

126

... 'eh.. ze-- ha--'inyán haze, uh.. it’s the issue this uh.. it’s this issue,

127

shel ha--, of the,

128

.... yom hastudént. day of the student Students’ Day.

1 29 Liraz:

... má 'ito? what with it what about it?

After Ami’s joking comment, Liraz laughs (line 123), and there is a long silence (line 124). Ami then begins a new topic, one concerning Students’ Day celebrations on campus. The transition to this topic is prefaced by tov, by the discourse marker 'az (‘so’), and by the longer metalingual utterance legabey hanose hasheni (‘about the second topic’). I do not have a recording of the beginning of the conversation, but, because hanose hasheni (‘the second topic’) is accompanied here by the definite article (ha-), it can be inferred that a second topic had been on the agenda for a while, and the transition to it at line 124 was expected at some point following the topic of the archeology paper. This is equivalent to the English use of ‘discourse ok’ at significant transitions in the discourse, as described by Condon: ‘discourse ok participates in a default organization of language behavior that distinguishes unmarked, routine sequences and marked, nonroutine departures from expected events’ (2001:€491). While okay has previously been shown to have a transitional function in English discourse (Schegloff 1968, 1979, 1986, Schegloff and Sacks 1973, Merritt 1978, Hopper 1989, Beach 1990, 1993, 1995), Condon shows that ‘discourse ok’ marks expected transitions. In other words, okay ‘marks the transition across [the] boundary as a default or expected one’ (ibid.: 496). For example, Condon observes that okay is often the first linguistic form in highly contextualized interactions such as the beginning of a class (ibid.: 508). Tov, too, is very often the first linguistic form employed in a class taught in Hebrew. I have thus translated tov with ‘okay’ in excerpt 2 as well. In both its agreement and ‘transition to an expected course of action’ meanings, tov functions as a discourse marker. Recall that in this study an utterance is



Chapter 5.╇ Between realms 

considered a prototypical discourse marker if it fulfills two conditions; one semantic, the other structural: a. Semantically, the utterance must have a metalingual interpretation in the context in which it occurs. In other words, rather than referring to the extralingual world, it must refer metalingually to the realm of the text, to the interaction between its participants, or to their cognitive processes. b. Structurally, the utterance must occur at intonation-unit initial position, either at a point of speaker change, or, in same-speaker talk, immediately following any intonation contour other than continuing intonation. It may occur after continuing intonation or at non intonation-unit initial position only if it follows another marker in a cluster (Maschler 1998b: 31). As for the structural requirement, in both excerpts tov occurs at intonation-unit initial position. The tov of excerpt 1 fulfills the structural requirement because it occurs at a point of speaker change. The tov of excerpt 2 fulfills the structural requirement because it occurs in same-speaker talk following final intonation. With respect to the semantic requirement, rather than referring to the extralingual world (as, for instance, when tov functions as modifier of some noun referring to the world “out there”), in both of the excerpts above tov carries a metalingual function: in excerpt 1 tov functions in the realm of interaction between speaker and addressee; in excerpt 2 it functions in the realm of the text, marking transitions within it. Thus each one of the tokens fulfills both requirements for prototypical discourse markerhood1. Hebrew tov and English okay, then, are equivalents of each other in at least the two functions of agreement and transition to an expected course of action. To be sure, English okay has entered the Hebrew discourse marking system just as it has in many other languages2. Hebrew 'okey is sometimes employed throughout this corpus in these two functions. However, in the present corpus, tov is much more 1. In Chapter 1 we saw that the two criteria in this definition coincide for 94% of the discourse markers. The remaining 6% satisfy the semantic, but not the structural requirement. These statistics are based on a sub-corpus consisting of 16 conversations (40 minutes of discourse among 43 participants, see Maschler 2002a). The majority of the 6% that satisfy the semantic but not the structural requirement are employed to construct two types of multivocality in discourse – constructed dialogue (Tannen 1989) and self-rephrasal (see Chapter 1, Section 7). In the present extended corpus of 50 conversations, a larger percentage – 10 out of 62 instances of tov (16%) – do not satisfy the structural requirement for prototypical discourse markerhood. All of these tokens are employed at the beginning of constructed dialogue, following a verbum dicendi, as will be illustrated below. 2. See Goss and Salmons 2000 and Maschler 2000a,b and Chapter 1, Section 2 for the role of the bilingual strategy of language alternation in the borrowing and grammaticization of discourse markers.

 Metalanguage in Interaction

common than 'okey, and employment of 'okey seems to be a personal variation of some individuals. From a linguistic point of view, tov has the advantage of being easily traced back to a particular lexeme, which okay does not, despite the various studies attempting to pin down the origins of English okay (e.g., Read 1963a,b, 1964a,b,c, 1988; Cassidy 1981). The present chapter further explores the functions of discourse marker tov in Hebrew casual conversation and tackles the question of how a particular discourse marker might come to have both interpersonal as well as textual functions. I address this question while keeping in mind the literal meaning of tov, ‘good’, in order to shed light on the grammaticization path of this word in Hebrew. 2. Data In the 50 conversations of the Haifa Corpus of Spoken Israeli Hebrew (Maschler 2004) on which the present study is based (Chapter 1, Section 3), altogether 62 tokens of the discourse marker tov are employed. Thus tov is employed at an average frequency of one token every 2.4 minutes in this corpus. The tokens are distributed among the following functions: Table 1.╇ Functions of tov throughout the database Interpersonal tov

29 (46.8%)

Textual tov Transition into following action

Textual tov -Closing current action

Ambiguous between interpersonal/textual tov

Total

22 (35.5%)

2 (3.2%)

9 (14.5%)

62 (100%)

Table 1 shows that tov in its interpersonal uses is somewhat more common (46.8%) than tov in its textual uses (35.5% + 3.2% = 38.7%) throughout the database. Another 14.5% of the tokens perform both functions simultaneously, and have thus been classified as ‘ambiguous’. It is these ambiguous cases that are particularly helpful in tracing the connection between the interpersonal and textual functions of tov. I now examine the functions of tov in these various categories in more detail. 3. Interpersonal tov Interpersonal tov is employed in this corpus to express: 1. agreement to an action



Chapter 5.╇ Between realms 

2. 3. 4. 5.

acceptance of some state of things third-turn receipt concession, often preceding a ‘but’ response ironic agreement, i.e., disagreement.

The first category, ‘agreement to an action’ was illustrated in excerpt 1. Let us now examine the other four categories. 3.1

Acceptance of some state of things

Just as a recipient can agree to some course of action, they can also agree to or accept a description of some state of things. In the following excerpt, Gila and Yonat, two women in their early twenties, are having a chat, in the course of which Gila offers Yonat some citrus fruit which she hopes is a pomelit (a cross between a pomelo and a grapefruit, common in Israel in the winter months) and not a grapefruit: Excerpt 3 (‘Sofas’): 51 Gila: (9.00) 'ani mekavà sheze pomeliyót, I hope that it’s pomelits, 52 53 Yonat:

.. velò 'eshkoliyót. and not grapefruit. 'o? or?

54 (laughter) /xamúts/ {tastes fruit} /sour/

55 Gila:



56 Yonat:



57

(laughter) ... 'o--y, (slight laughter)

58

... tipa már, drop bitter a bit bitter,

59

.. hayiti /mexaná 'et ze/. I would /call it/ I’d say.



60 Gila:

61

(laughs) tóv, okay,

 Metalanguage in Interaction

62

'az bó’i, so come so let’s,

63

.. 'ani 'etén lahem 'od 'eize, I’ll give them another,

64 Yonat: .... yom yomáyim, day two days day or two, 65 Gila:

la.. la'asòf ktsat pazám3 mashehu. to to gather some time something to become more ripe

After tasting some of the fruit, Yonat announces that it’s kind of bitter (lines 56–59). To this Gila responds with some laughter and a tov (line 61), accepting Yonat’s description of the state of the fruit. She then proceeds, following the discourse marker 'az (‘so’) and the directive (functioning as discourse marker here4) bo'i (‘let’s’, lit. ‘come’), which is directed towards herself as well, to say that she’ll let the fruit sit around a bit longer until it becomes more ripe (lines 62–65). In fact, this suggestion is co-constructed (Lerner 1991) by both of the participants, as Yonat verbalizes the length of time – a day or two (line 64) – which they should wait. Tov of acceptance is often employed in this corpus as part of the strategy of constructed dialogue (Tannen 1989). This happens when a speaker describes someone’s acceptance of the state of things in the storyworld. In the following excerpt from the mid 1990s, Ada, who accompanied the Israeli delegation to Oslo during the peace talks with the Palestinians, tells about getting lost on a tram in Oslo with Abdullah, a member of the Palestinian delegation. First, she tells of their attempts to locate the phone number of their guide: Excerpt 4 (‘Ada and Abdullah in Oslo’): 87 Ada: .... ve'az hu 'omér, and then he says,

88

'á--h,

3. pazam is an acronym originating in army slang: pesek zman minimali (‘minimal period of time’). It refers to the length of time which a soldier has accumulated in some rank. 4. Hebrew bo/'i/'u (lit. ‘come’ masc. sg./ fem. sg./ masc. or fem. pl.) has undergone grammaticization from an imperative to a hortative and then a discourse marker, somewhat like English let us > let’s (Traugott 1995b: 36–37).



Chapter 5.╇ Between realms 

89

yesh lax ta’télefon shel hamadrìx haze vehaze? there is to you the phone of the guide this and this do you have the phone [number] of some particular guide?

90

... kén ken bétax! {Ada’s voice to Abdullah} yes yes sure!

91

.. 'ani matxila lexapés beze, {--laughing--} I start looking in this I start looking here,

92

.. 'an’ló motsèt. can’t find [anything].

93

.. mexapéset, [I] look [there],

94

.. ló motsèt. can’t find [anything].

95

... bekítsur hayinu mevohalím laxalutín. in short we were alarmed completely in short we were completely alarmed.

96

.. 'amarti tóv, I said okay,

97

nitkasher venish'al beshagrirùt yisra'él. we’ll call and ask at embassy Israel we’ll call and ask at the Israeli embassy.

98

.... hitkasharti lamerkaziyà shel.. 'e--h.. 'óslo, I called the operator of.. u--h.. Oslo,

99

... bikáshti /ta’ telefon shel/ hashagrirùt, I asked for /the telephone [number] of/ the embassy,

100

... hitkashárti lashagrirùt, I called the embassy,

Following the description of a series of failed attempts to locate the guide’s phone number (lines 91–94), Ada sums up, following the discourse marker bekitsur (‘in short’, ‘anyway’), the state of mind they were in as a result of their failed attempts: hayinu mevohalím laxalutín. (‘we were completely alarmed’, line 95). She then moves on to describe her response to this situation (lines 96–97): 'amarti tóv, (‘I said okay’), nitkasher venish'al beshagrirùt yisra'él. (‘we’ll call and ask at the Israeli embassy’). Tov

 Metalanguage in Interaction

here verbalizes Ada’s acceptance of the state of things at the time, and it precedes the new strategy she devised as a result; namely, calling the Israeli embassy. Note that tov of excerpt 4 does not appear at intonation-unit initial position, and thus, like 16% of the tov tokens throughout the corpus (see footnote 1, cf. Chapter 1, excerpt 6), does not satisfy the structural requirement for prototypical discourse markerhood. However, in accordance with what I have claimed earlier (Maschler 2002a and Chapter 1, Section 7), tov here follows the verbum dicendi 'amarti (‘I said’) and constitutes Ada’s constructed dialogue to herself in the storyworld. In Chapter 1, Section 4, we saw that the system of discourse markers is an iconic one: ‘big packages’ (Sacks 1992), such as the beginnings of new stories, are announced by ‘heavier’ strategies such as clusters of several consecutive prototypical discourse markers and longer metalingual utterances, while ‘small packages’ such as sub-episodes in a narrative are announced by ‘lighter’ strategies. The boundary between the unit introducing constructed dialogue and the constructed dialogue itself is a lower-level boundary in the discourse. Such boundaries often do not involve the use of any discourse markers at all. When they do, the markers they employ are ‘lighter’ in character, in that they satisfy only the semantic, but not the structural requirement for prototypical discourse markerhood. They have different prosodic qualities such as following continuing intonation in same-speaker talk or not appearing at intonation-unit initial position, as is the case in excerpt 4. 3.2

Third turn receipt

Frequently, the acceptance of the state of things is given in a particular sequential position, known in the conversation analytic literature as ‘third turn receipt’. For example, examine the following segment from the continuation of the ‘new shoes’ conversation: Excerpt 5 (‘New Shoes’): 35 Yafit: .... ve- and 36

no.. 'ani--, /??/.. I[’m],

37

... tipùs shel.. nyu bálans. a type of.. New Balance a New Balance type.

38

... ke'ilu, like,



Chapter 5.╇ Between realms 

39

'ani xolá 'aleyhem. I sick about them I’m crazy about them.

40 Meirav: ... má ze nyu bàlans. what is New Balance. 41

xevrá? [a] company? xevrá. [a] company.

42 Yafit: 43

kmo hay te like High Te

44

'e--h.. hay tek lemashal. u--h.. High Tech for instance.

45

.. 'az 'e--h, so u--h,

46 Meirav: 47 Yafit:

tóv. {laughing} okay.

ra'íti ka'ele shel nyu bàlans, I saw like these of New Balance I saw such shoes by New Balance,

Following Meirav’s clarification request concerning the term ‘New Balance’ (lines 40–41), Yafit explains that it is a brand name of gym shoes (lines 42–44) and moves on to continue her narrative (lines 45 and 47). Overlapping her, at line 46, Meirav shows her acceptance of this answer with a tov, much in the same way that okay can be used in this ‘third’ position: “Free-standing ‘Okays’ are also employed by current speakers who initiate such activities as questions, and having received an affirmative, acceptable, and/or clarifying answer from recipient, move next to mark recognition and/or approval in third slot via ‘Okay’” (Beach 1993:€331). 3.3

Concession

Tov can be employed by a recipient to pay lip service towards accepting some state of things. In these instances, it is often immediately followed by a ‘but’ response. The result is a fleeting concession of the state of things as described by the interlocutor.

 Metalanguage in Interaction

In the following interaction between a young woman and her parents, the mother is in the middle of a story when the father suddenly interrupts with a question concerning the tape recorder: Excerpt 6 (‘Family Gossip’): 192 Mother: .. mà 'ód hu 'amar, what else he said what else did he say, tagídi, tell (fem. sg.) me,

193 Father: 194

.. 'at hexláft po batarìya? you changed here battery did you change batteries here?

195 Orna: .. ló. no. 196 Father: ... 'át yoda'at shehadavàr haze 'ovéd you know that the thing the this works you know that this thing works 197

.... 'ani ganávti 'et ze--, I stole this,

198 Mother:

'ani be'émtsa mishpàt. I[’m] in [the] middle of [a] sentence.

199 Orna:

'ima be'émtsa Mom[’s] in [the] middle of

200

{laughter}

201 Mother: .. 'ani mishtagá'at mimxa! I’m going crazy from you you’re driving me crazy! 202 Father: 203

tòv 'aval ze norá xashuv, tov but it’s terribly important, ladá'at 'et ze. to know this.

204 Orna: {laughter} 205 Father: 206

{laughter} ... beshiv'ím veshmòne, in seventy eight,



Chapter 5.╇ Between realms 

207

ganàvti 'et ze mimé'ir 'adív, I stole this from Meir Adiv,

208

.. meshumásh. used.

When the father continues the tape recorder topic (lines 196–197), both mother and daughter overlap, objecting that the mother was in the middle of a sentence (lines 198–199). The mother then adds an expression of her annoyance at the situation 'ani mishtagá'at mimxa! (‘you’re driving me crazy!’, line 201), which the father overlaps with tòv 'aval ze norá xashuv, ladá'at 'et ze. (‘tov but it’s terribly important, to know this’). With this tov, the father accepts the state of things as described by mother and daughter, and pays lip service towards acknowledging the inadequacy of his interruption. His acceptance is quite momentary though – it is immediately followed by 'aval (‘but’), a humorous justification of his behavior (lines 202–203), and a continuation of the topic of the tape recorder (lines 206–208). I have left this token of tov untranslated, because the concessive character of tov seems stronger to me than that of okay; a fact related, I think, to the clearer semantic origin of tov (‘good’). Concessive tov is not always followed by an explicit ‘but’. In the following excerpt, Orna describes some old fashioned medicine in the form of mustard powder mixed with water, which her mother recommended she use: Excerpt 7 (‘Old Fashioned Medicine’): 33 Orna: ... la'asót mize--, [you need] to make out of it, 34

'at yoda'at, you know,

35

.. 'is dou

36

ktsat, a bit,

37

'isá kazoti? a dough sort of?

38 Xava: ... nu? go on? 39 Orna: .. limróax 'et ze, [you need] to spread it, 40

'al 'e--h, on u--h,

 Metalanguage in Interaction

41

.. xatixot neyá--r? pieces of paper?

42

.... velasím 'et ze, and to put it,

43

'al ha--, on the--,

44

re'ót. lungs.

45

... me'axóra? from the back? nu, yeah,

46 Xava: 47

vemá ze 'ose? and what it does and what does it do?

48 Orna: ... hi 'omeret, she says, 49

z i

50

ze, it,

51

ze soféax xòm, it gathers heat,

52

ze lokeax 'et kól hahitkarerùt. it takes all the cold it makes the entire cold go away.

53

... /mahér/, /quickly/,

54

/mahér/, /quickly/,

55

'amárti le'ima sheli, I said to mother my I said to my mother, {------smiling-------}

56

tóv, fine,



Chapter 5.╇ Between realms 

57

'ani ló ya'ase 'et ze. I won't do it.

Following the mother’s constructed dialogue5 concerning the benefits of this medication (lines 49–54), Orna reports, again in constructed dialogue, her response to her mother in a smiling tone: 'amárti le'ima sheli, (‘I said to my mother’), tóv (‘fine’), 'ani ló ya'ase6 'et ze. (‘I won’t do it’). Tov here does not accept the mother’s advice even momentarily, as it is accompanied by a smile and a declaration of its unacceptability (line 57). I have translated the tov of excerpt 7 as English fine since this word seems to capture its concessive flavor better than okay. A similar phenomenon was described by Auer for certain German particles. Of particular relevance to tov is Bavarian fei (< fein, lit. ‘fine’, now roughly meaning: ‘contrary to what you may assume’) (1996:€317) and German gut (Auer p.c.). One could easily interpret the tov of lines 56–57 in this way: ‘contrary to what you may assume, I won’t do it’. We see that although there is no explicit ‘but’ here, the contrastive stance is clear. 3.4

Ironic agreement: Disagreement

For some readers, the tov of excerpt 7, line 56 will be interpreted with a certain degree of irony – the irony of a daughter ridiculing her mother’s unacceptable suggestions. I submit that, for all readers, the irony expressed by the tov of the following excerpt is unquestionable. This is a political argument that took place in 1994 at a family meal between the father, a right-leaning supporter of the Likud party, and his left-leaning son, who is in his early twenties and a supporter of the Ma'arax (Labor) party. The argument concerns the peace agreement with Jordan that had just been signed by the Labor government: Excerpt 8 (‘Political Argument’): 4 Gabi: bentáyim, meanwhile, 5

mi shedafák 'et tahalìx hashalòm, he who screwed up the process peace those who screwed up the peace process,

6

xamésh 'esre shanà, [for] fifteen years,

5. In Hebrew, the absence of the subordinator she- (‘that’) is evidence that an utterance is in ‘direct speech’, i.e., constructed dialogue. 6. Note the use of the third person masc. sg. future prefix ya- (‘he will’) instead of the first person sg. (both masc. and fem.) prefix 'a in the verb ya'ase, as noted in Bolozky 1984, 1999.

 Metalanguage in Interaction

7

... ze halikúd, is the Likud,

8

lo ha-not the-ta'avír li ta’pirè? pass me the puree?

9 Shani: 10 Gabi:

.. ló hama'aràx. not the Ma'arax.

11 Father: ze naxón, it’s true, 12

.. halikúd, the Likud,

13

'asú 'et ze. did it.

14

... 'avál, but,

15 (3.5) ze ló 'omer, this doesn’t mean, 16

shegàm hama'aráx, that also the Ma'arax,

17

lo 'osím 'et ze. aren’t doing it. bentáyim, so far,

18 Gabi: 19

hem 'osìm yafe me'ód, they’re doing nice very they’re doing very well,

20

.. 'im 'efshàr letsayén. if it’s possible to remark if I may say so.

21 Father: ... 'aval /????/ but /??????/ 22 Gabi:

/ bentáyim hem menahalim 'et/ hamasà umatan bexoxmá. /so far they’re carrying on the / negotiations with wisdom /so far they’re carrying on the/ negotiations skillfully.



Chapter 5.╇ Between realms 

tóv. {ironic tone} fine.

23 Father: 24

....... 'ókey. {ironic tone} okay.

25 Gabi:

.... 'atá lò maskím 'iti, you don’t agree with me,

26

.. shehaheském hateritoryali, that the agreement the territorial, that the territorial agreement,

27

'im yardén, with Jordan,

28

hu mutsláx? is successful is good?

29 Father: ... 'ìm 'anì lo maskim 'itxá, if I don’t agree with you, 30 Shani:

todá. {to Mother, concerning the food being passed} thank you.

31 Father: .... 'ìm 'anì lo maskim 'itxá, if I don’t agree with you, 32

... 'ata titén li lehagìd 'et da'ati? you will let me say my opinion will you let me express my opinion?

At lines 18–22, Gabi claims in a rather agonistic tone that the Labor government has been carrying on the negotiations quite skillfully. To this the father responds with an ironic (as well as sarcastic) tov (line 23) followed by a long silence and an ironic 'okey (‘okay’, line 24). With these two tokens, the father clearly shows that he does not agree with his son that the Labor government is carrying on the negotiations with Jordan skilfully. Gabi’s continuing talk 'atá lò maskím 'iti, (‘you don’t agree with me...’, lines 25–28) is evidence that this was Gabi’s interpretation at the time of the argument. The father’s response 'ìm 'anì lo maskim 'itxá (‘if I don’t agree with you..., lines 29–32) is evidence that this was the father’s interpretation at the time as well. Thus the tov (as well as the 'okey) here is a token of ironic agreement, which is to say, disagreement. An English translation of fine seems to capture this irony.

 Metalanguage in Interaction

All of the excerpts of Section 3 illustrate interpersonal tov employed by the recipient. Let us now examine more carefully textual tov (columns 2 & 3 of Table 1), employed by the speaker. 4. Textual tov: Marking expected transition Textual tov is employed by the speaker to mark transitions: 1. at beginnings of major topics, whether narrational or elicitational 2. between the episodes and sub-episodes of a narrative 3. to return to an action which has been interrupted 4. at the end of a topic/action. I now illustrate each of these categories. 4.1

Transitional tov into the beginning of a narrative

We have already seen an example of tov beginning an elicitational topic (excerpt 2). As for narrational topics, the following example comes from the beginning of a story about the army days of one of the women: Excerpt 9 (‘Wounded in Lebanon’): 1 Hanna: .... tóv, okay, 2

.. 'az 'ani 'asapèr 'et hasipúr, so I will tell the story,

3

.. 'al 'éx niftsáti belevanòn? about how I was wounded in Lebanon? 'ókey. okay.

4 Galia: 5 Hanna: ... tóv. okay. 6

.. 'az 'e--h, so u--h,

7

... kshehitgayásti latsavà, when I was drafted to the army,

Although I do not have a recording of the beginning of this interaction, it is relatively safe to assume that the two women met here in order to record ‘a good narrative’ for the course assignment for which this conversation was collected. This



Chapter 5.╇ Between realms 

tov, then, like the one in excerpt 2, is equivalent to ‘discourse okay’ as described by Condon, which marks ‘significant, yet expected, transitions in the discourse’ (2001:€495). Telling a story was clearly on the agenda, as we learn from the definite article preceding the Hebrew word for story – hasipur (‘the story’, line 2). The recipient (who was also the student recording the conversation) responds with the agreement token 'okey (‘okay’, line 4), and Hanna continues the story, beginning with another tov (line 5), to which we shall return in the discussion of the ambiguous cases (Section 5). 4.2

Transitional tov between the episodes of narrative discourse

Examine the following narrative, told by a young man, Adi, to another, Gil, and to a woman, Hadas, about a suitcase left unattended at the airport: Excerpt 10 (‘Said’s suitcase’): 10 Adi: ..... ze hitxíl baze she, it started with the [fact] that, 11

... kshetásnu, when we flew,

12

betèrminal shtáyim, in terminal two,

13

.. 'anaxnu omdím, we[’re] standing [there],

14

.. doxafím, [people are] pushing,

15

bardák, [it’s] pandamonium,

16

'áf 'exad lo záz. no one is moving.



tóv,

17

18

/má ze?/ /what’s this?/

19

..... pít'om, suddenly,

20

... pinúy! evacuation!

 Metalanguage in Interaction

21

.. la'azóv hakól, leave everything,

22

borxìm haxútsa. [people] are running outside.

In this excerpt, tov is found at a significant boundary in the narrative, as the narrator moves from the orientation to the complicating action (Labov 1972). It is employed along with pit'om (‘suddenly’) as the speaker begins to recount the actions leading to the climax of the story. The transition from the orientation of a narrative to its complicating action is a relatively expected one, originating from the narrative scheme familiar to both participants. Thus, like ‘discourse okay’, tov between narrative episodes constitutes a transition to an expected course of action (Condon 2001). 4.3

Transitional tov returning to an interrupted action

Returning to an action following an interruption is also an expected course of action. The following excerpt comes from a story told by Yif 'at to a married couple, Avi and Inbar. In the middle of the story, the couple’s toddler shows up and they deal with her and with opening something: Excerpt 11 (‘Drunk on Campus’): 99 Avi: ... 'at lo yoda'at /liftoax 'et ze/? {---------------pp-------------------} you don’t know /how to open it/? toda. {pp} thank you.

100 Inbar: 101

... bàt lashevet pó? {to toddler} you came to sit here?

102 Yif 'at: ... tóv, okay, 103 104 Inbar: 105

bekitsú--r, anyway, ma, {to toddler} what, lehoríd lax? {to toddler} [shall I] bring [this] down for you?



Chapter 5.╇ Between realms 

yom 'exád, one day,

106 Yif 'at: 107

hem halxú, they went,

108

le'eyze mesibá, to some party,

Following the interruption dealing with the toddler, Yif 'at returns to her story (line 106) following a cluster of two discourse markers – tov, bekitsur (‘okay, anyway’, lines 102–3). While bekitsur has the main function of resuming a main topic following a digression, as we saw in Chapter 3, tov here marks the close of the interruption and the transition to an expected course of action – a return to the previous topic. 4.4

Transitional tov ending a topic/action

Occasionally (at only 3.2% of the cases), the transition to the following conversational action is marked at the end of the preceding action rather than at the beginning of the next one. One example comes from a narrative co-told by Orna and Anat to Ran concerning a diving course they attended with three other women friends. The narrative goes on for a long time, humorously describing how each one of the women dropped out as the course went on: Excerpt 12 (‘Diving Course’): 29 Orna: harofé hipìl 'ota, the doctor dropped her [i.e., caused her to drop out], 30

.. ya'ani. sorta.

31

.. 'al.. 'e--h.. refu'í hi naflà. on uh medical [reason] she fell. for uh medical reasons she dropped out.



32 All:

33 Ran:

{laughter} /'atem 'al?????????/ you [dropped out] for????????

34 Orna: ló /naxon/. {--laughing--} not true. 35 Anat:

... 'anàxnu nafálnu, we dropped out,

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36

'al sotsyométri. {---laughing---} on sociometric [grounds] for sociometric reasons. [i.e., for not having the right social attitude]

37 All:

{laughter}

38 Orna: ... nish'àrnu 'árba banot. {----------laughing---------} we were left four girls. 39

... to al

40

... tóv! alright!



... nu,

41 Ran:

'ani maksh I’m listen

42 43

.. 'ani mexake lá-{-----laughing---} I’m waiting for the

44

.. lapo'énta. {--laughing--} for the point.

45 Anat:

la-- pántsh layn. {-------laughing-----} for the punch line.

46 Orna: ... tóv! alright! 47

.. magía hayom hashenì. arrives the day the second the second day arrives.

In lines 29–31 Orna ends the description of the first woman dropping out on the first day of the course. This is interrupted by Ran’s humorous comment and a humorous objection to it by Orna and Anat (lines 33–37). Following some laughter, Anat summarizes the first day of the course: nish'àrnu 'árba banot. (‘we were left four girls’, line 38). This is ended with tov! (which I have translated here as ‘alright!’, line 40). Next comes Ran’s humorous prodding to get to this story’s point finally (lines 41–44). Orna continues her story with the next episode – the second day of



Chapter 5.╇ Between realms 

the course: magía hayom hashenì. (‘the second day arrives.’, line 47) – preceded by another token of tov (line 46), this time opening a new episode in the narrative (as in excerpt 11). Employment of the same discourse marker both at the ending of the previous episode and at the beginning of the next one is further evidence of its role in marking significant transitions in the discourse. 5. Ambiguous cases: Between interpersonal and textual tov In the two previous sections, we have seen that interpersonal tov is employed by the recipient whereas textual tov is used by the speaker. However, all of our utterances are simultaneously constrained by the various contextual realms shaping discourse (Becker 1988), not just by the interpersonal and textual realms. It should not surprise us, therefore, that in 9 cases throughout the database (14.5%) tov functions both interpersonally and textually. These tokens are generally employed by the recipient, and it is the recipient, not the speaker, who also either initiates a move on to the next episode/action or closes the current one. These ambiguous instances are instructive for understanding the connections between the functions of tov and for positing a possible grammaticization path between them. In a study first published in 1983, Jefferson noted the configuration of Minimal Recycle, in which speakers “can manage both exhibiting Acknowledgment attention to the overlapping utterance [...] and immediately getting back to the overlapped talk [...]”. She characterized it as “an attention on the way to something else” (Jefferson 1993 [1983]: 3, emphasis in original). Jefferson noticed that a similar phenomenon can occur in the case of topic shift: “a recipient will at some point produce a minimal acknowledgment of a prior utterance and follow that with a shift in topic” (ibid.: 4). This is another case of “exhibiting attention while shifting” (ibid.: 29). This observation is critical for understanding the connection between the interpersonal and textual uses of tov. Some of the tov tokens in the present database also exhibit this dual nature. A recipient can simultaneously provide some acknowledgment towards accepting the state of things, while at the same time initiating a move to begin the next action (or to end the current one). This duality has also been found for English okay: “participants rely on ‘Okay’ as a means of simultaneously attending to prior turn while also setting-up next-positioned matters (topics/activities)” (Beach 1993:€329). 5.1

Third turn receipt + ending an action

In the case of third turn receipt, it is often the case that the recipient’s tov also ends the current action, because recognition of having received a response also generally

 Metalanguage in Interaction

ends the sequence. This is particularly apparent in the following conversation between a young man, Uriel, and three young women concerning the high school Uriel attended: Excerpt 13 (‘Intruding on One’s Privacy’): 116 Dalit: ... 'ata lamàdeta bebet sefer 'im ma'alót? you studied at school with Ma'alot [kids]? 117 Uriel: 118 Galit:

... kén. yeah. hù mikfar vradím! he[’s] from Kfar Vradim!

119 Dalit: ... ze karóv? {whispering, laughing} that[’s] close? 120 Uriel: ..... bet sèfer 'ezorí! school regional it’s a regional school! 121 Liora: .. kòl ha'ezór, all the region the entire region, 122

.. zehu. that’s it.

123 Dalit: .. tóv. okay. 124

(slight laughter)

125 Uriel: ... 'az zéhu, so that’s it, 126

... 'az bekitsúr, so anyway,

127

... bekitsúr, anyway,

128

... 'az 'e--h, so u--h,

129

... 'az 'ani 'omer, so I say,

130

... kén, yeah,



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131

veze--, and so on,

132

.. 'az hi 'oméret, so she says,

133

... dibàrti 'im danít. I talked to Danit.

At line 116, Dalit is surprised to learn that Uriel went to school with children from the town of Ma'alot in the Northern Israeli region of the Galilee. This town is known as a ‘development town’, which in the Israeli context generally means a post-statehood peripheral town a significant percentage of whose population belongs to a lower socio-economic strata than the general Israeli population. Uriel answers positively (line 117), and Galit overlaps him reminding Dalit that Uriel is from Kfar Vradim (line 118). Kfar Vradim, which neighbors Ma'alot, is known as a village whose population generally enjoys a rather high socio-economic status. At line 119 Dalit whispers shyly, asking whether Kfar Vradim is near Ma'alot. Uriel answers that the school is a regional school (line 120), implying that therefore children from various settlements in the Galilee (and perhaps regardless of their socio-economic status) study there. Liora reinforces this (lines 121–122), and Dalit accepts the answer at line 123 with a tov, accompanied by slight laughter, perhaps indicating embarrassment at her ignorance and at the lack of political correctness implied by her surprise. Dalit’s tov constitutes a case of third-turn receipt, but we see that it also ends the current clarification sequence concerning the school: at line 125, with a cluster of 8 consecutive discourse markers (lines 125–129), Uriel moves on to continue his story. Thus we see that a token of tov indicates recognition at having received a clarifying answer from the recipient at the same time that it serves to end the current action. 5.2

Third turn receipt + transition into following episode/action

A less obvious case occurs when a recipient acknowledges some state of things and at the same time moves on to the next action. We have seen this in excerpt 9, line 5: Excerpt 9 (‘Wounded in Lebanon’): 1 Hanna: .... tóv, okay, 2

.. 'az 'ani 'asapèr 'et hasipúr, so I will tell the story,

3

.. 'al 'éx niftsáti belevanòn? about how I was wounded in Lebanon?

 Metalanguage in Interaction

'ókey. okay.

4 Galia: 5 Hanna: ... tóv. okay. 6

.. 'az 'e--h, so u--h,

7

... kshehitgayásti latsavà, when I was drafted to the army,

In lines 1–3 Hanna requests permission to tell the story. Her utterances in these lines also function as the abstract (Labov 1972) to her narrative. Her request is responded to positively (line 4) with 'okey, and in line 5 Hanna acknowledges this response with the third-turn receipt tov. However, this tov also serves to begin the orientation episode of the narrative; in other words, it constitutes a transition into the next expected action. 5.3

Acceptance of some state of things + transition into following episode/action

A token of tov can perform both an interpersonal and a textual function even when it does not occur in third position. In the following interaction between two women in their early forties, Nurit tells Sara about the dealings her husband had with various medical doctors while they were on vacation. In this section of the story, they are on the phone with their family practitioner, who is wondering why the results of the lab test the husband took still aren’t in: Excerpt 14 (‘Doctors’): 129 Nurit: .. hu 'omér, he says, 130

má ze, what[’s] this,

131

'én totsa'òt! no results!

132

.. ma.. masàrtem beyom xamishí, y..you handed [the culture] in on Thursday,

133

.. ze tsarix lihiyót, it has to be [in],

134

hatotsa'ót! the results!



Chapter 5.╇ Between realms 

135

... yom shishí, Friday,

136

yom Shabát, Saturday,

137

yom rishón, Sunday,

138

.. ts’xot lihiyót kvar hatotsa'òt. must be already the results the results should be in already. naxón. right.

139 Sara: 140 Nurit: .. tóv. okay. 141

tén li ta’tèlefon shelxa, give me the phone yours give me your phone number,

142

.. 'ani 'avarér. I’ll find out.

In lines 130–138, which comprise the constructed dialogue of the family practitioner, the doctor calculates the days that have elapsed since the culture was taken and concludes that the results should have already been in. At line 139 Sara, the recipient of this story, agrees with the doctor’s conclusion, and Nurit continues the story at line 140 with the doctor’s constructed dialogue: tov. ten li ta’telefon shelxa, 'ani 'avarer. (‘okay. give me your phone number, I’ll find out’, lines 140–142). This tov signals the doctor’s acceptance of the situation (i.e., that there are still no results although they should have been in already). At the same time, it begins a new episode in the story, the episode describing a new action of the doctor’s: he requests their phone number, promising to notify them about what he finds out at the lab. Thus we see that the same token of tov functions both as acceptance of some state of things as well as the beginning of a new sub-episode7 in the narrative. The difference between this and the two preceding cases is that here tov is actually verbalized not by the recipient in the interaction but rather by the storyteller. However, the storyteller is constructing the utterances of the doctor, who is 7. This is similar to excerpt 4, except that the boundaries between the units are more clear here (partly since this tov satisfies all the requirements for prototypical discourse markerhood), and tov clearly precedes the beginning of a new sub-episode (while in excerpt 4, lines 96–97, it does not).

 Metalanguage in Interaction

a recipient in the storyworld, in the sense that he is accepting a state of things which Nurit and her husband have presented to him. 5.4

Concession + transition into following episode/action

In a study of the position preceding the front-field of the finite German verb (‘the pre-front field’) as a preferred locus of grammaticization, Auer writes: Semantically, these pre-front field agreement adverbials and tokens often preface a possible counter-argument, which the speaker presumes to be relevant in some kind of imagined dialogue with a partner who is not necessarily identical with the one co-present. This counter-argument, although it has not been made by the other party, at least not explicitly and not in the prior turn, is taken up and ‘agreed with’ in a yes-but strategy (1996:€316–317).

In excerpt 7, we saw that a real, not an imagined, dialogue (with the mother) was reported, and the counter-argument was made via tov: tov (‘fine’), 'ani lo 'a'ase 'et ze. (‘I won’t do it’), (or ‘contrary to what you may assume, I won’t do it’, see Section 3.3). The idea of an imagined dialogue with some partner is enlightening for understanding tov in the following excerpt from a story a mother tells her husband and twenty-something year old daughter about her own mother: Excerpt 15 (‘Grandma Can’t Remember’): 10 Mother: ... xamishím shana, fifty years, 11

hi xáya sham be--, she lived there on,

12

.. behamèlex jórj. on King George [street].

13

... ze ló kàl, it’s not easy,

14

le'ishà mevugéret, for woman old for an older woman,

15

pit'òm la'avór dira. to suddenly move apartments.

16 Father: 17 Mother: .. tóv 'anaxnu 'azàrnu, of course we helped,

naxón. right.



Chapter 5.╇ Between realms 

18

veze ve and so on and

19

.. veyóm and [a] day

20

.... yóm lifney haha'avarà, [a] day before the move,

21

.... 'ani hayíti sham 'ita--, I was there with her,

22

... ve.. sax hakol haya mesudár, and all in all was arranged and all in all things were arranged,

23

... vehe'evárnu, and we moved [everything],

24

... venixnásnu habàyta, and we entered [her new] home,

25

.... ladirá, into the apartment,

26

.... pit'òm betsura me'òd meshunà--, suddenly in fasion very strange suddenly in a very strange way,

27

... hi sho'élet 'oti, she asks me,

28 29

.... má 'anaxnu 'osìm po? what we doing here what are we doing here?

30

... láma 'anaxnu nimtsa'ìm po? why we here why are we here?

31

... lama 'ani nimtset po, why I here why am I here,

32

... hi sho'elet 'oti. she asks me.

This tov (like the one in excerpt 14) is employed by the narrator of the story, not by the recipient, and there is no prior speaker (neither in the storyworld nor in the world of the interaction) to whom this token responds. However, the tov of line 17

 Metalanguage in Interaction

‘introduces a syntactic gestalt’, to use Auer’s words again (ibid.: 316), and prefaces a possible argument, which the speaker presumes to be relevant in some kind of imagined dialogue, such as ‘it is not easy for an older woman to suddenly move apartments, particularly with no help’. This imaginary argument ‘is taken up and “agreed with” [or rather countered] with a yes-but strategy’: tov 'anaxnu 'azarnu veze (‘tov we helped and so on’), in other words, ‘yes, you may assume we did not help, but we did’, or ‘contrary to what you may assume, we helped’. The translation of tov as ‘of course’ seems more adequate here (cf. Auer’s discussion of German natürlich ‘of course’, ibid.: 315–316). With this example of imaginary dialogue, we begin to see how a metaphorical extension of the primary interactional usage of the agreement token tov “opens the way to grammaticalization into a connective with quasi-conjunctional function” (ibid.: 317). We shall continue to explore this last excerpt in the concluding chapter of this book in order to further develop a theory about the grammaticization of discourse markers (Chapter 6, sections 2.1 and 2.3). However, the tov of excerpt 15, line 17, also has a textual function in the discourse, because it constitutes the beginning of a new sub-episode in the narrative. Lines 10–12 are part of the orientation to the story, describing the Grandmother’s living situation over the past 50 years. The narrator then interrupts (lines 13–15) to make a general assertion concerning older people and moving, to which the recipient responds with naxon (‘right’, line 16). At line 17 the narrator returns to the narrative, to a new sub-episode of the orientation which describes the specific background to the story she is telling – the happenings of the day preceding the move. Thus we see that a single token of tov functions both as a concessive and as a transition into the following sub-episode of the narrative. 5.5

Concession and return to main topic

Tov is employed in this corpus twice in order to return to a main action following an interruption, both times followed by the discourse marker bekitsur (‘anyway’). We have seen one instance in excerpt 11. In the other instance, tov is employed by the recipient. Here Gila is telling Yonat a story. Yonat had interrupted with some comment concerning the story, which Gila responds to in lines 109–113: Excerpt 16 (‘Sofas’): 109 Gila: .... ze be'ayà shel mi shekone sapót, this [is the] problem of [one] who buys sofas, 110

velo bodék, and doesn’t check,



Chapter 5.╇ Between realms 

111

.. 'im hu 'ohév 'otam, if he likes them,

112

'o ló 'ohèv 'otam, or doesn’t like them,

113

.. 'o 'im hem mat'imòt lo labáyit. or if they match for him to the house or if they match his house.

114 Yonat: .. tòv 'akítser, okay anyway, 115 116 Gila:

sof hasipùr hu shehem nifredú? [the] end of the story is that they broke up?

shehem nifredu, that they broke up the end of the story is that they broke up,

sóf hasipùr end of the story

From the surrounding context8 we learn that Yonat does not entirely agree with Gila’s assertion in lines 109–113. However, rather than pursue the disagreement, at lines 114–115 she urges Gila to get on with the story. This action is begun with the discourse marker cluster tòv 'akítser (‘okay anyway9’), this time employed by the recipient of the story. The tov of this excerpt is borderline between textual and interpersonal, because it also constitutes the recipient’s response of paying lip service towards accepting the speaker’s previous statement (as in excerpt 6 of Section 3.3). This tov, then, both carries a concessive flavor and marks the close of a digression and the transition into an expected course of action – the return to the main topic. 6. Grammaticization of tov In Hopper and Traugott’s definition, grammaticization is “the change whereby lexical items and constructions come in certain linguistic contexts to serve grammatical functions, and, once grammaticalized, continue to develop new grammatical functions” (2003: xv). As we have seen in Chapter 3, according to their principle of unidirectionality in grammaticization, a typical path of grammaticization 8. For a detailed study of this excerpt, see Chapter 3 Section 4.1. 9. As we saw in Chapter 3, the discourse marker bekitsur has several variants, one of which is 'akítser, much like the English variant of anyway, anyways.

 Metalanguage in Interaction

follows a cline of de-categorialization (ibid.: 106–109). Thus, typically, the starting point of the process is some lexical item that fully belongs to a major category such as noun or verb; over time, the lexical item becomes more grammatical and “tends to lose the morphological and syntactic properties that would identify it as a full member of a major grammatical category [...] In its most extreme form such a change is manifested as a cline of categoriality, statable as: major category (> adjective/adverb) > minor category” (ibid.: 107), where ‘minor category’ includes categories such as preposition, conjunction, auxiliary, pronoun, and demonstrative (Hopper and Traugott, ibid), as well as the category of discourse marker (Ferrara 1997:€371), as we have seen in the discussion of bekitsur (Chapter 3). The Hebrew word tov has followed this path of grammaticization. In the absence of a diachronic corpus, I first rely on information found in dictionaries. Even-Shoshan (2003) lists the period of Hebrew at which the meanings were first used (Biblical, Talmudic, Medieval, Modern). In the introduction to his dictionary (ibid.: ix), he writes that the various meanings are listed in the order of their frequency in Modern Hebrew, from most frequent to least so. He lists the following meanings for tov, in the following order: 1. (Adjective) of positive value 2. (Adjective) nice, of good deeds 3. (Adverb) worthwhile (to...) 4. (Noun) a good thing, a good deed, goodness 5. a word of agreement and affirmation. 6. (Modern Hebrew only) The mark [school grade] 8 (between 75 and 84). 7. (Modern Hebrew only) ‘tov be-’ ‘good in’ as in ‘She’s good in math’. The first five meanings are found already in Biblical Hebrew. The nominal use of tov (‘goodness’) is highly infrequent in Modern Hebrew and restricted only to very high registers such as poetry and archaic language. All citations given for this use are Biblical. From this I conclude that tov as a major category (noun) has become less frequently employed over the years. The most common use according to EvenShoshan is that of adjective (‘good’), but tov is also found, though much less frequently, as an adverb. This information suggests, then, that the word tov has moved from the major category of noun to the intermediate categories of adjective, and, much less frequently, adverb. From there, it has moved on to the minor category of (interpersonal) discourse marker. This happened already in Biblical Hebrew (‘a word of agreement and affirmation’), as we saw in the example from the Book of Kings which opened this chapter. This meaning ranks fifth on Even-Shoshan’s list, implying that it is one of the least frequently employed meanings of tov in the



Chapter 5.╇ Between realms 

modern language. I suspect, however, that had Even-Shoshan based his lexicography on a corpus of spoken language, this meaning would have been much more frequent, perhaps the most frequent. Grammaticization of tov did not stop once it became a discourse marker. In this minor grammatical category it continued to develop. We have seen another use of tov as a discourse marker: the textual use of ‘transition to an expected course of action’. The fact that it is not found in any of the dictionaries, which survey Hebrew from Biblical times to the present, supports the claim that this is the most recent development of this word.10 Note that the development from interpersonal to textual discourse marker in the case of tov contradicts the cline posited in Traugott 1982: propositional > (textual) > expressive (later termed ‘subjective’). This cline suggests that when meanings develop from propositional to interpersonal (‘expressive’ or ‘subjective’ in Traugott’s terminology), they must pass through a textual stage first. I have suggested that tov first developed interpersonal functions and only later – textual ones. Indeed, this cline later came to be considered too strong (e.g., Heine, Claudi and Hünnemeyer 1991:€ 190–191, Brinton 1996) and was restated as a set of three tendencies (Traugott 1989:€34–35, see Chapter 1, Section 8.1). How does a word meaning ‘good’ develop first into an interpersonal discourse marker and then into a textual one? I would like to suggest that from the adjectival meaning of tov (‘good’), the interpersonal discourse marker emerged through use in metalingual utterances such as ze tov, velaxen 'ani maskim laze/lehamshix (‘this (referring to the state of things) [is] good, and therefore I agree to it / for you to continue’). In other words, before moving on with the rest of the discourse, an agreement must be reached between its participants to the effect that they both find the state of things satisfactory. This is what I referred to as ‘accepting while shifting’ in the title of this chapter, improvising on Jefferson’s ‘exhibiting attention while shifting’ (1993 [1983]: 29). This ‘finding the state of things satisfactory’ was perhaps first verbalized as the nominal sentence ze tov (‘this [is] good’), after which it became just tov (‘good’). Of course, in the absence of a spoken corpus from an earlier period of the language, this can only be hypothesized. The ambiguous cases presented in Section 5 show that a recipient may exhibit acceptance of the state of things and at the same time initiate a transition to the 10. Grammaticization of tov as a discourse marker has recently been accompanied also by a structural change. No examples are found in the present corpus, but recent talk over the past two years or so manifests the rather marked form to--'ov (with a lengthened vowel and inserted glottal stop).

 Metalanguage in Interaction

next action (or to the ending of the current one). Excerpts 14 and 15 show that this can even be done by the narrator of a story, not only by the recipient. In Section 5.4 we saw Auer’s suggestion (1996) concerning imaginary dialogue with some recipient to which the speaker responds, beginning with a concessive such as one of the German ‘equivalents’ of tov. I would like to extend this idea of imaginary dialogue to the dialogue a narrator may hold with him/herself concerning ‘the state of things as they have so far been presented’. In the absence of a comment addressed to the speaker before continuing, a speaker may carry on a metalingual dialogue with him/herself and examine the state of his/her discourse thus far. If everything is satisfactory to the speaker’s mind, he or she may indicate that this is so via tov, and move on to the next, expected, action or episode. Over time, of course, this inner metalingual dialogue ceases to be carried out at every single shift, and tov comes to be used unambiguously, as in the excerpts of Section 4, to mark expected transitions. In this way a word that had originally served interpersonal purposes comes also to serve textual functions in the discourse. Again, in the absence of a spoken corpus from an earlier period there is no way to ascertain this suggestion. However, the fact that actions and episodes sometimes end with formulaic statements involving the word tov lends further support to the idea of speakers scanning their discourse thus far and indicating their satisfaction at it. Such formulaic utterances include: 'ad kan hakol tov (‘so far everything [is] good’) (cf. English so far - so good), or, as the fixed phrase goes, kol ze tov veyafe (‘all this [is] good and nice’) (cf. English that’s all very nice or that’s all well and good) or even just yafe (‘nice’) (cf. English very well then). And for the end of stories, we find sof tov - hakol tov (‘end [is] good - everything [is] good’ (cf. English all is well that ends well). These proverbs and formulaic utterances found at the ends of actions/episodes suggest that speakers are indeed involved in some kind of (inner) metalingual dialogue taking stock of the state of their discourse thus far. Another source of support for the grammaticization path suggested here comes from studies of ‘equivalents’ of tov in other languages. We have already seen that Bavarian German employs fei (< fein, lit. ‘fine’, now roughly meaning: ‘contrary to what you may assume’, Auer 1996) in a concessive way similar to that of tov. In Spanish, de Fina’s study of bien in the classroom talk of teachers shows that it has both organizational functions (‘move to another activity’) and evaluative functions (in response to student’s answer to teacher’s question) (de Fina 1997). Schiffrin adds that “like okay, the positive connotation (i.e. ‘I accept this’) of bien has been semantically bleached [...] in transitional (but not evaluative) environments” (2001:€64). In Chinese, hao, an adjective meaning ‘good’, is also employed as a discourse marker with two functions, one indicating approval or agreement, the other marking completion of social actions. It ‘appears to function in Chinese in a manner similar to that of OK in English’ (Miracle 1989:€226). Finally, Sherzer



Chapter 5.╇ Between realms 

analyses the Brazilian thumbs-up gesture, showing that it has a paradigmatic meaning of ‘“good”, “positive”, or “OK”, and [an] interactional or syntagmatic meaning “social obligation met”’ (1991:€193), and that it also functions as “an interactional link between moves, units, or moments within an interaction” (ibid.: 192). In this last function, Sherzer mentions that it is similar to the use of OK in service encounters in the United States, as found by Merritt (1978). One of Hopper’s principles of grammaticization is persistence, which he formulates in the following manner: When a form undergoes grammaticalization from a lexical to a grammatical function, so long as it is grammatically viable some traces of its original lexical meanings tend to adhere to it, and details of its lexical history may be reflected in constraints on its grammatical distribution (1991:€22).

If in several mostly unrelated systems – for example German, Spanish, Chinese, and Hebrew, as well as Brazilian gestures – an adjective meaning ‘good’ has independently developed the same discourse functions as an interpersonal and textual discourse marker, this is further support of the persistence of its lexical source in its functional itinerary. Finally, following his micro-level discourse and social interaction analysis of the Brazilian thumbs-up gesture (TUG), Sherzer relates it to the larger context of Brazilian social and cultural life: “the TUG is public, friendly, and playful, and covers up brutal conflicts in the society in which it occurs” (1991:€195–196). Quoting his personal communication with Da Matta, a scholar of Brazilian culture (e.g., Da Matta 1991), Sherzer continues: “[t]he gesture, thus, has the power of disarming disagreement. [...] Approaching the Brazilian TUG in this way is to explore its place in a Brazilian ethnography of communication” (ibid.) Another culture in which disagreement is highly pervasive, of course, is the Israeli one (Katriel 1986, 2004). That tov is one of the most frequent discourse markers employed throughout the present database could be viewed as grammatical compensation for this particular facet of Israeli culture.

chapter 6

Concluding remarks Grammaticization from interaction

1. The system of discourse markers permeating interaction This study set out tracing a framework for conceptualizing discourse markers arrived at through close synchronic analysis of the metalingual function of discourse markers in bilingual and monolingual interaction. On the basis of this analysis, I arrived at a definition of prototypical discourse markers having both a semantic and a structural component, in which the concept of metalanguaging plays a crucial role. Discourse markers were shown to be employed for the purpose of metalanguaging: in contrast to utterances referring to the extralingual world, discourse markers refer to the text itself, to the interaction among its participants, and/or to the cognitive processes taking place in their minds during verbalization. I showed that from the emic perspective of participants in an interaction, discourse markers constitute a distinct linguistic category with particular patternings and regularities, employed for the purpose of accomplishing frame shifts in interaction. Discourse markers were first investigated as a system. I showed that this system exhibits three types of patterning involving (1) the functions fulfilled by discourse markers, (2) the moments at which they are employed in interaction, and (3) the structural properties of discourse markers. 1.1

Function

The functions fulfilled by discourse markers were conceptualized through Becker’s approach to text as constrained by contextual constraints (1988), and also with reference to Chafe’s theory of cognitive constraints on information flow (1987, 1994). A moment of frame shift was defined as a moment at which maximal shifts occur, relative to the surrounding discourse, in constraints from the various contextual realms shaping discourse (Maschler 1994b). I suggested sorting out each discourse marker token according to the realm in which there are maximal shifts in contextual constraints when the particular marker in question is employed (Maschler 1994b, 1997a). This resulted in a preliminary classification of the markers into interpersonal, referential, structural, and cognitive realms, and in some preliminary

 Metalanguage in Interaction

quantitative findings concerning the contextual realms involved in frame shifting in Hebrew casual conversation. We saw that in the particular corpus in which this was investigated, 50% of all discourse markers function to create and reflect relations in the textual realm of discourse (including both the referential and structural realms), 35% negotiate interpersonal relations among discourse participants, and 15% of all makers attest cognitive processes involved in frame shifting (Chapter 1, Table 2). We also saw that in contrast to the relatively limited variety of relations between parts of a text, created and reflected by 24 textual discourse marker types in that particular corpus, there is a very wide array of interpersonal relations to be negotiated via interpersonal discourse markers (57 types). The conceptualization of discourse markers according to the contextual realms at which they operate was tied to the phenomenon of clustering of discourse markers (Maschler 1994b, Aijmer 2002) often found at frame shifts: frame shifts are characterized as moments in discourse at which contextual constraints change maximally. Thus, the verbalization of a cluster of discourse markers – a marker from each contextual realm – at such moments is to be expected. This necessarily limited bird’s-eye view of the functions accomplished by discourse markers as sketched by the above-mentioned table was complemented by detailed investigations into the functions and nature of four particular markers representing each of the contextual realms: interpersonal nu, textual bekitsur, cognitive ke'ilu, and tov, which was found to be both interpersonal and textual. Nu was shown to function in (1) hastening a non-verbal action, (2) urging further development within a topic, (3) granting permission to perform an action, or (4) as a keying discourse marker providing a joking/provoking tone. For bekitsur we saw the following functions: (1) summarizing, (2) resuming main topic following a digression, and (3) foregrounding a new narrative. The investigation of ke'ilu revealed four functions apart from its literal function as the conjunction ‘as if ’: (1) hedging, (2) self-rephrasal, (3) focus-marking, and (4) quotation. Only in its self-rephrasal role was ke'ilu shown to function as a discourse marker (Chapter 4, Section 4.4). Finally, we saw that tov tokens employed by the addressee function in the interpersonal realm as (1) agreement, (2) acceptance, (3) third turn receipt, (4) concession, or (5) ironic agreement, i.e. disagreement; whereas those employed by the speaker function in the textual realm to mark transitions (6) at beginnings of major narrational or elicitational topics, (7) between episodes or sub-episodes of a narrative, (8) returning to an interrupted action, or (9) at the end of a topic/action. We also saw that 15% of all tov tokens perform both interpersonal and textual functions simultaneously.



Chapter 6.╇ Grammaticization from interaction 

1.2

Metalaguaging at frame shifts

As for the second patterning exhibited by discourse markers, that concerning the moments at which they are employed in interaction, we saw that the higher the boundary in the hierarchy of frame shifts permeating interaction, the more metalingual material employed to construct that boundary. Metalingual material at the highest level in the hierarchy is sometimes longer and not yet sufficiently crystallized to be considered a discourse marker. However, such longer metalingual utterances are precisely the material that often develops into discourse markers. As an example, compare the longer metalingual utterance rotse lishmoa keta? (‘wanna hear something weird/funny [keta, lit. ‘a segment’]?’) generally found at beginnings of narratives, which inflects for person, number, and gender, and allows noun modifiers, such as demonstratives, determiners, adjectives, etc., with a related expression, crystallized and sufficiently frozen to be considered a discourse marker, the enthusiasm-displaying fixed phrase, 'eize keta! (lit. ‘what [a] segment!’, ‘what a story/incident/coincidence!’, perhaps best rendered in English by ‘wow!’) following highly involving discourse strategies employed by the interlocutor1. Longer metalingual utterances were treated here as potentially ‘on their way’ to becoming discourse markers. This motif was returned to throughout each of the four chapters studying the particular markers, and evidence was presented in support of the various metalingual utterances from which the discourse markers are hypothesized to have originated. For nu, metalingual utterances such as nu tagid li (‘nu tell me’), nu ma 'ata 'omer (‘nu what do you say’), nu, ma 'at mitlonenet (‘nu, what are you complaining for’), nu, 'ata lo mevin she... (‘nu, don’t you see that...’), nu, tasik kvar 'et hamaskana (‘nu, draw the conclusion already!’), or nu 'az tasbir li 'im 'ata yaxol, ve'ani lo ma'amin she'ata yaxol (‘nu so explain to me if you are able to, and I don’t believe you are’) were posited in order to explain how a non-lexical item involved in encouraging one to proceed with an action might come to have also keying functions in discourse. For the discourse marker bekitsur, a metalingual utterance such as 'im lomar bekitsur ‘put succinctly’ (lit. ‘if to say in short’) or 'ani 'omar bekitsur (‘I will say succinctly’) was suggested. For self-rephrasal ke'ilu, ke'ilu 'amarti (‘as if I were saying’) or ke'ilu lomar (‘as if to say’) were hypothesized. Finally, for the discourse marker tov, we saw that positing a metalingual utterance such as ze tov, velaxen 'ani maskim laze/lehamshix (‘this (referring to the state of things) [is] good, and therefore I agree to it / for you to continue’) and an inner metalingual dialogue of similar sorts carried out by the speaker allows us to tie the 1.

See Maschler 1998b for a detailed analysis of this particular example.

 Metalanguage in Interaction

interpersonal functions of this discourse marker, which operates between realms, to its textual functions. In the absence of a diachronic corpus, the type of evidence presented in support of the claim that such metalingual utterances might be the origin of these discourse markers included a close analysis of the polysemies of specific discourse marker tokens in interaction, secondary source information (dictionaries), utterances exhibiting the actual use of such collocations with metalingual elements, interpretations provided by interaction participants, and evidence from other languages, in which elements of similar lexical nature have developed into discourse markers of similar pragmatic function. The assumption underlying this last source of evidence is that grammatical morphemes – here discourse markers – show similar polysemies and similar development paths across languages, resulting from similar human discourse and interactional features (Hopper and Traugott 2003:€33) because these morphemes “reflect the metaphorical processes that are based on human cognitive make-up, and they reflect the inferences that humans commonly make when they communicate” (Bybee, Perkins, and Pagliuca 1994:€302, see also Section 2 below). 1.3

Structure

The third type of patterning exhibited by discourse markers involves their structural properties – linguistic as well as prosodic. First, the structural properties with which a discourse marker is verbalized were shown to often be associated with different functions for a particular marker. For instance, in the case of nu, we saw that stand-alone nu? tends to function in the sequential realm, whereas keying nu is always followed by more talk, usually within the same intonation unit. In the case of bekitsur, we saw that a function which is further removed from the literal meaning of the word (summarizing an episode and returning to the main action, as opposed to summarizing a list) is accompanied by a prosodic change (position of the accented syllable) in the verbalization of this word, such that bekitsúr becomes bekítsur. In its foregrounding function, bekítsur is accompanied by additional prosodic features such as a longer preceding pause and a drastic change in volume. Furthermore, the resumptive and foregrounding functions are accompanied by phonological reduction phenomena such that any of the following variants of bekitsur may occur: bekítser, hakítser, 'akítser, kitsúr. The resumptive and foregrounding functions may also be articulated by playful variants, such as be'úktsur, bekítskets, hakítskits and 'akítbitser. In the case of ke'ilu, the structural feature separating discourse marker (selfrephrasal) tokens from hedging, focus-marking, quotative, and literal ke'ilu tokens is that only the self-rephrasal tokens are consistently found at intonation-unit



Chapter 6.╇ Grammaticization from interaction 

initial position2. Thus, the tokens employed intonation-unit initially were also the highest in the metalingual dimension. In the case of tov, no completely consistent correlation was found between its structural properties and various uses, except that tov tokens exhibiting the textual function almost always occupy the entire intonation unit, whereas tov tokens followed by an additional utterance within the same intonation unit tend to exhibit the interpersonal function. The lack of complete consistency here mirrors the frequent blending of the textual and interpersonal functions in employment of tov. Whereas others have also pointed to the role of prosody in separating out the various uses of a particular discourse marker (e.g., Ferrara 1997, Tabor and Traugott 1998), the present approach is unique in that structural properties of discourse markers were found to be of primary importance for defining prototypical discourse markers. From a study based on a sub-corpus of the present study’s database (Maschler 2002a), we see that 94% of the discourse markers fulfill not only the semantic requirement of metalinguality, but also a structural requirement: they occur at intonation-unit initial position, either at a point of speaker change, or, in samespeaker talk, immediately following any intonation contour other than continuing intonation (unless they follow another discourse marker in a cluster). For the definition of prototypical discourse markers, then, it is not the prosody with which the discourse marker is articulated which plays a crucial role, but rather the prosody of the intonation unit immediately preceding the discourse marker. The finding that almost all discourse markers in this corpus are employed at intonation-unit initial position3 corroborates a structural feature of Traugott’s theory of semantic change relating to discourse markers (1995a). Based on studies of English indeed, in fact, and besides, Traugott argues that as discourse markers originating from clause-internal adverbials become increasingly grammaticized, their scope increases from operating within the clause to operating over the clause, to operating over a stretch of discourse. This process is paralleled by the fact that many discourse markers occur at syntactically marginal positions in the clause, depending on the typology of word order in the language. In English they tend to appear preceding the clause, whereas in Japanese they tend to occur following it. In other languages, such as Greek, they often occur as the second element of the clause (“Wackernagel’s position”) (Traugott and Dasher 2002:€156). Since Modern 2. The exceptions to this are ke'ilu tokens in constructed dialogue, in which there is no intonation-unit boundary between the utterance introducing the constructed dialogue and the dialogue itself (e.g., Chapter 1, excerpt 6). 3. Again, the exceptions consist mainly of discourse markers opening constructed dialogue following an utterance introducing the constructed dialogue with no intonation unit boundary between the two as in Chapter 1, excerpt 6. There is also one instance of ke'ilu intonation-unit finally (Chapter 4, footnote 23).

 Metalanguage in Interaction

Hebrew is generally an SVO language (Ravid 1977), like English, we would expect Hebrew discourse markers to occur at initial position. I would like to suggest that the position occupied by discourse markers is interactionally motivated. Auer has written about projection in interaction and projection in grammar (2005). Projection, according to Auer, is the phenomenon “that an individual action or part of it foreshadows another”. It is based both on interactional as well as on grammatical (particularly syntactic) knowledge. The term ‘trajectory’ refers to “the time course over which [a projection] develops and comes to closure or resolution” (ibid.: 8). Projection establishes a cognitive rhythm in interaction, in that participants go through a phase of maximal effort in the early part of a trajectory (both planning the emerging structure and understanding it), while these efforts decrease the closer a trajectory comes to a close, as the final parts are more easily predicted. Projections also vary in strength. For example, in a language like Hebrew, in which prepositions precede noun phrases, prepositions make a strong projection about the nature of the following element – it must be either a determiner (often already fused with the preposition) or a noun4. “Some words, such as conjunctions like [German] und ‘and’ or oder ‘or’, produced after a syntactic closure, leave all options open apart from not continuing, i.e., they project syntactic continuation in an extremely vague manner” (ibid.: 16). I would add here that discourse markers carry an even weaker syntactic projection concerning the syntactic nature of the utterance to follow. At the same time, however, they carry a strong interactional projection of an immediately pending frame shift, as well as a projection concerning the type of frame shift that is about to occur. Since, as I have argued, frame shifts tend to occur at clause boundaries (a point of maximal shift in constraints of linguistic structure, among other constraints), the strong interactional projection of an imminent frame shift carried by discourse markers constitutes motivation for verbalizing them in syntactically marginal positions relative to the clause – either initially (as in English or Hebrew) or finally (as in Japanese). Auer writes that the question of whether a particular instance of projection is a grammatical or an interactional one is not always unambiguous (ibid.: 27). Although he does not call it a discourse marker, as an example for this blurring he discusses German nur (‘only’), which can be used as a scalar adverbial when part of a noun phrase, as part of a predicate, or, when in the pre-front field, as a ‘framing device’ for the following utterance (ibid.: 17). In some contexts, “it may be asked whether nur projects on the basis of its syntactic status or on the basis of being a (subsidiary) verbal activity in its own right that foreshadows disagreement” (ibid.: 27). The 4. For the effect this word order typology (i.e., function words precede the content words they serve as satellites to) has on self-repair strategies in English, Hebrew, and German, see Fox, Maschler, and Uhmann (forthcoming).



Chapter 6.╇ Grammaticization from interaction 

framing Auer mentions in the context of nur is the frame shifting which, as I have argued, all discourse markers are involved in constructing. The example of German nur is of course reminiscent of the English discourse markers which have developed from sentence internal adverbs discussed by Traugott (1995a). According to Auer, “in some cases, activity type and syntactic type project at the same time” (2005:€28). I have suggested that, because of their role in constructing frame shifts in interaction, all discourse markers manifest double projection. On the one hand, because just about any syntactic construction is possible following a discourse marker, these utterances carry weak grammatical projection. On the other hand, because discourse markers always entail a frame shift, they carry strong actional projection. Furthermore, their projection includes clues as to the type of frame shift imminent. The projection entailed by lexemes which have developed into discourse markers, then, is in a sense ‘floating’ between grammatical and interactional projection, depending on the particular context in which they are employed. This accounts for the varying scopes and positions which these lexemes may have in discourse (Traugott 1995a). We shall return to the double projection of discourse markers in Section 2.3. We have seen, then, that 94% of the discourse markers in the sub-corpus (Maschler 2002a) fulfill the semantic requirement of metalinguality in my definition of prototypical discourse markers as well as the structural requirement. Returning now to the remaining 6%, the non-prototypical discourse markers fulfilling only the semantic requirement, the majority of these markers were shown to involve a move of a lower order compared to the moves accomplished by prototypical discourse markers: moving to a different voice of the speaker’s – either the voice of some other speaker in the narrated world (constructed dialogue) or the self-rephrasal voice of the speaker (following a token of ke'ilu preceded by continuing intonation). Employing a discourse marker which does not fulfill the structural requirement for discourse markerhood is a more subtle strategy for constructing a boundary between conversational actions. We have seen that the structural patterning of discourse markers fits in with the patterning concerning moments at which discourse markers are employed in interaction (Section 1.2): the lower the boundary between conversational actions, the more subtle the strategy constructing it. We have seen an array of structural strategies employed for constructing frame shifts in interaction (Chapter 1, Figure 1) ranging from longer metalingual utterances at the most prominent frame shifts, to clusters of prototypical discourse markers, to a single prototypical discourse marker (as in the majority of frame shifts throughout the data), to non-prototypical discourse markers fulfilling only the semantic requirement, to frame shifts involving no discourse markers at all, to frame shifts involving no intonation unit boundaries, and finally to frame shifts involving the blurring of syntactic properties of constructions (Chapter 1, Section 7).

 Metalanguage in Interaction

These strategies progress from most prominent to most subtle, and they permeate interaction in an iconic manner: higher-level frame shifts are constructed via the heavier semantic-pragmatic strategies (e.g., longer metalingual utterances, prototypical discourse marker clusters), whereas lower-level frame shifts are constructed via the lighter prosodic and structural strategies (non-final intonation contour preceding the discourse marker, a lack of an intonation unit boundary or of a discourse marker altogether). This iconicity helps participants distinguish higher-order frame shifts from the more subtle ones, thus contributing to a clearer specification of the projected action. We have seen (Chapter 1, Section 7) that the most minute frame shifts may even interfere with the syntactic patterns of the language and result in highly ‘unentrenched’ uses of constructions (Thompson and Hopper 2001, Hopper 2004). This brings us to reconsider the phenomenon of grammaticization of discourse markers. 2. Grammaticization of discourse markers I have suggested four different grammaticization paths for the four discourse markers nu, bekitsur, ke'ilu, and tov. Below I first review them and then consider the common threads as well as the differences among them. This is then followed by a discussion of projectability and grammaticization of discourse markers. I will make use of the grammaticization path of tov in order to elaborate on this last topic of projectability. 2.1

Grammaticization of nu, bekitsur, ke'ilu, and tov

I have argued that the non-lexical item nu entered Hebrew from Yiddish and Russian through the bilingual discourse strategy of language alternation (‘codeswitching’) at discourse markers (Brody 1987, Maschler 1988). Upon becoming a Hebrew lexeme, however, it gained new meanings, different from those it had in the languages of origin. From a discourse marker hastening non-verbal actions, I suggested that it developed into a discourse marker urging further development within a topic. From there it came also to function as granting permission to perform an action. Finally, through frequent employment in particular metalingual utterances attempting to control the actions of the interlocutor, and therefore carrying an impolite aura in speakers’ metalinguistic awareness, it also came to have keying functions in the discourse. Over time, these longer metalingual utterances were no longer verbalized, and all that remained was the element carrying the key – nu – from derogatory to joking. Figure 1 summarizes this process:



Chapter 6.╇ Grammaticization from interaction  hastening non-verbal actions urging further development within a topic

granting permission to perform an action

keying

Figure 1.╇ Hypothesized functional itinerary of nu

The grammaticization path of bekitsur is the most similar to the one described in Traugott 1995a for adverbs developing into discourse markers. First, according to a productive process in Hebrew grammar of deriving adverbs from nouns via prefixation with the preposition b(e)- (‘in’), bekitsur became a manner adverb (‘succinctly’): Preposition (b(e)- ‘in’) + Verbal Noun (kitsur ‘shortening’) Adverb (bekitsur). In this process, it moved from a major category (verbal noun5) to an intermediate category (adverb), in accord with Hopper and Traugott’s cline of de-categorialization (2003:€106–109): major category (> adjective/adverb) > minor category. Once an adverb, it followed the second half of this cline to become a discourse marker (‘minor category’, Ferrara 1997). I have suggested that by association with a hypothesized metalingual utterance such as 'im lomar bekitsur (‘if to say in short’, ‘said in short’, or ‘put succinctly’), it became a discourse marker summarizing lists or episodes. Following the summary or conclusion of an episode, a previous topic is often resumed. Over time, bekitsur came to be used as a resumptive discourse marker. When resuming a previous topic, the immediately preceding discourse is retroactively constructed as a digression and backgrounded, while future discourse is foregrounded. The function of backgrounding immediately-preceding discourse by bekitsur was extended to contexts in which no real digression is apparent, such as between narrative episodes. In the most grammaticized function of bekitsur, its foregrounding function was extended to the foregrounding of new narratives. Figure 2 summarizes this process schematically: Adverb

summarizing D. M. resumptive D.M.

foregrounding D.M.

Figure 2.╇ Hypothesized functional itinerary of bekitsur 5.

For the path followed by the verbal noun kitsur, see Chapter 3, footnote 30.

 Metalanguage in Interaction lexical meaning comparison and approximation 6) irrealis

lingual realm 1) hedge 2) hedge 3) focus 4) focus 5) focus



metalingual realm

self-rephrasal quote hedge self-rephrasal quote self-rephrasal

Figure 3.╇ Hypothesized development of the pragmatic functions of ke'ilu

The self-rephrasal function of the discourse marker ke'ilu is arrived at via three paths – two in the lingual realm, which originate mostly in the preposition of comparison and approximation k(e)- (‘as, like’), and a third in the metalingual realm, which originates mostly from its irrealis component, the conditional 'ilu (‘if ’, irrealis). For the lingual realm, we have the lexical meaning of comparison and approximation developing into the hedging use. A hedge often requires elaboration, whence the self-rephrasal function (path (1) of Figure 3). Quotations are always an approximation, thus the quotative use of ke'ilu also developed from the hedging use (path (2)). From the comparative lexical element, the focus-marking function can also be derived (Haiman 1988). A hedged utterance and a self-rephrased utterance are generally also what is in focus (paths (3), (4)). A quote, too, is always necessarily the focus of the utterance in which it occurs (Fleischman and Yaguello 2004). The quotative function is thus also a natural extension of the focus-marking function (path (5)). In the metalingual realm, the irrealis conditional 'ilu plays a significant role. Employed in the literal sense, this conjunction would generally require a full clause following it. I have suggested that by association with a hypothesized metalingual utterance such as ke'ilu 'amarti (‘as if I were saying’) or ke'ilu lomar (‘as if to say’), this conjunction developed as a discourse marker with a self-rephrasal function (path (6)). Thus the self-rephrasal function of the discourse marker ke'ilu is arrived at by three separate paths ((1), (4), and (6)), both in the lingual as well as in the metalingual realms of discourse. The most dialogical of all grammaticization paths in this study is exhibited by tov. Like bekitsur, tov has probably developed from a major category (noun) to an intermediate category (adjective (and, less frequently, adverb)), in accord with the first half of Hopper and Traugott’s cline of de-categorialization (2003:€106–109): major category (> adjective/adverb) > minor category. From there, the adjective tov further developed into the minor category of interpersonal discourse marker – agreeing to some action – a usage attested already in



Chapter 6.╇ Grammaticization from interaction 

Biblical Hebrew. I suggest that this has happened by association with a hypothesized metalingual utterance such as ze tov velaxen 'ani maskim la'asot 'et ze (‘this (the action you suggest) [is] good, and therefore I agree to do it’). Just as a recipient can agree to some course of action, they can also agree to, or accept, a description of some state of things. Hence, interpersonal tov functions also as acceptance of some state of things. Frequently, the acceptance of the state of things is given in a particular sequential position, known in the conversation analytic literature as ‘third turn receipt’. Thus, interpersonal tov functions also as acceptance of an action requested by the speaker, such as an answer. Interpersonal tov can also be employed by a recipient to pay lip service towards accepting some state of things. In this case it is often followed by a ‘but’ response. This results in a fleeting concession of the state of things as described by the interlocutor. I showed that this concessive tov could be interpreted as ‘contrary to what you may assume’. From the concessive use, tov of ironic agreement, or rather disagreement, is only a step away: only the first half of the ‘yes, but’ response is verbalized, and it is done in a manner that makes it clear that the ‘but’ to follow is so obvious that there is no need to verbalize it. In all the above functions, discourse marker tov is employed by the recipient and functions in the interpersonal realm of discourse. Before moving on to the textual uses of tov, a word about the dialogical nature characterizing the grammaticization illustrated by the development into concessive tov. Here we see a clear case of an interactional structure crystallizing into a grammatical one. I have argued (Chapter 5, excerpts 6 and 7) that this grammaticization path constitutes a condensation of the following discourse structure: A: assertion B: agreement stepping back from the agreement In this discourse structure, B makes two moves – one agreeing with A’s assertion, the other retracting his/her own previous agreement. We have seen that concessive tov condenses these two moves into one. By employing a discourse marker essentially meaning ‘contrary to what you may assume’ in this context, the speaker is able to perform both the agreement and the retraction of it simultaneously. As Auer writes, [i]n some cases, the same linguistic element can either constitute an independent action to be dealt with and responded to or be a grammatical element of a syntactic construction. There is reason to believe that the second is a grammaticalized version of the first (2005:€28).

 Metalanguage in Interaction

I have argued that concessive tov is indeed a grammaticization of this interactional structure6. Auer (ibid.) discusses two additional cases of interactional patterns having sedimented into grammatical ones: vocatives originating in summons-answer exchanges and conditionals originating in yes/no question-answer exchanges in German. A recipient can simultaneously provide some acknowledgment of his/her acceptance of the state of things, while at the same time initiating a move on to the next action (Jefferson 1993 [1983]). This acknowledgement, however, does not necessarily have to be directed towards some other interlocutor. It could take place in some inner dialogue within the speaker concerning the state of things thus far in the discourse. I have suggested that this is the phenomenon which is at the heart of the further evolution of discourse marker tov into a textual discourse marker. Thus, an inner metalingual utterance such as ze tov, velaxen 'ani maskim lehamshix (‘this (referring to the state of things in the discourse) [is] good, and therefore I agree to continue’) allows us to link the interpersonal and textual functions of this discourse marker which operates in between realms. Textual tov tokens are generally employed by the speaker, not the recipient. As a textual discourse marker, tov can thus be employed in order to mark expected transitions into beginnings of major topics, episodes of a narrative, back to an interrupted action, or in order to end a topic or an action. A more elaborate dialogical grammaticization path is illustrated in the case of concessive tov which at the same time functions also as transition into a new episode. I reproduce part of the example we have seen in Chapter 5 here: Chapter 5, Excerpt 15 (‘Grandma Can’t Remember’) (in part): 13 Mother: ... ze ló kàl, it’s not easy, 14

le'ishà mevugéret, for woman old for an older woman,

15

pit'òm la'avór dira. to suddenly move apartments.

16 Father:

naxón. right.

17 Mother: .. tóv 'anaxnu 'azàrnu, of course we helped, 6. Couper-Kuhlen and Thompson 2000 discuss a similar interactional concessive pattern for English (2000: 382).



Chapter 6.╇ Grammaticization from interaction 

18

veze ve and so on and

This time, another interactional structure has crystallized into a grammatical one. I have argued that this grammaticization is a condensation of the following imagined interactional structure in the speaker’s consciousness: A: assertion (Lines 13–15: ‘it’s not easy for an older woman to suddenly move apartments’) A: imagining a counter-argument of some voice to this assertion (‘it is not easy for an older woman to suddenly move apartments, particularly with no help’. More specifically: ‘you didn’t help’) A: addressing the imagined counter-argument with a ‘yes, but’ strategy, i.e., disagreeing with it (Line 17: ‘yes, you may assume we did not help, but we did’, or ‘contrary to what you may assume, we helped’) A: transition into new episode (Line 18) Speaker A makes an assertion. He or she then imagines a possible counter-argument to this assertion and addresses it in a ‘yes, but’ strategy. By employing concessive tov (i.e., ‘contrary to what you may assume’) preceding this ‘yes, but’ disagreement, the speaker is able to both allude to the imaginary counter-argument and disagree with it simultaneously. Once this has been resolved, the speaker continues on with the expected next course of action – the continuation of the narrative. Now we see concessive tov condensing two other moves in an interactional structure (imaginary counter-argument + disagreeing with it) into a single one. However, if we take into account the fact that the second move, the disagreement, is in itself a case of the previously illustrated condensation into concessive tov of the interactional structure of (1) agreement and (2) stepping back from it, the present case actually consists of a condensation of a three-step interactional structure: (1) alluding to an imaginary counter-argument, (2) agreeing with it, and (3) stepping back from the agreement. Another interactional structure – one involving three steps – has thus crystallized into a grammatical one. Hopper writes that grammatical constructions are open in two ways. The most obvious one is that “they contain open slots into which lexical items can be inserted with a greater or lesser degree of freedom” (2004:€172). The more important way in which constructions are open stems from the fact that “their structure is emergent, that is to say, their structure never reaches a point of closure and completion as a construction” (ibid.). The examples concerning concessive tov above illustrate the discourse motivation behind this second type of openness: as a

 Metalanguage in Interaction Adjective



agreement to some course of action acceptance of description of some state of things

concessive acceptance/concession + transition into next expected course of action

ironic agreement (disagreement) transition into next expected course of action

Figure 4.╇ Hypothesized functional itinerary of tov

construction is used in various interactional exchanges among speakers, new exchanges may crystallize and become condensed into that construction. In this manner, a construction that initially condensed two actions into one may come to condense an additional third action (as illustrated above), or it may come to condense a new interactional structure altogether. Thus, the nature of constructions is open and continually changing as a function of the interactions in which those constructions participate. In the case of the discourse marker construction ‘concessive tov’, the change in the interactional exchange condensed by the construction has not resulted in a structural change in the construction itself (as is sometimes the case with the English take NP and construction explored in Hopper 2004). This, however, is not always the case with discourse markers. We shall return to this point in Section 2.3. Figure 4 summarizes the grammaticization path of tov. 2.2

Common threads and differences among the grammaticization patterns studied

Onodera concludes her recent book about grammaticization of Japanese discourse markers noting two clines of grammaticization of English discourse markers suggested in earlier research: 1. Clause internal Adv > Sentence Adv > Discourse Marker (Traugott 1995a) 2. Matrix clause [subject + verb] > Parenthetical adjunct (Brinton 2001) She hypothesizes that “it is plausible that there are plural clines of grammaticalization to be proposed in addition to the traditional view of its unidirectional tendencies” (2004:€203). The paths suggested above for nu, bekitsur, ke'ilu, and tov suggest that this indeed is the case. While bekitsur exhibits linearity (Figure 2) somewhat similar to the first cline above, nu, ke'ilu, and tov exhibit grammaticization patterns which involve branching (figures 1, 3, 4) and represent the multiple directions the utterance has taken as a function of the recurrent contexts in which it was



Chapter 6.╇ Grammaticization from interaction 

employed. For example, sequential nu preceding particular metalingual utterances developed into keying nu, while in other environments it developed additional sequential functions along the continuum of ‘degree of encouragement to proceed with an action’ (Figure 1). Another difference is that while Traugott 1995a and Brinton 2001 deal with the ways a non discourse-marker becomes a discourse marker, the patterns discussed in the current study focus in particular on the ways an utterance which has already become a discourse marker continues to develop additional discourse marking functions. The discourse markers studied here follow different functional itineraries, but their development is characterized by common threads that exhibit many of the features associated with grammaticization: Semantic loss Apart from the non-lexical item nu, which had little semantic substance to begin with, the remaining three utterances, bekitsur, ke'ilu, and tov, are all semantically bleached when used as discourse markers. Phonological reduction Phonological reduction was shown particularly for bekitsur, but some tokens of ke'ilu also manifest this feature. Not surprisingly, no tokens manifesting phonological reduction were found for tov and nu, both single syllable items. However, the playful forms of bekitsur (bekítskets, hakítskets, 'akibitser) and of tov (to--'ov, see Chapter 5, footnote 10) actually show phonological expansion. De-categorialization A grammatical category – adverb in the case of bekitsur, adjective in the case of tov, and conjunction in the case of ke'ilu – “tends to lose the morphological and syntactic properties that would identify it as a full member” (Hopper and Traugott 2003:€107) of that grammatical category (Hopper and Thompson 1984, Hopper 1991). The cline from major to minor category (Hopper and Traugott 2003) is followed for the two discourse markers originating in the intermediate categories: bekitsur (adverb) and tov (adjective). Discourse marker ke'ilu too shows fewer of the syntactic properties that characterize the conjunction ke'ilu (e.g., the lack of a following subordinate clause). For the non-lexical item nu, which could perhaps be considered an interjection, there is not much sense in discussing de-categorialization. Bonding within the phrase In the case of the two utterances which consist of more than one lexical element – bekitsur (preposition + verbal noun) and ke'ilu (preposition + conjunction) – there is a fixation accompanying their de-categorialization, such that the preposition opening each is no longer perceived as a separate entity. Furthermore, if we

 Metalanguage in Interaction

consider the metalingual utterances posited as the utterances from which the discourse markers bekitsur, ke'ilu, tov and keying nu have originated (Section 1.2), bonding within them has become so strong that it is no longer necessary to verbalize the entire utterance. In a study of grammaticization of constructions, Bybee cites Haiman (1994) who views the process of grammaticization as ritualization resulting from repetition: [R]epetition leads to the automatization of a sequence of units, and the reanalysis of the sequence as a single processing chunk […R]epetition also leads to the reduction of form through the weakening of the individual gestures comprising the act, and through the reorganization of a series of formerly separate gestures into one automated unit; and emancipation occurs as the original, more instrumental function of the practice gives way to a more symbolic function inferred from the context in which it occurs (Bybee 2003:€603).

I suggest that, through repetition, each of the longer metalingual utterances posited as the constructions from which the discourse markers have originated has reduced in form and reorganized from a series of separate gestures into one automated unit. In the process of this reorganization into one automated unit, it was no longer necessary to verbalize each of the individual gestures comprising the metalingual utterance. As Couper-Kuhlen and Thompson write, “under certain conditions, [… a move] can be so strongly projected […] that its explicit expression is made redundant” (2000:€397). Not only moves can be strongly projected, but also parts of constructions. The result is a situation in which verbalizing the key component of the construction – i.e., nu, bekitsur, ke'ilu, or tov – is sufficient in order to activate the entire metalingual utterance. Note the different type of projection considered here. This is not the interactional projection of a certain type of frame shift, but rather the grammatical projection of the remainder of the metalingual utterance announcing it. As the title of Auer’s 2005 study (“Projection in interaction and projection in grammar”) indicates, these are two different types of projection, but there is a very tight connection between them. There is, however, a difference between this type of syntactic projection and the syntactic projection discussed in Auer 2005. Discourse markers crystallized from such metalingual utterances are sometimes the final element of the metalingual utterance posited as their origin. This is not the case for nu and ke'ilu, but it is the case for bekitsur and tov: 'im lomar bekitsur (‘if to say in short’), ze tov (‘this [is] good’). In such cases, we are concerned with ‘backwards’, or retrospective projection. Generalization of meaning For all four utterances, meaning generalizes in the sense that “more and more domains (polysemies) become available” (Traugott 1995a: 14). We have seen that



Chapter 6.╇ Grammaticization from interaction 

this is clearly the case for the adverb bekitsur, for the adjective tov, and for the conjunction ke'ilu, which no longer function in these semantic-syntactic roles as they become discourse markers, but it is also the case for non-lexical nu, originally associated with hastening and impoliteness, which has acquired keying functions in the discourse. Pragmatic strengthening All four utterances increase in their pragmatic functions. They all move from being more to less referential and they illustrate a “movement away from [their] original specific and concrete reference […] toward increasingly general and abstract reference” (Pagliuca 1994: ix, cited in Traugott 1995a). In the case of nonlexical nu, it is of course not possible to speak of an original concrete reference; however, even nu exhibits development away from hastening actions in the extralingual realm to hastening metalingual utterances. Nu’s acquisition of a keying function also represents a movement away from the referential, because it constructs the tenor of the relationship among participants in the world of the interaction rather than referentially. Most crucially, all four discourse markers show an increase in their metalingual function. As forms become increasingly grammaticized, there is “a tendency toward metatextual meaning, or more specifically a shift from […] ‘the world being talked about’ to ‘the speaker’s organization of that world in the act of speaking’” (Traugott and Dasher 2002:€40). This involves a metaphorical shift from the propositional to the ‘metalinguistic’ (Traugott 1988, Traugott and König 1991) following the non-metatextual > metatextual tendency (Traugott 1995a, Traugott 2001, Traugott and Dasher 2002:€ 40), or, as Dasher put it, speakers move from encoding “elements of the referenced event independently of the speech event” to encoding “features of the speech event independently of the referenced event” (1995:€266–271). That the metalingual requirement is satisfied by all the discourse markers investigated here is no surprise. This is so by nature of my definition of discourse markers. Only utterances employed for the purpose of referring to the text itself, to the interaction among its participants, and/or to the cognitive processes taking place in their minds during verbalization were considered in the first place. Even so, we have seen that for each of the four clines, the endpoints of the paths followed by each marker are all more metalingual than the initial stages. For nu, this was discussed in the paragraph before last. For bekitsur, foregrounding a new narrative when no real digression is apparent is the most metalingual (and least transparent) of all its functions. For ke'ilu, its metalingual nature is most prominent in its self-rephrasal function. Finally, tov marking expected transitions in a text is

 Metalanguage in Interaction

more metalingual than tov signaling agreement and acceptance, because these latter two involve acceptance of some state of things in the extralingual world. In general one might say that those functions originating in some posited metalingual utterance are all more metalingual than those not originating in such utterances. Subjectification and intersubjectification All four discourse markers have become “increasingly based in the speaker’s subjective belief/state/attitude toward the proposition” (Traugott 1989:€35), and then more intersubjective, i.e., more concerned with the ‘self ’ of the addressee (Traugott 2003a). Of the four discourse markers investigated here, subjectification and intersubjectification are perhaps most prominent in the path followed by tov. It was argued that its grammaticization path to becoming a textual discourse marker of expected transition is a residue of an inner dialogue concerning the state of things in the discourse thus far. Similarly, concessive tov exhibits the speaker’s concern with the ‘self ’ of the addressee to the point of constructing his or her voice and addresing it (Chapter 5, excerpt 15). Such dialogicity in grammaticization shows maximal attention to the ‘self ’ of the (imagined or actual) addressee. However, the discourse markers nu, bekitsur, and ke'ilu also exhibit increasing subjectification and intersubjectification in their paths of development. The endpoints of the paths followed by each marker are all more subjective and intersubjective than the initial stages: keying nu – in that it introduces the speaker’s joking or provoking stance towards the addressee; foregrounding bekitsur – in that it signals what the speaker wishes the addressee to put in the foreground at that particular moment in the discourse; and self-rephrasal ke'ilu – in that it spells out what the speaker him/herself meant in the preceding utterance, under his or her assumption that it was not sufficiently clear for the addressee. Retention / Persistence Finally, another common thread running through the studies of the four discourse markers is the role of the lexical item to be grammaticized. Bybee and Pagliuca talked about retention here, according to which older meanings of a form “glimmer through” as they are retained from their original lexical sources (1987:€109). Hopper later refined this into the persistence principle of grammaticization: When a form undergoes grammaticalization from a lexical to a grammatical function, so long as it is grammatically viable some traces of its original lexical meanings tend to adhere to it, and details of its lexical history may be reflected in constraints on its grammatical distribution (1991:€22).

We have seen that, apart from the non-lexical item nu, for which it is irrelevant to discuss the original lexical source here because it came from another language, the



Chapter 6.╇ Grammaticization from interaction 

remaining three functional itineraries are strongly influenced by lexical history: the concept of shortness is crucial for the functional itinerary of bekitsur, as are the comparison/approximation + irrealis conditional components for the course ke'ilu has taken. Finally, for the path followed by tov, the lexical meaning of the adjective ‘good’ is pivotal. The metalingual utterances posited as the origins of these discourse markers offer a clue as to why older meanings of a form might “glimmer through”. This is a result of the fact that in the posited metalingual utterances, these items actually do function in their original lexical meaning: in 'im lomar bekitsur (‘if to say succinctly’), bekitsur is in fact the adverb bekitsur (‘succinctly’); in ke'ilu lomar (‘as if to say’), ke'ilu does function as the preposition of comparison + irrealis conjunction; and in ze tov (‘this [is] good’), tov is actually an adjective meaning ‘good’. It is no surprise, therefore, that details of their lexical history are reflected when these lexemes function as discourse markers. 2.3

Projectability and grammaticization of constructions

Bybee argues for taking the word ‘constructions’ in the definition of grammaticization seriously: “In fact, it may be more accurate to say that a construction with particular lexical items in it becomes grammaticized, instead of saying that a lexical item becomes grammaticized” (2003:€602). She ends her study of mechanisms of change in grammaticization with the following statement: Repetition alone, however, cannot account for the universals of grammaticization. […] It is not just the fact of repetition that is important, but in addition what is repeated that determines the universal paths. The explanation for the content of what is repeated requires reference to the kinds of things human beings talk about and the way they choose to structure their communications (ibid.: 622).

One of the things human beings talk about are the frame shifts in which they are about to engage in the course of interaction. And they do so with constructions that over time are repeated and eventually grammaticized. The present study concerned the grammaticization of such constructions into discourse markers. Grammaticization of constructions has been examined from both diachronic and synchronic perspectives. Underlying Traugott’s diachronic approach to the study of grammaticization (Chapter 1, Section 8.1) is the Invited Inferencing Theory of Semantic Change (IITSC) (Traugott 1999), accounting for the ways conversational implicatures (Grice 1975), or “invited inferences” (Geis and Zwicky 1971), become conventionalized based on processes of metaphor and metonymy in communication. This process was described by Dahl:

 Metalanguage in Interaction

if some condition happens to be fulfilled frequently when a certain category is used, a stronger association may develop between the condition and the category in such a way that the condition comes to be understood as an integral part of the meaning of the category (1985:€11).

If inferences occur frequently, they come to play a significant role in grammaticization. “In early stages of grammaticalization conversational implicatures frequently become ‘semanticized’ […], that is, become part of the semantic polysemies of a form” (Hopper and Traugott 2003:€82). For example, Hopper and Traugott show that inferences of causality from temporal sequence (“the well known logical fallacy […] characterized as […] ‘after this, therefore because of this’” (ibid.)) are the basic process underlying grammaticization of Present Day English since (which could be either temporal or causal) from the Old English connective siþþan, ‘from the time that, after’ (which could only be temporal) (ibid.). Thus, a conventionalizing of a conversational implicature of cause has occurred. Another example is Aijmer’s (1985:€13) of the development of first person volitional ‘will’ to pure future: “If the speaker is willing to do something, it follows conversationally that he intends to do it and that the future action will take place”. Traugott explains that conversational implicatures may come to be used strategically over time; that is, speakers may invite addressees to “let implicatures go through” (2003b: 634). Invited inferencing is a kind of conceptual metonymy within the speech chain […] since it is primarily associative in character, being derived from the uses to which interlocutors put linear sequences of utterances and associations in context (ibid.).

Another, more synchronic way of looking at these linear sequences concerns the concept of projectability. Frequently occurring linear sequences give rise to the phenomenon of projectability. Once the first component of a frequent linear sequence has been verbalized, it makes a projection concerning the nature of the following component. In a recent study of projectability and clause combining in interaction, Hopper and Thompson 2008 examine three constructions from a synchronic perspective – English wh-cleft (pseudocleft)7, English extraposition, and German Wenn-clauses (Günthner 1999b), which in English translate into either when- or if-clauses. Much like the analysis suggested here of the grammaticization of concessive tov from two- and three-step interactional exchange structures (Section 2.1), and like Auer’s analysis of the grammaticization of vocatives from summons-answer exchanges or of conditionals from yes/no question-answer exchanges (2005), Hopper 7. The pseudocleft construction has been studied from this perspective already in Hopper 2001.



Chapter 6.╇ Grammaticization from interaction 

and Thompson argue that each of the three syntactic constructions they are analyzing “can be understood as a syntacticized version of an interactional pattern” (2008: 13). As such, they carry a strong projection “whereby the first part [i.e., the pseudocleft, extraposition, or Wenn-clause] projects not another clause, as has become the norm in more formal varieties of linguistic communication, but a complex of one or more social actions which is typically manifested as a span of talk of indeterminate length” (ibid., emphasis mine). Hopper and Thompson are in fact engaged with the two types of projection – grammatical and interactional – suggested by Auer (2005). Whereas traditional grammatical approaches focus on grammar and on the fact that the first part (pseudocleft, extraposition, Wenn-clause) grammatically projects another clause, Hopper and Thompson suggest that a better way to understand the phenomenon is to view the first part as interactionally projecting one or more social actions. In the present study we have been concerned with a particular type of social action – frame shifting. From the shifting into a new narrative (e.g., foregrounding bekitsur) to the shifting into a disagreement with a previous assertion (e.g., tov of ironic agreement), we have seen that the social action of frame shifting is quite variable and has a much wider range than the social actions projected by Hopper and Thompson’s three projecting constructions above. Nevertheless, frame shifting is a particular social action which, as Goffman (1981) has taught us, speakers continually engage in, and which, as illustrated here, speakers often announce in some way, in other words – project. There is a particular type of ‘first parts’ employed to project frame shifts – the longer metalingual constructions we have been considering in the present study. I would like to suggest that, like Hopper and Thompson’s syntacticized constructions, discourse markers, too, have grammaticized out of such ‘first parts’ which strongly project other social actions to come. Discourse markers are involved in two parallel crystallizations, then; one concerned with actions, the other with structure. On the one hand, they comprise a crystallization of an interactional structure – announcing the upcoming frame shift (in a necessarily metalingual utterance) + continuing the discourse in some particular way – into a single move. (Recall the discussion of concessive tov (Section 2.1) condensing two or three moves in an interactional structure into a single one). On the other hand, they comprise a crystallization of a frequently employed metalingual utterance (announcing a particular frame shift) into a fixed utterance (e.g., 'im lomar bekitsur ‘if to say succinctly’ > bekitsur). There are three differences between the constructions discussed in Hopper and Thompson and the discourse markers discussed here. To begin with, the ‘first parts’ projecting social actions to come discussed here are always metalingual. Second, the projection discussed here is far more variable because it encompasses a whole range of frame shifting phenomena. Third, the projection a particular

 Metalanguage in Interaction

discourse marker carries is usually also more specific than the projections carried by the constructions considered by Hopper and Thompson. The nature of the projected frame shift is commented on in the metalingual utterance, be it a fullfledged one or a crystallized version. However, there is evidence to support the suggestion that the phenomenon discussed in Hopper and Thompson and the one studied here are essentially the same. A recent study of the N-be-that (die Sache ist ‘the thing is’) construction in German (Günthner 2007) shows that this matrix clause is positioned in the prefront field, a position whose function is, according to Auer 1996, “to frame (often metapragmatically) the subsequent utterance” (Günthner 2007:€10): This bi-part division between a framing element (positioned in the pre-front field) […] and a following, syntactically somewhat independent, clause […] shows formal and functional parallels with other elements in spoken German which are regularly positioned in the pre-front field, such as ‘topic formulas’ […] and discourse markers. (ibid.:11, emphasis mine).

Thus, the German N-be-that construction is reanalysed as a framing device, rather than as the main clause of a bi-clausal construction, and it is shown to project the upcoming stretch of discourse. Likewise, we have seen throughout this study that discourse markers are framing devices projecting the upcoming discourse and that the ensuing discourse is syntactically independent of them. Günthner continues, these phrases become routinized and formulaic and are highly skewed toward certain communicative functions: they project and defer an upcoming segment of discourse, focusing the recipients’ attention to the following segment of discourse. (ibid.: 15).

In spite of this routinization, German die Sache ist (‘the thing is’) does not show any reduction in form (Günthner, p.c.). In informal spoken English, however, we do find reduction into a shorter version of the ‘equivalent’ construction (the form thing is8, see Aijmer 2007). This is similar to the reduction in form we have been concerned with in the case of discourse markers. Unlike the construction studied by Günthner, we have seen that discourse markers have additional, more specific roles besides deferring an upcoming segment of discourse and, with the exception of ke'ilu, they do not generally engage in focusing phenomena. Günthner shows that the further grammaticized cases of the German N-be-that construction are followed not by a subordinate clause (as traditional approaches, which regard such constructions as [matrix clause + complement clause] structures, 8. This is particularly common among younger speakers. I recently heard this reduced construction even in scripted discourse -- the animated film ‘Ratatouille’, in which the animals are presented as fast moving, quick talking, and young.



Chapter 6.╇ Grammaticization from interaction 

would lead us to expect), but rather by a complex stretch of discourse (e.g., a narrative, as in the example she provides). Similarly, no subordination is involved in the case of our discourse markers. The stretch of discourse following a discourse marker is not subordinate to the discourse marker. Neither is it subordinate to the metalingual utterance from which it is said to have developed. However, we often find related constructions in the discourse which do show subordination. In the case of tov, for example, we often find the construction tov she-… (‘[it’s] good that…’), where the part following the complementizer she- is traditionally analyzed as the complement subject clause of the adjectival predicate tov. One example from our corpus is the following: tov she'asita halixa hayom (‘[it’s] good that you did a walk today’). It is not difficult to imagine how in some, more dialogical contexts, a simple ze tov (‘this [is] good’) would be employed, with the demonstrative ze (‘this’) anaphorically referring to an earlier assertion such as 'asiti halixa hayom (‘I did a walk today’). And from here, the path to a simple tov, as we have seen, is direct. Thus, although discourse markers involve parataxis, there are related constructions which involve hypotaxis, as Günthner has shown for the N-be-that construction. Hopper and Thompson write that these projecting constructions are best seen as “relatively open-slot ‘prefabs’ […] which strongly project certain types of social actions” (ibid.: 13). A discourse marker is a projecting construction that has developed in a way that locates it on the rather closed end of these relatively open-slot ‘prefabs’. We have seen that in the process of grammaticization, it has arrived at a relatively high degree of crystallization and reduction in form. At the same time, however, its structure may continue to evolve as new interactional exchanges are crystallized and condensed into it. In this way, phenomena of grammatical, and particularly interactional projection shed light on the crystallization of metalingual utterances into the discourse markers permeating Hebrew talk and constructing the frame shifts into the new actions taking place throughout interaction. 3. Interacting as an Israeli I have written in the preface that one of my interests in writing this book has been to explore the essence of interacting as an Israeli. By studying four particular utterances employed to shift frames in interaction, a particular profile of Israeliness is revealed. The most frequently employed discourse marker explored here (Chapter 1, Table 3) is nu. The study of nu has taught us that Israelis converse rather impatiently, but that they do not necessarily view this impatience negatively. On the

 Metalanguage in Interaction

contrary, the impatience manifested by interlocutors in the course of their hastening a narrator to move towards the climax of a story, for instance, is indicative of their high degree of involvement in the story, which is seen as a particularly positive feature. Addressees take the liberty of controlling the speed of another’s flow of discourse in the name of exhibiting curiosity, enthusiasm, and involvement in the other’s talk. We saw also that employment of nu involves culture-specific expectations that the non-primary speaker will engage in a relatively high degree of interaction (Clancy et al. 1996) in Hebrew discourse. These findings are in line with previous characterizations of the Israeli conversational style as high in degree of interpersonal involvement (Katriel 1986, Blum-Kulka and Katriel 1991, Maschler 1994a, Blum-Kulka 1997). The closeness among participants often serves to neutralize the impolite aura associated with nu (at least in participants’ metalinguistic awareness) and gives rise to a humorous, self-mocking interactional key in which the hastener relates to his or her supposedly impolite behavior jokingly. In this culture, the boundary between joking and provoking, as illustrated by the use of nu, has been shown to be somewhat fuzzy. The second most frequently employed discourse marker explored here is tov. Katriel has written much about the high tolerance for disagreement in Israeli culture (1986, 2004). I have suggested that, like the Brazilian thumbs-up gesture meaning ‘good’ but also functioning as “an interactional link between moves, units, or moments within an interaction” (Sherzer 1991:€192), which “has the power of disarming disagreement” in a society profuse with brutal conflicts (ibid.: 195–196), the pervasiveness of tov in casual Hebrew conversation may be viewed as compensation for the high degree of disagreement imbuing the culture. Thus, to interact Israeli-style is also to show a high tolerance for disagreement, while at the same time maintaining an amiable tone when possible. Concessive tov with its ‘yes, but’ structure is instructive here. The grammaticization of the resumptive discourse marker bekitsur from an adverb meaning succinctly or in short is quite telling with regard to the Israeli interactional mode. We have seen that it is not self-evident that a resumptive discourse marker would be associated with the concept of shortness (English anyway, for example, is not), particularly when other markers such as bexol 'ofen (‘in any way/manner’) and bexol mikre (‘in any event’) are possible. These latter two are not employed very frequently in this corpus. Israelis strongly prefer bekitsur, an expression which often also implies some degree of reproach that one is not speaking tersely and to the point. As Katriel has taught us (1986, 2004), the new way of speaking endorsed for the “New Jew”, according to the Sabra ethos, is not only dugri (direct and straightforward), but also concise and ‘to the point’ (katsar



Chapter 6.╇ Grammaticization from interaction 

vela'inyan). In this conversational style, a digression will be perceived as an object of reproach. The study of bekitsur has also highlighted the collaborative nature of Hebrew discourse. Many more digressions preceding bekitsur are listener-initiated in comparison to the case of the English ‘equivalent’ anyway (Ferrara 1997). However, because of the high degree of involvement on both sides, the question of who initiated the digression quickly becomes irrelevant. Participants also collaborate highly in returning to the main line of discourse. We have seen that about a fifth of resumptive bekitsur tokens and bekitsur tokens introducing new narratives follow a token of nu uttered by the listener. Thus digressions, as well as the return from them, were shown to be a highly cooperative venture that further ties participants to each other in this high-involvement style (Tannen 1984) of discourse. Another motivation for joking, besides the one discussed in relation to nu, is exhibited by some uses of bekitsur. In returning from a digression, particularly one initiated by the listener, the speaker signals that the preceding discourse was of secondary importance, a potentially face-threatening act for the listener. As in the case of nu, a potentially face-threatening strategy is compensated for by a jocular key that often characterizes the Israeli mode of casual interaction. Considering that tov, too, can be employed as compensation for a pervasive face-threatening act (disagreement), we see that three of the discourse markers studied here involve an inherent contradiction in the Israeli casual interactional mode. This contradiction is reminiscent of the mythic Sabra image ‘thorny outside but sweet inside’ (Oring 1981, cited in Katriel 2004:€139). One might say that thorny behavior is compensated for by sweet, or at least jocular modes of interaction: joking nu, tov of acceptance and agreement, and jocular bekitsur. Note, however, that if we take the substantive component (the ‘inside’) to be the thorny behavior, and the joking to be its external embellishment, as I would be inclined to do here, then applying the Sabra metaphor involves a reversal of interior and exterior. By the beginning of the 1980s, along with the decline of the dugri mode of speaking, we find a refusal to accept the Sabra myth at face value, but also a reluctance to give it up entirely (Katriel 2004). This change has become more definite by the late 1990s, by which time we see it grammaticized into the language. I have argued that the great proliferation of hedging and rephrasing via ke'ilu and kaze, particularly towards the beginning of the 21st century, is a linguistic manifestation of the decline of the dugri interactional style. It mirrors the softening of the dugri mode of speaking in a society which has become much more heterogeneous and cognizant of the interpersonal costs of the dugri speaking style (Katriel 2004). I have suggested that this change was influenced not only by internal change in the culture, but also by the saturation of society by multiple voices (Gergen 1991) which characterizes the postmodern era, a phenomenon responsible for the great proliferation recently of

 Metalanguage in Interaction

‘equivalents’ of ke'ilu and kaze in many of the world’s languages (Fleischman and Yaguello 1999, 2004). Thus, just as grammar is sensitive to competing motivations deriving from both internal and external forces (Du Bois 1985), so culture too changes as a function of influences from both within and without. Interacting as an Israeli, according to the study of Hebrew discourse markers, implies on the one hand retaining many of the characteristics of the dugri speaking style, along with a certain amount of jocular linguistic behavior compensating for them. On the other hand, interacting Israeli-style has recently come to imply also being aware of the multiplicity of voices and truths, and adopting therefore a softer, less decided and self-assured mode of conduct. This results in allowing for hedgings and rephrasals and in a new tolerance for tentativeness. Grammatical and cultural processes are indeed seen to occur in parallel, as grammaticization patterns of a language mirror the processes of structuration (Giddens 1984, Hopper 1998) undergone by the culture which binds its speakers together.

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Texts Alper, Rogel. 2000. ke'ilu malkot yofi (‘ke'ilu Miss Universes’, lit. ‘ke'ilu beauty queens’). Ha'aretz Daily Newspaper, 31.3.2000, p. A16.



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Author index A Aijmer, Karin╇ 7–8, 20, 26, 35, 120, 208, 226, 228 Alfonzetti, Giovanna╇ 6 Alper, Rogel╇ 143 Altenberg, Bengt╇ 83 Andersen, Gisle╇ 7, 133 Ariel, Mira╇ 1, 88, 163 Auer, Peter╇ 6, 36–7, 144, 185, 198, 200, 204, 212–3, 217–8, 222, 226–8 Avneyon, Eitan╇ 43, 74, 79 B Bakhtin, Mikhail M.╇ 29, 36, 49, 161 Basgoz, Ilhan╇ 100 Bateson, Gregory╇ 22 Bazzanella, Carla╇ 8 Beach, Wayne A.╇ 172, 174, 181, 193 Becker, Alton L.╇ 1, 4, 9, 21–2, 25, 38, 44, 54, 193, 207 Bell, Barbara╇ 133 Ben Shachar, Rina╇ 157 Biber, Douglas╇ 19 Blakemore, Dianne╇ 7 Blum-Kulka, Shoshana╇ 26, 54–5, 100, 230 Blythe, Carl Jr.╇ 133 Bolozky, Shmuel╇ 185 Borker, Ruth A.╇ 62 Brinton, Laurel J.╇ 1, 8, 15–6, 34–5, 38, 112–3, 203, 220–1 Brody, Jill╇ 6, 214 Brown, Gillian╇ 95 Brown, Penelope╇ 54 Bublitz, Wolfram╇ 83 Butters, Ronald╇ 133 Bybee, Joan L. ╇ 34, 36, 84, 87, 120–1, 123, 210, 222, 224–5 C Cassidy, Frederick╇ 176

Chafe, Wallace L.╇ 4–5, 9, 18, 20–1, 28–9, 31, 38, 52, 54, 59, 82–3, 89–90, 95–6, 108, 150, 154, 207 Clancy, Patricia M.╇ 63, 230 Claudi, Ulrike╇ 34, 38, 121, 203 Clover, Carol J.╇ 15, 17, 26 Coates, Jeniffer╇ 62 Condon, Sherri╇ 172, 174, 189–90 Couper-Kuhlen, Elizabeth╇ 15, 218, 222

G Geis, Michael L.╇ 225 Gergen, Kenneth J. ╇ 169, 231 Giddens, Anthony╇ 33, 232 Goffman, Erving╇ 2, 5, 8, 10, 21, 54, 62, 227 Goss, Emily L.╇ 6, 43, 157, 175 Grice, H. P. ╇ 225 Gumperz, John╇ 10, 129 Günthner, Susanne╇ 29, 35–7, 49, 102, 161–2, 226, 228–9

D Dahl, Östen╇ 225 Da Matta, Roberto╇ 205 Dascal, Marcelo╇ 103, 114 Dasher, Richard B.╇ 35, 37–8, 74, 120, 169, 211, 223 de Fina, Anna╇ 204 Du Bois, John W.╇ 53, 170, 232

H Haiman, John╇ 62, 133, 160, 164, 216, 222 Hansen, Mosegaard Maj-Britt╇ 7 Heine, Bernd╇ 34, 38, 121, 203 Henkin, Roni╇ 1, 131–2, 137, 143 Heritage, John╇ 17 Hilmisdóttir, Helga╇ 44 Hirschfeld, Ariel╇ 129, 150–1, 169–70 Hlavac, Jim╇ 6 Hopper, Paul J. ╇ 1, 32–4, 36, 53, 84, 87, 108, 113, 119–21, 123, 165, 201–2, 205, 210, 214–6, 219–21, 224, 226–9, 232 Hopper, Robert╇ 174 Hudson, Rachel╇ 133, 166 Hünnemeyer, Friederike╇ 34, 38, 121, 203

E Enkvist, Nils Erik╇ 15, 113 Erickson, Frederick╇ 60 Estlein, Roi.╇ 9, 19–20, 35, 71, 120, 167 Even-Shoshan, Avraham╇ 43, 79, 120, 123, 134, 137, 171, 202–3 Even-Zohar, Itamar╇ 1, 8 F Ferrara, Kathleen╇ 20, 34, 62, 83, 90, 96, 100, 106, 110, 119–20, 123, 133, 202, 211, 215, 231 Finegan, Edward╇ 19 Finell, Anne╇ 34–5 Fischer, Kerstin╇ 1, 7, 20–1 Fleischman, Suzanne╇ 35, 37, 113, 127, 131, 133–4, 137, 144, 147, 152, 160, 164–6, 169, 216, 232 Ford, Cecilia E.╇ 2, 5, 36, 55, 62–3 Fox, Barbara A.╇ 50, 212 Fraser, Bruce╇ 7

I Imo, Wolfgang╇ 36 J Jefferson, Gail╇ 25, 55, 193, 203, 218 Jucker, Andreas H.╇ 1, 7, 35, 120, 133 K Kärkkäinen, Elise╇ 36 Katriel, Tamar╇ 3–4, 26, 54–5, 100, 103, 114, 125, 160, 166–9, 205, 230–1

 Metalanguage in Interaction Keenan, Elinor Ochs╇ 95 Keevallik, Leelo╇ 36 Kimmerling, Baruch╇ 125, 167 König, Ekkehard╇ 35, 52, 120, 223 Krupik, Shani╇ 21 Kuryłowicz, Jerzy.╇ 34 Kussmaul, Paul╇ 83 L Labov, William╇ 11, 54, 71, 80, 96, 108, 112, 116, 146, 150–1, 190, 196 Lambrecht, Knud╇ 143, 144 Lange, Deborah╇ 34, 133 Laury, Ritva╇ 36 Lehman, Christian╇ 34 Lenk, Uta╇ 83, 104 Lerner, Gene╇ 14, 43, 62, 178 Levenston, Edward A.╇ 171 Levinson, Stephen╇ 54 Lieblich, Amia 122 Lindström, Jan╇ 35 Livnat, Zohar╇ 1 Livneh, Neri╇ 161 Li Wei╇ 6 Lönnroth, Lars╇ 15, 17, 26 Lori, Aviva╇ 130 Lucy, John╇ 133 M Maltz, Daniel N.╇ 62 Manoliu, Maria╇ 35 Marcuse, Herbert╇ 159, 160 Maschler, Yael╇ 1–2, 4, 6, 9–11, 17–20, 22–3, 26–30, 35, 43–5, 53, 55, 59, 71, 80, 82–4, 100, 112, 117–8, 120, 122, 127, 130–3, 137, 147, 152–4, 157–60, 163, 166–7, 175–6, 180, 207–9, 211–4, 230 Matras, Yaron╇ 6 Mazo, Natalie╇ 44 McConvell, Patrick╇ 6 Meillet, Antoine╇ 34 Merritt, Marylin╇ 172, 174, 205 Miller, Jim╇ 9, 133 Milroy, Lesley╇ 6 Miracle, W. Charles╇ 204 Moyer, Melissa╇ 6 Mulac, Anthony╇ 36 Mulder, Jean╇ 19–20 O Onodera, Noriko O.╇ 35, 220

Oring, Elliot╇ 125, 231 Ösch-Serra, Cecilia╇ 6 Östman, Jan-Ola╇ 8 Owen, Marion╇ 83

Stubbs, Michael╇ 8 Suzuki, Ryoko╇ 35 Sweetser, Eve╇ 52, 75, 120 Syder, Frances╇ 112

P Pagliuca, William╇ 36, 87, 121, 210, 223–4 Pawley, Andrew╇ 112 Pekarek Doehler, Simona╇ 36 Perkins, Revere╇ 36, 210 Pons Bordería╇ 35

T Tabor, Whitney╇ 20, 34–5, 83, 120–1, 211 Tagliamonte, Sali╇ 133, 166 Takahara, Paul, O.╇ 83, 99 Talmud, Masexet Psaxim.╇ 145 Tannen, Deborah╇ 28, 44, 48, 55, 62, 71, 100, 133, 140, 150–1, 161, 175, 178, 231 Tao, Hongyin╇ 123 Thompson, Sandra A. ╇ 2, 5, 19–20, 32, 36, 44, 55, 113, 123, 214, 218, 221–2, 226–9 Traugott, Elizabeth Closs.╇ 8, 20, 33–9, 52, 74–5, 83–4, 119–21, 127, 132, 165, 169, 178, 201–3, 210–1, 213, 215–6, 220–6

Q Quinn, Arthur╇ 150 R Ramat, Paolo╇ 19 Ravid, Dorit╇ 89, 115, 212 Read, Allen Walker╇ 61–2, 85–6, 109, 176 Redeker, Gisela╇ 8 Reh, Mechthild╇ 34 Reinhart, Tanya╇ 112 Romaine, Suzanne╇ 34, 133 Rosten, Leo╇ 43–4 S Sacks, Harvey╇ 5, 10, 25, 55, 66, 174, 180 Salmons, Joseph C.╇ 6, 43, 157, 175 Samet, Gideon╇ 129 Schegloff, Emanuel A.╇ 25, 36, 44, 52, 55, 59, 63–4, 66–7, 174 Schieffelin, Bambi╇ 95 Schiffrin, Deborah╇ 1, 7–8, 16–7, 26, 55, 62, 83, 90, 100, 204 Schourup, Lawrence C.╇ 1, 8, 36, 83, 133, 137 Schwenter, Scott A.╇ 35 Scollon, Ron╇ 22 Seppänen, Eeva-Leena╇ 36 Shaer, Susan╇ 163 Sherzer, Joel╇ 204–5, 230 Shloush, Shelley╇ 1, 79, 84, 86, 94 Shultz, Jeffrey╇ 60 Sivan, Reuben╇ 171 Smith, Sara W.╇ 133 Sorjonen, Marja-Leena╇ 44, 54, 67 Sperber, Dan╇ 7 Stroud, Christopher╇ 6

U Uhmann, Susanne╇ 212 Underhill, Robert╇ 133, 144 V Vincent, Diane╇ 35 Visconti, Jacqueline╇ 35 Voloshin, Oleg╇ 44 W Waida, Yukiko╇ 83 Wårvik, Brita╇ 15, 35, 113 Watts, Richard J.╇ 7, 120 Weinert, Regina╇ 133 Wide, Camilla╇ 35 Wilson, Deirdre╇ 7 Wittgenstein, Ludwig╇ 170 Y Yaguello, Marina╇ 35, 37, 127, 131, 133–4, 137, 144, 147, 152, 160, 164–6, 169, 216, 232 Yang, Li-Chiung╇ 8, 20 Yule, George╇ 95 Z Zeltzer, Elisheva╇ 130 Ziegeler, Debra╇ 87 Ziv, Yael╇ 1 Zwicky, Arnold M.╇ 8, 225

Subject index A a priori grammar╇ 1, 239 acceptance of state of things╇ 177, 197, 217, 224 action: order of actions╇ 22 returning to main╇ 22, 83, 90, 94, 96 structure╇ 26; actually╇ 120, 234, 240, 248 additive╇ 90 adjacency pair╇ 5, 10–1, 29, 66 first pair part╇ 5, 66–7, 227 second pair part╇ 13, 66–7 adverbial clause╇ 62, 63 in American English conversation╇ 62 adverbs: in text╇ 19 of space and time╇ 19 manner predicate adverbs╇ 19 prototypical╇ 19 syntactic category of╇ 19 agreement (discourse)╇ 22, 112, 115, 120, 167, 171, 174–7, 185, 187, 189, 198, 200, 202–4, 208, 217, 219–20, 224, 231 emphatic agreement╇ 167–8 ironic╇ 177, 187, 208, 217, 220, 227 tokens of╇ 26 agreement (grammatical)╇ 89, 115, 163 allowing╇ 64, 66, 68, 75 allowing reluctantly╇ 68, 75 amazement╇ 22 although╇ 101–2 American accent in Hebrew╇ 5, 105–6 anyhoo╇ 106 anyhow╇ 106, 119 anyway╇ 13–4, 17, 39, 83, 84, 90, 96, 99, 100, 106, 110, 119, 120, 121, 124, 179, 190, 191, 194, 200, 201, 230, 231, 237, 240, 243, 247 anyways╇ 106, 119 aposiopesis╇ 148, 150

appeal intonation╇ 53, 60 appositional use of bekitsur╇ 86 approximative meaning╇ 137 Arabic language╇ 84, 106, 157, 159, 169, 171 Aramaic language╇ 171 argument genre╇ 55–8, 62, 70, 185–7, 245 argument structure╇ 32, 247 as if╇ 39, 127, 128, 134, 136, 143, 164, 168, 208, 209, 216, 225, 242 aside╇ 83, 106 at any rate╇ 106, 119, 124 attentiveness╇ 3 audience involvement╇ 54, 112 see also involvement in discourse automatization╇ 222 average frequency╇ 84, 133, 176 B backgrounding╇ 108, 112, 123, 215 basically╇ 120 bekitsur╇ 79–125, 191, 200–2, 208–10, 214–6, 220–5, 227, 230–1 appositional use of╇ 86 backgrounding function of╇ 123 episode-summarzing function of╇ 121 equative use of╇ 86 foregrounding function of╇ 224, 227 grammaticization of╇ 87, 119–124, 214–29 resumptive╇ 96, 99, 103, 110, 121, 231 summarizing╇ 121 besides╇ 211 betax╇ 71, 80, 115 bexayex╇ 71 bexol mikre╇ 124, 230 bexol 'ofen╇ 124, 230

Biblical Hebrew language╇ 171, 202, 217 bien (French)╇ 204, 236 biktsara╇ 79, 123 bilingualism╇ 6, 238, 241–3 bilingual conversation╇ 2, 10, 16, 241–3 bilingual discourse╇ 6–8, 35, 214, 238 bonding╇ 221, 222 borrowing╇ 6, 43, 243, 244 boundary╇ 2, 5–6, 10–1, 14–5, 26, 29–32, 51, 54, 63, 70–1, 87, 122, 174, 180, 190, 209, 212–4, 230, 242, 250 level-I╇ 11 level-II╇ 11, 14 level-III╇ 11, 14, 15, 30 lower-level╇ 30, 87 higher-level╇ 11 Brazilian thumbs-up gesture╇ 205, 230, 247 C causality╇ 226, 241 cause╇ 22, 226, 233, 236, 238 center of interest╇ 29, 154 change in volume╇ 104, 124, 210 change-of-state token╇ 17, 239 chat (internet)╇ 85–6, 240 Chinese language╇ 63, 204–5, 231, 241, 243 claim of understanding╇ 63 clarification╇ 13, 82, 94, 114, 154–6, 181, 195 clarification question╇ 13 clarification sequence╇ 82, 94, 114, 154, 195 classroom discourse╇ 41, 58 clause combining╇ 226, 235, 239, 241, 243 cline of de-categorialization╇ 119–20, 202, 215–6, 221 closeness vs. distance╇ 22

 Metalanguage in Interaction cluster╇ 6, 10–1, 14–5, 17–8, 26, 28, 30–1, 44, 71, 83, 102, 131, 175, 180, 191, 195, 201, 208, 211, 213–4 of discourse markers╇ 6, 10–1, 26, 208 co-construction╇ 14, 62 code-switching╇ 214, 233, 239, 240, 242–3, 247 see also language alternation cognitive constraints╇ 8, 38, 207 cognitive discourse marker╇ 8, 17, 28, 38, 51, 131, 152–8 cognitive processes╇ 1, 5, 17, 21–2, 25, 39, 44, 51, 83, 131, 152, 154, 164, 175, 207–8, 223 cognitive realm╇ 5, 8, 22, 39, 127, 207 come on╇ 49, 71 communicative strategies╇ 34, 63, 120 comparison, element of╇ 128, 162 complementizer╇ 152, 229 complicating action╇ 53, 110, 112–3, 190 complication╇ 54, 108, 110, 112 concession╇ 22, 177, 181, 198, 200, 208, 217, 220, 233, 236, 238 concessive discourse marker╇ 102 condition╇ 22, 136, 152, 164, 166, 226, 233, 236, 238 conditional clause╇ 62–3 conditional conjunction╇ 134, 137 conjunction of hypothetical conditionals╇ 128 conjunctions╇ 22, 212, 239, 241, 243, 249 connectives╇ 8, 16, 233, 236, 242–3, 246, 250 consequence╇ 22, 25 constraints╇ 7, 22, 25–6, 29, 39, 59, 87, 140, 150, 166, 205, 207–8, 212, 224, 234–5 contexts of parody╇ 142 contextual realms╇ 21–2, 25–6, 38–9, 193, 207, 208 contextualization cues╇ 10 continuer╇ 52, 59, 60–4, 71 continuing intonation, xi╇ 17–8, 28–9, 44, 49, 60–1, 83, 86–7, 94, 121–2, 124, 150, 153–5, 175, 180, 211, 213

contrast╇ 4, 22, 31, 62–3, 118, 164, 185, 207–8, 233, 236, 238, 242, 249 controlling discourse flow╇ 54–5, 58, 63, 70, 74 conversational action╇ 2, 5–6, 11, 21–2, 25–6, 83–4, 90, 114, 191, 213 conversational action boundaries╇ 5–6, 10, 21–2, 26, 30, 83, 213 conversational implicature╇ 225–6 coordination╇ 22, 25, 238 corpus╇ 7–10, 14, 18–9, 22, 36, 40, 45–6, 50–1, 66, 71, 74, 76, 80, 84, 94, 96–7, 99–100, 103–4, 106, 116, 119, 120–4, 130, 132–3, 137, 144, 162, 175–6, 178, 180, 200, 202–4, 208, 210–1, 213, 229–30, 233, 248 counterfactual conjunction╇ 128, 134 cross-language generalizations╇ 127, 165 cross-language pragmatics╇ 132, 165, 237 D da?╇ 161–2 deictics╇ 22 delaying narrative point╇ 63, 74 evaluative strategy of╇ 54 dialogue: constructed╇ 28–32, 48–9, 140, 158–62, 178, 180, 185, 197, 213, 237, 24; 7 imaginary╇ 116–7, 198, 200, 204 dialogical grammaticization path╇ 218, 224 digression╇ 43, 52, 79, 84, 87, 90, 94–7, 99–100, 102–4, 106, 108, 110, 114, 116, 119, 121, 123, 125, 149, 191, 201, 208, 215, 223, 231, 234, 236 closing a╇ 22 collaborative nature of returning from╇ 99 content-based╇ 104 language games of╇ 100 listener-initiated╇ 104 listener-triggered╇ 97 returning from╇ 84, 90, 94, 100, 231

storyteller-initiated╇ 106 disagreement╇ 22, 26, 102–3, 177, 185, 187, 201, 205, 208, 212, 217, 219–20, 227, 230–1, 242 high tolerance for╇ 25, 230 tokens of╇ 22 discourse level╇ 6–7 discourse markers╇ 1–2, 6–11, 14–23, 25–30, 32–7, 39–40, 44, 71, 82–3, 120–1, 124, 131, 152–3, 156, 165, 167, 169, 180, 191, 195, 205, 207–15, 220–5, 227–9, 231–3, 235, 239–42, 246–9 definition of╇ 2, 9, 16, 19–20, 30, 37, 223 clusters of╇ 11, 18, 26, 71 distribution of╇ 10 employment of╇ 1, 10, 14, 27, 114 grammatical category of╇ 119–20 interactive functions of╇ 8 intonation contour of╇ 20 intonation unit preceding╇ 20, 29 metalanguaging property of╇ 35 metalinguality of╇ 37 operational definition of╇ 17, 20 previous approaches to╇ 7–8, 16, 27 prototypical╇ 17–22, 25, 27, 30–1, 44–5, 83, 124, 131–2, 168, 175, 180, 207, 211, 213–4 non-prototypical╇ 18, 20, 213 realms of operation of╇ 26 resumptive╇ 90, 121–4, 215, 230 semantic requirement for discourse markerhood╇ 17–9, 30, 87, 168, 175, 211, 213 structural patterning of╇ 27–33, 213 structural properties of╇ 2, 17, 27, 33, 207, 210–1 structural requirement for discourse markerhood╇ 17– 20, 22, 27, 30, 45, 87, 124, 168, 175, 180, 211, 213 of summarizing╇ 121 as syntactic category╇ 7 system of╇ 207 textual╇ 17, 19, 22, 203, 205, 208, 218, 224



Subject index  discourse operators╇ 16 discourse package╇ 15, 31, 180 discourse particles╇ 16, 26, 127, 165, 233–4, 237, 241, 246, 249 discourse topic╇ 5, 11, 21, 52, 94–6 highlighting new╇ 119 main╇ 66–7, 83–4, 87, 90, 95, 97, 99–100, 103–4, 106, 121, 124, 191, 200–1, 208 returning to main╇ 22, 90 supertopic╇ 30 disjunction╇ 22 dismissive╇ 90 domains╇ 26, 167, 222 dome le-╇ 134, 137 dugri╇ 54, 125, 166–9, 230–2, 240, 242 E element of comparison╇ 128, 162 elicitational discourse╇ 89, 96 elicitational topic╇ 188, 208 embedded stories╇ 112–3 emergent grammar╇ 1, 34–5, 120 emic perspective of participants╇ 2, 207 ending an action╇ 22, 193 English language╇ 4–6, 8, 17, 19, 28, 34–5, 37, 41, 43, 53, 59, 61, 63, 83–4, 86, 92, 99–100, 110, 116, 118, 121, 124, 127–8, 130–1, 133–4, 152, 160, 164–6, 171–6, 185, 187, 193, 204, 209, 211–3, 220, 226, 228, 230–1, 233–41, 243, 246–9 enthusiasm╇ 22, 58, 64, 74, 209, 230 lack of╇ 22, 74 episode╇ 5, 10, 53–4, 82, 87, 90–1, 94, 99, 108, 110–2, 121, 124, 154, 158, 193, 196–7, 200, 204, 215, 218–9 episode boundaries╇ 5, 110 sub-episodes╇ 11, 29 evaluation╇ 29, 49, 69, 110, 112 exchange structure╇ 26, 226 extralingual world╇ 1–2, 17, 21–2, 44, 49, 83, 121, 131, 152, 164, 168, 175, 207, 224 extraposition╇ 226–7 F face wants╇ 54, 169 fei (Bavarian)╇ 185

figure of speech╇ 150 filler╇ 5, 6, 21, 129, 157–8 nativelike usage of╇ 5 fine╇ 40, 171, 184–5, 187, 198, 204 Finnish particles╇ 67 first pair part╇ 5, 66–7, 227 floor╇ 52–3, 55, 63, 150 focus╇ 143–5, 216 focus marker╇ 133, 143, 145, 147, 165 focus of consciousness╇ 29 footing╇ 10, 21, 62 foregrounding╇ 112, 116, 119, 124, 208, 210, 215, 223–4, 227, 239 formulaic utterances╇ 15, 112, 204, 228 concluding formulas╇ 15 introductory saga formulas╇ 15 narrative direction formulas╇ 15 forthrightness╇ 125 frame╇ 2, 5–8, 10, 14–5, 17, 21, 25, 28, 30–3, 36, 51, 54, 207–9, 212–4, 222, 225, 227–9, 237, 242, 244 frame shifts╇ 5–7, 10, 17, 21, 25, 30–1, 33, 51, 207–9, 212–4, 225, 227, 229, 242 in interaction╇ 7, 30, 207, 213 moment of╇ 21–2, 207 framing device╇ 212, 228 frankly╇ 120 French language╇ 34–5, 127, 133–4, 160, 165–6, 236, 238, 243–4, 249 frequency╇ 26, 40, 58, 63, 100, 123, 202, 235, 248 functional itinerary╇ 36, 74, 120, 124, 132–4, 148, 152, 162, 165–6, 205, 215, 220–1, 225 G Gemara╇ 145 genre╇ 26, 33, 35–6, 41, 52, 59, 122 genre (French)╇ 127, 133–4, 160, 165–6 German language╇ 35, 41, 44, 166, 185, 198, 200, 204–5, 212–3, 218, 226, 228, 233, 237–8, 240, 244 Germanic languages╇ 233, 241 given information╇ 62 go-ahead response╇ 44, 67, 246

go-ahead token╇ 66–7 grammatical category intermediate╇ 119–20, 215–6 major╇ 119, 202, 215–6 minor╇ 119, 202, 215–6, 221 grammaticalization╇ 33–4, 87, 120, 165, 200, 205, 220, 224, 226, 233, 235–6, 238–9, 241, 243–4, 247–9 chains of╇ 34 discourse-pragmatic perspective on╇ 34 historical-diachronic perspective on╇ 34 grammaticization╇ 1–2, 7, 20, 25, 30, 33–9, 45, 51, 74–5, 84, 87, 119–21, 123–4, 132, 165, 169–70, 176, 193, 200–5, 207, 214–22, 224–6, 229–30, 232–3, 235, 242–3, 247–8 of discourse markers╇ 2, 25, 33–5, 37, 39, 200, 214 discourse-pragmatic perspective on╇ 34 historical-diachronic perspective on╇ 34 locus of╇ 198 unidirectionality in╇ 119, 201 of Swedish particles╇ 35 grammaticization path╇ 36, 45, 121, 123, 169, 176, 193, 204, 210, 214–7, 220, 224 granting permission╇ 64, 67–8, 74–5, 208, 214–5 grounding╇ 113–4, 235, 237, 248 gut (German)╇ 185 H Haifa Corpus of Spoken Israeli Hebrew╇ 9, 45, 84, 132, 176, 242 hakitser╇ 82, 104, 108 hao (Chinese)╇ 204, 243 harey╇ 60, 88 hastening╇ 43, 46, 48, 54, 58, 62, 68, 74–5, 208, 214–15, 223, 230 hastening non-verbal action╇ 74, 214–5 hastening word╇ 43 hava╇ 43 Hebrew preposition of comparison╇ 128 Hebrew-English bilingual conversation╇ 130, 241–2

 Metalanguage in Interaction hedging╇ 131–3, 137, 140–3, 146, 148, 151–2, 162–6, 208, 210, 216, 231, 239 hesitation╇ 4–6, 8, 21 markers of╇ 5, 6, 21 utterance╇ 4 hierarchy: of episodes╇ 112 of frame shifts╇ 209 high involvement in discourse╇ 53–4, 64, 71, 74, 100, 102, 150–1, 158, 230–1 high onsets╇ 15, 236 humor: Israeli╇ 71, 243 mixed with impatience╇ 48 humorous sarcasm╇ 106 hypotaxis╇ 229 hypothetical conditional╇ 134, 164 I Icelandic language╇ 239 iconic strategy╇ 4, 118, 122 iconicity╇ 54, 214, 236, 242 idea unit╇ 21 ideational structure╇ 26 imaginary dialogue╇ 116–8, 200, 204 impatience╇ 41, 45, 48, 54, 63–4, 67, 71, 74, 229–30, 242; impoliteness╇ 43, 58, 75, 223 in fact╇ 120, 211, 240 in short╇ 39, 59, 79, 85–90, 111–2, 121–2, 124, 128, 140, 157, 179, 209, 215, 222, 230, 247 indeed╇ 19, 120, 167, 211, 242 inferences╇ 36, 210, 226 information flow╇ 95 information state╇ 26 insertion sequences╇ 103, 114 interacting as an Israeli╇ 40, 124–5, 166–70, 229–32 interactional projection╇ 212–3, 222, 229 interactional structure╇ 217–20, 227 interjection╇ 43, 53, 92, 221 interpersonal constraints╇ 21, 140–1, 150–1 interpersonal discourse marker╇ 17, 40, 45, 51, 59, 74, 99, 203, 208, 216 interpersonal involvement╇ 45, 54–5, 71, 74,100–2, 150, 230

interpersonal realm╇ 4, 8, 18, 25, 39, 41, 44–5, 75, 208, 217 interpersonal relations╇ 9, 25, 208 interrupted action╇ 190, 208, 218 interruption╇ 13–4, 66, 103, 183, 190–1, 200 intersubjectification╇ 169, 224, 248 intersubjectivity╇ 37–8 intonation contour╇ 9, 18, 20–1, 28–9, 31, 44, 48, 53, 59, 83, 86, 90, 94, 99, 121, 154, 175, 211 sentence-final╇ 29, 154 intonation unit╇ 4, 9, 14, 17–8, 20–1, 28–32, 45, 59, 68, 82–3, 90, 95, 99, 121, 124, 153–4, 168, 210–1, 213–4, 235 intonation-unit final position╇ 19–20, 29 intonation-unit initial position╇ 17–8, 20, 28, 44–5, 83, 130–1, 132, 135, 152–3, 168, 175, 180, 210–1 intonation-unit non-initial position╇ 17, 44, 83, 132 intonation-unit marginal position╇ 19 invited inferences╇ 225, 237 Invited Inferencing Theory of Semantic Change╇ 225 involvement in discourse╇ 45, 54–5, 71, 74,100–2, 150, 230 ironic agreement╇ 177, 187, 208, 217, 220, 227 irony╇ 185, 187 double-voiced ironic quotations╇ 160–2 irrealis╇ 128, 134, 137, 162, 164, 216, 225, 237 Israeli culture and society╇ 2–3, 26, 39–41, 43–5, 54–5, 67, 71, 74, 84, 91, 93–4, 100, 116, 124–5, 129, 134, 142, 156, 166–7, 169–70, 178–80, 195, 205, 229–32, 234–5, 240, 242–4 Israeli discourse╇ 45, 55, 67, 74 Israeli humor╇ 71, 243 Italian language╇ 35, 166, 233–4, 243, 249 J Japanese language╇ 35, 63, 99, 166, 211–2, 220, 236, 243, 247

Japanese discourse markers╇ 99, 220, 243, 247 jocular form╇ 102, 106 joking╇ 29, 31–2, 68–71, 74–6, 106, 174, 208, 214, 224, 230–1 K k(e)-╇ 128, 134, 137, 162–4, 166, 216 katsar╇ 79, 230 kaze╇ 12–3, 53, 86, 111, 127–32, 147, 151–2, 166–7, 169–0, 231–2, 238–9, 242, 244, 249–50 kaze ke'ilu generation╇ 129, 244 ke'ilu╇ 127–170, 216, 220–5 as a focus maker╇ 146 functional itinerary of╇ 162–6 grammaticization of╇ 162–6, 214–29 in hedging╇ 137, 140–3, 146, 163 quotative function of╇ 161 ken╇ 4, 18, 40, 45, 59–60, 70, 86, 91–3, 99, 101, 104, 107, 113, 171, 179 key╇ 45, 49, 68, 69–71, 74–7, 111–2, 157, 162, 209, 214, 222–3, 230–1, 240 key words╇ 4, 240 kitsur╇ 79, 113, 120, 215 kivyaxol╇ 137 klomar╇ 157 kmo 'ilu╇ 134, 137 L lamrot she-╇ 102 language alternation╇ 2, 5–6, 118, 214, 242 theory of╇ 4–7, 37 at discourse markers╇ 2–6, 10, 43, 157, 175, 214, languaging╇ 1–2, 21, 25, 38, 39 layering of voices╇ 29, 49, 238 lekatser╇ 79 lesaxek beke'ilu╇ 143 let us╇ 27, 43 levels of discourse╇ 1, 152 lexical history╇ 87, 127, 166, 205, 224–5 like╇ 12–3, 16, 27–8, 36, 39, 52–3, 80–1, 86, 88–9, 111, 128, 130–1, 133–5, 139–41, 144–7, 151–2, 155–66, 180–1, 189–90, 199, 204



Subject index  like this╇ 69, 76, 127–8, 135, 238 lip service╇ 181, 183, 201, 217 lo╇ 4, 12–3, 16–8, 27–8, 48, 56–8, 65, 67, 69, 70, 76, 79, 82, 89, 91, 100–2, 107, 111, 114, 122–3, 129, 142, 147, 149, 156–8, 163, 168, 173, 186–7, 189–90, 198, 201, 209, 249 M madhim╇ 149–50 maintaining contact╇ 22 manner predicate adverbs╇ 19 markers of pragmatic structure╇ 16 meta-knowledge╇ 27 metalanguaging╇ 1–2, 5, 16, 35, 207, 242 metalingual dimension╇ 2, 4, 121, 123, 130, 211 boundary with lingual dimension╇ 5, 51 metalingual frame╇ 6–7 of discourse markers╇ 6, 37 metalingual interpretation╇ 17, 37, 44, 83, 175 metalingual utterance╇ 4–6, 11, 15–7, 30–1, 37, 38, 75–7, 87, 121–3, 164, 174, 180, 203, 209–10, 213–8, 221–5, 227–9 metalinguality╇ 37, 211, 213 semantic property of╇ 17 metaphor╇ 225, 231, 237, 244 space-discourse╇ 121 metaphorical extension╇ 200 metaphorical shift╇ 51, 120–1, 223 meta-talk expressions╇ 16 metonymy╇ 225–6 Midrash╇ 145 milat zeruz╇ 43 minimal acknowledgment╇ 193 mm hm╇ 59 mockery╇ 106 mocking╇ 70, 75, 106, 116, 230 monolingual discourse╇ 6 monolingual speakers╇ 6 multiplicity of voices╇ 169–70, 231–232 see also multivocality, polyphony multi-unit turn╇ 15 multivocality╇ 27, 29, 44, 175, 242 see also multiplicity of voices, polyphony

N narration╇ 14, 29, 104, 106 narrational discourse╇ 96, 188 non-narrational discourse╇ 52, 55, 63, 71 narrative╇ 5, 9–11, 13–5, 35, 43, 49, 52–4, 59–61, 63, 74, 80, 82–3, 96, 99, 104, 108, 110, 112, 116, 118, 123–4, 146–7, 150, 180–1, 188–91, 193, 196–7, 200, 208, 215, 218–9, 223, 227, 229, 234–7, 244, 247 N-be-that╇ 228–9, 238 need to rephrase╇ 127, 157 negotiating: footing╇ 10 relations between speaker and hearer╇ 4, 38 new information╇ 5, 17–8 nii (Swedish)╇ 54, 67 no (Swedish)╇ 67 nonetheless╇ 90 non-verbal action╇ 46, 48, 51–2, 74–5, 208 Northern Tel Aviv╇ 129–30 nu╇ 41–77, 91, 99, 105–6, 115–6, 118–9, 156, 183–4, 192, 208–10, 214–5, 220–4, 229–31 as a continuer╇ 61 in keying╇ 71, 76–7, 210, 221–2, 224 sequential functions of╇ 52–68, 75, 221 grammaticization of╇ 74–77, 214–29 nu be'emet╇ 71 nur (German)╇ 212–3 O OK: as a discourse marker╇ 174, 189–90 orientation╇ 11, 14, 61, 80, 82–3, 108, 110, 112, 146, 153, 190, 196, 200 original lexical sources╇ 87, 166, 205, 224 overlap╇ 38, 55, 59, 62, 136, 158, 183, 195 P paralinguistics╇ 9, 162 parallelism╇ 55, 62, 238 parataxis╇ 229 participation framework╇ 26 patronizing╇ 43, 58

perception verbs╇ 22 permission╇ 64, 66, 68, 196 persistence╇ 87, 121, 165, 205, 224 phonological changes╇ 83, 120 phonological expansion╇ 221 phonological reduction╇ 210, 221 playful forms╇ 84, 221 playful variation╇ 106 playfulness╇ 106 point of incompletion╇ 61 point of speaker change╇ 17, 44–5, 83, 168, 175, 211 polyphony╇ 29, 161, 238 see also multivocality, multiplicity of voices polysemies╇ 210, 222, 226 postmodernity╇ 169–170, 231 pragmatic markers╇ 16, 35, 235, 249 pragmatic presupposition╇ 144 pre-front field╇ 198, 212, 228, 233 pre-pre╇ 66–8 pretend play╇ 143 processing information╇ 22 projectability╇ 214, 225–6, 239 projecting construction╇ 227, 229 projection╇ 62, 212–3, 222, 226–7, 233, 244 double╇ 213 retrospective╇ 222 syntactic╇ 212, 222 propositional meaning╇ 38, 52, 120, 203, 223, 248 prosodic sentence╇ 59–61, 63, 90, 94, 99 prosody╇ 20–1, 48, 66, 84, 151, 161, 211 provoking╇ 68–70, 74–5, 208, 224, 230 pseudocleft╇ 226–7 Q quotations╇ 158, 160, 163, 216 double-voiced ironic╇ 160–2 quotative╇ 134, 160–2, 165–6, 210, 216, 235, 247 R reactive token╇ 63, 236 realizing new information╇ 17, 22 really╇ 3, 19, 110, 120, 139, 167, 242, 248 referential realm╇ 22 register╇ 79, 123–4, 160

 Metalanguage in Interaction high╇ 43, 79, 202 relations of speaker to text╇ 19 relevance╇ 7, 16, 84, 233–4, 240, 245–6, 249 theory of╇ 7, 84, 246 repetition╇ 7, 66, 154, 156, 158, 222, 225, 247 rephrasal╇ 14, 28–9, 58, 111, 131, 152, 154, 157, 163–4, 167, 170, 208, 210, 216 realizing the need for╇ 22, 28, 131, 152, 156 response signals╇ 16 resultative meaning╇ 68–71 retention╇ 87, 121, 224 retroactive construction╇ 108, 116 returning from digression╇ 84, 90, 94, 100, 231 returning to main action╇ 22, 90, 94, 96 rhythmic synchrony╇ 60 ridiculing╇ 29, 49, 70, 73, 75, 116, 161, 185 Russian language╇ 43–4, 51, 73, 75, 214, 243 speakers in Israel╇ 44 S Sabra╇ 125, 166–7, 170, 230–1, 240 same-speaker talk╇ 17–8, 28, 44, 83, 131, 175, 180, 211 scalar category╇ 20 scope╇ 7, 37–8, 147, 211, 247 second pair part╇ 13, 66–7 self-mockery╇ 141–2 self-rephrasal╇ 28–9, 39, 111, 131–3, 152, 154–6, 158, 162–4, 166, 208–10, 213, 216, 223–4 semantic change╇ 37, 169, 211, 248–9 semantic-pragmatic path see grammaticization path, functional itinerary sequences╇ 103, 154, 174, 226, 244, 246 shifting╇ 8, 21, 31, 36, 171, 193, 203, 208, 213, 227 side comments╇ 13–4 similar to╇ 47, 134, 137, 143 slang╇ 82, 129, 139, 147, 154, 157, 161, 178, 241, 249

so what╇ 41, 71–4, 115–6, 150 space-discourse metaphor╇ 121 Spanish language╇ 35, 204–5, 235–6, 244 speaker change╇ 17–8, 44–5, 83 168, 175, 211 stance╇ 19, 37, 59, 64, 162, 224, 234, 240 of uncertainty╇ 17 story aside╇ 106 stress╇ 9, 90, 129 position of╇ 84, 90 structural realm╇ 22, 208 structuration╇ 33, 232, 237 subjectification╇ 169, 224, 247 subordinator╇ 135–6, 160, 185 succinctly╇ 79, 87, 119, 121–4, 209, 215, 225, 227, 230 summarizing╇ 22, 85, 87, 90, 94, 96, 99, 121–2, 124, 208, 210, 215 summarizing a list╇ 85, 90, 210 summarizing an action╇ 22 summarizing an episode╇ 85, 90, 210 superfoci of consciousness╇ 29 sure, of course╇ 71 SVO language╇ 212 Swedish language╇ 35, 166, 241 syntactic gestalt╇ 200 syntactic projection╇ 212, 222

interpersonal╇ 176, 188, 193, 217 quasi-conjunctional function of╇ 200 textual╇ 188, 193 transitional╇ 188–91 trajectories╇ 38, 212 transcription╇ 9, 236 conventions╇ 9 transition╇ 15, 55, 174–6, 188, 190–1, 195–6, 198, 200–1, 203, 218–20, 242 into following episode/action╇ 195–6, 198 expected╇ 174, 188, 204, 218, 223–4 transition relevance place╇ 55 trope╇ 150 turn╇ 11, 15, 29, 55, 58–9, 67, 177, 180, 193, 195–6, 198, 208, 217, 237, 244, 246–7 turn constructional unit╇ 15, 55

T Talmudic Hebrew language╇ 78, 134, 137 tense and aspect: switch in╇ 53 textual realm╇ 4, 17, 25, 44, 39, 79, 83, 164, 175, 193, 208 the thing is╇ 228 theory of grammaticization and semantic change╇ 37–9, 225–6 therefore╇ 43, 203, 209, 217–8, 226 third turn receipt╇ 180, 193, 208, 217 tolerance for tentativeness╇ 167, 232 topic see discourse topic tov╇ 13, 40, 43, 88, 102, 171–205, 208–9, 211, 214, 216–27, 229–31, 250 grammaticization of╇ 201–5, 214–29

V ve-╇ 17, 29, 53, 60, 71, 81, 86, 88–9, 107, 139, 140, 149, 180 verbal noun╇ 79, 120, 215, 221 verbs of saying╇ 22 verbum dicendi╇ 31, 159–60, 180

U Ugaritic language╇ 171 uh huh╇ 59, 246 urging╇ 22, 25, 39, 43–5, 50–2, 55, 58–9, 62–3, 67–8, 74–6, 99, 208, 214–5 uvxen╇ 43

W well╇ 43–44, 120, 204, 237, 240 well?╇ 41 well then╇ 43, 204 Wenn-clauses (German)╇ 226, 233 wh-cleft╇ 226 Y yeah╇ 3–4, 39–40, 45, 59, 70, 86, 91, 99, 101, 104, 107, 113, 135, 160, 184, 194 Yiddish language╇ 6, 43, 51, 75, 84, 214, 244, 248

Pragmatics & Beyond New Series A complete list of titles in this series can be found on www.benjamins.com 193 Suomela-Salmi, Eija and Fred Dervin (eds.): Cross-Linguistic and Cross-Cultural Perspectives on Academic Discourse. vi, 297 pp. + index. Expected December 2009 192 Filipi, Anna: Toddler and Parent Interaction. The organisation of gaze, pointing and vocalisation. xiii, 265 pp. + index. Expected December 2009 191 Ogiermann, Eva: On Apologising in Negative and Positive Politeness Cultures. x, 291 pp. + index. Expected November 2009 190 Finch, Jason, Martin Gill, Anthony Johnson, Iris Lindahl-Raittila, Inna Lindgren, Tuija Virtanen and Brita Wårvik (eds.): Humane Readings. Essays on literary mediation and communication in honour of Roger D. Sell. xi, 156 pp. + index. Expected November 2009 189 Peikola, Matti, Janne Skaffari and Sanna-Kaisa Tanskanen (eds.): Instructional Writing in English. Studies in honour of Risto Hiltunen. 2009. xiii, 240 pp. 188 Giltrow, Janet and Dieter Stein (eds.): Genres in the Internet. Issues in the theory of genre. ix, 290 pp. + index. Expected November 2009 187 Jucker, Andreas H. (ed.): Early Modern English News Discourse. Newspapers, pamphlets and scientific news discourse. 2009. vii, 227 pp. 186 Callies, Marcus: Information Highlighting in Advanced Learner English. The syntax–pragmatics interface in second language acquisition. 2009. xviii, 293 pp. 185 Mazzon, Gabriella: Interactive Dialogue Sequences in Middle English Drama. 2009. ix, 228 pp. 184 Stenström, Anna-Brita and Annette Myre Jørgensen (eds.): Youngspeak in a Multilingual Perspective. 2009. vi, 206 pp. 183 Nurmi, Arja, Minna Nevala and Minna Palander-Collin (eds.): The Language of Daily Life in England (1400–1800). 2009. vii, 312 pp. 182 Norrick, Neal R. and Delia Chiaro (eds.): Humor in Interaction. 2009. xvii, 238 pp. 181 Maschler, Yael: Metalanguage in Interaction. Hebrew discourse markers. 2009. xvi, 258 pp. 180 Jones, Kimberly and Tsuyoshi Ono (eds.): Style Shifting in Japanese. 2008. vii, 335 pp. 179 Simões Lucas Freitas, Elsa: Taboo in Advertising. 2008. xix, 214 pp. 178 Schneider, Klaus P. and Anne Barron (eds.): Variational Pragmatics. A focus on regional varieties in pluricentric languages. 2008. vii, 371 pp. 177 Rue, Yong-Ju and Grace Zhang: Request Strategies. A comparative study in Mandarin Chinese and Korean. 2008. xv, 320 pp. 176 Jucker, Andreas H. and Irma Taavitsainen (eds.): Speech Acts in the History of English. 2008. viii, 318 pp. 175 Gómez González, María de los Ængeles, J. Lachlan Mackenzie and Elsa M. González Ælvarez (eds.): Languages and Cultures in Contrast and Comparison. 2008. xxii, 364 pp. 174 Heyd, Theresa: Email Hoaxes. Form, function, genre ecology. 2008. vii, 239 pp. 173 Zanotto, Mara Sophia, Lynne Cameron and Marilda C. Cavalcanti (eds.): Confronting Metaphor in Use. An applied linguistic approach. 2008. vii, 315 pp. 172 Benz, Anton and Peter Kühnlein (eds.): Constraints in Discourse. 2008. vii, 292 pp. 171 Félix-Brasdefer, J. César: Politeness in Mexico and the United States. A contrastive study of the realization and perception of refusals. 2008. xiv, 195 pp. 170 Oakley, Todd and Anders Hougaard (eds.): Mental Spaces in Discourse and Interaction. 2008. vi, 262 pp. 169 Connor, Ulla, Ed Nagelhout and William Rozycki (eds.): Contrastive Rhetoric. Reaching to intercultural rhetoric. 2008. viii, 324 pp. 168 Proost, Kristel: Conceptual Structure in Lexical Items. The lexicalisation of communication concepts in English, German and Dutch. 2007. xii, 304 pp. 167 Bousfield, Derek: Impoliteness in Interaction. 2008. xiii, 281 pp. 166 Nakane, Ikuko: Silence in Intercultural Communication. Perceptions and performance. 2007. xii, 240 pp. 165 Bublitz, Wolfram and Axel Hübler (eds.): Metapragmatics in Use. 2007. viii, 301 pp. 164 Englebretson, Robert (ed.): Stancetaking in Discourse. Subjectivity, evaluation, interaction. 2007. viii, 323 pp.

163 Lytra, Vally: Play Frames and Social Identities. Contact encounters in a Greek primary school. 2007. xii, 300 pp. 162 Fetzer, Anita (ed.): Context and Appropriateness. Micro meets macro. 2007. vi, 265 pp. 161 Celle, Agnès and Ruth Huart (eds.): Connectives as Discourse Landmarks. 2007. viii, 212 pp. 160 Fetzer, Anita and Gerda Eva Lauerbach (eds.): Political Discourse in the Media. Cross-cultural perspectives. 2007. viii, 379 pp. 159 Maynard, Senko K.: Linguistic Creativity in Japanese Discourse. Exploring the multiplicity of self, perspective, and voice. 2007. xvi, 356 pp. 158 Walker, Terry: Thou and You in Early Modern English Dialogues. Trials, Depositions, and Drama Comedy. 2007. xx, 339 pp. 157 Crawford Camiciottoli, Belinda: The Language of Business Studies Lectures. A corpus-assisted analysis. 2007. xvi, 236 pp. 156 Vega Moreno, Rosa E.: Creativity and Convention. The pragmatics of everyday figurative speech. 2007. xii, 249 pp. 155 Hedberg, Nancy and Ron Zacharski (eds.): The Grammar–Pragmatics Interface. Essays in honor of Jeanette K. Gundel. 2007. viii, 345 pp. 154 Hübler, Axel: The Nonverbal Shift in Early Modern English Conversation. 2007. x, 281 pp. 153 Arnovick, Leslie K.: Written Reliquaries. The resonance of orality in medieval English texts. 2006. xii, 292 pp. 152 Warren, Martin: Features of Naturalness in Conversation. 2006. x, 272 pp. 151 Suzuki, Satoko (ed.): Emotive Communication in Japanese. 2006. x, 234 pp. 150 Busse, Beatrix: Vocative Constructions in the Language of Shakespeare. 2006. xviii, 525 pp. 149 Locher, Miriam A.: Advice Online. Advice-giving in an American Internet health column. 2006. xvi, 277 pp. 148 Fløttum, Kjersti, Trine Dahl and Torodd Kinn: Academic Voices. Across languages and disciplines. 2006. x, 309 pp. 147 Hinrichs, Lars: Codeswitching on the Web. English and Jamaican Creole in e-mail communication. 2006. x, 302 pp. 146 Tanskanen, Sanna-Kaisa: Collaborating towards Coherence. Lexical cohesion in English discourse. 2006. ix, 192 pp. 145 Kurhila, Salla: Second Language Interaction. 2006. vii, 257 pp. 144 Bührig, Kristin and Jan D. ten Thije (eds.): Beyond Misunderstanding. Linguistic analyses of intercultural communication. 2006. vi, 339 pp. 143 Baker, Carolyn, Michael Emmison and Alan Firth (eds.): Calling for Help. Language and social interaction in telephone helplines. 2005. xviii, 352 pp. 142 Sidnell, Jack: Talk and Practical Epistemology. The social life of knowledge in a Caribbean community. 2005. xvi, 255 pp. 141 Zhu, Yunxia: Written Communication across Cultures. A sociocognitive perspective on business genres. 2005. xviii, 216 pp. 140 Butler, Christopher S., María de los Ængeles Gómez González and Susana M. Doval-Suárez (eds.): The Dynamics of Language Use. Functional and contrastive perspectives. 2005. xvi, 413 pp. 139 Lakoff, Robin T. and Sachiko Ide (eds.): Broadening the Horizon of Linguistic Politeness. 2005. xii, 342 pp. 138 Müller, Simone: Discourse Markers in Native and Non-native English Discourse. 2005. xviii, 290 pp. 137 Morita, Emi: Negotiation of Contingent Talk. The Japanese interactional particles ne and sa. 2005. xvi, 240 pp. 136 Sassen, Claudia: Linguistic Dimensions of Crisis Talk. Formalising structures in a controlled language. 2005. ix, 230 pp. 135 Archer, Dawn: Questions and Answers in the English Courtroom (1640–1760). A sociopragmatic analysis. 2005. xiv, 374 pp. 134 Skaffari, Janne, Matti Peikola, Ruth Carroll, Risto Hiltunen and Brita Wårvik (eds.): Opening Windows on Texts and Discourses of the Past. 2005. x, 418 pp. 133 Marnette, Sophie: Speech and Thought Presentation in French. Concepts and strategies. 2005. xiv, 379 pp.

132 Onodera, Noriko O.: Japanese Discourse Markers. Synchronic and diachronic discourse analysis. 2004. xiv, 253 pp. 131 Janoschka, Anja: Web Advertising. New forms of communication on the Internet. 2004. xiv, 230 pp. 130 Halmari, Helena and Tuija Virtanen (eds.): Persuasion Across Genres. A linguistic approach. 2005. x, 257 pp. 129 Taboada, María Teresa: Building Coherence and Cohesion. Task-oriented dialogue in English and Spanish. 2004. xvii, 264 pp. 128 Cordella, Marisa: The Dynamic Consultation. A discourse analytical study of doctor–patient communication. 2004. xvi, 254 pp. 127 Brisard, Frank, Michael Meeuwis and Bart Vandenabeele (eds.): Seduction, Community, Speech. A Festschrift for Herman Parret. 2004. vi, 202 pp. 126 Wu, Yi’an: Spatial Demonstratives in English and Chinese. Text and Cognition. 2004. xviii, 236 pp. 125 Lerner, Gene H. (ed.): Conversation Analysis. Studies from the first generation. 2004. x, 302 pp. 124 Vine, Bernadette: Getting Things Done at Work. The discourse of power in workplace interaction. 2004. x, 278 pp. 123 Márquez Reiter, Rosina and María Elena Placencia (eds.): Current Trends in the Pragmatics of Spanish. 2004. xvi, 383 pp. 122 González, Montserrat: Pragmatic Markers in Oral Narrative. The case of English and Catalan. 2004. xvi, 410 pp. 121 Fetzer, Anita: Recontextualizing Context. Grammaticality meets appropriateness. 2004. x, 272 pp. 120 Aijmer, Karin and Anna-Brita Stenström (eds.): Discourse Patterns in Spoken and Written Corpora. 2004. viii, 279 pp. 119 Hiltunen, Risto and Janne Skaffari (eds.): Discourse Perspectives on English. Medieval to modern. 2003. viii, 243 pp. 118 Cheng, Winnie: Intercultural Conversation. 2003. xii, 279 pp. 117 Wu, Ruey-Jiuan Regina: Stance in Talk. A conversation analysis of Mandarin final particles. 2004. xvi, 260 pp. 116 Grant, Colin B. (ed.): Rethinking Communicative Interaction. New interdisciplinary horizons. 2003. viii, 330 pp. 115 Kärkkäinen, Elise: Epistemic Stance in English Conversation. A description of its interactional functions, with a focus on I think. 2003. xii, 213 pp. 114 Kühnlein, Peter, Hannes Rieser and Henk Zeevat (eds.): Perspectives on Dialogue in the New Millennium. 2003. xii, 400 pp. 113 Panther, Klaus-Uwe and Linda L. Thornburg (eds.): Metonymy and Pragmatic Inferencing. 2003. xii, 285 pp. 112 Lenz, Friedrich (ed.): Deictic Conceptualisation of Space, Time and Person. 2003. xiv, 279 pp. 111 Ensink, Titus and Christoph Sauer (eds.): Framing and Perspectivising in Discourse. 2003. viii, 227 pp. 110 Androutsopoulos, Jannis K. and Alexandra Georgakopoulou (eds.): Discourse Constructions of Youth Identities. 2003. viii, 343 pp. 109 Mayes, Patricia: Language, Social Structure, and Culture. A genre analysis of cooking classes in Japan and America. 2003. xiv, 228 pp. 108 Barron, Anne: Acquisition in Interlanguage Pragmatics. Learning how to do things with words in a study abroad context. 2003. xviii, 403 pp. 107 Taavitsainen, Irma and Andreas H. Jucker (eds.): Diachronic Perspectives on Address Term Systems. 2003. viii, 446 pp. 106 Busse, Ulrich: Linguistic Variation in the Shakespeare Corpus. Morpho-syntactic variability of second person pronouns. 2002. xiv, 344 pp. 105 Blackwell, Sarah E.: Implicatures in Discourse. The case of Spanish NP anaphora. 2003. xvi, 303 pp. 104 Beeching, Kate: Gender, Politeness and Pragmatic Particles in French. 2002. x, 251 pp. 103 Fetzer, Anita and Christiane Meierkord (eds.): Rethinking Sequentiality. Linguistics meets conversational interaction. 2002. vi, 300 pp. 102 Leafgren, John: Degrees of Explicitness. Information structure and the packaging of Bulgarian subjects and objects. 2002. xii, 252 pp. 101 Luke, K. K. and Theodossia-Soula Pavlidou (eds.): Telephone Calls. Unity and diversity in conversational structure across languages and cultures. 2002. x, 295 pp.

100 Jaszczolt, Katarzyna M. and Ken Turner (eds.): Meaning Through Language Contrast. Volume 2. 2003. viii, 496 pp. 99 Jaszczolt, Katarzyna M. and Ken Turner (eds.): Meaning Through Language Contrast. Volume 1. 2003. xii, 388 pp. 98 Duszak, Anna (ed.): Us and Others. Social identities across languages, discourses and cultures. 2002. viii, 522 pp. 97 Maynard, Senko K.: Linguistic Emotivity. Centrality of place, the topic-comment dynamic, and an ideology of pathos in Japanese discourse. 2002. xiv, 481 pp. 96 Haverkate, Henk: The Syntax, Semantics and Pragmatics of Spanish Mood. 2002. vi, 241 pp. 95 Fitzmaurice, Susan M.: The Familiar Letter in Early Modern English. A pragmatic approach. 2002. viii, 263 pp. 94 McIlvenny, Paul (ed.): Talking Gender and Sexuality. 2002. x, 332 pp. 93 Baron, Bettina and Helga Kotthoff (eds.): Gender in Interaction. Perspectives on femininity and masculinity in ethnography and discourse. 2002. xxiv, 357 pp. 92 Gardner, Rod: When Listeners Talk. Response tokens and listener stance. 2001. xxii, 281 pp. 91 Gross, Joan: Speaking in Other Voices. An ethnography of Walloon puppet theaters. 2001. xxviii, 341 pp. 90 Kenesei, István and Robert M. Harnish (eds.): Perspectives on Semantics, Pragmatics, and Discourse. A Festschrift for Ferenc Kiefer. 2001. xxii, 352 pp. 89 Itakura, Hiroko: Conversational Dominance and Gender. A study of Japanese speakers in first and second language contexts. 2001. xviii, 231 pp. 88 Bayraktaroğlu, Arın and Maria Sifianou (eds.): Linguistic Politeness Across Boundaries. The case of Greek and Turkish. 2001. xiv, 439 pp. 87 Mushin, Ilana: Evidentiality and Epistemological Stance. Narrative Retelling. 2001. xviii, 244 pp. 86 Ifantidou, Elly: Evidentials and Relevance. 2001. xii, 225 pp. 85 Collins, Daniel E.: Reanimated Voices. Speech reporting in a historical-pragmatic perspective. 2001. xx, 384 pp. 84 Andersen, Gisle: Pragmatic Markers and Sociolinguistic Variation. A relevance-theoretic approach to the language of adolescents. 2001. ix, 352 pp. 83 Márquez Reiter, Rosina: Linguistic Politeness in Britain and Uruguay. A contrastive study of requests and apologies. 2000. xviii, 225 pp. 82 Khalil, Esam N.: Grounding in English and Arabic News Discourse. 2000. x, 274 pp. 81 Di Luzio, Aldo, Susanne Günthner and Franca Orletti (eds.): Culture in Communication. Analyses of intercultural situations. 2001. xvi, 341 pp. 80 Ungerer, Friedrich (ed.): English Media Texts – Past and Present. Language and textual structure. 2000. xiv, 286 pp. 79 Andersen, Gisle and Thorstein Fretheim (eds.): Pragmatic Markers and Propositional Attitude. 2000. viii, 273 pp. 78 Sell, Roger D.: Literature as Communication. The foundations of mediating criticism. 2000. xiv, 348 pp. 77 Vanderveken, Daniel and Susumu Kubo (eds.): Essays in Speech Act Theory. 2002. vi, 328 pp. 76 Matsui, Tomoko: Bridging and Relevance. 2000. xii, 251 pp. 75 Pilkington, Adrian: Poetic Effects. A relevance theory perspective. 2000. xiv, 214 pp. 74 Trosborg, Anna (ed.): Analysing Professional Genres. 2000. xvi, 256 pp. 73 Hester, Stephen K. and David Francis (eds.): Local Educational Order. Ethnomethodological studies of knowledge in action. 2000. viii, 326 pp. 72 Marmaridou, Sophia S.A.: Pragmatic Meaning and Cognition. 2000. xii, 322 pp. 71 Gómez González, María de los Ængeles: The Theme–Topic Interface. Evidence from English. 2001. xxiv, 438 pp. 70 Sorjonen, Marja-Leena: Responding in Conversation. A study of response particles in Finnish. 2001. x, 330 pp. 69 Noh, Eun-Ju: Metarepresentation. A relevance-theory approach. 2000. xii, 242 pp. 68 Arnovick, Leslie K.: Diachronic Pragmatics. Seven case studies in English illocutionary development. 2000. xii, 196 pp. 67 Taavitsainen, Irma, Gunnel Melchers and Päivi Pahta (eds.): Writing in Nonstandard English. 2000. viii, 404 pp. 66 Jucker, Andreas H., Gerd Fritz and Franz Lebsanft (eds.): Historical Dialogue Analysis. 1999. viii, 478 pp. 65 Cooren, François: The Organizing Property of Communication. 2000. xvi, 272 pp.

64 Svennevig, Jan: Getting Acquainted in Conversation. A study of initial interactions. 2000. x, 384 pp. 63 Bublitz, Wolfram, Uta Lenk and Eija Ventola (eds.): Coherence in Spoken and Written Discourse. How to create it and how to describe it. Selected papers from the International Workshop on Coherence, Augsburg, 24-27 April 1997. 1999. xiv, 300 pp. 62 Tzanne, Angeliki: Talking at Cross-Purposes. The dynamics of miscommunication. 2000. xiv, 263 pp. 61 Mills, Margaret H. (ed.): Slavic Gender Linguistics. 1999. xviii, 251 pp. 60 Jacobs, Geert: Preformulating the News. An analysis of the metapragmatics of press releases. 1999. xviii, 428 pp. 59 Kamio, Akio and Ken-ichi Takami (eds.): Function and Structure. In honor of Susumu Kuno. 1999. x, 398 pp. 58 Rouchota, Villy and Andreas H. Jucker (eds.): Current Issues in Relevance Theory. 1998. xii, 368 pp. 57 Jucker, Andreas H. and Yael Ziv (eds.): Discourse Markers. Descriptions and theory. 1998. x, 363 pp. 56 Tanaka, Hiroko: Turn-Taking in Japanese Conversation. A Study in Grammar and Interaction. 2000. xiv, 242 pp. 55 Allwood, Jens and Peter Gärdenfors (eds.): Cognitive Semantics. Meaning and cognition. 1999. x, 201 pp. 54 Hyland, Ken: Hedging in Scientific Research Articles. 1998. x, 308 pp. 53 Mosegaard Hansen, Maj-Britt: The Function of Discourse Particles. A study with special reference to spoken standard French. 1998. xii, 418 pp. 52 Gillis, Steven and Annick De Houwer (eds.): The Acquisition of Dutch. With a Preface by Catherine E. Snow. 1998. xvi, 444 pp. 51 Boulima, Jamila: Negotiated Interaction in Target Language Classroom Discourse. 1999. xiv, 338 pp. 50 Grenoble, Lenore A.: Deixis and Information Packaging in Russian Discourse. 1998. xviii, 338 pp. 49 Kurzon, Dennis: Discourse of Silence. 1998. vi, 162 pp. 48 Kamio, Akio: Territory of Information. 1997. xiv, 227 pp. 47 Chesterman, Andrew: Contrastive Functional Analysis. 1998. viii, 230 pp. 46 Georgakopoulou, Alexandra: Narrative Performances. A study of Modern Greek storytelling. 1997. xvii, 282 pp. 45 Paltridge, Brian: Genre, Frames and Writing in Research Settings. 1997. x, 192 pp. 44 Bargiela-Chiappini, Francesca and Sandra J. Harris: Managing Language. The discourse of corporate meetings. 1997. ix, 295 pp. 43 Janssen, Theo and Wim van der Wurff (eds.): Reported Speech. Forms and functions of the verb. 1996. x, 312 pp. 42 Kotthoff, Helga and Ruth Wodak (eds.): Communicating Gender in Context. 1997. xxvi, 424 pp. 41 Ventola, Eija and Anna Mauranen (eds.): Academic Writing. Intercultural and textual issues. 1996. xiv, 258 pp. 40 Diamond, Julie: Status and Power in Verbal Interaction. A study of discourse in a close-knit social network. 1996. viii, 184 pp. 39 Herring, Susan C. (ed.): Computer-Mediated Communication. Linguistic, social, and cross-cultural perspectives. 1996. viii, 326 pp. 38 Fretheim, Thorstein and Jeanette K. Gundel (eds.): Reference and Referent Accessibility. 1996. xii, 312 pp. 37 Carston, Robyn and Seiji Uchida (eds.): Relevance Theory. Applications and implications. 1998. x, 300 pp. 36 Chilton, Paul, Mikhail V. Ilyin and Jacob L. Mey (eds.): Political Discourse in Transition in Europe 1989–1991. 1998. xi, 272 pp. 35 Jucker, Andreas H. (ed.): Historical Pragmatics. Pragmatic developments in the history of English. 1995. xvi, 624 pp. 34 Barbe, Katharina: Irony in Context. 1995. x, 208 pp. 33 Goossens, Louis, Paul Pauwels, Brygida Rudzka-Ostyn, Anne-Marie Simon-Vandenbergen and Johan Vanparys: By Word of Mouth. Metaphor, metonymy and linguistic action in a cognitive perspective. 1995. xii, 254 pp. 32 Shibatani, Masayoshi and Sandra A. Thompson (eds.): Essays in Semantics and Pragmatics. In honor of Charles J. Fillmore. 1996. x, 322 pp. 31 Wildgen, Wolfgang: Process, Image, and Meaning. A realistic model of the meaning of sentences and narrative texts. 1994. xii, 281 pp. 30 Wortham, Stanton E.F.: Acting Out Participant Examples in the Classroom. 1994. xiv, 178 pp. 29 Barsky, Robert F.: Constructing a Productive Other. Discourse theory and the Convention refugee hearing. 1994. x, 272 pp.

28 Van de Walle, Lieve: Pragmatics and Classical Sanskrit. A pilot study in linguistic politeness. 1993. xii, 454 pp. 27 Suter, Hans-Jürg: The Wedding Report. A prototypical approach to the study of traditional text types. 1993. xii, 314 pp. 26 Stygall, Gail: Trial Language. Differential discourse processing and discursive formation. 1994. xii, 226 pp. 25 Couper-Kuhlen, Elizabeth: English Speech Rhythm. Form and function in everyday verbal interaction. 1993. x, 346 pp. 24 Maynard, Senko K.: Discourse Modality. Subjectivity, Emotion and Voice in the Japanese Language. 1993. x, 315 pp. 23 Fortescue, Michael, Peter Harder and Lars Kristoffersen (eds.): Layered Structure and Reference in a Functional Perspective. Papers from the Functional Grammar Conference, Copenhagen, 1990. 1992. xiii, 444 pp. 22 Auer, Peter and Aldo Di Luzio (eds.): The Contextualization of Language. 1992. xvi, 402 pp. 21 Searle, John R., Herman Parret and Jef Verschueren: (On) Searle on Conversation. Compiled and introduced by Herman Parret and Jef Verschueren. 1992. vi, 154 pp. 20 Nuyts, Jan: Aspects of a Cognitive-Pragmatic Theory of Language. On cognition, functionalism, and grammar. 1991. xii, 399 pp. 19 Baker, Carolyn and Allan Luke (eds.): Towards a Critical Sociology of Reading Pedagogy. Papers of the XII World Congress on Reading. 1991. xxi, 287 pp. 18 Johnstone, Barbara: Repetition in Arabic Discourse. Paradigms, syntagms and the ecology of language. 1991. viii, 130 pp. 17 Piéraut-Le Bonniec, Gilberte and Marlene Dolitsky (eds.): Language Bases ... Discourse Bases. Some aspects of contemporary French-language psycholinguistics research. 1991. vi, 342 pp. 16 Mann, William C. and Sandra A. Thompson (eds.): Discourse Description. Diverse linguistic analyses of a fund-raising text. 1992. xiii, 409 pp. 15 Komter, Martha L.: Conflict and Cooperation in Job Interviews. A study of talks, tasks and ideas. 1991. viii, 252 pp. 14 Schwartz, Ursula V.: Young Children's Dyadic Pretend Play. A communication analysis of plot structure and plot generative strategies. 1991. vi, 151 pp. 13 Nuyts, Jan, A. Machtelt Bolkestein and Co Vet (eds.): Layers and Levels of Representation in Language Theory. A functional view. 1990. xii, 348 pp. 12 Abraham, Werner (ed.): Discourse Particles. Descriptive and theoretical investigations on the logical, syntactic and pragmatic properties of discourse particles in German. 1991. viii, 338 pp. 11 Luong, Hy V.: Discursive Practices and Linguistic Meanings. The Vietnamese system of person reference. 1990. x, 213 pp. 10 Murray, Denise E.: Conversation for Action. The computer terminal as medium of communication. 1991. xii, 176 pp. 9 Luke, K. K.: Utterance Particles in Cantonese Conversation. 1990. xvi, 329 pp. 8 Young, Lynne: Language as Behaviour, Language as Code. A study of academic English. 1991. ix, 304 pp. 7 Lindenfeld, Jacqueline: Speech and Sociability at French Urban Marketplaces. 1990. viii, 173 pp. 6:3 Blommaert, Jan and Jef Verschueren (eds.): The Pragmatics of International and Intercultural Communication. Selected papers from the International Pragmatics Conference, Antwerp, August 1987. Volume 3: The Pragmatics of International and Intercultural Communication. 1991. viii, 249 pp. 6:2 Verschueren, Jef (ed.): Levels of Linguistic Adaptation. Selected papers from the International Pragmatics Conference, Antwerp, August 1987. Volume 2: Levels of Linguistic Adaptation. 1991. viii, 339 pp. 6:1 Verschueren, Jef (ed.): Pragmatics at Issue. Selected papers of the International Pragmatics Conference, Antwerp, August 17–22, 1987. Volume 1: Pragmatics at Issue. 1991. viii, 314 pp. 5 Thelin, Nils B. (ed.): Verbal Aspect in Discourse. 1990. xvi, 490 pp. 4 Raffler-Engel, Walburga von (ed.): Doctor–Patient Interaction. 1989. xxxviii, 294 pp. 3 Oleksy, Wieslaw (ed.): Contrastive Pragmatics. 1988. xiv, 282 pp. 2 Barton, Ellen: Nonsentential Constituents. A theory of grammatical structure and pragmatic interpretation. 1990. xviii, 247 pp. 1 Walter, Bettyruth: The Jury Summation as Speech Genre. An ethnographic study of what it means to those who use it. 1988. xvii, 264 pp.