The Grammar–Pragmatics Interface
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Volume 155 The Grammar–Pragmatics Interface: Essays in honor of Jeanette K. Gundel Edited by Nancy Hedberg and Ron Zacharski
The Grammar–Pragmatics Interface Essays in honor of Jeanette K. Gundel
Edited by
Nancy Hedberg Simon Fraser University
Ron Zacharski University of Mary Washington
John Benjamins Publishing Company Amsterdam/Philadelphia
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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 The grammar–pragmatics interface : essays in honor of Jeanette K. Gundel / edited by Nancy Hedberg and Ron Zacharski. p. cm. (Pragmatics & Beyond, New Series, issn 0922-842X ; v. 155) Includes bibliographical references and indexes. 1. Pragmatics. 2. Grammar, Comparative and general--Syntax. 3. Reference (Linguistics) I. Hedberg, Nancy A. II. Zacharski, Ron. III. Gundel, Jeanette K. P99.4.P72G73 2007 306.44--dc22 isbn 978 90 272 5398 9 (Hb; alk. paper)
2007060660
© 2007 – 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
Table of contents
The Grammar–Pragmatics Interface List of contributors 1. Introduction
vii 1
Part I Pragmatics and Syntax 2. Lexical subjects and the conflation strategy Laura Michaelis and Hartwell Francis 3. The information structure of it-clefts, wh-clefts and reverse wh-clefts in English Nancy Hedberg and Lorna Fadden
19
49
4. Epistemic would, open propositions, and truncated clefts Gregory Ward, Jeffrey P. Kaplan, and Betty J. Birner
77
5. It’s over: Verbal ‑le in Mandarin Chinese Hooi Ling Soh and Mei Jia Gao
91
Part II Pragmatics and Reference 6. Knowing who’s important: Relative discourse salience and Irish pronominal forms Ann E. Mulkern
113
7. The correspondence between cognitive status and the form of kind-referring NPs Kaja Borthen
143
8. Context dependence and semantic types in the interpretation of clausal arguments Michael Hegarty
171
9. Implicit internal arguments, event structure, predication and anaphoric reference Francis Cornish
189
10. ‘Switch-polarity’ anaphora in English and Norwegian Thorstein Fretheim
217
11. What on earth: Non-referential interrogatives Maria Polinsky
245
The Grammar–Pragmatics Interface
vi
The Grammar–Pragmatics Interface
Part III Pragmatics and Social Variables 12. A grammar in every register? Mira Ariel
265
13. Apologies — form and function: “I think it was your foot I was stepping on.” Suellen Rundquist
293
14. Subjectivity, perspective and footing in Japanese co-constructions Polly Szatrowski
313
Index of names Index of subjects
341 344
List of contributors Mira Ariel Department of Linguistics Tel Aviv University Tel Aviv Israel Betty J. Birner Department of English Northern Illinois University DeKalb, Illinois USA Kaja Borthen Department of Linguistics Norwegian University of Science and Technology Trondheim Norway Francis Cornish University of Toulouse Toulouse France Lorna Fadden Department of Linguistics Simon Fraser University Vancouver Canada Hartwell Francis Department of Linguistics Department of Anthropology and Sociology Western Carolina University Cullowhee, North Carolina USA
Thorstein Fretheim Department of Language and Communication Studies Norwegian University of Science and Technology Trondheim Norway Mei Jia Gao Institute of Linguistics, English as a Second Language and Slavic Languages and Literatures University of Minnesota Minneapolis, Minnesota USA Nancy Hedberg Department of Linguistics Simon Fraser University Vancouver Canada Michael Hegarty Department of English Louisiana State University Baton Rouge, Louisiana USA Jeffrey P. Kaplan Department of Linguistics and Oriental Languages San Diego State University San Diego, California USA
viii The Grammar–Pragmatics Interface
Laura Michaelis Department of Linguistics University of Colorado Boulder, Colorado USA Ann E. Mulkern Institute of Linguistics, English as a Second Language and Slavic Languages and Literatures University of Minnesota Minneapolis, Minnesota USA Maria Polinsky Department of Linguistics Harvard University Cambridge, Massachusetts USA Suellen Rundquist Department of English Saint Cloud State University Saint Cloud, Minnesota USA
Hooi Ling Soh Institute of Linguistics, English as a Second Language and Slavic Languages and Literatures University of Minnesota Minneapolis, Minnesota USA Polly Szatrowski Institute of Linguistics, English as a Second Language and Slavic Languages and Literatures University of Minnesota Minneapolis, Minnesota USA Gregory Ward Department of Linguistics Northwestern University Evanston, Illinois USA
chapter 1
Introduction We present this volume of papers in honor and celebration of Jeanette Gundel, Professor of Linguistics at the University of Minnesota. This book represents a selection of papers by people influenced by Jeanette’s work, including her colleagues and former students.
1. Biographical information Jeanette Gundel received her Ph.D from the University of Texas at Austin in 1974 for a dissertation on “The Role of Topic and Comment in Linguistic Theory.” This dissertation, produced in the tradition of Generative Semantics, introduced to generative linguists in the United States and abroad the pragmatic notions of topic and comment that were simultaneously being introduced in Europe by Prague School linguists. In 1988, her dissertation was reintroduced in the series Outstanding Dissertations in Linguistics (Garland Press). After holding visiting appointments at the Ohio State University and the University of Hawaii in the mid-1970s, Jeanette took a tenure-track position at the University of Minnesota in 1980. She progressed through the ranks at the University of Minnesota, achieving the rank of Full Professor in 1992. Since then she has also held the position of Adjunct Professor in the Department of Philosophy and Adjunct Professor in the Department of Communication Disorders at the University of Minnesota. From 1997 to 1999, she additionally served as Professor of English Linguistics at the Norwegian University of Science and Technology in Trondheim, Norway. As well as serving as a graduate and undergraduate teacher and researcher, Jeanette continues to have a distinguished career as an administrator. We mention here three prominent examples. Since 1999, she has served as the Head of the Academic Program in Linguistics at the University of Minnesota. She has also frequently served as Director of Graduate Studies for Linguistics there, and she has long been an active member of the Governing Council of the Center for Cognitive Sciences at the University of Minnesota Jeanette’s research and teaching has flourished during the last thirty years, including works published by herself alone as well as works coauthored by students and colleagues, especially on topic-comment (focus) in English and other languages, cleft sentences in English and Norwegian, and the cognitive status of referring expressions in English and other languages. Since all of her research focuses on interactions between syntax and pragmatics and between semantics and pragmatics, her research
Introduction
falls solidly into the area that constitutes the theme of this volume: the grammar–pragmatics interface. Nancy Hedberg, Suellen Rundquist, and Ann Mulkern, all included in this volume, were Ph.D. students of Jeanette’s in the Linguistics Program at the University of Minnesota during the 1990s and 2000s. Their dissertations represent the breadth of Jeanette’s expertise, ranging from the syntax, semantics and pragmatics of cleft sentences (Hedberg), the sociolinguistics of apologies (Rundquist), and elaborations on the cognitive status of referring expressions in Irish (Mulkern). In addition, Jeanette advised one of the co-editors of the present volume (Ron Zacharski) at the University of Minnesota in the area of the meaning of intonation in English from the perspective of computer science. She has also advised many students who are not represented in the present volume. The current volume also presents papers by some colleagues of Jeanette’s at the universities in which she has taught over the past 25 years. Michael Hegarty and Hooi Ling Soh are currently or were recently close colleagues of Jeanette’s in the Linguistics Program at the University of Minnesota, and Polly Szatrowski is a colleague in East Asian Languages there. Jeanette also had an influence on students and colleagues when she taught in Norway. Represented in this volume are Kaja Borthen, who completed a Ph.D in Trondheim, and Thorstein Fretheim, who is a colleague there. Mira Ariel, Betty Birner, Francis Cornish, Lorna Fadden, Hartwell Francis, Mei Jia Gao, Jeffrey Kaplan, Laura Michaelis, Maria Polinsky, and Gregory Ward, who are also represented in this volume are colleagues in the worldwide community of linguists working on the grammar–pragmatics interface.
2. Jeanette Gundel on the Grammar–Pragmatics Interface Jeanette Gundel is well known for her work in the area of the grammar–pragmatics interface. Throughout her career she has been concerned with the relation between the pragmatics and syntax/semantics of such notions as topic and comment (or focus), starting with her dissertation (Gundel 1974). In her dissertation she introduced the notions of ‘topic’ and ‘comment’ into generative grammar, from a generative semantics perspective. She inserted topics into the left-adjunct of S position at deep structure, and then derived left-dislocated sentences, canonical sentences, topicalized sentences, wh-cleft sentences, and other forms of sentences through transformational rules that lowered and copied references to the topic into the lower S constituent, which represented the comment at the initial deep structure stage of semantic representation, and included a transformational rule of ‘stress placement’ that placed primary stress within the comment. For right-dislocated sentences, she proposed a rule moving the topic from initial position to final position and still copied down the resumptive pronoun. Thus, even at this stage in her thinking, she viewed topic-comment as a linguistic distinction, directly
Introduction
represented at the level of semantic representation—deep structure in the conventions of that time. Her dissertation also provided an analysis of it-cleft sentences, which was later elaborated in a paper in Language in 1977. She argued on syntactic, semantic and pragmatic grounds that it-cleft sentences are derived from right-dislocated wh-clefts. Gundel 1974 also proposed deriving ‘Focus Topicalization’ sentences, i.e. the ‘Focusing Preposing’ constructions of Prince (1985), from it-clefts, thus giving them a distinct derivation from ‘Topic Topicalization’ constructions, which represent deep structure quite transparently. Gundel’s generative-semantics-style rules of topic lowering were later reanalyzed in interpretive variants of generative grammar as ‘topic raising’ rules, in a way similar to the way that ‘quantifier lowering’ (Lakoff 1971) was later analyzed as ‘quantifier raising’ (May 1985) in interpretive semantic generative frameworks. An important point to note is that for Gundel, the distinction between ‘topic’ and ‘comment’ has always been a grammatical distinction, being represented directly in the semantic or conceptual representation of the sentence. Gundel further discussed the pragmatics of clefting, as well as other topic and focus marking constructions, in Gundel 1985, 1988, relating it-clefts to wh-clefts, and predicting that final it-cleft clauses that express topics are necessarily ‘activated’, or contain information that is ‘given’ in the discourse, while initial wh-cleft clauses can express information that is new to the discourse. The 1985 paper concentrated on English, while the 1988 paper extended the analysis to a multitude of languages. In the 1985 paper, she also contrasted the information status requirements on left-dislocated phrases, which can introduce new topics, and right-dislocated phrases, which can only refer to already activated topics. Gundel 1988 derives the result that initial topics need only be familiar (prototypically) while final topics need to be activated, from the interaction of two universal principles: the Given–Before–New Principle, which predicts that topics will typically precede comments, and the First-Things-First Principle which predicts that a focus (comment) is important in conveying new information and will therefore tend to precede the topic when marking the topic is not important. It follows that comments will precede topics only when the topic is activated, and therefore is predictable in the context. In this way, she anticipated later optimality theory accounts of violable constraints on well-formedness. Recently, Gundel has returned to her study of clefts in comparing the use of clefts in English–Norwegian and Norwegian–English translations (Gundel 2002 and Gundel 2006), arguing that clefts are more often used in Norwegian than English due to the greater tendency in Norwegian for information structure to be mapped directly to the syntax. In Gundel (1978, 1985, 1988), she began distinguishing activated from familiar and identifiable information, distinctions fully elaborated in the Givenness Hierarchy of Gundel, Hedberg and Zacharski 1993. Six ‘cognitive statuses’ are currently distinguished: in focus, activated, familiar, uniquely identifiable, referential and type identifiable. Each status is identified as a necessary condition on a different type of pronominal or determiner form: e.g. in English, the referent of an unstressed pronominal it must be
Introduction
in the focus of the addressee’s attention in order to be felicitously used, while the referent of a distal demonstrative determiner phrase, that N, must be familiar to the hearer, while the referent of a definite determiner phrase, the N, need only be uniquely identifiable. A theory of necessary and sufficient conditions on felicitous use of several different forms of referring expression is thus offered. These authors have also published within the same framework later articles on indirect anaphora (cf. Erkü and Gundel 1987) and on the non-necessity that the referents of definite article phrases be familiar (Gundel, Hedberg and Zacharski 2000, 2001, respectively). In a series of recent articles (e.g., Hegarty, Gundel and Borthen 2002; Gundel, Hegarty and Borthen 2003 and Gundel, Hedberg and Zacharski 2005), Gundel and her colleagues have extended this work to explore reference by this/that to entities like facts and speech acts, which are more abstract and less directly activated than the entities like events and states, which tend to be referred to by it. In relating Gundel’s work on topic and comment (focus) to her work on reference, it must be pointed out that one very important contribution she has made to the field of the grammar–pragmatics interface at large is explicating the fundamental distinction between these two types of phenomena, first proposed in Gundel 1988. Topic-comment status involves ‘relational givenness’—the topic is given in relation to the comment; whereas cognitive status involves the ‘referential givenness’ of the discourse entities under discussion. The two types of givenness are related in that topics (which are relationally given) must have some degree of referential givenness (prototypically familiarity) in order to be felicitous, but the two types of givenness status are crucially distinct. In the late 1990s and early 2000s, Gundel has elaborated on this ‘referential/relational givenness’ distinction in articles such as Gundel 1999a on different types of focus, Gundel 1999b on the grammar–pragmatics interface, Gundel 2003 on the relation between grammar and pragmatic categories, and Gundel and Fretheim 2004 on topic and focus. In these articles, she has also clarified how she views the distinctions as relating to the distinction between grammar and pragmatics. She views the different cognitive statuses as the conventional meanings of the various pronominal and determiner forms involved and thus part of the grammar, but recognizes that this type of meaning, which relates to memory and attention states of the addressee, is extralinguistic, in that non-linguistic representations can also be said to be activated or familiar to an addressee. Also, since the statuses involve the speaker’s belief about the hearer’s cognitive states, these meanings are inherently pragmatic. With regard to relational givenness, she persists in viewing the partition of the sentence into ‘topic/ground/theme’ versus ‘comment/focus/rheme’ as a fundamental part of the “semantic/conceptual representation” of the sentence (Gundel and Fretheim 2004: 177). Like referential givenness, this is a grammatical distinction; however, it does not apply extralinguistically. The meaning of the distinction is an inherently linguistic one, but one that has implications for pragmatics: i.e. by means of the topic–comment distinction, which is prosodically marked by placement of primary stress on the comment, speakers convey to
Introduction
hearers the way that their utterances are intended to relate to the context, and thereby are intended to change the context. Interestingly, it is in relating relational givenness to referential givenness that Gundel’s current views on the grammar–pragmatics interface become the most clear. In her early work, she defended the claim that ‘topics’ (a relational category) must always be ‘familiar’ (a referential category). That is, in order for it to be possible for the comment to be psychologically assessed relative to the topic, the topic must be familiar to the hearer. However, researchers such as Reinhart (1982), Prince (1985), and Erteschik-Shir (1997) have claimed that topics need only be referential. The most convincing cases are those put forward by Prince drawn from natural speech corpora, which show that referential indefinite noun phrases can be left-dislocated in spoken English, and expressed in a position that Gundel claims is an exclusively topic-marking position:
(1) An old preacher down there, they augured under the grave where his father was buried.
To account for such examples, in Gundel (1999b) and Gundel and Fretheim (2004), Gundel brings together her views on the information structural interpretations of grammatical constructions and her views on relevance accounts of pragmatics. She proposes that to be semantically well-formed, a topic need only be referential, but that in order to be pragmatically construable, it needs to have contextual effects, as Relevance Theory (Sperber and Wilson 1986/1995) proposes. Pragmatically speaking, a sentence normally needs to have a familiar or identifiable topic in order for the comment to be assessable with regard to it, but in a sentence like (1), perhaps due to the ‘anchoring’ by ‘down there’, this constraint is suspended and the entire proposition is processed as all new information, or else as information about what happened ‘down there’. In support of the idea that sentence (1) is exceptional in some way with regard to topic-comment structure, note as she does that the corresponding question is infelicitous:
(2)
??
An old preacher down there, did they augur under the grave where his father was buried?
Thus, Gundel has an account of the prototypicality of topics expressing familiar information (a pragmatic preference), but also an account of the exceptions—where the topic is only referential (a semantic or grammatical requirement). Consideration of the distinct roles played by grammar and pragmatics is crucial to this account. Finally, it must be noted that Jeanette Gundel has also had influence in areas outside of her specialized areas of research into information structure and reference. She has multiple publications in the areas of second language acquisition and typological markedness theory, for example. She has also served on the committees of graduate students who work in related areas such as sociolinguistics, philosophy of language and communication disorders. Not only has she maintained close ties with faculty in other areas of linguistics such as syntax, semantics, and psycholinguistics, she has also main-
Introduction
tained ties with colleagues in related disciplines such as computer science and foreign language teaching. Some of the contributions to this volume exhibit the influence that she has had on convincing colleagues working primarily on syntax and semantics to take into consideration pragmatic phenomena such as conversational implicature and cognitive status, and also on influencing students and colleagues focusing on sociolinguistic aspects of pragmatics to relate their work to grammar. This influence is another way that Jeanette Gundel has contributed to the examination of the grammar– pragmatics interface.
3. Introduction to the individual papers in the volume The first section of the book contains papers relating pragmatics to syntax, and thus address the grammar–pragmatics interface at the sentential level. The paper by Laura Michaelis and Hartwell Francis relates subjects to the notion of topic since, in their analysis, subjects are the grammatical relation that most typically encodes topics. This paper is based on a large-scale analysis of the Switchboard Corpus, examining more than 31,000 subjects. Only 9% of the subjects in this conversational corpus were lexical as opposed to pronominal. These examples represent violations of Lambrecht’s (1994) ‘principle of separation of reference and role’: i.e., do not introduce an entity and talk about it in the same clause. The authors examine the ‘conflation strategy’ represented in this small percentage of sentences and suggest that whereas the more common strategy favors the hearer, this strategy favors the speaker for effort conservation, introducing the new topic entity as a subject. The authors examine the cognitive status of the lexical subjects and find that they are at least uniquely identifiable on the Givenness Hierarchy and that they tend to contain anchors to activated entities. This behavior supports Gundel’s predictions about the referential givenness cognitive status of relationally given topics (e.g., Gundel 1985). The authors propose that the lexical subjects strike a balance between Q-based transparency (‘be as clear as you can about what your communicative intentions are’) and R-based effort conservation (‘say as little as you can’), using Horn’s (1984) pragmatic principles of communication. This reliance on communicative principles for explanation also relates to Gundel’s reliance on Grice’s Quantity Maxim (e.g., in Gundel, Hedberg and Zacharski 1993) and on the Principle of Relevance (e.g., in Gundel 1996, Gundel and Mulkern 1998). Nancy Hedberg and Lorna Fadden present a paper on the function of wh-clefts, reverse wh-clefts and it-clefts in English discourse. They propose that wh-clefts have the topic-comment organization that would be expected given that cleft clauses present presuppositions, which can readily be associated with topics. However, they also claim that it-clefts and reverse wh-clefts can have either the comment-topic organization that would be expected under the above assumptions, or, more frequently even, a topic-comment organization. They thus propose that a distinction must be recognized between the referential givenness status of the two parts of the cleft, which always results
Introduction
in at least a uniquely identifiable status to the cleft clause, and the relational givenness status, which is relatively free. They also propose that the condition on wh-cleft clauses, that they be relationally given (i.e., topics) better explains the data presented in Prince (1978) that led to her conclusion that wh-cleft clauses compared to it-cleft clauses must be ‘in the consciousness of the hearer’ or ‘Chafe-given’ (i.e., activated in Gundel, Hedberg and Zacharski terms). Unactivated but familiar or uniquely identifiable wh-cleft clauses that present relevant new topics support this conclusion. The authors rely on a corpus of clefts drawn from a television political discussion program as well as examples drawn from a variety of spoken and written sources. They consider a number of syntactic and pragmatic subtypes of clefts in arriving at their conclusions of how the different parts of clefts map onto topic or comment status. Gregory Ward, Jeffrey Kaplan and Betty Birner consider a cleft analysis for their work on one type of epistemic would construction in English—e.g., That would be me— in which the subject NP is anaphoric to the variable in a salient Open Proposition (OP) in the context. They show that such constructions are epistemically stronger than counterpart constructions with epistemic must, and suggest that they might be analyzed as truncated clefts (Hedberg 2000): That would be me that you are talking about. They show that these constructions share many pragmatic properties with clefts: both permit apparent number disagreement, convey exhaustiveness of the postcopular constituent, and support a systematic ambiguity with respect to the referent of the subject. However, because epistemic would requires an OP independently, i.e., even in cases where there is no truncated cleft analysis available, the authors end up proposing that the overlap in properties with clefts is due to a shared OP requirement in combination with equative syntax and a demonstrative subject NP. That is, the shared properties may derive from the fact that both constructions are cases of a more general category of OPrequiring constructions, including preposings and contrastive accent (cf. Prince 1986, inter alia). In arriving at their conclusions, the authors rely on examples collected from natural conversation or text. Hooi Ling Soh and Mei Jia Gao write about the semantics and pragmatics of the verbal particle -le in Mandarin Chinese. They explore sentences of different situation types (Smith 1997) in determining the semantics/pragmatics of le, carefully distinguishing semantic entailments from pragmatic implicatures, thereby simplifying the grammatical analysis of the verbal particle-le by characterizing it simply as a perfective aspect marker. For example, purported continuative readings of verbal –le in achievement sentences are analyzed as implicatures deriving from the fact that a state continues after the achievement is obtained. This paper shows that consideration of whether semantic or pragmatic explanations of different facets of the data lead to more illuminating conclusions about that data can result in considerable ground to be gained, and thereby explores the grammar–pragmatics interface. The second section of the book relates pragmatics to reference, thus examining the grammar–pragmatics interface at the level of the noun phrase. Ann Mulkern applies the Givenness Hierarchy theory to Irish, focusing on explicating differences be-
Introduction
tween three types of human-referring pronouns that have the same cognitive status— activated. She bases her conclusions on a collection of naturally occurring Irish data. She makes a valuable distinction between ‘inherent salience’, having to do with the centrality of the entity already in the discourse, and ‘imposed salience’, having to do with signaling how the entity should be ranked relative to other discourse entities in subsequent discourse. She also carefully defines two motivations for imposing salience: ‘contrast’, which establishes a partition between members of a salient semantically appropriate set, with the salience of the two parts remaining equal; and ‘emphasis’, which promotes one discourse entity as the most important (salient) relative to others. With regard to the activated Irish pronominals, the suffixed form is used to signal that the salience of its referent is equal to or less than another entity in the discourse, e.g., in contexts where the speaker establishes a contrast, parallel relationship, reciprocal relationship, or comparison between two sets of discourse entities with respect to the applicability of some property. Pronouns suffixed with féin (‘lexically free reflexives’), on the other hand, signal the promotion of their referent to the most salient position relative to other discourse entities, or signal that the entity remains the most salient activated entity, e.g. to establish the entity as the discourse topic or to signal a perspective shift to the referent of that pronoun. Finally, third-person pronominal forms augmented with a demonstrative element function like the suffixed pronominals, with an additional deictic dimension of time or location added. Kaja Borthen extends the Givenness Hierarchy framework from individual entity references to generic references in English and Norwegian. Generic reference was outside the scope of the original Gundel, Hedberg and Zacharski 1993 paper. Borthen shows how the correspondence between NP forms and cognitive statuses can explain why kind-referring NPs achieve different interpretations depending on their form. Amongst other things, the tendency for kind-referring definite singular NPs to refer to so-called ‘well-established’ kinds and for indefinite singular NPs to typically trigger a so-called ‘taxonomic’ interpretation (Krifka et al. 1995) are explained as resulting from an interaction between the Givenness Hierarchy and general pragmatic meaning. Michael Hegarty also extends the original focus of Gundel, Hedberg and Zacharski (1993), with further inquiry into the interpretation of clauses when they themselves, or anaphors for which they serve as antecedents, appear as arguments of a higher predicate. He first explicates the notion of a higher-order situation by considering it to consist of a basic state or event along with its ramifications in the context, and also explicates the notion of a fact in terms of a situation exemplifying a proposition, in this latter consideration following Kratzer (2002). Then he uses diagnostics from the literature, including facts about the possibility of pronominal as compared to demonstrative reference to higher order entities investigated by Hegarty et al. (2002) and Gundel et al. (2003), inter alia, to show that the denotation of a situation-introducing clause is a set of situations consisting of a base event or state recovered directly from the predicate-argument and quantificational structure of the clause, together with its ramifications, computed within the discourse context. In light of evidence that events
Introduction
and states are of type e, this yields the higher type 〈e, t〉 for clausally introduced situations. This is distinct from the semantic type of events in natural language semantics, since events, on Davidsonian grounds, are consistently first order. Putting this result together with Kratzer’s analysis of facts, and proposals from Hegarty (2003), regarding the semantic type of clausally introduced propositions, means that clauses introducing facts exhibit referential duality between a situation of type 〈e, t〉 and a proposition of type 〈〈s, t〉, t〉. Thus the standard inventory of abstract entities denoted by clauses, including propositions, facts, and events, can be expanded to include situations, with fine-grained articulation of differences among these entities in terms of semantic type. While Hegarty’s paper focuses primarily on the area of semantics, it relates to the semantics–pragmatics interface in that it addresses the accessibility of clausal denotations to reference with different pronominal forms reflecting the cognitive status of the referents, and in the thoroughgoing context dependence of the denotations it assigns to clausally-introduced propositions and situations. For data, he relies mostly on examples drawn from everyday discourse and variants constructed on that basis. Francis Cornish examines the interpretation of zero or ‘implicit’ objects in English. His major claim is that there is an interaction of aspectual structure and lexical-semantic structure (including the lexical host predicate’s Aktionsart as well as semantic selectional restrictions) with various discourse-contextual factors. This interaction is relevant both in licensing the non-realization of the argument and in giving rise to the interpretation. There are two main types of interpretation, involving two subtypes: a non-referential type (either generic or indeterminate) and a referential one (corresponding either to the introduction of a discourse-new referent, or to the anaphoric retrieval of a salient discourse referent). Cornish concludes that the three types of interpretation of English zero complements can be insightfully understood in terms of all but one Givenness Hierarchy cognitive status category: the referential-anaphoric value is ‘in focus’, the referential discourse-new value is ‘familiar’, ‘uniquely identifiable’, or ‘referential’, and the non-referential value is ‘type identifiable’. He relies for much of his data on natural examples drawn from everyday discourse. Thorstein Fretheim extends the analysis of anaphoric NP referring expressions to anaphoric adverbials, namely Norwegian ellers and English else and otherwise, which have propositions as antecedents. He develops an account of the semantics and pragmatics of these ‘switch polarity anaphors’ within Relevance Theory (Sperber and Wilson 1986/1995). He proposes a semantic meaning for these items that is procedural as opposed to conceptual (Wilson and Sperber 1993). That is, the conventional lexical meaning he proposes for these items is an instruction to the hearer to construct a proposition Q that is interpreted in the context of a proposition that has the opposite polarity to the antecedent proposition P. Pragmatics comes into the picture as the inferential means to identify the antecedent proposition. In addition to working directly on the cusp of semantics and pragmatics, Fretheim’s paper relates to Jeanette’s published work in Relevance Theory (e.g. Gundel 1996; Gundel and Mulkern 1997). Furthermore
10
Introduction
most of his examples come from an English–Norwegian/ Norwegian–English translation corpus (the English–Norwegian Parallel Corpus), and the direct and indirect translations shed light on the meaning of switch-polarity anaphors in both languages. His work thus also relates methodologically to some of Jeanette’s recent work in comparative English Norwegian/Norwegian–English translations of cleft sentences (Gundel 2002, 2006). Maria Polinsky examines one type of wh-expression in English and other languages, especially Russian, namely the ‘aggressively non-discourse-linked wh-expressions’ (NDLs), which correspond to such English expressions as what on earth or what the hell. These expressions differ from the other two types of interrogatives (discourselinked wh-expressions, which resemble definite noun phrases, and regular wh-expressions, which resemble pronominals) in a systematic way. The paper lists several relevant differences between NDLs and other wh-expressions with regard to the way they are represented in syntax. The main point of the paper is that NDLs differ from interrogative pronominals and discourse-linked expressions both in referentiality and activation. With respect to referentiality, Russian NDLs only have intensional reference, encoding properties, not objects in the world. The referential status of these expressions is used to account for all of their grammatical behaviors; many of the apparent syntactic restrictions on NDLs are presented as mere side effects of their semantic status, which has direct implications for their inability to be maintained in working memory. The paper compares NDLs to universally quantified expressions with ‘any’, which seem to offer the closest parallel. The implications of the paper are threefold. First, it offers a three-way distinction of wh-expressions which finds parallels to the distinctions found in noun phrases between definite noun phrases (d-linked wh-expressions), pronouns (regular wh-expressions), and universally quantified expressions/polarity items (NDLs). Second, the paper proposes that information-structural inquiries should adopt a more fine-grained approach to wh-expressions. As a result, this would allow researchers to move beyond the traditional association between focus and whexpressions. The paper argues that the contribution made by wh-expressions to information structure is richer and more diverse than that. Third, the paper addresses the need to conduct more cross-linguistic work on NDLs. Little is known about the referential properties of NDLs in other languages, but the very fact that the Russian NDLs resemble their counterparts in Italian and English with respect to syntactic properties makes for a testable prediction that such NDLs are intensionally-referential expressions in other languages as well. The final section of the book relates grammar more widely to pragmatics in the sense of social variables. Mira Ariel, who works in Accessibility Theory, a theory related to the Givenness Hierarchy framework, addresses forms of referring expressions in different registers. Specifically she asks the question of whether cases where given registers or genres exhibit statistically significant differences in the distribution of referring expressions mean that register-specific or genre-specific grammatical conventions need to be posited. Looking at definite descriptions in particular, she argues that for the most
Introduction
part the answer is negative. The connection between genre and referring expressions is indirectly mediated by extralinguistic motivations: different registers prototypically call for different types of discourse entities. While the discourse function of definite descriptions remains constant across all registers (indicating a low degree of accessibility for the mental representation of the entity referred to on her theory), its implementation naturally varies according to the discourse entities involved. In other words, the same grammatical rule, used to encode different entities, will naturally yield different surface realizations in different pragmatic contexts. To give just one example, assuming that definite descriptions code various degrees of low accessibility, it is only to be expected that definite descriptions should be more frequent in registers which call for the use of many low accessibility discourse referents. This paper thus directly discusses the grammar–pragmatics interface in arguing that a common grammar of definite descriptions can result in different pragmatic distributions of uses. In arriving at her conclusions Ariel cites a number of studies of definite descriptions in natural discourse, including that of Gundel, Hedberg and Zacharski 2001. Suellen Rundquist examines the form and use of apologies in casual conversations between families and close friends in American English. She finds that speakers often make direct apologies, expressing different aspects of the full form that apologies have been analyzed to take, e.g. the apology itself, an explanation, and an acknowledgement of responsibility. However, speakers sometimes apologize indirectly, without using conventionalized apology formulae, and sometimes the apology form is used for purposes other than to make an apology, e.g. for purposes of making a joke. Men more often than women are found to apologize indirectly and to pretend to make an apology. Her research relates to the grammar–pragmatics interface in the sense that the conventional forms of apologies can be seen as part of discourse grammar, which may or may not be directly reflected in the use or pragmatics of these forms. Polly Szatrowski presents a sociolinguistic study, analyzing subjectivity, perspective and footing in 50 co-constructions taken from spontaneous Japanese conversations. A co-construction takes place when a second speaker finishes a first speaker’s utterance. Phenomena such as person restriction and perspective in deictic verbs in Japanese, which have been accounted for traditionally in grammatical terms, can be overridden by pragmatics in spontaneous speech. For example, speakers can violate person restrictions as well as the empathy hierarchy (Kuno 1987) in their use of the verb iku ‘go’ in conversational interaction because they can speak on another participant’s footing (Goffman 1981) and take the other speaker’s perspective while speaking from their own footing when completing a co-construction. Many co-constructed sentences can only be grammatically pronounced in their entirety by the first or the second speaker and in some cases by neither of the speakers. Also it is necessary to refer to the psychological position of the speaker vis-à-vis the addressee or referent and the participant status (information presenter vs. supporting participant), utterance function, and whether or not the utterance is addressed to another participant in the interaction to account for how co-constructions are used in actual interactions. The grammar–prag-
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matics interface is addressed in examining how different grammatical forms are manipulated in actual interactive speech situations.
4. Concluding remarks Jeanette has been and remains an extremely inspiring teacher and colleague, well known for mentoring graduate students by coauthoring papers with them, and for coauthoring also with close colleagues. To a large extent it is her ability to listen and learn from other people that we, the editors, appreciate about and have learned from Jeanette. She is open to other people’s ideas (including those of her students), and to ideas from a variety of disciplines, including not only linguistics, but also psychology, philosophy, computer science, and beyond, thus to cognitive science in general. At the same time she is persistent in sticking with her own ideas. This steadfastness has served her well, and we have learned from her to respect our own ideas and to not give them up in the face of opposing viewpoints. It is this persistence that has resulted, for example, in the recent renaissance in the popularity of the notion of ‘topic’, which Jeanette was influential in initiating in the 1970s. Even within linguistics, Jeanette is open to a variety of frameworks, as witnessed by the fact that she has been sought out for participation in discussions relating pragmatic factors to different syntactic frameworks, such as her contribution to the Chomsky birthday celebration on the World Wide Web in 1999 and her contribution to a recent annual conference on Head-Driven Phrase Structure Grammar (Gundel 2003). She has also prominently published articles relating her own research to other work in discourse and pragmatics such as Relevance Theory (Gundel 1996 and Gundel and Mulkern 1997) and Centering Theory (Gundel 1998). In sum, she has worked in or inspired work by students and colleagues in a large variety of sub-areas within linguistics, including syntax, semantics, pragmatics, computational linguistics, psycholinguistics, sociolinguistics, and prosody. A hallmark of Jeanette’s research is that she bases her conclusions to a large extent on examples drawn from naturally occurring discourse. However, she relies equally on intuitive judgments of constructed examples in drawing her conclusions, following the mainstream methods of generative linguistics. This approach, which results in accurate empirical observation in support of sound theoretical constructs, leads to insightful conclusions. Most of the papers in this volume rely on both approaches, drawing their conclusions from intuitive judgments as well as naturally occurring data, whether collected ad hoc from everyday life, from collections of spoken and written texts, or drawn from small-scale or large-scale electronic corpora. The students and colleagues represented in this volume can here with our papers and editing work only offer a token of appreciation for Jeanette’s teaching and research and for her personal inspiration. We all present this collection of papers as a joyful celebration of her life and work, and gratefully dedicate this volume to her.
Introduction
5. Bibliography Davidson, Donald. 1980. “The logical form of action sentences.” In Essays on Actions and Events, 105–22. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Erku, Feride and Gundel, Jeanette K. 1987. “The pragmatics of indirect anaphors.” In The Prag‑ matic Perspective, J. Verscheuren and M. Bertucelli-Papi (eds.). Amsterdam: John Benjamins,533–45. Erteschik-Shir, Nomi. 1997. The Dynamics of Focus Structure. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Goffman, Erving. 1981. Forms of Talk. Oxford: Blackwell. Grice, H. Paul. 1975. “Logic in conversation.” In Speech Acts. Syntax and Semantics, Volume 3, P. Cole and J. L. Morgan (eds.), 41–58. New York: Academic Press,. Gundel, Jeanette K. 2006. “Clefts in English and Norwegian: Some implications for the grammar–pragmatics interface.” In The Architecture of Focus, Valéria Molnár and Susanne Winkler, (eds.), 517–48. Mouton de Gruyter. Gundel, Jeanette K. 2003. “Information structure and referential givenness/newness: How much belongs in the grammar?” Journal of Cognitive Science 4: 177–99. (Also in S. Mueller, ed. Proceedings of the 2003 Conference on Head Driven Phrase Structure Grammar. Stanford CSLI. http://cslipublications.stanford.edu/HPSG/4/) Gundel, Jeanette K. 2002. “It-clefts in English and Norwegian.” In Information structure in a crosslinguistic perspective, B. Behrens, C. Fabricius-Hansen, H. Hasselgård, and S. Johansson, (eds.), 113–28. Amsterdam: Rodopi. Gundel, Jeanette K. 1999a. “On three kinds of focus.” In Focus. Linguistic, Cognitive and Com‑ putational Perspectives, P. Bosch and R. van der Sandt ( eds.), 293–305. Cambridge University Press. Gundel, Jeanette K. 1999b. “Topic, focus, and the grammar–pragmatics interface”. U Penn Working Papers in Lingustics. http://www.ling.upenn.edu/papers/pwpl/v6.1/gundel.pdf Gundel, Jeanette K. 1998. “Centering theory and the givenness hierarchy: A proposed synthesis.” In Centering Theory in Discourse, M. A. Walker, A. K. Joshi, and E. Prince (eds.), 183–97. Oxford University Press. Gundel, Jeanette K. 1996. “Relevance theory meets the givenness hierarchy: An account of inferrables.” In Reference and Referent Accessibility, T. Fretheim and J. Gundel, (eds.), 141–53. John Benjamins & Co. Gundel, Jeanette K. 1988. “Universals of topic-comment structure.” In Studies in Syntactic Typ‑ ology, M. Hammond, E. Moravcsik, and J. Wirth (eds.) . John Benjamins B. V. , 209–42, 1988. (Also published in Another Twentieth Anniversary Volume. Indiana University Linguistics Club, 37–65). Gundel, Jeanette K. 1985. “Shared knowledge and topicality.” Journal of Pragmatics 9: 83–107. Gundel, Jeanette K. 1978. “Stress, pronominalization and the given–new distinction.” University of Hawaii Working Papers in Linguistics, 10(2): 1–13. Gundel, Jeanette K. 1977. “Where do cleft sentences come from?” Language 53: 543–9. Gundel, Jeanette K. 1974. The Role of Topic and Comment in Linguistic Theory. University of Texas at Austin doctoral dissertation. Reprinted 1988 in Outstanding Dissertations in Lin‑ guistics, G. Hankamer, (ed.). New York: Garland Publishing Co. Also published in 1977 by Indiana University Linguistics Club.
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Introduction Gundel, Jeanette K. and Fretheim, Thorstein. 2004. “Topic and focus.” In Handbook of Pragmatic Theory, G. Ward and L. Horn, (eds.), 175–96. Blackwell. Gundel, Jeanette K. and Fretheim, Thorstein. 2002. “Information Structure.” In Handbook of Pragmatics J. Verscheuren, (ed.), 1–17. John Benjamins. Gundel, Jeanette K., Hedberg, Nancy, and Zacharski, Ron. 2005. “Pronouns without NP antecedents: How do we know when a pronoun is referential?” In Anaphora Processing: Linguis‑ tic, Cognitive and Computational Modeling, A. Branco, T. McEnory, and R. Mitkov, (eds.), 351–64. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Gundel, Jeanette K., Hedberg, Nancy, and Zacharski, Ron. 2001. “Definite descriptions and cognitive status in English: Why accomodation is unnecessary.” Journal of English Language and Linguistics 5 (2): 273–95. Gundel, Jeanette K., Hedberg, Nancy, and Zacharski, Ron. 2000. “Statut cognitif et forme des anaphoriques indirects.” Verbum 22 (1), Special Issue on Anaphora: 79–102. Translated from the English (Cognitive status and the form of indirect anaphors) by Francis Cornish. Gundel, Jeanette K., Hedberg, Nancy, and Zacharski, Ron. 1993. “Cognitive status and the form of referring expressions in discourse.” Language 69 (2): 274–307. Gundel, Jeanette K., Hegarty, Michael, and Borthen, Kaja. 2003. “Cognitive status, information structure, and pronominal reference to clausally introduced entities.” Journal of Logic, Lan‑ guage and Information 12: 281–99. Gundel, Jeanette K. and Mulkern, Ann. 1997. “Relevance, referring expressions and the givenness hierarchy.” Proceedings of the Workshop on Relevance Theory. University of Herfordshire. Hedberg, Nancy. 2000. “The referential status of clefts.” Language 76: 891–920. Hegarty, Michael. 2003. “Semantic types of abstract entities.” Lingua 113: 891–927. Hegarty, Michael, Gundel, Jeanette K. and Borthen, Kaja. 2002. “Information structure and the accessibility of clausally introduced referents.” Theoretical Linguistics 27: 1–24. Horn, Laurence R. 1984. “Toward a new taxonomy for pragmatic inference: Q-based and R-based implicature.” In Meaning, Form and Use in Context: Linguistic Applications, D. Schiffrin, (ed.), 11–42. Washington DC: Georgetown University Press. Kratzer, Angelika. 2002. “Facts: Particulars or information units?” Linguistics and Philosophy 25: 655–70. Krifka, Manfred, Pelletier, Francis Jeffry, Carlson, Gregory N., ter Meulen, Alice, Chierchia, Gennaro and Link, Godehard. 1995. “Genericity: An introduction.” In The Generic Book, Gregory N. Carlson and Francis Jeffry Pelletier (eds.). The University of Chicago Press. Kuno, Susumo. 1987. Functional Syntax: Anaphora, Discourse and Empathy. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Lakoff, George. 1971. “On Generative Semantics.” In: Semantics, D. Steinberg & L. Jakobovits (eds.), Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 232–96. Lambrecht, Knud. 1994. Information Structure and Sentence Form: Topic, Focus and the Mental Representation of Discourse Entities. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. May, Robert. 1985. Logical Form: Its Structure and Derivation. Cambridge: MIT Press. Prince, Ellen F. 1986. “On the marking of presupposed open propositions.” In Papers from the Parassession on Pragmatics and Grammatical Theory, 22nd Meeting of the Chicago Linguistic Society, A. Farley, P. Farley, and K. E. McCullough (eds.), 208–22. Prince, Ellen F. 1985. “Fancy syntax and shared knowledge.” Journal of Pragmatics 9: 65–81.
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Prince, Ellen F. 1978. “A comparison of wh-clefts and it-clefts in discourse.” Language 54: 883– 906. Reinhart, Tanya. 1982. “Pragmatics and linguistics: An analysis of sentence topics.” Philosophica 27: 53–94. Smith, Carlota S. 1997. The Parameter of Aspect (2nd Edition). Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers. Sperber, Dan and Wilson, Deidre. 1986/1995 Relevance: Communication and Cognition. Oxford: Blackwell. Wilson, Deirdre and Sperber, Dan. 1993. “Linguistic form and relevance.” Lingua 90: 1–25.
15
part i
Pragmatics and Syntax
chapter 2
Lexical subjects and the conflation strategy Laura Michaelis and Hartwell Francis University of Colorado/Western Carolina University
1. Introduction* People tend to focus on what is unusual, and theorists who study the relationship between discourse function and syntactic form in English are no exception to this principle. The analytic tradition that they have developed is founded on the study of marked sentence types—like there-constructions, topicalization, left dislocation and locative inversion—which allow for the noncanonical placement of a lexical argument expression. Particular attention has been paid to a class of sentence types that are hallmarks of conversational English: those constructions that permit a lexical NP which would otherwise be a subject to appear somewhere other than subject position. One such a construction is the nonstandard presentational amalgam exemplified in (1). Another is found in (2)—an instance of left dislocation involving a preclausal NP that corefers with a pronominal subject:
(1) There was a ball of fire shot up through the seats in front of me. (Lambrecht 1988: 319)
(2) The guy that’s taken over for Gorbachev, he’s supposed to on our side, isn’t he?
Why are sentences like (1)–(2) of such great interest to functional syntacticians? Since Kuno (1972), these sentence patterns have been used to show that the syntax of conversational English is shaped by level-mapping constraints of the kind described by Prince (1981: 247). Prince argues that sentence patterns of the type illustrated in (1)–(2) belong to “a conspiracy of syntactic constructions resulting in the nonoccurrence of NPs low on the [familiarity] scale in subject position” (1981: 247). * This research was supported by a National Science Foundation grant (NSF-POWRE 9805829), awarded to Laura Michaelis. A preliminary report of the findings discussed here appears as Francis, Gregory and Michaelis 1999. We are grateful to Michelle Gregory for her participation in the initial phase of this research. We also owe thanks to Knud Lambrecht, Nancy Hedberg, Dan Jurafsky, Doug Roland, Gregory Ward and an anonymous reviewer for their insights and help. . All examples are taken from the Switchboard corpus of English telephone conversations (Godfrey et al. 1992), unless otherwise noted. We will shortly describe the properties of the Switchboard corpus.
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The current state of research in functional syntax appears to promote a paradox. On the one hand, we are required to assume that there is an unmarked, canonical, default, or pragmatically neutral alternative to the marked syntax displayed in (1)–(2). This pragmatic default, as described by Prince (1996) and Birner and Ward (1998) is the SV(O) pattern, exemplified in (3):
(3) The news coverage showed all the, you know, the guys who didn’t get hurt coming home.
On the other hand, we must acknowledge that the use of this putatively neutral option is severely restricted in spoken language. Research on conversational English has shown that sentences like (3), in which the subject role is expressed by a lexical NP, are rare, while those in which the object and oblique grammatical functions are so expressed are frequent (Prince 1992; Givón 1983b). Lambrecht (1987a) and Dubois (1987) make similar observations for, respectively, conversational French and spoken narratives in Mayan languages. These studies, coupled with typological findings concerning the asymmetrical behavior of subjects and objects in long-distance dependencies (Keenan and Comrie 1977; Raymond and Homer 1996), agreement marking (Bresnan and Mchombo 1987) and case marking (Aissen 2003), provide evidence that subjects and objects are distinct from the perspective of functional encoding. How can the SV(O) sentence pattern be a discourse-pragmatic default if at the same time it strongly constrains the type of NP that can occupy the subject role? A coherent answer to this question will require reference to markedness reversal. As Battistella (1990: 6) observes, “a feature will be unmarked in part because it is the prototypical choice in a context; but which element is prototypical in lexical and grammatical oppositions will depend to some degree on the background of social, cultural and discourse expectations”. If background can encompass genre, and genre can encompass rhetorical intent, it is clear that there are purposes for which the SV(O) pattern, and a lexical subject, are unmarked choices. One such purpose is that of grammatical description. As Lambrecht (1987a: 217) observes, grammarians have traditionally chosen atypical patterns as basic objects of grammatical analysis, as when Sapir (1921) exemplifies basic English syntax by means of the “typical English sentence” The farmer kills the duckling. Certainly, there is nothing typical about this sentence; construction of a dis. An anonymous reviewer suggests that there is no paradox here if we acknowledge that, as pointed out by Gundel, Houlihan, and Sanders (1986), a pattern may be unmarked with regard to its morphosyntax while being marked distributionally, i.e., rare. Certainly, a form may be marked according to one markedness diagnostic and unmarked according to another. However, it is important to notice that the decision to treat SV(0) as a default pattern for English has rarely, if ever, been based merely on the morphosyntactic simplicity criterion; rather, canonical morphosyntax has always been seen as entailing nonrestrictive use conditions, and, in particular, the lack of discourse-pragmatic constraints on argument positions. Thus, neutral syntax and neutral pragmatics have been taken as the same thing. It is this assumed equivalence that creates the paradox to which we refer here.
Lexical subjects and the conflation strategy
course context that would welcome it is an imaginative exercise: if the definite NPs the farmer and the duckling are to be construed as referential, the sentence is a report, but if it is a report, as opposed to, say, a gnomic statement, its inflection should be present progressive rather than simple present. Considered in another light, however, Sapir’s choice makes sense. Fully expanded sentences are useful precisely because they do not index any context. As a consequence, the reader need not perform referent recovery in a vacuum and can discern the basic argument order of the language under study, which might otherwise be obscured by the weakening of syntactic and prosodic integrity that is characteristic of indexical and anaphoric reference. From the foregoing examples one could infer that markedness reversal, and accordingly lexical subject-encoding, is exclusively a function of genre. Certainly, the importance of genre to argument-encoding constraints should not be minimized, as we will see in the next section. However, our focus in this chapter will not be inter-genre variation but intra-speaker variation within a single genre, conversational speech. In particular, we will ask why a given speaker, at a given juncture, should choose one form of subject encoding over another. Accordingly, we will view markedness, and markedness reversal, as the real-time interplay between countervailing constraints on production, as in the recent Optimality-theoretic accounts of optional rule application (so-called stochastic OT; Boersma 1998). Our findings will be based on two different, although overlapping, data sources. One data source is the frequency and morphosyntactic distribution of lexical subjects, based on automatic sorting of the declarative sentences in an online corpus of conversational English. Wherever appropriate, this distribution is compared to that of lexical objects. The other data source is a balanced sample of the lexical subjects in the corpus, in which the authors hand-coded the discourse– pragmatic linkages of lexical-subject denotata to prior and subsequent context. On the basis of these analyses, we will argue that lexical subjects are symptomatic of a conflation strategy, in which the speaker compresses into a single clause two pragmatic functions that are ordinarily performed in a sequence of two clauses: establishing a new topic and commenting about that topic. The markedness of the conflation strategy accounts for the relative rarity of productions like (3) in the corpus, but the mere fact that such productions do occur shows that speakers do not uniformly avoid the conflation strategy. Why not? We will argue that fully expanded instances of the SV(O) pattern are discourse-motivated syntactic amalgams in the sense of Lambrecht 1988. These amalgams allow speakers to simultaneously satisfy two competing optimization principles, namely, the two halves of the Gricean quantity maxim, as described by Horn (1984). These constraints have enjoyed a recent revival in optimality-theoretic accounts of case, in particular that of Aissen (2003), where they are referred to, respectively, as the iconicity constraint (marked mappings receive morphological marks) and the economy condition (specification of morphological marks is penalized). There is, however, a critical difference between Aissen’s implementation and the current one. For Aissen the tension between the two constraints is resolved through constraint ranking, whereas in the production scenario to be described here the speaker strikes
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a morphosyntactic compromise between the two competing constraints, through the use of the marked SV(O) amalgam and the forms of givenness encoding (Gundel at al. 1993) that are generally characteristic of highly accessible referents. We begin in Section 2 with a review of models of the function of subjects in spoken English and an overview of the distribution of lexical versus pronominal NPs in the corpus under study. In Section 3 we discuss the morphosyntactic and textual properties of lexical subjects in the corpus. In Section 4 we consider Lambrecht’s (1994) Principle of Separation of Reference and Role as a constraint on subject encoding in English, and describe an opposing principle that is simultaneously in play during functional encoding. In Section 5 we argue that patterns in the morphosyntactic coding of lexical subjects provide evidence for the claim that speakers’ productions involve attempts to mediate between hearer- and speaker-based constraints.
2. The discourse function of subjects 2.1 Topics and subjects Researchers in functional syntax have converged on the finding that the grammatical role of subject is, at least canonically, the syntactic expression of the discourse role of topic (Givón 1984; Lambrecht 1994; Van Valin and LaPolla 1997). For example, Mithun (1991: 160) asserts that “[t]he function of subjects is clear: They are essentially grammaticized clause topics.” The statistical connection between the roles of topic and subject also shows up in the statement of typological constraints on quantifier scope (Ioup 1975; Kuno 1991). These constraints are stated in the form of aligned scope rankings, in which topical NPs outrank nontopical NPs and subject NPs outrank nonsubject NPs. The need for separate statements concerning subjects and topics arises because subjects and topics are in principle distinct: there are, e.g., topical object denotata just as there are focal subject denotata. These scope rankings collude to induce a strong preference for wide scope of the subject quantifier in sentences whose argument structures are strongly biased in favor of topical subjects. One such argument structure is the ‘transform’ pattern exemplified in (4a). In this pattern, the ‘raw material’ argument maps to a direct grammatical function and the ‘product’ argument to an oblique grammatical function (Basilico 1998). The discourse–pragmatic mapping constraints on this construction conspire to create a strong dispreference for both a topical ‘product’ argument, as shown in (4b), and a focal ‘raw material’ argument, as shown in (4c):
(4) a. That tiny acorn grew into a beautiful oak. b. ??That tiny acorn grew into it. c. ??A tiny acorn grew into that oak.
Because the ‘raw material’ argument must generally be topical, it must also have wide scope relative to the focal ‘product’ argument, as predicted by Ioup’s scope-assignment
Lexical subjects and the conflation strategy
hierarchy. As a result, sentences like (5) are semantically anomalous: the ‘transform’ argument structure requires the subject NP to denote a topic, and thereby a specific individual. The result is a reading that conflicts with world knowledge, in which a single acorn grows into multiple oaks:
(5) *An acorn grew into every oak.
It is clear that the scope constraint is not a function of thematic role or grammatical function, since in the pattern exemplified in (5’) the theme argument (in this case, the ‘product’ argument) can have narrow scope with respect to the ‘raw material’ argument: (5′) An oak grew out of every acorn. The theme argument need not have wide scope because it need not be a topic. This is shown by the fact that this argument can be focal, as in the sentence An oak grew out of it. In other words, the scope constraint follows from the linkage of a given thematic role to a given pragmatic role, as specified by a particular linking pattern. The conception of topic that figures in the statement of discourse–pragmatic mapping constraints like those exemplified in (4)–(5) is that of clause topic. Lambrecht (1994: Ch. 4) distinguishes clause topics from discourse topics by relating the former concept to the articulation of a proposition into asserted and presupposed portions. While a clause topic is not presupposed in the way that a proposition is, a clause topic is ‘in the presupposition’ in the sense that its availability for commentary is taken for granted. The view of a clause topic as the predictable argument in a predication is captured by Gundel’s (1988) definition of topic: Topic. An entity E is the topic of a sentence, S, iff in using S the speaker intends to increase the addressee’s knowledge about, request information about, or otherwise get the addressee to act with respect to E. (Gundel 1988a: 210)
This definition of clause topic makes clear that the topic role is in principle distinct from the discourse (givenness or familiarity) status of a referent. As Lambrecht and Michaelis (1998) argue, evoked status does not entail topic status (pronouns, both deictic and anaphoric, may be foci). By the same token, as Gundel (1988a,b) has observed, topic status does not entail evoked status (a referent may be established in the topic role in the very act of commenting about it). Therefore, topic status and evoked status are not the same thing. However, as the “peg on which the message is hung” (Halliday 1970: 161), a topic should be a referent whose appearance as an argument in the predication at hand is predictable. The speaker and hearer, as intrinsically relevant participants, are ipso facto predictable participants; third parties, by contrast, typically become predictable participants only via prior mention. As a result, third-person subjects tend to have discourse antecedents. This idea is captured by the markedness hierarchy of shift types described in centering theory (Walker and Prince 1996): third-person subjects tend to form anaphoric chains, as in B’s response in (6):
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(6) A: But does your sister live in a big community? B: She lives, it’s a, it’s a fairly large community. She got real lucky, though. She had a boss who, uh, moved into a larger office.
Because third-person evoked status is strongly associated with pronominal coding (Gundel et al.) subjects tend to be pronouns, but this fact is only indirectly attributable to the anaphoric function exemplified in (6). Third-person subjects are pronouns for the same reason that deictic pronouns are: they denote entities that are already highly salient to the conversants (Gundel et al.1993). Third-person direct objects, by contrast, tend to be lexically expressed. This trend can be attributed to the strong tendency in conversational corpora for new referents to be introduced in postverbal position and resumed as pronominal subjects in subsequent predications:
(7) We used to see a husband and wife in there together and they were in the same room which not all husband and wives were.
However, as mentioned, the two functions, topic-establishment and predication, may be conflated into one clause rather than distributed over two. One such example is given in (8):
(8) My sister has a, she just had a baby. He’s about five months old, and she was worrying about going back to work and what she was going to do with him.
In (8), both subject- and object-denotata are discourse new, and both persist as topics. While the referent of a baby is in the grammatical position canonically dedicated to discourse-new entities, the referent of my sister is not. It is this type of example, in which subject mapping represents a ‘short-circuited’ form of referent introduction that will interest us here.
2.2 Distribution of subjects and objects in the corpus The data for the current study were gathered from a syntactically parsed version of the Switchboard corpus of American English telephone conversations (Godfrey et al. 1992; Marcus et al. 1993). The Switchboard corpus is composed of approximately 2,400 diadic telephone conversations between previously unacquainted adults. The participants in the conversations vary in age and represent all major dialect groups. The parsed version consists of 400 of these conversations. Using tgrep, Unix search strings that allow hierarchical syntactic structures to be represented as regular expressions, we collected Table 1 Subject-type distribution for 31,021 declarative sentences Lexical subjects Pronominal subjects
Number
Percentage
2,858 28,163
9% 91%
Lexical subjects and the conflation strategy
Table 2 Object type distribution for 7,489 transitive sentences Lexical objects Pronominal objects
Number
Percentage
4,921 2,568
66% 34%
a total of 31,021 subjects of declarative sentences from the parsed version of the corpus. Of these, we found 91% to be pronouns, and only 9% to be lexical NPs. This distribution is shown in Table 1. Of course, we must establish that this preference for pronominal encoding is not a fact about argument encoding as such. In order to do this, we have compared subject-type distribution to object-type distribution in the data. As shown by Table 2, the distribution of lexical objects versus pronominal objects is also highly asymmetric. However, this asymmetry is the reverse of that found among subject expressions . Comparison of Tables 1 and 2 shows that lexical coding is strongly dispreferred for subject denotata in the corpus, while it is the preferred coding strategy for object denotata. The tendencies summarized in Tables 1 and 2 appear to be specific to the conversational genre (see Roland and Jurafsky 2002 for a discussion of genre-related biases in speech corpora). While Givón (1984) finds, in general accord with our results, that 25.6% of the subjects in a corpus of spoken English narratives are lexical, written genres yield very different results. For example, about 80% of subjects of declarative sentences in the Wall Street Journal corpus are lexical NPs (Roland, p.c.). Similarly, Prince (1992) finds that about 60% of the subjects in the ZPG fund-raising letter are lexical NPs. Of course, it makes sense that the subject-coding preferences should differ in spoken and written genres, since the processing of spoken language is temporally constrained in ways that visual processing is not. And yet a model of subject encoding based solely on the recipient-design features of spoken language will have nothing to say about those cases in which spoken and written genres converge. How can we characterize the small class of lexical subjects in our conversational data? In the following section, we will pose three questions, the answers to which will determine the applicability of topicencoding constraints, and in particular Lambrecht’s (1994) Principle of Separation of Reference and Role, to our data. As we will discuss in greater detail below, Lambrecht’s constraint states that the first mention of a referent cannot also be a predication about that referent. The questions are as follows: – Do the lexical subjects in our data denote topical (as opposed to focal) entities? – Do the lexical subjects in our data in fact denote discourse-new entities? – Do the referents of lexical subjects persist in the discourse following introduction? The first question pertains to the existence of an aboutness relation between the subject-referent and the proposition, as invoked by Lambrecht’s constraint. The second and third questions pertain to the topic introduction function targeted by this constraint.
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3. The nature of lexical subjects Given the relatively minute number of lexical NPs in subject position, one must consider whether the general discourse-pragmatic properties of subjects (topic status and evoked status) extend to this small and potentially highly anomalous class of subjects. Through an examination of sentences with lexical subjects, we find that this class is both anomalous and regular: like most subjects, lexical subjects denote topical arguments; unlike most subjects, however, they do not denote previously evoked referents.
3.1 Lexical subjects have topical denotata Many researchers have pointed out that there is not a one-to-one mapping between the grammatical function of subject and the role of topic (Givón 1983a, Gundel 1988b, Lambrecht 1994). Subject denotata may instead be focal. There are two focus constructions in which focal subjects can in principle occur: argument focus predications and thetic or, equivalently, sentence-focus predications (Kuroda 1972; Lambrecht 1994). Upon examination of the lexical subjects in our data, we found that the semantico-pragmatic hallmarks of these two focus constructions were missing. In order to see what the relevant properties are, let us examine each of the two focus constructions in turn. Argument-focus sentences express pragmatically presupposed open propositions (Jackendoff 1972; Ch. 6), as in (9):
(9) I was the only one who did not catch a single fish. My daughter caught fish, his daughter caught fish, he caught fish.
In the series of clauses following the first sentence, the subject NPs identify the variable in a presupposed open proposition ‘Someone caught fish’ (x = my daughter, his daughter, etc.). Although argument-focus examples like (9) are found in the data, they are rare, accounting for fewer than 3 percent of the sentences with lexical subjects. In accordance with Prince (1992), who makes a similar observation, we find that argument focus is not a significant source of lexical coding in subject position. What then of sentence focus? Rather than identifying a variable in an open proposition, sentencefocus sentences present entities and/or report states of affairs. As Lambrecht argues (1994: 320–2) the prosodically marked sentence-focus pattern in English is pragmatically equivalent to the syntactically marked inversion patterns of Italian and Spanish. An example of the latter is given in (10): el médico (10) Sali-ó exit:3sg:past the doctor ‘The doctor came out.’ (Ocampo 1993: 356) While the thetic pattern in Spanish reverses the canonical subject-predicate order, the English version of this construction reverses the canonical accentuation pattern (of English), in which primary prominence falls within the VP. English, as a plastic-
Lexical subjects and the conflation strategy
ccent language in terms of Vallduví (1991) and Ladd (1996), can express the thetic a type by preserving canonical word order and shifting accent to the subject, as in the following example, from a conversation about the nature of the Russian military: (11) They get real nasty, the hyundee helicopters come out. If sentence-focus constructions were a significant source of lexically expressed subjects in our data, we would expect the lexical subjects in the corpus to prefer intransitive predicates, as sentence-focus sentences tend strongly to contain location and changeof-state verbs, which are predominantly intransitive (see Lambrecht 1994: Ch 5). In fact, the lexical subjects in our corpus data are no more highly correlated with intransitivity than are pronominal subjects: intransitive verbs account for about 65% of both the pronominal-subject and lexical-subject predications. Overall, predications in the Switchboard corpus are highly intransitive and highly stative, as is typical of spoken English (Thompson and Hopper 2001): copular predications (both predicational and identificational) account for about 45% of the declarative sentences in the corpus, and the stative verb have accounts for the majority of transitive predications. Similarly lacking in the corpus are symptoms of sentence focus that relate to thematic structure. Because unaccusative and stative verbs select for undergoer-type subjects, sentence-focus sentences tend strongly to have patient subjects (Lambrecht 1994: 310). However, the lexical subjects in our data appear to be no less agentive overall than the pronominal subjects. Using a sort based on verbal Aktionsart, we determined that agentive subjects account for fewer than 20% of both the lexical and pronominal subjects, despite the fact that the majority of both lexical and pronominal subjects have animate referents. For this reason, among others, Dubois’s (1987) Given A constraint does not adequately capture the tendencies in our data. The Given A constraint states that ergativetype arguments (i.e., subjects of transitive predications) tend to be topical, and thereby null instantiated or, as in English, pronominally expressed. However, as we have seen, pronominal expression is a feature not merely of agentive subject-referents but of subject referents in general. Therefore, although it would seem reasonable to assume that lexical subjects and lexical objects have common semantico-pragmatic properties, it appears that the object properties of undergoer status and focus status are neither necessary nor sufficient conditions on lexical subject-encoding. The former condition (undergoer status) is just as likely to result in pronominal as lexical encoding of subjects, and the latter condition (sentence focus) is virtually never in force. Like pronominal subjects, lexical subjects have animate, topical referents. There is, however, an important difference between lexical subjects and pronominal subjects: as we will show in the next subsection, the referents of lexical subjects strongly tend to be discourse-new.
3.2 Lexical subjects have denotata that are new to the discourse As discussed earlier, we presume, along with a number of other theorists (Ladd 1996; Prince 1992; Lambrecht 1994; Lambrecht and Michaelis 1998), that a topical referent
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can in principle be a discourse-new referent. Because discourse-old referents will tend to be coded pronominally rather than lexically, one can reasonably predict that lexical subjects will in fact have discourse-new referents. In order to test this prediction, we used the scalar anaphoricity measure employed by Gregory and Michaelis (2001) to code a stratified sample of approximately 280 of the lexical subjects in the corpus. This sample consisted of seven subsets of approximately forty tokens each (some tokens in each set had to be discarded for various reasons). The subsets were selected according to the morphosyntactic form of the subject NP, as follows: definitely determined NPs (e.g., the teacher), demonstratively determined NPs (e.g., that place), bare plural or mass nouns (e.g., criminals, oil), possessively determined nouns (e.g., my uncle), proper nouns (e.g., Guns and Roses), quantified nouns (e.g., a lot of men) and indefinitely determined NPs (e.g., a turtle). For each token in the sample, we examined the ten turns preceding the target utterance in order to determine whether there was (a) no prior mention of the lexical-denotatum, (b) prior mention of a superset containing the lexical-subject denotatum, or (c) prior mention of that denotatum. The passages in (12)–(13) exemplify each of the three respective points on the anaphoricity scale: (12) No prior mention B: Yeah, that’s that’s great. Well, when I was a kid my father had all different kinds of travel trailers. A: Oh. B: Whatever he liked he had a travel trailer, and he had a Winnebago. and he had a truck camper, and he was always buying new things like that and I hated it. I—I hated going camping and A: Oh. B: Wh[en]—when I got older I liked things like Caesar’s Palace. You know, that’s where I like to stay and and B: Oh yeah and oh okay you can’t you’re gonna camp out at Caesar’s Palace huh B: Uh right exactly so this summer um my boyfriend lives in California A: All right. B: and he loves to go camping and he s[aid]: “Let’s go camping”, and I went. (13) Superset mention And it was uh it had a lot of turtles in it, and I got all ready to go and I was down in the water and and set to go and a and just as that boat took off a turtle bit me in the middle of the back. (14) Prior mention A: Yeah, I do too uh because doesn’t make any difference uh uh whether it’s a pistol or a shotgun, I suppose. They both do the same kind of job. B: Shotgun hurts worse than a pistol does
Lexical subjects and the conflation strategy
Table 3 Anaphoricity counts for lexical subjects No prior mention Definite determiner Demonstrative determiner Bare plural/mass nouns Possessive determiner Proper nouns Quantified nouns Indefinite determiner Total
22 9 24 28 22 31 21 157 (60%)
Superset mention
Prior mention
12 7 3 6 1 4 12
5 23 11 5 16 2 4
45 (17%)
66 (25%)
Totals 39 39 38 39 39 37 37 268
The results of the coding for each group in the sample set are given in Table 3: These results suggest that the vast majority of the lexical subjects (77%) fall into the first two categories, and therefore have discourse-new referents. As indicated, however, we do find a relatively high percentage (25%) of lexical subjects which denote previously mentioned referents, as in (14). Why should a speaker resume lexical mention when pronominal reference could be used instead? One reason is ambiguity avoidance, as in (14), where both shotguns and pistols are under discussion at the time of the relevant production, and lexical reference is thus necessary for the coherence of the comparison. Another source of high anaphoricity lexical mentions is a discourse strategy that Fox (1987) refers to as a return pop: reinstatement of a reference following the intervention of some number of predications in which that referent does not play a role. The exchange in (15) gives an example of a return pop: (15) A: Do you have any children? B: Yeah, I have two, two boys, twelve and sixteen. A: Twelve and sixteen. [Five turns intervene] A: What, uh, do you feel like you have any time B: [Laughter] A: to spend with them? [Five turns intervene] B: I have a kind of a fortunate situation, I think, right now with my sixteen year old. Um, I work two nights a week at a, I’m a librarian A: Oh, uh huh. . Due to rounding, percentages in this and later tables add up to slightly more than 100 percent.
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B: and I work two nights a week at the Senior High School library. They keep it open, you know, for kids to do their work A: Right. B: and he, um, and then they, the school district hires an aide, you know, to work A: Sure. → B: for me. Well, my son is my aide. A: Oh, well, that’s nice. B: [Laughter] So, two nights a week for four hours we’re stuck together. In (15), speaker B introduces her two sons, begins to talk about her 16-year-old son, and then shifts to discussion of other referents (the library, the school administration, the school district) in order to describe her evening work situation at the school library. At the indicated turn, she re-establishes reference to her older son by using the full noun phrase my son in subject position in the predication My son is my aide. Such anaphoric lexical subjects are, however, relatively rare. As indicated in Table 3, the majority of the lexical subjects in the Switchboard corpus denote referents that are new to the discourse. In the next subsection, we will ask whether lexical-subject predications actually serve to establish their referents as topics.
3.3 The denotata of lexical subjects tend (weakly) to persist in the discourse As established in the previous subsection, lexical subjects tend to denote discourse-new referents. In this respect, they are unlike prototypical topics, which denote evoked referents. The possibility remains, however, that lexical subjects are switch topics, and that predications containing them have a topic-establishing function similar to that of English left dislocation, as described by Gregory and Michaelis (2001). An example of left dislocation discussed by Gregory and Michaelis is given in (16): (16) I like classical, but I can’t deal with opera at all. And heavy metal, uh, it’s noisy. Using hand-coded data from the Switchboard corpus, Gregory and Michaelis (2001) found that the preclausal NP in left dislocation (e.g., heavy metal in (16)) tends to denote a discourse-new and yet highly persistent referent, as compared to the preclausal NP of topicalization, a superficially similar fronting construction. They found that 65% of the preclausal-NP referents in left dislocation tokens persist in the following discourse, while the same was true of only 28% of the preclausal-NP denotata in topicalization tokens. They found a comparable, although inverted, asymmetry with regard to the anaphoricity scores of the preclausal NPs in the two constructions: only 38% of the denotata of the preclausal NPs in left dislocation were found to be anaphoric, while . To facilitate exposition, we have chosen to ignore the pronominal mention in B’s false start and he, um, and then they, the school district hires an aide.
Lexical subjects and the conflation strategy
75% of those in topicalicalization were found to be anaphoric. By combining these two tendencies, they showed that left dislocation, owing to its low anaphoricity and high topic-persistence indices, is appropriately viewed as a topic-establishing device. If lexical-subject predications are, functionally speaking, ‘compressed’ instances of left dislocation, we would expect that their subject referents would have topic-persistence scores equal to those of the preclausal-NP denotata in left-dislocation tokens. In order to determine whether this was in fact the case, we used a measure of topic persistence to code a sample of lexical-subject predications. The composition of this sample was identical to that used for anaphoricity coding, as described in subsection 3.2 above. Topic persistence, according to Givón (1984: 908), is “the number of times the referent persists as an argument in the subsequent ten clauses following the current clause”. Because we wished to track only lexical-subject denotata and not argument denotata in general, the notion of topic persistence that we used was narrower than Givón’s: we examined topic persistence as a property of only those referents that were initially introduced in canonical topic position. Further, because we were interested only in whether an entity appears again as a topic argument in subsequent utterances, and not in how long that entity persists as a topic, we used a scale with only four possible values: no persistence, lexical persistence, subset persistence and pronominal persistence. This scale has one more category than that used for anaphoricity coding, as shown in Table 3: it contains an additional type of coreference link, lexical persistence. We added this category in order to determine whether lexical-subject predications might be defective topic proffers, requiring secondary introduction of the subjectdenotatum in a subsequent turn. The passages in (17)–(20) give examples of each of the respective values on the topic-persistence scale. (17) No persistence A: And then the power went off again. Lightning or something knocked it out, and we hooked it back up and now it’s running ten or fifteen minutes fast again but on the east side of the house it runs fine B: Um. Oh boy, you do have a strange wiring problem there. (18) Lexical persistence W[ell], I had a friend who sat in on a or who was on a jury recently for a murder, but the man was not being tried for capital murder and so that was not even an option uh. The death penalty was not an option so and in in this case everyone on the jury felt that it should have been and they were very convinced the man had no redeeming uh qualities and couldn’t be rehabilitated. (19) Subset persistence B: Yeah I—I just have a scroll saw and a jig saw and I am really anxious to get a band saw and a router A: Yeah. The band saw’s really nice I have an Inca. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of those.
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Table 4. Topic-persistence counts for lexical subjects No persistence Definite determiner Demonstrative determiner Bare plural/mass nouns Possessive determiner Proper nouns Quantified nouns Indefinite determiner Total
22 22 19 18 19 15 15 130 (49%)
Lexical persistence 4 2 4 4 4 2 5 25 (9%)
Subset persistence 3 3 1 0 2 6 2 17 (6%)
Pronominal persistence Total 10 12 14 17 13 14 15 95 (36%)
39 39 38 39 38 37 37 267
(20) Pronominal persistence My dog was from the shelter and the idea was to get a Shepherd-Lab mix and he turned out to be about half that um h[e]—I just couldn’t resist him at the uh he was well he was at least eighteen when he died because he was full grown when I got him. The results of the topic-persistence coding for the sample are summarized in Table 4. As shown, a lexical-subject denotatum is slightly more likely to persist than not to persist: 51% of the lexical-subject denotata in the sample persisted in some fashion. This is not a strong tendency, and it is clearly weaker than the comparable tendency among leftdislocation tokens described by Gregory and Michaelis 2001. However, it is important to ask whether lexical denotata in general, be they subjects or preclausal NPs, persist to the same extent that pronominal denotata do. In order to answer this question, we coded a stratified, random sample of 30 nondeictic pronominal subjects for topic persistence. This sample was composed of five categories, each of which contained six tokens: the masculine singular pronoun he, the feminine singular pronoun she, the inanimate singular pronoun it, the plural pronoun they, the distal demonstrative singular pronoun that and the distal demonstrative plural pronoun those. (The proximal pronouns this and these were not used because of their strong association with cataphoric constructions, e.g., This is what I think.) In order to control for the position of the pronominal subject in an (actual or potential) anaphoric chain, we coded only those pronominal subjects that immediately followed lexical mentions, that is, with no prior pronominal mentions intervening between the target pronoun and the most recent lexical mention. In addition, if the lexical reference before the target pronominal subject reference was a lexical subject, the target pronominal subject would be discarded in favor of another randomly selected token. In this way we ensured that we were not comparing topic-persistence ratings from overlapping sets of data (lexical subjects and pronominal subjects). For the pronominal subject topic-persistence measure, we used a scale with five possible values: no persistence, lexical persistence, subset persistence, superset
Lexical subjects and the conflation strategy
persistence and pronominal persistence. This scale contains one more value than does the scale used for lexical-subject topic persistence in Table 4, that of superset persistence. We assigned this value to those discourse sequences in which the mention following the target pronominal subject denotes a set that includes the denotatum of the target pronominal mention, as in (24) below. In this example, Speaker A uses the pronoun they to refer to her own goldfish, while speaker B uses that same pronoun to refer to goldfish as a species. Examples of discourse sequences exemplifying each of the five respective categories are given in (21)–(25) below. In these examples, the lexical mention from which the target pronominal subject is traced is shown in bold, as are the target and subsequent mentions: (21) No persistence: she → no subsequent mention A: But, um, my, again, my mother back in Indiana, we had a quilting frame in our basement, and she would—she would quilt whole quilts by herself. B: Oh my god. A: Um, yes, which I was always amazed. I have one of them, um, but, uh, you know to have the quilting frame and then to actually do that—it’s a tremendous amount of work. (22) Lexical persistence: he → this guy A, uh, fellow when he was much younger, uh, was tried and convicted and sentenced to death. Fortunately, in his case, the death penalty was revoked and, uh, so he served out his, his sentence until it was discovered by a fellow who was making a documentary called The Thin Blue Line that this guy had basically gotten railroaded through the judicial system. (23) Subset persistence: they → the guy A: Because I know, I know a couple of people here that work for, uh, the Army. B: Yeah. They civilians or, uh, military? A: I think, I think they’re military. But I— B: Uh huh A: —mean, the guy is still in. (24) Superset persistence: they → they A: We still have lots of little goldfish. They propagate pretty well, those little fish. B: Yeah, they really do. (25) Pronominal persistence: he → he A: Several of the things you mentioned were the things that, uh, our son has talked a lot about Texas A&M, but he thinks he wants to be a writer and I don’t think that— B: Well, then he should come to UT.
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Table 5. Topic-persistence counts for pronominal subjects No persistence He She It They That Those Total
Lexical persistence
1
Subset persistence
1 1
1
1 1 1 1
3 (10%)
1 (6%)
4 (13%)
Superset persistence
1
1 (3%)
Pronominal persistence Total 5 4 4 3 3 2 21 (70%)
5 5 5 5 5 5 30
As shown in Table 5, the denotata of pronominal subjects persist in 90% of the discourse segments coded for the sample. Thus, it appears that pronominal subjects are far more likely to head anaphoric chains than are lexical subjects or left-dislocated lexical NPs. This fact, however, need not be taken as evidence against the view that lexical subject-encoding and left dislocation are topic-establishing strategies. As we have seen, both lexical subjects and left-dislocated NPs have discourse-new referents. And, after all, a topic proffer is still a topic proffer even when it is unsuccessful. Further, it simply stands to reason that a large percentage of topic proffers would in fact be unsuccessful: each potential topic referent might have many competing referents in a given conversation. By contrast, pronominal subjects represent already established referents: these referents are more likely to play a role in subsequent predications because established referents, like plants that have taken root, are more likely to persevere than those which have not. Thus, despite relatively weak persistence scores, lexical subjects are reasonably regarded as new topics. In the next section we will ask why new topics are not typically introduced by means of lexical-subject predications.
4. Constraints on subject position 4.1 The principle of separation of reference and role Many researchers have observed that subject position is pragmatically constrained. For example, Prince (1992), using a small written corpus, finds that subjects tend to represent discourse-old information, whereas objects do not. Our results are consistent with this finding. However, our focus is upon the constraint that underlies this tendency, and upon the morphosyntactic form of productions that represent violations of this constraint. In particular, we ask: what does this marked linguistic choice have to do with other kinds of marked linguistic behaviors as described by Grice (1975) and Horn (1984)? The literature offers several candidate constraints. Chafe (1987) proposes that intonation units are aligned with information units in a one-to-one fashion. A corollary
Lexical subjects and the conflation strategy
of this constraint is described by Chafe as the “light starting-point” principle: subject NPs do not constitute either intonation units or information units. Dubois (1987) proposes both the Given A constraint referenced in Section 3.1 and an information-load constraint similar to Chafe’s, whereby each predication can include at most one new argument. Lambrecht (1994) proposes the Principle of Separation of Reference and Role (PSRR), which he states in the form of a maxim: “Do not introduce a referent and talk about it in the same clause” (p. 185). For the model of markedness to be developed here, we will adopt Lambrecht’s PSRR, because, unlike competing constraints, it relates subject properties to a theory of topic, provides a model of what constitutes cooperative referring behavior and predicts (correctly) that referent introduction is typically accomplished by two-clause sequences like that exemplified in (26): (26) The, the procedure is utterly humiliating. You go in there with the doctor, he makes you take off all your clothes. In (26) a referent, the doctor, is introduced in an oblique position, after which it is resumed pronominally as a subject. By means of this pattern, the two tasks, introducing the referent and predicating a property of it, are performed by two different clauses. Hearer burden is kept relatively low, as the hearer can open a file on a new referent prior to entering a property there. The PSRR accounts for the existence of Prince’s 1996 “conspiracy of syntactic constructions” which ensure pronominal expression of the subject role. These constructions include inversion constructions in Italian and Spanish (Ocampo 1993), the French presentational y a cleft (Lambrecht 1987b), subject-agreement morphology in Chichewa (Bresnan and Mchombo 1987), and pleonastic detachment constructions like English left dislocation (Prince 1981; Birner and Ward 1998; Ziv 1994; Gregory and Michaelis 2001). All such constructions provide for the introduction of a referent outside of the clause in which it serves as distinguished argument. These constructions are thus the grammaticized analogs of the biclausal sequences for referent introduction exemplified in (26). The foregoing observations suggest that the PSRR has both synchronic and diachronic validity: it not only motivates aspects of conversational behavior but also explains the etiology of specific grammatical constructions in terms of recipient-design features. However, the fact that 9% of the subjects in declarative sentences are lexical NPs, and that most of the denotata of these NPs are both topical and discourse-new, indicates that the PSRR is a violable constraint.
4.2 Lexical subjects as PSRR violations In light of the PSRR and similar constraints, passages like (27) pose a problem: (27) Context: A conversation about daycare. She sent him to kindergarten. As soon as he went there, the teacher took one look at him and he threw up again.
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When discourse-new entities, e.g., the teacher, are used as clause topics, as in (27), we presume, by the logic of the PSRR, that the hearer burden is increased. As in cases of pragmatic accommodation described by Stalnaker (1974), the hearer must make inferences about the speaker’s intentions in order to preserve the assumption that the speaker’s referring behavior is cooperative. Scrutiny of examples like (27) leads us to ask two questions. First, what would drive a speaker to override the PSRR? Second, are violations of the PSRR constrained? We suggest that the lexical subjects in our data reflect the speaker’s attempt to mediate a conflict between the two halves of the Gricean quantity maxim. The use of a lexical subject, like deletion up to recoverability, as described by Horn (1984), reduces speaker burden without compromising comprehension. The mediation involves the interplay between two halves of the Gricean quantity maxim as described by Horn: (28) Quantity 1. Hearer-based lower bound on information Say as much as you can. (29) Quantity 2. Speaker-based upper bound on information Say no more than you must. The second half of the quantity maxim, which sets the upper bound on information content, privileges the conflation strategy: it is more economical to convey in one clause what might otherwise be conveyed in two. The first half of the quantity maxim, which sets the lower bound on information content, prevents the speaker’s economy from operating unchecked. This lower-bound constraint is similar to Clark and Haviland’s (1977: 4) given–new contract, in which “the speaker tries, to the best of his ability, to make the structure of his utterances congruent with his knowledge of the listener’s mental world”. We propose that the introduction of discourse-new referents as topics in subject position is motivated by the speaker’s economy, Q2, and constrained by the speaker’s adherence to the hearer’s economy, Q1. Example (30) is indicative of the constrained nature of PSRR violations in the corpus: (30) I have an opportunity to go to uh Paris, France uh with my friend in April. She is–her family, you know, lives there. The speaker’s economy motivates the use of a single clause to both introduce a new referent, her family, and predicate a property of that referent. However, the hearer-based lower bound prevents the speaker from introducing an unrecoverable referent in subject position. Recoverability is facilitated in (30) by use of the pronominal possessive determiner her, which links her family to an evoked discourse entity, my friend. The morphosyntactic coding patterns in our data indicate that speakers who choose to override the PSRR produce referents that are accessible and anchored. In the next section we will look at definite determination, possessive determination, and pronominalsubject relatives as measures of accessibility and anchoring.
Lexical subjects and the conflation strategy
5. Morphosyntactic coding of lexical subjects Tendencies in the morphosyntactic coding of the lexical NPs in subject as against object position suggests that speakers who violate the PSRR choose referring expressions which denote referents that are either accessible via the speech context or anchored to referents that have already been evoked in the discourse. Table 6 provides an overview of the morphosyntactic properties of lexical subjects in the corpus data. It shows a comparison of determination patterns in subject NPs versus object NPs. Table 6. Distribution of determiners for lexical subjects vs. lexical objects
Subjects Objects
Indefinite article
Definite article
Possessive
Demonstrative Undetermined article
65 (2%) 1,419 (29%)
1,070 (37%) 784 (16%)
724 (25%) 346 (7%)
837 (30%) 1,547 (31%)
171 (6%) 825 (17%)
In Table 6, the Undetermined category includes proper nouns, quantified plural NPs, and bare plural and mass NPs. While proper nouns can be considered semantically definite, in the sense that they pick out mutually identifiable referents, proper nouns lack morphosyntactic determination, and were therefore placed in the Undetermined group. Proper names account for about 8% of the subject tokens and about 2% of the object tokens; this asymmetry is probably a consequence of the markedness of animate object denotata (Aissen 2003). After quantified nominals, the largest percentage of tokens in the Undetermined group are bare nominals denoting types and unbounded sets, as in (31)–(32), respectively: (31) So glass has been recycled for a long time. (32) Hopefully, the next generation it won’t even be an issue. I mean people will just look at you as a person and not as a man or a woman. With Fillmore at al. (forthcoming: Ch. 8), we assume that bare nominal arguments are implicitly quantified, whether generically, as in (31), or partitively, as in (32). Thus, bare nominals have referential properties similar to those of weak and strong quantified nominals, e.g., a lot of glass, most people. The Demonstrative article class contains both the (plural and singular) distal and proximal demonstrative articles. The majority of proximal demonstratives in both subject and object position appear to be cataphoric, or referent-introducing, indefinite this, as described by Gernsbacher and Shroyer (1989). This use is exemplified for subjects and objects by (33)–(34), respectively: . Anaphoric uses of the proximal demonstrative determiner are also found in subject position, as in the following passage:
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(33) I was getting my oil changed and I was sitting in the little lobby it’s one of these you know five-minute change places and this guy comes storming into the lobby there and he says um (34) I see this guy in my building with some I think it’s like a Golden Retriever or something like that. Indefinite this is far more likely to occur in object position, as in (33), than in subject position, as in (34). This asymmetry is in turn responsible for the much higher incidence of demonstrative determiners among objects than among subjects. For our purposes, the critical asymmetries are those which involve the incidence of possessive and definite articles. These two groups of articles form a natural class, in that both entail uniqueness and mutual identifiability of the NP’s denotatum. As shown in Table 5, 62% of lexical subject NPs contain either a possessive or definite article, while only 2% contain an indefinite article. This asymmetry is reversed in the case of lexical objects: only 23% of lexical object NPs contain a possessive or definite article, while a full 30% contain an indefinite article. Thus, morphosyntactic definiteness is not a property of lexical NPs in general; it is specifically a property of lexical subjects. (The same observation holds, ceteris paribus, for morphosyntactic indefiniteness and lexical objects.) In the next two subsections, we will draw out the semantico-pragmatic implications of these morphosyntactic facts. In Section 5.1 we will discuss grammatical definiteness as an indicator of discourse accessibility. In Section 5.2 we will discuss the anchoring function of pronominal possessives and object-trace relative clauses.
5.1 Accessibility There are a number of measures of the activation statuses of referents, including scales based upon familiarity (Prince 1981), identifiability (Lambrecht 1994) and givenness (Gundel et al. 1993). We will focus here on the Givenness Hierarchy because it closely relates forms to cognitive states. The size of our data set makes such a system highly appealing, since it allows us to make inferences about the status of a referent from automatically searchable properties. The Givenness Hierarchy (Gundel et al. 1993) is based on the assumption that nominal encoding properties reflect the speaker’s assumptions about the salience of the denoted referent in the mind of the addressee. The cognitive-status descriptors which are arrayed along the scale are conceived as necessary and sufficient conditions upon the use of each corresponding form of nominal reference. The Givenness Hierarchy can be exemplified as follows. The origin of When I first started it was like I saw someone at a Halloween party. This lady was from Turkey and she’d been belly dancing since she was four years old, you know. In this passage, the demonstrative NP this lady refers to the individual introduced in the prior predication, I saw someone at a Halloween party.
Lexical subjects and the conflation strategy
the scale is equated with the lowest degree of cognitive salience that a referent may be presumed to have, type identifiable status. This status licenses the use of indefinite referring expressions, which may denote either a specific referent or a nonspecific referent, as in (35a). The highest degree of cognitive salience, in focus status, licenses the use of an unstressed pronominal expression, as in (35b). uniquely identifiable status falls between these two extremes; it licenses the use of definite determination, as in (35c). The definite determiner is used when the hearer can identify the referent on the basis of the NP alone. (35) a. You know, a, a, a sixty-two year old guy is less likely to be put on death row from what I’ve seen. b. He, he repairs it, gives it back to you, and takes your hundred dollars. c. The, uh, Governor, you know, has been trying to decide whether he’s going to commute it or not. Although the categories of the Givenness Hierarchy map to discrete attentional/memorial states, the hierarchy is implicational, in the sense that the conditions which license use of a particular referring form also license the use of any lower ranked form: “each status entails (and is therefore included by) all lower statuses, but not vice versa” (Gundel et al. 1993: 276). An appropriate analogy comes from the set or cardinal numbers, an ascending halfline from zero to infinity: although the numbers mark discrete points on the scale, an assertion like I have three dollars entails that the speaker possesses all smaller amounts of currency (e.g., it entails the assertion I have two dollars); it is also upward compatible: it could be truthfully uttered if in fact I had five dollars, although, via Quantity 2, such a statement is likely to mislead. By the same token, the indefinite NP a lady can be used to implicate (via Quantity 2) a greater degree of cognitive salience of the denoted referent than that required to license use of an indefinite NP. For example, the NP a lady could denote a referent that is currently in focus, as when a woman says of a suitor He knows how to treat a lady. In this instance, application of Quantity 1 would lead to the inference of disjunct reference (the NP a lady does not refer to the speaker). As in other instances of Gricean inference, only context will determine which of the two quantity-based inferences is applicable. By allowing for inferentially based enrichments, the Givenness Hierarchy abandons strict reliance on morphosyntactic form, and comes to resemble the Familiarity Scale, as proposed by Prince 1981. Prince’s Familiarity Scale assigns labels to referential expressions based upon the relationship of the denoted entity to the discourse rather than upon the form of the referring expression. Category assignments are intended to capture the source of referent activation, and Prince’s scale thereby provides information that is not captured by the Givenness Hierarchy. For example, the Familiarity Scale captures two different means by which an NP-denotatum can achieve the discourse status that licenses the use of the definite article: the bridging inference, in the sense of Clark and Haviland (1977), and NP-internal information (Prince 1981: 237). Following Prince, we will refer to NPs which trigger bridging inferences as frame inferrables.
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Frame inferrables include those NPs whose referents are identifiable by virtue of belonging to a semantic frame that is currently active. The passage in (36) provides an example of this class: (36) Uh, actually I lived over in Europe for a couple of years, I lived in Germany and in Germany they don’t have the jury system. What they do is they have, uh, three judges, basically. And you get up there and the prosecuting attorney presents his evidence. In (31), the NP the prosecuting attorney denotes an entity which, although new to the discourse, is highly recoverable by virtue of its relationship to the previously evoked frame, the litigation frame. Prince refers to those NPs which contain contextual links as containing inferrables. Containing inferrables include both explicit and implicit partitive NPs. An example of a lexical subject that is an implicit partitive is given in (37): (37) You know, the good ones do cost maybe sixty dollars a week. The subject NP in (37) contains implicit reference to a previously evoked set—that of daycare centers. In the present study, we made use of an expanded version of the containing inferrable category which included demonstratively determined nominal expressions that denote members of previously evoked sets, as in (38): (38) This school does, so uh it’s been interesting. The predication in (38) follows a discussion of colleges that offer tuition breaks to children of alumni; the subject denotatum is a member of this set. Another type of containing inferrable not explicitly recognized by Prince is that in which the bridge to uniquely identifiable status is a deictic or anaphoric referent contained in the NP. We will refer to containing inferrables of this type as anchored inferrables. Examples are given in (39)–(40): (39) But our neighbor decided he didn’t like cats and shot one of them. (40) And at the same time, the budget he sent to Congress has tax and fee increases. In (39), as in the majority of the possessive determiner subject NPs, the referent is linked to the discourse context through the use of a first-person possessive determiner. In (40), the referent is linked to the discourse context through the use of an object relative clause, the subject of which is an active discourse entity. Using the three classes of inferrables described above, as well as additional Familiarity-based categories, we hand-coded our stratified sample of lexical subjects in order to achieve a more detailed picture of activation status than that provided by form-based givenness coding alone. We will first discuss the application of the Givenness Hierarchy to the total set of lexical subjects, in which categorization was based solely on morpho-
Lexical subjects and the conflation strategy
syntactic form. We will then discuss the application of Familiarity-based coding to the stratified sample. The distribution of morphosyntactic forms in subject and object position suggests that lexical subjects denote entities that are more accessible than those denoted by lexical objects. Table 6 above summarizes the asymmetric distribution of morphological forms for lexical subjects and objects. In total, 62% of lexical subjects are at least uniquely identifiable, compared to only 23% of the lexical objects. The contrast between subjects and objects with regard to type-identifiable status is also striking: only 2% of the subjects are potentially upper-bounded at type-identifiable status, as compared to 29% of the objects. Based on the correlations between morphological form and givenness status described above, we conclude that the referents of lexical subjects are typically at least uniquely identifiable. Table 7 summarizes the distribution of lexical NPs in the stratified sample according to a modified version of the Familiarity scale. This scale includes the three classes of inferrables discussed above, as well as Prince’s Familiarity classes evoked, situationally evoked, unused, brand new, and brand new anchored. Examples of each of these statuses are given in (41)–(45), respectively: (41) My uh wife’s grandmother had Alzheimer’s and they were going to put her into a a nursing home, and the nursing home made them come and take her back because she was being a, a, you know, a, a nuisance. (42) This country seems a little behind on that. (43) They, they, they decided, you know, George Bush, who, who’s the main owner of the Rangers, decided that, uh, they’d stay in Arlington. (44) And this lady was going to work she came home and everything in her house was total gone light fixtures everything and (45) A friend of mine gave me a clock kit. We further expanded the Familiarity scale by including two categories of referring expressions whose denotational properties come not from discourse context but rather from the constructions in which each appears: predicative NPs (46a–b) and generic NPs (47a–b): (46) Predicative NPs a. And all we do is metric stuff. b. Sometimes, um, usually the reason I will turn it on is to hear the news. (47) Generic NPs a. Well, they are evidently. But um I mean ev[en]—evidently a normal cow produces that much too. b. People should be required to give a couple of years for the good of the country.
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Predicative NPs are those NPs that are subjects of equative copular predications, and are also possible postverbal NPs (as in, e.g., Metric stuff is all we do). Generic NPs are those NPs that appear as arguments of predications which, typically by virtue of verbal aspect, are construed as describing stable properties of the world rather than episodes (Langacker 1996). Generic NPs have contingent or, equivalently, attributive reference; that is, they allow conditional paraphrases of the following form: ‘Should you find an instance of this type (e.g., normal cow), it will have the following property (e.g., producing a certain amount of waste)’. The results of the familiarity coding are compatible with those reported for determiner type in Table 6. In that table, we saw that 62% of the lexical subjects contained definite determiners, corresponding to uniquely identifiable status. In Table 7, we see that 72% of the lexical subjects in the sample have either inferrable or evoked referents. Two of the trends reported in Table 7 are ostensibly puzzling. The first such trend is the relatively low percentage of anchored inferrables (12%). Given the fairly high percentage of lexical subjects whose heads denote kinship or social relationships (e.g., my sis‑ ter, my supervisor), one would expect a higher percentage of anchored inferrables in the sample. However, the relatively low percentage of anchored inferrables is most likely an artifact of the sampling method: because the vast majority of anchored inferrable NPs contain possessive determiners, and because only 14% of the lexical subjects in the sample contain possessive determiners, anchored inferrables will necessarily top out at the 14% level in the sample. The second such trend is the relatively high percentage of evoked referents. In light of the fact that, as reported in Table 4, 60% of the lexical subjects have discourse-new referents, the fact that 24% of the lexical subjects in the sample have evoked referents may Table 7 Familiarity status of lexical subjects Anc Def Dem Undet Poss Proper Quant Indef
2 0 0 24 0 1 5
Total
32 12%
Coi
Ev
Fra
Gen
6 3 0 0 0 4 4
6 24 10 5 15 2 1
15 5 11 9 15 13 5
2 1 16 0 1 9 13
63 24%
73 27%
42 16%
17 6%
Pred 6 0 1 0 0 8 5 20 8%
UnU
BN
SE
BA
Total
2 0 0 0 3 0 0
0 2 0 1 0 0 3
0 4 0 0 3 0 0
0 0 0 0 0 0 1
39 39 38 39 37 37 37
5 2%
6 2%
7 3%
1 0%
266
Note: In the left column, Def = definite NPs, Dem = demonstratively determined NPs, Undet = undetermined NPs (plural or mass), Poss = possessively determined NPs, Proper = proper nouns, Quant = quantified nouns, Indef = NPs containing the indefinite article. In the top row, Anc = anchored inferrable NPs, Coi = containing inferrable NPs, Ev = evoked NPs, Fra = frame inferrables, Gen = generic NPs, Pred = predicative NPs, UnU = unused NPs, BN = brand new NPs, SE = situationally evoked NPs, BA = brand new anchored NPs
Lexical subjects and the conflation strategy
appear surprising. However, this percentage is approximately the same as that reported for discourse-old referents in Table 4. As shown in that table, 25% of the lexical subjects denote previously mentioned referents. The high percentage of lexical subjects that have inferrable denotata makes sense in light of the lower and upper bounds that constrain the use of lexical-subject denotata. As Prince (1992: 305) observes, inferrable NPs, like a friend of mine in (45) represent hearer-new referents, and therefore discourse-new referents. At the same time, as Prince (ibid) points out, inferrable referents share properties with hearer-old and discourse-old referents, in that they are linked to the linguistic or extralinguistic context. Along these same lines, Givón (1983a: 10) suggests that the denotata of some nominal expressions, such as kin terms, “are in the file permanently, and are thus always accessible to speakers/hearers as part of their generic firmament” (emphasis in original). Lambrecht (1994: 114) similarly views inferrable status as the product of pragmatic accommodation. He argues that the speaker exploits the potential for easy activation of kin-term referent and “conveys a request to the hearer to act as if the referent of the NP were already pragmatically available”. Birner and Ward (1998) take a stronger position concerning the commonalities between hearer-old and discourse-old statuses. In their analysis of word-order inversion, they claim that “inferrable elements and explicitly evoked elements behave as a single class of discourse-old information for the purpose of word order inversion” (1998: 178). In other words, inferrable NPs are ideal lexical subjects: they have the accessible denotata that are prototypical of lexical subjects and the discourse-new denotata that are prototypical of lexical NPs. In the next section, we will focus on a specific class of inferrable NPs—anchored inferrables—and, in particular, asymmetries in the use of anchoring devices in subject versus object position.
5.2 Anchoring In this section, we examine referents that are rendered recoverable by virtue of a link to a discourse-active entity, in particular the speaker. According to the definition provided by Prince (1981: 236) says, “A discourse entity is anchored if the NP representing it is linked by means of another NP or anchor properly contained in it to some other discourse entity.” We discuss two anchors here, possessive determiners and relative clauses. As seen in Table 5 above, pronominal determiners like my and her are more frequently associated with lexical subjects than with lexical objects. While 25% of lexical subjects contain possessive determiners, only 7% of lexical objects do. Example (47) illustrates a typical use of an anchored inferrable containing a deictic possessor: (47) A: I’m a single mother. I have three children. B: Oh, I see, uh huh. A: So, uh, right now, we’re on, we get, you know, aid from the state at this point because there’s no other way to do it. And my ex-husband just sort of took off and doesn’t pay child support.
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Table 8 Distribution of relative-clause types for lexical subjects and objects Lexical subject Lexical object
Subject relativization
Object relativization
102 (29%) 249 (60%)
244 (71%) 164 (40%)
In (47), the discourse-new denotatum of my ex-husband is anchored to the speaker through her use of the possessive pronoun my. The frame is deictically established in this case. We postulate that the high percentage of pronominally possessed subjects reflects the speaker’s drive to ease referent recoverability. A similar pattern can be discerned in Table 8, which shows the distribution of object-trace and subject-trace relative clauses by grammatical function. Object relativization occurs in 71% of the lexical subjects that are postmodified with a relative clause. Why should this strong bias exist? As Fox and Thompson (1990) suggest, this type of relative clause anchors the discourse-new referent to a discourse-active frame, as in (48): (48) Our friend, the President, right now, says no new taxes. We should and especially, if anything, be cutting taxes now because of the recession and at the same time, the budget he sent to Congress has tax and fee increases, so uh I know the politicians uh aren’t straightforward. In (48), the pronominal reference to the President in the relative clause guides the hearer to relate the discourse-new referent of the budget to an entity in the context. By contrast, as shown in Table 8, the majority of the lexical objects that are postmodified by relative clauses have subject-trace relative clauses, as in (49): (49) We do oil well services. So, a lot of our clients are oil companies, big oil companies, and they go out to, we have engineers who, uh, go out to the oil well, to the client’s oil well, and work with a lot of heavy equipment and put tools down the oil well and stuff. In (49), the object nominal engineers is the subject of the relative clause. Its referent is also discourse-new, and introduced as the direct object of have. Why shouldn’t the relative clause perform the same anchoring function that it does in (48)? The answer is that there is no need to anchor the denotatum of engineers in (49): while (48) is a violation of the PSRR, (49) is not. Thus, the use of an object relative is strongly indicated in the case of a marked association between the topic role and discourse-new status. As we have seen, patterns in the use of possessive determiners and relative-clause modifiers indicate that the denotata of lexical subjects are bound by recoverability constraints that do not constrain the denotata of lexical objects.
Lexical subjects and the conflation strategy
6. Conclusion The data presented in this study demonstrate that (a) mappings to subject position in English conversation are constrained by the PSRR and (b) this constraint can be violated on the basis of Q2, the speaker’s economy. However, as a function of Q1, the hearer’s economy, violations of the PSRR are relatively constrained: speakers who use the conventionalized abbreviations that usage affords nonetheless work to ease the processing burden on hearers. Speakers accomplish this through morphosyntactic choice. Specifically, when violating the PSRR by the use of a lexical NP in subject position, speakers tend to minimize the potential impact on processing by choosing lexical NPs that are accessible via definite marking or that are anchored to the previous discourse either by possessive personal pronouns or by object-trace relative clauses with pronominal subjects. Thus, we conclude that lexical subjects in conversational English are hybrids. As lexical NPs, they denote new referents. As subjects, they denote recoverable referents. This hybrid character reflects what Horn (1984) has shown to be the most fundamental dialectic underlying generalizations both about inference and about linguistic choice.
References Aissen, Judith. 2003. “Differential Object Marking: Iconicity vs. Economy.” Natural Language and Linguistic Theory 21: 435–83. Basilico, David. 1998. “Object Position and Predication Forms.” Natural Language and Linguis‑ tic Theory 16: 491–539. Battistella, Edwin L. 1990. Markedness: The Evaluative Superstructure of Language. Albany: State University of New York Press. Birner, Betty J., and Ward, Gregory. 1998. Information Status and Noncanonical Word Order in English. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Boersma, Paul. 1998. Functional Phonology. The Hague: Holland Academic Graphics. Bresnan, Joan and Mchombo, Sam. 1987. “Topic, Pronoun and Agreement in Chichewa.” Lan‑ guage 63: 741–82. Chafe, Wallace. 1987. “Cognitive Constraints on Information Flow.” In Coherence and Ground‑ ing in Discourse, R. Tomlin (ed), 21–51. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Clark, Herbert and Haviland, S. E. 1977. “Comprehension and the Given–New Contract.” In Discourse Production and Comprehension, R. O. Freedle (ed), 1–40. Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. Du Bois, John. 1987. “The Discourse Basis of Ergativity.” Language 63: 805–55. Fillmore, Charles J., Kay, Paul, Michaelis, Laura A. and Sag, Ivan A. Forthcoming. Construction Grammar. Stanford: CSLI Publications. Fox, Barbara A. 1987. Discourse Structure and Anaphora: Written and Conversational English. New York: Cambridge University Press. Fox, Barbara and Thompson, Sandra A. 1990. “A Discourse Explanation of the Grammar of Relative Clauses in English Conversation.” Language 66: 297–316.
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Laura Michaelis and Hartwell Francis Foley, William A. and Van Valin, Robert D. 1984. Functional Syntax and Universal Grammar. New York: Cambridge University Press. Francis, Hartwell S., Gregory, Michelle L., and Michaelis, Laura A. 1999. “Are Lexical Subjects Deviant?” Proceedings of the Thirty-fifth Regional Meeting of the Chicago Linguistics Society, Volume 1, 85–97. Chicago: Chicago Linguistics Society. Gernsbacher, Morton Ann and Shroyer, Suzanne. 1989. “The Cataphoric Use of the Indefinite this in Spoken Narratives.” Memory and Cognition 17: 536–40. Givón, Talmy. 1984. Syntax: A Functional Typological Introduction. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Givón, Talmy. 1983a. “Topic Continuity in Discourse: An Introduction.” In Topic Continuity in Discourse, T. Givón (ed), 4–41. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Givón, Talmy. 1983b. “Topic Continuity in Spoken English.” In Topic Continuity in Discourse, T. Givón (ed), 343–63. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Godfrey J., E. Holliman and McDaniel, J. 1992. “SWITCHBOARD: Telephone Speech Corpus for Research and Development.” Proceedings of ICASSP-92, San Francisco. 517–20. Gregory, Michelle L. and Michaelis, Laura A. 2001. “Topicalization and Left-Dislocation: A Functional Opposition Revisited.” Journal of Pragmatics 33: 1665–1706. Grice, H. Paul. 1975. “Logic in Conversation.” In Syntax and Semantics, Volume 3: Speech Acts, P. Cole and J. L. Morgan (eds), 41–58. New York: Academic Press. Gundel, Jeanette K. 1988a. “Universals of Topic–Comment Structure.” In Studies in Syntactic Typology, M. Hammond, E. Moravcsik and J. Wirth (eds), 209–39. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Gundel, Jeanette K. 1988b. The Role of Topic and Comment in Linguistic Theory. New York: Garland Publishing, Inc. Gundel, Jeanette, Houlihan, Kathleen, and Sanders, Gerald A. 1988. “Markedness and Distribution in Morphology and Syntax.” In Markedness, F. Eckman, E. Moravcsik and J. Wirth (eds), 107–38. New York: Plenum Press. Gundel, Jeanette K., Hedberg, Nancy, and Zacharski, Ron. 1993. “Cognitive Status and the Form of Referring Expressions in Discourse.” Language 69: 274–307. Halliday, M. A. K. 1970. “Language Structure and Language Function.” In New Horizons in Lin‑ guistics, J. Lyons (ed), 140–65. Baltimore: Penguin Books, Ltd. Horn, Laurence R. 1984. “Toward a New Taxonomy for Pragmatic Inference: Q-Based and R-Based Implicature.” In Meaning, Form and Use in Context: Linguistic Applications, D. Schiffrin (ed), 11–42. Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press. Ioup, Georgette. 1975. “Some Universals for Quantifier Scope.” In Syntax and Semantics 4, J. Kimball (ed), 37–58. New York: Academic Press. Jackendoff, Ray. 1972. Semantic Interpretation in Generative Grammar. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Keenan, Edward and Comrie, Bernard. 1977. “Noun Phrase Accessibility and Universal Grammar.” Linguistic Inquiry 8: 63–99. Kuno, Susumo. 1972. “Functional-Sentence Perspective: A Case Study from Japanese and English.” Linguistic Inquiry 3: 269–320. Kuno, Susumo. 1991. “Remarks on Quantifier Scope.” In Current English Linguistics in Japan, H. Nakajima (ed), 261–87. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. Kuroda, S.-Y. 1972. “The Categorical and the Thetic Judgment: Evidence from Japanese Syntax.” Foundations of Language 9: 153–85.
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Ladd, Robert. 1996. Intonational Phonology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lambrecht, Knud. 1987.a “On the Status of SVO Sentences in French Discourse.” In Coherence and Grounding in Discourse, R. Tomlin (ed), 217–61. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Lambrecht, Knud. 1987.b “Presentational Cleft Constructions in Spoken French.” In Clause Combining in Grammar and Discourse, J. Haiman and S. A. Thompson (eds), 135–79. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Lambrecht, Knud. 1988. “There was a Farmer had a Dog: Syntactic Amalgams Revisited.” The Proceedings of the Fourteenth Annual Meeting of the Berkeley Linguistics Society, ed. by S. Axmaker, A. Jaisser and H. Singmaster, 319–39. Berkeley: BLS, Inc. Lambrecht, Knud. 1994. Information Structure and Sentence Form: Topic, Focus, and the Mental Representations of Discourse Referents. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lambrecht, Knud and Michaelis, Laura A. 1998. “Sentence Accent in Information Questions: Default and Projection.” Linguistics and Philosophy 21: 477–544. Langacker, Ronald W. 1996. “A Constraint on Progressive Generics.” In Conceptual Structure, Discourse and Language, A. Goldberg (ed), 289–302. Stanford: CSLI Publications. Marcus, Mitchell, Santorini, Beatrice, and Marcinkiewicz, May Ann. 1993. “Building A Large Annotated Corpus of English: The Penn Treebank.” Computational Linguistics 19: 313–30. Mithun, Marianne. 1991. “The Role of Motivation in the Emergence of Grammatical Categories: The Grammaticization of Subjects.” In Approaches to Grammaticalization, Volume 2, E. C. Traugott and B. Heine (eds), 159–84. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Ocampo, Francisco. 1993. “The Introduction of New Referents in French and Spanish Discourse: One Constraint, Two Strategies.” In Linguistic Perspectives on the Romance Lan‑ guages, W. J. Ashby, M. Mithun, G. Perissinotto, and E. Raposo (eds), 351–62. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Prince, Ellen. 1981. “Toward a New Taxonomy for Given–New Information.” In Radical Prag‑ matics, P. Cole (ed), 223–55. New York: Academic Press. Prince, Ellen. 1992. “The ZPG Letter: Subjects, Definiteness, and Information Status.” In Dis‑ course Description: Diverse Linguistic Analyses of a Fund-Raising Text, W. C. Mann and S. A. Thompson (eds), 295–325. Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Raymond, William D. and Homer, Kristin. 1996. “The Interaction of Participant Role and Pragmatic Function in the Selection of Question Form.” The Proceedings of the Twenty-Second Annual Meeting of the Berkeley Linguistics Society, ed. by J. Johnson, M. Juge and J. Moxley, 316–27. Berkeley: BLS, Inc. Roland, Douglas and Jurafsky, Daniel. 2002. “Verb Sense and Verb Subcategorization Probabilities.” In The Lexical Basis of Sentence Processing: Formal, Computational and Experimental Issues, S. Stevenson and P. Merlo (eds), 325–46. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Sapir, Edward. 1921. Language: An Introduction to the Study of Speech. New York: Harcourt, Brace and Company. Stalnaker, Robert. 1974. “Pragmatic Presuppositions.” In Semantics and Philosophy, M. K. Munitz and P. Unger (eds), 197–213. New York: New York University Press. Thompson, Sandra A. and Hopper, Paul J. 2001. “Transitivity, Clause Structure, and Argument Structure: Evidence from Conversation.” In Frequency and the Emergence of Linguistic Structure, J. Bybee (ed), 28–60. Amsterdam: Benjamins. Vallduví, Enric. 1991. “The Role of Plasticity in the Association of Focus and Prominence.” Proceedings of the Eastern States Conference on Linguistics 7: 295–306. Van Valin, Robert D. and Randy LaPolla. 1997. Syntax: Structure, meaning and function. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
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Walker, Marilyn A. and Prince, Ellen F. 1996. “A Bilateral Approach to Givenness: a Hearer-Status Algorithm and a Centering Algorithm.” In Reference and Referent Accessibility, T. Fretheim and J. K. Gundel (eds), 291–306. Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Ziv, Yael. 1994. “Left and Right Dislocations: Discourse Functions and Anaphora.” Journal of Pragmatics 22: 629–45.
chapter 3
The information structure of it-clefts, wh-clefts and reverse wh-clefts in English* Nancy Hedberg and Lorna Fadden Simon Fraser University
1. Introduction In addition to expressing a proposition monoclausally as shown in (1), English permits a proposition to be split into two clauses and expressed in three types of cleft sentence, which we term ‘it-clefts’, ‘wh-clefts’ and ‘reverse wh-clefts’. An example of each is shown in (2):
(1) People are going to be voting on the economy, come November of next year.
(2) a. It’s the economy that people are going to be voting on, come November of next year. (IT-CLEFT) b. What people are going to be voting on, come November of next year, is the economy. (WH-CLEFT) c. The economy is what people are going to be voting on, come November of next year. (REVERSE WH-CLEFT)
Following Hedberg (1988, 1990, 2000) we label the phrase ‘the economy’ as the ‘clefted constituent’ in all three cases, and the phrase ‘that people are going to be voting on, come November of next year’ or ‘what people are going to be voting on, come November of next year’ as the ‘cleft clause’. * This chapter is a major revision of Hedberg (1988), which examined the discourse function of it-clefts, wh-clefts and reverse wh-clefts in a corpus of natural examples drawn from videotapes and transcripts of the McLaughlin Group broadcast by the Public Broadcasting Service in the United States during the years 1987–1988. For this chapter, we collected new data from episodes of the McLaughlin Group aired in 2001 and 2002. We changed our database because we wanted more recent and currently relevant political discourse to discuss, and we wanted to use transcripts that are available on-line. The two studies differ in that instrumental means are used for the analysis of prosody in the current chapter, whereas the prosody of the clefts in the 1988 paper was based on the author’s intuitions. The major inspiration for this revision comes from Jeanette Gundel, who was a close advisor in the writing up of Hedberg (1988). We thank Juan Sosa for his help with the prosodic analysis of our cleft examples, and thank Maite Taboada for criticism. This research was supported by a Discovery Park Research Grant and a Small SSHRC Research Grant awarded to Nancy Hedberg and Juan Sosa by Simon Fraser University.
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Following Gundel and Fretheim (2004) and previous works by Gundel, we distinguish between referential and relational givenness in our treatment of information structure, although the two are linked in that relationally given expressions in general (i.e. topics) have to attain a certain level of referential givenness (i.e. cognitive status— Gundel, Hedberg and Zacharski 1993), in order to function cognitively as ‘the peg on which the message is hung’ (Halliday 1970). A topic is further constrained pragmatically in that it must evoke a relevant question for the comment to make a contribution ‘about’. With regard to referential givenness, we assume that all clefts function analogously to definite descriptions, in that the cleft clause is presupposed and hence must be at least uniquely identifiable in cognitive status terms (cf. Hedberg 2000 for it-clefts), while the clefted constituent presents an exhaustive element, a ‘kontrast’ in the terms of Vallduví and Vilkuna (1998). These characteristics are at least part of what distinguish clefts from non-cleft sentences. Our main claim with regard to the difference between the three types of clefts is that wh-clefts are more constrained in relational information structure than it-clefts or reverse wh-clefts. The initial element—the cleft clause—in a wh-cleft always presents the topic of the sentence, and the clefted constituent always presents the focus, with the comment being the identification of the variable in the topic with the focus. It-clefts and reverse wh-clefts are freer in their relational information structure, with the initial clefted constituent presenting either the topic or the focus, and the subsequent cleft clause presenting the focus or topic, respectively. We subsequently refer to these two possibilities as ‘topic–comment’ or ‘comment–topic ’ clefts. We also claim that all-comment clefts are possible. We rely primarily on a spoken corpus of 98 clefts from spontaneous televised political discussions, examining their discourse function in context and their prosody. We supplement this corpus with examples from a previously collected corpus of the televised political discussion program, some constructed examples and examples from a variety of written sources. Although we claim that it-clefts and reverse wh-clefts are identical with regard to relational information structure, they do differ in distribution. The initial clefted constituent in an it-cleft is most likely to be a full NP while the initial clefted constituent in a reverse wh-cleft is most likely to be an anaphoric demonstrative pronoun. Also, question words can serve as the clefted constituent in it-clefts, but not in wh-clefts or reverse wh-clefts; and verb phrases and adjective phrases can serve as the clefted constituent in wh-clefts and reverse wh-clefts, but not in it-clefts (see Delin 1989 and Hedberg 1990 . Gundel (1985, 1988) suggests that a topic must be familiar to the hearer in order to serve as an address in memory to which the new information may be linked. In more recent work (e.g. Gundel 1999b) she acknowledges the possibility that a topic may be merely referential if the phrase expressing this topic is anchored to an activated element. Reinhart (1981) and Prince (1985) present examples which they claim are referential indefinite topics.
It-clefts, wh-clefts and reverse wh-clefts in English
for discussion). We have only eight examples of it-clefts in our corpus compared to 65 examples of reverse wh-clefts, and thus concentrate primarily on the difference between the wh-clefts and reverse wh-clefts in the corpus discussion.
2. Method for corpus study 2.1 Data collection The data for the study were collected from 13 videotaped episodes of the McLaughlin Group, a half-hour, weekly televised PBS program in which a host, John McLaughlin, facilitates unscripted, spontaneous discussion on current political affairs with a panel of prominent journalists, almost all of whom are speakers of American English. There are significant advantages to deriving data from this particular source. First, transcripts available on the World Wide Web make it convenient to examine lengthy contexts, and second, sound recordings allow for prosodic examination of the data. The episodes used in this study spanned from March 2001 to June 2002. From these video recordings, 98 cleft samples were put onto a CDROM using a Marantz CD Recorder. These samples were then converted from analog to wav format using Gold Wave v.5.0. Pitch contour and primary and secondary stress were examined using Praat v.4.2.07. and Pitchworks v.5.0. Once collected, the cleft samples were sorted into one of three categories: it-cleft, whcleft, and reverse wh-cleft. Table 1 shows the number of each cleft type. Table 1 Distribution of cleft types in McLaughlin data Cleft type
Number
Percent
It-cleft Reverse wh-cleft Wh-cleft
8 65 25
8% 66% 26%
Total
98
100%
Hedberg (1988) examined 343 clefts in the previous McLaughlin corpus, finding only 12 (3%) it-clefts, a pattern similar to what we see here. However she found 182 (53%) whclefts and 149 (44%) reverse wh-clefts, which is different from the pattern observed in the current study where we have many more reverse wh-clefts. We have no explanation for this difference, except to note that the sample size was larger in Hedberg (1988). In the following subsections we explain how the data were coded and analysed, and we provide examples of clefts with respect to their referential givenness structure . One wh-cleft and one reverse wh-cleft were discarded because they were incomplete. There were two predicational th-clefts and one predicational it-cleft (cf. Hedberg 2000) in the data, which we decided to not discuss in this chapter because we didn’t look for predicational whclefts or reverse wh-clefts. All of the clefts that we analyze are specificational.
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(cognitive status), relational givenness structure (topic–comment or comment–topic status), and prosody.
2.2 Labeling the data 2.2.1 Prosody
The first step in labelling our data was to identify the prosodic patterns in each sample. We primarily coded stress, but supplemented this with intonation coding in the examples especially relevant to the discussion. The example in (3) shows how stress was labelled.
(3) Mr. Blankley: I think that kind of LEADERSHIP is exactly what we need. [11/3/01]
Primary stress is indicated in upper case bold, secondary stress is indicated in lower case bold italics, and other pitch accented words are indicated in regular lower case bold. The ToBI transcription system (Beckman and Ayers-Elam 1997) was used to label intonation patterns when relevant. This system uses starred combinations of high and low tones to indicate pitch accents and (H*, !H*, L*, L+H*, L*+H, H+!H*). !H* indicates a downstepped high tone. There are two phrase accents (L- and H-) and two boundary tones (H% and L%). A combination of a phrase accent followed by a boundary tone indicates the direction of pitch movement at the end of an intonational phrase, and a phrase accent alone indicates the end of an intermediate phrase. Examples (4) and (5) illustrate this system of coding.
(4) Mr. O’Donnell: THAT’S what we lack in Africa now. H* !H* !H* L−L% [4/14/01]
(5) Mr. Blankley: They’re the ones who were pulling the L+H* !H* H* L− STRINGS with Yeltsin. H*L− L+H*L−L% [10/19/01]
When intonation is especially relevant to the following discussion, we will supplement the ToBI coding with pitch tracks to better illustrate how the example was pronounced.
2.2.2 Information structure
The second step in coding our data was to label the clefted constituents and cleft clauses according to referential givenness structure and relational givenness structure. For referential givenness we used ten categories derived loosely from the Givenness Hierarchy categories of Gundel et al. 1993, and classified the two major constituents of each cleft utterance as either directly having a certain cognitive status or as being in-
It-clefts, wh-clefts and reverse wh-clefts in English
Table 2 Referential givenness categories Discourse Old
Activated Recently activated Inferrable from activated situation Inferrable from activated proposition Inferrable from recently activated proposition
Discourse New
Familiar Inferrable from familiar proposition Informative Cataphoric Question word
ferrable from an element having one of the cognitive statuses. We added the categories ‘cataphoric’ for constituents whose referents were not introduced until after the utterance of the cleft was completed, and ‘question-word’ for wh-words that function to express the quantificational ‘unknown’ portion of a wh-question. We divided the ten categories into the two supercategories of ‘discourse old’ elements or ‘discourse new’ elements, following Prince (1992). The resulting coding system is shown in Table 2. For example, the cleft clause in (6) was labelled ‘activated’ because the proposition that the resources are going somewhere was immediately activated, whereas the cleft clause in (7) was labelled ‘recently activated’ because the proposition that someone says this is loose talk was activated many discourse turns away although in the same discussion. (6) Mr. McLaughlin: Don’t you think resources are really being redirected, for example, into security and into counterterrorism? That’s where the resources are GOING. Those are going to be the economic winners. [10/26/01]
. The cognitive statuses of Gundel et al. (1993) are arranged in a unidirectional entailment hierarchy, e.g. everything that is activated is familiar, but not everything familiar is activated. In the set of labels used here we labelled with the maximal obtaining status, so ‘familiar’, for example, means ‘familiar but not activated.’ We use the label ‘informative’ for a presupposed proposition that is unfamiliar to the listener, following Prince’s (1978) work on it-clefts. Hedberg (2000) would label these presuppositions as ‘uniquely identifiable but not familiar’ in the terms of Gundel et al. (1993). We also use the label ‘informative’ for the lowest cognitive statuses, ‘referential’ and ‘type identifiable.’ Note that our label ‘recently activated’ would be labeled ‘familiar but not activated’ by Gundel et al. (1993) since the information is no longer in short-term memory. We also treat inferrable propositions as falling under the same broad category as the proposition they are inferrable from, following Prince (1992) who treats NP referents inferrable from activated referents as ‘discourse old’. We thus here differ from Gundel et al. (1993, 2001) who treat NP referents and also cleft clauses as uniquely identifiable but not familiar when they are only ‘indirectly’ related to their antecedent. We do this, first of all, because so many cleft propositions in our corpus are only indirectly related to antecedent propositions (see Table 4 below), but especially because in this chapter we are trying to synthesize the work of Prince (1978, 1985) and Gundel (1985, 1988) on it-clefts and wh-clefts.
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(7) Ms. Clift: … The administration is not going to be able to get away with this one, declaring an American-born — a Brooklyn-born boy an enemy — Mr. Barone: Well, he’s an adult. Ms. Clift: — an adult — an enemy combatant, holding him indefinitely, without legal representation, without any charges, where even the deputy secretary of Defense, Paul Wolfowitz, has said this was nothing more than loose talk. The administration is really going to have to come up with some evidence here, or they’re going to have to let this guy go. (39 turns) Ms. Clift: Wolfowitz is an even bigger hawk than you are, Michael, and HE’s the one who says this is loose talk. [6/14/02] For relational givenness we labelled each cleft for the topic–comment status of its two parts, distinguishing between discourse old and discourse new topics and comments, by using lower case ‘t’ or ‘c’ for the former and upper case ‘T’ or ‘C’ for the latter. We also allowed for the possibility that a cleft utterance be all comment. As will be discussed further below, the primary criterion for determining topic versus comment classification was that of prosody. We assumed that the primary stress of the cleft utterance falls on the comment. We also relied on the criterion of determining what the utterance as a whole seemed to be primarily ‘about’ in the extended context in which the example appeared, specifying this portion of the cleft as the topic. Thirdly, relational givenness correlated approximately, but not entirely, with referential givenness in that in most, but not all cases, the referentially more ‘given’ constituent in the cleft utterance ended up being labelled the ‘topic.’ Thus, examples (4) and (7) above with primary stress on the clefted constituent of the reverse wh-cleft were labelled comment–topic clefts, and examples (5) and (6) where primary stress fell on the cleft clause of the reverse wh-cleft were labelled topic–comment clefts. One type of reverse wh-cleft that was difficult to classify relationally was labelled ‘tag’ due to the presence of a sentence final tag explicating the content of the subject. Many such tag examples appear to be a kind of blend of a reverse wh-cleft with a comment cleft clause in relation to the clefted constituent and a wh-cleft with a topical cleft clause in relation to the stressed tag. An example is shown in (8). Tag clefts will be discussed further in section 4.3. (8) Mr. Blankley: That’s what I’m TOLD, that they got it from the SENATE side. [10/19/01] In the next section, we turn to the results of coding our corpus data for referential givenness, syntactic type and relational givenness of the two major parts of the three types of clefts. We are especially interested in which of these three coding criteria best explains the data and the language system generating the data.
It-clefts, wh-clefts and reverse wh-clefts in English
Table 3. Referential givenness status of the clefted constituent WH
Total
IT
REV
Activated Recently activated
3 1
58 4
− 2
61 7
Total discourse old
4
62
2
68
Familiar Informative Cataphoric WH
2 − − 2
− − 3 −
7 16 − −
9 16 3 2
Total discourse new
4
3
23
30
Grand total
8
65
25
98
3. Corpus-study findings 3.1 Referential givenness Table 3 shows the referential givenness coding of the clefted constituent for all three types of clefts. It can be seen that that reverse wh-clefts and wh-clefts are almost mirror images of each other. Roughly, when the clefted constituent is activated, the reverse whcleft form occurs. When the clefted constituent is familiar or informative, the wh-cleft form occurs. When the clefted constituent is recently activated, either form is chosen. Table 4 shows the referential givenness coding of the cleft clause in all three types of clefts. It can be seen that it-cleft clauses are evenly divided between discourse old and discourse new information, while wh-cleft clauses are predominately discourse old (88%). Reverse wh-cleft clauses are also predominately discourse old (71%) but not to quite the same extent. Table 4. Referential givenness status of the cleft clause IT
REV
WH
Total
Activated Inferrable from activated situation Inferrable from activated proposition Recently activated Inferrable from recently activated proposition
1 − 1 1 1
3 10 19 7 7
− 4 11 4 3
4 14 31 22 11
Total discourse old
4
46
22
72
Familiar Inferrable from familiar proposition Informative
1 3 −
7 4 8
1 1 1
9 8 9
Total discourse new
4
19
3
26
Grand total
8
65
25
98
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Although it is not entirely clear from the preceding two tables, which don’t compare the referential givenness status of the clefted constituent compared to the cleft clause in each cleft directly due to the need for readability, a constraint on constituent order in terms of referential givenness can be extracted from the full set of data if we allow inferrable or indirectly anaphoric cleft clause information to count as (at least) one level less given than the corresponding directly anaphoric information. This constraint is that referentially more given information (e.g. activated information) tends to precede referentially newer information (e.g. inferrable from activated information). An exception to this constraint is the cataphoric reverse wh-clefted constituents, which we classified as discourse new, but which precede more given cleft clauses. Since these clefted constituents are proximal demonstrative pronouns and are thus one word pronominal forms, perhaps it is this syntactic ‘lightness’ that best accounts for the word order pattern found in the data. In the next section we explore this possibility more carefully.
3.2 Syntactic type of clefted constituent Table 5 shows the syntactic type of the clefted constituent in all three types of cleft. It can be seen that except for full NP clefted constituents, reverse wh-clefts and canonical wh-clefts are again in complementary distribution. Reverse wh-clefted constituents tend to be short and anaphoric or cataphoric, whereas canonical wh-clefted constituents tend to be longer verb phrase and clausal constituents. The it-clefts in our data either had full NP or question word clefted constituents, both of which are also short. A similar pattern of results has been found in other corpus studies. For example, Delin (1989) found that 102 out of 160 spoken and written reverse wh-clefts had that as the clefted constituent and 43 had this, while none had clauses or verb phrases. In addition, 52 out 162 wh-clefted constituents were clausal, 38 were VPs, and none were demonstrative pronouns. 158 out of 245 it-clefted constituents were NPs. It should be noted that wh-clefts can always be flipped and turned into reverse whclefts without degradation in grammaticality, although sometimes minor changes need to be made such as adding a complementizer or changing the position of an adverb. However, reverse wh-clefts with anaphoric pronominal clefted constituents can never be flipped without extreme awkwardness, unless the clefted constituent is highly . Thus ‘inferrable from activated proposition’ or ‘inferrable from activated situation’ would count as (at least) one level less given than ‘activated’, and so on, with both being classified as ‘discourse old’. This system follows Prince (1992) in treating entity-level ‘inferrables’ as ‘discourse old’ and also follows Hedberg (1990) in treating ‘indirectly activated’ cleft clauses in the same general category as ‘activated’ ones. As mentioned in n. 4, Gundel et al. (1993, 2001) do not follow this system for either NP or cleft clause referents, instead classifying the indirect referents as only ‘uniquely identifiable’ (i.e. as discourse new). If the Gundel et al. system is followed, the ‘given’ before ‘new’ linear order for clefts of course falls out directly.
It-clefts, wh-clefts and reverse wh-clefts in English
Table 5. Syntactic type of the clefted constituent IT
REV
WH
Total
Question word Relative pronoun Personal pronoun that this Full NP Adverb VP Clause Gerund
2 − − − − 6 − − − −
− 8 4 44 3 5 1 − − −
− − − − − 7 − 6 11 1
2 8 4 44 3 18 1 6 11 1
Total
8
65
25
98
stressed (and some further minor changes are made in some cases). Compare (9b) and (10b):
(9) a. Mr. Zuckerman: What I think you have to appreciate about this program is that Pat does set the standard for CIVILITY. [5/24/02] b. That Pat does set the standard for civility is what I think you have to appreciate about this program.
(10) a. Mr. Blankley: It’s got to be standardized, and THAT’S what the President’s proposal will do. [10/26/01] b. ??It’s got to be standardized and what the President’s proposal will do is that. The actual pattern of results found in the data between reverse wh-clefts and canonical wh-clefts, then, could be attributed to a syntactic constraint that short constituents should precede potentially long constituents. However, wh-clefts with relatively short clefted constituents are grammatical and even occur in the data, as shown in (11), so a short-before-long syntactic constraint does not account for the language system or even the data. (11) Mr. Zuckerman: So let me just say, what they resent more than anything else is the success of AMERICA. Furthermore, the reverse wh-clefts with cataphoric clefted constituents in the data can easily be flipped, even though the final clefted constituent would be short. Compare (12a) and (12b): . Note that this example is also fine if the clefted constituent is modified with just or exactly. (We thank Maite Taboada for this observation.) We suggest that such focus particles contribute to the interpretation of the clefted constituent as a stressed focus, and that this explains the improvement.
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(12) a. Mr. McLaughlin: THIS is what he is talking about. He’s talking about bringing homeland security ABROAD. [5/24/02] b. What he’s talking about is THIS. He’s talking about bringing homeland security abroad. In the following subsection we will examine the relational givenness status of the different parts of each type of cleft exhibited in the corpus data and relate these to the referential givenness status, and in the remainder of the chapter will argue that relational information structure explains several aspects of the distribution of the three types of clefts. Specifically we will argue that wh-clefts are exclusively topic–comment structures, whereas reverse wh-clefts and it-clefts can be either topic–comment or comment–topic structures.
3.3 Relational givenness Table 6 presents the results of the relational givenness coding of the data in the corpus. Recall that lower case indicates discourse old information and capital letters indicate discourse new information. Cataphoric elements were classified as discourse new. Discourse-new final topics don’t occur in the data. This is predicted by the interaction of the two principles formulated in Gundel (1988): the Given Before New Principle (“State what is given before what is new in relation to it”), and the First Things First Principle (“Provide the most important information first”). The Given Before New Principle implies that topics should precede comments, all things being equal, and the First Things First Principle implies that new topics and foci should come first
Table 6. Relational givenness structure IT
REV
WH
Total
tc tC Tc TC ct Ct all C tag
1 1 − − 1 2 3 −
27 16 1 − 10 1 − 10
− 23 − 1 − − 1 −
28 40 1 1 11 3 4 10
Total
8
65
25
98
. We ignore all-comment clefts here as we don’t have enough examples in our data to draw firm conclusions. We would predict that wh-clefts can’t be all-comment (which goes against our first coding of one example as discussed below) but that it-clefts and reverse wh-clefts can be allcomment. We find evidence in our data only for the possiblity of all-comment interpretations of it-clefts, not reverse wh-clefts.
It-clefts, wh-clefts and reverse wh-clefts in English
since both are crucially important to how the message is understood. Thus, a new topic before a comment (TC) follows both constraints and should thus be possible, or maximally optimal. Furthermore, tC and Ct (where the topic is activated or ‘given’) each follow one constraint and thus are predicted to be possible, or relatively optimal. However, CT violates both constraints and is thus predicted to be impossible, or non-optimal. We see the prediction followed in our data, that final topics are always discourse old, thus supporting Gundel’s hypothesis concerning the interaction between the two principles. In our data, it-clefts exhibit the most variation. We illustrate the three major types with a Ct, a tc and an all-C it-cleft in (13)–(15). In (13), primary stress falls on ACLU. The clefted constituent was coded as ‘familiar’ and the cleft clause was coded as ‘inferrable from a recently activated proposition’. The topic is more strongly activated than the comment. The discussion was about United States authorities holding a terrorist suspect for five weeks without legal representation and what type of public reception this action would incur. (13) Ms. Clift: And it’s not only the ACLU that’s going to be at the barricades on this one, but conservative Republicans who don’t want the government taking their guns are not going to like the way this case is handled, either. [6/14/02] In (14), primary stress falls on the cleft clause. In this case, immediate discussion was about China’s forcing down an American military plane and detaining the people on board. It had been suggested several turns previously that the United States was behaving in a Cold War fashion by flying such reconnaissance missions in the first place, and Pat Buchanan was objecting to this statement. We coded the clefted constituent as ‘activated’ and the cleft clause as ‘recently activated’. Again the topic is more strongly activated than the comment. (14) Mr. Buchanan: It is the Communist Chinese who are behaving as a Cold War POWER right now. [4/6/01] We coded (15) as an ‘all-comment’ it-cleft because both parts of the cleft were familiar but discourse new. Ms. Clift was talking to Pat Buchanan and reminding him of President Nixon’s actions in normalizing relations with China. If there is a topic expressed in this utterance, it is Pat Buchanan himself, the referent of your. (15) Ms. Clift: Well, I think it was your PRESIDENT, your past EMPLOYER, who opened the door for us to China. [4/6/01] Turning to reverse wh-clefts, we classified 44 (80%) of them as topic–comment clefts, as opposed to 11 (20%) as comment–topic reverse wh-clefts. This pattern is similar to the findings of Hedberg (1988) who also found more topic–comment reverse wh-clefts (66% as opposed to 34%). Both findings verify the claim made in Heycock and Kroch 2002 that in reverse wh-clefts, the clefted constituent typically expresses the topic and
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the cleft clause the focus, whereas in canonical wh-clefts, the clefted constituent necessarily expresses the focus. Topic–comment as opposed to comment–topic reverse wh-clefts were illustrated above in (6) and (10). In (6), both parts of the reverse wh-cleft are activated, but we perceived primary stress to fall on the cleft clause, so we coded it as a topic–comment reverse wh-cleft. In (10), we classified the clefted constituent as ‘activated’ since it referred to the state-of-affairs introduced by the immediately preceding clause, and we classified the cleft clause as ‘inferrable from an activated proposition’ since the president’s proposal to privatize the airline security system had been discussed, and it can be inferred that this proposal will do something. In this case primary stress fell on the clefted constituent even though it was more strongly activated than the cleft clause. We therefore classified this as a ct cleft. Furthermore, in (12), the clefted constituent is cataphoric and its referent is thus new to the discourse, while the cleft clause is inferrable from the speech situation in which Sam Nunn talking was just played on videotape. Primary stress falls on the clefted constituent, which is less activated than the cleft clause, and we classified this example as Ct. There were five examples of reverse wh-clefts with informative relative clauses. One example is shown in (16): (16) Mr. Blankley: … I agree it’s going to be a fight, because we heard Senator Daschle say another silly statement, he’d rather invest in Social Security than Nasdaq. Over any relevant period of time, that’s idiocy, because the Nasdaq’s gone up in the past, it’ll go up in the future. He’s just trying to key into the news cycle, which is what the Democrats are going to try to do while the markets aren’t doing well. Over any long period of time, the stock market goes up well, over the history of the country, and that’s why privatization makes SENSE. [5/4/01] Here the discussion was about privatizing Social Security, and Mr. Blankley was voicing for the first time his opinion that privatization makes sense for the reason that he articulates. The possibility of a cleft presupposition being informative was first introduced in Prince (1978) for it-clefts. Her most famous example is shown in (17): (17) ## It was just about 50 years ago that Henry Ford gave us the weekend. On September 25, 1926, in a somewhat shocking move for that time, he decided to establish a 40-hour work week, giving his employees two days off instead of one. [Philadelphia Bulletin, 1/3/76, p. 3L] The double crosshatch indicates that the example occurred at the beginning of the article. She concludes that the presupposition ‘that Henry Ford gave us the weekend (at some time)’ is presented as new information to (most) readers, although a known fact
It-clefts, wh-clefts and reverse wh-clefts in English
historically. A similar explanation can be inferred from Mr. Blankley’s reverse wh-cleft in (16): he is trying to establish that his opinion has a basis in fact, which is why he uses a cleft to express this presupposition. Prince denies the possibility of performing this informative function to wh-cleft presuppositions, concluding instead that wh-clefts mark the information as “assumed/assumable to be in the hearer’s consciousness, or given” [p. 904]. Turning now to wh-clefts in our data, all but two of the wh-cleft examples were classified as having a ‘discourse-old’ cleft clause, in accordance with Prince’s (1978) conclusion about wh-cleft presuppositions being ‘given’. (Note that the labels in Table 6 specify the linear order of the two parts of the different kinds of clefts, so that it is the cleft clause whose status is reported first in the case of wh-clefts as opposed to the other two kinds of cleft.) All of the wh-clefts had discourse-new final comments. A typical example is shown in (18): (18) Mr. McLaughlin: I think what he should be congratulated for is, under those circumstances, it was an unerring PITCH. [11/3/01]. Here we classified the cleft clause as ‘inferrable from an activated proposition’ since the participants were all approving of President Bush’s throwing out the first pitch in a World Series baseball game soon after the terrorist attack on 9/11. We classified the clefted constituent as ‘familiar’. The topic here is more activated than the comment. There were quite a few cases of informative wh-clefted constituents as well, as in (19), where ‘political coverage for officials’ is completely new to the participants and the cleft clause had been recently activated. (19) Ms. Clift: What these warnings have achieved is political coverage for OFFICIALS. [11/3/01] There was one example, shown in (20), in which we coded the cleft clause as familiar but not activated: (20) Mr. Zuckerman: What I think you have to appreciate about this program is that Pat does set the standard for CIVILITY. [5/24/02] Here the proposition ‘that you have to appreciate something about this program’ had not yet come up during the discussion. It is interesting to speculate as to whether the clausal content here should perhaps rather be classified as ‘inferrable from the discourse situation’—and thus discourse old and more-or-less classifiable as ‘in the hearer’s consciousness’ as Prince’s (1978) constraint on wh-cleft clauses would predict—or as ‘familiar’ and thus ‘discourse new’ as we coded it. We suggest that the content of the cleft clause is indeed discourse new but is a relevant new topic, and that it is this relational as opposed to referential givenness that licenses use of the wh-cleft here. There was also one case of a wh-cleft that we classified as ‘all-comment’ since both parts of the cleft were informative. This example is shown in (21):
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(21) Mr. McLaughlin: All right, let me ask you this question. You know that the president, President Bush, is preparing his own peace package proposal. Do you know anything about the elements of that? Ms. Clift: Well, what’s been leaked to the New York Times Mr. McLaughlin: What do you know? Ms. Clift: —is that he will favor—he favors a Palestinian STATE. [10/19/01], Here, it is clearly referentially new information that something was leaked to the New York Times as well as new information that President Bush favors a Palestinian state, so we classified it as all comment. If topics need not be familiar (as suggested, but not advocated, in Gundel 1985), we can classify this example as a topic–comment cleft like the other 24 examples. As a relevant new topic, we can then perhaps conclude that it fits the requirement that the presupposition of a wh-cleft be appropriately in the hearer’s consciousness although not necessarily in fact already in that consciousness. In other words the hearer can anticipate that this is an appropriate way to continue the discourse. We can thus agree with Prince (1978) that the cleft clause in an it-cleft does not need to meet the condition on wh-cleft clauses, and extend this conclusion to reverse wh-clefts. We thus agree with Prince (1978) that wh-cleft clauses but not it-cleft clauses must express given information, but disagree with her on which sense of givenness such clauses must conform to. We claim that wh-cleft clauses are always relationally given, i.e. topics; although we dispute that they need to be referentially given, i.e. activated, or ‘Chafe-given’ (Prince 1985). Thus, we believe that the distinction between referential and relational givenness as articulated in Gundel and Fretheim (2004), as well as previous works by Gundel, is crucial to the analysis of clefts. In the following section, we further argue that wh-clefts are always topic–comment structures, unlike it-clefts and reverse wh-clefts which can be either topic–comment or comment–topic (or all comment). We use examples from both the current McLaughlin corpus and the previous one, as well as other attested and constructed examples.
4. Evidence for the relational information structure of clefts In this section we present a variety of arguments in favor of our hypothesis concerning the relational information structure of cleft sentences. To review, this hypothesis is that cleft sentences in English typically split the expression of a proposition into two parts, one part representing the topic and one part representing the comment of the utterance. The initial cleft clause in a wh-cleft always presents the topic of the utterance, with the following clefted constituent always presenting the comment; whereas it-clefts and reverse wh-clefts allow either mapping of cleft parts onto the two information structure categories. We start with three arguments based on examples from our corpus studies, follow these with two new arguments based on examples from outside the corpora and
It-clefts, wh-clefts and reverse wh-clefts in English
on constructed examples, and then close with an argument from the literature that relies on linguistic intuitions associated with constructed examples.
4.1 Personal pronoun clefted constituents There were four examples of reverse wh-clefts in the data with personal pronouns as subjects. We analyzed all of these as topic–comment reverse wh-clefts. The clearest example, shown in (22), is one with an unstressed pronominal it as subject. It is clear that the main sentence stress falls at the end of the cleft clause in this example since the clefted constituent is completely unstressed. It is also clear that the utterance is ‘about’ countries expelling their own citizens. Furthermore, the presupposition of the cleft clause, that the U.S. did something to their Japanese citizens during World War II is familiar to the listeners but has not been mentioned in the discourse. It thus can function easier as a comment than a topic. (22) Mr. Barone: … So I think that would be okay. I don’t think a country should go expelling its own citizens … Mr. Blankley: It is repugnant. However, it may be the wave of the future—not just in Israel, but perhaps in Europe, as well. As long as the West fears Islamist terrorism, there will be advocates for removing every possible suspect, the innocent along with the guilty. Whether it will ever become government policy, I don’t know, but it will be argued more and more by people who are more and more fearful. Ms. Clift: It’s what we did to the JAPANESE. [5/24/02] Another example of a reverse wh-cleft with an unstressed pronominal subject was reported in Hedberg (1988) and is shown in (23). (23) Mr. McLaughlin: When will Dole exit the presidential race? Mr. Kondracke: … I said he was going to be an inactive candidate, but still in the race, and not declaring that it’s over, --not concede to George Bush— … Mr. Germond: We’re saying—you weren’t in the real world in those days, John, but it was what Ed MUSKIE did in 1972. He suspended his campaign; remained a candidate for awhile. [McLaughlin Group, 3/11/88] Here again primary sentence stress appears on the cleft clause, the utterance is most clearly ‘about’ candidates remaining in the race with an inactive campaign, and the presupposition that Ed Muskie did something in 1972 is familiar but discourse new. Hedberg (1988) also reports an example of a purportedly topic–comment reverse wh-cleft with a stressed personal pronoun in subject position. This example, shown in (24), was not videotaped, so the stress pattern was assigned purely on the basis of the author’s intuition:
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(24)
Mr. McLaughlin: Number two, is it not true that Nancy Reagan is always right? This is not a bash Reagan session. I just want to know whether or not her instincts are invariably correct? I ask you. Mr. Kondracke: No, they’re not. I mean she was the one who wanted to keep Reagan from appearing anywhere in PUBLIC. That was— Mr. McLaughlin: But she also has the concern about the man’s health. She— he lived through an assassination attempt, remember that. [McLaughlin Group, 3/6/87]
This example is especially interesting because the analysis of it as having a topic–comment structure was disputed in Lambrecht (2001: 481–2). Lambrecht argues that the clefted constituent in any kind of cleft always expresses the focus. He discusses example (24) because it ‘raises analytical problems.’ He concedes that Mr. Kondracke’s reply is ‘clearly ABOUT Nancy Reagan in the sense that it is meant to answer [Mr. McLaughlin’s] request for information about the First Lady’ and that the aboutness relation can’t be construed as going the other way around. However, Lambrecht argues against the topic–comment analysis of (24) for two reasons. First, he disputes the import of the prosodic analysis that assigns secondary stress to the subject she and primary stress to public at the end of the cleft clause. Citing Ladd (1996), he suggests that the relative prominence of the latter accent may be due to the fact that the final accent in sentences with more than one accent tends to be the strongest. Secondly, and for him more importantly, he says, “if the speaker had intended for the [reverse wh-cleft] proposition to be interpreted as a comment about Nancy Reagan, there would have been no reason not to use the canonical version she wanted to keep Reagan from appearing anywhere in PUBLIC. In this version, the predicate phrase would necessarily be construed as attributing a hitherto unknown property to the subject referent.” With regard to this second criticism, we would reply that Lambrecht has a different definition of topic and focus (comment) from us. For him, topic is the complement of ‘predicate focus’ and is associated apparently exclusively with the subject of a simple NP + VP clausal structure. He analyzes clefts as encoding ‘argument focus’ structures, where narrow focus falls on a single argument of a proposition. He terms the complement of the argument focus a ‘presupposition’ and doesn’t associate the function of ‘topic’ per se with presuppositions, although presuppositions can be ‘topic-presupposed’. For us, however, the notion of topic is broader. Either a presupposition or the complement of a presupposition can be a topic. Most importantly, contrary to Lambrecht’s assumption that the complement of a topic expresses a ‘hitherto unknown property’, the reason a cleft is chosen in this example is precisely that the property attributed to the topic, Nancy Reagan, is not new, but rather is presupposed—in this case, hearer old but discourse new (Prince 1992). With regard to the first criticism, we dispute Lambrecht’s conclusion. A final accent in a sentence with more than one accent is not necessarily the strongest one. We perceive the final accent in comment–topic reverse wh-clefts as weaker than the initial
It-clefts, wh-clefts and reverse wh-clefts in English
accent on the clefted constituent, and this relative weakness may even have a basis in acoustic fact. Topic–comment reverse wh-clefts can be contrasted with this case. The difference can be seen in pitch tracks derived from the utterance of (25), which we analyze as a topic–comment reverse wh-cleft, compared to the utterance of (26), which we analyze as comment–topic reverse wh-cleft. (25) Mr. McLaughlin: Exit: On a probability scale of zero to 10, zero meaning zero probability, 10 meaning metaphysical certitude, rank the probability that Osama bin Laden will go nuclear. That includes two presumptions: One, that he has the bomb, and two, that he will use the bomb. Zero to 10. Mr. Lowry: I think it’s a two. It’s very likely that we’ll kill him before he gets his hands on anything. Mr. McLaughlin: But you give it a two, not a one. Mr. Lowry: You can’t totally rule it out. And a two is still a big threat, and we have to take the precautions. Mr. McLaughlin: That’s what I’m SAYING. [11/9/01] (26) Mr. McLaughlin: All right. I want to go back to Nunn because his testimony on March the 7th was unexcelled. Nunn—no question about it—and Lugar are the most authoritative figures in this area. Listen to Nunn. Small point. SamNunn (co-chairman and CEO, Nuclear Threat Initiative): (From videotape.) In protecting America from nuclear terrorism, an ounce of prevention is worth a megaton of consequence management. Mr. McLaughlin: THIS is what he’s talking about. He’s talking about bringing homeland security abroad. That’s where it has to go. And it has to go to Russia because Russia is the terrorist’s gold mine . . . [5/24/02] The pitch track of (25) is shown in Figure 1 and the pitch track of (26) is shown in Figure 2. It can be seen that the final pitch accent in Figure 1 on the cleft clause is higher
Figure 1. That’s what I’m SAYING L* H*L−L%
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Figure 2. THIS is what he’s talking about H* !H* !H* L−L%
than the pitch accent on the pitch accent on the subject demonstrative pronoun, whereas the opposite pattern appears in Figure 2. This difference in relative height correlates with the perceived difference in prominence, although it is perfectly possible for a final accent which is lower than an initial accent to be perceived as the most prominent. We thus dispute Lambrecht’s claim that the final pitch accent in a reverse wh-cleft utterance is always perceived as more prominent than an earlier one, and this leaves us free to posit a distinction between topic–comment and comment–topic reverse wh-clefts.
4.2 Relative clause reverse wh-clefts The relative pronoun (or deleted NP in older theories) has sometimes been argued to be the topic of a relative clause, for example by Kuno (1972), Gundel (1974), and Bresnan and Mchombo (1987). Gundel (1974) argues that relative clause extraction can take place ‘asymmetrically’ out of conjunction structures such as that in (24a) for the same reason that the topicalization and left dislocation can take place asymmetrically out of conjunction structures in (24b) and (24c): (27) a. The guitar which Jim saved $50 and bought was a Yamaha. b. This guitar I’ve sung folksongs and accompanied myself on all my life. c. This guitar, I’ve sung folksongs and accompanied myself on it all my life. In all three cases ‘the guitar’ is the topic of both conjuncts, thus motivating an exception to the ‘Coordinate Structure Constraint’ of Ross (1967). Since relative pronouns can occur as clefted constituents in reverse wh-clefts, it is consistent with the above arguments to conclude that such reverse wh-clefts are topic– comment clefts. We had eight in the McLaughlin Group data, of which two are shown in (28) and (29).
. This example comes from Ross (1967).
It-clefts, wh-clefts and reverse wh-clefts in English
(28) Ms. Clift: So NASA does have the difficulty of balancing the incredible cost of this, which is why I would TAKE Mr. Tito’s check. Good idea. [5/4/01] (29) Mr. O’Donnell: He make almost no mistakes, and probably no mistakes since September 11th, which is when the REAL campaign, both quiet and active, was really going on. [11/10/01] In both (28) and (29) the relative clause is intuitively ‘about’ the antecedent of the relative pronoun. And in (29), which has a noun phrase as antecedent, the ‘topic tests’ of Gundel (1974) verify that the period of time since September 11th is the topic of the relative clause. (The discourse is about the period of time during which the electoral race for mayor of New York was most relevant.) For example, the speaker could have stopped after his first clause in (29), and then continued as in (30a). He also could have stopped after his first clause, and then answered another participant’s question in (30bi) with (30bii). (30) a. As for the period of time since September 11th, that is when the real campaign, both quiet and active, was really going on. b. i. What about the period of time since September 11th? ii. That is when the real campaign, both quiet and active, was really going on. The main sentence (clause) accent appears on the cleft clause in both (28) and (29), which is what we would expect if the cleft clause is functioning as the comment in these examples.
4.3 Right-dislocated clefted constituents Left- and right-dislocated constituents are widely assumed to function as topics of the utterances they appear in (Gundel 1974, 1985, 1988, Lambrecht 1994, inter alia). In our data, there is one case of an apparent right-dislocated clefted constituent in a reverse wh-cleft, shown in (31). (31) Mr. Zuckerman: You’ve got to advance the argument. That’s why you’ve got to give me a chance to talk. So let me just say, what they resent more than anything else is the success of America. We are the success Mr. Buchanan: That’s not why they’re KILLING us, because we succeeded. [5/24/02] Gundel (1985) reports that right-dislocated constituents express activated topics, and Lambrecht (1994) reports that right-dislocated constituents (‘antitopics’ in his terms) must be accessible in the discourse context and unaccented. In (31) the ‘because’ clause is coreferential with the subject demonstrative pronoun and is at least indirectly activated. It is not unaccented, however, but the accent is a secondary one.
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Another example, from the earlier corpus, is shown in (32): (32) Mr. Germond: The market reacted this week to— Mr. Novak: Oh, it went up and it went down. Mr. Germond: That’s what the market DOES, it goes up, it goes down. [11/20/87] However, there were several examples of reverse wh-clefts which on the surface look like right-dislocation constructions, but upon examination of the context prove not to be. One such example is shown in (33). (33) Mr. McLaughlin: Did Hastert actually hear that it was weapons-grade anthrax? Mr Blankley: That’s what I’m TOLD, that they got it from the SENATE side. Mr. McLaughlin: Do you know whom he got it from? Mr. Blankley: I don’t know who it was, but I have to — Mr. McLaughlin: What senator was putting out that story? [10/20/01] Here, the right-attached clause is not coreferential with any proposition actually activated in the context and is not inferrable from any proposition in the context. It thus does not have the characteristics of a right-dislocated constituent, and does not function as a topic. Instead it functions as a parenthetical second comment, further elaborating on the activated proposition denoted by the demonstrative pronoun subject of the reverse wh-cleft. The utterance as a whole seems to be a syntactic blend composed of a reverse wh-cleft expressing the proposition ‘I’m told that Hastert actually heard it was weapons-grade anthrax’ and a wh-cleft expressing the proposition ‘I’m told that they got it from the Senate side.’ It is difficult to come to any conclusion about the topic–comment organization of a reverse wh-cleft like this since the cleft clause seems to be simultaneously acting like
Figure 3. That’s what I’m TOLD, that they got it from the SENATE side. H* L+H* L*L−L% L+H* L−L%
It-clefts, wh-clefts and reverse wh-clefts in English
a comment relative to the previously established proposition and the topic relative to the information in the right-attached tag. A pitch track for (33) is shown in Figure 3. The demonstrative subject and the word Senate in the tag are the words with the highest pitch, the latter perhaps in part because it is contrastive (‘Senate’ as opposed to ‘House’). The word I’m is also contrastive, but auditorily told seems to be the word with primary stress. The more clear right-dislocation constructions in (31) and (32), however, do support the conclusion that the initial clefted constituent, which is coreferential with the right-attached clause and is activated in the discourse context, is the topic of these reverse wh-clefts.
4.4 Also clefts It-clefts have long been said to be associated with a uniqueness or exhaustiveness condition on the clefted constituent, and this condition restricts the focus particles that can modify them. Thus, Horn (1969) makes the claim that ‘clefting, like only, specifies uniqueness, while even and also presuppose non-uniqueness and thus cannot be clefted. He gives the examples in (34). (34) a. It’s only Muriel who voted for Hubert. b. *It’s also Muriel who voted for Hubert. c. *It’s even Muriel who voted for Hubert. In arguing that an it-clefted constituent constitutes an ‘identificational focus’, É. Kiss (1998) reiterates this claim, giving the judgments shown in (35): (35) a. ?It was also John that Mary invited to her birthday party. b. *It was even John that Mary invited to her birthday party. She specifies (35a) with a question mark instead of an asterisk because she identifies a context in which (35a) could be used appropriately. This context is shown in (36): (36) A: Bill danced with Mary. B: No, it was Sam that danced with Mary. C: It was also John that danced with her. É. Kiss says, “B identifies Sam as the member of the set present at the party who danced with Mary, excluding the rest of the men. C adds John to the man identified by B, excluding everybody but Sam and John.” She says that “a cleft also-phrase appears to be acceptable precisely in a context where it can be understood to identify a member of a relevant set in addition to one or more members identified previously as such for which the predicate holds, with the rest of the set still excluded.” Note that the cleft in (36C) is a comment–topic cleft. The claims of Horn and É. Kiss that also-clefts are impossible except in É. Kiss’s special context are contradicted by examples of also-clefts, such as those in (37) and (38):
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(37) It was the President, in a rare departure from the diplomacy of caution, who initiated the successful Panama invasion. It was also Bush who came up with the ideas of having an early, informal Malta summit with Gorbachev and a second round of troop cuts in Europe after the fall of the Berlin wall. But it was Baker who subtly turned the Malta summit from the informal, ‘putting our fee up’ chat initially envisaged by the President into a platform for the United States to demonstrate through a 16-point initiative that it was prepared to help Gorbachev. [M. Dowd and T. L. Friedman, ‘The Fabulous Bush and Baker Boys, The New York Times Magazine, 5/6/90, p. 64]. (38) Rough location work is nothing new for Sheen. When he was young, the family travelled to location with his father, actor Martin Sheen. They spent 16 months in the Philippines. … Ten years later, Charlie Sheen found himself back in the Philippines … as the star of … Platoon. … The terrain and environmental elements … are very similar to Vietnam, including 120 degree heat by 8 a.m., blood-thirsty bugs and an impenetrable jungle. … It was also location work that gave Sheen his first acting break. He was nine and his dad was filming The Execution of Private Slovik. … [Jane Ammerson, ‘Intensity fuels Charlie Sheen’s On-screen Presence’, Northwest Airlines Magazine, July 1990, p. 69] It-clefts such as these were analyzed in Hedberg (1990) as topic–comment clefts since it clear that the main sentence stress would fall on the cleft clause (on acting) if they were spoken aloud, and additional information ‘about’ the activated clefted constituent is added by the cleft clause. The scope of also seems to be wider than just the clefted constituent in these examples, e.g. applying to it was Bush instead of just Bush in (37). In support of this hypothesis, the position of also can be changed to sentence-initial position with a felicitous result. The it-cleft in (38) can be paraphrased by a reverse wh-cleft as shown in (39a), but not by a wh-cleft without awkwardness, as shown in (39b). This awkwardness seems to be the same as the awkwardness associated with a wh-cleft with a distal demonstrative clefted constituent. In both (39a) and (39b), primary stress must be placed on acting. (39) a. Location work was also what gave Sheen his first ACTING break. b. ??What gave Sheen his first ACTING break was also location work. If primary stress is placed on the clefted constituent, an it-cleft or reverse wh-cleft can only be used in É Kiss’s special context, and in the wh-cleft ungrammaticality results, or at least a semantic clash between the exhaustivity contributed by the cleft construction and the non-exhaustivity contributed by the additive particle also: (40) a.
?
It was also LOCATION work that gave Sheen his first acting break.
It-clefts, wh-clefts and reverse wh-clefts in English
b. ?LOCATION work was also what gave Sheen his first acting break. c. *What gave Sheen his first acting break was also LOCATION work. Thus, we can conclude that clefted constituents can be modified by also only if the clefted constituent represents the topic of the utterance, and that it-clefts and reverse wh-clefts can readily be used in this way but wh-clefts are more resistant.
4.5 Vice-versa clefts It-clefts and reverse wh-clefts but not wh-clefts can also be used in a type of cleft first noticed in Ball and Prince 1978, which they termed ‘vice-versa clefts’. Two examples of vice-versa it-clefts from Hedberg 1990 are shown in (41) and (42): (41) Anna: So, what’s the case you’re working on? Robert: Nothing I need bother you with now. It’s you who called ME, remember? [General Hospital, ABC, 6/21/89] (42) The photon gives up part of its energy to the electron, and the transaction is observed as a slight decrease in the frequency (or increase in the wavelength) of the radiation. Inverse Compton scattering is observed when a photon encounters a high-energy electron. Then it is the electron that loses energy to the photon. [Scientific American, 8/77: 38, Borkin 1984] Ball and Prince point out that such it-clefts constitute exceptions to the requirement that the cleft clause be a presupposition. Instead these seem to be more like double focus clefts, where the presupposition is, respectively, ‘someone called someone’ and ‘something loses energy to something’. Ball and Prince point out that the presupposition of a wh-cleft cannot be suspended in this way: See for example, (43): (43) Anna: So, what’s the case you’re working on? Robert: Nothing I need bother you with now. #The one who called me is you. No matter what stress pattern is placed on the wh-cleft, a vice-versa reading is impossible. However, vice-versa reverse wh-clefts do exist, as shown in (44) and (45):
. Topic–comment it-clefted constituents and reverse wh-clefted constituents can also be modified by even with primary stress on the cleft clause (and an appropriate context). Here, the contrast with wh-clefts is even more pronounced: (i) It was even location work that gave Sheen his first ACTING break. (ii) Location work was even what gave Sheen his first ACTING break. (iii) *What gave Sheen his first ACTING break was even location work.
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(44) “She was such a wonderful person,” the woman continued. “I know I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for your mother, and everything she did for me. I just can’t believe she’s gone. … A great lady? A wonderful person? Who on earth was this woman talking about? Bonnie looked toward Rod, who was staring at the woman with bemused detachment. Lauren stood up, drew the woman into a close embrace. “I’m the one who should be comforting you,” the woman told her, pulling back, wiping stubborn tears from her eyes. “I’ll be all right,” Lauren assured her. [Joy Fielding, Don’t Cry Now, p. 84, Random House Canada, 1995] (45) “ … And face it, it doesn’t look as if my life will be normal any time soon.” “Doesn’t look like it,” he agreed. “What’s your point?” “My point is that unless you have a taste for the bizarre situation I’m not sure you want to continue this walk with me.” ‘Well,” he drawled “I guess we’re even now.” “Oh, how so?” “This time you’re the one who’s ambushed me.” The phrase vividly called up a picture of him in the doorway of his bedroom; Laura could practically hear her own moans. “I didn’t intend to ambush you,” she said, pressing her lips together. “I just want you to know that there’s no obligation to get to know me well enough to tell me dirty jokes. [Antoinette Stockenberg, A Month At the Shore, p. 222, St. Martin’s Press, 2003.] That primary stress falls on the cleft clause in such examples can be seen by the fact that the author italicized the focus in the cleft clause in (45). We suggest that vice versa itclefts and reverse wh-clefts are actually topic–comment clefts with a contrastive topic expressed in the clefted constituent, which is therefore highly stressed and a contrastive focus expressed in the cleft clause, which therefore receives the primary sentence stress. Vice-versa wh-clefts are not possible because the cleft clause is necessarily the topic in that construction.
4.6 Anti-reconstruction effects A final argument distinguishing it-clefts and reverse wh-clefts from wh-clefts derives from Heycock and Kroch (2002). They applied the argument to wh-clefts and reverse wh-clefts; we extend the argument to it-clefts. First of all, note that in simple sentences such as those in (46), a full noun phrase (R-expression) cannot be co-referential with a c-commanding pronoun. This is an illustration of Condition C of the Binding Theory of Chomsky (1981).
(46) a. b. c. d.
It-clefts, wh-clefts and reverse wh-clefts in English
He*i/j was proud of Johni. He*i/j will scold Johni’s children. He*i/j really missed Johni’s dog. He*i/j had always claimed that Johni was innocent.
Heycock and Kroch note that wh-clefts exhibit ‘reconstruction’ effects with respect to Condition C. That is, while the full noun phrase is not c-commanded by the pronoun in the wh-clefts on the surface in (47), it still cannot be interpreted as coreferential with it. The pronoun thus behaves as though it were ‘reconstructed’ into the position it would inhabit in the unclefted sentence. (47) a. b. c. d.
What he*i/j was was proud of Johni. What he*i/j will never do is scold Johni’s children. What he*i/j really missed was Johni’s dog. What he*i/j had always claimed was that Johni was innocent.
This phenomenon is an instance of ‘connectivity’ effects that have been observed for whclefts sentences as well as other kinds of clefts and identificational sentences ever since Higgins (1979) (for discussion and further examples, see Heycock and Kroch 2002). What Heycock and Kroch (2002) point out, however, is that the connectivity effects with respect to condition C in reverse wh-clefts differ from those in wh-clefts. In (48c) and (48d), the pronoun can be coreferential with the full noun phrase. (48) a. b . c. d.
Proud of Johni was what he*i/j was. Scold Johni’s children is what he*i/j will never do. Johni’s dog was what hei/j really missed. That Johni was innocent was what hei/j had always claimed.
In (48c,d), the full noun phrase is syntactically an accessible antecedent for the pronoun in the surface structure, and reconstruction does not appear to have taken place. Heycock and Kroch point out that the pattern of results in (48) is duplicated by the pattern of results in the verb-complement preposed constructions shown in (49). It is possible to construe the pronouns in (49c,d) and not (49a,b) as coreferential with the preceding full noun phrases. (49) a. b. c. d.
Proud of Johni, he*i/j was. Scold Johni’s children he*i/j never will. Johni’s dog, hei/j really missed. That Johni was innocent, hei/j had always claimed.
. Heycock and Kroch describe the antireconstruction effects as follows: “R-expressions buried inside other referential expressions or inside CPs can be coreferential with a pronoun c-commanding the ‘gap’.” (p. 159). (48a) and (48b) don’t meet this description, as the R expression is inside an AP or a VP in these examples.
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Heycock and Kroch claim that information structure can explain these results. In the preposing and reverse wh-cleft examples, the initial constituent can function as the topic of the utterance, but in the wh-cleft the clefted constituent is necessarily the focus. Heycock and Kroch point out that preposed arguments can function as preposed topics (cf. the ‘topicalization’ of Prince 1986 and the ‘topic topicalization’ of Gundel 1974) or as preposed foci (cf. the ‘focus preposing’ of Prince 1986 and the ‘focus topicalization’ of Gundel 1974). They claim that the anti-reconstruction effects arise only when the preposed constituent can be construed as the topic. This argument is persuasive and has a functional basis in that it is reasonable to assume that a pronoun in a focus expression can have as its antecedent a full noun phrase in the associated topic expressions. Topics by definition constitute the element about which the focus serves as the pragmatic predication, and thus are ‘prior’ to it in relational information structure and should be able to serve as antecedents. Conversely, we wouldn’t expect to find pronouns in the topic depending for their reference on full noun phrases in the focus. Since we are exploring the information structure of it-clefts as well as wh-clefts and reverse wh-clefts in this chapter, it is important for us to point out that the pattern of results found by Heycock and Kroch in reverse wh-clefts is also found in it-clefts. Here, however, the inability of the (a, b) examples to occur is independently explained by the inability of adjective phrases and verb phrases to function as it-clefted constituents in most dialects of English (see Delin 1989 and Hedberg 1990 for discussion). But if we examine the counterparts of (48c, d) and (49c, d) we see that once again they allow coreference, i.e. exhibit anti-reconstruction effects. (50) a. *It was proud of Johni that hei/j was. b. *It was scold Johni’s children that hei/j never will. c. It was Johni’s dog that hei/j really missed. d. It was (the fact) that Johni was innocent that he i/j had always claimed. We can conclude, then, that based on anti-reconstruction effects the clefted constituent in reverse wh-clefts and it-clefts but not wh-clefts can function as the topic of the utterance. As mentioned above, Heycock and Kroch (2002) also conclude that the clefted constituent in most reverse wh-clefts functions as the topic. We support this conclusion in our corpus study.
5. Conclusion In this chapter we have argued that wh-clefts are associated with a single relational givenness structure—topic–comment, while reverse wh-clefts and it-clefts are associated with two relational givenness structures—topic–comment or comment–topic (or sometimes, all-comment). We first examined a corpus of naturally occurring examples
It-clefts, wh-clefts and reverse wh-clefts in English
of all three types of clefts and analysed the referential and relational givenness status of the two major parts, finding that these examples support our hypothesis. We use prosody as the primary cue to relational givenness structure, claiming that primary stress falls on the relationally new comment, even though the comment may present activated (i.e. referentially given) material. We then presented six arguments in support of our proposal, drawing on data from the corpus, an earlier corpus, as well as other naturally occurring examples and constructed examples. We looked at reverse wh-clefts with personal pronominal clefted constituents, relative clause reverse-wh clefts, right-dislocated reverse wh-clefted constituents, reverse wh-clefts and it-clefted constituents modified by also or even, viceversa reverse-wh clefts and it-clefts, and at anti-reconstruction effects in reverse-whclefts and it-clefts. In all cases, we found that wh-cleft cleft clauses behave like topics but reverse wh-cleft or it-cleft cleft clauses behave either as topics or comments. We leave it up to syntacticians and semanticists to explain why wh-cleft clauses are necessarily topics while reverse wh-cleft and it-cleft clauses can be either topics or comments. Perhaps it is because the wh-cleft subject as a sentential subject is preposed into a topic position; whereas the subjects of the other two types of clefts are in a purely subject position in spec-IP, whether base-generated there or moved from spec-VP (to speak in terms of Principles and Parameters theory). Whatever the derivation, we simply claim that the two classes of clefts are different in terms of their pragmatic interpretation.
References Ball, Catherine N. and Prince, Ellen. 1978. “A note on stress and presupposition.” Linguistic In‑ quiry 8. 585. Beckman, Mary and Elam, Gayle Ayers Guidelines for ToBI Labeling. Version 3. Ohio State University. Borkin, Ann. 1984. Problems in Form and Function. Norwood, NJ: Ablex Publishing Corporation. Bresnan, Joan and Mchombo, Sam A. 1987. “Topic, pronoun, and agreement in Chichewa.” Lan guage 63: 741–82. Chomsky, Noam. 1981. Lectures on Government and Binding. Foris: Dordrecht. Delin, J. L. 1989. Cleft Constructions in Discourse. Ph.D. dissertation, University of Edinburgh. É. Kiss, Katalin. 1998. “Identificational focus versus informational focus.” Language 74. 245–73. Gundel, Jeanette K. 1974. The role of topic and comment in linguistic theory. Ph.D. dissertation, University of Texas at Austin. Re-issued 1988, in Jorge Hankamer, ed. Outstanding Dissertations in Linguistics, Garland Publishing Co. Gundel, Jeanette K. 1985. “Shared knowledge and topicality.” Journal of Pragmatics, 9: 83–107. Gundel, Jeanette K. 1988. “Universals of topic–comment structure.” In Studies in syntactic typ‑ ology, ed. By M. Hammond, E. Moravczik and J. Wirth. 209–39, Amsterdam:John Benja mins, 209–39.
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Gundel, Jeanette K. 1999b. “Topic, focus and the grammar pragmatics interface.” In Proceed‑ ings of the 23rd Annual Penn Linguistics Colloquium, ed. by J. Alexander, N. Han and M. Minnick. Penn Working Papers in Linguistics, vol. 6.1, pp. 185–200. Gundel, Jeanette K. and Fretheim, Thorstein. 2004. “Topic and focus.” In The Handbook of Prag‑ matics, ed. By Laurence R. Horn and Gregory Ward. London:Blackwell.175–96. Gundel, Jeanette K., Hedberg, Nancy, and Zacharski, Ron. 2001. “Definite descriptions and cognitive status in English: Why accommodation is unnecessary.” English Language and Lin‑ guistics 5: 273–95. Gundel, Jeanette K., Hedberg, Nancy, and Zacharski, Ron. 1993. “Cognitive status and the form of referring expressions in discourse.” Language 69: 274–307. Halliday, M. A. K. 1970. “Language structure and language function.” In New Horizons in Lin‑ guistics, ed. by John Lyons, 140–64. Harmondsworth, England: Penguin. Hedberg, Nancy. 2000. “The referential status of clefts.” Language 76: 891–920. Hedberg, Nancy. 1990. Discourse pragmatics and cleft sentences in English. Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota dissertation. Hedberg, Nancy. 1988. “The Discourse Function of Cleft Sentences in Spoken English.” Linguis‑ tic Society of America Meeting, Dec. 1988, New Orleans, Louisiana. Heycock, Caroline and Kroch, Anthony. 2002. “Topic, Focus, and Syntactic Representations.” WCCFL 21 Proceedings, ed. by L. Mikkelsen and C. Potts, pp. 141–65. Somerville, MA: Cascadilla Press. Higgins, F. Roger. 1979. The Pseudo-Cleft Construction in English. New York: Garland. Kuno, Susumo. 1972. The Structure of the Japanese Language. The MIT Press. Horn, Laurence R. 1969. “A presuppositional analysis of only and even.” Proceedings of the Chi‑ cago Linguistics Society 5. 98–108. Ladd, D. Robert. 1996. Intonational Phonology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lambrecht, Knud. 1994. Information Structure and Sentence Form: Topic, focus, and the mental representations of discourse referents. Cambridge University Press. Lambrecht, Knud. 2001. “A framework for the analysis of cleft constructions.” Linguistics 39. 463–516. Prince, Ellen F. 1978. “A comparison of wh-clefts and it-clefts in discourse.” Language 54. 883– 906. Prince, Ellen F. 1985. “Fancy syntax and shared knowledge.” Journal of Pragmatics 9.1: 65–81. Prince, Ellen F. 1986. “On the syntactic marking of presupposed open propositions.” Papers from the Parassession on Pragmatics and Grammatical Theory, ed. by A. M. Farley, P. T. Farley, and K.-E McCullough. Chicago: Chicago Lingusitic Society. 208–22. Prince, Ellen F. 1992. “The ZPG letter: Subjects, definiteness and information status.” In Dis‑ course descriptions: Diverse analyses of a fund-raising text, ed. by S. Thompson and W. Mann. Philadelphia/Amsterdam: John Benjamins. 295–325. Reinhart, Tanya. 1981. “Pragmatics and linguistics. An analysis of sentence topics.” Philosophi‑ ca 27: 53–94. Ross, John R. 1967. Constraints on Variables in Syntax. Ph.D. Dissertation, Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Vallduví, Enric and Vilkuna, Maria. 1998. “On rheme and kontrast.” In The Limits of Syntax, ed. by Culicover, Peter and Louise McNally. Syntax and Semantics 29. New York: Academic Press, 79–108.
chapter 4
Epistemic would, open propositions, and truncated clefts Gregory Ward, Jeffrey P. Kaplan, and Betty J. Birner Northwestern University/San Diego State University/ Northern Illinois University
1. Introduction* Previous work on epistemic modality has shown that epistemic would is unique among English modals in terms of its epistemic properties and information structure. For example, in Birner, Kaplan, and Ward (2001) and Ward, Birner, and Kaplan (2003), we argue that the felicitous use of the epistemic would construction, illustrated in (1), requires a salient open proposition (Prince 1986) in the context and marks the instantiation of its variable as true and exhaustive:
(1) A: Who is the current governor of Illinois? B: That would be Rod Blagojevich. OP: The current governor of Illinois is X.
Here, Speaker B’s use of epistemic would instantiates the variable of the open proposition (OP) with the focussed NP Rod Blagojevich, which the speaker marks as a true and exhaustive instantiation of the variable. Speaker B’s use of the modal in (1) is ‘epistemic’ in the sense that it conveys an assessment of the truth of the proposition being expressed; in this case, it conveys the speaker’s level of confidence in the proposition that the current governor of Illinois is Blagojevich. (Following Nuyts 2001, we take * For assistance with database construction and coding, we thank Meredith Larson, Elisa Sneed, and Kelley Wezner. We also thank Christine Brisson, Cleo Condoravdi, Mike Dickey, Bill Lachman, Meredith Larson, Dick Oehrle, Maribel Romero, Muffy Siegel, Elisa Sneed, Satoshi Tomioka, and the members of the Fall 2000 Discourse Analysis class at Northern Illinois University for helpful comments and discussion. Earlier versions of this chapter were presented at the Philadelphia Semantics Society in September 2001, and at the ESSLLI Workshop on Conditional and Unconditional Modality, in conjunction with the 15th European Summer School in Logic, Language, and Information (ESSLLI03), held at the Vienna University of Technology in August 2003. We are indebted to the members of both audiences for many useful comments. Finally, a special note of gratitude goes to Nancy Hedberg, for her comments on an earlier draft of this chapter.
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epistemic modality to mark the speaker’s estimation of “the likelihood that (some aspect of) a certain state of affairs is/has been/will be true (or false) in the context of the possible world under consideration” (2001: 21–2); see also Coates 1983.) Note that the confidence level conveyed in (1) is higher than that conveyed by other epistemic modals. Consider, for example, the use of could, might, will, and must in (2a–d), respectively, in response to a question about the identity of the current governor of Illinois:
(2) a. b. c. d.
That could be Rod Blagojevich. That might be Rod Blagojevich. That will be Rod Blagojevich. That must be Rod Blagojevich.
In previous work, we have argued that there are two distinct epistemic would constructions, depending on the interpretation of the subject NP. The subject NP of the first type, illustrated in (3), has anaphoric or deictic reference to some situationally or textually evoked entity.
(3) A: Who is Blagojevich? B: He would be the current governor of Illinois. OP: Blagojevich is X.
Here, the referent of the subject NP has been evoked in the immediately preceding context, and B’s utterance equates that referent with the current governor of Illinois. This type of epistemic would can occur in either an equative sentence, as in (3), or a predicative one, as in (4):
(4) A: What party does Blagojevich belong to? B: He would be a Democrat. OP: Blagojevich belongs to X party.
In both cases, we analyze this type of epistemic would as occurring in a simple copular sentence. The second type of epistemic would, which also requires an OP, was introduced in (1), and is repeated below for convenience:
(5) A: Who is the current governor of Illinois? B: That would be Rod Blagojevich. OP: The current governor of Illinois is X.
. The distinction we are drawing between equatives and predicatives corresponds to the identificational–predicational distinction of Hedberg 2000. The type of epistemic would construction whose subject is coreferential with the variable of an OP corresponds to the type of copular sentence that Higgins (1973) termed specificational, which Hedberg 2000 subsumes under the identificational category.
Epistemic would, open propositions, and truncated clefts
We analyze this type of epistemic would as occurring in an equative sentence whose subject (that) is coreferential with the variable in the OP. In this chapter, we focus on this second type of epistemic would construction and present a new analysis of its discourse and information structure properties. We show that this kind of epistemic would shares a number of properties with that-cleft sentences (Bolinger 1972; Jenkins 1975; Ball 1977, 1978; Wirth 1978; Hedberg 1990, 2000), illustrated in (6):
(6) That would be Rod Blagojevich who’s the current governor of Illinois.
Specifically, we will show that 1) these cases of epistemic would are typically paraphrasable as full clefts), 2) these cases permit an apparent number mismatch between subject and verb that parallels a similar phenomenon for clefts, 3) they also involve a presupposition of exhaustiveness comparable to that associated with cleft constructions, and 4) both that-clefts and this type of epistemic would are subject to the same systematic ambiguity with respect to the interpretation of the subject demonstrative. Finally, we compare the two epistemic uses of would with those of must and show that while these modals both mark the speaker’s degree of commitment to the truth of the associated proposition, they differ in a number of important ways.
2. Previous accounts Previous work on modality has failed both to recognize the role of open propositions in the use of epistemic would and to accurately characterize its epistemic effect. Palmer (1990) and Perkins (1983) both characterize this use of the modal as ‘tentative’, while Coates (1983) claims that it expresses ‘predictability’. Sweetser (1982) analyses it as an implicit conditional with a suppressed antecedent, in an attempt to unify epistemic would with irrealis or conditional would. However, an examination of a corpus of naturally-occurring data shows that none of these analyses can account for the full range of uses of epistemic would; consider (7):
(7) A: B: C:
[holding a plastic bag with a fish in it.] I don’t know. Maybe it’s in shock. Looks dead to me. That would be one dead fish. [conversation, WalMart Pet Dept.; token courtesy of M. Larson]
Here, there is nothing tentative, conditional, or predictable about C’s utterance. In Birner, Kaplan, and Ward (2001) and Ward, Birner, and Kaplan (2003), we argue that felicitous use of both epistemic would constructions requires that an open proposition (in the sense of Prince 1986) be contextually salient. That is, epistemic would is a focus/presupposition construction, serving to mark an open proposition as salient in the discourse at the time of utterance. As we will demonstrate below, this is one feature that distinguishes epistemic would from epistemic must.
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3. Open propositions An open proposition contains one or more underspecified elements, which can be represented as variables. The instantiation of a variable in an OP constitutes an utterance’s focus, and is realized prosodically with a pitch accent. Prince (1986) defines a class of syntactic constructions that serve to mark such an OP as shared knowledge in the discourse. For instance, consider the examples in (8):
(8) a. I plan to discuss several topics. What I’ll discuss first is the notion of polit‑ ical correctness. OP: I’ll discuss X first (where X is a member of the set of topics). b. [Discussing sweetbreads made for another woman] I made a lot of sweetbreads. A couple of pounds I think I made for her. OP: I think I made X sweetbreads for her (where X is a member of the set of amounts).
In (8a), the first sentence (I plan to discuss several topics) makes salient the proposition that I will discuss these topics in some order, and in particular that I will discuss some topic first. Thus, the proposition ‘I’ll discuss X first’ is salient, where X is a variable ranging over the set of topics. It is this salient OP that licenses the use of the wh-cleft in the second sentence (What I’ll discuss first is the notion of political correctness). Similarly, in (8b) the first sentence makes salient the notion that I made a certain amount of sweetbreads; the salient OP ‘I think I made X sweetbreads for her’, where X is a variable ranging over the set of amounts, then licenses the preposing in the second sentence (A couple of pounds I think I made for her, as opposed to the canonical word order I think I made a couple of pounds for her). Without an appropriate salient OP, the preposing would be infelicitous, as in (9):
(9) My neighbor loves sweetbreads. #A couple of pounds I think I made for her.
Here, the prior sentence does not make salient the notion that the speaker has made a certain amount of sweetbreads, and therefore the preposed variant is infelicitous. Now consider the use of epistemic would in (1), repeated below in (10): (10) A: Who is the current governor of Illinois? B: That would be Rod Blagojevich. OP: The current governor of Illinois is X. Here, the speaker instantiates the variable in the OP ‘The current governor of Illinois is X’ with the value ‘Rod Blagojevich’, which represents the focus of the utterance. Such an OP must be salient for the use of epistemic would to be felicitous. To see this, compare the examples in (11a–b):
Epistemic would, open propositions, and truncated clefts
(11) a. Cage, however, is as serious as the leather motorcycle jacket and boots he wears. Instead of buying $700 bottles of wine, he declares, he’s settling for the $50 non-vintage and the case of wine Uncle Francis sends him every year for the holidays. That would be Francis Ford Coppola, a vintner better known as the director of “The Godfather” trilogy. [Chicago Tribune article, “Cage enjoys a simpler life”, 6/20/02] OP: Cage’s uncle has identity X. b. Cage is able to avoid paying wine prices of $700 and up per bottle because his uncle owns a vineyard in Southern California that produces a number of excellent Cabernets and varietals, including some prize-winners. #That would be Francis Ford Coppola, a vintner better known as the director of “The Godfather” trilogy, who sends Cage a case of wine every year for the holidays. In (11a), the name ‘Uncle Francis’ licenses the OP ‘Cage’s uncle has identity X’, rendering the use of epistemic would felicitous. In (11b), where the uncle’s identity is not at issue, the OP isn’t salient, and the use of epistemic would is infelicitous. Notice, in comparison, that epistemic must does not require an OP for felicity: (12) a.
A: Couple of years ago I was thinking about moving to Massachusetts, B: Uh-huh. A: but, uh, boy I’m glad I didn’t B: Yeah, yeah. A: because it’s really going downhill up there. B: It has. I don’t know what they’re going to have to do to boost it, but they need to do something quick. A: Well, you know, I, I was, when, when the big boom was going on, I was thinking well, Dukakis must be an absolute genius. B: Yeah. [Switchboard corpus; punctuation in the original] b. […] Well, you know, I, I was, when, when the big boom was going on, I was thinking well, #Dukakis would be an absolute genius.
The context in (12) does not provide a salient OP regarding Dukakis’s intellect; hence, the use of epistemic would in (12b) is infelicitous. Nonetheless, the variant with epistemic must in (12a) is felicitous, demonstrating that must does not share the OP requirement (cf. Stone 1994). . What makes the identity of the uncle less important in (11b) as compared to (11a) seems to be the extensive information about wines and the absence of the uncle’s first name, both of which reduce the discourse importance of the identity of the person who provided the wine. . Notice that the epistemic would in (12b) is of the first type, as the referent of the subject NP is a discourse entity and not an OP variable. What this example shows is that even this use of epistemic would requires an OP.
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As a focus-presupposition construction, then, epistemic would requires a salient OP, containing some underspecified element represented by a variable. The instantiation of this variable, in turn, corresponds to the focus of the utterance (e.g., Francis Ford Cop‑ pola in (11a)). As with other focus-sensitive constructions, the focus in the epistemic would construction is drawn from a contextually salient set of alternatives (Rooth 1985; Prince 1986). If no clearly defined set of alternatives is contextually salient, variable instantiation with epistemic would is predicted to be infelicitous, a prediction borne out by the data: (13) a. b.
Q: What time was that when you saw him arrive? A: That would be approximately 11: 40. [Simpson trial transcripts] Q: When did you see him arrive? A: #That would be late.
In (13b), the response fails to instantiate the variable with a member of a contextually salient set, because late is only an ill-defined area of an infinitely varying temporal scale. The use of epistemic would to instantiate the variable in an OP furthermore commits the speaker to a belief that the proposition provides a true instantiation of the variable. Thus, for example, the speaker in (13a) commits to the truth of the assertion I saw him arrive at approximately 11: 40, just as the speaker in (1) commits to the truth of the assertion Blagojevich is the current governor of Illinois in a way that the speakers in (2a–c) and – notably – (2d) do not. As further evidence, consider the following minimal pair: (14) A: Who is visiting that woman across the street tonight? B1: Take a look out the window. #That would be John, if there’s a red VW outside. B2: Take a look out the window. That would be John, given that there’s a red VW outside. The if-clause contingency in B1’s reply removes any possibility of commitment to the truth of the proposition in the main clause; contrast B2, where the evidence provided in the given that clause provides a basis for such a commitment.
4. Reference to OP variable As noted above, the second type of epistemic would construction that we have identified shares a number of properties with that-clefts. In this use of epistemic would, the subject NP is a demonstrative whose antecedent is the variable of the relevant OP. Consider (15): (15) A: [Hotel guest] To get to the early opening for Epcot, do you take a tram or a boat?
Epistemic would, open propositions, and truncated clefts
B: [Concierge] That would be the boat, Ms. Birner. [telephone conversation, 9/97] (16) B′: That would be the boat that you take to get to the early opening for Epcot. In (15), the demonstrative subject lacks a plausible antecedent in the discourse; instead, that here must be interpreted as anaphoric to the variable in the OP ‘You take X to get to the early opening for Epcot’. Now consider the full cleft paraphrase in (16); here, the subject that shares the property of being able to take the OP variable as its antecedent. (There is also an irrelevant, non-cleft reading for B’ in which that is deictic, which would be appropriate if, e.g., uttered while pointing to a boat.) The fact that that may be anaphoric to the OP variable in both (15) and the full that-cleft variant in (16) raises the possibility of treating epistemic would sentences like that in (15) as truncated thatclefts analogous to the truncated clefts of Hedberg 2000.
5. Number mismatch A further parallel comes from the possibility of an apparent number mismatch in both the epistemic would construction and full clefts. By ‘number mismatch’ we mean a singular subject (and, if the copula is finite, singular copula) but a plural post-copular constituent. An example of a number mismatch in an epistemic would utterance is provided in (17); the same phenomenon for a cleft is shown in (18). (17) Let’s look at the markets that opened with New York today. That would be the Toronto Stock Exchange and the Mexico Stock Exchange. [“Markets in a Minute”, Channel 23 TV; 9/18/01] (18) A: What markets opened with New York today? B: That’s the Toronto Stock Exchange and the Mexico Stock Exchange that opened with New York. The felicity of the full cleft paraphrase for (17) (i.e., That would be the Toronto Stock Ex‑ change and the Mexico Stock Exchange that opened with New York) illustrates this similarity between epistemic would and the corresponding full that-cleft. The number mismatch that we see in both the full cleft and the epistemic would construction can be attributed to the fact that, in both cases, the subject NP that takes as its referent the OP variable (which is invariably singular).
6. Exhaustiveness The exhaustiveness that we attribute to the epistemic would construction in Birner et al. (2003) parallels that associated with clefts (Gundel 1977, 1985; Halvorsen 1978; Horn
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1981; Szabolcsi 1981; Hedberg 1990, 2000; Kiss 1998; inter alia), as shown in (19): (19) a. Let’s look at the markets that opened with New York today. That would be the Toronto Stock Exchange and the Mexico Stock Exchange. [=(17)] b. A: I need to know which markets opened with New York. Brazil? B: No. It’s the Toronto Stock Exchange and the Mexico Stock Exchange that opened with New York. In (19a), the hearer can infer from the use of epistemic would that the Toronto Stock Exchange and the Mexico Stock Exchange exhaust the set of stock markets that opened with New York, just as, in (19b), exhaustiveness is inferred from the cleft. Were the speaker in either case to continue with the mention of additional stock markets, infelicity would result, as illustrated in (20): (20) Let’s look at the markets that opened with New York today. That would be the Toronto Stock Exchange and the Mexico Stock Exchange. #Another market that opened with New York is the Brazil Stock Exchange… Here, the exhaustiveness conveyed by the use of epistemic would is incompatible with the subsequent inclusion of additional set members. This exhaustiveness can be seen most clearly in response to superlative questions, which convey the expectation of a unique, and therefore exhaustive, answer: (21) a. b.
A: I want to knit you a sweater. What’s your favorite color? B: That would be blue. OP: B’s favorite color is X. A: I want to knit you a sweater. What’s a color you like? B: ?That would be blue.
Speaker B in (21a) is committed to blue being a true and exhaustive instantiation of the variable in the OP ‘My favorite color is X’. In (21b), on the other hand, Speaker A’s question assumes a non-exhaustive answer, as evidenced by the use of the indefinite NP a color you like. In this context, the exhaustiveness conveyed by Speaker B’s use of epistemic would is unexpected, as it suggests that blue is the only color he or she likes. Such an interpretation is confirmed by (22): (22) A: Where are your dress shirts? B: That would be this one. [conversation, standing in front of closet] Here, B conveys ironically that he owns exactly one dress shirt. Notice that the exhaustiveness implicature associated with the epistemic would construction is attributable not to the epistemic modal itself, but to the definite that in combination with the equative copula. That is, that is anaphorically (and, as a definite, uniquely) identified with the variable in the OP, and the equative in turn identifies that set with the referent of the post-copular NP. To see this, compare the use of
Epistemic would, open propositions, and truncated clefts
the copula as in (19)–(22) with the use of a non-copular verb, as in (23): (23) a. I need to talk to Andy to see if he’s interested in going to a departure lunch for Zenith employees who are leaving, this Friday, at 11: 30, at Little Villa – these employees would include myself – um, as well as another issue I wanted to talk to him about. b. I need to talk to Andy to see if he’s interested in going to a departure lunch for Zenith employees who are leaving, this Friday, at 11: 30, at Little Villa – #that would include myself – um, as well as another issue I wanted to talk to him about. The infelicity of (23b) is predictable from the semantics of include, as include would not be expected to convey exhaustiveness.
7. Ambiguity The ability of that to take the OP variable as its antecedent in both that-clefts and equatives with epistemic would gives rise to an ambiguity found in both constructions with respect to the antecedent of the demonstrative. This is illustrated in (24a)–(b): (24) a. Targeted at 6- to 12-year-olds, the “Zoom” revival, like the original, pits seven telegenic youngsters…against a variety of activities and challenges that viewers send in.… If nothing else, it should once again make that of Boston PBS affiliate WGBH, where this is produced, the best known Zip Code in the nation. That would be [singing] 0–2-1–3-4. [“Channel surfing,” Chicago Tribune, 11/3/97, sec. 5, p. 8] b. …That would be 0–2-1–3-4 that’s the best known Zip Code in the nation. In (24a), the last sentence is ambiguous: The demonstrative that may be anaphoric either to the phrase the best known Zip Code in the nation or to the variable in the OP ‘The best known zip code in the nation is X’. We find precisely the same ambiguity in the case of the full that-cleft in (24b); the subject NP here can be used to refer either to the best known Zip Code in the nation or to the OP variable. And note that (15) above is also ambiguous in precisely this way: in the telephone context provided, the most plausible reading is one in which that is anaphoric to the variable in the OP, but in a context in which the concierge were pointing to a boat, the most plausible reading would be one in which that has deictic reference to the boat itself. Recall that the OP requirement we have posited holds for both kinds of epistemic would: those cases with reference to a variable and those with reference to a previously . The use of (syntactically) non-copular verbs with epistemic would is highly constrained, restricted to a small set of copula-like verbs including, inter alia, include, go (in the sense of ‘belong’), fit, comprise, and belong.
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evoked or inferrable discourse entity. Consider again (12b), repeated below for convenience: (25) […] Well, you know, I, I was, when, when the big boom was going on, I was thinking well, #Dukakis would be an absolute genius. Here, there is no cleft-like interpretation available, due to the full NP in subject position. However, the infelicity of this example in the context provided in (12) shows that a salient OP is nonetheless required for the felicity of epistemic would. Thus, the OP requirement applies to all uses of epistemic would, and cannot be attributed to the cleftlike properties of one type of epistemic would construction.
8. A comparison of epistemic would with must When we compare epistemic would with epistemic must, we see important differences. Stone (1994) argues that an utterance with epistemic must conveys that a logical argument leading to the proposition expressed is justified, and that the facts it relies on are mutually salient. Consider (26): (26) Ann: Where is the sugar? Mary: It must be in the cabinet over the fridge. [Stone 1994] Stone suggests that a plausible context for (26) must include the fact that Mary has just seen something or deduced something from which she concludes that the sugar is in the cabinet over the fridge. She may have seen a trail of white particles, or realized that only one cabinet remains that has not been ruled out as the location of the sugar. Thus, according to Stone, use of epistemic must is felicitous only when the proposition follows from the facts mutually salient in the context. However, Stone’s requirement is too strong; as shown in (27), the evidence for the proposition need not be mutually salient: (27) a. b.
What a party that was. I must have drunk a dozen margaritas. A: Sorry, Jan’s not home. She went to a play. B: Really? Which one? A: I don’t know. She didn’t say. B: Oh, it must be Romeo and Juliet. I remember she mentioned she was going to see it this week.
In both of these instances, the felicitous use of epistemic must rests not on facts that are salient in the context, but just on the speaker having some reasoned basis for the conclusion. All that is required is that it be plausible to the addressee that there is an argument on which the speaker relies; neither the argument nor the facts it uses need be mutually salient.
Epistemic would, open propositions, and truncated clefts
Epistemic would can likewise occur in a context in which a reasoned argument justifies the conclusion: (28) A: There’s only one card left. B1: Well, I’ve only seen three queens, so that would be the Queen of Hearts. B2: Well, I’ve only seen three queens, so that must be the Queen of Hearts. Both epistemic modals in (28) are felicitous because a valid process of logical deduction has led to the expressed conclusion. Providing such a deduction makes it not only plausible, but obvious, that the speaker has relied on it, licensing must, and explains the speaker’s commitment to the truth of the asserted proposition, licensing would. The two modals are not identical in their requirements, however. They differ in two crucial ways, the first having to do with the speaker’s degree of commitment to the proposition, the second having to do with the requirement of an OP. First, the speaker’s commitment to the truth of the proposition is stronger in the case of epistemic would than in the case of epistemic must. That is, speaker B1 in (28) asserts the truth of the proposition ‘that is the Queen of Hearts’ and thereby commits to its truth. Speaker B2, on the other hand, asserts more weakly that the proposition follows from the evidence available, but does not commit himself or herself to its truth. To put it another way, B2 has made an assertion about his or her reasoning process, whereas B1 has made an assertion about the state of the world. When the relevant facts are clearly available and verifiable, and therefore no process of logical reasoning is required, would may be felicitous, but epistemic must is not. To see this, consider (29) in a context in which B is looking at the Twins’ website, where the number of games between the Twins and the White Sox is explicitly listed: (29) A: How many times will the Twins play the White Sox this year? B1: That would be six. B2: #That must be six. On the other hand, where a reasoning process exists but there is no commitment to the truth of the conclusion, must is felicitous but would is not, as in (30) on the epistemic reading: (30) a. Two-part epoxy is really good for impressing the kids, because it obviously has two components, which must be mixed together before using. The kids will watch you and think “that must be some really powerful stuff if you have to mix it together!” and from then on they’ll think Dad is a real fix-it pro. [http://www.psrc.usm.edu/macrog/epoxy.htm] b. #…that would be some really powerful stuff if you have to mix it together! As we saw in example (14) above, an epistemic would-clause that is conjoined to a conditional if-clause is contingent on it, so the speaker cannot commit to its truth; hence the utterance with epistemic would is infelicitous. But a conditional if-clause has no such effect on the felicity of epistemic must.
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Similarly, consider (31): (31) A: What’s this three-line poem on page 12? B1: That would be a haiku. B2: That must be a haiku. The most natural context for B1’s response is one in which B has looked at the poem and confirmed it as a haiku before using epistemic would. The most natural context for the response with epistemic must, however, is one in which B2 cannot see the poem but can only infer its type from the mention of three lines. Indeed, if B2 is able to examine the poem directly, and knows precisely what a haiku is, the utterance with epistemic must becomes quite odd. The second difference between epistemic would and must is that would, as we observed, requires a contextually salient OP, whereas must does not. Consider again example (12), repeated below as (32): (32) a.
A: Couple of years ago I was thinking about moving to Massachusetts, B: Uh-huh. A: but, uh, boy I’m glad I didn’t B: Yeah, yeah. A: because it’s really going downhill up there. B: It has. I don’t know what they’re going to have to do to boost it, but they need to do something quick. A: Well, you know, I, I was, when, when the big boom was going on, I was thinking well, Dukakis must be an absolute genius. B: Yeah. b. […] Well, you know, I, I was, when, when the big boom was going on, I was thinking well, #Dukakis would be an absolute genius.
From the context provided in (32a), we can infer a reasoning process to the asserted conclusion about Dukakis’ intellect, rendering the must variant in (32a) felicitous; nonetheless, the context does not provide a salient OP regarding his intellect. The absence of the necessary OP renders the would variant in (32b) infelicitous. Moreover, that as a subject for epistemic must is much more constrained in its ability to take an OP variable as its antecedent. Consider the contrast in (33): (33) A: B1: B2: B3: B4: OP:
When was this roof put on? That would be 1946. That would have been 1946. That must have been 1946. # That must be 1946. This roof was put on at time X.
Here, the fact that the verb complex in B1 needn’t mark the past time reference via have
Epistemic would, open propositions, and truncated clefts
is due to the fact that that is anaphoric to the OP variable. Because the variable-instantiation is occurring at the time of utterance, present tense is appropriate. In the case of epistemic must, on the other hand, no OP is required; hence, with no sufficiently salient OP variable, the only available antecedent for that is the event itself. Because this event is in the past, have is required (B3), and its absence (B4) results in infelicity.
9. Conclusion In this chapter, we have argued for the existence of two constructions containing epistemic would: The subject NP of the first type has anaphoric or deictic reference to some situationally or textually evoked entity, while the subject NP of the second type is anaphoric to the variable in a salient OP in the context. We have shown that this second type is typically paraphrasable as a cleft and shares many pragmatic properties with clefts: Both permit apparent number disagreement, convey exhaustiveness of the postcopular constituent, and support a systematic ambiguity with respect to the referent of the subject. These results raise the possibility of simply treating the variable-referring epistemic would construction as a type of truncated cleft, thereby attributing many of its properties to its status as a cleft. However, the fact that epistemic would requires an OP independently — that is, in cases where no truncated-cleft analysis is available — suggests the alternative possibility that the considerable overlap in the properties of this epistemic would construction and clefts is due to their shared OP requirement in combination with equative syntax and a demonstrative subject NP. That is, their shared properties may derive from the fact that both constructions are cases of a more general category of OP-requiring constructions, including preposings and contrastive accent. Belonging to that category would provide a basis for the apparent number mismatch, exhaustiveness readings, and ambiguity seen both in clefts and in this epistemic would construction. Further research into the commonalities among these constructions not only may lead to an explanatory account of the properties of all such constructions, but also may shed light more generally on the role and effects of open propositions in discourse.
References Ball, Catherine N. 1977. “Th-clefts.” In Penn Review of Linguistics, C. Ball and P. Price (eds), 2: 57–64. Ball, Catherine N. 1978. “It-clefts and th-clefts.” Paper presented at the LSA summer meeting, Champaign-Urbana, IL, July. . Presumably, by requiring an OP, epistemic would raises the salience of the variable of that OP sufficiently to render it available for subsequent demonstrative reference, unlike epistemic must, which has no such requirement and therefore no such effect.
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Birner, Betty J., Kaplan, Jeffrey P. and Ward, Gregory. 2001. “Open propositions and epistemic would.” Paper presented at the Annual Meeting of the Linguistic Society of America, Washington, D.C., January. Bolinger, Dwight. 1972. That’s that. The Hague: Mouton. Coates, Jennifer. 1983. The Semantics of the Modal Auxiliaries. London & Canberra: Croom Helm. Gundel, Jeanette. 1977. “Where do cleft sentences come from?” Language 53: 34–59. Gundel, Jeanette. 1985. “‘Shared knowledge’ and topicality.” Journal of Pragmatics 9: 83–107. Halvorsen, Per-Kristian. 1978. The Syntax and Semantics of Cleft Constructions. Texas Linguistics Forum, 11. Austin: University of Texas Department of Linguistics. Hedberg, Nancy. 1990. Discourse Pragmatics and Cleft Sentences in English. Ph.D. thesis, University of Minnesota, Minneapolis, MN. Hedberg, Nancy. 2000. “The referential status of clefts.” Language 76: 891–920. Higgins, F. Roger. 1973. The Pseudocleft Construction in English, Ph.D. thesis, MIT [revised version published by Garland, New York, 1979]. Horn, Laurence R. 1981. “Exhaustiveness and the semantics of clefts.” In Papers from the 11th Annual Meeting of the North Eastern Linguistic Society, V. Burke and J. Pustejovsky (eds), 125–42. Jenkins, Lyle. 1975. The English Existential. Tübingen: Niemeyer. Kiss, Katalin É. 1998. “Identificational focus vs. information focus.” Language 74: 245–73. Nuyts, Jan. 2001. Epistemic Modality, Language and Conceptualization: A Cognitive–Pragmatic Perspective. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Palmer, Frank R. 1990. Modality and the English Modals. New York: Longman. Perkins, Michael R. 1983. Modal Expressions in English. London: Frances Pinter. Prince, Ellen F. 1986. “On the syntactic marking of presupposed open propositions.” In Papers from the Parasession on Pragmatics and Grammatical Theory, 22nd Meeting of the Chicago Linguistic Society, A. Farley, P. Farley, and K.-E. McCullough (eds), 208–22. Rooth, Mats. 1985. Association with Focus. Ph.D. thesis, University of Massachusetts, Amherst MA. Stone, Matthew. 1994. “The reference argument of epistemic must.” In International Workshop on Computational Semantics, H. Bunt, R. Muskens, and G. Rentier (eds). Tilburg: ITK, 181–90. Sweetser, Eve. 1982. “Root and epistemic modals: Causality in two worlds.” In Proceedings of the Eighth Annual Meeting of the Berkeley Linguistics Society, M. Macaulay, O. Gensler, C. Brugman, I. Civkulus, A. Dahlstrom, K. Krile, and R. Sturm (eds), 484–507. Szabolcsi, Anna. 1981. “The semantics of topic-focus articulation.” In Formal Methods in the Study of Language, J. A. G. Groenendijk, T. M.V. Janssen, and M. B. J. Stokhof (eds), 513–41. Mathematisch Centrum, Amsterdam. Ward, Gregory, Birner, Betty J., and Kaplan, Jeffrey P. 2003. “A pragmatic analysis of the epistemic would construction in English.” In Modality in Contemporary English, R. Facchinetti, M. Krug and F. Palmer (eds). [Topics in English Linguistics 44, General Editors: B. Kortmann and E. Closs Traugott] Berlin/New York: Mouton de Gruyter, 270–9. Wirth, Jessica. 1978. “The derivation of cleft sentences in English.” Glossa 12: 58–81.
chapter 5
It’s over Verbal ‑le in Mandarin Chinese* Hooi Ling Soh and Mei Jia Gao University of Minnesota
1. Introduction The Mandarin Chinese particle ‑le may appear immediately after the verb as shown in (1a) or at the end of the sentence as in (1b), or in both positions simultaneously as shown in (1c).
(1) a. b. c.
Women daoda le shan-ding. we reach le mountain-top ‘We reached the top of the mountain.’ Women daoda shan-ding le. we reach mountain-top le ‘We reached the top of the mountain.’ Women daoda le shan-ding le. we reach le mountain-top le ‘We reached the top of the mountain.’
Following convention, we refer to the ‑le that occurs immediately after the verb as verbal ‑le, and the one that occurs at the end of the sentence as sentential ‑le. The status of verbal ‑le remains controversial. While it is often taken to be a perfective aspect marker (Li and Thompson 1981; Ross 1995; Smith 1997), there is an alternative view that has gained ground in recent work, which treats verbal -le as a realization * This chapter is dedicated to Jeanette Gundel, who has been a role model, mentor and a constant source of inspiration and encouragement. We would like to thank David Beaver, Bridget Copley, Kai von Fintel, Jeanette Gundel, Irene Heim, Michael Kac, Jimmy Lin, Jo-wang Lin, Ted Pedersen, Norvin Richards, Susan Rothstein, Christina Schmitt, Carlota Smith and ShiaoWei Tham for very helpful discussions. We also thank the participants at the Syntax-semantics reading group at MIT, and the audiences at the 8th Texas Linguistic Society Conference, the Workshop on Event Structures in Linguistic Form and Interpretation at Leipzig, and the 16th North American Conference on Chinese Linguistics for questions and comments. In addition, we would like to thank Nancy Hedberg, Ron Zacharski and an anonymous reviewer for very helpful comments. All errors are ours. This research was funded in part by a grant from the Chiang Ching-Kuo Foundation for International Scholarly Exchange and a University of Minnesota Single Semester Leave, both awarded to Hooi Ling Soh.
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marker (Liu 1988; Sybesma 1997, 1999; Lin 2003). The controversy arises from disagreements about the precise meanings contributed by verbal ‑le, and whether verbal ‑le may occur in stative sentences. In this chapter, we provide a systematic examination of the semantic contributions of verbal ‑le, separating entailments from implicatures. In section 2, we show that verbal ‑le gives rise to a terminative reading when the sentence describes an atelic event and a completive reading when the event is telic (Smith 1997). We also show that verbal ‑le cannot occur in stative sentences in general, except when the states are bounded (Kang 1999; Wu 2000; compare Li and Thompson 1981; Ross 1995; Sybesma 1997; Smith 1997; Huang and Davis 1989; Klein et al. 2000). On the basis of the readings associated with verbal ‑le, we claim that it is a perfective aspect marker. In section 3, we discuss an alternative analysis of verbal ‑le as a realization marker. Researchers who take this view disagree with the claim that verbal ‑le always provides a terminative/completive reading (Liu 1988; Sybesma 1997, 1999; Lin 2003). It is argued that ‑le may provide an inchoative or a present continuative reading when the event described is a state or an activity. We argue that the inchoative or the present continuative reading associated with verbal ‑le is not entailed by verbal ‑le, but rather it may be due to sentential ‑le or implicated by the use of verbal ‑le in achievement events (cf. Wu 2005). The implication of the analysis is discussed in section 4. One major debate in the study of the aspectual system in Mandarin is whether verbal ‑le and sentential ‑le are instances of the same morpheme (Li and Thompson 1981; Ross 1995; Smith 1997; Sybesma 1999; Rohsenow 1978; Shi 1990; Huang and Davis 1989; Kang 1999; Lin 2003). By clarifying the meaning and distribution of verbal ‑le, through careful separation of implicatures from entailments, we are in a better position to determine if verbal ‑le and sentential ‑le are related.
2. The semantic contributions of verbal ‑le 2.1 Achievements When the sentence describes an achievement, verbal ‑le indicates that the inherent end point of the achievement event is reached, i.e. , the event is completed. This is, however, not easy to show as the sentence with and without verbal ‑le seem to have the same interpretations as shown in (2) and (3). . Verbal –le also has been claimed to be a relative anteriority marker (e.g. , Shi 1988), or a combination of tense and aspect marker (e.g. , Ross 1995; Lin 2000; Wu 2000). . A telic event (e.g. , reach the top of the mountain, wrote a letter) has a natural endpoint that represents the goal or outcome of the event, while an atelic event (e.g. , walk) does not. We follow Smith (1994, 1997) in the use of the terms termination and completion. Termination indicates that an arbitrary end point of the event is reached, while completion indicates that the natural endpoint of the event is reached. . Achievements, accomplishments, activities and states refer to situation types (as opposed to verb types) in this chapter.
Verbal ‑le in Mandarin Chinese
(2) a. b.
Tamen ganggang daoda shan-ding. they just reach mountain-top ‘They just reached the top of the mountain.’ Tamen ganggang daoda le shan-ding. they just reach le mountain-top ‘They just reached the top of the mountain.’
(3) a. b.
Ta zhong tou jiang. Wo de anwei jiang. he hit first prize I get consolation prize ‘He hit the jackpot. I got the consolation prize.’ Ta zhong le tou jiang. Wo de le anwei jiang. he hit le first prize I get le consolation prize ‘He hit the jackpot. I got the consolation prize.’
However, we suggest that the completive reading in (2a) and (3a) is a default reading, while the one in (2b) and (3b) is entailed by verbal ‑le. This is because the completive reading in sentences without verbal ‑le is not always available, in contrast to sentences with verbal ‑le. As shown in (4) and (5), sentences without verbal ‑le can have a noncompletive reading, unlike sentences with verbal ‑le.
(4) a. Tamen mingtian hui daoda shan-ding. they tomorrow will reach mountain-top ‘They will reach the top of the mountain tomorrow.’ b. *Tamen mingtian hui daoda le shan-ding. they tomorrow will reach le mountain-top
(5) a. Ta hui zhong toujiang. he will hit jackpot ‘He will hit the jackpot.’ b. *Ta hui zhong le toujiang. he will hit le jackpot
2.2 Activities With activities, verbal ‑le indicates that the event has terminated. An arbitrary end point of the event is assigned. (6) and (7) show that a completive reading is not necessary in sentences without verbal ‑le, unlike those with verbal ‑le. . A better minimal pair would be one without ganggang ‘just’ to ensure that the completive reading does not come from the adverb. However, the sentence tamen daoda shan-ding ‘they reached the top of the mountain’ does not sound natural. . It should be noted that a simple sentence that describes an activity sounds incomplete with verbal ‑le (Jo-wang Lin, p.c.; Wu 2005; Tham and Soh 2006). Following Tham and Soh (2006), we assume that the relevant sentences are grammatical, and they are odd because they do not satisfy a discourse requirement of verbal ‑le sentences.
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(6) a. b.
Ta you yong. Wo pao bu. he swim swim I run step ‘He swims. I run.’ Ta you le yong. Wo pao le bu. he swim le swim I run le step ‘He swam. I ran.’
(7) a. b.
Ta da ta de meimei. he hit he poss sister (younger) ‘He hits his sister.’ Ta da le ta de meimei. he hit le he poss sister (younger) ‘He hit his sister.’
This difference in reading can be brought out with a progressive marker zai and a habitual adverb such as mei-tian ‘every day’. As shown below, sentences without verbal ‑le may appear with zai and mei-tian, while those with verbal ‑le may not.
(8) a. Ta mei-tian you yong. he every day swim swim ‘He swims every day.’ b. *Ta mei-tian you le yong. he every day swim le swim
(9) a. Ta zai you yong. he prog swim swim ‘He is swimming.’ b. *Ta zai you le yong. he prog swim le swim
(10) a. Ta mei-tian da ta de meimei. he every day hit he poss sister (younger) ‘He hits his sister everyday.’ b. *Ta mei-tian da le ta de meimei. he every day hit le he poss sister (younger) (11) a. Ta zai da ta de meimei. he prog hit he poss sister (younger) ‘He is hitting his sister.’ b. *Ta zai da le ta de meimei. he prog hit le he poss sister (younger)
. The following abbreviations are used in this chapter: cl=classifier, poss=possessive, prog= progressive.
Verbal ‑le in Mandarin Chinese
2.3 Accomplishments The situation with accomplishment events is more complicated. Verbal ‑le sometimes indicates the mere termination of the event and sometimes the completion of the event (Chu 1976; Tai 1984; Smith 1994, 1997; Sybesma 1997, 1999; Klein et al. 2000; Soh and Kuo 2005). Consider the examples in (12) and (13). (12) a. b.
Ta xie yi-feng xin. Wo xie liang-feng xin. he write one-cl letter I write two-cl letter ‘He writes a letter. I write two letters.’ Ta xie le yi-feng xin. Wo xie le liang-feng xin. he write le one-cl letter I write le two-cl letter ‘He wrote a letter. I wrote two letters.’
(13) a. b.
Ta hua yi-fu hua. Wo hua liang-fu hua. he draw one-cl picture I draw two-cl picture ‘He draws a picture. I draw two pictures.’ Ta hua le yi-fu hua. Wo hua le liang-fu hua. he draw le one-cl picture I draw le two-cl picture ‘He drew a picture. I drew two pictures.’
In contrast to the events described by the sentences with verbal ‑le, the events described by the sentences without verbal ‑le need not be completed or terminated. It has been widely noted that the presence of verbal ‑le in an accomplishment sentence in Mandarin does not necessarily indicate completion. The event can be terminated without having reached the inherent end point. This is shown by the fact that it is not contradictory to conjoin the first sentence in (14a) and (14b) with an assertion that the event is not complete (Tai 1984). . Given that completion is not necessary, one may wonder if the first conjunct in (14a) and (14b) describes activities (e.g., Tai 1984) as opposed to accomplishments. There is reason to maintain that they describe accomplishments. Soh and Kuo (2005) show that completion is required with some created objects, namely those that cannot be considered an instance of the object until the creation process has reached its inherent end point. There is a contrast between the created object yi-feng xin ‘a letter’ and yi-ge zi ‘a character’, and between yi-fu hua ‘a picture’ and yi-ge quan-quan ‘a circle’. (i) Ta hua-le yi-fu hua/ #yi-ge quan-quan, keshi mei hua-wan he draw-le one-cl picture/one-cl circle but not paint-finish ‘He drew a picture/a circle, but he didn’t finish drawing it.’ keshi mei xie-wa (ii) Ta xie-le yi-feng xin/ #yi-ge zi, he write-le one-cl letter/one-cl character but not write-finish ‘He wrote a letter/a character, but he didn’t finish writing it.’ Unlike a character and a circle, a partially written letter and a partially drawn picture can be considered an instance of a letter and a picture respectively. Soh and Kuo (2005) propose that in creation events, ‑le indicates the completion of the event leading to the creation of an object that qualifies as the relevant object.
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(14) a. Wo zuotian xie le yi-feng xin, keshi mei xie-wan. I yesterday write le one-cl letter but not write-finish ‘I started writing a letter yesterday, but I didn’t finish writing it.’ b. Ta hua-le yi-fu hua, keshi mei hua-wan. he draw-le one-cl picture but not draw-finish ‘He started drawing a picture, but he didn’t finish drawing it.’ However, when a completive marker such as wan ‘finish’ follows the verb, verbal ‑le must indicate that the event is completed, and not merely terminated (Tai 1984; Smith 1994, 1997). This is shown by the fact that an accomplishment sentence with a completive marker and verbal –le cannot be followed by an assertion that the event is not complete. le yi-feng xin, keshi mei xie-wan. (15) a. #Wo zuotian xie-wan I yesterday write-finish le one-cl letter but not write-finish ‘I wrote a letter yesterday, but I didn’t finish writing it.’ b. #Ta zuotian hua-wan le yi-fu hua, keshi mei hua-wan. he yesterday draw-finish le one-cl picture but not draw-finish ‘He drew a picture yesterday, but he didn’t finish drawing it.’ Like accomplishment sentences with a completive marker, accomplishment sentences with a numeral object must also be completed when verbal ‑le is present (Soh and Kuo 2005). Soh and Kuo (2005) suggest that yi ‘a/one’ is ambiguous between a numeral and an indefinite determiner in Mandarin. Because of this, the effect of a numeral object is not easily detected with the numeral yi ‘one’. The numeral objects liang-ge dangao ‘two cakes’ and liang-fu hua ‘two pictures’ are contrasted with definite noun phrase objects in the following examples. As shown in (16) and (17), verbal ‑le adds a completive reading to the sentence that contains a numeral object, but only a terminative reading in sentences without a numeral object. (16) a. Ta chi le na-ge dangao, keshi mei chi-wan. he eat le that-cl cake but not eat-finish ‘He started eating that cake, but he did not finish eating it.’ . # indicates that the conjunction is unacceptable, though each conjunct is acceptable on its own. . The presence of wan ‘finish’ after the verb does not always indicate that the event is completed. This is shown in (i) and (ii). zhe-feng xin. (i) Ni xie-wan you write-finish this-cl letter ‘You finish writing this letter.’ (ii) Ta yao wo xie-wan zhe-feng xin. he want I write-finish this-cl letter ‘He wants me to finish writing this letter.’
Verbal ‑le in Mandarin Chinese
b. #Ta chi le liang-ge dangao, keshi mei chi-wan. he eat le two-cl cake but not eat-finish ‘He ate two cakes, but he did not finish eating them.’ (17) a. b.
Ta hua le na-fu hua, keshi mei hua-wan. he draw le that-cl picture but not draw-finish ‘He started drawing that picture, but he didn’t finish drawing it.’ #Ta hua le liang-fu hua, keshi mei hua-wan. he draw le two-cl picture but not draw-finish ‘He drew two pictures, but he didn’t finish drawing them.’
2.4 States There is much disagreement in the literature about whether verbal ‑le can appear in stative sentences. For example, Huang and Davis (1989) and Shi (1990) claim that verbal ‑le may appear in stative sentences, while Li and Thompson (1981), Ross (1995), Sybesma (1997), Smith (1997), Lin (2000) think otherwise.10 We agree with the latter group of authors in claiming that verbal ‑le may not appear in stative sentences in general. Examples are given below. baba. (18) a. Ta xiang he resemble father ‘He resembles dad.’ b. *Ta xiang-le baba. he resemble-le father (Ross 1995: 110) (19) a. Ta shi daxuesheng. he be college-student ‘He is a college student.’ b. *Ta shi-le daxuesheng. he be-le college-student (Ross 1995: 112) (20) a. Ta danxin ta de anquan. he worry he poss safety ‘He worries about his safety.’ b. *Ta danxin-le ta de anquan. he worry-le he poss safety 10. Sybesma (1997) notes that verbal ‑le cannot appear with a stative predicate. However, it is noted it may appear with an adjectival predicate, which is generally assumed to be stative. Contrary to a general assumption, Sybesma (1997) argues that adjectival predicates in Mandarin describe activities rather than states. They are dynamic and involve an open range (in terms of degree). We differ from Sybesma (1997) in assuming that adjectival predicates are stative.
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(21) a. Wo xiang jia. I miss home ‘I miss home.’ b. *Wo xiang-le jia. I miss-le home This generalization is supported by the fact that verbal ‑le cannot appear in habitual sentences (Zhang 1997; Lin 2000), which are semantically stative (Smith 1994; Smith and Erbaugh 2002). (22) a. Wo zongshi kan ta xie de shu. I always read he write de book ‘I always read the books he writes.’ b. *Wo zhongshi kan le ta xie de shu. I always read le he write de book (23) a. Wo meitian you yong. I everyday swim swim ‘I swim everyday.’ b. *Wo meitian you le yong. I everyday swim le swim While it is true that verbal ‑le cannot appear in sentences that describe states in general, it may appear in sentences that describe bounded states (Kang 1999: 83, Wu 2000: 467). Examples are given in (24) and (25). (24) Ta de lian hong le wu fenzhong he poss face red le five minute ‘His face was red for five minutes. (25) Ta de lian hong le yidian. he poss face red le a bit ‘His face has become red by only a bit.’ ‘His face was a bit too red (compared to a particular standard).’ Example (24) involves a state that is bounded by a duration phrase. Verbal ‑le indicates completion (and not inchoativity) here. (25) may describe an achievement or a state (in its comparative reading). When it is interpreted as an achievement, verbal ‑le indicates the completion of the achievement event. While it is not clear what the semantic contribution of verbal ‑le is in the comparative reading, the appearance of verbal ‑le in comparatives suggests that a differential degree may make a state bounded (see Kennedy and Levin 2002), allowing verbal ‑le to occur in these stative sentences (but see Sybesma 1997, 1999). One may wonder if this explanation works, given Kennedy and Levin’s (2002) claim that a bit is a non-quantized measure phrase, in contrast to a quantized measure phrase such as 5 meters. It is suggested that if a measure phrase is quantized,
Verbal ‑le in Mandarin Chinese
we get a telic interpretation, and an atelic interpretation otherwise.11 However, we find that whether the differential degree is quantized or not does not matter for the boundedness of the event (see Rothstein 2004: 116–22). We find no difference between yidian ‘a bit’ and wu gongfen ‘5 centimeters’ in comparatives as shown in (26). Both (26a) and (26b) may describe an achievement or a state (in its comparative reading). The measure phrases make the states bounded, enabling verbal ‑le to occur in these sentences. Zhangsan gao le wu gongfen. Zhangsan tall le five centimeter ‘Zhangsan grew five centimeters in height.’ ‘Zhangsan is five centimeters too tall (compared to a particular standard).’ b. Zhangsan gao le yidian. Zhangsan tall le a bit ‘Zhangsan grew a bit in height.’ ‘Zhangsan is a bit too tall (compared to a particular standard).’
(26) a.
2.5 Summary In this section, we have shown that verbal ‑le indicates termination when the sentence describes an atelic event and completion when the event is telic (Smith 1997). It does not occur in stative sentences, except when they are bounded. The semantic contributions of verbal ‑le are summarized in Table 1. Given the readings associated with verbal ‑le, we follow Li and Thompson (1981) and Smith (1997) in claiming that verbal ‑le is a perfective aspect marker.
3. An alternative analysis An alternative view of verbal ‑le is that it is a realization marker, and not a perfective aspect marker (Liu 1988; Sybesma 1997, 1999; Lin 2003). Previous authors who take this 11. Kennedy and Levin’s (2002) claim is supported by the following entailments: (i) a. The soup is cooling a bit ⇒ The soup has cooled a bit. b. They are widening the road 5 meters. ⇒ / They have widened the road 5 meters. However, as Kennedy and Levin (2002) also note, there is no difference between a bit and 5 me‑ ters in the for-PP test. (ii) a. The soup cooled a bit ?for 10 minutes/in 10 minutes. b. They widened the road 5 meters ?for two days/in two days. If one assumes that the for-PP test can distinguish a telic event from an atelic event, there is no difference between the sentence with a bit and 5 meters in that both seem to describe telic events.
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Table 1. The semantic contributions of verbal -le Situation type
Contribution of verbal -le
States (unbounded) States (bounded) Activities Achievements Accomplishments (with completive marker or numeral object) Accomplishments (without completive marker or numeral object)
Not Allowed Completion Termination Completion Completion Termination
position disagree with the claim that verbal ‑le always provides a terminative/completive reading. For example, Sybesma (1997) claims that verbal ‑le may give rise to an inchoative reading when the sentence describes a state, and Lin (2003) claims that verbal ‑le allows (but does not force) a present continuative reading when the sentence describes an atelic event. Among those who claim that verbal ‑le is a realization marker, Lin (2003) is most explicit about what it means for an event to be considered realized. Lin (2003) adopts the concept of event realization in Bohnemeyer and Swift (2001) defined in (27): (27) λP, e, t ⊆ E [REALE (P, e, t) ↔ P(e) ∧ ∃e′ [P(e′) ∧ e′ ≤E e ∧ tSIT(e′) ⊆ t]]. Rule (27) says that “for an event e described by P to be realized at a (topic) time interval t, t must contain the run time tSIT of a part e’ of e such that e’ is also a P” (Lin 2003: 270). As Lin (2003: 270) notes, a consequence of the definition is that a telic event is realized only when the inherent end point of the event is reached, but an atelic event can be realized as long as a subpart of it holds. Lin (2003) argues that viewing verbal ‑le as a realization marker allows us to account for why a perfective interpretation is found with sentences that describe a telic event, and an imperfective interpretation may (though is not necessarily) found with sentences that describe an atelic event. In this section, we consider the data presented in previous work. We argue that the inchoative or the present continuative reading associated with verbal ‑le is not entailed by verbal ‑le, but rather it may be due to sentential ‑le or implicated by the use of verbal ‑le in achievement events (cf. Wu 2005).
3.1 States It is sometimes claimed that verbal ‑le may give rise to an inchoative reading when the sentence describes a state (Smith 1997; Sybesma 1997). Examples that are often cited to illustrate this meaning of verbal ‑le involve adjectival predicates. (28) a. Zhangsan hen gao. Zhangsan very tall ‘Zhangsan is very tall.’
Verbal ‑le in Mandarin Chinese 101
b. Zhangsan gao le. Zhangsan tall le ‘Zhangsan became tall.’ (29) a. b.
Ta de lian hen hong. He poss face very red ‘His face is very red.’ Ta de lian hong le. he poss face red le ‘His face turned red.’
Note however that in terms of word order, it is difficult to tell whether verbal ‑le or sentential ‑le is involved.12 Another aspect of examples (28b) and (29b) that is unclear is whether they describe states. Smith (1997: 70) seems to suggest that sentences like (28b) and (29b) describe achievements, while Sybesma (1997: 228) appears to claim that they describe activities. We suggest that if the particle ‑le in (28b) and (29b) is verbal ‑le, the relevant sentences cannot describe states, given that verbal ‑le cannot occur in sentences that describe states in general (except when the states are bounded). There are however some examples that may cast doubt on the generalization that verbal ‑le cannot appear in non-bounded stative sentences (see Huang and Davis 1989; Shi 1990; Lin 2003). For example, one may claim that (30a) and (30b) describe states with the readings ‘he now has five hundred dollars’ (Shi 1990: 108) and ‘he now knows this matter’ respectively, instead of the readings given below. Given the stative readings above, the sentences seem to be counter-examples to the claim that verbal ‑le cannot appear in stative sentences. (30) a. b.
Ta you le wu-bai kuai. he has le five-hundred dollar ‘He has acquired five hundred dollars.’ (adapted from Shi 1990: 108) Ta zhidao le zhe-jian shi. he know le this-cl matter ‘He came to know this matter.’
However, we claim that the sentences in (30) do not describe states, rather they describe 12. Sybesma (1997: 233) provided (i), which cannot be analyzed as containing sentential ‑le, to show that verbal ‑le can provide an inchoative reading. (i) Ta gao le bu shao. he tall le not little ‘He has grown considerably.’ We think that the sentence describes an achievement and verbal ‑le provides a completive reading to the achievement event.
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achievements (see Ross 1995; Zhang 1997).13 The evidence comes from the interpretation of these sentences with a point-in-time adverb such as at two o’clock.14 If the sentence describes an achievement, at two o’clock refers to the time at which the goal is reached. The achievement cannot hold any time before two (assuming that there is a single event of achievement). If the sentence describes a state, it is not necessary for the situation not to hold prior to two o’clock. As shown in (31a), the situation may hold before two o’clock when the verb does not take verbal ‑le, indicating that you may be stative. In (31b), the situation may not hold before two o’clock, suggesting that when verbal ‑le is attached to you, you can only describe an achievement. Zhangsan xiawu liang dian you wu bai kuai liang dian Zhangsan afternoon two o’clock have five hundred dollar two o’clock yiqian ta ye shi you wu bai kuai. before he also be have five hundred dollar ‘Zhangsan had five hundred dollars at two o’clock. Before two o’clock, he also had five hundred dollars.’ b. #Zhangsan xiawu liang dian you le wu bai kuai liang dian Zhangsan afternoon two o’clock have le five hundred dollar two o’clock yiqian ta ye shi you wu bai kuai. before he also be have five hundred dollar ‘Zhangsan acquired five hundred dollars at two o’clock. Before two o’clock, he also had five hundred dollars.’
(31) a.
The same pattern is found with zhidao ‘know’. As shown in (32a), the situation may hold before two o’clock when the verb does not take verbal ‑le, indicating that zhidao may be stative. In (32b), the situation may not hold before two o’clock, suggesting that when verbal ‑le is attached to zhidao, zhidao can only describe an achievement. (32) a.
Ta xiawu liang dian zhidao zhe-jian shi. he afternoon two o’clock know this-cl matter Liang dian yiqian ye zhidao zhe-jian shi. two o’clock before also know this-cl matter ‘He knew this matter at two o’clock. Before two o’clock, he also knew this matter.’
13. Ross (1995: 116–17) argues that you when followed by ‑le is not a stative predicate because hen ‘very’ which can precede a stative verb, may not precede you. (ii) *Wo hen you le qian. (i) Wo hen you qian. I very have money I very have le money ‘I have a lot of money.’ The test with hen ‘very’ is quite restrictive because hen can only occur with a stative verb when the object is a bare nominal (see Ross 1995). 14. Thanks to Christina Schmitt for discussions.
Verbal ‑le in Mandarin Chinese 103
b. #Ta xiawu liang dian zhidao le zhe-jian shi. he afternoon two o’clock know le this-cl matter Liang dian yiqian ye zhidao zhe-jian shi. two o’clock before also know this-cl matter ‘He came to know this matter at two o’clock. Before two o’clock, he also knew this matter.’ As noted earlier, the claim that verbal ‑le may not appear in stative sentences is supported by its inability to appear in habitual sentences as well (see (22) and (23)), which are semantically stative. However, one may object to our claim that verbal ‑le cannot appear in habitual sentences given the acceptability of (33). mingzi. (33) Ta zongshi wang le ni-de he always forget le you-poss name ‘He always forgets your name.’ (Sybesma 1997: 232, translation ours) However, there is evidence that there are two verbal ‑les (Shi 1988; Sybesma 1999; Wu 2000; but see Sybesma 1997).15 One is a perfective aspect marker, while the other is a phase complement like diao ‘off ’ or shang ‘up’. The phase complement ‑le can only combine with a restricted set of verbs, while the perfective aspect ‑le is not lexically restricted. Lü (1980 cited in Wu 2000) lists 28 verbs that can be combined with the phase complement -le. They are wang ‘forget’, diu ‘throw/get rid of ’, guan ‘close, shut’, he ‘drink’, chi ‘eat’, yan ‘swallow’, tun ‘swallow’, po ‘slash’, sa ‘spill’, reng ‘throw/get rid of ’, fang ‘release’, tu ‘scribble’, mo ‘wipe’, ca ‘wipe’, peng ‘bump’, za ‘break’, shuai ‘throw’, ke ‘crack’, zhuang ‘hit’, cai ‘step on’, shang ‘injure’, sha ‘kill’, zai ‘kill’, qie ‘cut’, chong ‘flush’, mai ‘sell’, huan ‘return’, hui ‘destroy’. Another difference between the phase complement and the perfective aspect marker is that the phase complement can occur with the negation meiyou, while the perfective aspect marker may not (examples adapted from Sybemsa 1997). (34) a. Ta meiyou wang le na-jian shi. he not-have forget le that-cl matter ‘He did not forget that matter.’ b. *Ta meiyou xie le yi-ben shu. he not-have write le one-cl book ‘He did not write a book.’ Given that wang ‘forget’ is one of the verbs that may take a phase complement, we suggest that the particle ‑le in (33) is a phase complement (Wu 2000: 420) and not a perfective aspect marker. 15. Sybesma (1999) for example argues that the two verbal ‑les are Realization ‑le and Endpoint ‑le.
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3.2 Activities Lin (2003) notes that when the sentence describes an atelic situation (e.g. , an activity or a state), it may have a present continuative reading in the presence of verbal ‑le (see also Liu 1988; Lin 2000). The examples below are given in Lin (2003: 266–7); the translations are ours. (35) a. Ta yang le yi-tiao jinyu. he raise le one-cl goldfish ‘He is raising a goldfish.’ ‘He adopted a gold fish, and he is raising it.’ b. Wo (zai Boston) zu le yi-jian gongyu. I in Boston rent le one-cl apartment ‘I am renting an apartment in Boston.’ ‘I rented (entered into a rental agreement for) an apartment in Boston, and I am renting it.’ c. Zhangsan (shou-li) ti le yi-ge da pixiang. Zhangsan hand-in carry le one-cl big suitcase ‘Zhangsan is carrying a big suitcase (in his hand).’ ‘Zhangsan picked up a big suitcase, and he is carrying it (in his hand).’ d. Ni kan, Lisi qi le yi-pi ma wang cheng wai fangxiang zou, you look Lisi ride le one-cl horse toward town outside direction walk bu zhidao ta yao qu nar. not know he want go where ‘Look! Lisi is riding a horse toward the direction of the outside of town. I wonder where he wants to go.’ ‘Look! Lisi mounted the horse and he is riding it toward the direction of the outside of town. I wonder where he wants to go.’ However, it should be noted that the present continuative reading is not possible with many activity sentences in the presence of verbal ‑le.16 Examples are given below. 16. Lin (2003: 267) notes that there are many activity predicates that are incompatible with ‑le and cites (i) as an example. *Zhangsan kan le yi-zhi niao. (i) Zhangsan watch le one-cl bird ‘Zhangsan is watching a bird/Zhangsan watched a bird.’ Lin notes that it is unclear what properties distinguish those atelic predicates that are compatible with ‑le from those that are not. Lin assumes that a present continuative reading is in principle available with atelic predicates and sentences like (i) are ruled out for independent reason. We differ from Lin (2003) in what we view to be the core generalization. We think that a present continuative reading is in general not available and it is only available with a small set of verbs (see also Wu 2004). While we agree that (i) does not sound natural, we think that it is acceptable with a terminative reading with a richer context.
Verbal ‑le in Mandarin Chinese 105
(36) a. b. c.
Ta you le yong. he swim le swim ‘He swam.’ Not ‘He is swimming.’ Ta zuo le yundong. he do le exercise ‘He exercised.’ Not ‘He is exercising.’ Ta ma le ta de haizi. he scold le he poss child ‘He scolded his child.’ Not ‘He is scolding his child.’
We claim that the present continuative reading with atelic predicates is not made possible by verbal ‑le. We argue instead that the present continuative interpretation in (35) is an implicature. We suggest that the situations in (35) are ambiguous between activities and achievements. The verb yang in (35a) is ambiguous between ‘raise’ and ‘adopt’. Zu in (35b) is ambiguous between ‘rent’ and ‘entering into a rental agreement’. Ti in (35c) means both ‘carry’ and ‘pick up’, and the verb qi in (35d) means ‘ride’ or ‘mount’. Verbal ‑le indicates that the achievement events are completed. With the logical end point of the achievements reached in these sentences, one can infer pragmatically that the activities or resulting states that usually follow from these achievement events occur. That the present continuative reading is an implicature is supported by the fact that the reading can be cancelled as shown below. (37) a. Ta yang le yi-tiao jinyu Kelian de jinyu jin zaoshang si le. he raise le one-cl goldfish poor de goldfish this morning die le ‘He raised a goldfish. The poor fish died this morning.’ b. Wo (zai Boston) zu le yi-jian gongyu. hai mei ban jin qu, fangdong I in Boston rent le one-cl apartment yet not move in go landlord jiu gai-bian zhu-yi bu zu gei wo le. then change mind not rent to I le ‘I rented an apartment in Boston. Before I moved in, the landlord changed his mind and decided not to rent to it to me.’ c. Zhangsan ti le yi-ge da pixiang, dan faxian bu shi ziji de, you Zhangsan carry le one-cl big suitcase but discover not be self poss then fang le huiqu. put le back (ii)
Zhangsan qu dongwuyuan kan le yi zhi gang chushi de xiao xiongmao, Zhangsan go zoo watch/see le one-cl just borned de small panda hui lai hen kaixin return very happy ‘Zhangsan went to the zoo and saw a baby panda. He returned happy.’
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‘Zhangsan picked up a big suitcase. But he realized it is not his, and he put it back down.’ d. Lisi qi le yi-pi ma. Dan hai mei zuo wen, jiu shuai le xialai. Lisi ride le one-cl horse but yet not sit steady then fall le down ‘Lisi got on a horse. But before he could sit steadily, he fell down.’ The fact that the present continuative reading in (35) can be cancelled does not pose a problem for Lin’s (2003) analysis. In Lin (2003), the present continuative reading is available when the topic time is now (which is a default topic time when there is no overt time adverb). It is possible to shift the topic time to a past time; in that case, the event may be interpreted as terminated. There are however differences in predictions between Lin’s (2003) analysis and the one proposed here. Lin (2003) predicts that a present continuative reading is not available with telic events (e.g. , achievements), while our analysis predicts that it is possible. (38) involves a resultative verb compound, formed by the verb qi ‘ride/mount’ and shang ‘up’. The sentence describes an achievement event. The same continuative interpretation is available in (38) when the sentence contains verbal ‑le, even though the logical end point of the achievement predicate is reached. (38) Lisi qi shang le yi-pi ma, wang cheng wai zou qu. Lisi ride up le one-cl horse toward town outside walk go ‘Lisi got on a horse, and rode towards the outside of town.’ This fact supports our analysis that the present continuative reading is an implicature that arises with the completion of an achievement event, and is not due to the interaction of verbal ‑le as a realization marker with an atelic predicate. Unlike achievements, activities do not give rise to this implicature as shown in (36) above. Further support for the analysis proposed here comes from the distribution of the imperfective markers zai and zhe. As Lin (2003: 307) notes, the sentences in (35) are incompatible with the progressive marker zai. (39) a. *Ta zai yang yi-tiao jinyu.17 he prog raise one-cl goldfish ‘He is raising a goldfish.’ b. *Wo (zai Boston) zai zu yi-jian gongyu. I in Boston prog rent one-cl apartment ‘I am renting an apartment in Boston.’ c. *Zhangsan (shou-li) zai ti yi-ge da pixiang. Zhangsan hand-in prog carry one-cl big suitcase ‘Zhangsan is carrying a big suitcase (in his hand).’
17. The sentence is acceptable with yang interpreted as ‘feed’.
Verbal ‑le in Mandarin Chinese 107
d. *Ni kan, Lisi zai qi yi-pi ma wang cheng wai fangxiang zou, you look Lisi prog ride one-cl horse toward town outside direction bu zhidao ta yao qu nar. walk not know he want go where ‘Look! Lisi is riding a horse toward the direction of the outside of town. I wonder where he wants to go.’ They are however acceptable with the stative imperfective zhe, with similar interpretations as in the sentences with verbal ‑le in (35). (40) a. Ta xian yang-zhe yi-tiao jinyu. he first raise-zhe one-cl goldfish ‘He is raising a goldfish first/for now.’ b. Wo (zai Boston) xian zu-zhe yi-jian gongyu. I in Boston first rent-zhe one-cl apartment ‘I am renting an apartment in Boston first/for now.’ c. Zhangsan (shou-li) ti-zhe yi-ge da pixiang. Zhangsan hand-in carry-zhe one-cl big suitcase ‘Zhangsan is carrying a big suitcase (in his hand).’ d. Ni kan, Lisi qi-zhe yi-pi ma wang cheng wai fangxiang zou, you look Lisi ride-zhe one-cl horse toward town outside direction walk bu zhidao ta yao qu nar. not know he want go where ‘Look! Lisi is riding a horse toward the direction of the outside of town. I wonder where he wants to go.’ The difference between zai and zhe is that zai focuses the internal stages of non-stative situations and has a dynamic conceptual meaning, while zhe focuses on results and has a static conceptual meaning (Smith 1994: 120, see also Li and Thompson 1981). The fact that only zhe and not zai may be used to describe the imperfective situation suggests that the continuative reading in (40), and by extension in (35), must be associated with a stative situation and not with an activity (Wu 2005).18 This is consistent with our analysis, as within our analysis, it is the result state (of an achievement) that continues, rather than the activity. In Lin’s (2003) analysis, given that it is the activity that continues, it is unclear why the sentences cannot appear with the dynamic imperfective marker zai. 18. This conclusion is independently arrived at in Wu (2005). Our analysis is similar to Wu’s. Wu (2005) argues that verbs like yang ‘raise’ has a semantic that is similar to an RVC (Resultative Verb Compound) or verbs like zuo ‘sit’ and chuan ‘wear’, with both an action part and a resultative state part. The perfective ‑le identifies the final end point of the action part and the initial endpoint of the resultative part and locates it before a reference time. The default reference time is the speech time. Given that the resultative state starts before the present time and nothing in the context specifies its termination, we obtain the present continuative reading.
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3.3 Summary Given the discussion above, we conclude that verbal ‑le does not give rise to an inchoative or a continuative reading, and that it is not a realization marker.
4. Implications and conclusions In this chapter, we have examined the meaning of verbal ‑le, separating entailments from implicatures. On the basis of the semantic contributions of verbal ‑le, we claim that it is a perfective aspect marker and not a realization marker. We have shown that verbal ‑le does not occur in stative sentences, except when the states are bounded, and that it provides a terminative reading to an atelic event and a completive reading to a telic event. Our analysis has implications for the debate on whether verbal ‑le is related to sentential ‑le. Shi (1988, 1990), for example, argues that verbal ‑le and sentential ‑le are instances of the same morpheme by citing similarities between these two instances of ‑le. Among the similarities that are cited are that like sentential ‑le, verbal ‑le may provide an inchoative reading and that they both may appear in stative sentences. We have shown that both these assumptions are wrong. Although it remains possible that verbal ‑le and sentential ‑le are instances of the same morpheme, the present study has clarified the differences between these two instances of ‑le that need to be addressed by those who wish to analyze them as instances of the same morpheme. (See Soh 2006 for a recent unified analysis of verbal ‑le and sentential ‑le, where differences between them are argued to follow from their different syntactic positions.)
References Bohnemeyer, Jurgen and Swift, Mary. 2001. “Default Aspect: The Semantic Interaction of Aspectual Viewpoint and Telicity”, Proceedings of Perspectives on Aspect, Utrecht Institute of Linguistics. Chu, Chauncey C. 1976. “Some Semantic Aspects of Action Verbs”. Lingua 40: 43–54. Huang, Lillian Meei Jin and Davis, Philip W. 1989. “An Aspectual System in Mandarin Chinese”. Journal of Chinese Linguistics 17: 128–66. Kang, Jian. 1999. The Composition of the Perfective Aspect in Mandarin Chinese. Doctoral Dissertation, Boston University. Kennedy, Chris and Levin, Beth. 2002. “Telicity Corresponds to Degree of Change”. Handout of Paper presented at Georgetown University. February 4, 2002. Klein, Wolfgang, Li, Ping and Hendriks, Henriette. 2000. “Aspect and Assertion in Mandarin Chinese”. Natural Language and Linguistic Theory 18: 723–70. Li, Charles, and Thompson, Sandra. 1981. Mandarin Chinese: A Functional Reference Grammar. Berkeley: University of California Press. Lin, Jimmy. 2004. Event Structure and the Encoding of Arguments: The Syntax of the Mandarin and English Verb Phrase, Doctoral Dissertation, MIT.
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Lin, Jo-Wang. 2000. “On the Temporal Meaning of the Verbal ‑le in Chinese”. Language and Lin‑ guistics 1: 109–33. Lin, Jo-Wang. 2003. “Temporal Reference in Mandarin Chinese”. Journal of East Asian Linguis‑ tics 12: 259–311. Liu, Xunning. 1988. “Xiandai Hanyu Ciwei ‘le’ de Yufa Yiyi”. Zongguo Yuwen 5: 321–30. Lü, Shuxiang (ed.). 1980. Xiandai Hanyu Babai Ci [Eight Hundred Modern Chinese Words], Shangwu, Peking. Rohsenow, John S. 1978. “Perfective le: Aspect and Relative Tense in Mandarin Chinese”, in R. L. Cheng, Y. C. Li and T. C. Tang (eds.), Proceedings of Symposium on Chinese Linguistics, 269– 91. Taipei: Student Book Co. Ross, Claudia. 1995. “Temporal and Aspectual Reference in Mandarin Chinese”. Journal of Chi‑ nese Linguistics 23: 87–135. Rothstein, Susan. 2004. Structuring Events. Malden: Blackwell Publishing. Shi, Ziqiang. 1988. The Present and Past of the Particle ‘le’ in Mandarin Chinese. Doctoral Dissertation, University of Pennsylvania. Shi, Ziqiang. 1990. “Decomposition of Perfectivity and Inchoativity and the Meaning of the Particle le in Mandarin Chinese”. Journal of Chinese Linguistics 18: 95–123. Smith, Carlota S. 1994. “Aspectual Viewpoint and Situation Type in Mandarin Chinese”. Journal of East Asian Linguistics 3: 107–46. Smith, Carlota. 1997. The Parameter of Aspect (2nd Ed). Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers. Smith, Carlota and Erbaugh, Mary. 2002. “Temporal Interpretation in Mandarin Chinese”. Manuscript, University of Texas and University of Oregon. Soh, Hooi Ling and Kuo, Jenny Yi-Chun. 2005. “Perfective Aspect and Accomplishment Situations in Mandarin Chinese”, in Perspectives on Aspect, Angeliek van Hout, Henriette de Swart and Henk Verkuyl (eds), 199–216. Dordrecht: Springer. Soh, Hooi Ling. 2006. “The Syntax and Semantics of Change/Transition: Evidence from Mandarin Chinese”, A book volume of invited papers from an international workshop on Theoretical and Cross-linguistics Approaches to the Semantics of Aspect, Bar-Ilan University, Israel, to be published by John Benjamins. Sybesma, Rint. 1997. “Why Chinese Verb le is a Resultative Predicate”. Journal of East Asian Linguistics 6: 215–61. Sybesma, Rint. 1999. The Mandarin VP. Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers. Tai, James H. Y. 1984. “Verbs and Times in Chinese: Vendler’s Four Categories”, in Papers from the Parasession on Lexical Semantics, Chicago Linguistic Society, D. Testen, V. Mishra and J. Drogo (eds), 20: 289–96. Tham, Shiao-Wei and Soh, Hooi Ling. 2006. “Discourse Effects of Lexical Specification: the Case of the Mandarin Aspectual Particle ‑le”, in Proceedings of KONVENS 2006, Miriam Butt (ed.), 181–8. Konstanz, Germany: University of Konstanz. Wu, Jiun-Shiung. 2005. “The Semantics of the Perfective le and its Context-Dependency: An SDRT Approach”. Journal of East Asian Linguistics 14: 299–336. Wu, Zoe Xiu-Zhi. 2000. Grammaticalization and the Development of Functional Categories in Chinese. Doctoral Dissertation, University of Southern California. Zhang, Qing. 1997. “The Semantics of the Verbal Suffix ‑le and Sentence Final ‑le”. Qualifying Paper, Stanford University.
part ii
Pragmatics and Reference
chapter 6
Knowing who’s important Relative discourse salience and Irish pronominal forms* Ann E. Mulkern University of Minnesota
1. Introduction The main premise of the theory outlined in Gundel, Hedberg, and Zacharski (1993) (hereafter GHZ) is that different determiners and pronominal forms of a language conventionally signal different cognitive statuses. What this means is that these linguistic expressions indicate information about memory location and attention state with regard to the mental representations of discourse entities, thereby enabling the addressee of an utterance to restrict the set of possible referents that a particular expression might indicate. To explain the relation between referring forms and conditions for their appropriate use and interpretation across languages, GHZ propose the Givenness Hierarchy, a set of six implicationally related cognitive statuses. Each status on the hierarchy is a necessary and sufficient condition for appropriate use of a different linguistic form or set of forms, and each status also entails all lower statuses. The interaction of the Givenness Hierarchy with a theory of conventional use and conversational implicature, such as the Maxim of Quantity (Grice 1975) or Relevance Theory (Sperber and Wilson 1986/1995), accounts for the actual distribution and interpretation of referring forms when the necessary conditions for more than one form are met. In their seminal work outlining the theory, GHZ also demonstrate that the Givenness Hierarchy is useful for describing appropriate use of articles, demonstratives and pronominals in a number of typologically varied languages, although not all of the six statuses are distinguished in each language by separate linguistic forms. In Mulkern (2003), I show that the Givenness Hierarchy is also useful for describing the use of nominal expressions in another language, typologically different from those previously studied, namely Irish. Table 1 * This paper is revised from part of my dissertation (Mulkern 2003). Some of the central ideas were originally presented in Stenson and Mulkern (1994), so I gratefully acknowledge Nancy Stenson’s considerable contributions to the foundation of this work. I also thank Michael Hegarty for helpful discussion, and I am grateful to the editors of this volume and to an anonymous reviewer for thoughtful comments and suggestions to improve this paper. All shortcomings are my responsibility.
114 Ann E. Mulkern
Table 1. The Givenness Hierarchy (Gundel, Hedberg, and Zacharski 1993) in focus > activated > familiar > uniquely > referential > type identifiable identifiable English she
this N that this she
that N
the N
this N
aN
Irish
an N seo sin seo siúd sí~Ø+se sí~Ø féin sí~Ø sin
an N úd an N sin
an N
an N seo
ØN
sí~Ø
Note: The representative pronominal form illustrating the Givenness Hierarchy in Table 1 for both English and Irish is the third singular feminine nominative form. As indicated by ‘~’, overt pronominals in Irish generally occur in complementary distribution with null pronominal forms, used when a verb or preposition is inflected for person and number. When a pronoun is the object of a preposition, the inflected preposition is obligatory, and it must co-occur with the null pronominal. Inflected verb forms also co-occur with null pronominals, but use of an inflected form (vs. a verb and subject pronoun) is not obligatory. Additionally, verb inflection in Modern Irish is found only for particular combinations of tense, mood, and aspect, and even then does not occur with all person–number combinations. Use of inflected verb forms also varies across dialects.
shows the statuses of the Givenness Hierarchy proposed by GHZ, illustrated with examples of the relevant determiners and pronominals which conventionally signal the different statuses in English and in Irish. Note that Irish is like English in distinguishing all six statuses with separate forms. Of particular interest, though, is the wealth of pronominal forms of Irish whose functions have traditionally been difficult to distinguish or characterize precisely. Table 2 illustrates the full pronominal paradigms for three of the different pronoun forms of Irish. The leftmost paradigm in Table 2 shows the basic, or simplex, pronominal forms. This simplex form may be augmented by the addition of a suffix, illustrated by the paradigm in the middle column of Table 2, or by the addition of the morpheme féin (‘self ’), shown by the paradigm in the column on the right. In addition, for third-person pro. For the purposes of the analysis presented here, the term ‘simplex pronoun’ also includes the null pronominals (see n. 1). . The same augmentation is applied to inflected prepositions and verbs. For example, the simplex form of the preposition ag ‘at’ inflected for first-person singular is agam, with augmented forms agamsa and agam féin. There is another pronominal form which combines the two augmented pronominal forms from Table 2: mise mé féin, tusa tú féin, etc. Use of this pronominal form, which Ó Siadhail (1989) calls ‘emphatic contrastive grade,’ is less common and did not occur at all in the data used in my study. It therefore will not be under discussion here.
Relative discourse salience and Irish pronominal forms
Table 2. Irish pronominal paradigms number/person
simplex
augmented
sing 1 2 3fem 3masc plur 1 2 3
mé tú/(thú) sí/í sé/é muid|sinna sibh siad/iad
mise túsa sise/ise seisean/eisean muidne|sinne sibhse siadsan/iadsan
mé féin tú/(thú) féin sí/í féin sé/é féin muid féin|sinn féin sibh féin siad/iad féin
a The choice between muid and sinn (indicated in the table with ‘|’) is dialectal. Muid, the form typical of Connemara Irish and related dialects, is the form which occurs in most of the data examined for this study. The alternation between third-person forms with and without initial s (indicated in the table with ‘/’), on the other hand, is related to Case. Pronominal forms with s are nominative, used for subjects of tensed verbs. Forms without initial s are accusative; they are also used as the default case for subjects of untensed clauses, the copula, and those that are displaced (e.g., through clefting). In some dialects a similar distinction, though less rigidly observed, is found for the second-person singular form, where the nominative is tú, and the accusative/default form is thú.
nouns only, an augmented form can be made by adding one of the demonstrative pronouns, seo, sin or siúd (proximal, medial, and distal, respectively) to the simplex form, as illustrated in (1). These are the forms typically used for non-human referents, though they are used for reference to human entities as well. (1)
sé/é
seo sin siúd
sí/í
seo sin siúd
siad/iad
seo sin siúd
There are a few formal characteristics which at least partially distinguish the simplex pronouns in Table 2 from all of the augmented forms in Table 2 and (1), and these are largely correlated with the fact that the simplex pronouns are associated with the status in focus on the Givenness Hierarchy, as seen from Table 1, while all of the augmented forms are associated with the status activated. But cognitive status alone cannot distinguish among the augmented forms of Table 2 and (1), which can all be used in contexts where a stressed pronoun would be used in English. Traditional grammars of Irish provide little or no help in distinguishing among the forms, either, although observations made in some of these grammars indicate that the different pronoun forms are associated with a difference in some property or properties of the referents in the discourse. Based on a study of naturally occurring Irish data from a variety of spoken and written sources, I propose that the distinction between the various pronominal . For instance, the simplex forms are typically unstressed, and in subject position are cliticized to the verb, while the suffixed forms in Table 2 typically have initial syllable stress, and the other augmented forms in that table and (1) have stress on the added morpheme (e.g., féin or sin). Also, there are two syntactic environments in which the distribution of the simplex forms differs from that of the augmented forms: in conjoined NPs, only an augmented pronoun can occur, while for an object pronoun in postposed position, only the simplex form can occur.
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forms lies in what they signal about the salience of their referents in the discourse relative to other entities. Specifically, I argue that the suffixed pronominal form is used to signal that the salience of its referent is equal to or less than another entity in the discourse. The pronominal form augmented with féin, on the other hand, is used to signal the promotion of its referent to the most salient position relative to other entities in the discourse, or to signal that the referent remains the most salient one among activated discourse referents. The differences between these two pronominal types is thus reminiscent of an obviation system, in which nominal expressions for third-person referents encode information about the relative salience of their referents. In Irish, though, this kind of salience signaling is available for expressions pertaining to first and secondperson referents as well as third-person referents. The pronoun form augmented with a demonstrative (the paradigm in (3)) is similar in function to the suffixed pronoun, in that it is used to signal that the referent is relatively equal or less inherently salient than another entity, but usually with respect to an additional deictic factor, such as time (e.g., ‘then’ vs.‘now’) or of location (e.g., ‘there’ vs. ‘here’), either physical location or location in the discourse. I begin in §2 with a brief discussion of the accounts of these pronominal forms in traditional grammars of Irish. In §3, I discuss relative discourse salience, and in particular motivations for imposing salience on a discourse referent. Then in §4, I show how this notion is useful for distinguishing among the Irish pronominal forms.
2. Traditional accounts Many of the traditional grammars of Irish, both pedagogical and reference, make little or no attempt to explain the differences in the use or function of the different pronoun forms. For instance, de Bhaldraithe (1953: 140–1, 157–8) simply describes both types in Table 2 as forainm treise (‘strong pronoun’). Other grammars attempt to characterize the distinction on the basis of terminology which is vague and confusing. For example, O’Rathaille (1932), describes the suffixed pronominals as emphatic, while Ó Cadhlaigh (1940) simply uses the term treisiú (‘strengthening’) to characterize these same forms. On the other hand, Ó Siadhail (1980, 1989: 228) and Ó Searcaigh (1954) characterize these forms as marking contrast, while those augmented with féin are described as indicating emphasis. The only attempt at a detailed description of the usage patterns or functions associated with the various forms is that of the Christian Brothers (1960), but this account is inadequate as well, for although the various forms in Table 2 and (1) are described as having distinct uses, discussion of the conditions for the use of each type shows considerable overlap. For example, the suffixed forms in the table are described as marking contracht (‘contrast’) or fritéis (‘opposition’), but if the second element of a contrastive pair is omitted, then emphasis (treisiú) is what is at issue. The demonstrative forms in (1) are described as sometimes marking opposition as well, when two referents of the same person, number and gender are being contrasted, while the
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forms with féin are described as referring to the most important individual in a group. For the most part, however, examples used in the discussion by the Christian Brothers (1960) are devoted to demonstrating the optionality of using any of these augmented forms, even in cases of clear contrast. In fact, examples from naturally occurring data reveal that all of the pronoun forms are used as referring expressions in utterances that seem intuitively to involve contrast, as the examples in (2)–(4) illustrate.
(2) Níl sé dul a’ dhéanamh a leithéid. neg.be.pres he go(-prog) prt do its like. Tú féin atá fáil íoctha is ní mise. (cop.pres) you rel.be.pres get(-prog) paid and neg.cop.pres me ‘He’s not going to do any such thing. It’s you who’s getting paid and not me.’ [Antoine Ó Flatharta. 1986. Gaeilgeoirí :34]
tú a deir agus ní hé Dia, a dhoctúir. (3) Is cop.pres you rel say and neg.cop.pres it God voc doctor.voc ‘It’s you that says so and not God, doctor.’ [Breandán Ó hEithir. 1977. Willie the Plain Pint agus an Pápa: 18]
(4) … go mbíonn gach uile dhream ach na Sasanaigh sásta a cmp be.pres-hab every group but the.pl English content prt admháil go ndearna siad dearmad in am éigin. Bíonn siad siúd admit cmp made.pa they mistake in time some be.pres-hab they that ceart go fiú nuair is léir don dall iad a bheith go huile right even when cop.pres clear to-the blind them prt be wholly agus go hiomlán as bealach and fully out-of way ‘… that every group but the English is willing to admit that they made a mistake at some time. They are right when it is clear even to the blind that they are totally out of line.’ [Breandán Ó hEithir. 1977. Willie the Plain Pint agus an Pápa: 42]
. Ó Searcaigh (1954) also makes the observation that the use of a pronoun with féin indicates that there is some connection between the pronoun and something that was or is under discussion, or is understood in the conversation. . The data for this study comes from a variety of written and spoken sources from all three of the major dialects of Irish. Sources include plays; essays; a published trip journal; articles from An Te‑ anga Bheo, the weekly Irish language column of the Irish Times; An t-Eolaí, an Irish language science digest; websites; postings to the e-mail discussion list GAELIC-L from people who identified themselves as native speakers of Irish; personal letters; radio programs; transcripts of oral narratives from the archive of the Department of Irish Folklore at University College Dublin; and transcripts of recorded interviews with native Irish speakers in America, for which I did the transcription. I am extremely grateful to Nancy Stenson for access to many of these sources, and to John Fitzgerald, who gave me access to the material from the UCD Department of Irish Folklore.
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Additionally, it should be clear from these examples that whatever properties or functions ‘contrast’ and ‘emphasis’ are intended to characterize with respect to the Irish pronominals, they are independent of whether the pronominal referent is the topic or the focus of the sentence. Notice that in the examples in (2) and (3), where the cleft constructions mark the pronominal arguments as the foci of their respective sentences, the clefted constituent is expressed by both simplex and augmented forms. In (4), on the other hand, the referent of siad siúd (that is, the English) is a contrastive topic. Other examples of augmented pronouns which express sentence topics are shown in (5)–(7).
(5) a. … B’ait ag siúl an bheirt iad: ise cop.pa-strange the two-people them her-contr walk-prog go ropánta ag luascadh a géaga; prt vigorous swing-prog her limbs trí choischéim ina diadh… … eisean he-contr three steps behind-her ‘They were a strange pair: she walking vigorously swinging her limbs;… he three steps behind her…’ [Breandán Ó hEithir. 1977. Willie the Plain Pint agus an Pápa: 22] b. I saw Mary and John yesterday. She says hello, but he’s still angry at you. [Lambrecht 1994: 291, ex. 3.20b] c. [Roommates Hanako and Mary discussing household chores] H: Mary-san, anata-wa osoji shite kudasai, Mary-voc you-top cleaning do please watashi-wa oryori shimasu kara. cooking do conj I-top ‘H: Mary, you do the cleaning, I’ll do the cooking.’ [Lambrecht 1994: 292, excerpted from ex. 5.53]
In (5a), the Irish suffixed pronouns ise and eisean, which are the subjects of different small clauses, code referents which are contrastive topics. Similar examples of contrastive topics in English and Japanese (from Lambrecht 1994) are shown in (5b) and (5c), respectively, for comparison. The stressed English pronouns she and he in (5b) also code contrastive topics, as do the Japanese pronouns anata and watashi, marked with the topic suffix -wa, in (5c). The examples in (6) and (7) illustrate the use in Irish of two different kinds of augmented pronouns to code the topic referents in the topic-marking construction, maidir le… (‘as for…’).
(6) Maidir liom féin, tá mé ag coinneáil ag imeacht. like with-me emph be.pres I keep-prog leave-prog ‘As for me, I’m getting along.’ [SMS, letter]
(7) Maidir linne anseo, tá cúrsaí Gaeilge ag dul ar aghaidh sách like with-us here be.pres matters Irish go-prog forward enough
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sástúil, a lán ranganna thart ar Bhoston. satisfactory its fill classes around on Boston ‘As for us here, Irish matters are progressing satisfactorily, lots of classes around Boston.’ [SMS, letter] From the examples in (2)–(7), we can see that the difference in the use of the pronominal forms in Irish is not simply correlated with a difference in the information status of the referent, since any of the forms can be used to code a referent that is the sentence topic, and any can be used to code a referent that is the focus of the sentence. Moreover, descriptions of these pronouns in the various grammars of Irish cited here provide little help in explaining the differences in meaning or function of the different forms. Almost no attempt is made to provide an explanation beyond mere terminological differentiation, with ‘emphasis’ and ‘contrast’ the most commonly employed terms, but these terms are used inconsistently and imprecisely. Nevertheless, the observations made in these treatments seem to indicate that the different pronoun forms are associated with a difference in the salience of their referents in the discourse relative to other discourse entities.
3. Relative discourse salience At any particular point in the discourse, each of the entities in the discourse and in the discourse context has a degree of salience relative to that of other discourse entities. But as discussed in Clamons, Mulkern, and Sanders (1993) and Mulkern (2003), it is useful to distinguish between two different types of discourse salience: inherent salience, having to do with the centrality of the entity in the discourse (its “aboutness” with respect to the discourse), as determined by the history of the discourse up to this point; and imposed salience, having to do with the amount of prominence or foregrounding given to an entity for the purpose of signaling how the speaker intends the hearer to subsequently rank discourse entities relative to one another. Inherent salience is largely equivalent to cognitive status; an entity that is in focus, for example, is relatively more inherently salient in the discourse than an entity that is merely activated. But discourse entities that can be assumed to have the same cognitive status may have different degrees of salience relative to one another, due to various syntactic, semantic and pragmatic characteristics. The notion of inherent salience is also essentially the same as the notion of relative salience that is a central assumption of Centering Theory as outlined in Walker, Joshi, and Prince (1998). The difference is that Centering Theory is limited to looking at . Characteristics which have been shown to be relevant to an entity’s inherent salience, for example, are animacy (Dahl and Fraurud 1996); topicality or empathy (Kuno 1987); recency of mention in the discourse (Ariel 1990); frequency of mention in the discourse (Gundel, Borthen, and Fretheim 1999); and the grammatical function or thematic role with which the entity is associated (Givón 1984; Walker, Joshi, and Prince 1998).
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the relative salience of entities that were referred to in the previous utterance, that is, all entities that could potentially be in focus, while I take under consideration the relative salience of all entities whose status is assumed to be at least activated for participants in the discourse; for example, entities mentioned prior to the previous utterance, discourse participants (even if they have not been mentioned in the discourse), other entities in the extralinguistic context, and propositions evoked by the utterance. With imposed salience, on the other hand, the speaker is directing the hearer with regard to how central an entity will be, or will continue to be, in the discourse. Both crosslinguistically and within a given language, speakers have a range of linguistic strategies available to them for imposing salience, including the use of prosody, morphological marking, and specific syntactic constructions. One such strategy relevant to the discussion here involves the choice of referring expression. Generally, when a speaker wishes to maintain the same relative salience for discourse entities, she will use a referring expression which is associated on the Givenness Hierarchy with the cognitive status that she assumes the entity has for the hearer. When she uses an expression which is lower on the hierarchy than expected, then she imposes greater salience on the entity by indicating to the addressee that (in Relevance theoretic terms) there are additional contextual assumptions that the hearer should associate with the entity, and therefore he should derive additional contextual effects. If, for example, an entity has the status in focus at a particular point in the discourse, but the speaker uses a referring expression that is associated with a lower status, then additional effort is required by the addressee to process this referring expression compared to what it would take to process an expression that signals that the referent is in focus; the expectation on the part of the addressee, then is that this effort will yield additional contextual effects; for example, more information about the referent, or information about the speaker’s attitude toward the referent.
3.1 Motivations for imposing salience In imposing higher salience, the speaker directs the hearer to bring greater attention to an entity, and there are obviously a number of reasons why one would choose to do this. In particular, for entities that already have a relatively high degree of inherent salience, those whose cognitive status is at least activated and possibly in focus, the purpose of imposed salience is typically described as indicating ‘contrast’, ‘emphasis’, ‘focus’, or ‘unexpectedness’. But do these terms describe one discourse property or many? For example, as noted in §2.0 with regard to traditional descriptions of the Irish pronoun forms, sometimes ‘contrast’ and ‘emphasis’ are used interchangeably, that is, to denote the same property, and sometimes they are intended to distinguish between different . This discussion is primarily concerned with the imposition of higher salience for a referent. A speaker can choose to lower the salience of an entity as well, for example, by demoting the entity syntactically or by dropping it from the discourse all together.
Relative discourse salience and Irish pronominal forms
properties. Likewise, Gundel (1994) shows that the term ‘focus’ is used in at least three distinct linguistically relevant senses in the linguistic literature. To summarize a more detailed discussion in Mulkern (2003), I argue that most of the motivations for imposing salience on a referent can be grouped into two types, differentiated by their effect on the subsequent overall salience of the referent relative to other entities in the discourse. The two types are discussed in §3.1.1 and §3.1.2 below.
3.1.1 Contrast and related notions
The purpose of contrast is to partition a set of discourse entities with respect to some semantic property P such that it is established (either via assertion or implicature) that the value ‘true’ results when P is applied to one part of the set and ‘false’ or ‘unknown’ when applied to the other. The relevant set, abbreviated as the salient, semantically appropriate (SalSA) set, is invoked from the set of discourse entities available in short term memory, entities whose cognitive status is at least activated and possibly in focus. If they are not already at least activated in the discourse, then they must be ‘inferrable’ entities, in the sense defined in Prince (1981), meaning they can be constructed on the basis of other activated or in focus discourse entities and general knowledge about the world. In addition to being at least activated, they must be semantically appropriate, meaning that it must be plausible for P to apply to them. Take, for example, the conversation in (8).
(8) Greg: Terry: Greg: Terry:
Did you have a test today? Yes, and Joe and Paul took the same test. How did you (guys) do? I passed.
When Greg processes Terry’s second utterance in (8), there are a number of activated discourse entities: speaker (Terry), hearer (Greg), Joe, Paul, the biology test, as well as the propositions that result from the interpretation of the previous sentences, i.e. Terry took a biology test, Joe took a biology test. The property P which partitions the set is λx[passed(x, test)], so the set of salient entities that are semantically appropriate is restricted to (at least) activated individuals who took the test, namely {Terry, Joe, Paul}. Note that as a participant in the discourse, Greg is also at least activated, and therefore among the salient discourse entities, but since the property λx[took(x, test)] doesn’t apply to him (and this fact is mutually manifest to Terry and Greg), he isn’t part of the SalSA set. . An example of an inferrable entity is the referent of the flight attendant in the example in (i), which can be inferred from the previous reference to the plane and the general knowledge that there are flight attendants on commercial plane flights. (i) The plane was late taking off, so the flight attendant gave us free drinks. . There may be partially ordered set (poset) relations definable on the discourse entities in the SalSA set. Indeed, in the case of inferrable entities, their inclusion in the SalSA set is almost certainly due to a salient poset relation to one or more activated discourse entities in the SalSA set.
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An assumption made here is that the effect that contrast has on the overall salience of the entities in the SalSA set is to make them more inherently salient than other discourse entities, but relatively equal with respect to one another. Thus, for example in (8), the use of the stressed personal pronoun I is expected to bring the speaker (Terry) into about equal, but not greater, salience relative to Joe and Paul. Similar to contrast is the imposition of salience to establish that members of the SalSA set are parallel, meaning that the same value for some property P results when applied to each of them, as illustrated in (9).10
(9) C: Jamie likes ice cream. A: I like ice cream (too).
The stressed pronoun I is used by A in (9) to establish that, for the two discourse entities (Jamie, the speaker), the same truth value will result for the property λx [likes (x, ice cream)]. Another, similar purpose is one in which the value for some property or relation is established to be reciprocal with regard to the discourse entities, as illustrated by the example in (10). (10) It’s great having a roommatei who’s the same size as me, because I can wear heri clothes. And shei can wear my clothes (too). In (10), the stressed pronouns in the second sentence are used to establish that the value for the relation established by the assertion in the first sentence, that is λyλx [∃ z [clothes (z) ∧ belong_to (z, y) ∧ wear(x,z)]] where x=[speaker], y=roommate, is the same when the semantic roles of the entities are reversed, that is x=roommate, y=[speaker]. A fourth purpose for imposing salience occurs when the SalSA set is partitioned according to some scalar property, in which the property is established to be more applicable to one part of the set than to the other part of the set. This comparison is illustrated by the examples in (11) and (12). (11) Brad spent the whole day giving my dog a bath and a haircut. He cares more about the dog than he does about me. (12) You should ignore Johni’s opinion of your article on Internet security, because hei knows less about the topic than you do. In (11) it is asserted that P=λx [cares_about(Brad, x)] is more salient for x=the dog, than it is for x=[speaker]. In (12), the speaker asserts that P=λx [knows_about(x, IS)] These poset relations do not play a role in the partitioning of the set. (Cf. Ward and Hirschberg (1985), Ward and Prince (1991) for a definition of posets and discussion of their relation to linguistic form). 10. Kehler (2002) defines similar notions of parallel and contrast for the purpose of explaining discourse coherence across sentences.
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is less salient for x=John than for x=[addressee]. While unequal comparisons (for example, more/less than) would be expected to result in greater salience for the entity with which P is established to a greater degree, all other purposes for imposed salience discussed here, contrast, parallelism, and reciprocality, would be expected to result in relatively equal salience for the discourse entities (other things being equal).
3.1.2 Emphasis and related notions
The primary motivation for other types of imposed salience, on the other hand, is to make a referent the most salient entity relative to other entities in the discourse. Contexts in which imposed salience is used for emphasis, to increase the salience of a referent relative to other entities, include the establishment of the referent as the new topic of the discourse, as illustrated by the constructed discourse in (13). (13) S: My soni’s third birthday is on Friday, and we’re having a big party to cele brate. A: Oh, hei must be really excited about that. S: Yes, hei can’t wait. While S’s son is introduced into the discourse in her first utterance in (13), his discourse salience is not as high as other entities in the discourse which are more semantically and syntactically prominent. But the use of the coreferential stressed pronoun in A’s utterance is intended to establish him as the most salient entity, and as seen by S’s second utterance, where the unstressed pronoun he is used, the discourse continues to be about him. Another context which similarly affects the relative salience of a referent is unexpectedness, as when the same entity is both the subject and object of a predicate whose semantics indicate disjoint reference for subject and object arguments, as in (14). (14) I’m voting for Buddy, because Georgei only cares about the policies that affect him(self)i . A third context is subjectivity, in which the referent is the source of the thoughts, feelings or perspective being expressed. This is illustrated by the example in (15).11
11. Note that in the English examples in (14) and (15) the choice of referring expression includes what Baker (1995) calls a Locally Free Reflexive (LFR). In English, and also French (ZribiHertz 1995), the possibility of using a LFR is restricted to specific syntactic environments. In other languages, including Turkish (Kornfilt 2001), Malay (Cole, Hermon, and Lee 2001) and Irish, LFRs freely alternate with other pronominal referring expressions in virtually all syntactic environments. Crosslinguistically, where the use of a LFR is possible, the choice of using such an expression is assumed to depend on discourse considerations of the kind under discussion here. See Mulkern (2003) and also Huang (2000, 2004) for summaries of the syntactic, semantic, and pragmatic factors involved in regulating the distribution of pronominal expressions.
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(15) … She left Morrisi alone in his office. Hei sat down at the desk and opened the drawers. In the top right-hand one was an envelope addressed to himselfi. [David Lodge, Changing Places 1975: 62; also in Zribi-Hertz (1989: 716, ex. 65)] Thus, the two motivations for imposing salience discussed here can be seen to have different purposes. The purpose of contrast and related notions is to establish a partition between members of the SalSA set, such that both parts remain relatively equally salient. The purpose of emphasis and related notions is to promote one discourse entity as the most important relative to other discourse entities.
4. Irish pronominals in discourse Using the notions of inherent and imposed salience put forward in §3, I now examine specific examples of the various augmented pronouns used in naturally occurring discourse with regard to the relative discourse salience of their referents. In §4.1, I look at contexts in which the suffixed pronominals are used, and in §4.2, contexts in which the pronominal augmented with féin occurs. In §4.3, I discuss the use of augmented pronouns in contexts where the two different augmented forms are both used. Finally, in §4.4, I look at examples of pronouns augmented with a demonstrative as used for human referents.
4.1 Suffixed pronominals The suffixed pronominal forms of Irish are generally used in the types of discourse contexts discussed in §3.1.1, in which the speaker intends to bring the referent of the pronominal into at most equal salience relative to another activated or inferrable entity. The examples in (2) and (5a) showed the use of a suffixed pronoun to establish a contrast between the referent of the pronoun and a previously mentioned entity. The example in (16) is another illustration of the use of a suffixed pronominal to establish a contrast. This example is an excerpt from a weekly Irish language radio program, in which a panel of native Irish speakers, who represent the different major dialects of the language, discusses a range of language and dialect issues. The discussion from which (16) is taken is about Irish surnames derived from the names of animals, and the speaker is reading from a listener’s letter. (16) … “Tá scéalta eile a thugann le fios go shil grupaí be.pres stories other rel bring to knowledge cmp think.pa groups áirithe go raibh gaol idir iad agus na cait [kit′]” nó na [kæt’] certain cmp be.pa relation between them and the.pl cats or the.pl mar a deirfeása a Eilín, is dóigh, agus, ah, “tá go as prt say-cond.2sg-contr voc E cop probable and be.pres
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leor leor eile” a deir sé … many many others prt says he ‘…“There are other stories that give us to understand that certain groups think there is a connection between them and the cats,” or the cats [different pronunciation], as you would probably say, Eilín, and, ah, “there are many many others,” he says…’ [Leagan Cainte , Raidio na Gaeltachta 4/19/02] The speaker of (16) first reads the word cait (‘cats’) according to his native pronunciation, then in an aside gives the same word a different pronunciation, which he attributes to another member of the panel, a native speaker of a different dialect. The aside is addressed to the other panelist using a verb inflected for second-person singular (deirfeá), augmented with the pronominal suffix. Although the addressee has not been mentioned recently in the discourse, and therefore is not in focus, she is activated by virtue of being one of the panel participants and in the extralinguistic context, so use of a referring form signaling activated status is appropriate. The speaker of (16) attributes a pronunciation to the addressee which is in contrast to the pronunciation established for the speaker by virtue of his utterance. There are at least two possible (and not mutually exclusive) contextual effects that the speaker intends as a result of establishing the contrast. One is that pointing out the pronunciation contrast serves to tie the discussion back to the overall topic of the radio program (dialect variations); the other, given that the speaker has been doing all the talking (or reading) for several minutes, is that bringing the addressee into attention may remind listeners that there are other participants in the discourse. Nevertheless, the addressee is only temporarily brought into attention here. She is not referred to again in the immediately following discourse, and in fact the speaker resumes reading from the letter before turning to address a different panelist. The example in (17) illustrates the use of suffixed pronominals in utterances in which the speaker establishes two different reciprocal relationships with respect to the relation λyλx[understand (x, humor_of(y)] for two sets of discourse referents. The discussion from which (19) is taken concerns differences in language use, particularly in language-related humor, between people who grew up in an Irish-speaking community (Gaeltacht) and those who didn’t. Gaeilgeoir ort as an cheantar céanna anois, (17) … Má chastar if meet-pres.aut Irish-speaker on-you from the district same now nuair a bhím ag caint le Colmi, tuigim when prt be.pres.hab-1sg talk-prog with Colm understand.pres.hab-1sg ai chuid grinne Chonamara agus tuigeann seiseani mo his part of-humor of-Connemara and understand.pres.hab he-contr my ghreannsa ach greann Gaeilgeoirí Bhaile Átha Cliathj, ní humor-contr but humor Irish-speakers of-Dublin neg siadsanj an thuigim é. Well, ní thuigeann understand.pres.hab-1sg it well neg understand.pres.hab they-contr the
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grean dúinne, an dtuigeann tú? humor for-us-contr int understand.pres.hab you ‘… If you meet an Irish speaker from the same district now, when I am talking with Colmi, I understand hisi Connemara humor, and hei understands my humor but the humor of Dublin Irish speakersj, I don’t understand it. Well, theyj don’t understand the humor for us, know what I mean?’ [PÓC, taped interview] In (17), the adverbial phrase nuair a bhím ag caint le Colm (‘when I am talking with Colm’) represents the presupposition for the clause (‘I understand his Connemara humor’) in which the first-person inflection on the verb represents the topic and the entire predicate is the information focus (that is, information predicated about the topic). Both the speaker and Colm probably have the cognitive status in focus at this point (note the use of simplex forms for both referents in the first clause), but since the speaker is the topic, and also the subject of the first sentence, the speaker is probably more inherently salient than the referent of Colm. In this sentence, the speaker is asserting that λyλx[understand (x, humor_of(y)] yields a true proposition when applied to x=[speaker], y=Colm. In the next sentence, he asserts that the result is also true for x=Colm, y=[speaker]; that is, that the relation is reciprocal for the set of discourse entities {[speaker], Colm}. Following that, the speaker shifts to a new topic, indicated by the left-dislocated phrase ‘the humor of Dublin speakers,’ and asserts that λyλx[understand (x, humor_of(y)] does not yield a true proposition on x=[speaker], y=Dublin speakers. He then asserts that it also does not yield truth on x=Dublin speakers, y=us, where ‘us’ refers minimally to the set {[speaker], Colm}, but may contain other inferrable entities who also share the property of being from a Gaeltacht. Since the discourse entity ‘Dublin speakers’ was introduced into the discourse in an oblique argument position within the left-dislocated phrase, it is likely that the entity’s cognitive status is activated but not in focus.12 Therefore, reference to the same entity in the next sentence with siadsan, a form that signals merely activated status, is appropriate. However, the use of suffixed pronouns for both referents in each of the sentences where the speaker establishes the reciprocal status of the discourse entities signals that the two discourse entities are relatively equal with respect to the relation. In the excerpt from an oral narrative given in (18), the suffixed pronominal forms are used by the speaker in the narrative in establishing relatively equal salience overall for the speaker and the addressee (his brother) in sentences that involve a comparison, a contrast, and a parallel. (18) (sic) Do chomharlaigh sé a dhriotháir fanúin i dteannta na máthar pa advise he his brother stay alongside the.gen mother.gen 12. See, for example, GHZ for discussion of the role of grammatical function in determining membership in the in-focus set, and Walker, Joshi, and Prince (1998) on the role of grammatical function in ranking forward-looking centers in Centering Theory.
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go dtiochfadh sé thar n-ais. Ní d’fhanfadh mhaise! ars an sclábhaí, cmp come.cond he back neg stay.cond indeed said the laborer mar is mó do mheas aice ortsa ná fuil a as cop.pres more.cpr of regard at-her on-you-contr neg.rel be.pres prt dhéanamh aon nídh don tigh, ná mar atá aice ormsa do any thing for-the house cpr as rel-be.pres at-her on-me-contr ag obair ó dhubh dubh a d’íarraidh an bothán a atá rel-be.pres work-prog from black black prt want the shack prt choimeád, is mo cheann fúm sa dtígh ga’ haon lá eireóchaidh maintain and my head under-me in-the house every one day rise mé dom’ leabaidh, is má imthighir-se I from-my bed and if leave.pres.hab.2sg-contr imeóchad-sa leis. leave.fut.1sg-contr with-it ‘…He asked his brother to stay with the mother until he would come back. “No indeed!” said the laborer, “because she has more regard for you who is not doing anything for the household, than she has for me, who is working from dawn to dusk trying to maintain the house, and me supporting the house every single day I rise from my bed, and if you are leaving, I will leave”…’ [Oral narrative from the archives of the Department of Irish Folklore, University College Dublin] The character of the laborer, who is the speaker in (18), first establishes a comparison between he and his brother with respect to the property λx[cares(mother, about(x)) to degree d], in which the speaker asserts that the value of d is greater for the addressee than for the speaker. But at the same time, he establishes a contrast between them with respect to working to support the household. In the last clause of the utterance, he asserts that both entities will result in the same value when the property λx[leave(x, home)] is applied to them. The suffixed pronouns are used for both referents in establishing these semantic relationships to signal their relatively equal salience.
4.1.1 Alternation
The suffixed pronominals are also used in contexts in which there is an alternation or turn-taking between discourse entities. Like contrast and the related notions discussed in §3.1.1, alternation involves the partitioning of a SalSA set such that the property P applies to each part of the set in turn. Consider, for example, the sentence in (19), from the published diary of a transatlantic boat trip, in which the author is describing the routine aboard the boat during the trip. Here the first person suffixed pronoun mise (‘I’) is used to indicate the alternation or turn-taking between the speaker and another discourse entity in the daily routine.
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(19) Oibríonn mise uair, Paddy uair, mise aríst, agus work-pres.hab me-contr hour P hour me-contr again and críochnaíonn Paddy. finish-pres.hab P ‘I work an hour, Paddy an hour, me again, and Paddy finishes.’ [Colm Dubh Ó Méalóid. 1986. Ar Bhád Conraí go Meiriceá: 46] Both the referent of mise (‘I’) and Paddy are relatively equally salient as a result of the utterance in (19). Another context in which turn-taking between discourse entities is associated with the use of the suffixed pronominal form is in recounting speaker turns in a conversation. An example of this is shown in (20), where the author of the trip diary is directly recounting a conversation, and the first person suffixed pronoun mise serves to highlight the fact that a shift of speaker has taken place, and also that a shift of speaker will take place. (20) Sa deireadh dúirt sí “An tú Coleman?” in-the end say.pa she q.cop you C “Dáríre is mé,” a deirimse. indeed cop I prt say-pres.hab.1sg-contr “Agus tú slán?” and you safe “Tá,” a deirimse. be.pres prt say-pres.hab.1sg-contr “Míle buíochas agus glóir do Dhia,” a dúirt sí. thousand thanks and glory to God prt say.pa she ‘Finally she said, “Are you Coleman?” “Indeed I am,” I said. “And you’re safe?” “I am,” I said. “A thousand thanks and glory to God,” she said.’ [Colm Dubh Ó Méalóid. 1986. Ar Bhád Conraí go Meiriceá: 75] What is particularly interesting about this example is that the first speaker is referred to by an expression which signals that the referent is in focus (the simplex pronoun sí), while the second speaker (the original addressee) is referred to with a form that signals lower inherent salience for its referent. This is so in (20) even after the second referent has been introduced into the discourse and could be expected to be in focus. Use of the suffixed pronoun forms in these examples is thus reminiscent of obviation in languages which have an obviative system. As described by Huang (2000): ‘Within obviation, proximate and obviative (also frequently termed misleadingly thirdand fourth-person, respectively) are assigned to different third-person NPs on the basis of their relative salience in a discourse. In general, contextually and/or rhetorically
Relative discourse salience and Irish pronominal forms 129 more prominent NPs are encoded by means of proximate morphology; contextually and/or rhetorically less central NPs are placed in obviative form.’ [Huang (2000): 10]13
In Irish, the use of a pronominal form which indicates that its referent is less central than another is available for first and second-person referents as well as the traditional third person. An example of such usage for third-person referents is provided in (21), which comes from a personal letter. The letter writer is discussing the status of a paper he and the addressee co-authored. An influential colleague, B, who read the paper, recommended talking to W, the editor of a journal in which it might be published. dóigh liom go bhfuil seans maith ann go nglacfaidh sé (21) Is cop.pres likely with-me cmp be.pres chance good there cmp accept.fut he leis do ZCP ach níor mhaith liom an scéal a bhrú go dtí with-it for but neg.cond.cop good with-me the story prt press until go mbeadh an t-alt uilig léite aige. cmp be.cond the article complete read-pp at-him Dúirt B liom go bhfuil seisean sásta lena bhfuil léite aige. say.pa to-me cmp be.pres he-contr happy with-rel be.pres read-pp at-him ‘It seems to me that there’s a good chance he [W] will accept it for ZCP, but I wouldn’t like to push the issue until he has read the whole article. B told me that he is satisfied with what he has read.’ [PÓC, letter] B is the referent of the suffixed pronominal seisean in the second sentence in (21). Since B is also the subject and topic of the main clause in that sentence, one would expect the referent of B to be in focus as the subject of the subordinate clause, but the pronoun used to refer to B is one which implicates (e.g., via interaction of the Givenness Hierarchy with the first part of Grice’s Quantity Maxim) that the referent is not in focus. The most likely explanation for the use of the suffixed pronoun seisean to refer to B is because there is another highly salient referent here; namely W, the editor of the journal, who was the entity in focus and at the center of attention in the previous sentence. There are thus two highly salient third-person discourse entities, and with respect to the discussion of whether or not the paper is approved for publication, B actually has relatively lower status; that is, his opinion is less significant than that of the journal editor. A slightly different type of alternation is illustrated by the example in (22), from a message on an e-mail discussion list, in which the author gives her review of a movie she’s just seen. cinnte an bhfuil moladh (22) (sic) Theis e a fheiceail, nilim after it prt see neg.be.pres.1sg sure q be.pres recommendation tuilte aige no nach bhfuil. Ta se seafoideach, aifeiseach, daft is deserved at-it or neg.q be.pres be.pres it foolish ridiculous daft and 13. Huang (2000) states that obviation is found in Algonquian (Blackfoot, Cree, and Fox); Apachean (Navajo); Eskimo; Keresan; and Kutenai.
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dochreidthe, ach sin mar ata na leabhra freisin. Go bhfuil unbelievable but that as rel-be.pres the.pl books also cmp be.pres splanc an ioroin in easnamh ann an locht is mo ata air, ach spark the irony in shortage there the fault cop big.spr rel-be.pres on-it but mar sin fein bhi meangadh gaire brea appreciative ormsa nevertheless be.pa smile fine appreciative on-me-contr ag fagail an leirithe. leave-prog the production ‘After seeing it, I’m not sure whether it deserves a recommendation or not. It is foolish, ridiculous, daft and unbelievable, but that’s how the books are, too. The biggest fault with it is that it lacks the spark of irony, but I wore an appreciative smile nevertheless leaving the production.’ [GAELIC-L discussion list] It is possible that the suffixed pronoun in (22) is being used like those in the examples in (19)–(20), to establish a contrast between the referent of the pronoun and other members of an inferable SalSA set (that is, other moviegoers) with respect to wearing a smile. However, I think its real function in (22) is to mark an alternation between the information in the entire clause (‘I wore a smile…’) and the information in the preceding clause. In the first sentence of (22), the writer notes her ambivalent feelings about the movie. She then alternates between criticism: the movie is foolish and unbelievable; and recommendation: the books are, too, so if you like the books, perhaps that’s a recommendation. Criticism: it lacks a sense of irony; recommendation: she was smiling when she left the theater.
4.1.2 Topic shift
Finally, the examples in (23) and (24) show the use of a suffixed pronominal when indicating a shift to a new discourse topic. The example in (23) is the opening sentence of an essay. Not only is there no explicit discourse entity with which the referent of mise in (23) is being contrasted, but it is difficult to infer such an entity from the context. If there is a contrast being established here, as implied by the focus marker fiú (‘even’), it is between a different time (i.e., when the author was growing up) and now. In (24) the author has just shifted from talking about the diary he kept of a transatlantic sailing trip to a new paragraph providing background information on himself, before beginning the diary proper. In both cases, the suffixed pronoun is used to refer to information that is considered “background,” and therefore less central. (23) Fiú san am a raibh mise ag éirí suas i mo bhuachaill, bhí even in-the time rel be.pa I-contr rise-prog up in my boy be.pa na seandaoine ag rá nach raibh na misin chomh maith agus the.pl old-people say-prog neg.cmp be.pa the.pl missions as good and a bhídís ná na misinearaí chomh holc ach oiread. rel be.pa.3pl nor the.pl missionaries as bad either ‘Even in the time that I was a boy growing up, the old folks were saying that
Relative discourse salience and Irish pronominal forms
the missions weren’t as good as they used to be nor the missionaries as bad either.’ [Breandán Ó hEithir. 1977. Willie the Plain Pint agus an Pápa:105] (24) Rugadh mise sna Corranaí i gCamus Uachtar sa bear.pa-aut me-contr in-the C in Camus Upper in-the mbliain 1941 year 1941 ‘I was born in C. in Upper Camus in 1941…’ [Colm Dubh Ó Méalóid. 1986. Ar Bhád Conraí go Meiriceá: 9] The examples in (16)–(24) show a range of contexts in which the suffixed pronominal forms are used. These include utterances which establish a contrastive, parallel, or reciprocal relation between the referent of the pronoun and some other entity. Additionally, they are used in contexts where there is an alternation or turn-taking between discourse entities. What all of these uses have in common is marking a discourse entity as relatively equal to or less inherently salient than another at the given point in the discourse. As is usually the case with a form that signals activated status for its referent, the suffixed pronominal implicates that its referent is not in focus (though the implicature can be canceled; in (21), for example, the referent of the suffixed pronominal actually is in focus). But in addition, the suffixed pronominal typically implicates that its referent will not be in focus (though again, this implicature can be canceled).
4.2 Pronominals with féin The Irish pronominal with féin is identical in form to the reflexive pronominal in Irish, and thus is an example of what Baker (1995) calls a Locally Free Reflexive (LFR). Crosslinguistically, including, for example, French (Zribi-Hertz 1995) and English (Cantrall 1974; Baker 1995), LFRs are frequently used to denote subjectivity, indicating that the referent is the individual whose viewpoint or perspective is being represented in the discourse. The Irish pronominal with féin (LFR) frequently occurs in the same sort of contexts, as illustrated by the examples in (25) and (26). In each of these examples, the use of a LFR signals a shift in the discourse to the referent’s perspective, where the referent is the subject of a verb of saying, thinking, or believing. (25) Is deacair do dhuine ar bith a rá cé mar a chuaigh an cogadh mór i cop difficult for person any prt say how rel go.pa the war big in gcion air mar dhuine agus mar scríbhneoir. Measaim féin effect on-him as person and as writer think-pres.hab.1sg emph nár tháinig sé ón uafás go hiomlán ariamh … neg.rel come.pa he from-the horror entirely ever ‘It’s difficult for anyone to say how the great war affected him as a man and as a writer. I myself think that he never entirely got over the horror.’ [Breandán Ó hEithir. 1977. Willie the Plain Pint agus an Pápa: 72]
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(26) Casann sé ceol go réasúnta ar an bhfeadóg stáin agus mar a deir play-pres.hab he music reasonably on the whistle tin and as rel say sé féin tá sé ag foghlaim ar na píopaí. he emph be.pres he learn-prog on the.pl pipes ‘He plays music reasonably well on the tin whistle and as he himself says, he is learning the pipes.’ [Colm Dubh Ó Méalóid. 1986. Ar Bhád Conraí go Meiriceá: 18] In (25), the author has shifted from reporting about the life of the writer Liam Ó Flaithearta, to expressing his personal opinion about him. Similarly, while the referent of the LFR in the example in (26) is not the speaker, it is clear that the LFR indicates a shift of perspective from the outside narrator’s point of view to that of the referent.
4.2.1 Topic shift
The use of a LFR in Irish can also function to establish a new discourse entity as the topic of the discourse, as illustrated by the dialogue in (27). (27) [Helen has been praising a local politician.] Nina: Déarfá go dtoghfar é? say-cond.2sg cmp elect-fut.aut him sé istigh. Helen: Oh no bother. Tá be.pres he in Kevin: Seans gur tú fhéin an election agent atá aige. chance cmp-cop you emph the election agent rel-be.pres at-him Helen: Ah well… we don’t go in for fancy titles around here ach, you know, I do my bit. but ‘Nina: You’d say that he’ll be elected? Helen: Oh no bother. He’s in. Kevin: You’re probably his election agent. Helen: Ah well… we don’t go in for fancy titles around here but, you know, I do my bit.’ [Antoine Ó Flatharta. 1986. Imeachtaí na Saoirse:14]
As is clear from the context in (27), it is not the perspective of Helen, the referent of the LFR tú fhéin, that is being represented, but that of Kevin, the speaker. Like the example in (27), the examples in (28) and (29) also illustrate the use of a LFR to refer to a discourse entity whose cognitive status is currently activated, by virtue of the entity being a discourse participant, but not in focus, since in each case the preceding sentence has been about a different discourse entity. But the referent of the LFR subsequently becomes the entity at the center of the discourse. In other words, in these contexts the LFR serves to establish its referent as the most inherently salient discourse entity.
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(28) … agus lig sé a scíth agus d’imigh sé leis aríst. Tosaigh (sic) and let.pa he his rest and leave.pa he with-him again start.pa mé féin ag casadh ar an mbosca ceoil. I emph play-prog on the box music.gen ‘… and he [seagull] took a rest and left again. I started to play the accordian.’ [Colm Dubh Ó Mealoid. 1986. Ar Bhád Conraí go Meiriceá: 32] (29) Tá gach duine go maith anseo. Tá mé féin uaigneach fós. be.pres every person well here be.pres me emph lonely still ‘Everyone is fine here. I am still lonely. [NMD, letter] These examples all involve a shift of attention in the discourse to a different entity from the one that was the topic of the previous sentence. Thus, each of the LFRs in (27)–(29) is being used to refer to an entity that is a contrastive topic. However, this is only because contrast arises as a contextual effect of the utterance; the purpose of the utterance is not to establish a contrast between two entities as it was, for instance, in the example in (5). It is thus interesting to note here the difference in the use of the different pronominal forms in the topic-marking constructions in (6) and (7), repeated as (30) and (31). In (30), where the referent of the LFR liom féin (‘me’) in the left-dislocated phrase indicates a shift of topic, the referent becomes the center of attention in the main clause. In (31), on the other hand, the use of the suffixed pronoun linne (‘us’) also indicates a shift of topic, but it is not the referent of the suffixed pronoun that becomes the discourse topic. (30) Maidir liom féin, tá mé ag coinneáil ag imeacht. like with-me emph be.pres I keep-prog leave- prog ‘As for me, I’m getting along.’ [SMS, letter] (31) Maidir linne anseo, tá cúrsaí Gaeilge ag dul ar aghaidh sách like with-us here be.pres matters Irish go-prog forward enough sástúil, a lán ranganna thart ar Bhoston. satisfactory its fill classes around on Boston ‘As for us here, Irish matters are progressing satisfactorily, lots of classes around Boston.’ [SMS, letter]
4.2.2 Proximation
In other contexts, the LFR functions to mark the referent that is contextually or rhetorically the most prominent, much like the marking of proximate in an obviation system. Examples of this for third-person referents are shown in (32)–(33). In the example in (32), there are two third-person male referents who are at least activated in the discourse, the referent of an t-ábhar sagairt (‘the seminarian’) and his brother. The LFR sé féin is used in (32) to refer to the seminarian, who, as the subject and topic of the sentence, is the most highly salient of the two.
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(32) Do thagadh an t-ábhar sagairt abhaile anois is aríst agus deireadh sé pa come the material priest.gen home now and again and say.cond he lena dhriotháir i gcómhnuí, aire mhaith a thabhairt dá mháthair to-his brother in confidence care good prt give to-his mother agus ná dearmhódadh sé féin é ar ball. and neg forget.cond he emph it later ‘The seminarian came home now and again and he would say to his brother in confidence, to take good care of his mother and he wouldn’t forget it later.’ [Oral narrative, UCD Department of Irish Folklore] Similarly, the LFR é féin, which is used as the subject of the copula both alone and in the coordinated NP é fhéin is a mhuintir (‘himself and his family’), is used to refer to an scolaire bocht (‘the poor scholar’) who is the subject and topic of each of the sentences in (33). (33) Lar na mháireach d’imigh an scoláire bocht, is do bhain sé amach tigh day on its next-day pa-leave the scholar poor and pa reach he out house an tsagairt, is do chuir sé in úil é féin, is dúirt sé the.gen priest.gen and pa put he in knowledge him emph and say.pa he gur sagart óg é féin a bhí tacaithe abhaile; agus do inis sé cmp.cop.pa priest young him emph rel be.pa come-pp home and pa tell he cérbh é féin is a mhuintir. who-cop.pa him emph and his family ‘The next day the poor scholar left, and he reached the priest’s house and he introduced himself, and he said that he was a young priest that had come home; and he explained who he and his family were.’ [Oral narrative, UCD Department of Irish Folklore] The example in (34) comes from an e-mail message in which the writer is complaining about the level of language competence on a new Irish language radio station. The referent of the third-person plural LFR siad féin in (34) is the same entity as the referent of the NP na léiritheoirí (‘the producers’). Thus, the referent of the LFR is in focus, and there is no other third-person referent in the discourse. The use of a form which signals a lower than expected level of inherent salience for the referent here indicates that the writer is imposing additional salience to derive additional contextual effects, presumably to underscore the producers’ low level of language fluency (the implication being that they can read a script but can’t manage a conversation). (34) (sic) … Agus e lan le ‘uh, ta bron orm’ agus frithghaire eadrom and it full with be.pres sorrow on-me and little-smile light neirbhiseach nuair nach dtuigeann na leiritheoiri freagrai na nervous when neg.cmp understand the.pl producers answers the.gen gceisteanna a chuir siad fein mar nach bhfuil leaisteachas questions.gen rel put.pa they emph as neg.cmp be.pres elasticity
Relative discourse salience and Irish pronominal forms
teangan acu. language.gen at-them ‘… And at the same time it’s full of “uh, I’m sorry” and nervous little laughter when the producers don’t understand the answers of questions that they asked because they don’t have language flexibility.’ [GAELIC-L discussion list] The foregoing examination of contexts in which the LFR is used in Irish show that the LFR serves to indicate that its referent is intended to be the most salient discourse entity. Evidence for this can be seen in the examples in (25)–(26), where the LFR signals a perspective shift in the discourse to that of the referent, thereby increasing the salience of the referent as a discourse entity, and the examples in (27)–(29), where the LFR is used to signal a shift of attention in the discourse to the referent of the LFR. When the referent is already at the center of attention in the discourse (that is, it already has the status in focus), as in the examples in (32)–(34), the LFR may function like a proximate, indicating that its referent is (and will continue to be) the most salient discourse entity, or it may be used to impose additional salience in order to indicate to the hearer that additional contextual effects associated with the referent can be derived.
4.3 Joint usage 4.3.1 Comparative constructions.
In general, comparative constructions in Irish employ different types of pronominal forms for reference to the entities that are being compared, consistent with the claim in §3.1.1 that there is a difference in relative salience that corresponds to the relative applicability of the relevant property or relation. When a suffixed pronoun is used, it usually refers to the discourse entity for which the speaker is establishing that a property or relation is roughly equally applicable or less applicable, while the LFR is usually used to refer to the discourse entity for which the speaker is establishing that the property or relation is more applicable. Evidence for this claim is given in the examples in (35)–(42). (35) Is baolach go bhfuil sé chomh deacair céanna theacht air agus cop.pres feared cmp be.pres it as difficult same access on-him and atá sé theacht ormsa. rel-be.pres it access on-me-contr ‘I’m afraid that it is as difficult to get a hold of him as it is to get a hold of me.’ [PÓC, letter]
The referent of the simplex prepositional pronoun air in (35) is already in focus, and in this utterance, the writer establishes both that it is difficult to contact the referent, and that it is relatively equally difficult to contact the writer himself, who is referred to by the suffixed prepositional pronoun ormsa. In (36) the property λx[understand (x, con‑ cerns)] is asserted to be applicable to a greater degree to the referent of the LFR tú féin
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(‘you’) than to the referent of the suffixed pronoun mise (‘me’). Thus, other things being equal in the discourse, the referent of the LFR would be expected to be more inherently salient in the discourse by the end of the utterance than the referent of the suffixed pronoun. (36) Is cinnte go tuigfidh tú féin na cúramaí sin níos cop.pres certain cmp understand-fut you emph the.pl concerns those cpr fearr ná mise. better than me-contr ‘Certainly you will understand those concerns better than I.’ [PÓC, letter] The previous examples involved ‘more than/greater than’ comparisons, with the LFR associated with the entity for whom the property was more applicable. The example in (37) illustrates a ‘less than’ comparison, but still the LFR é féin is associated with the entity for whom the property ‘know Irish’ is more applicable. (37) Cé is moite dá bhlianta i meánscoil, nuair a bhí daoine except for-his years in secondary-school when prt be.pa people ar lú go mór a n-eolas ar Ghaeilge ná é féin rel.cop.pa smaller considerably their knowledge of Irish than him emph á theagasc, ní dhearna sé aon staidéar ar an teanga sin … him-teach- prog neg make.pa he any study on the language that ‘Except for his years in secondary school, when people who knew far less about Irish than him were teaching him, he didn’t do any studying of that language …’ [Breandán Ó hEithir. 1977. Willie the Plain Pint agus an Pápa: 75] In (38), however, we have the opposite case. The entity for which the property is more applicable is referred to with the suffixed pronoun tusa, with the LFR mé fhéin used to refer to the entity for which it is less applicable. (38) Jimmy: Bhfuil a fhios a’d céard é fhéin Éamonn, tá (q) be.pres its knowledge at-you what it emph É be.pres níos fucked up ná mé fhéin, a dhreatháir. tusa you-contr cpr than me emph voc brother.voc ‘You know what, Éamonn, you are more fucked up than me, brother.’ [Antoine Ó Flatharta. 1986. Gaeilgeoirí:47] In the context in which this utterance is used, however, there are some additional contextual assumptions that perhaps account for the pronoun choice. One is that it has been assumed up to now that Jimmy is the odd one, saying and doing inappropriate things, while Éamonn has been the model of orthodoxy. So the property λx[fucked_ up(x)] is already known to be salient for Jimmy, while it represents a contrast to the previous perception of Éamonn. Alternatively, since Jimmy is the speaker here, the use of the LFR may highlight the subjectivity of Jimmy’s utterance.
Relative discourse salience and Irish pronominal forms 137
4.3.2 Coordinate constructions
In Irish, an augmented pronoun form is obligatory when a pronominal referring expression is used for one of the referents in a coordinated NP or PP. As can be seen from the following examples, though, the choice of pronominal form for a coordinated referent depends on the same discourse considerations discussed in §4.1 and §4.2 for noncoordinated referents. In (39), for example, Éamonn is inviting Róisín to dance with him. As partners in the dance, their salience with respect to one another will be relatively equal, hence the use of the suffixed pronominals to refer to both of them. (39) Éamonn: Anois, Róisín, tusa agus mise. now you-contr and me-contr ‘Éamonn: Now, Róisín, you and me.’ [Antoine Ó Flatharta. 1986. Gaeilgeoirí:52] The example in (40) comes from the journal of the boat trip, in which the writer provides a first-hand account of events. In this utterance, the LFR mé féin is used for the purpose of indicating that the events are being reported from the perspective of the author. It is also the case that, although there are others involved in the events being described, the discourse is primarily about the speaker. Furthermore, the use of the prepositional LFR liom féin in the last sentence in (40) makes it clear that the fifty people at the airport were in the speaker’s personal entourage. (40) Bhí muid ag imeacht as Aerfort Bhaile Átha Cliath. Kevin Cronin, be.pa we leave- prog out-of airport Dublin Seán Mullen, Johnny Walsh, agus mé féin. Tá mé ag ceapadh go and me emph be.pres I think-prog cmp raibh leathchéad duine ag an aerfort liom féin, mo chuid gaolta be.pa fifty person at the airport with-me emph my part relatives.gen an chuid ba mhó acu. the part cop.pa big.spr of-them ‘We were leaving from Dublin Airport. Kevin Cronin, Seán Mullen, Johnny Walsh, and me. I think there were fifty people at the airport with me, most of them my relatives.’ [Colm Dubh Ó Méalóid. 1986. Ar Bhád Conraí go Meiriceá: 24–5]
The example in (41) comes from a radio program about the poetry of Patrick Pearse. The speaker has just mentioned in the context prior to (41) that one of the poems was inspired by a friend of the poet’s who went off to France. The friend is the referent of the simplex prepositional pronoun air, and of the LFR in the coordinated NP sé féin agus an file in (41). As the felicitous use of the simplex form indicates, the referent of air (that is, the friend) is in focus in the discourse in (41); thus, the LFR in the coordinated NP functions like a proximate to indicate that its referent is the currently most central or salient third-person entity in the discourse.
138 Ann E. Mulkern
(41) D’iarr an file air cuimhniú anois ‘is aríst ar na háiteacha a pa-ask the poet on-him remember now and again on the.pl places rel théadh sé féin agus an file le chéile. go.pa.hab he emph and the poet together ‘The poet asked him [the friend] to remember now and again the places where he and the poet used to go together.’ [Raidio na Gaeltachta program]
4.4 Pronouns augmented with demonstratives Third-person pronominal forms augmented with demonstratives (the forms shown in (1)) are used in the same contexts in which suffixed pronouns are used. They primarily are used for non-human referents, for which the suffixed pronouns cannot be used, but they can be used to refer to humans as well. When they are used for human referents, they function like the suffixed pronouns in indicating that there is an equal or lower level of salience for the referent relative to some other discourse entity; but in addition, they indicate that the relative salience of the entity is related to a deictic property such as time or location. Some examples of pronoun forms with demonstratives used for human referents are shown in (42)–(44). The example in (42) is from an article about the three chemists who were the recipients of the 1995 Nobel Prize in Chemistry. The first paragraph of the article introduces all three prize-winning chemists. The second paragraph is about one of them, Paul Crutzen, and describes his work, while the third paragraph, shown in (42), is about the other two, Mario Molina and Sherwood Rowland. The first sentence in (42) indicates a shift of discourse topic to these two, and the second sentence begins to describe their work. In this context, the use of the demonstrative pronominal siad siúd functions similarly to the suffixed pronoun in contexts where it is associated with marking relatively equal salience for its referent with respect to another salient entity (the other chemist, discussed in the paragraph prior to the one in (42)). However, the distal demonstrative siúd that augments the pronoun in (42) additionally indicates that this discourse entity is the Mario Molina and Sherwood Rowland who existed at an earlier point in time (in this case, in 1974). (42) Is as Meiriceá an bheirt eile, Mario Molina agus Sherwood cop.pres from America the two-people other and Rowland. Chruthaigh siad siúd sa bhliain 1974, go n-imoibreodh solas prove.pa they that in-the year cmp react.cond light ultravialait san atmaisféar le clórafluaracharbóin chun adaimh ultraviolet in-the atmosphere with chlorofluorocarbons toward atoms chlóirín a tháirgeadh. chlorine prt produce ‘The other two, Mario Molina and Sherwood Rowland, are from America. They proved in 1974 that ultraviolet light in the atmosphere would react with chlorofluorocarbons to produce chlorine atoms.’ [An t-Eolaí, Uimhir 19, 1996]
Relative discourse salience and Irish pronominal forms 139
In the example in (43), repeated from (4), the pronoun augmented with the distal demonstrative is used to indicate that a contrast is being established between the English and everybody else. In addition to marking contrast, though, the form siad siúd indicates either a geographic distance (Ireland vs. England) or a psychological (pejorative) distance from the speaker for the referent of the expression. (43) … go mbíonn gach uile dhream ach na Sasanaigh sásta a cmp be.pres-hab every group but the.pl English content prt admháil go ndearna siad dearmad in am éigin. Bíonn siad siúd admit cmp made.pa they mistake in time some be.pres-hab they that ceart go fiú nuair is léir don dall iad a bheith go huile agus right even when cop.pres clear to-the blind them prt be wholly and go hiomlán as bealach. fully out-of way ‘… that every group but the English is willing to admit that they made a mistake at some time. They are right when it is clear even to the blind that they are totally out of line.’ [Breandán Ó hEithir. 1977. Willie the Plain Pint agus an Pápa: 42] The example in (44) is interesting because the writer has employed all three types of pronominal expressions in a single utterance. When the prepositional LFR aige féin is used in the complement clause of the verb dúirt (‘said’), it marks the referent, an Cadhnach (Ó Cadhain), as the one whose point of view is being represented, indicating subjectivity. When the pronoun augmented with the demonstrative and the suffixed pronoun are used, it is in the context of a comparison where the two entities are relatively equal to one another. (44) Is baolach freisin go mbeidh an rogha úd, a dúirt an Cadhnach cop.pres feared also cmp be.fut the choice that rel say.pa the Cadhain a bheith aige féin tráth, i bhfad níos éasca a dhéanamh amach prt be at-him emph time in length cpr easy prt do out anseo ná mar a bhí aige siúd ná mar atá agamsa, here than as rel be.pa at-him that than as rel-be.pres at-me-contr mar shampla, anois. as example now ‘I’m afraid also that that choice [which language to write in], which Ó Cadhain said he once had, will be much easier to make from now on than it was for him or than it is for me, for example, now.’ [Breandán Ó hEithir. 1977. Willie the Plain Pint agus an Pápa:32] The comparison in (44) establishes that the ease with which a writer chooses a language applies to a greater degree to any writer at time t+1 (after ‘now’) than it does to a particular writer at t-1 (before ‘now’) or a particular writer at t (‘now’). The referent of aige síud is also Ó Cadhain, but it is the stage of Ó Cadhain which existed at t-1, and which is
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distinguished by the element of time from the stage of Ó Cadhain whose point of view was represented in the previous sentence. The discourse entity “Ó Cadhain at t-1” is about equally salient relative to the referent of agamsa, the writer of (44) at time t, with respect to the applicability of the property under discussion. In each of the examples shown in (42)–(44), the pronoun augmented with the distal demonstrative is used to refer to a discourse entity that is at some distance from the speaker/writer, whether metaphorical distance (that is, across time) as in (42) and (44), or physical or psychological distance, as in (43). In other respects, though, the pronoun augmented with the demonstrative functions like the suffixed pronoun in indicating that its referent is equally or less salient than another discourse entity, for example, in contexts in which a comparison or contrast is being established.
5. Conclusion This chapter reports on a study of the different pronominal forms in Irish associated with the cognitive status activated. Since there are several morphologically different forms which can all be felicitously used for entities that are at least activated, cognitive status alone does not distinguish among them, and previous accounts in traditional and reference grammars of Irish do not adequately explain their function and use, though these accounts provide an indication that the differences among them are associated with pragmatic or discourse considerations. Here, I have argued that the crucial distinction between them is the speaker’s indication of the expected salience of the referent of the pronoun relative to other discourse entities. Suffixed pronominal forms are used to signal that an entity’s salience is equal to or less than another entity. Pronominal forms augmented with féin, on the other hand, are used to signal the promotion of the salience of an entity to the highest position relative to other entities in the discourse, or to signal that the referent remains the most salient one among activated discourse referents. These distinctions make the use of the augmented pronominal forms of Irish reminiscent of the way proximate and obviative forms are used in languages with an obviation system, where different forms signal differences in the assumed or expected centrality of the referent for third-person referents. In Irish, however, the same distinction with respect to centrality is available for all referents. Pronoun forms augmented with demonstratives are similar to the suffixed forms in that they are used to signal that their referent is relatively equal or less salient than another entity, but when they are used for human referents they usually signal that the relative salience is associated with an additional deictic factor of time or location, either physical location or location in the discourse.
Relative discourse salience and Irish pronominal forms 141
Abbreviations The following abbreviations are used in glossing the Irish examples in the text. 1: first-person subject; 2: second-person subject; 3: third-person subject; sg: singular; pl: plural; gen: genitive case; voc: vocative case; pres: present tense; pa: past tense; fut: future tense; cond: conditional mood; hab: habitual aspect; aut: autonomous (impersonal) verb form; cop: copula; cmp: complementizer; prt: particle (used with a verbal noun); rel: particle introducing a relative clause; q: interrogative particle; cpr: comparative form; spr: superlative form; contr: suffix on augmented pronouns; and emph: morpheme augmenting LFR pronouns.
References Ariel, M. 1990. Accessing Noun-phrase Antecedents. London: Routledge. Baker, C. L. 1995 “Contrast, discourse prominence, and intensification, with special reference to locally free reflexives in British English.” Language 71: 63–101. de Bhaldraithe, T. 1953. Gaeilge Chois Fhairrge: an deilbhíocht. Baile Átha Cliath: Institiúid ArdLéinn. Cantrall, W. R. 1974. Viewpoint, Reflexives, and the Nature of Noun Phrases. Janua Linguaram Series Practica 210. The Hague: Mouton. Christian Brothers. 1960. Graiméar Gaeilge na mBraithre Chríostaí. Dublin: Mac an Ghoill. Clamons, R., Mulkern, A. E., and Sanders, G. 1993. “Salience signaling in Oromo.” Journal of Pragmatics 19: 519–36. Cole, P., Hermon, G., and Huang, C.~T. J. 2001. “(Introduction) Long-distance reflexives: The state of the art.” In Syntax and Semantics vol. 33: Long-Distance Reflexives, ed. by P. Cole, G. Hermon, and C.-T. J. Huang. San Diego: Academic Press. xiii–xlvii. Dahl, Ö. and Fraurud, K. 1996. “Animacy in grammar and discourse.” In Reference and Referent Accessibility, ed. by T. Fretheim and J. K. Gundel, 47–64. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Givón, T. 1984. Syntax: A Functional-Typological Introduction. Volume I. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Grice, H. P. 1975. “Logic and conversation.” In Syntax and Semantics, vol. 3: Speech Acts, ed. by P. Cole and J. Morgan, 41–58. New York: Academic Press. Gundel, J. K., Hedberg, N., and Zacharski, R. 1993. “Cognitive status and the form of referring expressions in discourse.” Language 69: 2, 274–307. Gundel, J. K. 1994. “On different kinds of focus.” In Focus: Linguistic, Cognitive, and Computa‑ tional Perspectives, ed. by P. Bosch and R. van der Sandt, 293–305. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Gundel, J. K., Borthen, K., and Fretheim, T. 1999. “The role of context in pronominal reference to higher order entities in English and Norwegian.” In Modeling and Using Context. Lecture Notes in Artificial Intelligence, ed. by P. Bouquet, et al. Berlin: Springer Verlag. Huang, Y. 2000. Anaphora: A Cross-Linguistic Approach. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Huang, Y. 2004. “Anaphora and the pragmatics–syntax interface.” In The Handbook of Pragmat‑ ics, ed. by L. R. Horn, and G. Ward, 288–314. Oxford: Blackwell. Kehler, A. 2002. Coherence, Reference, and the Theory of Grammar. Stanford: CSLI.
142 Ann E. Mulkern Kornfilt, J. 2001. “Local and long-distance reflexives in Turkish.” In Syntax and Semantics vol. 33: Long-Distance Reflexives, ed. by P. Cole, G. Hermon, and C.-T. J.Huang, 197–226. San Diego:Academic Press. Kuno, S. 1987. Functional Syntax: Anaphora, Discourse and Empathy. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Lambrecht, K. 1994. Information Structure and Sentence Form. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Mulkern, A. E. 2003. Cognitive status, discourse salience, and information structure: Evidence from Irish and Oromo. Ph.D. dissertation, University of Minnesota. Ó Cadhlaigh, C. 1940. Gnás na Gaeilge. Baile Átha Cliath: Oifig an t-Soláthair. Ó Rathaille, T. 1932. Irish Dialects, Past and Present. Dublin: Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies. Ó Searcaigh, S. 1954. Coimhréir Ghaedhilg an Tuaiscirt. Baile Átha Cliath: Oifig an t-Soláthair. Ó Siadhail, M. 1980. Learning Irish. Dublin: Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies. Ó Siadhail, M. 1989. Modern Irish: Grammatical Structure and Dialectal Variation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Prince, E. F. 1981. “Toward a taxonomy of given-new information.” In Radical Pragmatics, ed. by P. Cole, 223–55. New York: Academic Press. Sperber, D. and Wilson, D. 1986. Relevance: Communication and Cognition. Oxford: Blackwell. 2nd edition 1995. Stenson, N. 1981. Studies in Irish Syntax. Tübingen: Gunter Narr Verlag. Stenson, N., and Mulkern, A. E. 1994. “Cognitive status, discourse salience and Irish pronominal forms.” Paper presented at Comdháil Idirnáisúnta ar Theangacha in Éirinn, University of Ulster at Jordanstown, June 1994. Walker, M. A., Joshi, A. K., and Prince, E. F. 1998. Centering Theory in Discourse. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Ward, G. L. and Hirschberg, J. 1985. “Implicating uncertainty: the pragmatics of Fall–Rise intonation.” Language 61.4: 747–76. Ward, G. L. and Prince, E. F. 1991. “On the topicalization of indefinite NPs.” Journal of Pragmat‑ ics 15.8: 167–78. Zribi-Hertz, A. 1989. “Anaphor binding and narrative point of view:English reflexive pronouns in sentence and discourse.” Language, 65.4: 695–727. Zribi-Hertz, A. 1995. “Emphatic or reflexive? On the endophoric character of French lui-même and similar complex pronouns.” Journal of Linguistics 31: 333–74.
chapter 7
The correspondence between cognitive status and the form of kind-referring NPs* Kaja Borthen Norwegian University of Science and Technology
1. Introduction Two seemingly ad hoc properties of kind-referring NPs have often been mentioned in the literature on generic nominals. One is that definite singular NPs that refer to kinds (in examples like The lion is not yet in danger of extinction) denote a so-called “well-established” kind. This does not hold for all types of kind-referring NPs, though. A second issue that has often been mentioned is that indefinite singular NPs that refer to kinds (in examples like A lion (namely the Berber lion) is almost extinct) always refer to a subkind of the most general kind of thing their descriptive content is compatible with, which does not hold for all types of kind-referring NPs either. In this chapter, I show how these, and other, discrepancies between different types of kind-referring NPs can be given a perfectly general explanation if one assumes with Gundel, Hedberg, and Zacharski (1993) that an NP form signals a certain cognitive status for its associated discourse referent, regardless of what type of entity this discourse referent is.
2. The Givenness Hierarchy Gundel, Hedberg, and Zacharski (1993) (henceforth GHZ 1993) assume that nominal forms (e.g. determiners and pronouns) provide processing signals that assist the addressee in restricting the set of possible interpretations of a nominal phrase. That is, the form of a referring expression provides information about where in the hearer’s memory store a representation of the expression’s referent is expected to be found. Based on empirical studies in five different languages, they suggest that there are six cognitive * I am in debt to Greg Carlson, Thorstein Fretheim, Jeanette Gundel, Nancy Hedberg, Michael Hegarty and Ron Zacharski for insightful comments to this paper. In addition, I want to express my special gratitude to Jeanette Gundel. She has been, and is, a very important source of inspiration and knowledge for me linguistically, and a wonderful friend.
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statuses that NP forms may be associated with cross-linguistically. This is represented in the Givenness Hierarchy in (1), here with some correlated English forms.
(1) The Givenness Hierarchy: in focus > activated > familiar > it
that, this, this N
that N
niquely u identifiable the N
> referential indefinite this N
>
t ype identifiable aN
Each form encodes (and is therefore located under) the minimum cognitive status that the discourse referent must be assumed to have in the hearer in order for the form to be used appropriately. An unaccented personal pronoun can for instance only be used if the intended discourse referent’s attention state in the hearer is ‘in focus’. And the definite article can only be used if its attention state is (at least) ‘uniquely identifiable.’ The different cognitive statuses can be described as follows. That a discourse referent satisfies the cognitive status ‘type identifiable’ means that the hearer is able to identify the type of thing referred to. That a discourse referent has the cognitive status ‘referential’ means that the hearer is supposed to associate a representation of it by the time the sentence is processed, which means that the discourse referent can be subsequently referred to by an anaphoric expression, for instance. That a discourse referent has the status ‘uniquely identifiable’ means that the hearer is able to associate a unique representation of it by the time the NP is processed, which means that either the hearer is already familiar with it, or she can create a unique representation of it based on the descriptive content of the phrase alone. That a discourse referent satisfies the cognitive status ‘familiar’ means that the hearer has a representation of it in memory. That a discourse referent has the attention state ‘activated’ means that the hearer has a representation of it in working (i.e. short-term) memory. And that a discourse referent has the status ‘in focus’ means that it is currently in the center of attention. One class of nominal forms which is not represented in (1), but which will be important later, is proper names. Gundel et al. (1993) do not discuss the correlation between the use of proper names and cognitive statuses, but Mulkern (1996) does. She concludes that full names (for human beings) are associated with the cognitive status ‘uniquely identifiable’ whereas single names are associated with the cognitive status ‘familiar.’ This means that a full name like Jeanette Gundel can be used felicitously if the hearer is not previously familiar with the intended referent, whereas a single name like Jeanette can only be used felicitously if the hearer already has a representation of the referent in memory. Since the higher (i.e. left-most) statuses in (1) entail the lower ones, an expression with a form that explicitly signals a lower cognitive status can in principle be used also if its associated discourse referent has a high cognitive status in the hearer’s mind. For instance, the definite article can in principle be used even if the referent is activated, since satisfying the cognitive status ‘activated’ entails satisfying the status ‘uniquely identifiable’ (as well as the statuses ‘familiar,’ ‘referential,’ and ‘type identifiable’). This is illustrated in (2).
Cognitive status and the form of kind-referring NPs 145
(2) a. I couldn’t sleep last night. The dog next door kept me awake. b. I couldn’t sleep last night. There was a cat and a dog fighting outside, and the dog howled like a wolf.
In (2a), the phrase the dog next door may be uttered felicitously even if the hearer did not know beforehand that there was a dog next door. In that context, the discourse referent associated with the expression the dog next door in (2a) is not familiar, activated, or in focus. But the descriptive content of the phrase is sufficient to justify the creation of a unique representation of the dog, so the discourse referent is uniquely identifiable, as required. In (2b), the phrase the dog is used in a case where the associated discourse referent is not only uniquely identifiable, but even activated, as the dog has already been mentioned. Thus, (2b) illustrates that the cognitive status that each form is associated with is the minimum cognitive status required by the form; the cognitive status of the associated discourse referent may also be higher. The fact that expressions are typically not used when a higher status than the required one is fulfilled, is assumed to be due to conversational implicatures that result from an interaction of Grice’s Maxim of Quantity with the Givenness Hierarchy: The Maxim of Quantity (Grice 1975): Q1: Make your contribution as informative as required (for the current purpose of the exchange). Q2: Do not make your contribution more informative than is required. From Q1 it is expected that a nominal form is most felicitously used when its associated discourse referent has the exact cognitive status that the form signals, whereas Q2 loosens this requirement, implying that it might not always be required that one is this informative. One thing that can be argued to follow from Q1 is that if the speaker uses a form that encodes a lower cognitive status than the referent actually has (which is permitted by the hierarchy), this will typically be in cases where the actual cognitive status of the referent is close to the minimal cognitive status that the form encodes. This fact is connected to Q1 because a form encoding a cognitive status close to the actual status of the referent is presumably more informative than alternative forms, that encode more distant cognitive statuses. This means that we can explain why the indefinite article, which signals the status ‘type identifiable’, is quite often used to refer to discourse entities that are referential, whereas it is very seldom used to refer to entities that are uniquely identifiable or more. The same kind of argument can explain the fact that the definite article is used more often to refer to e.g. activated entities than the indefinite article is. The implicatures that are assumed to arise as an interaction of Grice’s Maxim of Quantity with the Givenness Hierarchy, result in a dissociation between cognitive statuses and forms. Use of the indefinite article, for instance, implicates that the associated discourse referent is not uniquely identifiable. Since implicatures (unlike necessary inferences) can be cancelled, or may fail to appear, this dissociation between cognitive
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statuses and forms only takes form of a tendency. That indefinites can be used in some cases even if their associated discourse referent is e.g. activated, is illustrated in (3).
(3) a. I met a student before class. A student came to see me after class as well — in fact it was the same student I had seen before. b. Dr. Smith told me that exercise helps. Since I heard it from a doctor, I’m inclined to believe it.
Even though only object-referring NPs are explicitly discussed in the GHZ (1993) paper, the theory does not put any restrictions on what type of entity a nominal expression is supposed to refer to in order to be covered by the theory. Thus, the Givenness Hierarchy is expected to be applicable to nominals that refer to events, just as well as individual objects, for instance. That this expectation is borne out has been shown in, for instance, Borthen, Gundel, and Fretheim (1997), Hegarty, Gundel, and Borthen (2001), and Gundel, Hegarty, and Borthen (2002) for demonstrative and personal pronouns in English and Norwegian. Likewise, there is nothing in the Givenness Hierarchy that suggests that the processing signals provided by a form work differently with kind-referring NPs than with object-referring NPs. On the contrary, assuming that nominal forms are associated with certain cognitive statuses, it is expected that kind-referring and object-referring NPs behave exactly the same in this respect. This is the hypothesis put forth in this chapter, and we will see later how this sheds light on what appear to be peculiarities of different types of kind-referring NPs. The distinction between kindreferring and object-referring NPs will be explicated in the next section.
3. Forms and interpretations of kind-referring NPs 3.1 Definition of kind-referring NPs I assume with Chesterman (1991), among others, that whether or not an NP is kind-referring depends ultimately and exclusively on what type of ontological entity is being referred to. An NP is kind-referring simply if reference is not made to an individual object, but to a genus, a species, or more generally a kind, which is an abstract entity that captures generalizations about individual objects of a certain type. Some properties are true of kinds rather than individual objects, and the kind-interpretation of an NP is therefore triggered if a predicator requires this NP argument to refer to a kind. This can best be illustrated by some examples. . The examples in (3) are taken from GHZ (1993). . This expectation has also been expressed by Jeanette Gundel, p.c. . The definition of kind-reference assumed here seems to be very similar to the one assumed in Krifka et al. (1995). . Examples (4a) and (4b) are taken from Krifka et al. (1995).
Cognitive status and the form of kind-referring NPs 147
(4) a. The potato was first cultivated in South America. b. A cat will become extinct soon. c. Bell invented it.
As Krifka et al. (1995) point out, the subject in (4a) above is kind-referring because reference is made not to some particular potato or group of potatoes, but rather to the kind potato (Solanum tuberosum) itself. The reason why the subject has to have this interpretation is that cultivation is something that applies to species, or kinds, not individual plants or potatoes. As for (4b), the subject phrase can be seen as kind-referring if reference is made to some kind of cat, e.g. the lion. Extinction is something that necessarily applies to species, or kinds, not individual cats, so the subject in (4b) has to be kind-referring. And as for (4c), one invents kinds of things, not individual objects, which means that whatever it in (4c) refers to, it must be a kind of thing. Similar arguments can be provided for the underlined phrases in (5) below, that are all kind-referring in the sense in which the term is used here.
(5) a. Among the lizards, iguanas are the most popular as a local food. b. Mary designed the coke bottle. c. Ceila is campaigning about some seals. They are the kinds that are found in Newfoundland and Alaska, and they are dying out at an alarming rate. Two whales, namely the blue whale and the fin whale, were put under d. protection. e. Every whale (from the pygmy whale to the blue whale) is protected by law.
Notice that kind-reference as it is defined here depends ultimately on what type of entity is being referred to, i.e. whether it is an individual object (or a set of individual objects), or an abstract entity, a kind, which generalizes over properties of individual objects. Syntactic realization, the entity’s position in a taxonomic hierarchy, and whether the entity is “well-established” or not, are not guiding lines.
3.2 Differences between different types of kind-referring NPs 3.2.1 The ‘well-established kind’-requirement
According to Krifka et al. (1995), it has been common to assume that some kind-referring NPs must be semantically connected with a so-called “well-established kind”. This was pointed out by Vendler (1967), Nunberg and Pan (1975), Carlson (1977b), and Dahl (1985) for singular NPs with the definite article in English, according to Krifka et al. The ‘well-established kind’-requirement can be illustrated by the minimal pairs in (6). The underlined phrases are all supposed to be kind-referring. . Examples (5d) and (5e) are taken from Krifka et al. (1995). (5a) and (5c) are taken from Chesterman (1991).
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(6) a. b. c. d. e. f.
The coke bottle has a narrow neck. ??The green bottle has a narrow neck. The blue whale is the largest animal on earth. ?? The big whale is the largest animal on earth. Bell invented the telephone. ?? Bell invented the device.
It will be argued in sections 3.4 and 3.5 that examples such as those in (6b), (6d), and (6f) can be perfectly acceptable in certain contexts in their kind-referring sense. Still, there is a difference in immediate acceptability between the minimal pairs in (6), so at this point, we follow the tradition in the literature and mark (6b), (6d), and (6f) with two question marks to indicate their (relative) unacceptability. The difference in acceptability between (6a) and (6b) when the underlined phrase is taken to refer to a kind, is said to be due to the fact that the coke bottle is a well-established kind, whereas the green bottle is not. Likewise, the difference in acceptability between (6c) and (6d) might be argued to be due to the fact that the blue whale is a wellestablished kind in the sense of being a familiar kind of species, whereas there is no familiar kind of whale called the big whale. And whereas the telephone is a well-established kind, the device is too conceptually underspecified to be one, which can explain the relative difference in acceptability between (6e) and (6f). Whereas sensitivity to being or not being well-established is quite striking for singular kind-referring NPs initiated by the definite article, the same effect does not appear, or does not appear as clearly, for other types of kind-referring nominals. This has also been pointed out in e.g. Krifka et al. (1995). Recall from the examples above that the phrase the green bottle is standardly regarded as unacceptable when intended to be kind-referring, due to the descriptive content of the phrase, which does not correspond to an already a well-established concept. As shown in (7) below, the very same descriptive content green bottle can perfectly well be used in other types of kind-referring phrases, which means that they can refer to kinds that are not well-established in the sense that is supposed to account for the data in (6).
(7) a. Mary designed a green bottle. b. Mary designed this green bottle.
For (7b), imagine that different kinds of bottles are lined up and that the interlocutors are discussing who has designed what kinds of bottles. In that context, it is perfectly fine to state (7b) to mean that Mary designed the one already activated kind of bottle that is green. What Mary designed in (7a, b) is in both cases a kind of thing. Still, the phrases do not have a descriptive content that is compatible with an already well-established kind, which makes these phrases seemingly different from the corresponding phrase the green bottle in (6b), which is standardly marked as unacceptable. Thus, in (7), we see that the ‘well-established kind’-requirement no longer holds when the kind-referring phrase is a
Cognitive status and the form of kind-referring NPs 149
singular indefinite, as in (7a), or a singular demonstrative noun phrase, as in (7b). More examples of the same kind are given in (8) and (9). Recall from (6) that the phrases the device and the big whale were regarded as unacceptable on a kind-interpretation. As we see in (8) and (9), the predicates device and big whale are not generally incompatible with kind-interpretations.
(8) a. Bell invented a device. b. Bell invented this device.
(9) a. A big whale just became extinct. b. This big whale just became extinct.
As Krifka et al. (1995) point out, these kinds of data question whether the ‘well-established kind’-test, exemplified by the data in (6), tests for reference to a kind or rather tests for reference to a well-established kind. It will be argued later that Krifka et al.’s question is well-motivated, and that being well-established is neither a general property of kinds, nor a linguistic concept that is relevant for kind-referring NPs initiated by the definite article, as opposed to corresponding object-referring NPs.
3.2.2 The taxonomic readings
Another type of restriction on kind-referring NPs which seems to be sensitive to NP form, is whether or not one has a so-called “taxonomic” interpretation of kind-referring NPs. The presence or absence of taxonomic readings is illustrated in (10). (10) a. b. c. d. e.
Mary designed the coke bottle. Mary designed a coke bottle. Mary designed the coke bottles. Mary designed this coke bottle. Mary designed it.
In (10a), it is stated that Mary designed the one unique and most general kind fitting the descriptive content of the coke bottle, and nothing is either said or presupposed about the possibility of there being subtypes of the coke bottle. Thus, the direct object in (10a) does not have a taxonomic interpretation. In (10b, c, d), on the other hand, the most likely interpretations presuppose that there is a taxonomy of coke bottles, and the kind-referring NPs most likely refer to some of the subtypes of the coke bottle rather than the coke bottle — which are taxonomic interpretations. In (10b), with the singular indefinite article a, it is stated that Mary designed at least one subkind of the coke bottle; in (10c), with a plural definite determiner, one likely interpretation is that Mary designed all the subkinds of the coke bottle, and in (10d), with a singular demonstrative determiner, the most natural interpretation is that Mary designed one of the coke bottle’s subkinds, and this subtype is supposed to be already activated in the given context. In (10e), whether it refers to the coke bottle or some subkind of it, depends entirely on the interpretation of the phrase’s antecedent. In sum, it differs from NP form to NP form whether one has a taxonomic interpretation or not.
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More examples that illustrate that kind-referring NP forms differ with respect to whether they get a taxonomic interpretation or not, are given in (11) and (12) below. Just like in (10), the kind-referring NPs in (11a) and (12a) do not achieve a taxonomic interpretation, whereas the kind-referring NPs in (11b, c, d) and (12b, c, d) most likely do. As in (10), the (e)-sentences are fully underspecified with respect to this issue. (11) a. b. c. d. e.
Bell invented the telephone. Bell invented a telephone. Bell invented the telephones. Bell invented this telephone. Bell invented it.
(12) a. b. c. d. e.
The blue whale is almost extinct. A blue whale is almost extinct. The blue whales are almost extinct. This blue whale is almost extinct. It is almost extinct.
Krifka et al. (1995) make a distinction between kind-referring NPs that have a taxonomic interpretation and those that don’t. But they don’t make any attempt to explain why some NP forms trigger a taxonomic interpretation whereas others don’t. Such an attempt will be made in section 3.4 below.
3.3 A few comments on proper names Before we turn to the issue of explaining the data in 3.2.1 and 3.2.2 above, a few comments on proper names are needed. It has been quite common in semantic literature to look at proper names as fundamentally different from other nominal phrases. In standard predicate logic, they are the only nominals that are represented as a constant, for instance, which entails that proper names denote one particular entity. The view adopted here is that proper names are not that fundamentally different from other nominal forms, and that their main property is not that they denote a particular individual. This view has consequences for the understanding of kind-referring NPs, as many kind-referring NPs have traditionally been regarded as proper names (see e.g. Carlson, 1977a, b). Let us assume that the general procedure for interpreting an NP is the following: The NP has to refer to some entity which is compatible with the phrase’s descriptive content and e.g. number and gender specification (if any), and a further cue in the process of finding the intended referent is that a representation of this entity should be located in memory according to the NP’s form; i.e., according to what determiner it has (if any), and whether it is a proper name or a pronoun, for instance. . In some languages, also inflection may give signals about cognitive status.
Cognitive status and the form of kind-referring NPs
Assuming that this procedure is the same for all nominal forms, also proper names have a descriptive content which should be satisfied, as well as a certain form that guides the hearer towards the intended interpretation of the phrase. According to Mulkern (1996), a full proper name like Jeanette Gundel signals the cognitive status ‘uniquely identifiable,’ just like the definite article the in English, whereas a single name like Jean‑ ette signals the cognitive status ‘familiar,’ just like the demonstrative determiner that in English. When interpreting an NP like Jeanette Gundel the hearer is therefore supposed to associate a uniquely identifiable referent who is named Jeanette Gundel. This referent may be uniquely identifiable because it is already familiar to the hearer, or because the descriptive content in the phrase is sufficient to justify that there exists one unique referent in the given discourse universe who fits the given description. The main difference between proper names and other nominals, according to the present view, is that what entities satisfy the descriptive content of a proper name depends entirely on whether or not the entity has been given the name in question, and not on independently observable properties. Thus, whereas you can infer from looking at a person whether this person is a woman or not, you cannot infer from looking at a person whether the person is named Jeanette Gundel or not. We may therefore say that the meaning of a proper name is not transparent. More precisely, the meaning of a proper name is not fully transparent, as we can sometimes infer whether the intended referent of a proper name is a woman or a man, or European or Asian, for instance. Whereas a common noun usually holds of many individuals, proper names tend to denote a relatively small set of individuals, sometimes just one. There are many more individuals that are women than there are individuals that are named Jeanette Gundel, for instance. This means that in a restricted context, the use of a proper name will often be less ambiguous than the use of a definite description. However, the opposite situation may also appear; compare the two phrases Jeanette Gundel and the present king of Norway, for instance. There may be more than one Jeanette Gundel in the world, but there is only one present king of Norway. Denoting exactly one entity is therefore neither a necessary, nor a sufficient, property of proper names, according to the present view. To sum up, a proper name is here not regarded as a constituent that denotes one entity, but a description that has been assigned to an individual as a name of this individual, with very little additional semantic content. It typically, but not necessarily, denotes relatively few entities, especially in a restricted context. The proper name form signals the cognitive status ‘uniquely identifiable’ when it consists of at least a first name and a second name, and the status ‘familiar’ when it consists of just a single name. Let us now turn to kind-referring NPs and the question of whether these are proper names. Consider the NP the blue whale in (13a) below. (13b) and (13c) are two possible Norwegian translations of (13a).
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(13) a. b. c.
I like the blue whale. Jeg liker den blå hvalen. I like the blue whale-def ’I like the blue whale.’ Jeg liker blåhvalen. I like blue-whale-def ’I like the blue whale.’
Is the expression the blue whale in (13a) a proper name on any kind-referring interpretation? I will argue that it is not. Let us first consider an interpretation of kind-referring the blue whale on a reading where the phrase is clearly not a proper name. For instance, imagine a person studying a poster with pictures of different kinds of whales. One of these whales, i.e. the fin whale, is evidently blue, whereas none of the other kinds of whales are blue. In this situation, the speaker may utter (13a) with the phrase the blue whale to express her feelings towards the fin whale, that just happens to be blue. The expression the blue whale then behaves just like a normal definite expression. Its meaning is fully transparent and the set memberships of the predicates blue and whale are determined exactly the same way as for other common nouns and adjectives. Thus, on this use, the expression the blue whale is not a likely candidate for being regarded as a proper name. When translating this NP sense into Norwegian, the phrase has to be represented with the adjective and the noun as separated words, as in (13b). It cannot be expressed as a morphological compound, as in (13c). But the phrase the blue whale in (13a) can also be used in another way. That is, the blue whale can be used to refer to a kind of whale that happens to be called blue whale (in Latin, Balaenoptera musculus), even though it is actually more grayish than blue. On this use, the phrase the blue whale has four properties that we have argued to be typical of proper names. First of all, on the given use, the phrase is clearly non-transparent (as the whale need not be blue), and non-transparency is a typical property of proper names. Secondly, one may argue that the given kind of whale has once upon a time been given the name the blue whale, which is a second requirement for proper names. Thirdly, as long as the hearer knows the vocabulary of English, the phrase the blue whale refers to a familiar entity, which is the cognitive status that single proper names are associated with. And finally, we argued above that a proper name typically denotes relatively few entities, and when referring to Balaenoptera musculus, the phrase the blue whale denotes only one entity. Still, I do not assume that the blue whale is a proper name on the given interpretation. . The fact that there is a preposed definite determiner in (13b), whereas there is none in (13c), is due to the presence of an adjective in (13b). The difference is syntactically motivated and has nothing to do with the kind–object distinction or transparency vs. non-transparency, for instance. . A similar context was suggested to me by Michael Hegarty, p.c. . Thanks to Greg Carlson for pointing this out to me.
Cognitive status and the form of kind-referring NPs
My first argument for assuming that the blue whale is not a proper name when it refers to the kind Balaenoptera musculus, is that non-transparency of a phrase does not entail that it is a proper name. When translating the non-transparent sense of the blue whale in (13a) into Norwegian, the adjective and the noun have to form a morphological compound, as in (13c). As non-transparent morphological compounds necessarily have to be stored in the lexicon, this suggests that the Norwegian string blåhval and the English non-transparent correspondence blue whale are lexicalized on the given interpretation. Since lexicalized phrases can be non-transparent, lexicalization can account for the fact that the whale referred to need not be blue. Notice also that non-transparency of the blue whale is not connected only to kindreference. The phrase blue whale may be used in a non-transparent way also when it is intended to be object-referring. For instance, imagine a zoo that has three individual whales in a pool, one blue whale (an instance of the kind Balaenoptera musculus), one fin whale, and one sperm whale. None of these individuals are blue. If someone utters (13a) and the blue whale to express his or her feelings towards the specimen of the kind Balaenoptera musculus, the phrase the blue whale is used in a non-transparent way, since the whale referred to is not blue. In this case it is obvious that the individual that is being referred to has not been assigned the name blue whale or the blue whale individually. According to the above definition of proper names, the phrase the blue whale is therefore clearly not an instance of a proper name on the given use. In other words, non-transparency is not something that enforces a proper name interpretation; it may just mean that the string is lexicalized. With respect to cognitive status, kind-referring the blue whale in many cases refers to a familiar entity, since most people know about this kind of animal. This is compatible with a proper name interpretation, since single proper names are assumed to encode the cognitive status ‘familiar’, and full proper names encode the status ‘uniquely identifiable’, which is also compatible with the cognitive status ‘familiar’. But it is not only proper names that are compatible with the status ‘familiar’. As a matter of fact, a lot of determiners are, including the definite determiner the. In other words, kind-referring NPs of the form the N may very well signal the status ‘familiar’ (or ‘uniquely identifiable’) without being proper names.10 As for the restricted set of potential referents, denotation of one entity is neither a necessary, nor a sufficient, property of proper names, according to the present view. Thus, the fact that the blue whale denotes one particular entity on a certain interpretation, is not a compelling argument that it is a proper name either. One may argue that the kind of whale that is intended as the referent in the present case has once upon a time been given the name the blue whale. However, an alternative 10. We will see in section 3.4 that kind-referring NPs of the form the N need not refer to familiar entities, as they can also refer to just uniquely identifiable entities. So the cognitive status associated with kind-referring NPs of the form the N will be argued to be ‘uniquely identifiable’, just as for object-referring NPs of the form the N.
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non-proper-name interpretation is also possible, as the predicate blue whale has once upon a time been given as a description of any entity that satisfies the (lexically specified) meaning of this complex predicate. On the present definition of proper names, this is not an instance of naming in the proper name sense, as whether or not an entity satisfies the description depends on observable properties of the entity. Furthermore, if one assumes that the blue whale is a proper name, one needs to somehow relate this assumed proper name interpretation of the blue whale to other kind-referring NPs involving the same predicates that are clearly not proper names, such as a blue whale. Although this is not impossible,11 it seems that any analysis that allows for either a proper name interpretation or for non-proper name interpretations of blue whale will need to involve either additional lexical stipulations or else some kind of processes that convert one interpretation into another. Other things being equal, it would be preferable to avoid such complications of the grammar. I will therefore assume an alternative analysis. On this alternative analysis, all (or most) nouns are in principle compatible with both kind-interpretations and object-interpretations.12 As for transparency vs. nontransparency, blue and whale in (13a) are listed as separate lexical items in the lexicon, accounting for the transparent interpretations, but blue whale is also listed in the lexicon as a string with an idiosyncratic interpretation, not entailing a blue individual. This non-transparent meaning of blue whale may arise with any kind of determiner, generating both a blue whale and the blue whale, for instance, both possibly acting as kindreferring or object-referring phrases. Whether the non-transparent meaning of blue whale involves a kind or an individual object is mainly determined by the sentence predicate (i.e. whether it is a kind-predicate or not). The required cognitive status of the discourse referent associated with the blue whale in (13a) is imposed by the definite determiner, which signals the status ‘uniquely identifiable,’ which happens to be the same status as for full proper names.13 This means that the referent is either already familiar to the hearer (as in the case with kind-referring the blue whale), or the hearer ought to be able to create a unique referent just based on the descriptive content in the phrase.14 Accidentally, there happens to exist one kind that is familiar to most people and that satisfies the description blue whale, namely Balaenoptera musculus. This interpretation is therefore the one that is most easily available in a non-restricted context if the sen11. Carlson (1977a, b) assumes that all common nouns correspond to proper names of kinds, and that there exists a process that takes proper names of kinds into individual entities of this kind. 12. For instance, this can be thought of as a kind of underspecification on the kind of index that the nominal predicate applies to. 13. As mentioned earlier, we will return to the cognitive status of kind-referring NPs of the form the N in more detail in section 3.4 below. 14. We will see examples later that show that some kind-referring NPs of the form the N are only uniquely identifiable, not familiar.
Cognitive status and the form of kind-referring NPs
tence predicate allows for a kind-interpretation of the blue whale. In more restricted contexts, other interpretations might arise. The bottom line of this section is that whereas it is quite common in the literature to assume that expressions like the blue whale can function as proper names of kinds, the view is different in my sense. On the present approach, the so-called proper name interpretation of the blue whale is composed from the meaning of the and blue whale in a perfectly compositional fashion, without involving any notion of proper names.
3.4 Explanations In section 3.2.1 and 3.2.2 we saw that some, but not all, kind-referring NPs seem to be associated with something like a ‘well-established kind’-requirement, and that some, but not all, get a taxonomic interpretation. One solution to these data is to assume that kind-referring NPs have to be divided into subclasses, depending on whether or not they have to refer to well-established kinds and whether or not they are interpreted as subtypes in a taxonomic hierarchy. However, such an approach is not very appealing. For one thing, it lacks general explanatory force. There is no explanation underlying the correlation between certain kind-referring nominals and certain interpretations that can be applied to new cases of kind-referring NPs in order to predict how these will be interpreted. Furthermore, nothing is said about NPs with other reference domains, which means that the distribution and interpretation patterns for e.g. object-referring NPs has to be stated separately. This is an inefficient analysis, and there is also no obvious reason why kind-referring and object-referring nominals should underlie different principles for interpretation. For these and other reasons (that we will come back to later in this section), I propose an alternative analysis to the stipulation-approach. On my approach, I relate the use of kind-referring NPs to the general account of the meaning of NP forms proposed by GHZ (1993). Let us look at the kind-referring NPs in (14) below to see how this explains the different interpretations and requirements that arise for different types of kind-referring NPs. (14) a. b. c. d. e.
The blue/big whale is almost extinct. A blue/big whale is almost extinct. The blue/big whales are almost extinct. This blue/big whale is almost extinct. It is almost extinct.
The big whale: A kind-referring NP has to refer to some kind or other compatible with the phrase’s descriptive content. As the kind-referring phrase the big whale contains the predicates big and whale, that are not listed in the lexicon as a string with an idiosyncratic meaning, this means that the intended referent is some kind or other which is big and a whale. In addition, the referent has to be such that the associated discourse referent satisfies the requirements imposed by the determiner used in the
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phrase, as described by the association between forms and cognitive statuses in the Givenness Hierarchy. The definite determiner the is connected with the cognitive status ‘uniquely identifiable.’ This means that the hearer is supposed to be able to uniquely identify the intended discourse referent based on the phrase’s descriptive content alone, either because the hearer is already familiar with it, or because the hearer can create a unique representation based on the descriptive content. It might be hard to come up with a context where this requirement is immediately satisfied for the big whale. The reason is that there is in general no familiar kind in people’s memory corresponding to this concept (unless we assume a more specific context), nor is it possible to construct a new unique representation of the referent just based on the descriptive content in the phrase, as there are several big whales in the world. However, the kind-referring expression the big whale may be felicitous in certain contexts. For instance, let us assume that we are looking at a chart featuring pictures of whales, each representing a species, and one of them is obviously larger than the others. Then, it is perfectly felicitous to utter The big whale is almost extinct to mean that the associated species is almost extinct. The NP form the N is then valid because the hearer can retrieve a unique representation of the referent, as it has already been (visually) activated. Notice that if the descriptive content is richer, as with the big baleen whale that lives in the North Sea, the phrase may be acceptable even if the kind referred to is neither previously activated, nor familiar. This is so because the rich descriptive content big baleen whale that lives in the North Sea justifies the presupposition that the kind can be uniquely identified just based on the descriptive content. The notion of being ‘well-established’ is a bit vague in the existing literature, but it seems reasonable to assume that well-estab‑ lished means familiar in the sense of GHZ (1993). Given that this is a valid assumption, this example shows that one cannot assume that kind-referring NPs initiated by the definite article are always associated with the so-called ‘well-established kind’-requirement. As shown above, the associated discourse referent of the big baleen whale that lives in the North Sea need not be already familiar to the hearer for the phrase to be valid. The blue whale: Regardless of whether this phrase is used in a non-transparent manner or as a fully compositional NP with a transparent interpretation, the definite article the is associated with the cognitive status ‘uniquely identifiable’, according to GHZ (1993). As there happens to exist exactly one familiar (and therefore uniquely identifiable) kind corresponding to the lexically listed description blue whale, namely the kind the reader now know as Balaenoptera musculus, this requirement can be fulfilled without any particular contextual preconditions on the non-transparent use. If the phrase is used in the transparent fashion, reference may be made to any kind of blue whale that is uniquely identifiable to the hearer. Since there are possibly many whales that are blue, we then need a more specific context which establishes one unique blue whale in order to accept the expression as felicitous (see the suggested contexts for the big whale above). Even though “well-establishedness”, or familiarity in GHZ’s terms, is the most natural context for acceptance of the expression the blue whale, this does not mean that
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familiarity has to be stated as a linguistically relevant primitive for this type of expressions. The solution proposed here is to assume that like any other nominals headed by the definite article, kind-referring NPs initiated by the definite article (be it used in a transparent manner or not) are required to have an associated discourse referent which is uniquely identifiable. Being well-established, or familiar, just happens to be the subcase of being uniquely identifiable that is the most easily available context to justify the use of the definite article for kind-referring NPs. Thus, the relative difference in acceptability between the blue whale and the big whale, illustrated in (6c, d) in section 3.2.1, is primarily due to the fact that it is easier to create or imagine a context in which a kind satisfying the descriptive content blue whale can be uniquely identified than it is to imagine a context in which a kind satisfying the descriptive content big whale can be uniquely identified. This is again correlated with the fact that the string blue whale has a lexically specified meaning which in itself narrows down the set of possible referents in a way that compositionally derived big whale does not. A blue/big whale: On its transparent interpretation, the kind-referring phrase a blue whale is supposed to refer to some kind or other which is blue and a whale. On its non-transparent interpretation, it is supposed to refer to some kind or other which satisfies the lexically specified meaning of the string blue whale. The indefinite article signals the cognitive status ‘type identifiable’ in the Givenness Hierarchy, which means that the hearer can at least identify the type of thing referred to. According to the implicature associated with the indefinite article, the hearer can most likely not uniquely identify the referent. As there happens to exist one uniquely identifiable kind which satisfies the descriptive content blue whale, namely Balaenoptera musculus, this means that reference is most likely not made to this entity. So, what possibilities are there to refer to some not uniquely identifiable kind which should satisfy the idiosyncratic meaning of blue whale? Well, if one assumes that there are subtypes of the blue whale, and that the expression a blue whale refers to one of these, the requirements and implicatures of the indefinite article are met, at the same time as the referent is compatible with the descriptive content of the phrase. This is how the taxonomic interpretation of singular, kind-referring indefinites comes about. On its transparent interpretation, a blue whale may simply refer to some whale or other which is blue, and the same holds for a big whale, except that the whale ought to be big. The big whales: The kind-referring expression the big whales only has a transparent reading, since there is no lexically specified non-transparent meaning associated with big whale. According to the descriptive content and the number specification of the kind-referring expression the big whales, reference is made to a set of kinds that are big and whales. The definite determiner encodes the cognitive status ‘uniquely identifiable’, according to the correlation between nominal forms and cognitive statuses in the Givenness Hierarchy. This requirement is satisfied if the hearer is already familiar with the set of whales that the speaker intends to refer to. But the uniqueness requirement imposed by the determiner is also fulfilled without any particular requirements on the context, since there happens to exist exactly one unique set of big whales regardless of
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context, namely all big whales in the world. Notice that the corresponding singular expression the big whale is less likely to be used if the referent is not previously activated, as it is not the case that there exists one generally uniquely identifiable big whale. This explains the otherwise surprising fact that the kind-referring expression the big whales seems to be less context-sensitive than its singular correspondence the big whale. The blue whales: On its kind-referring use, this expression has both a transparent and a non-transparent reading. The transparent interpretation is most straight-forward: The expression refers to a set of kinds of whales that are blue, and this set of whales ought to be uniquely identifiable, signaled by the determiner the. This requirement is satisfied if the hearer is familiar with the set of whales that the speaker intends to refer to. But the uniqueness requirement imposed by the determiner is also fulfilled without any particular requirements on the context, since there happens to exist exactly one unique set of blue whales regardless of context, namely all blue whales. The kind-referring expression the blue whales gives rise to a non-transparent interpretation as well. On this interpretation, the expression is supposed to refer to a set that satisfies the lexically specified meaning of the compound blue whale (i.e., Balaenoptera musculus). Since the referent is plural, reference to singular entities is excluded. Thus, the expression the blue whales cannot refer to Balaenoptera musculus, for instance.15 In order to get access to a set of kinds satisfying the descriptive content blue whale, the obvious solution is to move down in a presupposed taxonomic hierarchy of whales, licensing a taxonomic, plural interpretation. (It is then presupposed that there exist subkinds of Balaenoptera musculus.) The uniqueness requirement imposed by the determiner is fulfilled without any particular requirements on the context, since there happens to exist exactly one unique set of subkinds of Balaenoptera musculus regardless of a specific context, namely all subkinds of Balaenoptera musculus. This big/blue whale: According to the correlation between English forms and cognitive statuses in the Givenness Hierarchy, the definite demonstrative determiner this in this big whale signals that the associated discourse referent has the attention state ‘activated,’ which means that it is either recently mentioned in the previous discourse or otherwise non-linguistically activated.16 In other words, this form points 15. Some may argue that kind-referring the Ns can refer to the kind N, just like kind-referring the N. I will argue with Burton-Roberts (1976), Quirk et al. (1985), and Chesterman (1991) that this possibility does not exist. Consider the following examples. (i) a. Shockley invented the transistor/?the transistors. b. The Sumerians invented the pottery wheel/?the pottery wheels. The only way to make the plural objects in (iab) felicitous is to assume that there are different types of transistors and pottery wheels, and that Shockley invented a plurality of transistors and that the Sumerians invented a plurality of pottery wheels. So apparently, the referents of the transistors and the pottery wheels have to be plural. 16. GHZ (1993) assume that there is an indefinite this as well as a definite this. Whereas definite this signals the cognitive status ‘activated’, indefinite this just signals the status ‘referential’. This latter this is not considered above, but (14d) could also be used in that sense.
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to a context where the interlocutors have already been discussing some big whale or other, for instance Balaenoptera musculus. And if some big whale has already been introduced, and therefore is activated, then the kind-referring NP this big whale is fine. The reason why kind-referring this big whale is immediately more easily acceptable than kind-referring the big whale (illustrated by the contrast between (6d) and (9b) in section 3.2.1) is that the is compatible with the possibility that the associated referent is supposed to be uniquely identified merely by virtue of the phrase’s descriptive content, which is not possible in this case, as there are several big whales. As argued above, also kind-referring the big whale is acceptable if one imagines a context where some big whale has been introduced in the previous discourse, but this type of context is less accessible with the than this, since this is more restrictive, pointing directly to the kind of context which is needed. Whereas this big whale does not have a non-transparent interpretation (because there is no idiomatic interpretation listed in the lexicon for the string big whale) the expression this blue whale can in principle also be used in a non-transparent way. For instance, if the interlocutors have been discussing the blue whale for hours and how to best protect it from extinction, one tired interlocutor might exclaim I am completely fed up with this blue whale!, intending to refer to Balaenoptera musculus. In this situation, the signaled cognitive status of the expression is satisfied, since the referent has been activated. Assuming that there exist subtypes of Balaenoptera musculus, and that at least one of these subtypes has previously been activated, this blue whale can also be used to refer to a subtype of Balaenoptera musculus. Whether we get a taxonomic reading or not, depends on what entities have been previously activated; only the kind Balaenoptera musculus itself, or one or more of its (assumed) subtypes. It: This unaccented personal pronoun encodes the attention state ‘in focus’ in the Givenness Hierarchy, which means that the referent is supposed to be in current center of attention. This is a type of expression for which it does not make sense to discuss whether or not it corresponds to a well-established kind in and of itself (regardless of context). The kind it refers to will necessarily be familiar, as any referent in focus of attention is also activated, familiar, uniquely identifiable and so on. Whether or not the expression refers to a kind high up or far down in a taxonomic hierarchy, is solely dependent on its antecedent, or the non-linguistic context, if it is used deictic ally.
3.5 Section summary In this section we have related GHZ’s (1993) theory on the meaning of NP forms with the assumption that any NP in principle can be kind-referring. Through the predictions of GHZ’s theory and perfectly general pragmatic reasoning we have provided explanations for why some, but not all, kind-referring NPs seem to be associated with a ‘well-established kind’-requirement, and why some, but not all, get a so-called taxonomic interpretation.
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A kind-referring NP has to refer to some kind or other which fits the descriptive content in the phrase and its number specification (among other features). Whether this kind has to be well-established or not (i.e. familiar or not), depends on the nominal form, and whether this requirement is satisfied will differ from context to context in accordance with the predictions of the Givenness Hierarchy (GHZ 1993). For instance, the use of an indefinite article will put no ‘well-establishedness’-requirement on the phrase, as indefinite determiners, being associated with the implicature that the associated discourse referent is not uniquely identifiable, do not signal familiarity of the associated discourse referent. The use of a definite article, on the other hand, requires that the referent be at least uniquely identifiable, which is a condition that is satisfied if the referent is well-established, or familiar. Notably, there is no requirement that the associated discourse referent is familiar when the definite article is used; the referent just needs to be uniquely identifiable. Differently from a theory that assumes a ‘well-established kind’-requirement for kind-referring definites, this predicts that a phrase like the big whale — that does not refer to a kind that is generally familiar to people — can be acceptable if one creates the right kind of context or enriches the phrase’s descriptive content. So, on the present approach, all the examples in (6) are perfectly grammatical and semantically felicitous. The reason why the examples in (6b), (6d), and (6f), involving the kind-referring phrases the green bottle, the device, and the big whale appear as less acceptable than the corresponding examples in (6a), (6c) and (6e), with the kindreferring phrases the coke bottle, the telephone, and the blue whale, is due to increased processing efforts involved in imagining appropriate contexts. This difference in turn has to do with the fact that the latter expressions correspond to concepts of kinds that happen to be likely to appear as arguments of kind-predicates, whereas the prior expressions don’t.17 Some of the latter expressions are also listed in the lexicon with a non-transparent meaning. This restricts the set of possible referent candidates for these phrases, which makes the process of finding the intended referents less context-sensitive. Thus, on the present approach, kind-referring nominals initiated by the definite article do not have to refer to a well-established kind; this case just happens to be the subcase of being uniquely identifiable that is most easy to imagine for the reader or hearer if a more specific context has not been presented. The taxonomic interpretations come about if the form or content of the NP suggests that one does not have reference to the uppermost available kind that satisfies the descriptive content in the phrase. This may be so if the associated referent is not supposed to be uniquely identifiable, whereas the uppermost kind happens to be, or because the 17. It happens to be the case that some kinds of things are more likely arguments of kind-predicates than others. For instance, the noun device is so general that unless the context specifies what kind of device one is talking about, or one deliberately wants to leave it open what kind of device it was, it is hardly a plausible argument of the kind-predicate invent, for instance. This does not mean, though, that device can never be kind-referring. It is just less likely to than e.g. telephone.
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intended referent is supposed to be plural, whereas the uppermost available kind is singular. One likely way to satisfy the requirements imposed by the descriptive content and the nominal form in such a phrase is to move down in a presupposed taxonomic hierarchy and assume that reference is made to one or more subkinds of the most highly available kind. This explains why we easily get taxonomic interpretations of a coke bottle and the coke bottles in (10b, c), for instance. This also explains the otherwise surprising fact that the definite article of plural nominals patterns with indefinite determiners in that it triggers a taxonomic interpretation when the phrase is kind-referring. The taxonomic interpretation may also arise if the referent is already activated in the given discourse, and it is clear to the interlocutors that the given kind is a subkind of the most general kind of thing the phrase’s descriptive content is compatible with. This is a likely context for phrases such as this coke bottle or it in (10d, e), for instance. The bottom line of this section is that there is no need to assume that different types of kind-referring NPs are idiosyncratically associated with something like a ‘well-established kind’-requirement or a taxonomic or non-taxonomic interpretation. Such an approach is undesirable for at least four reasons: (1) The stipulative approach does not cover the data correctly, since the actual correlation between forms and interpretations of kind-referring nominals is not strictly one-to-one. For instance, we have shown that it is not the case that all kind-referring nominals initiated by the definite article the have to refer to a well-established (or familiar) kind, they only tend to do so. (2) The stipulative approach is not efficient, since different principles must be assumed for the interpretation of kind-referring and object-referring nominals, and it is also not clear why there should be different principles for the interpretation of kind-referring and objectreferring nominals. (3) The stipulative approach lacks explanatory force. For instance, it cannot explain why kind-referring demonstratives (such as this lion) pattern with singular indefinites (such as a lion) in that they typically trigger a taxonomic interpretation. And finally, 4) the stipulative approach lacks predictive force in that it does not predict anything about new cases. It seems likely that the stipulative approach that presumably underlies the account of these phenomena in the previous literature may be due to a belief that the given phenomena ought to have a grammar-internal account. The present approach suggests a different division labor between grammar and pragmatics. On the present approach, the grammar has to allow for both object-reference and kind-reference of nominals, and it has to supply a general theory on the meaning of nominal forms (i.e. the Givenness Hierarchy and the theory connected to it, as well as mappings between e.g. determiners and cognitive statuses). Nothing is said about the distribution or interpretation of kind-referring nominals in particular, which gives us a more unitary, and thus efficient, system. By depriving the grammar from the responsibility of directly encoding or fully predicting all the different restrictions and interpretations of kind-referring NPs, we furthermore cover the data more appropriately, since we can account for patterns that are only tendencies. In addition, we achieve a more explanatory approach with greater predictive force. That is, we cannot predict merely from linguistic properties of
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a nominal form whether it will get a taxonomic interpretation or refer to a well-established kind, but at least we know what inferential processes and linguistic factors are likely to affect it, and thereby explain why it is interpreted as it is.
4. Discussion: generic bare plurals and singular indefinites 4.1 GHZ’s predictions Two types of NPs have deliberately been left out of the discussion so far, namely generic bare plurals and generic NPs initiated by the indefinite article. The reason why these types of expressions have been left out so far is that they represent particular challenges with respect to whether or not they can be kind-referring, and if so, what kind-interpretations they allow for. This challenge is reflected in the long-standing discussion on the topic (see e.g. Carlson 1977a, b; Carlson and Pelletier 1995, and Chierchia 1998, as well as works cited therein). According to GHZ (1993), indefinites encode the cognitive status ‘type identifiable,’ and they are associated with an implicature which (as an effect) says that the associated discourse referent is not uniquely identifiable. So far in this chapter a kind-referring expression of the form a N has therefore been assumed to refer to a subtype of what kindreferring the N refers to, and correspondingly, a kind-referring expression of the form Ns has been expected to refer to some subkinds of the kind N. These readings are exemplified in (15) below.18 (15) a. A rat was (just) reaching Australia in 1770. b. Rats were (just) reaching Australia in 1770. (15a) has an interpretation which says that one kind of rat was reaching Australia in 1770, and (15b) has an interpretation which says that a plurality of rats (i.e. more than one kind of rat) were reaching Australia in 1770.19 A problematic aspect of generic indefinites is that they sometimes seem to be equivalent to definite kind-referring NPs. Consider the data in (16), where (16c) is intended to be kind-referring. (16) a. A horse has four legs. b. Horses have four legs. c. The horse has four legs. Intuitively, the meaning of (16a) and (16b) are very close to the meaning of (16c), which says that the horse has four legs. Since the subject in (16c) is kind-referring, the data in (16) may be taken to indicate that expressions of the type Ns and a N can refer to the 18. The examples in (15) are taken from Krifka et al. (1995). 19. There may also be other interpretations of the subject in (15b), but the taxonomic interpretation is one of them.
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kind N, just like the N. On the other hand, one may argue that the subjects in (16a, b) are referring to sets of entities that just happen to be more or less equivalent with the kind-interpretation of the subject in (16c) (see Krifka et al. (1995)). If a horse and horses in (16) refer to the kind known as the horse, then we have two cases where indefinite NPs refer to uniquely identifiable referents. According to the theory of GHZ (1993), this means that the implicature usually associated with indefinites (leading to the taxonomic interpretations above) is cancelled, or rather does not arise. Assuming that an interpretation of an indefinite without this implicature typically means more processing effort (because the speaker is not as informative as she should have been) it is predicted that the forms a N and Ns are not as plausible candidates for referring to the kind N as the N is. In other words, given that kind-referring NPs behave exactly like object-referring NPs, the theory of GHZ predicts that the forms a N and Ns may refer to the kind N, but only as an exceptional case, as illustrated for object-referring NPs in (3) in section 2. The question is whether the indefinites in (16a, b) are exceptional in that they refer to kinds that are uniquely identifiable, or rather are examples of semantically indefinite generic NPs, in which case reference is made to entities that are not uniquely identifiable. Other things being equal, the most plausible alternative according to GHZ’s theory seems to me to be that indefinites of the kind illustrated in (16) are not generally capable of referring to the uniquely identifiable kind that their descriptive content is compatible with. Cases where indefinites refer to uniquely identifiable referents are expected to be relatively marked, whereas the kinds of examples seen in (16) don’t stand out as marked in any sense. And whereas GHZ (1993) did not find any examples where (object-referring) NPs initiated by the indefinite article referred to uniquely identifiable discourse referents in their corpus study, it should be possible to find numerous attested examples of the sort in (16a, b). In sum, if one assumes that the indefinites in (16a, b) refer to uniquely identifiable kinds, the examples do not seem as exceptional as one would expect according to the theory of GHZ (1993). But at the same time, there is nothing in the theory that excludes the possibility that these phrases refer to uniquely identifiable kinds.
4.2 More data As the theory of GHZ provides no conclusive answer as to whether the indefinites in (16) can refer to uniquely identifiable kinds, some more data might be useful, in order to move a bit closer towards a conclusion. First, consider the data in (17).20 (17) a. The madrigal is popular. b. ?A madrigal is popular. 20. According to Krifka et al. (1995), the kind of data exemplified in (17) has been noted already by Goodman (1955), and later by e.g. Lawler (1973ab), Dahl (1975), and Burton-Roberts (1977).
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Whereas (17a) is perfectly fine, (17b) sounds strange, or somehow less true than (17a). If we assume that the two subjects both refer to the madrigal, this difference in acceptability is not expected. Next, consider the sentences in (18), and compare them to the sentences in (16), which are all perfectly fine. The only difference between the sentences in (16) and those in (18) is that the ones in (18) contain adjectives. (18) a. A white horse has four legs. b. White horses have four legs. c. ?The white horse has four legs. For the indefinite subjects in (16/18a) and (16/18b), the presence or absence of an adjective only imposes the differences in meaning that one would expect. For the definite NP in (16/18c), on the other hand, the presence of an adjective leads to a less acceptable sentence, given that the sentence is kind-referring. That is, (18c) might be perfectly fine in certain contexts, but it is considerably more difficult to find an appropriate context for (18c) than it is to find an appropriate context for (16c). Again, if the three subjects in (16) mean the same, why does the insertion of an adjective in (18) make the definite NP less acceptable, while the indefinite ones remain fine? If the subjects in (16) mean the same, the sentences they are part of should also be equivalent when an adverbial is inserted, as in (19) below. But again, this is not the case. (19) a. A horse usually has four legs. b. Horses usually have four legs. c. ?The horse usually has four legs. Whereas (19ab) are perfectly fine, the sentence in (19c), with a kind-referring definite, only has an awkward interpretation where the definition of the horse varies over time. If we take the relative difference in meaning and acceptability between the minimal pairs in (17)–(19) seriously, the most reasonable conclusion is that generic a N and Ns do not have exactly the same meaning as kind-referring the N. One way to then account for the data in (17)–(19) is to assume that the indefinite NPs in (17a, b)–(19a, b) are generically referring to not uniquely identifiable entities, possibly individual objects. This would then be compatible with the fact that the examples differ in acceptability and interpretation (see e.g. Krifka et al. (1995)). This assumption is furthermore in accordance with the predictions of GHZ (1993) (see above). And finally, an assumption that the bare plurals in (16b)–(19b) refer to a plurality of entities, and not a singular kind, is less problematic than the alternative solution, since object-referring phrases of the form Ns can only refer to a plurality of entities. Notice that the sentential predicates in (16)–(19) can be true either of kinds or individual objects, which opens for the possibility that the arguments at focus are either kind-referring or object-referring. Now, let us consider bare plurals and singular indefinites in sentences where the sentential predicates can only hold of kinds, which
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excludes object-referring interpretations:21 (20) a. Shockley invented the transistor. b. Shockley invented a transistor. c. Shockley invented transistors. (21) a. The Sumerians invented the pottery wheel. b. The Sumerians invented a pottery wheel. c. The Sumerians invented pottery wheels. (22) a. The French settlers in Mauritius exterminated the dodo. b. The French settlers in Mauritius exterminated a dodo. c. The French settlers in Mauritius exterminated dodos. In these examples, a N clearly can not be interpreted as referring to the kind N. For instance, (20b), Shockley invented a transistor, certainly does not mean that Shockley invented the transistor. The bare plurals in these examples are more questionable, though. The bare plurals in (20)–(22) can have the taxonomic interpretation, referring to (presupposed) subtypes of the transistor in (20c), to (presupposed) subtypes of the pottery wheel in (21c), and (presupposed) subtypes of the dodo in (22c). But do the bare plurals also have the definite kind-interpretation illustrated by the a-examples? Does (20c), Shockley invented transistors, mean that Shockley invented the transistor? Intuitions are dubious at this point, but e.g. Krifka et al. (1995) conclude that these two sentences do not have the same meaning. That is, they assume that the expressions transistors, pottery wheels, and dodos in (20)–(22) above do not refer to the transistor, the pottery wheel, and the dodo, respectively. As argued above, this conclusion is also the most likely one seen in the light of the theory of GHZ (1993), the reason being that indefinites usually do not refer to uniquely identifiable referents. In addition, this conclusion is what one expects from the number specification of the nominals transistors, pottery wheels, and dodos, and it is the conclusion that is most in accordance with the fact that there are contrasts in meaning and acceptability among the examples in (17)–(22). In other words, this and the previous section suggest that the indefinites in (16)–(22) do not refer to uniquely identifiable kinds. However, the plausibility and validity of this suggestion can only be determined after considering what the exact alternative analysis of the indefinites might be, which is beyond the scope of this article.
4.3 Cases where indefinites do refer to uniquely identifiable kinds We concluded that the indefinites in (16)–(22) most likely do not refer to uniquely identifiable kinds, but (23a) below is an example where an indefinite NP clearly can refer to a uniquely identifiable kind.
21. The examples in (20a, c), (21a, c), and (22a, c) are taken from Krifka et al. (1995).
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(23) a. A big, blue baleen whale which lives in the South Pacific, is now almost extinct. b. The big, blue baleen whale which lives in the South Pacific, is now almost extinct. Intuitively, the subject in (23a) can be used to refer to a uniquely identifiable big, blue baleen whale kind which lives in the South Pacific. One fact that supports this intuition is that the phrase can just as well be substituted with a corresponding definite phrase without any substantial change in meaning, as illustrated in (23b). Such a substitution was possible in (16) as well, but there the conclusion was that the indefinites still did not refer to uniquely identifiable kinds. The reason why I want to conclude differently in (23) is that the two sentences in (23) do not show internal contrasts with respect to acceptability when being modified, whereas the three sentences in (16) did. That is, the subjects in (23) do not contrast with each other with respect to acceptability depending on the sentential predicate that is being used, and insertion or substitution of adjectives and adverbials do not lead to internal differences in acceptability. This is illustrated in (24)–(26) below. (24) a. A big, blue baleen whale which lives in the South Pacific, is very popular (among the tourists). b. The big, blue baleen whale which lives in the South Pacific, is very popular (among the tourists). (25) a. A small, green fin whale which lives in the South Pacific, is almost extinct. b. The small, green fin whale which lives in the South Pacific, is almost extinct. (26) a. ?A big, blue baleen whale which lives in the South Pacific, usually has no legs. b. ?The big, blue baleen whale which lives in the South Pacific, usually has no legs. The fact that the minimal pairs in (24)–(26) are equally well-formed or illformed makes the sentences in (23) different from those in (16), and supports the assumption that the indefinite in (23a) can be used to refer to a uniquely identifiable kind. This conclusion goes against the claim put forth by e.g. Krifka et al. (1995), who conclude that expressions of the form a N can never refer to the kind N. The assumption that the subject in (23a) can be used to refer to the same kind as the one in (23b) means that the implicature associated with indefinites, which says that they don’t refer to uniquely identifiable referents, doesn’t always go through (just as predicted by GHZ (1993)). As for why the indefinite in (23a) can refer to a uniquely identifiable discourse referent, whereas the indefinites in (16)–(22) cannot, this presumably has to do with differences in descriptive content. The implicature that indefinites do not refer to uniquely identifiable referents is assumed to result from an interaction of the Givenness Hierarchy and Grice’s maxim of quantity (Grice, 1975): Q1: Make your
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contribution as informative as required (for the current purpose of the exchange). Q2: Do not make your contribution more informative than is required. From the first part of this maxim it follows that the most felicitous expressions are those that signal the exact cognitive status that the associated discourse referent has. However, the second part of the maxim says that one should not be more informative than necessary. In (23a), the descriptive content in the subject phrase is so rich that it seems reasonable that it is not necessary to use the most informative nominal form in order to enable the hearer to detect the intended referent. In the indefinite phrases in (17)–(22), on the other hand, the descriptive content is intuitively too poor to make the use of the most informative determiner more informative than required. In other words, there are some cases where indefinites can refer to uniquely identifiable kinds (and therefore do not get a taxonomic interpretation), but these cases are relatively infrequent and not a systematic pattern associated with generic indefinites.
4.4 Section summary The question of whether generic bare plurals of the form Ns and quasi-universal indefinites of the form a N can refer to the kind N, is a non-trivial matter. As earlier observed, these NPs can sometimes appear in the same position as kind-referring definites with what appears to be the same meaning. On the other hand, bare plurals and quasi-universal singular indefinites cannot always appear felicitously in the same position as kind-referring definites in English, which suggests that their meaning is not exactly the same. The analysis of how generic indefinites relate to definite kind-referring NPs involves a number of considerations that have not been considered here. But the present discussion has shown that according to the theory of GHZ (1993), generic indefinites of the form Ns and a N are not expected to be systematically able to refer to the kind N. This conclusion is in line with the fact that generic indefinites cannot always be substituted with kind-referring definites.
5. Summary In this chapter I have argued that the theory on the meaning of NP forms proposed by Gundel, Hedberg, and Zacharski (1993) can successfully be applied to kind-referring NPs as well as object-referring NPs. This application not only strengthens the assumed universality of the Givenness Hierarchy; it even sheds light on data having to do with kind-referring NPs that have so far not been given an explicit and holistic explanation. That is, we have obtained an explanation for why kind-referring NPs initiated by the singular definite determiner the seem to be associated with a requirement that they have to refer to a well-established kind, and why some kind-referring NPs typically get a taxonomic reading, whereas others don’t.
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The most important part of the explanation is the assumption that any nominal form, be it kind-referring or not, is associated with a certain minimally required cognitive status, which helps the hearer in determining the intended referent of the phrase. The process of detecting the intended referent is influenced also by other factors, such as the phrase’s descriptive content, its number specification, implicatures associated with the determiner that is used, local contextual information (such as whether or not a candidate referent has just been activated), and more general knowledge about the world, including the hearer’s knowledge of definitions of kinds and how they are organized into taxonomic hierarchies. Because of what the determiner the signals about cognitive status, a very likely context for a kind-referring nominal of the form the N is that the kind referred to is already familiar to the hearer (or well-established). This is why kindreferring phrases of the form the N, presented in a sentence without any specific local context, is often judged as acceptable only if the kind referred to happens to be well-established. As for taxonomic interpretations, these appear for instance if the referent’s assumed cognitive status, its number specification, or the local context implies that reference is not made to the most general kind of thing the phrase’s descriptive content is compatible with. In other words, there is not one single parameter that determines whether a kind-referring NP gets a taxonomic reading or not; it is a question of finding the intended referent, and kinds happen to be superkinds or subkinds. Compared to an account that simply stipulates that some kind-referring NP forms have to refer to a well-established kind, and that some kind-referring NP forms achieve a taxonomic interpretation, the present analysis puts relatively little effort on the grammar and relatively much effort on the pragmatic component. This means that it is hard to use a formal system to predict what interpretations a certain kind-referring NP will get. On the other hand, the present approach is more suitable for predicting the relevant data, since the alternative approach fails to account for tendencies. Furthermore, the present approach leads to a more efficient grammatical component with one set of principles for reference assignment rather than two, it is more explanatory, since we can explain why we achieve the different interpretations and restrictions on kind-referring nominals rather than state them, and it has more predictive force, since we know something about what kind of inferential processes and linguistic and non-linguistic factors will affect the interpretation of a kind-referring NP.
References Borthen, Kaja, Gundel, Jeanette, and Thorstein Fretheim. 1997. “What brings a higher-order entity into focus of attention? Sentence pronouns in English and Norwegian.” In Proceedings of the Workshop on Anaphora. 35th Annual Meeting of the Association of Computational Linguistics, pp. 88–93. Universidad Nacional de Educacion a Distancia, Madrid, Spain. Burton-Roberts, Noel. 1977. “Generic sentences and analyticity.” Studies in Language 1: 155–96. Burton-Roberts, Noel. 1976. “On the generic indefinite article.” Language 52 (2): 427–48.
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Carlson, Gregory N. 1977a “A unified analysis of the English bare plural.” Linguistics and Phi‑ losophy 1: 413–56. Carlson, Gregory N. 1977b Reference to Kinds in English. Ph.D. dissertation, University of Massachusetts, Amherst. Published 1980 by Garland Press, New York. Carlson, Gregory N. and Pelletier, Francis Jeffry (eds.). 1995. The Generic Book The University of Chicago Press. Chicago and London. Chesterman, Andrew. 1991. On Definiteness. A study with special reference to English and Finn‑ ish. Cambridge University Press. Chierchia, Gennaro. 1998. “Reference to kinds across languages.” Natural Language Semantics 6: 339–405. Dahl, Östen. 1985. Tense and Aspect Systems. Oxford: Blackwell. Dahl, Östen. 1975. “On generics”. E. Keenan (ed.) Formal Semantics of Natural Language, 99– 111. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Goodman, Nelson. 1955. Fact, Fiction and Forecast. Mass.: Harvard University Press. Grice, H. P. 1975. “Logic and conversation.” In Speech acts, Peter Cole and Jerry Morgan (eds.), 31–58. New York: Academic Press. Gundel, Jeanette, Hedberg, Nancy, and Zacharski, Ron. 1993. “Cognitive status and the form of referring expressions in discourse.” Language 69: 274–307. Gundel, Jeanette, Hegarty, Michael, and Borthen, Kaja. 2002. “Cognitive status, information structure, and pronominal reference to clausally introduced entities.” Journal of Logic, Lan‑ guage, and Information 12: 281–99. Hegarty, Michael, Gundel, Jeanette, and Borthen, Kaja. 2001. “Information structure and the accessibility of clausally introduced referents.” Theoretical Linguistics 27: 163–86. Krifka, Manfred, Pelletier, Francis Jeffry, Carlson, Gregory N., ter Meulen, Alice, Chierchia, Gennaro, and Link, Godehard. 1995. “Genericity: An introduction.” In The Generic Book, Gregory N. Carlson and Francis Jeffry Pelletier (eds.) The University of Chicago Press. Lawler, John. 1973a. Studies in English Generics. University of Michigan Papers in Linguistics 1: 1. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Lawler, John. 1973b. “Tracking the generic toad.” CLS 9, 320–31. Chicago: Chicago Linguistics Society. Mulkern, Ann. 1996. “The game of the name.” In Reference and Referent Accessibility, Thorstein Fretheim and Jeanette K. Gundel (eds.), 235–50. John Benjamins Publishing Company: Amsterdam/Philadelphia. Nunberg, G. and Pan, C. 1975. “Inferring quantification in generic sentences.” CSL 11, 412–22. Chicago: Chicago Linguistic Society. Quirk, R., Greenbaum, S., Leech, G. N., and Svartvik, J. 1985. A Comprehensive Grammar of the English Language. London: Longman. Vendler, Zeno. 1967. Linguistics in Philosophy. Ithaca. N.Y.: Cornell University Press.
chapter 8
Context dependence and semantic types in the interpretation of clausal arguments Michael Hegarty Louisiana State University
1. Introduction A number of different types of entities introduced by clauses can be distinguished based on the selectional properties of predicates selecting a subordinate clause. This mode of analysis was practiced by Vendler (1967) and others to successfully distinguish among propositions, facts, and events. Propositions are canonical referents of subordinate clauses appearing in complement position to standard propositional attitude verbs such as think, believe, suppose, and say, and facts are the referents of arguments of factive predicates such as notice, point out, significant, and odd. Less widely noted are the referents of clauses appearing as instantiations of x in x depresses me, x is intolerable, x is unfortunate, x is causing us to lose credibility. The referent of a clause appearing in the position of x in these examples could be an event or state of the world, but more realistically and naturally, it would be a complex of events or states consisting of a causally basic event or state, together with the ramifications of the basic event or state in the prevailing circumstances. If I am depressed about being sick, it is probably not just the state of my body which depresses me, but a larger situation consisting of the circumstance of the sickly bodily state, together with its ramifications for my ability to work, to take care of myself and my surroundings, to socialize, and its negative effect on others around me. If a newspaper writer is found to have invented information in news articles and the paper loses credibility as a result, it is not just the isolated events of invention which cause the paper to lose credibility; it is the situation of employing such a person, of publishing their work, and of not catching their fabrications at an early stage through internal supervision and review. There is thus evidence for a clausal denotation consisting of a core event or state together with its salient ramifications. This will be called a situation, or for clarity, a situation with ramifications. This claim deserves clarification. What does it mean to say that the subject clauses in (1a,b) denote situations with ramifications?
(1) a. That I am sick this week depresses me. b. That one of our reporters has fabricated details of news stories has caused us to lose credibility.
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In a situation of use of (1a), the speaker knows exactly what the ramifications of being sick for the week have been; the hearer may or may not know what the exact ramifications have been. Likewise, in a situation of use of (1b), the addressee may be an insider, who knows of all the ramifications of the publication of fabrications, or the addressee may be an outsider who has only a vague idea of the institutional failures involved in publishing fabricated news stories, and the full consequences of those failures. In cases where the addressee does not know the details, the ramifications are not communicated to the addressee. But the fact that ramifications are not communicated does not prevent them from being part of the denotation of the clause. To see this, compare with reference in the use of complex noun phrases, where it is well known that successful reference can hinge on details which are not known to the addressee. In teaching a class on the history of the English language, one might mention the Viking invasions of England and know enough about when and where the invasions occurred, and the effects they had on the inhabitants of England, and their culture and language, to count as knowing what one is referring to. Arguably, one must know some of these particulars in using the term, or one must defer directly or indirectly to someone who does, to be counted as successfully referring to the historical events in question. One’s students on that first day of class, however, need not know these particulars in order for the referential act to succeed. The particulars are not communicated to the students. However, the particulars are presumably part of the denotation. Likewise, the addressee in (1a) can understand that the ramifications of being sick are part of the totality of events and/or states of the world which have depressed the speaker, and an outsider addressed by (1b) can understand that the publication of fabricated news stories is complexly ramified in ways which are relevant to the organization’s loss of credibility, without the particulars being communicated in the referential act. Nevertheless, the particulars are part of the denotation of the clause in (1a) and (1b) since they are part of what is asserted to depress the speaker of (1a), and part of what is asserted to have caused the news organization to which the speaker belongs in (1b) to lose credibility. Situations typically have fairly determinate initial points, but the ramifications of the base event or state can linger in a way which makes the temporal endpoint quite indeterminate. If one of our reporters fabricated some high-profile news reports, the situation with these fabrication events at its base is one which we are likely to be dealing with for some time, and one which may never fully cease. To the extent that these points clarify the semantic ontology of situations, they can be used to inform recent work on the nature of facts. Kratzer (2002) proposed that a fact is a situation exemplifying a proposition. As Kratzer defines it, a situation s exemplifies . This point was made by an anonymous reviewer. . If the denotation is the historical events of the Viking invasions themselves, with no intermediary, as on direct theories of reference, then the times and places of the invasions, and other particulars about them, are part of these historical events; if the denotation is some more intensional object, then the particulars are represented in that intensional object.
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a proposition p if any subsituation of s either is, or can be extended to, a minimal situation of which p holds. Consider the situation of my being sick with a viral infection. This situation has a causally basic state, the viral infection, rooted in the mechanics of viral reproduction. This has an inner ring of ramifications involving the manifestations of the illness in fever, chills, and other bodily symptoms of infection, and it has further rings of ramifications involving my inability to eat, to get out of bed, to go to work, or to visit friends. In applying Kratzer’s definition, any of these subsituations, whether the core state or any set of ramifications, should count as exemplifying the proposition that I am sick. For any of them is, or can be extended to, a minimal situation of which the proposition that I am sick holds. This is clear for the basic state of my being sick. But also, a subsituation consisting entirely of ramifications, say the situation of my not being able to get out of bed, can be extended to a minimal situation of which the proposition that I am sick holds. To construct such an extension, consider the ramification together with a causal chain connecting it to the underlying state of my being sick. For example, connect the fact that I cannot get out of bed with weakness caused directly by the viral infection; the resulting causal chain is a subsituation of the situation of my being sick, it clearly exemplifies the proposition that I am sick, and it is minimal in that there is nothing extraneous to the situation of my sickness in it (such as the situation of my car being in the shop for repairs). The situation appealed to in Kratzer’s definition of a fact should be understood as a situation in the sense developed above—a situation with ramifications. A fact is temporally initiated by the onset of the associated situation. It isn’t a fact that Napoleon is defeated at Waterloo until the base event happens. However, once the base event does happen, the situation of Napoleon being defeated at Waterloo thereafter exemplifies the proposition that Napoleon was defeated at Waterloo, so the fact has no upper temporal bound. The relationship of exemplification between a situation and a proposition is fixed once the situation obtains, and so holds even when the situation would no longer be considered to obtain, just as the relationship of exemplification between a person and the predicate “was born on September 5, 1784” holds without temporal bound once the person has been born, even long after they have died. Events are the referents of expressions which appear as arguments of predicates such as happen and occur, and, within Davidsonian analyses (Davidson 1980; Higginbotham 1985, 1989; Parsons 1990; among others), are introduced as part of the argument structures of verbs. Events typically have determinate spatio-temporal boundaries, with no general pattern of asymmetry in the determinateness of initial and final temporal bounds. Clauses introducing propositions, facts, and situations share a suite of distinctive referential and semantic properties which clauses introducing events do not share. Moreover, nominal expressions introducing propositions, facts, and situations lack these distinctive referential and semantic properties. An account of the behavior of propositions will be reviewed, based on a higher semantic type for propositions introduced by clauses. A parallel account will then be offered for situations and facts introduced by clauses. This vindicates the view of these entities as higher-order entities, a view which
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Gundel, Borthen, and Fretheim (1999) adopted, though they adopted it without any formal commitments. Events, in contrast, have been shown to have semantic type e, the type of ordinary individuals, and clauses referring to events fail to display the distinctive semantic behavior associated with the higher types. The present chapter makes three main contributions, over and above a review of some results in the literature: (i) the referential and semantic properties of situation-denoting clauses, as exhibited in the range of data examined here, will be given a fuller account than in previous works which addressed these data, to a degree of explicitness which is on a par with existing accounts of similar data for proposition-denoting clauses; (ii) the propositions, situations and facts denoted by subordinate clauses will be seen to be dependent on discourse context in a way not previously appreciated; and (iii) some aspects of the relationships among propositions, facts and situations will be clarified.
2. Propositions It has been noted that clausally introduced propositions are available to immediate anaphoric reference with a demonstrative pronoun, but not a personal pronoun, as illustrated in (2).
(2) a. For more sophisticated [mathematical] ideas, it is necessary to study the cognitive mechanisms that characterize mathematical concepts. Lakoff and Nuñez argue that these are the same ones that characterize ordinary ideas. This leads to the authors’ main thesis—that mathematics develops by means of metaphors. (Auslander, Joseph. 2001. American Scientist 89: 36) #It leads to the authors’ main thesis…. b. And it leads to a further thesis, that …
In (2a), the demonstrative this can be used immediately to refer to the proposition that the cognitive mechanisms involved in the formation of mathematical concepts are the same as those responsible for the formation of ordinary ideas, while the personal pronoun it cannot be felicitously used to refer to this proposition in this context. However, as shown by the constructed follow-up in (2b), reference to the proposition with the pronoun it is possible following anaphoric reference to the proposition with a nominal. Furthermore, as illustrated in (3), propositions introduced into a discourse by nominal . See Webber (1988), Webber (1991), and Gundel, Hedberg and Zacharski (1993). For further exemplification of the pattern in (2), and for discussion of a number of apparent counterexamples to this pattern which are explicable in ways which do not compromise the generalization noted here, see Borthen, Fretheim and Gundel (1997), Gundel, Borthen and Fretheim (1999), Hegarty, Gundel and Borthen (2002), Gundel, Hegarty and Borthen (2003), and Hegarty (2003, 2006).
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expressions (NP or DP) are accessible to immediate subsequent reference with the personal pronoun it.
(3) Alex then introduced a new proposition. But it was immediately dismissed.
The inaccessibility to pronominal reference using it illustrated in (2a) is therefore a property of propositions only under very restrictive circumstances, immediately subsequent to their introduction by a clause. Gundel, Hedberg and Zacharski (1993) provide a framework within which to interpret these results. They explicate the relationship between the referring form used by a speaker/writer and the assumed memory and attention state of the referent in the mind of the addressee, which they call the cognitive status of the referent. More specifically, they posit a Givenness Hierarchy, consisting of a set of cognitive statuses, linearly ordered under entailment (reflecting the fact that the satisfaction of tightly constrained conditions on memory and attention entails the satisfaction of more loosely constrained conditions), and a relationship between cognitive statuses and referring forms by which a form is conventionally associated with a particular cognitive status, and thereby signals that its referent has the associated cognitive status, or, by virtue of the entailments, a higher status on the hierarchy. In many cases, Gricean quantity implicatures render infelicitous the use of a form to refer to an entity with a higher cognitive status than that conventionally associated with the form. Of particular interest here, an entity has the cognitive status ‘in focus’ if it is at the center of addressee attention, and an entity has the status ‘activated’ if it is at least within short term memory (working memory), which includes cases when the entity satisfies the stronger condition of being in focus. Thus, being in focus unidirectionally entails being activated. A demonstrative pronoun or NP can be used felicitously if the speaker/ writer assumes that the referent is already at least activated for the addressee, prior to processing of the referring form, while a personal pronoun can be used felicitously only if the speaker/writer assumes that the referent is already in focus for the addressee. Given the general efficacy of the Givenness Hierarchy, the example in (2) indicates that the proposition that mathematical concepts and ordinary ideas are served by the same cognitive mechanisms, introduced by the subordinate clause in the second sentence, is rendered activated, but not in focus, by the clause introducing it. This seems plausible on the supposition that a proposition introduced by a clause is not introduced centrally enough to compete for attention with entities introduced by prominent nominals at this stage of the discourse. This supposition is supported by the observation that a proposition introduced by a nominal, as in (3), is rendered in focus upon its introduction, as indicated by the fact that it is available for immediate anaphoric reference with the pronoun it. . This contrast could be captured by the mechanisms of Centering Theory (see Grosz, Joshi and Weinstein 1995, as well as Walker, Joshi and Prince 1998, and references therein), provided that clausally introduced propositions are assigned a lower rank among forward looking centers
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However, it will not do to suppose that the mere fact of being introduced by a clause puts an entity at a disadvantage in competing for a spot in the addressee’s memory and attention. For, in contrast to propositions, events introduced by clauses are available for immediate anaphoric reference with a personal pronoun, as (4) illustrates, evidence that they are rendered in focus, not merely activated, upon their introduction by a clause.
(4) Bill dropped and broke the vase. It happened at noon.
A more plausible basis for the difference in referential accessibility is ontological: it could be attributed to the status of events, but not propositions, as part of the furniture of the world. For example, Asher (1993) characterizes propositions, facts, events, and other abstract entities according to their respective positions on a spectrum of world immanence, depending on their degree of physical instantiation in the world and their degree of causal interaction with ordinary individuals. On this spectrum, propositions are at the pole of least world immanence, while events have a high degree of world immanence, akin to that of ordinary physical objects. On this basis, events might be expected to have the referential behavior of ordinary physical objects. Two other phenomena yield patterns of data parallel to that seen above for pronominal anaphoric reference. First, clausally introduced propositions exhibit an interpretation of quantity adverbs as mass quantifiers over part-whole structures. This sort of interpretation was elucidated by Lahiri (1991, 2000, 2002) for a different range of data, interrogative complements. The interpretation at issue is exhibited by (5), used to assert that the bulk, or greater part, of the vase is clay, which can be represented in the tri-partite structure of quantification given in (6), putting aside some questions about what, exactly, counts as a part of the vase.
(5) Mostly, the vase is clay. (6) mostx [x is a part of the vase] [x is clay]
Under the interpretation of interest here, sentences such as (5) assert that a single substance or element makes up the bulk of a given or understood entity or set of entities. The role of mass-like structure is illustrated by the difference between (7) below (in answer to the question, “What did you load onto the truck?”), which can mean that most of what was loaded onto the truck consisted of sugar, and (8) (in answer to the same question), which cannot mean that most of what was loaded onto the truck consisted of the piano.
(7) Mostly, we loaded sugar onto the truck.
(Cf) than a proposition introduced by a nominal expression at the same point in the discourse. However, the relative Cf ranking of propositions introduced by clauses versus those introduced by nominals, required to make the centering theory account go through, should rest on differences in cognitive status of propositions introduced by clauses versus ones introduced by nominals.
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(8) Mostly, we loaded the piano onto the truck.
The sentence in (8), with focus on the piano, does have sensible interpretations: it can mean that most of the time we spent loading the truck was spent on loading the piano; or that the most important thing we loaded was the piano. But it doesn’t have a mass quantifying interpretation akin to that of (7), on which an accounting of what was loaded by material composition would yield a preponderance of piano material over other substances. The mass quantifying interpretation is obtained when the singular piano in (8) is replaced by a plural, as in (9), with the mass quantifying interpretation in (10). (9) Mostly, we loaded pianos onto the truck. (10) mostx [we loaded x onto the truck] [x is a piano] This is due to the mass-like structure of the denotation domains of plurals. Turning to complements of believe, (11) below, with a plural, exhibits the mass quantifying interpretations of the quantity adverb in the presence of a plural, given in (12), along with other interpretations, such as that Alex believes most of Jill’s stories. The interpretation in (12b) is obtained with semantic focus on Jill’s stories, while that in (12a) is obtained with semantic focus on Jill. (11) Mostly, Alex believes Jill’s stories. (12) a. mostx [ x is a story Alex believes] [x is one of Jill’s stories] b. mostx [ x is something Alex believes] [x is one of Jill’s stories] But (13), with a singular nominal in place of the plural, does not have either of the mass quantifying interpretations given in (14), parallel to those in (12); it doesn’t make sense to assert that most of the stories (or things) Alex believes consist of Jill’s one story. (13) Mostly, Alex believes Jill’s story. (14) a. mostx [ x is a story Alex believes] [x is Jill’s story] b. mostx [ x is something Alex believes] [x is Jill’s story] The quantity adverb in (13) can quantify over degrees of belief which Alex accords to different objects of belief; with focus on Jill, this yields the interpretation in (15a), and with focus on Jill’s story, it yields the interpretation in (15b). (15) a. Of relevant stories, Alex believes Jill’s to the greatest degree. b. Of relevant objects of belief, Alex believes Jill’s story to the greatest degree. c. Alex believes most of (the parts of) Jill’s story. With focus on the verb, the verb phrase, or the entire clause, rather than on the object or . See Herburger (2000) and von Fintel (2003) for discussion of the role of focus structure in the interpretation of quantificational adverbs.
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part of the object, the quantity adverb can quantify over parts of Jill’s story, yielding the interpretation in (15c). But this quantification over parts of a discrete object (Jill’s story) is still different from the quantification involved in producing the interpretations in (14a,b), which would require that Jill’s story be a mass element comprising the bulk of the stories (or things) which Alex believes. With these preliminaries, we can discern the mass quantifying interpretation of the quantity adverb in (16B). (16) A: What does Alex think about the modern university? B: Mostly, Alex believes that the university has gone too far in adopting a corporate management model. The proposition mentioned in (16B), that the modern university has gone too far in adopting a corporate management model, is a singular proposition, and a quite particular one at that. Nevertheless, (16B) can be interpreted as asserting that the bulk, or greater part, of Alex’s beliefs about the modern university consist of, or reduce to, this proposition, as represented in (17). (17) mostx [ Alex believes x about the modern university] [that the university has gone too far in adopting a corporate model (x)] The interpretation represented in (17) can be paraphrased as, “Most x which Alex believes about the modern university can be characterized by the proposition that the university has gone too far in adopting the corporate model,” or, more colloquially, as, “That the university has gone too far in adopting the corporate model makes up most of what Alex believes about the modern university.” In this interpretation, the clausally introduced proposition behaves akin to a mass element or a plural, even though it is a singular entity. When the clause introducing the proposition is replaced by singular nominal expression, as in (18) below, the result is akin to (13), lacking the mass quantifying interpretation of the quantity adverb. (18) A: What does Alex believe about the modern university? B: Mostly, Alex believes Jill’s proposition. It has been argued (Hegarty 2003, 2006) that the capacity to support a mass quantifying interpretation of quantity adverbs over propositions is best explained on the basis of semantic type. Propositions are typically taken to be of type 〈s, t〉, a characteristic function defined on possible worlds which takes a world to the truth-value “True” (or the value 1, if the range of the truth function is taken to be {0,1}) just in case the proposition holds of that world. Assuming that such a proposition is recovered from the predicate-argument structure and quantificational structure of a clause, the denotation of the clause required to account for the facts noted above must be taken to be, not this proposition, but the set of its entailments in the context at hand. That is, if p is the proposition of type 〈s, t〉 obtained from the standard interpretation of a clause α in a dis-
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course context C, then the denotation of α occurring as an argument of a propositional container predicate is that given in (19), an element of type 〈〈s, t〉, t〉. (19)
[|α|] = {r: p →C r}
For the subordinate clause α in (16B), C is the context created by A’s question, against the contextual backdrop of shared assumptions about Alex, the university, and corporate management models. The proposition p, that the university has gone too far in adopting a corporate management model, is recovered directly from the interpretation of α in C, taking no account of the occurrence of α as the complement of a propositional container predicate. But this proposition is not the denotation of α. On the proposal in (19), the denotation of α is the set of contextual entailments of p in c, and this might vary from one context to another. In (16), if it is agreed that the corporate model is inappropriate for the university, then [|α|] will include the proposition that university governance has moved in the wrong direction. If, instead, it is agreed that the university needs a strong dose of corporate governance, then [|α|] will include the proposition that university governance has moved (if perhaps a bit too far) in the right direction. This is not the case on classical accounts. If, for example, the denotation of the subordinate clause in (16B) is taken to be the set of possible worlds in which the university has gone too far in adopting a corporate management model, then, once we fix the referents of expressions internal to the clause, specifying the university under discussion and what counts as going “too far” in the adoption of a corporate management model, it follows that the set of worlds is fixed, and will not vary across contexts. But under (19), the set assigned as the denotation of the subordinate clause will vary across contexts, even when we fix referents of expressions internal to the clause. Thus, on this proposal, the denotation of a subordinate clause appearing as the argument of a proposition-taking container predicate is radically dependent on discourse context in a way that goes well beyond standardly recognized modes of context dependence, such as in resolution of the reference of pronouns, descriptions, or deictic expressions occurring within the clause. This is not strictly a feature of propositional attitude contexts such as (16B); as will be seen below, subordinate clause arguments of situational container predicates are contextually dependent in a similar fashion. (However, propositional attitude contexts do have an additional dimension of contextual dependence, namely, dependence on the cognitive or epistemic state of the subject. This provides an approach to referential opacity effects in these contexts, an issue which is beyond the scope of the present work.) . Defining a Boolean algebra of propositions in terms of the standard Boolean connectives (conjunction, disjunction, negation), the set of propositions in (19) is the principal filter generated by the proposition p under the partial order of entailment. This corresponds to all elements of the Boolean algebra which lie “above” p in the entailment relation, all the way up to the tautology proposition (which is entailed by all elements of the Boolean algebra).
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The advantages of this denotation in accounting for quantification by adverbs such as mostly can be worked out in formal detail; for present purposes, these results will be summarized informally. With the denotation of the subordinate clause given in (19), (16B), with the quantificational structure specified in (17), states that the majority of Alex’s beliefs about the modern university flow from the proposition that the university has gone too far in adopting a corporate management model (that is, more of Alex’s beliefs about the university flow from this proposition than fail to do so). This is a fair rendering of the meaning of (16B), but attempts to obtain it on the simpler type 〈s, t〉 for the denotation of the complement to believe in (16B) lead to serious problems of the sort known as proportion problems. In effect, on this account, a clause introducing a proposition is interpreted by typeraising the proposition p of type 〈s, t〉, recovered through standard interpretive procedures, to the principal filter generated by p under entailment, given in (19). Another respect in which clauses introducing propositions diverge from corresponding nominals in semantic behavior is in the effects of coordination. Clauses introducing propositions coordinate as a singular sum, taking singular anaphoric reference, and, when the coordinate structure is a subject, taking singular subject–verb agreement. This is illustrated in (20)–(21). (20) Alex believes that Tom stole the personnel files and that Susan embezzled the funds. Max believes that too. (21) That Tom stole the files and that Susan embezzled the funds is what they believe. This is in contrast to the coordination of nominals introducing propositions, as in (22). (22) Alex believes the claim that Tom stole the personnel files and the claim that Susan embezzled the funds. Max believes these (claims) too. It is easy to verify that nominals denoting propositions coordinate as plurals, not as singular sums. Elements of type e, including propositions introduced by nominals, coordinate as a plural, of type 〈e, t〉, adopting proposals for the interpretation of plurals put forth by Bartsch (1973), Bennett (1974), Scha (1981), Schwarzschild (1992, 1996) and . Moltmann (1997: 237) observes that “clauses generally count as mass expressions,” but does not make this generalization dependent upon the different types of entities denoted by clauses delineated here. Among the data cited by Moltmann are examples with a mass quantifier over propositional material, as in John knew little / #few (her example (A1)). This proposal is clearly consonant with the mass-like behavior of clausally introduced propositions reviewed here. The present approach could be considered to be a type-theoretic implementation or realization of Moltmann’s proposal that clauses are generally mass expressions. . Data such as (21) were discussed by McCloskey (1991). Moltmann (1997: 230–9) discusses data of the sort given in (20). Moltmann appeals to a mass–count distinction defined on verbs to explain facts such as those in (20), instead of a semantic typology of clausal denotations realized in semantic type theory such as that invoked here.
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others. With the denotation in (19), it can be shown that clausally-introduced propositions of type 〈〈s, t〉, t〉 coordinate as an element of type 〈〈s, t〉, t〉, which is to say that they coordinate as a singular sum, rather than as a plural. Finally, returning to the pronominal reference examples, Hegarty (2006) argues that only elements of semantic type e, the type of ordinary individuals, can be in focus, and therefore accessible to anaphoric reference with a personal pronoun. On the assumption that propositions introduced by nominals are of type e, while those introduced by clauses are of a higher type, such as that in (19), the contrast between (2a) and (3) is accounted for. In the sequence (2a–b), the clausally-introduced proposition is of type 〈〈s, t〉, t〉, but type-shifts to type e upon reference with the demonstrative pronoun this; the proposition of type e, recently mentioned, is then in focus, making it accessible to reference with it in (2b).
3. Situations, facts, and events Situations and facts pattern with propositions in the referential and semantic properties examined here. Clausally introduced situations take immediate pronominal reference with demonstrative pronouns more felicitously than with personal pronouns, as in (23), they coordinate as a singular sum, as in (24), and they admit an interpretation of quantity adverbs as mass quantifiers over part-whole structure, as in (25). (23) John broke a priceless vase. That/#it is intolerable to the embassy. (24) Fundraising for the party has declined, and the public doesn’t trust our spokespeople anymore. But this (situation) is reversible. (25) A: What problems are you currently dealing with in the ambassador’s office? B: Mostly, (that) one of our attachés insulted the president at a public function last week. That has taken some real work to smooth over. This is in contrast to the behavior of event-denoting clauses. As shown in (4), repeated in (26) below, immediate pronominal reference to clausally-introduced events is fully felicitous with the personal pronoun it. (26) Bill dropped and broke the vase. It happened at noon. Furthermore, clausally-introduced events do not coordinate as a singular sum, as illustrated in (27a), except when the denotations of the conjuncts are understood to be tightly integrated parts of a whole, as in (27b).10 . The predicate reversible discourages the interpretation of (24) as a coordination of factdenoting expressions since facts, strictly speaking, are not reversible. 10. Data such as (27b) were discussed by Moltmann (1997: 230–9), with attention to a number of the factors discussed here, including the difference between collections and wholes composed of integrated parts, exhibited in the contrast between (27a,b).
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(27) a. Tom broke a vase in the lobby, and Sam insulted the doorman. These / #this happened on the last day of their stay at the hotel. b. Bill tripped over the rug and knocked over a priceless vase. It happened at noon. Finally, clausally-introduced events admit a mass quantifying interpretation of quantity adverbs only under special circumstances, when the event is continuous and sustained. A mass quantifying interpretation is not obtained when the nuclear scope of the quantifier involves a “point event” such as that introduced in (28B1) below. The sentence in (28B1) can assert that Bill breaking the vase is the most important event which occurred in the time interval under consideration, but it does not reflect a measure on the extension of events according to which the breaking of the vase constituted the bulk of what happened. (28) A: What happened here between 4: 00 and 4: 30? B1: Mostly, Bill dropped and broke the vase. B2: Mostly, the children ran about the room. B3: Mostly, the tornado devastated the town. For an event with multiple parts, such as that introduced in (28B2), mostly quantifies over the multiplicity of events in the room to assert that events of children running about make up the bulk; this is mass quantification over a plural. Only in (28B3), where the clausally-introduced event is of considerable spatio-temporal extent, is it plausible that this one event constitutes the bulk of what happened in the designated time period. As in (27b), the availability of this interpretation is dependent on the internal structure of the event. In contrast, the results in (23)–(25) obtain generally for situations. They don’t just hold for certain situations, by virtue of special structure, but for all situations, by virtue of something quite general about the nature of situations. What is it about situations that makes this possible? If situations were simply individual events or states, we would expect these effects not to be available at all, or to obtain only in special cases dependent on special internal structure of the event or state involved, as in (27b) and (28B3). The conceptualization of situations as situations with ramifications seems to be responsible for these effects. In (25B), the problems confronting the embassy can be dominated by a situation whose base event, that of the attaché insulting the president, was over in an instant, because the ramifications are difficult and consuming. In (24), the coordinated clauses denote two situations whose base states, the decline in fundraising and the lack of trust in the party’s spokespeople, are distinct and possibly even causally independent. Nevertheless, the ramifications of these states can be interdependent in a way which unifies the two situations into one: a situation of declining party health and efficacy. This is the situation referred to by the singular demonstrative this in (24), and which the speaker of (24) asserts to be reversible. In (23), the breaking of the vase itself is probably not so intolerable as the ramifications—the embarrassment, the anger or loss of trust of
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a valued ally, the damage to international relations, the negative effects on future cultural exchanges, and the like. Thus, there is good reason in (23)–(25) to take the denotation of the situation-introducing clause α to be a base event or state together with its ramifications: if eo is the event or state retrieved directly from the internal structure of α in discourse context C, and >C is the two-place relation among events and states such that e1 >C e2 just in case e2 is a ramification of e1 in C, then the denotation of α in C is the set of events and states given in (29). (29) [|α|] = {e : eo >C e} In different discourse contexts, (29) yields different sets of events and states as the denotation of a subordinate clause occurring as the argument of a situational predicate. Consider an example such as, That John is sick is intolerable to me. In a discourse context in which John is employed and the speaker is his boss, the subordinate clause would include, in its denotation under (29), the state of John being unable to go to work, and this may be the ramification most responsible for making the sentence true in this context. If, instead, John is retired, and the speaker is John’s doctor, who has devised a course of treatment which did not work, then the subordinate clause would include, in its denotation under (29), the event of the treatment not working, and this may be what is most responsible for the truth of the sentence in this context. Thus, the ramification of John’s illness most responsible for making the sentence true in one context need not even be in the denotation of the subordinate clause in another context. The referential and semantic properties of situation-denoting clauses noted earlier in this section follow directly if these clauses are taken to have the denotation given in (29). In (25B), with the subordinate clause interpreted as in (29), the extension of the set of ramifications of eo is available to enter into quantification by mostly. In the coordinate structure (24), the ramifications of the states introduced by the conjunct clauses are interdependent to a degree that permits the situation {e: e1 ⊕ e2 >C e} generated by the sum of the two base states, e1 ⊕ e2, to be considered a unitary situation in its own right. This unitary situation is the referent of the singular demonstrative this in (24). In (23), that refers to the set of ramifications in (29) of the event eo of John breaking the vase. Clausally introduced facts exhibit the same pattern of behavior, as shown in the examples in (30)–(32). (30) As our experience with genetics grew, it became clear that most traits, or phe‑ notypes, are inherited in more complicated ways than Mendel had described. This is because differences between the traits of any two individuals are almost always due to differences in many genes. (Frederik Nijhout, “The importance of context in genetics,” American Scientist 91: 416) # It is because differences between the traits of any two individuals are almost always due to differences in many genes.
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(31) “We believe her, the court does not, and that resolves the matter,” Mr. Montanerelli said today of Ms. Lewinsky’s testimony that she had an independent recollection of the date. (New York Times, May 24, 2000) (32) A: What does Alex know about the incident at the nuclear plant? B: Mostly, that the plant was on the brink of a meltdown. In (30), the fact introduced by the clausal complement of clear in the first sentence is available for immediate subsequent reference with a demonstrative, but not with the personal pronoun it. The coordination of fact-denoting clauses in (31) denotes a singular sum, taking singular anaphoric reference with that. In (32), mostly can be interpreted as quantifying over the importance of various facts which Alex knows about the incident, but it can also be interpreted as quantifying over what Alex knows, so that (32B) asserts that the bulk of what Alex knows reduces to the fact that the plant was on the brink of a meltdown. It is easy to see that corresponding facts introduced by nominal expressions are rendered in focus, available for immediate anaphoric reference with it, that they coordinate as a plural, and do not support the mass quantifying interpretation of quantity adverbs. The data in (30)–(32) thus hold only for clausally-introduced facts. The question at this point is whether clausally-introduced facts exhibit this behavior on account of the situations which constitute them, or on account of the propositions which these situations exemplify. Note that many predicates which take facts as arguments, such as notice, point out, significant, odd, can also apply directly to situations in their own right (apart from the role of situations as constitutive of facts on Kratzer’s proposal), so these predicates should be avoided in addressing this question. The predicate know, in contrast, seems to apply more dedicatedly to facts. Kratzer (2002: 664) provides an account of knowledge ascriptions using know according to which knowledge of a fact expressed by a proposition is grounded in acquaintance with (or some other suitable relation to) the situation exemplifying that proposition.11 This overcomes problems with the analysis of knowledge as justified true belief, pointed out by Gettier (1963), Goldman (1967), and others. The analysis of knowledge as justified true belief fails since a proposition can be true, believed by a subject, and believed with justification, even if there is no actual situation which exemplifies the proposition. The situation-based analysis of knowledge of facts given by Kratzer is immune to this failure since it requires that the proposition be believed on the basis of acquaintance with an associated situation. In addition to this situation-based conception of facts, Kratzer (2002: 667–9) argues for a proposition-based conception of facts. She bases her argument for this on the need for an adequate analysis of the truth-conditions of counterfactuals. But there also seems to be a proposition-based notion of knowledge of facts, which applies in cases of knowledge by inference or by deference to authority. I know 11. Specifically, Kratzer proposes that the subject believe the proposition de re of the fact, with the fact understood to be a situation which (qua fact) exemplifies the proposition.
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that four colors suffice to color any map so that no two countries which share a border have the same color. But I haven’t worked through the proof of this theorem; I am merely aware of it through reading the newspaper. In such a case, the facthood of the object of my knowledge is grounded in a situation in the world, but my grasp of the fact is not grounded in anything like acquaintance with the situation itself; rather, my grasp of the fact is grounded in my access to the associated proposition, transmitted and vouchsafed by authority. This is, in fact, a plausible construal of the distinction between propositional knowledge and non-propositional knowledge: the former is more proposition-based, while the latter is more situation-based. Thus, both propositions and situations seem to be relevant to the denotation of know, depending on which sort of knowledge is at issue. To focus this question on the truth conditions of (32B), in order for (32B) to be true, the bulk of what Alex knows about the incident at the nuclear plant should have to reduce to the fact that the plant was on the brink of a meltdown. The question is, in order for this to be so, would it be necessary that the bulk of what Alex knows about the incident be facts which, as propositions, are logically subsumed under the proposition that the plant was on the brink of a meltdown, or would it be necessary that the bulk of what Alex knows about the incident be ramifications of the situation of the plant being on the brink of a meltdown? Either seems possible. The exchange in (32) could be about situational knowledge if Alex is a worker at the plant who was present during the incident in question, but it could equally well be about propositional knowledge if Alex is a regulator, at some remove from the plant, merely reading reports about it. Thus, the knowledge of facts involved in (32) can be proposition-based, or it can be situation-based; in the latter case, one knows the base event or state and its ramifications through the sort of acquaintance which is the basis for knowing a situation. This suggests that Kratzer’s (2002) analysis of a fact as a situation exemplifying a proposition should be understood in terms of referential duality. We have seen, adapting Kratzer’s account, that the denotation of a clause introducing a fact is neither exclusively a proposition nor exclusively a situation with ramifications. A clausally-introduced fact seems to be inherently dual, so that the proposition defining the fact and the situations exemplifying it are both ineliminable components of the fact. Since clausallyintroduced propositions, on the denotation in (19), are of type 〈〈s, t〉, t〉, and clausallyintroduced situations, on the proposal in (29), are of type 〈e, t〉, for e the type of the base event or state, both components of the fact are higher order. It remains to explain why clausally-introduced events do not share in the referential and semantic properties of clausally-introduced propositions, situations, and facts. On a Davidsonian approach, as elaborated by Higginbotham (1985, 1989, 2000), Parsons (1990), and others, clauses are assumed to introduce first order event constants, or first order variables over events, through interpretive mechanisms built into the semantic structure of the clause. One interpretation (simplified) of Bill dropped and broke the vase, from (4) above, is that shown in (33).
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(33) (∃e1) [drop (b, v, e1) ∧ break (b, v, e1)] The clausally introduced event is therefore of type e, the type of a singular individual, and there is no provision for type raising, that is, there is no evidence that we should regard clausally-introduced events as anything other than singular individuals. The semantic behavior of nominal constituents introducing propositions, facts, and situations follows on the supposition that nominals, by virtue of syntactic form, invariably introduce entities of type e. As a result, they coordinate as plurals, and fail to support the mass quantifier interpretation of quantity adverbs. The difference in semantic type can also be appealed to as the basis for an explanation of the referential accessibility data reviewed in section 1. The intuition behind such an explanation is that clausally introduced events, along with entities of any sort introduced by a nominal, have type e, and therefore have the status of ordinary individuals for purposes of anaphoric reference, whereas clausally-introduced propositions, facts, and situations are merely activated, not rendered in focus, by their introduction. Having the semantic type e can be taken to be a precondition for being capable of being in focus. A more specific proposal, developed in Hegarty (2006), is that type e is the type of discourse pegs, in the sense of Landman (1986), and that clausally introduced propositions, facts, and situations are introduced as type raised referents, and then type shifted downward to type e upon subsequent mention, when they reduce to a discourse peg.
4. Conclusion The semantic type of an entity can depend on the syntactic expression used to introduce the entity into a discourse, and on the nature of the entity itself. Following nominal reference, an entity is a singular individual, of type e. Clausally-introduced events are always of type e, but clausally-introduced propositions, situations, and facts, are of higher semantic types. The higher types, in turn, depend on the nature of the entity. Data regarding accessibility to pronominal reference, coordination as a singular sum, and the availability of a mass quantifying interpretation of quantity adverbs for clausally-introduced propositions implicate the higher-type principal filter interpretation given in (19). Selectional facts suggest that clausally-introduced situations be understood as situations with ramifications, and this conception, realized as in (29), is further implicated by pronominal reference, coordination, and quantity adverb data parallel to that observed for clausally-introduced propositions. Finally, clausally-introduced facts exhibit the same referential and semantic properties; this falls into place when, adapting Kratzer’s analysis, we regard a fact as a situation exemplifying a proposition, and therefore as referentially dual, having the denotation of a proposition or a situation with ramifications, depending on the semantic context. Thus, the data available support quite detailed proposals regarding the semantic ontologies of these entities.
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The denotations given by (19) and (29) are radically dependent on discourse context. In the denotation of a clausal argument α of a propositional predicate given in (19), the generator proposition p is common across all discourse contexts which yield the same referents of expressions internal to α, but even across those contexts, which have the same “base” proposition p, the contextual entailments of p which make up the denotation in (19) can vary wildly. The same is true of the denotation of a clausal argument α of a situational predicate, given in (29), where the base event or state eo would remain fixed across contexts in which the referents of expressions internal to α are fixed, but the ramifications of eo could vary wildly across such contexts. This is not an aspect of the classical conception of a proposition or situation denoted by a clause. Classically, reference in semantic theory to “the proposition denoted by a clause” or “the situation denoted by a clause” would be taken to be univocal once the referents of expressions internal to the clause were fixed.
References Asher, Nicholas. 1993. Reference to Abstract Objects in Discourse. Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers. Bartsch, Renate. 1973. “The semantics and syntax of number and numbers.” In Syntax and Se‑ mantics, V.2, P. Kimball, (ed.). New York: Academic Press. Bennett, Michael. 1974. Some Extensions of a Montague Fragment of English. Doctoral dissertation, University of California, Los Angeles. Borthen, Kaja, Fretheim, Thorstein, and Gundel, Jeanette. K. 1997. “What brings a higher-order entity into focus of attention?” In Operational Factors in Practical, Robust Anaphora Reso‑ lution. Proceedings of a Workshop at the 35th Annual Meeting of the Association of Computa‑ tional Linguistics, R. Mitkov and B. Boguraev (eds.). Universidad Nacional de Educación a Distancia, Madrid, Spain, 88–93. Davidson, Donald. 1980. “The logical form of action sentences.” In Essays on Actions and Events. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 105–22. von Fintel, Kai. 2003. “A minimal theory of adverbial quantification.” In Context-Dependence in the Analysis of Linguistic Meaning, H. Kamp and B. H. Partee (eds.). Amsterdam: Elsevier. Gettier, Edmund. 1963. “Is justified true belief knowledge?” Analysis 23: 121–3. Goldman, Alvin I. 1967. “A causal theory of knowing.” Journal of Philosophy 64: 357–72. Grosz, Barbara J., Joshi, Aravind K., and Weinstein, Scott. 1995. “Towards a computational theory of discourse interpretation.” Computational Linguistics 21: 203–25. Gundel, Jeanette K., Hedberg, Nancy, and Zacharski, Ron. 1993. “Cognitive status and the form of referring expressions in discourse.” Language 69: 274–307. Gundel, Jeanette K., Borthen, Kaja, and Fretheim, Thorstein. 1999. “The role of context in pronominal reference to higher order entities in English and Norwegian.” In Modeling and Using Context. Lecture notes in Artificial Intelligence, P. Bouquet et al. (eds.). Berlin: Sprin ger Verlag. Gundel, Jeanette K., Hegarty, Michael, and Borthen, Kaja. 2003. “Cognitive status, information structure, and pronominal reference to clausally introduced entities.” Journal of Logic, Lan‑ guage and Information 12: 281–99.
188 Michael Hegarty Hegarty, Michael. 2003. “Semantic types of abstract entities.” Lingua 113: 891–927. Hegarty, Michael. 2006. “Type-shifting of entities in discourse.” In Where Semantics Meets Prag‑ matics. Current Research in the Semantics/Pragmatics Interface, Vol. 16, K. von Heusinger and K. Turner (eds.). Amsterdam: Elsevier, 111–28. Hegarty, Michael, Gundel, Jeanette K., and Borthen, Kaja. 2002. “Information structure and the accessibility of clausally introduced referents.” Theoretical Linguistics 27(2–3):163–86. Herburger, Elena. 2000. What Counts: Focus and Quantification. Cambridge, Massachusetts: MIT Press. Higginbotham, James. 1985. “On semantics.” Linguistic Inquiry 16: 547–93. Higginbotham, James. 1989. “Elucidations of meaning.” Linguistics and Philosophy 12: 465–517. Higginbotham, James. 2000. “On events in linguistic semantics.” In Speaking of Events, J. Higginbotham, F. Pianesi, and A. C. Varzi (eds.). Oxford: Oxford University Press, 49–79. Kratzer, Angelika. 2002. “Facts: Particulars or information units?” Linguistics and Philosophy 25: 655–70. Lahiri, Utpal. 1991. Embedded Interrogatives and Predicates that Embed Them. Doctoral Dissertation, MIT. Lahiri, Utpal. 2000. “Lexical selection and quantificational variability in embedded interrogatives.” Linguistics and Philosophy 23: 325–89. Lahiri, Utpal. 2002. Questions and Answers in Embedded Contexts. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Landman, Fred. 1986. “Pegs and Alecs.” In Towards a Theory of Information: The Status of Partial Objects in Semantics. Dordrecht: Foris. McCloskey, James. 1991. “There, it, and agreement.” Linguistic Inquiry 22: 563–7. Moltmann, Friederike. 1997. Parts and Wholes in Semantics. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Parsons, Terrence. 1990. Events in the Semantics of English: A Study in Subatomic Semantics. Cambridge, Massachusetts: MIT Press. Scha, Remko. 1981. “Distributive, collective, and cumulative quantification.” In Formal Methods in the Study of Language, J. Groenendijk, M. Stockhof, and T. M. V. Janssen, (eds). Amsterdam: Mathematisch Centrum. Schwarzschild, Roger. 1992. “Types of plural individuals.” Linguistics and Philosophy 15: 641–75. Schwarzschild, Roger. 1996. Pluralities. Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers. Vendler, Zeno. 1967. Linguistics in Philosophy. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Walker, Marilyn A., Joshi, Aravind K., and Prince, Ellen F. (eds). 1998. Centering Theory in Dis‑ course. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Webber, Bonnie Lynn. 1988. “Discourse deixis and discourse processing.” Technical report, University of Pennsylvania. Webber, Bonnie Lynn. 1991. “Structure and ostension in the interpretation of discourse deixis.” Language and Cognitive Processes 6: 107–135.
chapter 9
Implicit internal arguments, event structure, predication and anaphoric reference Francis Cornish University of Toulouse II
1. Introduction This chapter deals with zero or implicit internal arguments of predicates which may take one or two internal arguments, realisable syntactically. There are three essential issues concerning the possibility of occurrence and the type of interpretation of null complements: • First, what are the conditions under which they may occur with various types of transitive verbs? • Second, what are the semantic and referential values which these null complements may assume in different contexts? • Third, what are the principles which make these values possible? Clearly, the occurrence of null complements needs to be licensed — it is not just any English transitive verb, in any type of context, which may leave its direct and/or indirect complement(s) unrealised syntactically. A satisfactory account of the possibility of non-realisation of one or both of a predicate’s internal arguments syntactically, and when this is possible, of the kind of interpretation they may receive, requires recognizing the existence of an interaction amongst lexical-semantic structure, the construction selected as a whole, and various discourse-contextual factors. It is these issues which I will be addressing in what follows. * I am very grateful to Christopher Butler, Anne Grobet, Daniel García Velasco, Denis Apothéloz, Michelle Noailly, Nancy Hedberg, Ron Zacharski, Ricardo Mairal Usón, an initial anonymous external reviewer and two anonymous John Benjamins’ reviewers for their careful reading of earlier drafts of this chapter. A shorter, revised and formalised version of this chapter, framed within the context of K. Hengeveld’s Functional Discourse Grammar model (published as Cornish, 2005), was presented at the Seminar on Functional Discourse Grammar within the 7th International Conference of the European Society for the Study of English, at the University of Saragossa, Spain, on 9th September, 2004. Responsibility for the opinions expressed in the present chapter, as well as for any remaining errors, is of course mine alone.
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I will start by distinguishing implicit (non-first) arguments in terms of a predicate’s semantic valency in relation to the syntactic valency of the verb or adjective corresponding to that predicate (§2), and will continue with an attempt to distinguish three semantic or discourse-referential values assumable by null complements (§3). Section 4 then examines one of the three sub-types of null complement isolated in §3 (the contextually-definite anaphoric subtype), and attempts to make precise its anaphoric potential, as compared with that of unaccented third-person personal pronouns. It also examines in detail the event-structural, and more generally, predicational, values which correlate with the presence of a null complement. Finally, section 5 attempts to arrive at certain generalisations motivating the three types of values isolated, both in terms of event structure and of discourse-pragmatics.
2. Semantic vs. syntactic valency and null complements A distinction is needed at the outset between two conceptions of the notion “(non-first) argument”: on the one hand, non-first arguments of the functor which represents the sense of the predicate concerned within the lexical-semantic structure corresponding to this predicate (such arguments may or may not be realisable syntactically). These are thus semantic arguments; and on the other, non-first arguments of the lexical form of the predicate concerned. These are by definition realisable syntactically in conjunction with the lexical form concerned, and normally correspond to arguments of the functor within the lexical-semantic structure associated with the lexical form as potential predicator. They are thus syntactic arguments (cf. also Jackendoff 2002: 138–49 on this important distinction). In the case of Simon Dik’s version of Functional Grammar (Dik 1997), the distinction is not explicitly or consistently drawn or followed (cf. Cornish 2002: 256–7), though it is drawn explicitly by Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 27–8) in their comparable model Role and Reference Grammar; see also their Table 4.1, p. 147. At the discourse level, “semantic” internal unrealised arguments may or may not evoke a particular discourse referent. Examples (1) and (2) (see below) respectively, illustrate this distinction.
(1) a. John saw the “No Entry” sign. b. The postman placed the packet in the tray. c. The car hit the railing.
In the case of the verbs in (1), the syntactically expressed internal arguments apparently cannot be unrealised: . This is clearly highly language-specific, since the equivalent verb in other languages may well allow its internal argument to be unexpressed syntactically, even under a specific, anaphoric interpretation of the zero form. Huang (2000: 78) gives the following example from European Portuguese:
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(1) a′. *John saw. b′. *The postman placed. c′. *The car hit.
Note however that, where the predicator see has its “understand” sense, where the internal argument is understood as a propositional content of some kind (a third-order entity), the latter may well be unrealised, given a suitable context:
(1) a′′. A [Garage mechanic]: Your brake pads are completely worn. I’ll have to replace them. B [Motorist]: I see ø. How much will that cost?
This shows that the possibility or obligatoriness of realising a given argument is a function of the semantics of a given lexical predicate as well as of the argument concerned (cf. Pustejovsky 1995), and not of its syntactic status qua lexical item. See also Levin & Rappaport Hovav (2005: 18) on this point. However, the 3-place predicate place is somewhat different from the 2-place predicates see and hit, in that it may well occur in context without one of its “internal” arguments being syntactically instantiated. This locative A3 argument then becomes ‘tacit’, recoverable from the context of utterance of the clause involved. In this particular case then, we see that the semantic and syntactic valencies of a predicate may diverge — its syntactic valency being reduced to 2, while its semantic valency remains at 3. But even transitive verbs like hit may occur in context with only their A1 (first argument) instantiated, as in this attested example from the genre of journalism:
(1) c′′. [Context: article about a 1.3 kg meteorite which crashed into a New Zealand couple’s living room shortly before breakfast] “…Even at that speed [several hundred metres per second] it would have been moving fast enough to kill on the spot and the Archers’ one-yearold grandson had been playing in the room moments before it hit ø.” (The Guardian, 14.06.04, p. 2)
Note here that the inanimate pronoun it would not be appropriate as a substitute for the null complement of hit in this example (it would tend to be interpreted as referring back to ‘the room in which the Archers’ one-year-old grandson had been playing’). (i) José sabe que Maria ø viu. José knows that Maria saw ‘José knows that Maria saw (him).’ In familiar spoken French, non-realisation of the internal argument of the equivalent verb voir could not occur anaphorically in this tightly-integrated environment (within a complement clause). However, it could well occur as such in a syntactically less integrated context: là ce soir, mais j’ai pas vu ø. (ii) Pierre a dit que Jeanne serait Pierre has said that Jeanne would be there this evening, but I have neg seen ‘Pierre said that Jeanne would be here/there tonight, but I didn’t see (her).’
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(2) a. Mike sawed, and Mildred pruned. b. Mary is pregnant. c. Hilda read, while Jim wrote.
In (2), by contrast, one or more non-first argument(s) of the predicator have not been realised (these are the “cognate” or highly expected arguments of the verb in each case): the object sawed (typically a log or plank) and the instrument of the sawing, prototypically ‘a saw’ in (2a), ‘the baby with which Mary is pregnant’ in (2b), and ‘reading matter’ and ‘written matter’ (the product of the act of writing) in (2c). The verbs in (2a) and (2c) are all “incremental-object” verbs (cf. van Hout 1999). But it would be a mistake to believe that these predicates’ A2 in their transitive use has disappeared at the lexicalsemantic level when they are not realised syntactically, since it is quite possible for the interlocutor to question this entity: … I wonder what Ron sawed/Mildred pruned? for (2a), and …I wonder what Hilda read/Jim wrote? in (2c) (cf. Fillmore’s 1986 test). Clearly in these cases, the non-instantiation of the A2 has had the effect of turning an accomplishment predication (where all the predicates’ arguments are lexically instantiated) into an activity one (where their non-instantiated A2 arguments are construed as indeterminate or generic (see §3.1 for definitions of these terms)). It is by hypothesis the highly specific selection restriction imposed on the instantiation of this argument position which is responsible for transferring this semantic property to the noninstantiated argument positions. This results in the understanding that, for example, “Ron sawed logs” and “Mildred pruned roses” in an utterance of (2a), and that “Hilda read books/magazines/newspapers” and “Jim wrote letters/his diary/articles” in one of (2c) (the context of utterance is clearly responsible for delimiting the specific understanding of these null A2s in such instances). In each case, though with the exception of the first internal argument in (2a), oddity would arise if this unexpressed “cognate” argument were to be realised without modification of some kind or other:
(2) a′. ?Mike sawed the log with a saw. b′. ?Mary is pregnant with a baby/child. c′. ?Hilda read reading matter, while Jim wrote written matter.
This would not be the case, however, if the cognate argument were modified in its syntactic realisation (cf. Pustejovsky’s 1995: 63–7 notion of “shadow argument”). Clearly, such shadow “cognate” or highly expected arguments form part of the lexical-semantic structure of the predicates concerned, and as such correspond to what Mairal Usón & Faber (2002) call “internal variables” (cf. also Van Valin & LaPolla 1997: 117–18): aspects of the meaning of a predicate which characterise the general lexical class of predicates of which it is a member, and which do not need to be expressed syntactically.
. Compare Dik’s (1997a: §4.2.6) account of the operation of selection restrictions within standard FG.
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We may say that the first type of internal arguments represents part of the predicate’s syntactic as well as its semantic valency, while the second type only constitutes part of its semantic valency. On the discourse level, the latter may or may not evoke or retrieve a discourse referent. The distinction between the two types of valency may be seen most clearly in the structure of passive and middle verbs, where in the former case, the prepositional agent phrase (…by NP) is most commonly considered to be an optional adjunct syntactically (i.e. it is not part of the verb’s syntactic valency), but its referent is nevertheless part of the semantic valency of the predicate at issue. In the case of middle verbs, the agent phrase is (usually) not realised syntactically, though an agent is nonetheless part of these verbs’ semantic valency (cf. Mauner et al. 2002).
3. The semantic and discourse-referential status of implicit arguments A further distinction (a three-way one this time) is needed within the category of implicit internal arguments itself, in terms of the semantic and discourse-referential properties and behaviour of the zero expression: that is, amongst non-referential (generic or indeterminate), referential-(in)definite (discourse-new) and anaphoric (contextually definite) internal implicit arguments (cf. Fillmore 1986; Groefsema 1995; Noailly 1998a 1998b; Larjavaara 2000; García Velasco & Portero Muñoz 2002; Lambrecht & Lemoine 2005; Mejri & François 2006; and others, for similar but not identical distinctions).
3.1 Non-referential (generic or indeterminate) implicit arguments In the first of these three uses, as we have seen, the non-realised A2 or A2 and A3 argument(s) of potentially transitive verbs, adjectives etc. may have a non-specific or generic value — in which case the identification of the intended referent is communicatively unimportant, the speaker not having any particular object in mind. This phenomenon is close to an “absolute” use of the predicate concerned, whereby it is virtually equivalent to an intransitive predicate, the focus being placed on the action, process or state evoked via that predicate as applied to the referent of the subject expression. However, the verb in question’s semantic valency will not have been affected by this phenomenon, as Noailly (1998a: 377) points out in the case of French. It is only in syn‑ tactic terms that we can say that such uses are intransitive. In general, such occurrences do not give rise to a discourse-referent at the level of discourse. What seems to happen here is that the predicate’s selection restriction (part of its core sense) is simply transferred to the unrealised non-first argument, so that the latter assumes these very general characteristics (“sawable objects—typically “logs” for saw and “trees, shrubs and/or . Examples seen so far would be the cognate arguments in (2a) and (2c) in §2.1 above. See also Goldberg (2001) for further discussion in relation to English causative verbs.
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bushes” for prune in (2a), “reading matter” for read and “writing matter” for write in (2c), for example). Goldberg (2001: 512), like Lehrer (1970), also suggests an analysis in terms of semantic selection restrictions, though in relation to English causative verbs. She contrasts the verbs recycle (where the object of the recycling is specifically ‘garbage’ of some kind) and break, where, similar to cut or hit, the object broken is only understood as being a rigid, breakable object. Hence, according to Goldberg, the semantic contribution of the Patient argument is too unpredictable for it to be unrealised syntactically:
(3) a. That man always recycles. b. *That man always breaks. (Goldberg’s 2001 examples (22a, b), p. 512)
With regard to (3a) (a constructed example), I can vouch for its possibility of occurrence as an utterance-token, with the following attested example:
(3) a′. [Notice on individual dustbins on pavements in a street in Canterbury, UK:] “Recycling is so easy when it’s collected from your doorstep.”
As we will see below, the second argument of recycling (as in Goldberg’s example with the predicate in verbal form, in (3a)), is an “inherent” argument, part of the meaning of this predicate only; thus no discourse referent is evoked, and the pronoun it in the second clause of the example has the same, generic, stereotypical referential value as does this inherent argument. Note further here that recycle is an activity predicate aspectually, whereas break is an accomplishment when intransitive, and a causative accomplishment when transitive, in Vendler’s (1967) typology of Aktionsart types. These categories will be important in what follows (see this section and section 4 in particular). The restriction referred to above would explain the impossibility of the realisations in (1a′–c′), since none of the verbs see, place or hit places any specific semantic selection restriction on its non-first argument(s) — but see the possible use of hit in the definite past tense with a referential null complement in the attested example (1c′′). Note also that while the sentences in (2) designate atelic situations (activities — (2a,c) and a property (i.e. a state) — (2b)), those in (1) denote telic ones. As we shall be seeing in more detail below, when the host verb is construed atelically, the non-realisation of the relevant non-first argument(s) is generally possible. Examples already seen are those in (2) as well as the occurrence of the normally accomplishment verb kill in (1c′′), which is converted to an activity predicate via the non-specific predication in which it occurs, as well as via the fact that its second argument is syntactically null. However, with a telic interpretation (as in (1)), non-realisation is in principle only possible in English where the host predicate imposes a specific selection restriction on the relevant internal argument(s). This non-referential subtype, then, corresponds to Lambrecht & Lemoine’s (2005) type Indefinite Null Instantiation. The authors stress that the “unspecified” nature of the reference of the null complement in such cases is not a purely lexical-semantic
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matter, but is a function of its “pragmatic construal” in discourse. The examples and their analyses below would appear to confirm this view (see in particular the verbs in example (5) below). An example is given by Groefsema (1995, ex. (4a)) in terms of the verb to eat:
(4) #John brought the sandwiches but Ann didn’t eat ø — she ate the cakes instead.
In (4), the verb eat may be used intransitively, but with an A2 subject to a general selection restriction of the type . In this use, the second conjunct of (4) would mean that “Ann did not eat any unspecified food” (in other words, she didn’t eat anything at all, whence the incoherence of the integration of the content of the last clause of this fragment, which says that she ate some cakes). Thus there is no retrieval of the referent ‘the sandwiches which John brought’, and hence a restriction to just those foodstuffs. In fact, given the “activity-focus” interpretation of eat here, we may say, as do Koenig & Mauner (2000), that no real internal argument at all is involved here, the verb eat having its “absolute” sense as a property-attributing predicate. Koenig & Mauner (2000) would call the non-referring internal argument of eat in (4) an “a-definite”. An “a-definite” is an implicit argument which does not evoke a discourse referent, since it is neither definite, nor indefinite, but partakes of both values simultaneously; all that such implicit arguments do is satisfy the argument position of the predicate which they “fill”. Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 123) call such arguments “inherent arguments”, a notion which they define as follows: “… an argument which expresses an intrinsic facet of the meaning of the verb and does not refer specifically to any participants in the event denoted by the verb; it serves to characterise the nature of the action rather than to refer to any of the participants.” An attested example is the following advertisement in The Sunday Times for a motor show, involving four otherwise transitive verbs with unrealised second arguments (here the indeterminate nature of the references in each case is clear):
(5) “See, try, admire or buy at London’s Motor Show.” (Advertisement, The Sun‑ day Times, 9.10.83, p. 9)
The types of things which the reader of the advertisement in (5) is enjoined to “see, try, admire or buy” (note the imperative mood of these predications, which favours nonrealisation) are clearly new models of motor vehicles and their accessories, exhibited in the Motor Show to which the utterance is referring. We thus have a set of—fairly general, in all these instances—selection restrictions transferred by the senses of each of the predicates involved to their non-instantiated A2s, senses which are delimited to a . But see §4.1 below for an alternative analysis of this example. Groefsema prefixes this example with an asterisk, which I have replaced with the crosshatch (since the example is not ungrammatical qua sentence, but self-contradictory as an utterance). . The authors’ key example is the short passive, where the implicit internal argument is interpreted as the unspecified agent of the result of the action denoted: (1a) A ship was sunk.
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denotation type via the context in which the text occurs—an advertisement for a Motor Show. Such arguments would not receive a macro-role in Van Valin & LaPolla’s (1997) Role and Reference Grammar model, no discourse referent being introduced in order to be the object of subsequent predications. As Mejri & François (2006) point out, it is necessary to distinguish between indeter‑ minate (as I shall call this sub-type) and generic values of null complements. The type in (3a′) (“Recycling is so easy when it’s collected from your doorstep.”) could be argued to be generic, since the (initial) clause as a whole is generic: the tense is the (gnomic) present, and the predication attributes a property to an event type as opposed to token. Whereas in (5), the four predications are eventive, the conjuncts each being in the imperative mood, and the actions enjoined being located within a specific commercial event. The null complements thus all have an indeterminate, rather than generic value here. In both cases, it is the event (token or type) denoted by the verbal predicate which is highlighted by the null complement realisation, its participants being backgrounded thereby. See also the use of kill in (1c′′) (“…it would have been moving fast enough to kill on the spot…”), whose null complement would appear to have an indeterminate (human-denoting) value here (‘people, whoever they might be’). One possible test of whether a zero expression as null complement of a given predicate is interpreted as generic/indeterminate (“indefinite”, in Fillmore’s terminology) or referential (anaphoric, in this case: “definite” for Fillmore) is proposed by Fillmore (1986: 97):
(6) a. He was eating ______ ; I wonder what he was eating. b. They found out ______ ; # I wonder what they found out.
That there is an internal argument here is indicated by the fact that it makes sense to ask such a question in instances such as (6a): after all, with purely intransitive verbs (both syntactically and semantically), such as die, a question of this sort would be absurd (John died – *What did John die?). The indirect question in the second clause of (6a) is semantically appropriate, however, since the nature of the food being eaten, as evoked via the first clause, is unspecified and communicatively unimportant: the argument is only “inherent”, in Van Valin & LaPolla’s (1997) terms, or “a-definite”, in those of Koenig & Mauner (2000). In the case of the predicate find out in (6b), on the other hand, the zero complement does have a contextually-identifiable (and thus ‘discourse-’) referent, which is presupposed to be known and highly accessible to the addressee at the point of occurrence. Another reflex of the distinction lies in the fact that intransitive eat in (6a) is an activity predicate which does not require any particular context for its occurrence; while find out in (6b) is an achievement predicate in terms of Aktionsart, which clearly does require a particular context for its occurrence to be felicitous (one in which the intended referent of the null complement is made salient in some way). But the test illustrated in (6) does not enable us to distinguish between generic/indeterminate and discourse-new implicit arguments, as illustrated below in (7) and (8).
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3.2 Discourse-new referential implicit arguments Another value assumable by implicit internal arguments is that of evoking a discourse referent which may later be retrieved, under certain conditions, via an anaphor. This value is termed a “latent object” (objet latent) by Larjavaara (2000) (Larjavaara 2000: 51 conflates under this term the discourse-new and the anaphoric use of such zero arguments; what is crucial here is that the zero form’s intended referent be identifiable by the addressee, or at least that it be treated as such by the speaker. Whether or not it is salient at the point of occurrence in the co-text is immaterial). This corresponds to both of Mejri & François’ (2006) subtypes “latent-identifiable” and “latent-identifiable and salient”. It corresponds in part to Lambrecht & Lemoine’s (2005) type Free Null Instanti‑ ation, where “the referent can be either specific or non-specific, the choice of interpretation being left up to the hearer” (MS. p. 5). The first conjunct of (7) below provides an initial example:
(7) I wrote ø to you a week ago, you know, but you never answered ø!
In (7), the context indicates that the verb write is being used in its “correspond” sense; the predicate at issue therefore has three arguments, the second of which is unrealised syntactically. This non-instantiated A2 argument (‘a letter sent by the speaker to his/her interlocutor a week before the time of utterance’) is clearly referential, owing to the definite past tense chosen here, and the reference to a specific event which occurred prior to the utterance of (7). It is equally clearly discourse-new, being an introductory reference (even though the intended addressee may already be aware of the existence of such a letter), the referent constituting discourse-new information in context. Unlike the “generic/indeterminate” values of null complements seen in §3.1, the “referential(in)definite” use does introduce a discourse referent (and would clearly warrant the assignment of a “macro-role” in terms of RRG). See also the example given in (13a) in sub-section 4.1 below, where the zero complement would correspond to a definite, but not indefinite, NP. Other examples of discourse-new null complements can be found in deictic occurrences, where the referent is potentially available to the addressee from within the utterance context, but not yet salient (i.e. topic-worthy). Typically, such instances occur in imperative contexts, where the interlocutive relationship is highly constrained:
. “Identifiable” only after the clause has been processed, however, since this occurrence would be substitutable in context by an indefinite, but not a definite, NP (I am indebted to Nancy Hedberg for pointing this out). As such, this occurrence would correspond to the cognitive status “referential” in the Gundel, Hedberg & Zacharski (1993: 276) “Givenness Hierarchy” (see §5.2 for further discussion), defined as follows: “the addressee must either retrieve an existing representation of the speaker’s intended referent or construct a new representation by the time the sentence has been processed.”
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(8) Eat ø!/Watch ø!/Mind ø!/Smell ø!/Taste ø!
In each such case, the interlocutor’s attention is being specifically drawn to the thing or event involved, which is available within the situational context. As such, it is thereby made salient for both participants.
3.3 Anaphoric (contextually-definite) implicit internal arguments A third possibility is where the implicit A2 argument is not only referential, as in the case of the null A2 complement of wrote in (7) above, but anaphoric. The second noninstantiated A2 argument in (7), the referent of the null complement of answered in the second conjunct, is contextually definite, in contrast, as it is construed as referring back anaphorically to the letter introduced by the null complement in the initial conjunct. Fillmore’s (1986) test for “indefinite” (non-referential, of the type seen in §3.1 above) null complements would be clearly negative here: …#I wonder what you never answered (see also examples (1a′′B) and (1c′′)). This subtype corresponds in part to Lambrecht & Lemoine’s (2005) type Definite Null Instantiation. Given that I include under the heading “anaphora” exophoric uses of potentially anaphoric expressions, I would subsume under this value such uses of zero complements—as in the case of labels on bottles of pharmaceutical products, instructions for use etc. of the type: Take ø with precaution (label on bottle of medicinal pills); Break ø in an emergency (instruction displayed on a glass panel behind which is placed an alarm). The host verbs in such examples are in the imperative mood, like the deictic examples in (8). However, it is clear that the intended referent of the zeros in such ‘label’ cases is not only identifiable, but salient and (potentially) topical: the addressee’s attention is assumed, in such “caption-like” instances, to be already centred on the object on or under which the notice is placed. Thus the implicit argument is contextually-definite, and the reference is anaphoric (cf. the infelicitous queries: #…I wonder what should be taken with precaution/#…I wonder what should be broken in an emergency, respectively). As a further example, let us give the second member of the minimal pair of examples presented by Groefsema (1995) (her (4b)):
(9) The guide left but the tourists didn’t follow ø — they followed the courier instead.
In (9), unlike the use of eat illustrated in (4), the zero form with which the verb follow is constructed in the second conjunct may well retrieve the contextually definite referent ‘the guide who left’, since, according to Groefsema (1995), in the lexical-semantic struc. I say “in part”, since Lambrecht & Lemoine make clear that their category “Definite Null Instantiation” covers not only anaphoric, but also discourse-new, identifiable referents of the zero complement. Thus, such zero complements would not be substitutable by an unaccented pronoun, but rather by a relevant definite full NP. . See Cornish (1999: ch. 4) for arguments in favour of this move.
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ture of this verb there is a selection restriction which requires a particular occurrence of a thing (here it is an event) corresponding to a given type. Follow would thus be a verb allowing a definite (and not indefinite) null complement, in Fillmore’s terms. Fillmore’s (1986) test given under (6) is again negative here, as with his example verb find out: The guide left but the tourists didn’t follow ___ ; # I wonder who they didn’t follow.
4. The anaphoric potential of null complements, event structure and predication 4.1 Interpretative values of complement zeros vs. overt object pronouns Concentrating from now on essentially upon the contextually-definite, anaphoric function of null complements, we can say, first of all, on the basis of the discussion in sections 2 and 3, that this is possible in English under two main conditions: first, there must exist a specific selection restriction upon the non-first argument(s) subject to non realisation in terms of syntax. The second condition is evidently that the null complement’s referent be contextually salient and topical, a condition generally holding on the existence of anaphora; however, in the case of English, this condition is only a necessary, and not a sufficient one, as example (10) clearly indicates. (10) Martin liked the look of the pair of walking shoes displayed in the store window: he went and bought *ø/them without trying *ø/them on. Here, the verb buy is used in the definite past tense, and the reference is clearly to a specific occasion of buying something — a pair of walking shoes — and of not trying that something on. But even though this referent is contextually salient as well as topical, this is not sufficient to permit the non-instantiation of the internal argument of the two verbs concerned under an anaphoric (coreferential) reading. It would seem to be the non-specific nature of the selection restriction associated with the lexical-semantic structure of these verbs which prevents this type of functioning. The verbs buy and try on seem to have only very general selection restrictions (respectively, and ). In spontaneous spoken French, however, the equivalent verbs may well occur with a null complement, under an anaphoric interpretation: see the French equivalent of the final clause in (10): …Il est allé ø/les acheter sans ø/les essayer. Familiar spoken French allows non-expression of non-first arguments of verbs much more freely than does English (cf. Lambrecht & Lemoine 2005). In English, only an overt pronoun may normally occur as complement of the verbs in such a context. What now of the difference in behaviour of null complements and unaccented overt pronouns, where either type is possible? In this respect, Groefsema (1995: 156) gives a . See also the ill-formed examples of 2- or 3-place achievement or accomplishment verbs with null complements in (1) above — where the tense is also the definite past, and the intended referent of the null complement may also be contextually salient.
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telling minimal pair, but which she does not further analyse. Here the null complement in (11a) is “indefinite” (though still anaphoric) and not contextually definite: (11) a. John picked up the glass of beer and drank ø. b. John picked up the glass of beer and drank it. In (11a), what John is said to have drunk is some, not necessarily all, of the beer in the glass evoked via the initial conjunct (i.e. the null complement entails a partitive reading here). The zero is anaphoric, but the null instantiation of this predicate’s A2 has had the effect of changing the accomplishment Aktionsart evident in (11b) with the pronoun into an activity predication. In (11b), by contrast, John is stated as having drunk all of the beer in the glass (the overt pronoun enabling the accomplishment event structure to be specified, and inducing a holistic interpretation). The anaphoric, and not “indeterminate”, non-referential value of the zero in (11a) is determined by the fact that the two conjuncts of this example designate a sequence of two specific events (note the definite past tense borne by the verbs in each conjunct) which each form an integral part of a more global event. Groefsema’s analysis of the null complement evident in (11a) highlights the fact that the verb drink does not place any specific selection restriction upon its internal argument (technically, in terms of Jackendoff ’s 1990 Lexical–Conceptual model), other than that it be a THING (type of entity) of the type “liquid” — but certainly not an “instance” of a THING (i.e. a token or occurrence of a THING). However, the reader of (11a) will certainly understand the null complement of drank as referring to (a quantity of) the beer evoked in the initial conjunct, and not of any unspecified type of beverage. Lehrer (1970: 245) gives a similar minimal pair involving the verb drink, but the interpretation possibilities associated with the use of the null complement versus the pronoun are rather different: (12) a. John drinks only gin, but I won’t drink.10 b. John drinks only gin, but I won’t drink it. (Lehrer 1970: exx. (67) and (68), p. 245) For Lehrer (1970: 245), the interpretation of the null complement in (12a) is the generic one ‘alcoholic beverage’, and not ‘gin’ as such. This is the default interpretation associated with the ‘absolute’ use of intransitive drink (the domain of ‘alcoholic drinks’ is set by the reference to “gin” in the initial conjunct). In (12a), unlike (11a), there is no (partitive) anaphoric interpretation available for the zero complement of drink, since each predication denotes an atemporal property (via the simple present tense in each conjunct and the lack of an article in the NP gin), the second property holding independ10. Note that this utterance is not fully acceptable as it stands. A more natural rendering of the second conjunct would involve replacing the negative modal auxiliary won’t by the neutral don’t, expressing a more objective property of the subject referent, and adding the negative emphatic particle at all: …but I don’t drink at all.
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ently of the first. Thus the predication in the second conjunct of (12a) does not continue the situation established in the first, and so the null complement is not anaphoric in value (see Kleiber 1994: ch. 3). We thus have the generic value, delimited via the reference to ‘gin’ in the initial conjunct to ‘alcoholic beverages’, which we saw in §3.1 (see also example (3a′) above). In contrast, in (12b) the definite pronoun is anaphoric, and refers to the type of alcoholic beverage mentioned in the initial conjunct, namely ‘gin’. The situation represented by (11) seems somewhat different, then, from the ostensibly identical example (4) involving the verb eat (also one of Groefsema’s examples), where it was claimed that the zero complement of the latter verb is purely non-referential in value (as in Lehrer’s example (12a) above), and could not retrieve the referent ‘the sandwiches’ evoked in the initial conjunct of (4). Fillmore’s (1986) test of nonspecificity would be negative in the case of (11a) (#…but I wonder what he drank). It would seem, from examination of just these two transitive/intransitive verbs, that Lambrecht & Lemoine’s (2005) intermediate category “Free Null Instantiation” would be relevant as a characterisation of their potential uses — either a specific, anaphoric, or a non-specific, quasi-generic interpretation being possible for the complements of such verbs. I would argue that this systematic difference in interpretation arises because of the fact that overt pronouns are nominals which, because of their inherent definiteness and (potential, at least) referentiality, change the Aktionsart of the verb whose second argument they instantiate, from an atelic activity into a telic accomplishment. Thus with definite complement pronouns, the emphasis is no longer on the activity of drinking (or eating), but on the nature of the thing drunk (or eaten). But this may also be the case even with “incremental-object” verbs like eat and drink, whose Patient argument is understood to be progressively affected by the process involved, even when their second argument is unexpressed syntactically. Compare (13a) and (13b) in this respect:11 (13) a. Mary ate ø at noon. b. The waiter served the main course. Mary ate ø hungrily. In both (13a) and (13b), the tense is the definite past, and the reference is to a specific event which occurred prior to the act of utterance. The null instantiation of the A2 in (13a) induces the basic, characteristic activity interpretation of the verb,12 but the presence of the contextualising PP at noon overlays this reading with the culture-specific stereotype ‘midday meal’ as the frame in which the event denoted is to be set, so that
11. I am indebted to the initial anonymous external reviewer for example (13a) and its relevance to the point at issue here. 12. See Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 112) for arguments that verbs of consumption such as eat and drink are basically activity verbs in terms of Aktionsart, which may be used transitively as accomplishment predicates. See also Mittwoch (1982) on the difference in Aktionsart between eat and eat something.
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the predication as a whole is telic, and not atelic via non-instantiation of the A2. This is clearly a referential instance, but a “discourse-new” one rather than an anaphoric, context-bound instance. It is a frame-based occurrence, trading on the cultural knowledge that meals (in most Western societies) normally take place at or around noon every day. But in (13b), the presence of the manner adverb hungrily highlights the basic activity sense corresponding to the predicate’s inherent value (since it directly modifies the activity subeventual structure underlying this predicate lexical-semantically). There is no implicature available such that Mary actually finished eating the main course which she has been served. Thus the zero has the indeterminate, non-referential value which we saw in the case of the verbs in (2) and (5). If we apply Fillmore’s “I wonder what X Ved” test, it is positive in (13b) (“I wonder what Mary ate”), but negative in (13a) (with the predicted response “#She ate a midday meal”; however, with the type of response expected and normal for the same query on (13b) — e.g. “… chicken and noodles” —it is positive). The bounded/non-bounded adverbial tests also discriminate the two occurrences: for (13a) Mary ate ø at noon ?#for ages/in an hour; and for (13b) Mary ate ø hun‑ grily for ages/#in an hour. With hindsight, it appears that what prevented the null complement of eat in (4) from functioning anaphorically was the fact that it occurred in the scope of the negation, preceded by the expectation-denying conjunction but. If we remove these two elements, the anaphoric interpretation is not only possible, but highly expected: (4′) John brought the sandwiches, and Ann ate hungrily. Here, the same “partitive” interpretation seems to come to the fore as in the case of the null complement of drank in (11a): that is, we understand in (4′) that WHAT Ann ate were the sandwiches which John brought, but that she didn’t necessarily eat all of the sandwiches that he brought — only some of them. This seems to contradict Groefsema’s (1995) prediction here, as well as an identical one made for this verb by Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 122) using a very similar example. However, as in the case of the use of the overt pronoun it in (11b), if we replace the zero complement in (4′) by the overt pronoun them, then the same holistic interpretation as in (11b) naturally presents itself. The situation is thus somewhat more subtle than Groefsema (1995) implies, since it clearly involves a complex interaction between lexical-semantics, syntactic realisation (or non-realisation, as the case may be) and discourse function (cf. also Goldberg 2001).
4.2 The roles of Aktionsart and event structure: “content” vs. “(event-) structural” arguments Rappaport Hovav & Levin (1998: 104ff.) and Brisson (1994) also claim that it is the aspectual structure of the verbal predicates concerned which determines whether or not their A2 argument may be left unrealised: however, it is not the static, inherent lexical-
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semantics of each individual verb which is relevant here, but the compositional semantics of the predicative unit as a whole (verb + possible extra adverbial element) — see also Ritter & Thomas Rosen (1998) and Van Hout (1999), as well as the contrast between (13a) and (13b) above. See Rothstein (2004) on lexical aspect and event structure more generally. Both Brisson and Rappaport Hovav & Levin claim that the non-realisation of internal arguments is only possible when the argument at issue is a “content”, and not a “structural” one. The distinction involves that between the aspectual or “event structure” of the sentence as a whole, where the participants involved are “structural participants”, and the lexically-specific content of the predicate which “heads” that structure. This predicate brings with it a certain array of arguments in terms of its meaning: these are the “content” arguments. Thus there may be a discrepancy between the two types of structure. Brisson argues that (“activity”) verbs of the type illustrated by sweep (plough, pack, dust, vacuum, clean, mow, rake…) may occur with either a durative or a bounded time adverbial,13 whether with or without a syntactically-realised object NP, and whether this NP is definite or indefinite. This would give the predicate ‘sweep’ (as well as the others in its class) the “content” structure sweep (x,y) but the event structure ‘activity (x)’. From Brisson’s account, we may infer that the ‘y’ argument in the content structure is more or less totally determined by the meaning of this predicate (stereotypically, a ‘floor’ of some kind) — an “inherent” or “a-definite” argument, then; whereas, given that this verb is basically an activity predicate (as indicated by the various tests applied to it), there would be no second, A2 argument at this event-structural level at all (in Van Valin & LaPolla’s 1997 terminology, the predicate’s content A2 argument would not correspond to a “macro-role”; the verb in question would thus be “M-intransitive”, bearing only one macro-role argument). Now, given that this is the case, the sole A2 “content” argument, not being a “structural” one, need not be realised syntactically — so long as its essential content is contextually recoverable. This is the case with verbs of the type represented by sweep, where general knowledge tells us that it is typically ‘floors’ that are swept (see also plough → ‘fields’, pack → ‘suitcases’, dust → ‘furniture’, vacuum → ‘carpets’, clean → ‘artefacts’, mow → ‘lawns’, rake → ‘leaves’, etc.). This general class of predicates is characterised by Rappaport Hovav & Levin (1998: 99) as “verbs of surface contact through motion”. The situation described here would seem to characterise the first type of non-realisation of A2 arguments seen above in §3.1 (the non-referential generic/indeterminate argument type). On the other hand, where a given predicate has a causative accomplishment or achievement interpretation, there is necessarily a binary event structure involved, consisting of a causing event (an activity) and a resulting state. Thus there are inevitably two structural arguments, both of which must be realised syntactically, according to 13. However, my feeling is that examples like Brisson’s (unstarred) (9b) (p. 91) Jack swept in an hour are not fully acceptable. One of the editors of this volume, Nancy Hedberg (p.c.), indicated agreement with this judgement.
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these authors. This would explain then why such predicates (for example, English break, as we have seen) cannot leave their A2 argument unrealised. Break is an “externallycaused change of state verb”, according to Rappaport Hovav & Levin (1998: 99). The content structure of (intransitive) break would then be break (x,y), and its event structure ‘activity (x) CAUSE [BECOME broken y]’, where broken represents both the essential content of the (intransitive) predicate ‘break’ and its status as ‘resulting state’ of the macro-event involved here.14 See Van Valin & LaPolla’s (1997: 107) representation of the Aktionsart structure of causative break in their example (3.24). It can be argued that the intransitive, inchoative use of break (as in The vase broke) is more basic, and that the transitive-causative use is derived from it by rule. I have attempted to formalise these two types of structure under (14a and b) below, drawing inspiration from the notation system used in Van Valin & LaPolla (1997).15 (14) a. “Content structure” of core sense of break, after Brisson (1994) and Rappaport Hovav & Levin (1998): BECOME ¬ intact’ (y) ((partially_)rigid_object, y) b. “Event structure” of break, after Brisson (1994) and Rappaport Hovav & Levin (1998): [[activity (x)] CAUSE [BECOME ¬ intact’ (y) ((partially_)rigid_object, y)]] Brisson’s (1994: 97) two licensing conditions on the possibility of unexpressed objects are given below: (15) a. Grammatical licensing condition: structure arguments must be expressed. (Brisson 1994: (24)) b. Contextual licensing condition: the unexpressed object must be understood. (Brisson 1994: (25)) Rappaport Hovav & Levin (1998) formalise and further develop Brisson’s essential insights. They propose two well-formedness conditions on the syntactic realisation of event structures, as follows: (16) Subevent Identification Condition Each subevent in the event structure must be identified by a lexical head (e.g. a V, A or P) in the syntax. (Rappaport Hovav & Levin 1998: 112) 14. I have inserted the abstract operators CAUSE and BECOME here, as well as the square brackets, which Brisson does not do; indeed, she does not represent the structure of break in her article. 15. The segment in parenthesis following ‘¬ intact’ (y)’ is intended to capture the selection restriction imposed on its single argument by the meaning of this predicate. For the inchoative ‘activity’ or ‘process’ value, the segment preceding the operator BECOME in (14b) would not be instantiated.
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(17) Argument Realization Condition a. There must be an argument XP in the syntax for each structure participant in the event structure. b. Each argument XP in the syntax must be associated with an identified subevent in the event structure. (Rappaport Hovav & Levin 1998: 113) Condition (17a) makes more precise Brisson’s (1994) “Grammatical licensing condition” given under (15a) above; while Condition (17b) ensures that all argument expressions in the syntactic realisation be relatable to a predicate corresponding to an identifiable subevent in the event structure associated with the sentence. Condition (16) completes the picture, in that it ensures that each predicate marking a subevent in the event structure be relatable to a relevant lexical head. However, it would seem that these conditions are much too rigid and absolute: they do not take enough account of the surrounding co-text or context of occurrence of the verbal predicates at issue here — i.e. of the way in which these predicates are actually used. If we take the (causative accomplishment) verbal predicate break as a typical verb having a binary event structure, with either one or two content and two structural arguments, the prediction is that non-realisation of the A2 argument is excluded — as we have seen. In the case of the non-referential generic or indeterminate use of the verb, of course, the authors could claim that what we have is an activity, such that there is no longer a second structural argument since the binary event structure is no longer available. This could occur in the following kind of situation: imagine a warehouse full of trestle tables on which are piled substandard mass-produced cups, plates and saucers etc., all containing imperfections of one kind or another. Members of the public are invited to break these items into pieces, so that they can more easily be recycled. On the entrance to the warehouse is pinned a large notice, with the words: (18) Break ø to your heart’s content! Clearly, this would correspond to the indeterminate, “absolute” use of transitive verbs with unrealised complements that we saw in §3.1, with the context-of-utterance delimiting the type of things to be broken as items of reject crockery on the tables in the warehouse. As already noted, this use would not constitute a counter-example to Brisson’s and Rappaport Hovav & Levin’s constraints (since in this usage, break and similar verbs would be activity and no longer achievement or accomplishment predicates; as such, they would be only unary event (i.e. activity) predicates). But there are two other possibilities with break. The first is the possible deictic use which we briefly saw in §3.2, where the null complement of break has a referent available via the utterance situation. As an example, consider again the “reject” crockery situation evoked a moment ago. Imagine a situation where a member of the public has entered the warehouse and has been merrily smashing plates, cups and saucers for the last 20 minutes. Suddenly, he comes upon a large bowl with an attractive design, which doesn’t seem to him to be in too poor a condition. As he holds it up to examine it, the attendant walks towards him and says:
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(19) Come on now, break ø! They’ve all got to go, you know! Here, the referent is clearly present, both at the semantic and the discourse-representational levels — and yet the second “structural” argument is syntactically null, contrary to conditions (15a) and (17a). I believe (19) could correspond to a deictic and not purely anaphoric use of the null complement (though such an interpretation is also possible here), since the addressee is tacitly querying the status of the intended referent. If an overt pronoun were to be used in place of the zero complement here, I believe it would be the demonstrative pronoun that rather than the (purely anaphoric) third-person pronoun it (which is of course also possible under a purely anaphoric interpretation): thus it consists in introducing the referent qua “non-breakworthy” item of crockery in this context. This is the essential function of deixis, under the conception I adopt (see Cornish 1999: §2.3 and Ch. 4). Granted, there are “extenuating” circumstances here, independently motivating the null complement of break, since this type of occurrence is restricted to the type of highly modalised context represented by the imperative mood in (19). But there is a second type of counterexample to these stipulations, falling within the third of the three cases outlined in section 3 (§3.3). This is the “exophoric” use of predicates like break, which I claimed come under the anaphoric, context-bound use (as in the notice Break ø in an emergency displayed above a glass panel covering an alarm handle). Here too there is an argument at the lexical-semantic level as well as a discoursereferent at the level of discourse. Again, the possibility of such occurrences is a counterexample to stipulations (15a) and (17a). In all three types of example involving break with a null complement, the clause is in the imperative mood. This is no accident, in fact. What this mood induces (contrary to the declarative mood, in particular) is a focusing of attention on the object of the command — the speech-act type typically correlating with the imperative form. This serves, then, to enhance psychologically, i.e. to ‘profile’, the entity at issue, and thus to allow it to be unrealised syntactically. Though the mood is not imperative in examples like (20) below (suggested to me by one of the editors of this volume, Nancy Hedberg), (causative) accomplishment verbs like cut would nevertheless appear to allow their A2 to be unrealised syntactically, here with a context-bound, partitive anaphoric interpretation. (20) Mary helped me make paper dolls. She coloured and I cut. As Nancy Hedberg (p.c.) points out, the second sentence here clearly denotes a (complex) activity — but as such, of course, it would not be a counterexample to Brisson’s and Rappaport Hovav & Levin’s conditions on syntactic non-realisation: the referent of the null complements of the two verbs is contextually recoverable (‘(parts of) the paper out of which Mary and the speaker are making paper dolls’) — see Brisson’s (1994) second condition (15b) above. The example would appear to be parallel to (11a), since the event structure is an activity one, and the event denoted in the second clause continues
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(or is an exemplification of) that evoked by the first; the zero complements involved are thus identity-of-sense anaphors, retrieving the referent ‘parts of the paper used to make the paper dolls’. Thus, although the verb’s two content arguments are present, in terms of the event structure of the clause as a whole the predicates at issue are unary (“M-intransitive”, in Van Valin & LaPolla’s 1997 terms, the second argument not corresponding to a “macro-role”), and conditions (15a) and (17a) are satisfied.
5. Taking stock: the role of the host predication in the licensing of null complements, and their correlations with “cognitive statuses” Let us try now to assess the situation, and arrive at a set of principles enabling us to predict both whether a transitive predicate’s A2, or A2 and A3 may be unrealised syntactically, and if so what their type of interpretation will be. Clearly, the occurrence of null complements in English needs to be licensed (we have already seen that the principles lying behind this licensing in the case of English are stricter than in that of spontaneous spoken French, to take just this example): for it is clearly not just any transitive verb, in any type of context, which may leave its A2, or A2 and A3, unrealised syntactically. More precisely, there are two main questions to be addressed here, as outlined in the Introduction:
(1) Under what circumstances may a predicate’s A2, or A2 and A3, be unrealised syntactically?
(2) What determines whether these unrealised arguments will receive a non-referential (generic or indeterminate) interpretation, or a referential discoursenew reading, or an anaphoric one?
Clearly, these questions are linked. Thus, an answer to question 2 will enable us to provide an answer to question 1. Let’s take question 1 first, but taking into account considerations relating to question 2.
5.1 Aktionsart, event structure and selection restrictions First of all, it is clear that it is easier for a null complement to occur with an otherwise syntactically-transitive predicate in English when it can be interpreted non-referentially — “generically” or “indeterminately” — than when it is to be understood referentially (in either the discourse-new or anaphoric use). This is evident from a comparison between (5) and (10), reproduced below for convenience.
(5) “See, try, admire or buy at London’s Motor Show.”
(10) Martin liked the look of the pair of walking shoes displayed in the store window: he went and bought *ø/them without trying *ø/them on.
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In (5), the transitive verbs used “absolutely” occur within an atelic utterance, where the verbs are in the (imperfective) present tense. The predications are thus all atelic, and the implicit arguments are understood in terms of the selection restrictions of the predicates at issue, a denotation which as we have seen is delimited by the context of utterance of the clause concerned. No discourse referent is evoked. We may say then that, in principle, any syntactically transitive verb, when occurring in a non-perfective tense-aspect within an atelic or generic clause (or one which in context can be interpreted as atelic or generic), may allow its non-first argument(s) to be unrealised syntactically — but only insofar as there exists a socio-cultural stereotype which can license such a conceptual category. One test of the existence of such an argument type is the naturalness of an indirect question posed regarding the nature of this argument (cf. …I wonder what X V-ed/-s). If in the context of the utterance containing the null complement it is natural to pose such a question, then first, there must be an argument of some kind; and second, the argument in question is either generic (non-specific) or indeterminate in reference. In both such cases, it makes sense to query this entity, precisely because it is indeterminate, or non-specific. In neither of the other two types of value is it natural to question the implicit argument. In example (10), by contrast, the verb buy appears in the simple past tense in a predication which designates a specific occurrence of an action. As we have seen, even though the intended referent is contextually identifiable and salient and topical at the point of occurrence, the complement of buy cannot be null under this construal. We have ascribed this impossibility to the lack of a specific selection restriction imposed on this argument position by the lexical-semantics of this predicate (one can “buy” all sorts of physical objects, conceived as “commodities” of one kind or another). On the other hand, where a transitive predicate’s “internal” selection restrictions are specific, this, in conjunction with the context-boundness (and saliency, when an anaphoric occurrence is at issue) of the intended referent, may be sufficient for the null complement to occur. This is illustrated in example (7) (I wrote to you a week ago, you know…) where the predicate write (an accomplishment predicate) in the context of an exchange of correspondence between speaker and addressee, imposes a sufficiently specific selection restriction upon the A2 argument for the referent to be identifiable in context (in the sense specified in note 6). Write, like drink, is an ‘incremental-object’ verb (cf. van Hout 1999), whereby the existence of the thing(s) written (or drunk) increases in proportion to the time over which these predicates obtain. The interaction between the intrinsic aspectual properties of host predicates, on the one hand, and the event-structure of the containing clause as a whole (together with aspects of the context of utterance, including the availability of culturally-specific stereotypes) would seem to operate as follows. Aspectually, activity verbs (including incremental-object predicates) may occur with a null complement bearing a referential value when the co(n)text is such as to induce a specific, time-bound event. This is the case in (13a), where the temporal-locative adverb at noon, coupled with the choice of the definite past tense, induces a referential construal of the null complement of ate, there-
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by introducing the discourse-new referent ‘Mary’s midday meal’ into the discourse. Ate is still an activity predicate, but the predication as a whole takes on an accomplishment aspectual value, as when this verb’s second argument is lexically instantiated via a definite referential NP. Conversely, state, accomplishment and achievement verbs involving direct contact (physical, communicational, visual or mental) entail the immediate presence of the entity involved as a whole. Where the verb at issue is not one of consumption or durative creation, there is no gradual, progressive application of the predicate to the entity, or resulting in the appearance or disappearance of the entity. Thus in the absence of relevant context, there is no “activity” induced via the non-realisation of these predicates’ A2. Hence, the expected value of the null complement in these cases is in terms of one of the two referential (discourse-new or anaphoric) interpretations. Yet, as with activity predicates, the co(n)text may induce an opposite aspectual value (here, an activity reading), and thus assign the null complement the indeterminate, non-referential value (see examples (5), (18) and (20)). Given contexts may well sanction occurrences of such predicates where their unexpressed complement has a referential value, in situations where they have two event-structure arguments (see the occurrence of hit in (1c′′) and of break in (19)). This is a clear violation of constraints of the type in (15a) and (17a) — but the works in which these constraints were formulated were based exclusively on invented, context-free examples, and did not take account of actual, attested data. In the case of incremental-object and activity verbs, there is a preference in terms of aspectual predicate type for either of the two non-referential (generic or indeterminate) values of the null complement; and in that of state, accomplishment and achievement verbs, there is a preference in terms of one of the two referential values for these complements — though in English, there must be a selectionally- or contextually-induced denotation type made available for this to be possible (cf. hit as used in (1c′′) in contrast to buy in (10)). But the opposite values may be induced via contextual triggers — features of the co-text or the context (or both), as well as the accessibility of given cultural stereotypes.
5.2 Referential pragmatics: cognitive status, the Givenness Hierarchy, and one neo-Gricean account of anaphoric complement zeros vs. overt object pronouns As far as the pragmatics of zero forms is concerned, these are said by linguists such as Givón and Ariel to be extremely high accessibility markers. Indeed, they figure at the extreme “High Accessibility” pole of Ariel’s (2001: 31, item (2)) Accessibility Marking Scale, where each referential expression-type is assigned a degree of accessibility relative to the status of its intended referent in the addressee’s memory, as assumed by the speaker at any given point in a discourse. Zero forms do not figure at all in Gundel, Hedberg & Zacharski’s (1993; 2000) “Givenness Hierarchy”, though as Nancy Hed-
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berg (p.c.) points out, in their (1993) article, these authors did include zero NPs on the ivenness Hierarchies which they postulated for Spanish, Chinese, Japanese and RusG sian, claiming that their referents are of necessity in focus. This is no doubt the case with the null complements in English and French which have the third of the three values isolated in this chapter (i.e. the context-bound, anaphoric function), and this was no doubt also what Ariel had in mind in placing zero forms on her Accessibility Marking Scale (however, Ariel predominantly illustrates and discusses subject zero forms, to the exclusion of complement ones). The first type isolated above (the non-referential “inherent argument” type, in Van Valin & LaPolla’s 1997 terms — see sub-section 3.1 above) would of course not be relevant here, since it is bound up with the predicating ability of the verb in question, and has no referential force. However, the second type, depending on whether it is construed as hearer-new or hearer-old (a frame-based value), would not necessarily encode high accessibility: for the “hearer-new” variant, the intended referent is relatively inaccessible, since it is being introduced brand-new into the discourse; and for the “hearer-old” variant, the referent is midway accessible, being ‘expected” in terms of the knowledge frame currently being evoked, but nevertheless new in terms of the current discourse (i.e. its discourse-pragmatic value would be “hearer-old” (in terms of “inferrable”) but “discoursenew”): see Prince (1992) for an analysis of what she calls “inferrables” in these terms. As Lambrecht & Lemoine (2005) note, null complements bearing this value cannot be replaced by unaccented pronouns, showing their status as somewhat less than “high” accessibility markers. If we consider the Givenness Hierarchy solely in terms of the scale of cognitive statuses it recognizes, it would seem that the three interpretation types we have isolated for null complements in English range over the following positions: the polar ones for the anaphoric subtype (“in-focus”) and the non-referential one (“type identifiable”), with the ‘discourse-new’ subtype ranging over the three intermediate statuses “familiar” or “uniquely identifiable” (for the ‘hearer-old’ variant) and “referential” (for the ‘brandnew’ one): (21) in focus > activated > familiar > uniquely identifiable > referential > type iden‑ tifiable (Gundel, Hedberg & Zacharski 1993: 275) In the case of the anaphoric subtype, the implicit argument’s “in-focus” status would seem unproblematic; in that of the non-referential one, given that the argument concerned is only an “inherent” one, and as such part of the characterisation of the essential meaning of the host predicate, it is analogous to the lexical component of an indefinite NP introduced by the indefinite article, as specified by the least restrictive cognitive status on the GH, namely “type-identifiable”: the addressee is assumed by the speaker only to have access to the conventional sense of the head noun of an indefinite article + N sequence, just as in the case of the non-referential null complement subtype, whose very raison d’être is to highlight the essential semantic content of the predicate whose second argument it represents, qua lexical item. There is a precedent within the GH itself for a
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given form type to occur at more than one position on the Hierarchy with different semantic-pragmatic values: namely, the proximal demonstrative determiner this, which occurs both under the status “activated” and under that of “referential” (in its referentintroducing use), statuses which are also not adjacent in the Givenness Hierarchy. Thus the cognitive statuses which may be signalled by null complements in English include all but one of the six positions recognized by the GH. Let us look now at Levinson’s (2000) version of a neo-Gricean account in terms of referential “minimization” (zero forms could not be more “minimal” in this respect!). I will mainly be considering the context-bound, anaphoric value of the A2 or A2 and A3 arguments here (i.e. the referential value corresponding to the highest degree of accessibility of the three subtypes). Let us consider a range of examples — some of which have already been presented. (22) a. “… and the Archers’ one-year-old grandson had been playing in the room moments before it hit ø.” (ex. (1c′′)) b. “… always lock your car and never leave anything valuable inside ø.” (The Radio Times, section on “Crime”, p. 114) c. Come on now, break ø! They’ve all got to go, you know! (ex. (19)) d. [At the theatre: A is seated next to B, who is placed right behind a tall spectator in the seat in front] A to B: Can you see ø? e. “Care and Cleaning (…) Refer to instructions below ø for cleaning the ‘Cookclean’ removable side panels (if fitted)… ” (Belling cooker installation and user instructions leaflet) f. “Glass Lid (Glass) (…) Stubborn stains can be removed with a cream, paste or liquid cleaner, or by gently rubbing ø with liberally soaped, very fine steel wool pads….” (Continuation of (22e)) g. “… Polish ø with a clean dry or kitchen roll …” (Continuation of (22f)) The zero complement in (22a) refers to ‘the Archers’ house’, the one in (22b) to ‘the reader’s car’, in (22c) it refers to ‘the bowl with an attractive design which the hearer is examining’, in (22d), to ‘the stage in the theatre in which A and B are seated’ (this is an instance of the discourse-new referential subtype), in (22e) to ‘the occurrence of the null form in question’, in (22f) to ‘those stubborn stains which may still be on the glass lid of the cooker’, and in (22g) to ‘the glass lid of the cooker’. In (22a), as we have seen, the unaccented pronoun it would have been possible, but with a potential shift in reference; in (22b), it would have been possible in place of the zero, with the same referential value; in (22c), it or that would clearly have been possible substitutes for the null complement; in (22d), it would have been odd as a replacement for the zero form; in (22e), it could not have occurred instead of the zero, since this is a textual-deictic use: only the proximal demonstrative pronoun this would have been an appropriate substitute here;
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in (22f), the plural pronoun them could have replaced the zero, with the same referent; but in (22g) them could not have occurred instead of the zero, since the predicative part of the anaphoric clause would have predicated an incoherent state of affairs of its referent ‘the stubborn stains which may get stuck to the cooker’s glass lid’: for the entity retrieved by the pronoun would be something which would hardly be likely to be “polished”! Only the pronoun it would target the intended referent of the zero, namely ‘the cooker’s glass lid’, the topic of this discourse segment. The host predicators in (22) have the following aspectual properties: hit is an achievement predicate, inside is a state one, break a transition predicate (in its transitive occurrence in (22c), it is a causative-accomplishment predicate), see is a state predicate,16 below is also a state predicate, rub is an activity predicate, and polish is likewise an activity predicate (more specifically, an “incremental-object” predicate). Now, Levinson (2000: 285) proposes what he calls “The general anaphora pattern” whereby zero forms (“NP-gaps”) used in positions where overt pronouns could also have been used, are more likely to implicate local coreference in conformity with the “I(nformativity)-principle”, while pronouns occurring in place of a possible zero will “M(anner)-implicate” non-coreference. In turn, a pronoun used in place of an otherwise possible lexical NP (e.g. a definite NP) will I-implicate coreference, while the reverse pattern will M-implicate non-coreference. The “general anaphora pattern” is given as (26) in chapter 4: (23) The general anaphora pattern (Levinson 2000: (26), p. 285) Lexical NP > pronoun > NP-gap M-implicates noncoreference I-implicates coreference According to the I-principle (Levinson 2000: (39), pp. 114–15), speakers tend to provide the minimum amount of information needed, consistent with the general direction of the exchange, while their addressees are supposed to infer from each utterance a more specific, more fully informative interpretation. As for the M-principle (Levinson 2000: (69), pp. 136–7), this basically says that the use of a marked expression in place of an otherwise possible unmarked one which would have I-implicated the corresponding normal, stereotypical situation, tends to signal the speaker’s intention to convey a marked interpretation. However, in the seven examples of zero complement anaphora or deixis in (22), only (22a) would seem to conform to Levinson’s “general anaphora pattern”, as far as the second and third positions on the scale are concerned:17 for the overt pronoun it, a 16. Note here that A’s question does not bear on the visual capacity of the addressee as such (see is not a pure intransitive predicate here), but pertains to whether or not B has a view of the stage which both interlocutors are facing. 17. There are various independent cotextual and contextual factors listed by Huang (2000) and Blackwell (1998: 613–14, item (30)); (2001: 939, item (10d)) which are claimed to neutralise the
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“marked” form in relation to the possible unmarked zero, would not have had the same referent. However, the way the scale is said to operate in relation to this example is not fully clear here, since it would have had a locally coreferent interpretation (with ‘the room in which the Archers’ one-year old grandson had been playing minutes earlier’), the zero complement of hit referring more globally to ‘the Archers’ house’. In (22b), (22c), (22f) and (22g), the interpretation of tokens of the pronoun it (or them in the case of (22f)) in place of the zero would be the opposite of the prediction from (23): namely, it and the zero would have the same strict anaphoric or “exophoric” interpretation (in (22c)), respectively, maintaining the reference to the reader’s car in (22b), to the problematic entity being held up for examination by the addressee (i.e. ‘the bowl’) in (22c), to the stubborn stains which may remain on the cooker’s glass lid in (22f), and to the cooker’s glass lid in (22g). And in (22d), it would have been odd in place of the zero, so no clear implicature could be drawn. What seems clear in relation to the possible alternation between zero and it in this respect is this: the zero complements tend to refer more diffusely, more globally than the overt inanimate pronoun, which in several cases would have a more specific interpretation: in (22a) ‘the room’ would be a more specific referent than ‘the house’ (of which the room in question is a part). In (22d), while the zero complement refers in a general manner to the ambient scene as a whole (including the décor, the actors, etc.), the overt pronoun would refer more specifically to the stage qua stage. In (22g), the zero form would naturally target the current discourse segment’s topical referent ‘the cooker’s glass lid’, while the overt plural pronoun them would more naturally pick up a more local topical referent, the one introduced in subject position of the preceding sentence. The singular pronoun it, on the other hand, would refer back to the same discourse-segment topic (‘the cooker’s lid’) as the zero. Notice how the zero in the immediately preceding clause in the continuous text (represented by (22f)) refers to a more local topic (‘stubborn stains which may be stuck to the cooker’s glass lid’), whereas the zero complement of polish in (22g) (a continuation of the segment reproduced in (22f)) targets, as we have seen, the current local discourse topic (‘the cooker’s glass operation of the M-principle in particular. For example, in (22b), the conjoined parallel imperative construction makes a coreferential interpretation of the zero complement in the second conjunct highly preferred. A similar explanation for the locally coreferent interpretation assigned to the zero in the second disjunct of (22f) would stem from the parallel coordination effected via the connective or: here, the antecedent NP and zero arguments bear the same semantic role (Patient), and the predication in the first disjunct is ellipsed in the second, with the manner by-phrase paralleling the means PP in the antecedent predication. In Blackwell (2001: 939, item (10d)), the author hierarchises the factors favouring a coreferential interpretation for the variety of types of Spanish indexical expressions she studies, placing Levinson’s alternations of given expression types in terms of the operation of the I- and M-principles (as reflected in (23) for example) at the very end of her scale. This means that in many instances, the resolution of given expression types (in our case, complement zeros and overt inanimate object pronouns) may be determined without recourse to the I- and M-principles at all.
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lid’). In this case too, the overt pronoun would have a more local referent than the zero. Zero complements appear to be much more flexible than overt pronouns, and are more sensitive to context. It is not evident that Levinson’s principles would actually predict these differences.
6. Conclusion The fact that one or more non-first arguments of a transitive predicate are unrealised in the syntax does not mean that it is intransitive (i.e. monovalent) semantically. The constraints on the occurrence of null complements for such verbs in English would appear to be determined by the need to recover (i.e. to “license”) that or those non-first argument(s). In two of the three subtypes (the non-referential one and the anaphoric one), the zero complement of otherwise transitive (or ditransitive) verbs, adjectives or prepositions is licensed by the highly presupposed nature of its content: in the first case, an ‘inherent’ argument, part of the host predicate’s meaning, potentially narrowed to a more specific denotation type by features of the co(n)text; and in the second, a topical (and hence also highly presupposed) discourse referent licensed via the cotext and/or context of utterance of the host predicate, which is retrieved by the null complement. The former subtype is lexically presupposed, while the latter is discourse-pragmatically presupposed. As for the third of the three subtypes of null complement, the referential ‘discourse-new’ one, its existence is licensed via a combination of the lexical-semantic and Aktionsart structure of the host predicate (making available an appropriate inherent argument, e.g. ‘letter’ in the case of write in its “correspond” sense) and certain referentially-relevant features of the host predication as a whole (tense, aspect, temporal or locative ‘framing’ adverbial modifiers etc.). Only the inherent-argument component of the discourse-new referent evoked is (lexically) presupposed in such a case. Hence, this subtype may be viewed as the marked member of the set of null complement interpretation types. In both the non-referential and the referential subtypes, the host predicator’s selection restrictions play a role: in the first case, in transferring to the null complement, where they are then narrowed to a denotation type via the contextual domain of reference of the containing utterance; and in the second, in inhibiting the zero element’s ability to denote a referent (whether contextually salient or not). However, as we have seen, the telicity of the whole predication and the possible existence of a culturally-recognized stereotype may nevertheless license the intended referent and so permit the null form. The discussion in §5.2 showed that, in general, “referential” zero complements refer more diffusely, more globally, than their overt object pronoun counterparts.
Implicit internal arguments, event structure, predication and anaphoric reference 215
References Ariel, M. 2001. “Accessibility theory: an overview”. In Text Representation: Cognitive and linguis‑ tic aspects, T. Sanders, J. Schilperoord and W. Spooren (eds.), 29–87. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Blackwell, S. E. 1998. “Constraints on Spanish NP anaphora: the syntactic versus the pragmatic domain”. Hispania 81(3): 606–18. Blackwell, S. E. 2001. “Testing the neo-Gricean pragmatic theory of anaphora: the influence of consistency constraints on interpretations of coreference in Spanish”. Journal of Pragmat‑ ics 33: 901–41. Brisson, C. 1994. “The licensing of unexpressed objects in English verbs”. In Papers from the 30th Regional Meeting of the Chicago Linguistic Society Vol. 1: The Main Session, K. Beals, J. Denton, R. Knippen, L. Melnar, H. Suzuki & E. Zeinfeld (eds.), 90–102. Chicago: CLS. Butt, M. & Geuder, W. (eds.). 1998. The Projection of Arguments. Lexical and compositional fac‑ tors. Stanford: CSLI Publications. Cornish, F. 1999. Anaphora, Discourse, and Understanding. Evidence from English and French. Oxford: Clarendon Press (Oxford University Press). Cornish, F. 2002. “‘Downstream’ effects on the predicate in Functional Grammar clause derivations”. Journal of Linguistics 38(2): 247–78. Cornish, F. 2005. “Null complements, event structure, predication and anaphora: a Functional Discourse Grammar account”. In Studies in Functional Discourse Grammar, J. L. Mackenzie & M. A. Gómez-González (eds.), 21–47. Bern: Peter Lang. Dik, S. C. 1997. The Theory of Functional Grammar, Part 1: The structure of the clause. Berlin/ New York: Mouton-de Gruyter. Fillmore, C. J. 1986. “Pragmatically-controlled zero anaphora”. In Proceedings of the 12th Annual Meeting of the Berkeley Linguistics Society, K. Nikiforidou et al. (eds.), 95–107. García Velasco, D. & Portero Muñoz, C. 2002. “Understood objects in Functional Grammar”. Working Papers in Functional Grammar n° 76: 1–22. Goldberg, A. 2001. “Patient arguments of causative verbs can be omitted: the role of information structure in argument distribution”. Language Sciences 23: 503–24. Groefsema, M. 1995. “Understood arguments: a semantic/pragmatic approach”. Lingua 96: 139– 61. Gundel, J. K., Hedberg, N. & Zacharski, R. 1993. “Cognitive status and the form of referring expressions in discourse”. Language 69(2): 274–307. Gundel, J. K., Hedberg, N. & Zacharski, R. 2000. “Statut cognitif et forme des anaphoriques indirects”. Verbum XXII, 1: 79–102. Jackendoff, R. S. 1990. Semantic Structures. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Jackendoff, R. S. 2002. Foundations of Language. Brain, meaning, grammar, evolution. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Huang, Y. 2000. Anaphora. A cross-linguistic study. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Kleiber, G. 1994. Anaphores et pronoms. Brussels: Duculot. Koenig, J-P. & Mauner, G. 2000. “A-definites and the discourse status of implicit arguments”. Journal of Semantics 16: 207–36. Lambrecht, K. & Lemoine, K. 2005. “Definite null objects in (spoken) French. A ConstructionGrammar account”. In Grammatical Constructions: Back to the Roots, M. Fried & H. Boas (eds.), 13–55. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins.
216 Francis Cornish Larjavaara, M. 2000. Présence ou absence de l’objet. Limites du possible en français contemporain. Helsinki: Academia Scientiarum Fennica. Lehrer, A. 1970. “Verbs and deletable objects”. Lingua 25: 227–53. Levin, B. & Rappaport Hovav, M. 2005. Argument Realization. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Levinson, S. C. 2000. Presumptive Meanings. The theory of Generalized Conversational Implica‑ ture. Cambridge, MA/London, England: MIT Press. Mairal Usón, R. & Faber, P. 2002. “Functional Grammar and lexical templates”. In New Perspec‑ tives on Argument Structure in Functional Grammar, Mairal Usón & Pérez Quintero (eds.), 39–94. Berlin/New York: Mouton-de Gruyter. Mauner, G., Melinger, A., Koenig, J-P. & Bienvenue, B. 2002. “When is participant information encoded? Evidence from eye-monitoring”. Journal of Memory and Language 47: 386–406. Mejri, S. & François, J. 2006. “Restrictions sémantiques sur l’objet sous-entendu de verbes transitifs (le cas de boire)”. In Composition syntaxique et figement lexical, J. François & S. Mejri (eds.), 39–54. Caen: Presses Universitaires de Caen (Bibliothèque de Syntaxe & Sémantique, volume 3). Mittwoch, A. 1982. “On the difference between eating and eating something: activities versus accomplishments”. Linguistic Inquiry 13(1): 113–22. Noailly, M. 1998.a “Transitivité absolue et type de prédication”. In Prédication, assertion, infor‑ mation. Actes du Colloque d’Uppsala en linguistique française, M. Forsgren, K. Jonasson & H. Kronning (eds.), 377–84. 6–9 June 1996.Stockholm: Gotab. Noailly, M. 1998.b “Emploi absolu, anaphore zéro et transitivité”. In La Transitivité, A. Rousseau (ed.), 131–44. Lille: Éditions du Septentrion. Prince, E. F. 1992. “The ZPG letter: Subjects, definiteness and information status”. In Discourse descriptions: Diverse analyses of a fund-raising text. S. Thompson & W. Mann (eds.), 295– 325. Philadelphia/Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Pustejovsky, J. 1995. The Generative Lexicon. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Rappaport Hovav, M. & Levin, B. 1998. “Building verb meanings”. In The Projection of Argu‑ ments. Lexical and compositional factors, Butt & Geuder (eds.), 97–134. Stanford: CSLI Publications. Ritter, E. & Thomas Rosen, S. 1998. “Delimiting events in syntax”. In The Projection of Argu‑ ments. Lexical and compositional factors, Butt & Geuder (eds.), 135–64. Stanford: CSLI Publications. Rothstein, S. 2004. Structuring Events. A study in the semantics of lexical aspect. Malden, MA, USA/Oxford, UK/Victoria, Australia: Blackwell Publishing. Van Hout, A. 1999. “Event semantics in the lexicon–syntax interface: verb frame alternations in Dutch and their acquisition”. In Events as Grammatical Objects. The Converging Perspectives of Lexical Semantics and Syntax, C. Tenny & J. Pustejovsky (eds.), 230–82. Leland Stanford Junior University: CSLI Publications. Van Valin, R. D. & LaPolla, R. J. 1997. Syntax: Structure, meaning and function. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Vendler, Z. 1967. Linguistics in Philosophy. Ithaca, New York: Cornell University Press.
chapter 10
‘Switch-polarity’ anaphora in English and Norwegian Thorstein Fretheim Norwegian University of Science and Technology
Otherwise is a discourse connective with an anaphoric function. Its propositional referent is the negative counterpart of a proposition pragmatically recovered by means of a search in the most recently produced portion of the discourse, thus the word qualifies for the proposed label ‘switch-polarity anaphor’. The use ranges of otherwise and its Norwegian correspondent ellers are compared, and a lexical meaning defined in terms of relevance-theoretic procedural semantics is proposed, a meaning that is claimed to work for otherwise and ellers alike. The semantic and pragmatic relationship between otherwise and the switch-polarity anaphor else is discussed, as well as the relationship between otherwise and the disjunctive connective or (and or else). While most tokens of switch-polarity anaphora constrain the truth-conditional content of the sentence that they occur in, certain interesting exceptions will be highlighted. Most of the data examined is from a bi-directional translation corpus, the English Norwegian Parallel Corpus.
1. Introduction Basing my investigation mainly on a study of the bi-directional translation corpus ENPC (http://www.hf.uio.no/iba/prosjekt/), which stands for the English Norwegian Parallel Corpus, I have been exploring the semantics and pragmatics of the English adverb otherwise and its Norwegian counterpart ellers, as well as English else which is a frequent translation correspondent of ellers. These words are analysed as discourse variables whose reference the addressee has to establish through a search in the immediately preceding discourse. Thus, they perform a role similar to that of linguistic anaphora, and I do not hesitate to refer to them as anaphoric sentence elements. But although they do behave like ‘normal’ anaphora affecting truth-conditional content in a vast number of contexts, their truth-conditional import is occasionally rather attenuated, maybe even non-existent. I shall present a pragmatic analysis of the way that other‑ wise, else and ellers are used in English and Norwegian communication, and I am going to offer a definition of the lexical meaning of these words which places them in the category of procedural markers.
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According to relevance theory (Sperber and Wilson 1986a, 1995) there are two ways in which linguistic meaning can act as input to the inferential processes involved in utterance comprehension. Linguistic expressions can encode concepts, the constituents of the conceptual representations that hearers have to manipulate in the inferential phase of the comprehension process in order to make sense of what is said. Some expressions, however, do not encode concepts but rather constraints on the way that the hearer’s inferential computations should proceed, in other words, constraints on how to manipulate the concepts encoded by linguistic means, so that the stimulus yields as many contextual effects as possible for as little processing effort as possible. The investigation of linguistic expressions which encode a procedure for the addressee to follow, as opposed to a concept that enters into semantic representation, all started with Blakemore’s analyses of markers like after all, moreover, therefore, and so in English (Blakemore 1987). As Carston points out, the existence of words that encode a constraint on the inferential phase of utterance comprehension means that we have to “doubly dissociate the semantics–pragmatics distinction from the explicit/implicit” (Carston 2002: 160). Not only do pragmatic inferences make a considerable and quite necessary contribution to explicit truth-conditional content but semantics also includes the study of linguistic expressions which do not contribute to the encoded logical form of the sentences in which they appear. In Blakemore’s (op.cit.) seminal work on procedural semantics, linguistic expressions that encode procedural information were meant to reduce the search space for pragmatic processes leading to the derivation of implicatures, and a few years later Wilson and Sperber (1993) proposed that anaphoric items like pronouns and demonstratives encode a procedure that is meant to narrow down the addressee’s search space in the pragmatic processes of determining their reference. Pronouns and other anaphora are therefore regarded as procedural indicators whose impact is noticed at the explicit level of content. As I find it meaningful to call otherwise, else and Norwegian ellers discourse markers of the anaphoric sort, it would seem to follow that on my analysis these words have an effect on explicitly communicated assumptions. Most of the time they do, but this chapter will also try to do justice to my claim that they do not always constrain the proposition expressed, or if they do, they sometimes do so in a rather subtle manner. The question of whether a given token of one of these words enters into the explicit level of pragmatically derived meaning or is confined to the pragmatic derivation of conversational implicatures can only be answered with reference to a set of contextual assumptions constraining the cognitive process of determining the communicator’s informative intention.
2. The use range of otherwise Some uses of English otherwise are not matched by analogous uses of Norwegian ellers. Although my concern in this chapter is primarily with the adverbial adjunct introduced
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in §2.2 whose communicative role is often similar to the premise-giving role of a conditional clause, I recognize certain functional similarities between all uses of otherwise.
2.1 Otherwise as direct object argument The ENPC correspondences offered in (1) and (2), where English is the source language and Norwegian the target language, illustrate one conspicuous use of otherwise which I have decided to say a few words about in this paragraph, and then leave it aside. Other‑ wise typically affects the truth-conditional interpretation of a linguistic form that is capable of being pragmatically developed into a proposition even if the word otherwise is removed from the sentence, but the occurrences of otherwise in (1) and (2) are variables which have to be ‘saturated’ through inference (Recanati 1993) in order for there to be an explicated proposition (Sperber and Wilson 1986a) at all.
(1) Nature and nurture are inextricable; only scientists and psychologists could think otherwise. → Arv og miljø er uløselig sammenfiltret. inheritance and environment are inextricably intertwined Bare vitenskapsmenn og psykologer kan tro noe annet. (RDA1) only scientists and psychologists can think something other.neut
(2) Cats should be kept in at night: it is brutal to do otherwise, … → Katter burde holdes inne om natten, det er brutalt å gjøre cats ought.to be.kept in during the.night, it is brutal to do noe annet, … (FW1) something other.neut …
The English texts in (1) and (2) contain a syntactic construction where otherwise is the complement of the transitive verbs think and do, respectively. What is generally considered an adverbial element appears to occupy the position of a direct object argument functioning like a complement clause. Its Norwegian translation, the quantified nominal phrase noe annet (literally: something other; i.e. “some/anything else”), is generally enriched when it is the direct object of a verb of propositional attitude or the verb gjøre (“do”), so that its conveyed meaning is felt to be “the opposite thing”, i.e. the belief that nature and nurture are not inextricable in (1), and the custom of not keeping domestic cats in at night in (2). . The letter code appearing after all ENPC correspondences in this chapter refers to the code it was given in the ENPC. Both otherwise and its Norwegian correspondent in the translation are underlined. . The rightward pointing arrow indicates that the original text is to the left of the arrow and the translation to the right.
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The Norwegian anaphoric adverbial ellers (“otherwise”) would not have been possible as a substitution for noe annet in those sentence structures. That, in my opinion, suggests that otherwise is really a syntactic constituent of the nominal sort in (1)–(2), while ellers is an adverbial constituent which cannot ever be the direct object of a transitive verb.
2.2 Otherwise as adverbial anaphor Otherwise represents a proposition, not only when it is the complement of general activity verbs like do or act or of basic propositional attitude verbs like think or believe but also when its function is that of an adverbial adjunct, as in the conditional of (3), from the ENPC, where the anaphor otherwise is the linguistic representative of what the addressee will develop pragmatically as the protasis of a conditional, and where the Norwegian correspondent ellers serves an anaphoric function similar to that of otherwise.
(3) “I think you’ll have to take off the southwester, Herman. Otherwise there’ll be trouble.” ← “Tror nesten du må ta av deg sydvesten, Hermann. Think almost you must take off you the.southwester, H. blir det bråk.” (LSC1) Ellers Otherwise becomes it trouble
In order to enrich the encoded logical form of a sentence with otherwise sufficiently to recover the proposition expressed, the hearer or reader has to locate a linguistic antecedent and its proposition P through a search in the preceding discourse. The antecedent proposition P is very often, but not always as we will witness later, contained in the immediately preceding sentence. In (3) the antecedent is evidently meant to be the contradictory counterpart of the proposition expressed in the clausal complement of English think and Norwegian tror. We know that the claim of the speaker of (3) is that there will be trouble if Herman does not take off his southwester. Unlike other higher-order entity anaphora that refer to factual or potential situations, the adverbs otherwise and ellers instruct the addressee to derive the intended referents of these words by negating the antecedent proposition P and letting the resulting ¬P . I have decided to refer to the antecedent proposition of a conditional as ‘protasis’, mainly to avoid confusion with what I call the discourse ‘antecedent’ of otherwise and ellers. . The leftward pointing arrow ← in (3) indicates that the text before the arrow is the translation and the text after the arrow the source text. . The Norwegian sentence starting with the finite verb tror in (3) has no overt subject phrase. This does not mean that Norwegian is a pro-drop language. In colloquial speech the first-person singular pronoun is sometimes omitted.
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serve as a constraint on the explicature of the utterance containing the anaphor. This unique property of the anaphors otherwise and ellers has caused me to coin the term ‘switch-polarity anaphor’ as a descriptive label applicable to these adverbs.
2.3 Otherwise as the second disjunct in a disjunction A more distantly related use of otherwise is seen in (4), where the Norwegian translation det motsatte in the ENPC translation literally means “the opposite”. This idiomatic use of otherwise is found mainly in the phrase or otherwise, as the second member in a disjunctive co-ordination of nominals.
(4) There followed a discussion on the merits (or otherwise) of Kafka. → Så fulgte en diskusjon om fortreffeligheten (eller det motsatte) til Kafka. (BC1)
According to the most straightforward analysis of the phrase the merits (or otherwise) in (4), otherwise would be classified as a nominal expression just like the preceding disjunct the merits. Here otherwise does not seem to represent a proposition; it instructs the addressee/reader to find a concept that is the opposite of the concept encoded by the noun merit.
2.4 Otherwise as manner adverb Otherwise can also have the function of a manner adverb, as illustrated by the following ENPC correspondence.
(5) … for it could not be otherwise described. → … for annerledes kunne det ikke beskrives. (RDA1) for differently could it not be.described
The word means much the same as “differently” in (5), which is also the meaning of the translation counterpart annerledes (literally: otherways) in the Norwegian text (for . Cornish (1999) draws a distinction between ‘antecedent’ and ‘antecedent-trigger’. He says about the traditional notion of ‘antecedent’ that “it is a formal element, a co-occurring lexically specific expression bearing certain formal features that will serve to determine the shape of the anaphor — for instance, where that anaphor is pronominal in nature; but it is also an inherently meaningful, potentially referential expression. And it is this aspect of the ‘antecedent’, which, under the standard conception, will determine the anaphor’s full sense and reference once the two are successfully brought into relation with one another.” (Cornish 1999: 41–2). Cornish proposes the name ‘antecedent-trigger’ for the former and ‘antecedent’ for the latter aspect of the traditional notion. With reference to otherwise one could say that the antecedent will have the opposite polarity of what the antecedent-trigger suggests. . A single occurrence of a conjunction with and otherwise appears in the ENPC, namely the phrase human and otherwise, where the context shows that human is used as an adjective, not as a noun.
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a pragmatic analysis of annerledes, see Fretheim 2004a). The implication is that a description deviating from the description already given would be less adequate. There is a kind of vagueness about otherwise as manner adverb, though. The word does not really mean “differently” in the phrase otherwise engaged, for example, so it is even debatable that ‘manner adverb’ is the most suitable label for otherwise co-occurring with a past participle.
3. The otherwise–ellers correspondence 3.1 Otherwise/ellers as a lexical constraint on inferential processing The focus of this central section will be otherwise as adverbial anaphor and lexical correspondent of Norwegian ellers, as illustrated in (3) above. I am not going to try to answer the question how many lexical items otherwise there might be, though I suspect that the function of otherwise described in §2.1 could be subsumed under the same lexical item as the adverbial adjunct in §2.2, despite its special syntactic privileges as a direct object argument. The uses of otherwise illustrated in §2.3 and §2.4 are more likely to represent separate lexical items. The Norwegian word ellers is composed of the disjunctive co-ordinating connective eller (“or”) plus a derivational suffix ‑s which turns the disjunctive connective into an adverb. Otherwise and ellers signal a disjunctive relation between two propositions P and Q, where Q is the proposition expressed in the sentence modified by otherwise/el‑ lers and where P is a proposition whose negated counterpart is anaphorically represented by these adverbials. The lexical meaning that I am going to propose for the English and Norwegian switchpolarity anaphora is one that I consider to work equally well for English otherwise and Norwegian ellers. Like anaphora in general, these are words with a predominantly procedural, as opposed to conceptual, lexical meaning (Blakemore 1987, 2002; Wilson and Sperber 1993), and the lexical definition in (6) is formulated in procedural terms.
(6) The meaning of ellers and otherwise: i. Identify the antecedent proposition P of ellers/otherwise. ii. Derive the proposition Q of the utterance U containing ellers/otherwise in a context in which the negative counterpart of P is true. iii. Adjust the content of Q as appropriate, in case the communicator presents P as an explicature rather than just a potentially true proposition.
. An explicature, or explicated proposition, is ”an ostensively communicated assumption which is inferentially developed from one of the incomplete conceptual representations (logical forms) encoded by the utterance” (Sperber and Wilson 1986a).
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Part i of this instruction to the addressee says nothing more than that these words are higher-order entity anaphora, propositional variables whose pragmatic processing depends upon the addressee’s identification of a linguistic anchor (Cornish’s ‘antecedenttrigger’; see footnote 6) in the preceding discourse. Supported by the Communicative Principle of Relevance (Sperber and Wilson 1995) the addressee will select the most accessible discourse-activated candidate antecedent that satisfies the hearer’s expectations of stimulus relevance. Part ii of (6) informs us that the negation of the antecedent proposition is to be established as a contextual premise in the inference-driven identification of the proposition of any utterance containing ellers or otherwise. Q is true just in case ¬P is true, so there is a disjunctive relation between P and Q, as expressed by the logical equivalence of ‘¬P → Q ≡ P V Q’. The need for something like part iii will be clarified in §4.2, where data will be presented, which shows that Q is not always truthfunctionally constrained by otherwise, at least not in the way that the protasis of a conditional constrains the main clause apodosis. The lexical meaning proposed in (6) is meant to capture the assumption that an addressee encountering one of the adverbs el‑ lers or otherwise in a written text or in conversation will direct his attention to the proposition of the linguistic antecedent of these anaphora but will simultaneously focus on what would be true if the antecedent proposition were false. As there is an ostensively communicated disjunctive relation between the proposition Q modified by the switch-polarity anaphor and the proposition P which is the antecedent of the anaphor, it is only natural that a good many occurrences of otherwise and ellers in the ENPC are in sentences that express a counterfactual conditional. Mood indicators in the sentence, like use of a verb in the past perfect, will then indicate that Q is actually false, just as the propositional referent of otherwise/ellers is presented as false. When no procedural clue directs the addressee to a counterfactual conditional interpretation, the addressee may be led to the conclusion that the referent of other‑ wise/ellers, i.e. the negation of P, constrains the truth of Q and points to a non-trivial incompatibility between Q and P, but occasionally, depending on the communicator’s set of mutually manifest contextual premises, the antecedent proposition P may be seen as representing just an exception, maybe even one of little cognitive significance. Section 4 addresses the latter situation.
3.2 Counterfactual conditionals The complex verbal expression would have offered in (7) a, b and c gives the addressee the procedural information that the proposition of the italicized utterance is false inasmuch as the preceding utterance expresses a true proposition. . The Second (Communicative) Principle of Relevance reads as follows, ”Every act of ostensive communication (e.g. an utterance) communicates a presumption of its own optimal relevance” (Sperber and Wilson 1995: 260).
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(7) a. b. c.
There’s unfortunately no coffee left. Otherwise I would have offered you some. There’s unfortunately no coffee left. I would have offered you some. I would have offered you some, but there’s unfortunately no coffee left.
The italicized part of (7) a and b expresses the same proposition in both versions. A process of enrichment of the decoded logical form is necessary to determine the truthconditional content of the second utterance of (7a) and (7b) alike. The speaker would be able to offer the hearer a cup of coffee just in case the proposition of the first utterance were false, but since that is an ostensively communicated proposition (an explicature), and since the subjunctive nature of the phrase would have offered shows that the second utterance describes an unreal situation, the contradiction that would arise from an act of offering a cup of coffee where no coffee exists is resolved through the addressee’s recognition of the italicized utterance as a counterfactual conditional. Due to the procedural semantics of otherwise, the addressee of the utterances of (7a) is encouraged to process the explicit content of the second utterance in a context that contradicts the assumption that there is no coffee left. But the same pragmatically induced truthconditional saturation seems to be an inevitable consequence of the version in (7b) as well, which contains no switch-polarity anaphor. There is relatively more decoding to be done in (7a), while relatively more inferential processing is necessary to obtain the same cognitive effects from (7b) and (7c). Audiences confronted with the data in (7) have judged (7b) to be a lot less natural than (7a). The reason is presumably that the alternative with otherwise in (7a) instructs the addressee to develop a conditional. The clause order in (7c) and the contrast encoded by but there also appears to make that version more acceptable than (7b), or to make it more manifest that the clause I would have offered you some is to be processed as the apodosis of a counterfactual conditional. Examples (8)–(10) are three examples of otherwise — ellers correspondences in counterfactual conditionals found in the ENPC.
(8) Most of his work was done at home; otherwise he might not have cared so about the mechanics of the household. → Han utførte mesteparten av sitt arbeide hjemme, ellers ville han he carried.out the.most-part of his work at.home, otherwise would he ikke brydd seg så mye om husholdningssakene (AT1) not cared refl so much about the.householdmatters
The only pragmatically accessible candidate antecedent of otherwise and ellers in (9) below is the proposition of the opening conjunct, “Hunt was not a gangster”, so the protasis of the counterfactual conditional in (9) is the pragmatically derived positive counterpart “Hunt was a gangster”, i.e. “If Hunt had been a gangster, Danny could easily have entered the organized underworld” (see my remarks in §3.6 on the scarcity of occurrences of otherwise as an anaphor that represents a positive proposition).
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(9) Hunt was not strictly a crook, and certainly did not belong to the organised underworld which Danny might otherwise have entered; … → Hunt var ikke akkurat en kjeltring, og han tilhørte på ingen måte den H. was not really a gangster and he belonged in no way the organiserte underverden som Danny kanskje kunne ha kommet inn i organized underworld that D. maybe could have come into in ellers. (MD1) otherwise
In (10) the complement of the sentence-initial anaphor is a ‘why’-interrogative, which we readily interpret as a rhetorical question due to the presence of otherwise and ellers. (10) “I said she’s probably been crucified, otherwise why would Jenny have said she looked like Jesus?” → “Jeg sa at hun antagelig er blitt korsfestet, for hvorfor skulle Jenny I said that she probably has been crucified for why should J. ellers si at hun lignet Jesus?” (MW1) otherwise say that she resembled J. Our next illustration, (11), is not taken from the ENPC but from a Norwegian mystery novel parody published in 2002 (the English translation is mine). Ellers (and otherwise) is here inside a restrictive relative clause, and the antecedent proposition, which contradicts the inferred protasis of the counterfactual conditional, has to be construed on the basis of information in the matrix clause. (11) Penger har en merkelig evne til å få mennesker til å ta på seg oppgaver de ellers ville ha holdt seg unna. → Money has a peculiar ability to cause people to take on tasks they would otherwise have stayed away from. (Nærum, 2002) Observe that there is no proper antecedent for the switch-polarity anaphora in (11). They are what is standardly referred to as ‘indirect’ anaphora (Erkü and Gundel 1987). The antecedent-anaphor relation in (11) must be established via a ‘bridging inference’ evoked due to the presence of the subject nominal penger/money and the infinitival clause å ta på seg oppgaver/to take on tasks, a proposition recovered as illustrated by the following suggested paraphrase in the form of a counterfactual conditional: “If the tasks to be performed had not involved money, then people would have stayed away from them”. The ENPC correspondence presented in (12) is interesting, because what is just a switch-polarity anaphor in the Norwegian version is fleshed out verbally in the English translation as a counterfactual conditional clause shaped as an interrogative, though this conditional clause is still conceptually impoverished, of course, due to the anaphoric phrase done so.
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(12) Men Wenche hadde studert de tre første årene de var gift. Hun var nødt til å fullføre utdannelsen sin, hevdet hun, ville hun resten av sitt liv føle at hun hadde sviktet for ellers …, for otherwise would she the.rest of her life feel that she had betrayed seg selv som menneske. (EG2) herself as human.being → But Wendy [sic!] had insisted on completing her studies the first three years of their marriage. Had she not done so, she’d maintained, she would spend the rest of her life feeling that she’d failed to live up to her potentialities as a human being. The translator’s use of the full conditional clause Had she not done so reflects the result of an enrichment process that meshes with the procedural meaning of ellers stated in (6) and with the pragmatically inferred communicative import of that anaphor in the original text. Ellers in (12) is not a linguistic element that could have been optionally omitted, no more than the subjunctive conditional clause in the English translation. A translator’s job is to make an interlingual metarepresentation of the original text’s representation of the author’s intended message (Gutt, 2000). The English text in (12) is an interpretation of the Norwegian text, which preserves the original’s communicated logical relation between what precedes ellers and what follows that word. But where the original contained a conceptually empty anaphor, the English translation metarepresents the context-dependent content of that anaphor by spelling it out as a negative conditional clause proposition — a testimony to the conditional protasis character of switch-polarity anaphora.
3.3 The relation between ‘or’ and otherwise Quite a few tokens of Norwegian ellers in the ENPC are translated as a disjunctive coordinating connective or that links two declaratives. Most of those correspondences are of the counterfactual conditional type. As noted previously, ellers is morphologically made up of a disjunctive connective plus an ‑s which makes an adverb out of the connective, but the Norwegian disjunctive connective eller is not a legitimate translation of or when or is used in this way. The adverb ellers may be said to capture the equivalence of the logical formulas ‘P V Q’ and ‘¬P → Q’. The morpheme eller– of ellers reminds one of the disjunctive relation between P and Q, and the lexical meaning of the adverbial anaphor ellers, combined with its clause-initial position in all our examples thus far, is strongly suggestive of the implicational relation between Q and the negation of P. We understand (13) below to communicate that the referent of the pronoun han/he did leave and that the narrator did not lose his patience, the former due to the explicature of the translational equivalents Da gikk han endelig and Then he finally left, the latter due to the strongly implicated falsity of the assumption that the narrator maybe lost his patience. That implicature is triggered by the combined effect of ellers and a subjunctive
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use of the past perfect in the Norwegian source text, and by the combined effect of or and a subjunctive modal marking in the English translation. (13) Da gikk han endelig, det var på høy tid, ellers hadde jeg kanskje then went he finally it was on high time otherwise had I maybe mistet tålmodigheten. lost patience → Then he finally left, about time too, or I might have lost patience. (KA1) Otherwise would have been freely substitutable for or in (13). And or could have been left out, leaving us with two juxtaposed sentences, as in (13’). (13′) Then he finally left, about time too. I might have lost patience. Even in (13′), which has no or and no switch-polarity anaphor, the verbal sequence might have lost would normally cause the addressee to construct a counterfactual conditional with the protasis “if he had not left”.
3.4 Other conditionals Ellers represents the protasis of a conditional in (14) below, but the conditional is not of the same type as in §3.2. Rather, the token of ellers in (14) is supposed to be developed pragmatically into the protasis of a conditional that is hypothetical but not counterfactual. (14) Sprøyte eller ikke sprøyte, så måtte han få gjort noe med denne needle or not needle so must.past he get done something with this forbannede tannen. Ellers ville han hverken greie å kjempe for damned tooth otherwise would he neither manage to fight for jobben eller leiligheten. the.job or the.apartment → Needle or no needle he had to get his tooth attended to. Until he did he would be unable to fight for either his job or his flat. (EG1) Observe that the English target text in (14) contains no linguistic element that could be identified as a structure equivalent to a conditional clause. The English translation of (14) transfers the conceptually underdetermined adverbial constraint from the conditional sphere of the switch-polarity anaphor ellers to the temporal sphere of the truthconditionally highly underspecified clause until he did.10 English is the source language in (15). Otherwise is matched with ellers there. The embedding of two infinitival clauses under the verb try (Norwegian prøve) indicates 10. That is an acceptable choice on the part of the translator, though I would have thought that the alternative “Otherwise he would be unable to fight …” is just as idiomatic as the translator’s preference “Until he did he would be unable to fight …”.
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that the communicator is unable to tell whether it is the two juxtaposed antecedent propositions or the apodosis of the conditional, which will eventually prove to be true. (15) I try to understand them, to find an explanation. Otherwise I shall go under too. → Prøver å forstå dem, finne en forklaring. try to understand them, find an explanation Ellers går jeg nedenom jeg også. (BV2) otherwise go I down I too The antecedent of otherwise/ellers in (15) does not include the matrix verb of the preceding sentence, because the pragmatically derived meaning that would make the final utterance in (15) relevant obviously includes the condition “If I fail to try to understand them and fail to find an explanation …”
3.5 When ‘or’ is the English speaker’s preference When the antecedent of ellers contains a deontic modal auxiliary, the corresponding English text in the ENPC contains the disjunctive connective or more often than the adverb otherwise. And when the antecedent of ellers is an imperative, the English translations in the ENPC nearly always contain or, not otherwise, as illustrated in (16). (16) “Forsøk å få jevnt maling på mønsteret, ellers blir det bare try to get evenly paint on the.pattern otherwise becomes it just søl.” mess → “Try to spread the paint evenly over the pattern, or it’ll just be a mess (BV1) The speaker of (16) advises the hearer to act so as to make P true, because a true ¬P leads to the truth of Q, a dismal result. Pragmatically there is no difference between what is said in the Norwegian and the English versions, but while the English text contains no conditional, a conditional with the anaphoric protasis ellers is obligatory in this type of Norwegian imperative construction.
3.6 When the antecedent structure contains a negation marker When the linguistic structure that enables a Norwegian addressee to identify the propositional referent of the switch-polarity anaphor ellers is a negative sentence, there is a strong tendency for the speaker not to employ ellers but to change to a different anaphor, da (“then”), as illustrated in (17) where the first utterance is an admonition. Ellers would sound awkward in (17). In English, if you wish to make the conditional character of the second utterance manifest, you may use the disjunctive connective or, but the
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conditional meaning will be conveyed even without use of a connective. According to my informants, neither then nor otherwise is a natural choice of anaphoric conditional protasis here. (17) Du må ikke lene deg mot det gelenderet. Da/#Ellers knekker det. you must not lean refl against that banister then/otherwise breaks it a. ‘You mustn’t lean against that banister. It’ll break.’ b. ‘You mustn’t lean against that banister. Or it’ll break.’ c. ‘You mustn’t lean against that banister. #Then it’ll break.’ d. ‘You mustn’t lean against that banister. #Otherwise it’ll break.’ The first utterance of (18) is a metarepresentation of the speaker’s decision not to go by bus. Ellers sounds bad in the follow-up utterance, da is the right choice of conditional anaphor there. And the English non-clausal alternatives with then, or and otherwise are all of them highly dubious, in fact. (18) Jeg tar ikke bussen. I take not the.bus a. Hvis jeg gjør det, kommer jeg ikke fram til flyplassen før flyet if I do that come I not forth to the.airport before the.plane har gått. has gone b. Da kommer jeg ikke fram til flyplassen før flyet har gått. then …. c. #Ellers kommer jeg ikke fram til flyplassen før flyet har gått. otherwise … ‘I’m not going to take the bus.’ a. b. c. d.
‘If I do, I won’t get to the airport before the plane takes off.’ #‘Then I won’t get to the airport before the plane takes off.’ #‘Or I won’t get to the airport before the plane takes off.’ #‘Otherwise I won’t get to the airport before the plane takes off.’
The conditional higher-order entity anaphor da (“then”) in (17) and (18) (see Fretheim, 2000, 2006; Fretheim, Boateng and Vaskó, 2003) is not of the switch-polarity type, but it is generally true of higher-order entity anaphora that, if there is an accessible negative candidate referent in the immediately preceding discourse, then the corresponding positive proposition will automatically be another accessible candidate referent. As the final utterances of (17) and (18) describe undesirable situations, the condition expressed by the anaphor da (and by English then) will automatically be inferred to represent a state of affairs that causes the respective undesirable situations. We understand that if the addressee of (17) does lean against the banister, then it is likely to break, and if the speaker of (18) does take the bus, she will miss her flight. Da allows you to select as conditional protasis the positive counterpart of a negative
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proposition expressed in the previous utterance, and da will generally be chosen at the expense of ellers. What is the linguistic or cognitive basis for this preference? And why is otherwise a bad choice of connective in the English versions of (17) and (18)? It turns out that occurrences of ellers and otherwise after a negative antecedent structure are exceedingly rare in the ENPC. Out of a total number of 116 tokens of otherwise that could easily be pragmatically developed into a conditional protasis, only eight would be inferred to be protases with a positive polarity. Just two of those were in English source texts,11 the remaining six were in translations from Norwegian. The situation for Norwegian ellers is not significantly different. Only a minuscule number of tokens of ellers in the ENPC could have been replaced by a non-negative conditional clause. Ellers appeared in the Norwegian source text in two of the six instances mentioned above where the translator opted for otherwise even though the word would then represent a positive proposition. On one occasion there was no connective at all in the Norwegian text, there were two occurrences of the connective da (“then”), and i så fall (“in that case”) appeared once. My native English informants were not entirely happy with any of the occurrences of otherwise in the ENPC translations of (19)–(24). (19) I guess not. Otherwise I would have seen it, right? (ellers in the source text) (20) He didn’t meet many people on the stairs; otherwise they would have noticed he looked different. (ellers in the source text) (21) Of course nothing had happened to her, he assured himself again; otherwise they would have been notified. (i så fall — “in that case” — in the source text) (22) And how was it that Karin hadn’t noticed that something was amiss? She obviously hadn’t, otherwise she would have phoned the police and also contacted him and Gertrud at the cabin. (da in the source text) (23) Don’t breathe on him, though, otherwise he’ll pass out. (da in the source text) (24) It may be a good thing that paternity actions cannot be brought on private initiative on entirely inadequate grounds; otherwise there might be misuse leading to scandalizing and blackmail. (no connective in the source text) Even though otherwise is very rarely seen to stand for a positive proposition, use of then as anaphoric conditional connective is apparently an even less viable option when the preceding antecedent structure contains a negation operator. Not so in Norwegian. El‑ lers happened to be the translator’s choice in (25), at the expense of da (“then”). Ellers and otherwise are lexical correspondents, so ellers is presumably the Norwegian word that a translator would first associate with otherwise. Da would nevertheless have been just as natural as ellers in the Norwegian translation of (25). 11. One is found in my example (9) in §3.2.
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(25) … but one mustn’t entirely submerge one’s personality, I find, otherwise [#then] one’s guests don’t know whom they’re meeting. → … men jeg er av den mening at man ikke bør undertrykke sin poss.refl but I am of that opinion that one not should suppress egen personlighet fullstendig. Ellers [Da] vet ikke gjestene hvem de har own personality entirely Otherwise know not the.guests who they have med å gjøre (JB1) with to do The lesson to be drawn from (19)–(25) is that the lexical item otherwise does not encode the constraint that its referent must be a negative proposition; the preponderance of tokens of otherwise that represent a negative proposition does not mean that the lexical definition in (6) should be augmented by an added condition that excludes a nonnegative referent. Otherwise is first and foremost used to refer to something that deviates from an unmarked existent, rather than non-existent, state of affairs. Data like (19)–(25) where the deviation is stated in positive terms may be characterized as a parasitic pattern of usage. This kind of reasoning also applies to the situation in Norwegian where the higher-order entity anaphor da (“then”) seems to be the more frequent choice of connective when the antecedent structure expresses ¬P and the anaphoric referent is P. The switch-polarity anaphor ellers tends to be avoided when the unmarked situation is stated in negative terms and the marked situation represented by the anaphor is stated in positive terms.
4. Otherwise/ellers as indicator of an exception — non-truth-conditional use? 4.1 A loosened or an enriched proposition Q? A token of otherwise or ellers can represent an exceptional case, which implies that Q is not an entirely true proposition but it would have been absolutely true if one disregarded the exception. In certain situations the relative insignificance of the noted exception implies that Q is true to all intents and purposes, so that otherwise/ellers can at most be said to give the addressee an instruction to loosen truth conditions in accordance with the descriptive content of the antecedent of otherwise/ellers. Let us contrast the English example in (26a) with (26b). (26) a. I only slept for four hours last night. Otherwise I’m fine. b. I only slept for four hours last night but I’m fine. The proposition P of the first utterance constitutes a contextual background against which the truth and hence the relevance of the next utterance is to be assessed. In (26b) where the adversative connective but links the explicatures P and Q, the proposition Q
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of the second conjunct is claimed to be true without reservation, despite the communicated contrast between P and Q. In (26a), however, there is a communicated hedging on the part of the speaker, linguistically represented by the switch-polarity anaphor otherwise. The speaker is expressing a proposition Q (“I’m feeling fine right now”) in (26a) which is only loosely speaking true. Q would probably not be judged to be downright false because of the presence of otherwise. Should we then make the claim that the inferentially derived proposition of the second utterance in (26a) includes the exception made manifest by the word otherwise that directs the addressee’s attention to the meaning of the preceding utterance, so that the proposition could be paraphrased in plain English as “I’m fine, except for the fact that I only slept for four hours last night.”? It seems to me that the switch-polarity anaphor otherwise will have to be processed differently in (26a) than in all our previous examples where for pragmatic reasons it served the function of a truth-conditional constraint and was most relevantly treated as the protasis of a conditional, whether counterfactual or not. What makes (26a) different from the data considered previously is the fact that both P and Q are asserted, they are both communicated propositions: explicatures. Observe that in an example like (3) in §2.2, the thought that there would be trouble was not explicated. We understand that there would be trouble just in case Herman decided to keep his southwester on (indoors, that is), and the first utterance in (3) is not an assertion but a request. The lexical meaning of otherwise proposed in (6) instructs the addressee to develop this anaphor as the negation of the proposition P derived from the antecedent structure. If P is a proposition that the communicator asserts to be true, and if the truth-conditional content of Q is modified by its negation ¬P, then it would seem to be illogical for the communicator to claim the truth of Q and P. When the disjunctive relation between P and Q disappears, can we still maintain that otherwise is the same word in (26a) as in the various conditional constructions presented in previous sections? There is no risk that the utterance starting with otherwise will be given the nonsensical interpretation “If I did not sleep (as little as) four hours last night, then I’m fine”. The apodosis (consequent) of a conditional is not a relevance-theoretic explicature, because its truth is contingent upon the truth of the protasis. Thus the meaning of the second utterance of (26a) is something like “If you disregard the fact that I slept for four hours last night, I’m fine”. The antecedent describes the exception, suggesting that the speaker is not 100% fine. Due to the presence of otherwise in (26a), the addressee will automatically infer that the gradable adjective fine is not to be understood as ‘100% fine’, but then the lexical item fine is scalar and does not encode an absolute positive quality. On the other hand, getting insufficient sleep is certainly not instrumental to any person’s well-being. The speaker claims to be fine both in (26a) and (26b), but there is an interesting pragmatic difference between the two. We may infer that even the speaker of (26b) probably does not feel 100% fine after a night like that, but only the speaker of (26a) makes it manifest that the information conveyed in the first clause is intended to affect the addressee’s pragmatic processing of the adjectival predicate fine in the next clause.
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Within the framework of relevance theory there are at least two ways in which one could account for the inferential phase that the addressee of (26a) is going through. Otherwise draws the addressee’s attention to the fact that Q would be true without reservation if P were false. Since P is an explicated proposition, its contradiction, ¬P, cannot be endorsed by the communicator; hence it ought to be possible for the addressee to enrich the logical form of the utterance starting with otherwise by incorporating the assumption “I only slept for four hours last night” in its explicature, which could then be paraphrased as “I’m fine, to the extent that one can feel fine after a night with four hours of sleep”. A different tack would be to argue that the first utterance of (26a) implicates, albeit possibly just weakly: “Four hours of sleep at night is generally insufficient”, and as a consequence of that: “The insufficient sleep that I had last night has affected me negatively”. Those implicatures are strengthened by the follow-up utterance Otherwise I’m fine, which corroborates our prediction that the information given in the first utterance is meant to serve as a contextual premise affecting the addressee’s conclusion about the relative fitness or alertness of the communicator. The speaker is now seen to express a proposition Q (“I am fine”), which is true in case we loosen its truth conditions in the context of the implicatures derived from (26a). What, then, is the correct pragmatic analysis of (26a)? One in terms of enrichment at the explicit level, which incorporates the counterevidence (P) in the explicature of the utterance Otherwise I’m fine, or one in terms of loosening of the truth conditions of Q in the context of certain implicatures that suggest the speaker can hardly be fit as a fiddle? Both analyses would seem to agree with Carston’s and other relevance theorists’ view of the relationship between what is encoded and what is said (cf. Carston 2002). At the end of the day, in dealing with data like (26a), one may be tempted to arrive at the conclusion that pragmatic enrichment and pragmatic loosening here amounts to the same thing. However, the ENPC data to be presented in §4.2 makes me suspect that an analysis in terms of loosening is sometimes the more natural alternative.12
4.2 Switch-polarity anaphora in complex nominal phrases Norwegian ellers can represent an exception to the absolute truth of Q, just like other‑ wise. While a proposition Q modified by ellers may be strictly speaking false, it may be loosely speaking true. Data from the ENPC — in (27)–(29) — illustrates that the switch12. I do not think of ‘loosening’ as a panacea, though. No loosening of the meaning of the lexical item ordinary is called for in the following example taken from one of the source texts of the ENPC: “All I knew for sure about him was that he was reckoned to be a whiz kid in physics. Otherwise, he was an ordinary sort of boy with brown, wary hair and a lumpish build, like a wrestler’s.” (TH1). Here the writer invites the reader to imagine that the boy referred to was, contrary to fact, not remarkably good at physics. If that negative assessment were true, there would be nothing to remember him for, and he would be quite correctly described as an ordinary boy.
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polarity anaphora ellers and otherwise as modifiers of a pre-nominal adjective do not constrain the truth of Q. Consider (27) first. (27) Jeg er det eneste friksjonsmomentet i hennes ellers så glatt I am the only the.frictionmoment in her otherwise so smoothly behagelige liv. (EHA1) comfortable life → I am the only point of friction in her otherwise smooth and comfortable life. One would understand the Norwegian original and the English translation in (27) in much the same way if the switch-polarity anaphora were left out, though their presence may be said to emphasize more what a nuisance she (the daughter) believes she must be to her mother. (27) does not express a counterfactual conditional. It is not as if the mother’s life would have been smooth and comfortable if her daughter had not interfered in it; we understand that her life is smooth and comfortable, at least on the surface. Reading (28) we see that the table referred to is still truthfully described as a simple table, in spite of certain misfits in the form of some bird shapes that are definitely not constitutive of its simplicity. (28) The bird shapes seemed unnecessarily ornate on an otherwise simple table. → Fuglefasongene virket unødig forseggjort på det ellers enkle bordet. (FW1) Notice that no contradiction ensues if we leave out the English switch-polarity anaphor in (28). An utterance of The bird shapes seemed unnecessarily ornate on a simple table does not tell us that the table would have been simple but for those bird shapes, it just implicates that the bird shapes looked as if they did not belong there. And the presence of otherwise and ellers in (28) enjoins the reader to pay attention to the discrepancy between the descriptions of the table and the bird shapes, as the table is said to be simple, while the bird shapes on it are not. Basically, the table is still simple in spite of the avian ornaments. Here a pragmatic analysis in terms of an enrichment of the complex nominal phrase an otherwise simple table as a table that was simple except for the bird shapes would seem to me to fall short of accounting for the communicator’s meaning. I would prefer to say that the description of the table as simple is loosely speaking true, or ‘lessthan-literally’ true (Sperber and Wilson 1986b). (29) is an analogous example. (29) Not very large and like the dabs filled in with brilliant colour on an otherwise unfinished sketch. → Ikke spesielt store og som skjærende fargeflekker i en ellers not particularly big and as searing colourspots in an otherwise skisse. (TH1) uferdig unfinished sketch
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Those things that are said to be not very large in (29) are the blue eyes of a young woman whose physical appearance is being described in the surrounding paragraph. The woman is likened to an unfinished sketch, in an explicit simile construction starting with the comparative preposition like. Her eyes are in fact an integral part of what is described as an unfinished sketch, but the reader’s context-dependent comprehension of the metaphorically used adjective unfinished and noun sketch will certainly be tinged by the previous description of the woman’s eyes as dabs filled in with brilliant colour. Again, invoking a process of conceptual loosening would appear to be intuitively superior to a pragmatic process of enriching the meaning of the phrase an unfinished sketch, which is, after all, figurative language, i.e. an ad hoc concept that requires a pragmatic interpretation in terms of loose use (see Sperber and Wilson 1998; Carston 2002: 334–59). We have seen some examples of the use of otherwise and ellers, in which their antecedent proposition P constitutes but an exception, maybe an innocuous exception, to the strict truth of Q, and the upshot of this is that the presence of the switch-polarity anaphor, which attracts our attention to the way that ¬P might affect our inferential processing, makes us aware that the communicator intends us to understand Q to be loosely speaking true. The pragmatic loosening of the truth conditions derived from the logical form of Q is warranted by the context even if the switch-polarity anaphora are dropped in (27)–(29), but those markers heighten the addressee’s awareness of the existence of a conflict between P on the one hand and a literal truth-conditional interpretation of Q on the other hand.13 By insisting that otherwise and ellers do not encode a concept but a procedure for the addressee to follow, as proposed in (6), we can account for the fact that these words do not always impose a condition on the truth of Q. At times, as in (27)–(29), and arguably also in (26a), Q is an explicated proposition; however, otherwise and ellers indicate that the sentence they modify should be given a less than literal interpretation, because the switch-polarity anaphor directs the reader to the assumption that there is some sort of conflict between committing oneself to P and at the same time also to Q. But the conflict is resolved once we recognize the communicator’s intention to make the addressee adjust the meaning of the phrases smooth and comfortable life in (27), simple table in (28) and unfinished sketch in (29), in the context of a communicated P. Thus it would be wrong to claim that the switch-polarity anaphora do not impinge on explicit content in (27)–(29) and similar cases. Their procedural meaning is as described in (6), regardless of whether Q is an explicature, as in (26a) and (27)–(29), or the consequent of a conditional, as in all previous illustrations. The existence of a conspicuous difference in pragmatic meaning should not tempt us to postulate two distinct linguistic meanings for the switch-polarity anaphora. The interpretation of Q as an explicated proposition depends on the recognition that the communicator appears to be endorsing P as well as 13. For a recent study of how a word that encodes a procedure instructs the hearer to assign a ‘loose talk’ interpretation to its scope in an utterance, see Andersen’s (2000a, 2000b) account of the English discourse marker like.
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Q, even though Q can be true on a literal reading only in a context in which ¬P, represented by the switch-polarity anaphor, is true and P false.
5. ellers and ‘else’ While Norwegian ellers combines freely with wh-question words, otherwise is much less common than else in that environment (but see example (10) in §3.2). The semantic resemblance between else and otherwise is transparent. S1, or else S2 is equivalent to S1, otherwise S2, but else in the former structure needs the support of the co-occurring connective or, and otherwise in the latter may not co-occur with or. Examples (30)–(32) are three selected ENPC correspondences in which ellers is matched with else in wh-interrogatives which serve the function of rhetorical questions. (30) How else would you get up here? → Hvordan skulle de ellers komme seg hit opp? (RR1) how should they otherwise come themselves hither up (31) Sonia happened to be living off the State’s munificence, with three small children. What else was she to do? → Slik gikk det til at Sonia kom til å leve av statens generøsitet, med so happened it that S. came to live off the.state’s generosity with tre små barn. Hva kunne hun ellers gjøre? (FW1) three small children what could she otherwise do (32) “Why should it interest you so much,” she asks, “to write a story about people telling each other stories in order to forget about the Plague outside?” “Why else does one tell stories?” → “Hvorfor er du så opptatt,” spør hun, “av å skrive en historie om mennesker why are you so occupied asks she by to write a story about people som forteller hverandre historier for å glemme Pesten utenfor?” who tell each-other stories for to forget the.Plague outside “Hvorfor forteller man ellers historier?” (ABR1) why tells one otherwise stories Example (30) lacks a preceding antecedent sentence in the text presented there, but we realize that the communicator is putting forward the opinion that there is just one way to ascend, and that avenue must have been referred to already. The negative proposition “There is no way to get up here” is held to be true just in case ¬P, represented by else and ellers alike, is true, but as the communicator ostensively vouches for the truth of P, she
‘Switch-polarity’ anaphora in English and Norwegian 237
is understood to be committed to the truth of the contradiction “There is a way to get up here”, and a proposition P derived from the immediately preceding discourse must have described that unique way. (31) is similar, but there we have access to P and are able to recover the explicature “There was nothing Sonia could do, except living off the State’s munificence”. And in (32) the anaphoric items else and ellers represent the reason indicated by the wh-word why in the second speaker’s turn. In the absence of else and ellers, (30)–(32) could have been information-seeking questions but the presence of the switch-polarity anaphora signals that these interrogatives are to be understood as rhetorical questions. The communicator has already expressed the antecedent P and is committed to P, hence also to the falsity of ¬P. But since else and ellers represent ¬P, our conclusion must be that the wh-interrogatives would be relevant only in a counterfactual context in which P was false and ¬P true. The answer to the wh-interrogatives in (30)–(32) is already given in the immediately preceding discourse and the relevance of the interrogatives lies mainly in the communicator’s higherlevel explicatures “I believe there to be no other way to get up here than by acting in such and such a way”, “I believe she could have done nothing but live off the State’s munifi‑ cence”, “I believe there to be no other reason for telling stories than to forget temporarily about the Plague”, respectively. Else is a switch-polarity anaphor just like otherwise, but what is the semantic difference between those two lexical items? Their distributions appear to be nearly complementary. (33) below is an exhaustive list of expressions with else that appear in the ENPC, matched with their most frequent Norwegian correspondents and with literal glosses in parenthesis. There are three subcategories, a, b and c. (33) a. b.
something else — noe annet (something other.neut) anything else — noe annet (anything other.neut) someone else/somebody else — en annen (an other.masc) anyone else/anybody else — noen andre (any others) nothing else — ikke noe annet (not any other.neut) no one else — ingen annen (none other.masc); ingen andre (none others) somewhere else — et annet sted (an other.neut place) anywhere else — noe annet sted (any other.neut place) everything else — alt annet (all other.neut) all else — alt annet (all other.neut) everyone else/everybody else — alle andre (all others) everywhere else — alle andre steder (all other places) (not) much else — (ikke) stort annet ((not) greatly other.neut) what else — hva annet (what other.neut); hva … ellers (what … otherwise) whatever else — hva … ellers (what … otherwise) how else — hvordan … ellers (how … otherwise) why else — hvorfor … ellers (why … otherwise) who else — hvem … ellers (who … otherwise); hvem andre (who others)
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where else — hvor … ellers (where … otherwise)14 c. or else — eller (or) In sentences that contain expressions listed under (33a), where the head of the nominal phrase is a quantifier word, the switch-polarity anaphor else is a post-head modifier whose semantic function appears to be similar to the function of a restrictive relative clause. In (33b) the head is not an existential or universal quantifier but a wh-word. The syntactic and semantic relation between the wh-word and else is apparently of a looser sort in (33b) than in (33a). Semantically the switch-polarity anaphor else in (33b) is a context-dependent condition that must be brought to bear in the process of utterance interpretation. Thus the meaning of else conforms to the procedural meaning of other‑ wise/ellers stated in (6). Finally, (33c) has a single member, the collocation or else, which is also compatible with (6), in that the antecedent of else is invariably the contradictory counterpart of P in the disjunction P V Q. The characterization given here of the functional difference between category (33a) and the categories (33b) and (33c) is supported by a comparison between the English expressions and their respective Norwegian correspondents. In (33a), the most common Norwegian correspondent of else is an adjective-like word whose stem means “other”, or “different” (see Fretheim, 2004a). Ellers is seen to take over as the dominant lexical correspondent of else in (33b), though. What else appears to be in an intermediate position, as this phrase has two equally frequent Norwegian correspondents in the ENPC, the continuous expression hva annet with a post-nominal modifier of the same sort as in (33a), and the non-adjacent elements hva … ellers, where the adverb ellers does not form a constituent with the wh-word.15 Ellers generally occupies the adverbial position to the right of the finite verb and the subject nominal when it co-occurs with a wh-word, as evidenced by the syntactic differences between the English source texts and the Norwegian translations in (30)–(32). The obvious conclusion to be drawn from the correspondences in (33) is that from a grammatical point of view else has an adjectival (relative clause) function in (33a) and an adverbial (conditional) function in (33b) and (33c). There are not many co-occurrences of otherwise and the wh-words why, how, who and where in the ENPC, but with some slight changes in the syntactic form it is possible to substitute otherwise for else in such wh-questions as (30) and (32), which testifies to the adverbial character of else in those examples. Though one cannot always expect to find a natural paraphrase with a conditional clause in lieu of the anaphor, a negative conditional clause would nevertheless be a suitable substitution for else in (30) and (32), and even in (31) where the 14. For some reason unknown to me, the wh-word when rarely, or never, co-occurs with else, and literally never in the ENPC; cf. Otherwise when will they be informed? vs. ??When else will they be informed?. Also, which one(s) else is another virtually non-existent phrase. 15. The wh-word hva (what) and ellers are adjacent only in the non-clausal rhetorical question Hva ellers? (“What else?”).
‘Switch-polarity’ anaphora in English and Norwegian 239
wh-word is what, the communicator inserts else in order to invite the addressee to infer what the answer to the question would be if Sonia had received no support from the State. There is no evidence that the ‘adjectival’ else and the ‘adverbial’ else are distinct lexical items. To the extent that we can discern two different uses, this is a distinction to be drawn at the pragmatic level, not in the English lexicon. And at the level of pragmatics there may in fact be no genuine difference between ‘adjectival’ and ‘adverbial’ else. A wh-question with else does not have to be rhetorical like the questions in (30)–(32). An utterance of (34) would normally be an information-seeking question. (34) Who else did you see? Here the switch-polarity anaphor else could be enriched as “If we disregard the fact that you saw x”, where x is a contextually retrievable human referent. The intended pragmatic meaning of else functions like a contextual premise which constrains the relevance of the question “Who did you see?”. But (34) can also be happily paraphrased as “Who did you see, who is not x?”, where else is enriched as a relative clause whose head is the wh-word. In (35), which occurs in the ENPC, the anaphor else is combined with the negative existential quantifier no one. Notice the Norwegian translation with the expression ingen andre (literally: no others). Both quantified phrases, English no one else and Norwegian ingen andre, must be pragmatically enriched to the point where they make a truth-evaluable contribution to the proposition expressed. (35) It was Brad who had come to my rescue. … No one else seemed to be around to notice anything. → Det var Brad som hadde kommet meg til unnsetning. … it was B. who had come me to rescue Det var visst ingen andre som hadde sett opptrinnet. there were part no others who had seen the.incident. Only a small part of the conceptual material of the antecedent structure will be used in the addressee’s inferential process of enriching else in (35). The meaning of the negative statement in (35) is that there seemed to be no person x, such that x is not Brad (= else) and x noticed what was happening. But the way to say this in idiomatic English is not by means of a relative clause, the entrenched patterns of usage involve such inherently negative expressions as except, with the exception of, apart from, or the preposition but. (35), and even more strikingly (36) compared to (37), illustrates that else affects our understanding of the truth-conditional content of the utterance in which it occurs, just like otherwise in (38). (36) John was in the next room but no one else was there. (37) #John was in the next room but no one was there. (38) John was in the next room but otherwise no one was there.
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However, data of the sort presented here should not make us jump to the conclusion that the contribution of else to the proposition expressed must be defined at the level of lexical content. It is the pragmatically derived meaning of the utterance in a selected context that warrants the conclusion that else places a constraint on the truth-conditional content of the utterances at issue. Its truth-conditional contribution is seen to be less transparent in B’s utterance in (39), for example, if we compare (39) with the corresponding utterance in the minimally different dialogue of (40). (39) Abe: It’s a shame that Ernie couldn’t accompany me on my Antarctic expedition. Sue: Well … everyone else thinks you were lucky. (40) Abe: It’s a shame that Ernie couldn’t accompany me on my Antarctic expedition. Sue: Well … everyone thinks you were lucky. The word else in (39) is a discourse variable there as in previous illustrations, an anaphoric item whose reference has to be determined in context. A context-dependent quantifier restriction is necessary in the truth-conditional processing of the utterance everyone thinks you were lucky as well as in processing the longer utterance everyone else thinks you were lucky, because the universal quantifier everyone cannot possibly refer to “everyone in the universe”. Sue must have had a mutually manifest set of individuals in mind (possibly a rather fuzzy set, because the universal quantification does look like a hyperbole). But apart from the required quantifier domain restriction, what is the contribution of the word else to the relevance of Sue’s utterance in (39)? It certainly makes more manifest the contrast between the general opinion that Sue attributes to ‘everyone’ and the exceptional view held by Abe himself, but Sue’s communicated assumption that Abe’s feelings about Ernie is at odds with what the rest of them feel about Ernie (and of his hypothetical role as Antarctic expedition companion for Abe) is not included in the proposition expressed in (39), in the explicature of the utterance every‑ one else thinks you were lucky. The quantification in “Everyone thinks you were lucky” is in need of pragmatic adjustment in (39) and (40) alike, with or without the switchpolarity anaphor. Pending a deeper insight into the matter I would make the provisional proposal that else and otherwise have the same lexical meaning, that else is often the preferred choice when a switch-polarity anaphor accompanies a wh-variable and even more frequently when it accompanies a quantifier word, and that else is also the switch-polarity anaphor that co-occurs with or in or else. Although other Norwegian translations are possible as well, the function of ellers is equivalent to that of else.16 16. Ellers has some additional uses that do not correspond to otherwise or else. See section 6 of Fretheim (2004b), which shares part of its title with the present chapter.
‘Switch-polarity’ anaphora in English and Norwegian 241
6. Concluding remarks Otherwise, else and ellers were judged to have truth-conditional consequences in many of our examples, both invented ones and those that were extracted from the ENPC, but occasionally, as shown in section 4, the impact of these anaphoric markers on explicit propositional content is very slight, or maybe not manifest at all. This variability is understandable, because truth-conditional content is claimed to be the result of a combination of grammar-driven decoding and relevance-driven pragmatic inference. Relevance theory gives me an opportunity to define the lexical meaning of otherwise/ else/ellers in procedural terms, as I tried to do in the formulation in (6), which spells out my belief that these words do not denote anything in and by themselves. Rather, they make a crucial part of the intended context more manifest to the addressee. It is not so that the switch-polarity anaphor itself is sometimes truth-conditional and sometimes non-truth-conditional. It has a univocal procedural meaning. The addressee’s assessment of the degree to which an utterance U modified by a switch-polarity anaphor and the utterance containing its antecedent can be understood to express mutually compatible speaker meanings will be a major determinant of the communicative role of a given token of a switch-polarity anaphor, and in particular of the question whether its presence constrains the truth conditions of the proposition expressed by U. Within relevance theory it has been accepted practice for at least a decade (Wilson and Sperber 1993) to say that an anaphor encodes a procedural meaning affecting truth-conditional content, but the assumption that not only truth-conditional personal pronouns and higher-entity pronouns but even non-truth-conditional anaphora can profitably be analysed in a similar way is quite new. Fretheim (2002) and Fretheim and Johansson (2002) offer an analysis of the lexical meaning of the Norwegian non-truthconditional concessive anaphor likevel/allikevel (“nevertheless”, “still”, “yet”, “anyway”; “after all”) in terms of procedural semantics, and Fretheim and Vaskó (2004) offers a procedural analysis of what is referred to as ‘weak concessives’ in Norwegian and Hungarian. The major difference between the treatment of concessives as anaphora and the linguistic phenomena examined in this chapter is that a concessive is invariably nontruth-conditional at the pragmatically derived level of explicit content, while the procedural lexical meaning proposed for otherwise/else/ellers enabled me to account for why they often, but not always, constrain the proposition expressed the way that the protasis of a material conditional would do. ‘Linguistic semantics’ cannot be equated with ‘truth-conditional semantics’. The former includes not only conceptual semantics but also procedural semantics. The latter may be more appropriately referred to as ‘truth-conditional pragmatics’, as its (output) representations include wholly inferred constituents of the proposition expressed and context-dependent enrichment as well as loosening of the linguistically encoded conceptual meaning of lexical items and phrases when certain contextual assumptions seem to make it necessary to deviate from a literal interpretation. Because otherwise,
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else and ellers are function words which do not encode a concept but a procedure for the addressee to follow, they will be perceived to add a truth condition in some contexts and to open for a pragmatic loosening process in other contexts.
Acknowledgement I would like to express my thanks to the Santa Fe group, and especially to Jeanette. I am also grateful to Kaja Borthen, to Nancy Hedberg, and to an anonymous reviewer, for their comments on my chapter.
References Andersen, Gisle. 2000a. “The role of the pragmatic marker like in utterance interpretation.” In Pragmatic Markers and Propositional Attitude, G. Andersen and T. Fretheim, (eds), 17–38. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Andersen, Gisle. 2000b. Pragmatic Markers and Sociolinguistic Variation. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Blakemore, Diane. 1987. Semantic Constraints on Relevance. Oxford: Blackwell. Blakemore, Diane. 2002. Relevance and Linguistic Meaning: The Semantics and Pragmatics of Discourse Markers. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Carston, Robyn. 2002. Thoughts and Utterances: The Pragmatics of Explicit Communication. Oxford: Blackwell. Cornish, Francis. 1999. Anaphora, Discourse, and Understanding: Evidence from English and French. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Erkü, Feride and Gundel, Jeanette K. 1987. “The pragmatics of indirect anaphors.” In The Prag‑ matic Perspective, J. Verschueren and M. Bertuccelli-Papi, (eds), Amsterdam: John Benjamins, 533–45. Fretheim, Thorstein. 2000. “The semantic difference between Norwegian hvis-da (“if-then”) and hvis-så (≠ “if-then”).” In The Nordic Languages and Modern Linguistics, G. Thórhallsdóttir, (ed), 10, 81–92. Reykjavík: University of Iceland. Fretheim, Thorstein. 2002. “Interpreting concessive adverbial markers in English and Norwegian discourse.” In Information Structure in a Cross-Linguistic Perspective, H. Hasselgård, S. Johansson, B. Behrens, and C. Fabricius-Hansen, (eds),. 1–20. Amsterdam: Rodopi. Fretheim, Thorstein. 2003. “A relevance-theoretic account of the way we use and understand the English temporal adverb again and its Norwegian counterpart igjen.” Languages in Con‑ trast 3: 1, 41–94. Fretheim, Thorstein. 2004a. “Predicating a difference between two entities: How much is semantics, how much pragmatics?” Working Papers ISK #1, NTNU, 25–44. Fretheim, Thorstein. 2004b. “‘Switch-polarity’ anaphora in English and Norwegian.”Working Papers ISK #1, NTNU, 45–68. Fretheim, Thorstein. 2006. “English then and Norwegian da/så compared: A relevance-theoretic account.” Nordic Journal of Linguistics 29: 45–93.
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Fretheim, Thorstein and Johansson, Stig. 2002. “The semantics and pragmatics of the Norwegian concessive marker likevel: Evidence from the English–Norwegian Parallel Corpus.” In From the COLT’s mouth … and others’: Language Corpora Studies In Honour of Anna-Brita Stenström, L. E. Breivik & A. Hasselgren, (eds), 81–102. Amsterdam: Rodopi. Fretheim, Thorstein, Boateng, Stella, and Vaskó, Ildikó. 2003. “Then — adverbial pro-form or inference particle? A comparative study of English, Ewe, Hungarian, and Norwegian.” In Meaning Through Language Contrast, K. M. Jaszczolt and K. Turner, (eds), Vol. 2, 51–74, Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Fretheim, Thorstein and Vaskó, Ildikó. 2004. “The re-analysis of a causal connective as a concessive connective in Hungarian and Norwegian.” Working Papers ISK #1, NTNU, 89–116. Gutt, Ernst-August. 2000. Translation and Relevance: Cognition and Context. Manchester: St. Jerome Publishing. Recanati, François. 1993. Direct Reference: From Language to Thought. Oxford: Blackwell. Searle, John R. 1979. Expression and Meaning. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Sperber, Dan and Wilson, Deirdre. 1986a. Relevance: Communication and Cognition. Oxford: Blackwell. Sperber, Dan and Wilson, Deirdre. 1986b. “Loose talk.” Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society 86: 153–71. Sperber, Dan and Wilson, Deirdre. 1995. Relevance: Communication and Cognition. 2nd edition with a Postface. Oxford: Blackwell. Sperber, Dan and Wilson, Deirdre. 1998. “The mapping between the mental and the public lexicon.” In Language and Thought: Interdisciplinary Themes, P. Carruthers and J. Boucher, (eds), 184–200. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wilson, Deirdre and Sperber, Dan. 1993. “Linguistic form and relevance.” Lingua 90: 1–25.
chapter 11
What on earth Non-referential interrogatives* Maria Polinsky Harvard University
The question of how the speaker ‘delivers’ the intended referent to the addressee has long played a central role in studies of information structure. This general question subsumes such problems as the degree of flexibility the speaker has in signaling the referent’s cognitive status to the addressee, the isomorphism (or lack thereof) between the form of a linguistic expression and the interpretation of the referent, and the correlation between referential status and information structural categories. In bringing together information structure and discourse/referential status, researchers have paid most attention to ‘definite’ and/or ‘specific’, probably because of its strong correlation with topic (Gundel 1974, 1975, 1985; Gundel et al. 1993; Lambrecht 1994; Prince 1998, and many others). This chapter is an attempt to give more coverage to the referential status at the other end of the spectrum, namely, non-referential or characterized by intensional reference. In what follows, I present and analyze a particular type of wh-expression which I will argue to have a non-referential property denotation. I also argue that the semantic status of these expressions determines a number of syntactic properties associated with them. Wh-expressions display a well-known three-way distinction:
(1) Classes of wh-expressions a. wh-expressions whose use in a question does not limit the range of felicitous answers in a predetermined manner (interrogative pronouns); b. wh-expressions whose use in a question limits the range of felicitous answers to a closed set of entities that the speaker or hearer has in mind (D‑linked interrogatives such as which);
* I am very happy to present this squib to Jeanette Gundel. Jeanette’s work on discourse and its interface with grammar has been an inspiration for my own research. Her work on information structure started long before anyone else thought of that as a relevant field of inquiry, and over the course of many years her discoveries in this field have guided many researchers, including this one. For helpful discussions of this chapter, I would like to thank Wind Cowles, Hana Filip, Nancy Hedberg, Robert Kluender, Knud Lambrecht, Ron Langacker and an anonymous reviewer. The Russian data are courtesy of Vladimir Gitt, Alla Liokumovich, Gregory Lipkin, Alex Polinsky, and Alex Yanovsky. All errors are my sole responsibility.
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c. wh-expressions whose use in a question does not even presume an answer (although such an answer is not excluded). To illustrate, if one asks ‘Who(m) did you invite?’, using an interrogative pronoun proper, the answer may be ‘Nobody’, and even if the respondent did indeed invite someone, there is no premeditated limitation of the possible set of such people. On the other hand, in asking ‘Which students did you invite?’, the speaker sets a definite limit on the set of possible people on the invite list, and this is a defining characteristic of so-called discourse-linked (d-linked) expressions. And finally, the question ‘Who in the world did you invite?’ serves quite a different goal—it expresses the speaker’s indignation and bewilderment over some property of the invitee(s), without any special reference to a presupposed set of those people. It is quite easy to imagine that the answer to this last question might be ‘I am sorry’, something that would be completely infelicitous in response to the first two questions above. Wh-expressions of this type—(1c) above—are referred to as ‘(aggressively) non-d-linked’ as they truly resist the d-linked interpretation (Pesetsky 1987: 111–19). To avoid repeating the clumsy term ‘aggressively nond-linked wh-words’ in relation to expressions such as the English what in the world or what the hell, in what follows I will use the abbreviation NDL. A large body of literature on the phenomenon of d-linking is concerned with the syntax of d-linked and non-d-linked wh-expressions, in particular with their (in)ability to undergo movement (Pesetsky 1987; Comorovski 1996; Tanaka 1995; Dayal 1993–4; Lewis 1999; Polinsky 2001; Cornilescu 2002; and many others). Many researchers have also shown that the information structural import of d-linked wh-words is different from that of interrogative pronouns, distinguishing them in terms of their referential properties. The consensus with regard to d-linked expressions is that they are inherently referential (Anagnastopoulou 1993; Cinque 1996; Baltin 1996; Kluender 1998). NDLs however have received less attention in the literature than their more definite counterparts, although the recent work by den Dikken and Giannakidou (2001, 2002) has advanced our understanding of their syntax and semantics. This chapter is an at. Some English speakers treat questions such as Who the hell did you invite? as indeed asking who it was, referentially (Ron Langacker, personal communication). For such speakers, the Russian construction discussed below seems more analogous to another sort of English question, namely What kind of guests does he invite?, which does not really ask for specification of a kind. It is possible that wh- the hell questions are ambiguous between the reading that requires unique identification of the referent and the reading that does not call for a specific answer; if such ambiguity is common across languages one would hope for a more principled explanation of the reason the two readings co-occur. Note that in English, the two readings are distinguished by prosody. Thus, in (i), which has the same prosody as a question with a regular interrogative pronoun, there is an expectation of unique identification; in (ii), there is no such expectation.
(i) Who the hell did you invite? (ii) Who the hell did you invite?
At this point I cannot account for those wh-the-hell-questions that ask for a unique identification.
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tempt to pay more attention to the neglected child in the family of interrogative expressions. At first blush, the solution may seem quite simple: given that interrogative pronouns and d-linked wh-words differ in terms of referentiality, it may be tempting to simply rank NDLs lower than the interrogative pronouns and d-linked expressions in terms of their referentiality and definiteness. However, this solution immediately faces several problems. If the three types of wh-words are part of just one scale, it somehow entails that they all share certain properties (beyond the trivial one of being interrogatives), which is not immediately obvious. A cursory look at English shows that NDLs differ from the other two types of interrogatives in that they cannot embed (2c) (see also Obenauer 1994; den Dikken and Giannakidou 2002):
(2) a. I wonder whom you invited b. I wonder which students you invited c. *I wonder who the hell/who on earth you invited
Next, interrogative pronouns and d-linked expressions differ in the activation of their referent. Assuming the Givenness Hierarchy proposed in Gundel et al. (1993), d-linked expressions refer back to a set that is either directly activated (through prior mention) or inferred/familiar, as in (3), where the stars (in our galaxy) are assumed to be familiar.
(3) Which stars are really planets?
Ordinary interrogative pronouns may link back like this but don’t have to. This suggests that they are lower than ‘familiar’ on the Givenness Hierarchy. NDLs do not even have to evoke an answer, which suggests that they may be lower on the Givenness Hierarchy. But there is still another possibility, namely that NDLs simply do not have a place on the Givenness Hierarchy—it may exclude other expressions, for example quantifier phrases and possibly proper nouns (however, see Mulkern 1996 for a different view). I will return to this problem at the end of the chapter. In addition to the degree of activation, d-linked and regular pronouns differ in their lexical content (Chung 1994; Kluender 1998); interrogative pronouns have no lexical content, while d-linked expressions clearly do, just by virtue of naming the set from which the referent needs to be selected (which student). Where do NDLs stand in terms of lexical content? They obviously have expressive content, at least in English where they tend to occur with colorful expressions often involving negative connotations (whthe hell, the fuck, on earth, in the world, in tarnation, in God’s name, in hell, etc.), but do . I am indebted to Nancy Hedberg for this observation. . At first glance, the co-occurrence with various expressions denoting hell and heaven seems quite pervasive (Spanish Wh- diablo, Fr. Wh- diable, German Wh- zum Teufel/Himmel, Russian kakogo čerta, Hebrew Wh-le-‘azazel), but this may represent a (cultural) areal feature than a principled generalization. No devil or hell occurs in NDLs in Japanese (ittai + Wh), Korean
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they have descriptive content? The essence of the proposal made in this chapter is that NDLs are quite different from the other members of the interrogative family in that they are property denotations and thus have intensional reference only. The reference to properties, not entities, sets them aside from the other two types of interrogatives. The property-denoting characteristic of NDLs determines their distribution. In what follows, I will discuss the distinction between intensional and extensional reference and then present and analyze NDLs in Russian, arguing for the proposal made here.
1. Extensional and intensional reference Frege’s 1892 seminal work on Sinn and Bedeutung (Frege 1892) inspired Rudolf Carnap’s formalization of the notions of intension and extension (Carnap 1947/1967), which are easy to conceptualize in set theoretic terms. Carnap (1947/1967) suggested that the sense (~Frege’s Sinn) of an expression, for which he used the term intension, is a function from possible worlds and times, which gives, for any world and time, the denotation of the expression, which Carnap called its extension (~Frege’s Bedeutung) in that world. The intension of an expression amounts to all the varying extensions (denotations) the expression can have. The intension determines the extension by determining for any world and time the extension of a given expression in that world and time. The difference between extension and intension is particularly apparent in the analysis of unique objects. For example, ‘the last Roman dictator’, ‘the conqueror of Gaul’, and ‘Julius Caesar’ all have the same extension (the Roman consul born in 100 BC and assassinated in 44 BC), but differ in their intension: ‘the last Roman dictator’ is a property defined by this definite description, ‘the conqueror of Gaul’ is another property, and ‘Julius Caesar’, if understood literally, does not have an intension. Intension is therefore useful in distinguishing different linguistic expressions that have the same denotation. In the case of a sentence, the intension determines for any world and time, the truth value of the sentence in that world and time: it is a function from possible worlds and (toteychey + Wh), Malagasy (Wh + re). In Tsez (Nakh-Daghestanian), NDLs are formed as tautological expressions (ii), (iv):
(i) (ii) (iii) (iv)
λu ‘who (ergative)’ λux-λu ‘who in the world’ šebi ‘who, what (absolutive)’ šebix-šebi ‘who/what in the world’
Finally, some Russian data discussed below show that the negative attitude conveyed by such expressions belongs with pragmatic implicatures, rather than inherent content of NDLs.
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times to truth values. A proposition expressed by a given sentence can be thus construed as the set of possible worlds in which the proposition is true. This entails that an assignment of truth values based on extensional reference requires the valuation of the relevant members of the extension; for instance, to assign a truth value to (4) below, one needs to check all the members of the feline class for the presence of a tail; accordingly, if some tailless cats are found, (4) is rendered false.
(4) All cats have tails
An assignment of truth values based on intensional reference requires that the property denoted by the predicate follows from the property expressed by the logical subject. For (4), this means affirming that the property of being a cat entails the possession of a tail; under intensional assignment, the proposition expressed by (4) can be true even if many cats are found missing tails (McCawley 1993: 494–7). This rough sketch of the difference between extension and intension cannot do justice to the rich system of intensional logic developed by Carnap (1967) and Montague (1974), but it is sufficient for the purposes of this chapter, where the main contrast is between entity-denotations and property-denotations.
2. Wh-words in Russian: čto za + N Recall the three way distinction among wh-words introduced in (1a–c). Russian encodes this distinction in the manner shown in Table 1. As mentioned earlier, my main concern in this chapter is with type (c), but its properties cannot be evaluated without a direct comparison with types (a) and (b). Table 1. Wh-expressions in Russian a. Unmarked interrogatives (their use in a question does not limit the range of felicitous answers)
kto ‘who’, čto ‘what (n)’, kakoj ‘what (adj)’, kogda ‘when’, skol′ko ‘how many’, etc.
b. D-linked (their use in a question limits the wh-word + imenno ‘precisely’ (kto imenno, etc.) range of felicitous answers) c. Non-d-linked (use in a question does not require an answer)
čto za ‘what for’ + noun
2.1 Morphosyntactic properties of čto za The expression čto za has to be followed by a noun; no other category is allowed. If what follows looks like an adjective, this adjective must have undergone nominalization, as is shown in (5b):
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(5) a. *čto za svetloe kupili? what for light-colored bought (‘What kind of a light colored thing did they buy?’) b. *čto za zelenye vyrosli? what for green grew up *‘What kind of green things grew up?’ OK: ‘How come they grew up to be environmentalists (green-party members)?’
Next, čto za-N′ cannot be governed by a preposition. This restriction applies to both elements of the expression: neither čto za itself nor the nominal that follows it can be governed. This is illustrated in (6a–c) by different combinations of the preposition s ‘with’ which requires the instrumental case:
*s čem za durak-ami ty vodiš′ sja (6) a. with wh.instr for fool-instr.pl 2sg hang out.pres.2sg b. *s čto za durak-ami ty vodiš′ sja with wh.nom for fool-instr.pl 2sg hang out.pres.2sg c. *čto za s durak-ami ty vodiš′sja wh.nom for with fool-instr.pl 2sg hang out.pres.2sg (‘What kind of fools do you hang out with?’)
Prepositionless čto za-N′ are preferred in the nominative and accusative; other prepositionless forms are questionable at best (7):
(7) a. b. c.
??
čto za slov im ne xvataet? what for word-gen.pl 3pl.dat not suffice? ‘What the hell words are they missing?’ ?? čto za umnik-u prišla v golovu takaja mysl′? what for wizard-dat arrived in head such thought ‘Who on earth could think of this?’ ?? čto za diktator-om byli prinjaty èti rešenija? what for dictator-instr were taken these decisions ‘What kind of dictator made these decisions?’
2.2 Čto za as a non-d-linked expression: felicity conditions Crucial evidence that the Russian čto za-N′ forces a non-d-linked reading comes from the interpretation of the relevant questions, which can be clarified by pairing these questions with felicitous and infelicitous answers. Assuming a broad, inclusive notion of pragmatics, one could definitely discern a particular pragmatic profile of NDL questions, and Russian NDLs seem to fit this profile. Crucially, a question with čto za-N′ does not require an answer that draws on the existing or presupposed set of referents—in contrast to a question with a discourse-linked
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wh-word. For example, assuming that one is sent to a grocery store to buy dairy products, the answer in (8b) is definitely infelicitous—the speaker’s goal in uttering (8a) is not to inquire what was bought but rather to show surprise or indignation at the quality or brand of what the other person brought. A more appropriate answer to (8a) is (8c):
(8) a. b. c.
čto za drjan′ ty kupil? what for trash 2sg bought ‘What in the world did you buy?’ # maslo butter ja ne znal čto ty ne eš′ francuzskoe 1sg not knew that 2sg not eat French ‘I didn’t know you don’t like French butter.’
In contrast, if a question involves an interrogative pronominal or a d-linked wh-word, the felicity of possible answers is reversed. In the example below, (9c) is very odd in response to (9a):
(9) a. b. c.
čto (imenno) ty kupil? what dl 2sg bought ‘What/Which thing did you buy?’ maslo butter # ja ne znal čto ty ne eš′ francuzskoe 1sg not knew that 2sg not eat French ‘I didn’t know you don’t like French butter.’
Thus, čto za-N′ expressions do not evoke an answer and form constructions which, though structurally similar to questions, are pragmatically closer to exclamatives (see Zanuttini and Portner 2003 for a relevant discussion). They do not evoke a particular answer and allow speakers to express their strong emotions associated with a particular eventuality.
2.3 Čto za and extraction phenomena Let us now turn to the syntactic effects associated with čto za-N′ expressions. Syntactically, it has been shown that NDLs in other languages cannot be extracted from weak . If the interrogative pronominal bears emphatic pitch accent (high rise) then the question can be interpreted similar to (8a) without čto za. This shows that the negative or more generally emotional attitude towards some proposition can be expressed in a number of ways (lexical cues, intonation, possibly both). As Nancy Hedberg (p.c.) suggests, it may be a general property of questions that they may be used to express emotion rather than request for information. Accordingly, emotional attitude is a shaky foundation to build a definition of NDLs on.
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islands (see Cinque 1996: 241–2 for Italian NDLs); in the meantime, other wh-expressions can escape such islands (Kluender 1998 and many others). The examples below illustrate the behavior of the Russian wh-words with respect to weak islands. In (10), the interrogative pronominal and the d-linked wh-word can both extract out of a factive island, but čto za-N′ expressions resist such extraction: (10) a. kogo stranno čto my ne vstretili? whom is strange that 1pl not met ‘Whom is it strange that we did not meet?’ b. kogo imenno stranno čto my ne vstretili? whom dl is strange that 1pl not met ‘Which person is it strange that we did not meet?’ c. *čto za pticu stranno čto my ne vstretili? what for bird is strange that 1pl not met (‘Who the hell is it strange that we did not meet?’) In (11), the interrogative pronoun and the d-linked wh-word can extract out of the embedded clause, but the extraction of čto za-N′ is decidedly ill-formed: (12) a. ?kakuju sobaku oni skazal čto proi xočet vzjat’? what dog he said that wants to take ‘What dog did he say he wanted to adopt?’ b. kakuju imenno sobaku oni skazal čto proi xočet vzjat’? what dl dog he said that wants to take ‘Which dog did he say he wanted to adopt?’ c. *čto za sobaku oni skazal čto proi xočet vzjat’? what for dog he said that wants to take (‘What the hell kind of dog did he say he wants to adopt?’/‘What the hell does he want to adopt?’) Extraction out of adjunct islands shows a three–way contrast: the extraction of interrogative pronominals shows speaker variation (some speakers find it well formed; others, myself included, reject it), the extraction of d-linked wh-words is acceptable, and the extraction of čto za-N′ is uniformly bad: (12) a. b.
%
čto on prixodil čtoby zabrat′? what he came so that to take ‘What did he come here to pick up?’ čto imenno on prixodil čtoby zabrat′? what dl he came so that to take ‘Which thing did he come here to pick up?’
. Unlike its English counterpart, the example in (11c) has a tensed embedded clause, which explains the difference between the English and the Russian extraction effects.
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c. *čto za erundu on prixodil čtoby zabrat′? what for gibberish he came so that to take (‘What the hell did he come here to pick up?’) Next, wh-expressions differ with respect to superiority (although the actual mechanism of superiority is not well understood). In particular, the use of d-linked expressions alleviates superiority, and the appearance of NDLs enhances the violations: (13) a. *What did who buy? b. What did which person buy? c. *What did who the hell buy? d. *What the hell did who the hell buy? In Russian, superiority violations are observed only with čto za N—compare the English examples in (13) with similar Russian sentences (see also Pesetsky 1987: 117–19): (14) a. čto kto kupil? what who bought ‘Who bought and what?’ b. čto kto imenno kupil? what who dl bought ‘What did which person buy?’ c. *čto čto za durak kupil? what what for fool bought (‘What did who the hell buy?’) d. *čto za drjan′ kto kupil? what for trash who bought (‘What the hell did who buy?’) To summarize, island constraints and superiority effects show that čto za-N expressions systematically differ from the other two types of wh-expressions in Russian. The distribution of the Russian čto za-N′ expressions parallels that of NDLs in other languages.
. The ungrammaticality of (14c) has nothing to do with the doubling of čto ‘what’; in (14d) as well as in (i) and (ii) below, there is no such doubling but the superiority violation is still present: (i) *kogo čto za durak priglasil? whom what for fool invited (‘Whom did who the hell invite?’) *čto za durak kogo priglasil? (ii) what for fool whom invited (‘Whom did who the hell invite?’)
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3. Čto za-N′ as a property denotation A larger question is what exactly it is that determines the observable properties of NDLs. In this section, I will show that NDLs have only intensional reference and argue that their semantics determines their pragmatic and syntactic properties presented in the previous section.
3.1 Identification of a referent Unlike the other two types of wh-expressions, čto za is infelicitous with nominals that denote temporary properties or stages. This is manifested in several ways. First, if a noun has a stage-level reading only, it is incompatible with čto za. For instance, in (15), čto za combines with p′janyj ‘drunk’, which is a dedicated stage-level expression, denoting only a temporary state. The result is ungrammatical: (15) *čto za p′janyj èto pridumal? what for drunk this thought up ‘What drunken idiot came up with this?’ The de-adjectival noun p′janyj is contrasted with p′janica ‘drunk, alcoholic’ which has a dedicated individual-level reading denoting a permanent property (see Bulygina 1982: 32–7 for an insightful discussion). (16) čto za p′janica èto pridumal? what for drunk this thought up ‘What drunken idiot came up with this?’ Second, if a noun is ambiguous between the denotation of a temporary or permanent property, čto za-N′ forces it to have a permanent reading. This is apparent in the case of such words as bol′noj ‘sick(ly) person (esp. mentally ill); patient’. With čto za this noun has to be interpreted as expressing a permanent property (17c): (17) a. b. c.
kakoj bol′noj stanet èto pit′? what sickly will this drink ‘What patient will drink this?’ Less preferred: ‘What loony will drink this?’ kakoj imenno bol′noj stanet èto pit′? what dl sickly will this drink ‘Which patient will decide to drink this?’ Not : ‘Which loony will drink this?’ čto za bol′noj stanet èto pit′? what for sickly will this drink ‘What the hell kind of loony will drink this?’ Not: ‘What the hell kind of patient will drink this?’
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Similarly, compare the interpretation of the word prorok ‘prophet’ when occurring with čto za and with the other types of wh-words. This word allows either for a unique identification (prophet Isaiah, etc.) or for an identification of a referent with a property of foretelling the future. (18) a. b. c.
kakoj prorok predskazal takoe? what prophet foretold such ‘What prophet has foretold such a thing?’ kakoj imenno prorok predskazal takoe? prophet foretold such what dl ‘Which prophet has foretold such a thing?’ čto za prorok predskazal takoe? what for prophet foretold such ‘What kind of prophet has foretold such a thing?’ (Not: ‘What/Which prophet has foretold such a thing?’)
A felicitous answer to the question in (18c) is an adjective denoting a permanent property (‘crazy’, ‘unruly’, ‘righteous’); thus, a prophet is understood here as the denotation of a personal characteristic. Such answers however would be infelicitous in response to (18a) or (18b)—these questions entail a reply providing a unique identification such as a proper name or a definite description. Thus čto za again raises the type, which is typical of an intensional operator. So far, we have seen that čto za-N′ receives the reading of permanent property (individual-level), but not temporary property (stage-level), which is compatible with its function of intensional reference marker.
3.2 Čto za and relational nominals The next piece of evidence for the special status of čto za comes from its co-occurrence with relational nominals such as ‘contents’, ‘friend’, ‘opponent’, ‘parent’, etc. A relational nominal has a free variable in its intension, and in order for it to receive specific reference, this variable has to be filled. Relational nominals thus receive the extension from the co-occurrence with the dependent they subcategorize for. For example, the use of ‘contents’ in (19) is appropriate only if the hearer makes a pragmatic accommodation for an entity whose contents are discussed. Such an accommodation enables the hearer to assume the existence of an entity that serves as the reference point for accessing the referent of the contents (Lewis 1979; Krongauz 1984: 120; Langacker 1993; Lambrecht 1994: 65–73). (19) soderžanie nam ponravilos′ contents 1pl.dat liked ‘We liked the content.’ Čto za is the only type of wh-expression in Russian that freely occurs with relational
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nominals without requiring a specific dependent as its reference point. Compare (20) where the potential dependent is non-specific itself, thus unavailable as the source of extensional reference: (20) a. čto za soderžanie možet byt′ u vsjakoj galimat’i? what for contents can be by any balderdash ‘What the hell kind of contents can any nonsense have?’ b. ??kakoe soderžanie možet byt′ u vsjakoj galimat’i? what contents can be by any balderdash (‘What contents can any nonsense have?’) c. *kakoe imenno soderžanie možet byt′ u vsjakoj galimat’i? contents can be by any balderdash what dl (‘Which contents can any nonsense have?’)
3.3 Čto za and proper names Turning to the next property that sets čto za apart from the other types of wh-words, it is incompatible with proper names (unless they are used as common names). Proper names freely occur with the wh-word kakoj (21b); the pragmatic accommodation that the hearer needs to make there is that there are several existing individuals that bear the same proper name. (21) a. *čto za Dunja prišla? what for Dunja came (‘What the hell kind of redneck came?’) b. kakaja (imenno) Maša prišla? which dl Masha came ‘Which of the people called Masha came?’ In those cases where a proper name following čto za is acceptable, this proper name must be understood as common; thus, in the highly ironic (22), the name ‘da Vinci’ cannot refer to the author of Mona Lisa but has to be understood as a generic denotation of an artist. (22) čto za da Vinči takoe namaleval? what for da Vinci such daubed ‘What kind of da Vinci would paint such an awful thing?’ Unless they occur in special contexts, proper names index individuals in the world and cannot serve as property denotations—it is hard to imagine a unifying and constant property for all the people named John or Tiffany. By hypothesis, čto za-N′ is a property denotation, without specific referential content; if this hypothesis is on the right track, then the constraint against co-occurrence with proper names trivially follows.
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3.4 Čto za and indefinite descriptions Definite or possessive expressions, which require a referential reading (Gundel et al. 1993), cannot occur with čto za. This is illustrated in (23a) and (24a): (23) a. *čto za tvoix rodstvennikov my dolžny priglašat′? what for 2sg.poss relatives 1pl must invite (‘What the hell kind of your relatives do we have to invite?) b. čto za rodstvennikov my dolžny priglasit′? what for relatives 1pl must invite ‘What the hell kind of relatives do we have to invite?’ (24) a. *čto za èti duxi tebe nužny? what for these perfume 2sg.dat needed (‘What the hell kind of this perfume do you need?) b. čto za duxi tebe nužny? what for perfume 2sg.dat needed ‘What the hell kind of perfume do you need?’ As (23b) and (24b) show, however, weakly quantified expressions can co-occur with čto za. It also co-occurs with weakly quantified expressions headed by takoj ‘such’, although here the judgments get somewhat degraded: tebe nužny? (25) a. ?čto za takie duxi what for such perfume 2sg.dat needed ‘What the hell kind of such perfume do you need? b. ?čto za takix gostej on nazval? what for such guests he invited up ‘What the hell kind of such guests did he invite?’ In the discourse following a čto za question, the presumed answer to this question cannot license a personal pronoun, and instead has to license a demonstrative—in contrast to the unmarked wh-word which can license a pronoun in subsequent discourse. Compare: (26) čto za slon razbil našu vazu? what for elephant broke our vase my */?togo/*/?ego sejčas nakažem we that.acc/him.acc now will punish ‘What kind of a clumsy person broke the vase? We’ll punish the one.’ (27) kto razbil našu vazu? my ego sejčas nakažem who broke our vase we him.acc now will punish ‘Who broke the vase? We’ll punish him.’
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The personal pronoun serves as a place holder for a specific referent, whereas the demonstrative is serving the function similar to that of the English one, where the reference is to a property, not a specific entity. Again, this characteristic of čto za-N′ follows from its status as a property denotation. To recapitulate, čto za-N′ expressions cannot have a stage-level reading, can include relational nouns but cannot include proper names or strongly quantified NPs, and cannot license pronominal anaphora. All these properties suggest that the expression cannot be interpreted as referring to an entity in the extensional set, but rather must receive the intensional reading.
4. NDLs and other quantified expressions Further support for this conclusion comes from the comparison of čto za-N′ expressions with the quantified NP vsjakij-N′ ‘any N′’. It has been shown independently that vsjakij N is a property denoting expression (Bulygina 1982; Krongauz 1984). Table 2 shows the parallels between the two types of expressions. For comparison, I have also included the universally quantified distributive každyj- N′ ‘each N′’ which is quite different from the other two types. The first three properties listed in the table define čto zaN′ ‘what the hell’ and vsjakij-N′ ‘any N′’ very clearly. Co-occurrence restrictions based on tense and aspect of the relevant predicates are far from clear (Padučeva 1974: Ch. III; Bulygina 1982: 12–30; Krongauz 1984: 117–19; Filip 1995, 1999). With respect to čto zaN′ the constraint seems to be against the perfective in the future tense, for example: (28) a. čto za durak takoe skazal? what for fool such said.perf ‘Who on earth could have said this?’ b. *čto za durak skažet takoe? what for fool will say.perf such (‘Who on earth will say this?’) c. *čto za durak budet govorit′ takoe? what for fool will say.impf such (‘Who on earth will be saying this?’) Table 2 Russian non-specific expressions Reference to individuals (not stages) Co-occurrence with proper names Co-occurrence with strongly quantified NPs Co-occurrence restrictions based on the tense and aspect of the predicate Licensing of pronominal anaphora
čto za
vsjakij
každyj
+ − − +?
+ − − +?
− + + −?
−
+
+
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I do not have an explanation for this constraint nor for the difference between NDLs and the universally quantified polarity NPs in that respect, but I would like to point out that to understand such contrasts we may need a more fine-grained classification of verb types. Without such a classification of verb types, the answers in the respective cells of Table 2 are bound to have question marks. Despite slight differences, NDLs and universally quantified polarity NPs in Russian show strong parallels, which is to be expected if both are non-referential expressions serving as property denotations.
5. By way of conclusion This chapter examined a particular subclass of interrogatives in Russian, the so called aggressively non-discourse-linked wh-expressions (NDLs) which correspond to such English expressions as what on earth or what the hell. These expressions differ from the other two types of interrogatives (discourse-linked wh-expressions, which resemble definite noun phrases, and regular wh-expressions, which resemble pronominals) in a systematic way. First, NDLs differ from other interrogative expressions in that they do not really presuppose an answer that fills the variable with a particular object—rather they are used to express surprise or indignation at an eventuality. This is a feature common to NDLs across languages and it may well be the defining feature of their use. In addition to the strong felicity conditions on the use of NDLs, these expressions also obey a set of structural constraints. In particular, they cannot be extracted out of weak islands; this also seems to be a recurrent feature of these expressions cross-linguistically. The main result of this investigation into the nature of NDLs in Russian is that they differ from interrogative pronominals and discourse-linked expressions both in referentiality and activation. With respect to referentiality, I have argued that the Russian NDLs only have intensional reference, encoding properties, not objects in the world. Universally quantified expressions with ‘any’ are the closest parallel to the NDLs–-nonreferential expressions with intension only. Assuming that NDLs are non-referential, they cannot serve to activate a referent in discourse. Thus they differ from pronouns which index highly activated referents and also from definite descriptions (including discourse-linked expressions) which give the hearer instructions on how to conduct a reference search (cf. Dahl and Gundel 1982). Since an NDL does not contain any instructions on searching for a referent (there simply isn’t one), it is easy to understand why answers to questions with NDL containing the denotation of a specific referent are inappropriate. Next, if there is no referent to hold in the working memory of the language processor, there is no material that can be used as a filler in anticipation of the gap that is coming up (Kluender 1998). It therefore follows that NDLs are bad candidates for extraction out of syntactic islands—regardless of the specific syntactic theory one would use to account for filler-gap dependencies.
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The result achieved here, namely that NDLs are non-referential, and share that property with other non-referential expressions, such as polarity items, is quite close to the conclusion arrived at by den Dikken and Giannakidou (2001, 2002) in their insightful and detailed analysis of similar items in English, Greek, and some other languages. In a way this chapter simply confirms their conclusions, on the basis of different empirical data. Where we crucially differ is the implications of this referential status for the grammatical behavior of NDLs. For den Dikken and Giannakidou, the syntactic properties of NDLs are independently determined in syntax and are tightly connected to the fundamental issues of movement. The approach offered here is different in that I treat the syntactic behaviors of NDLs as derivative of their semantic status. A similar appraoch would involve treating the semantic status of NDLs as primary and the extraction restrictions as only loosely connected to the semantics of NDLs; such an approach goes back to the early work by Erteschik-Shir (1973, 1978) or Karttunen (1977). Whether or not syntax “sees” the featural properties of NDLs is an open question, which may be resolved by tools other than what we conventionally use, for example, by processing measures known to distinguish the semantic and syntactic contribution of linguistic expressions. Before concluding, let me return to the issue that I briefly touched on in the beginning of this chapter, namely, the relative invisibility of NDLs to studies of information structure. This orphan status of NDLs in information-structural research is less accidental than it may originally seem. Categories of information structure are heavily referential, because this is where most distinctions can be observed. For instance, the Givenness Hierarchy (Gundel et al. 1993) makes fine-grained distinctions between definite expressions with highly accessible referents and indefinite expressions whose referents are presumably lower in activation, but all these distinctions are drawn over the terrain of referential (specific) expressions. NDLs and other property denotational expressions simply do not belong in the hierarchy. An obvious question then is how to include NDLs in the more general mapping of information structure. This chapter is just a first step in the direction of including them, so I do not want to pretend to have the answer, but at the risk of being speculative let me offer two considerations. First, recall that NDLs do not form questions the way other Wh-expressions do, and NDL questions are actually closer to exclamatives than to true questions. The information structure of exclamatives is even less clear than the information structure of declaratives or interrogatives, so more work needs to be done in this area to understand the role of NDL questions. Second, researchers of information structure should simply adopt the idea that semanticists have long taken for granted: Wh-expressions form a complex and heterogenous group, with d-linked Wh-expressions resembling noun phrases most closely (cf. Karttunen 1977). Just as reference involves a hierarchy of intermediate steps so do Wh-words, from referential definite to referential indefinite to non-referential, Wh-expressions (which resemble noun phrases) range from ones that resemble referential and specific ones to those expressions that resemble pronouns
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and polarity items, devoid of their own referential content. This need to distinguish various subtypes within Wh-words immediately tells us that not every Wh-expression has to map onto focus, and that we may be looking at very different contributions of dlinked wh-expressions, regular wh-words, and NDLs to information structure. A closer look at the individual contribution of each subclass would allow us to make progress both in our understanding of wh-expressions and in the decomposition of such elusive notions as ‘topic’ and ‘focus’.
Abbreviations acc = accusative, dat = dative, dl = d-linked, instr = instrumental, impf = imperfective, nom = nominative, perf-perfective, poss = possessive (genitive). % in examples indicates that a sentence is fully accepted by some speakers but not others.
References Anagnostopoulou, Elena. 1993. “Discourse linking and subjects in Modern Greek.” In Linguis‑ tics in the Netherlands 1993, ed. By Frank Drijkoningen and Kees Hengeveld, 1–12. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Baltin, Mark. 1996. “On the characterization and effects of D-linking: Comments on Cinque.” In Current issues in comparative grammar, ed. By Robert Freidin, 249–56. Dordrecht: Kluwer. Brun, Dina. 2001. “Information structure and the status of NP in Russian.” Theoretical Linguis‑ tics 27: 109–35. Bulygina, Tat′jana V. 1982. “K postroeniju tipologii predikatov v russkom jazyke.” In Semantičeskie tipy predikatov, 7–85. Moscow: Nauka. Carnap, Rudolf. 1967. Meaning and necessity. 2 ed. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Chung, Sandra. 1994. “Wh-agreement and “referentiality” in Chamorro.” Linguistic Inquiry 25: 1–44. Cinque, Guglielmo. 1996. ““Long” Wh-Movement and referentiality.” In Current issues in com‑ parative grammar, ed. by Robert Freidin, 226–48. Dordrecht: Kluwer. Comorovski, Ileana. 1996. Interrogative phrases and the syntax–semantics interface. Dordrecht: Kluwer. Cornilescu, Alexandra. 2002. “On focusing and Wh-movement in Romanian.” Balkanistica 15: 103–27. Dahl, Deborah A, and Gundel, Jeanette K. 1982. “Identifying referents for two kinds of pronouns.” Minnesota Working Papers in Linguistics and Philosophy of Language 8: 10–29. Dayal, Veneeta S. 1993.-4 “Scope as indirect Wh-dependency.” Natural Language Semantics 2: 137–70. den Dikken, Marcel, and Giannakidou, Anastasia. 2001. “What the hell?” NELS 31: 163–82. den Dikken, Marcel, and Giannakidou, Anastasia. 2002. “From hell to polarity.” Linguistic In‑ quiry 33: 31–61. Erteschik-Shir, Nomi. 1977. On the nature of island constraints. Bloomington: Indiana University Linguistics Club.
262 Maria Polinsky Filip, Hana. 1995. “Boundedness in temporal and spatial domains.” In Cognitive linguistics in the redwoods: The expansion of a new paradigm in linguistics, ed. by Eugene Casad, 655–92. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter. Filip, Hana. 1999. Aspect, eventuality types and noun phrase semantics. New York: Garland. Frege, Gottlob. 1892. Über Sinn und Bedeutung. Zeitschrift für Philosophie und philosophische Kritik 100: 25–50. Gundel, Jeanette K. 1974. The role of topic and comment in linguistic theory. Ph.D. Dissertation, University of Texas at Austin (published by Garland, 1989). Gundel, Jeanette K. 1975. “Left dislocation and the role of topic-comment structure in linguistic theory.” Ohio State University Working Papers in Linguistics 18: 72–131. Gundel, Jeanette K. 1985. “‘Shared knowledge’and topicality.” Journal of Pragmatics 9: 83–107. Gundel, Jeanette K, Hedberg, Nancy and Zacharski, Ron. 1993. “Cognitive status and the form of referring expressions in discourse.” Language 69: 274–307. Karttunen, Lauri. 1977. “Syntax and semantics of questions.” Linguistics and Philosophy 1: 3– 44. Kluender, Robert. 1998. “On the distinction between strong and weak islands: A processing perspective.” In Syntax and semantics 29: The limits of syntax, ed. by Peter Culicover and Louise McNally, 241–80. San Diego: Academic Press. Krongauz, Maxim A. 1984. “Tip referencii imennyx grupp s mestoimenijami vse, vsjakij i každyj.” Semiotika i informatika 23: 107–23. Lambrecht, Knud. 1994. Information structure and sentence form. Topic, focus, and the mental representations of discourse referents. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Langacker, Ronald W. 1993. “Reference-point constructions.” Cognitive Linguistics 4: 1–38. Lewis, John D. 1999. “On multiple Wh-questions: Weak crossover, d-linking, and the third Whphrase effect.” Proceedings of the 18th West Coast Conference on Formal Linguistics (WC‑ CFL), 312–24. McCawley, James D. 1993. Everything that linguists have always wanted to know about logic. 2 ed. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Montague, Richard. 1974. Formal philosophy. New Haven: Yale University Press. Mulkern, Ann E. 1996. “The game of the name.” In Reference and referent accessibility, ed. by Thorstein Fretheim and Jeanette K. Gundel, 235–50. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Obenauer, Hans-Georg. 1994. Aspects de la syntaxe A-barre. Thèse de doctorat d’état. Université de Paris VIII. Padučeva, Elena V. 1974. Semantika sintaksisa. Moscow: Nauka. Pesetsky, David. 1987. “Wh-in-situ: Movement and unselective binding.” In The representation of (in)definiteness, ed. by Eric J. Reuland and Alice ter Meulen, 98–129. Cambridge: MIT Press. Polinsky, Maria. 2001. Information structure and syntax: Topic, discourse-linking, and agreement. Proceedings of the Third Workshop on Spoken and Written Texts. Austin: Texas Linguistic Forum. Prince, Ellen. 1998. “On the limits of syntax, with reference to left-dislocation and topicalization.” In Syntax and semantics 29: The limits of syntax, ed. by Peter Culicover and Louise McNally, 281–302. San Diego: Academic Press. Tanaka, Shichiro. 1995. “In defense of the Agr(P) analysis of Who/Whom alternations.” Linguis‑ tic Analysis 25: 21–69. Zanuttini, Raffaella, and Portner, Paul. 2003. “Exclamative clauses: At the syntax–semantics interface.’” Language 79: 39–81.
part iii
Pragmatics and Social Variables
chapter 12
A grammar in every register? The case of definite descriptions Mira Ariel Tel Aviv University
1. Introduction: Different grammars for different registers? Research in grammaticization has benefited tremendously from statistical data regarding frequency of use. Most functionalists are in agreement that very often the frequent discourse pattern of yesterday is the grammar of today (see Hopper and Thompson 1980, 1984; Traugott and König 1991), because “grammars code best what speakers do most” (Du Bois 1985). Recent research has, in addition, emphasized the importance of less than perfectly general rules (e.g., Thompson 2001). Thus, many have noticed that linguistic expressions have different frequency rates and different distributional patterns in different modalities, registers and genres. Both claims rely heavily on statistical counts of various expressions as they occur within specific discourse profiles. Thus, linguistic expressions are seen as associated with specific discourse profiles, those conditions which prototypically obtain when the expression is used. Such profiles may make reference to pragmatic features of the concept involved (e.g., Agents tend to be Given entities — Du Bois 1987), or they may make reference to contextual circumstances (e.g., y’know tends to occur in informal conversations). Genres seem to be prime candidates for the creation of discourse profiles for linguistic forms. According to Miller (1984; see also Bazerman 1988; Swales 1990), genres constitute recurrent patterns of language use, defined according to social acts/motives. These recurrent patterns are only natural, given that similar social occasions tend to recur, with typical rhetorical problems, which trigger similar responses. Crucially, a genre relates both to substance and to form. Following Biber (1988, 1995) and Biber et al. (1999), I will call “any variety associated with particular situational contexts or purposes” (Biber 1995: 1) a register, so as to generalize over all specifically situated speech (genres included). I propose to examine the nature of the association between linguistic forms and register. . For example, a third of the articles in nine issues of Journal of Pragmatics 33 (20/61) included some specific speech event in the title, thus restricting the applicability of the analysis to a specific discourse variety. For example, “The interactional organization of pharmacist consultations in a hospital setting”; A putative structure (JoP 33: 12), “Meta discourse in slogans and headlines” (JoP 33: 8).
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Formal differences between registers are not hard to find. For example, West (1980) found that that-nominal clauses mostly occurred in the introduction and in the discussion sections of research papers in biology. Heslot (1982) found that simple past tense was extremely frequent in the methodology and the results sections of research papers. Simple present tense, on the other hand is much more frequent in the introduction and the discussion sections. Passive voice is quite prevalent in all sections except for the methodology one. Chafe (1982) found (among many other things) that first-person references are much more frequent in conversations than in written English (13.4 times more so). But is every form that occurs in some register but not others with a statistically significant frequency directly register-dependent? Biber et al. (1995) testify that systematic patterns of use resulting from recurrent communication goals, interpersonal relations between addressors and addressees, and other extralinguistic factors have traditionally not been deemed relevant to the grammar. They too refrain from calling their statistical work grammar. Rather, what the analysis they provide describes is “the actual use of grammatical features in different varieties of English” (p. 4, emphasis added). Indeed, not all patterns of use amount to grammar. I would like to argue that not every statistically significant difference is grammatically significant. For example, as West (1980) explains, that-nominal clauses are perfectly suitable for the introduction and the discussion sections of an article, because they provide a sentential construction for commenting (in the main clause) on statements (encoded in the nominalization). In the introduction, statements are offered on previous claims in the literature. In the discussion, conclusions are drawn from factual results. Given the natural explanation for the high frequency of nominalized clauses in certain sections of the research article, there is actually no need to postulate a direct conventional association between nominalized that- clauses and the specific article sections it tends to occur in. Instead, we can assume that these constructions are used according to their grammatical and discourse functional specifications throughout the research article. It just so happens that for certain sections of the article, writers find them more useful, and hence, tend to use them with greater frequency (see also the motivated frequent use of nominalizations and passives discussed by Halmari and Östman (2001), and the changes in the frequency of relative clauses, nominalizations, adverbial subordinate clauses and abstract subjects in the last 100 years of research articles, as discussed by Bazerman (1988)). Most early studies of register differences (most notably those distinguishing spoken and written English) have adopted precisely this approach. In other words, the frequent linguistic forms are motivated by addressors’ goals, rather than being directly coded for specific registers (e.g. Ochs 1979; Chafe 1982; Chafe and Danielewicz 1987; Biber 1986 and onwards — see also Cumming 1994). The reason for assuming only an indirect link between registers and linguistic forms is quite obvious. As Biber et al. (1999) argue, choices among alternative grammatical forms (e.g., between various referring expres-
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sions) are pragmatically motivated. These pragmatic motivations are crucially dependent on addressors’ goals in the various discourse varieties. It is then quite plausible that the application of one and the same grammar would result in systematically different choices in different registers if the different registers are used for different goals, and are uttered under different circumstances. Thus, Chafe (1982) explains all the differences he found between spoken and written English by reference to a few general characteristics of these two registers: Speaking is faster than writing, and affords a direct interaction between the speaker and her addressee. The very large gap in self-references between spoken and written English is explained by noting that in general, informal conversations are characterized by a high degree of involvement. A similar explanation is provided by Argamon et al. (2003) for the cross-genre (rather modest) differences they found between female and male addressors. Men’s discourse is characterized by a lower involvement style, which accounts for why, for example, they have more definite descriptions than women, and for why women have more second-person pronouns.
1.1 Register-related patterns of referring expressions Both Accessibility theory (Ariel 1985, 1990, 2001) and the Givenness Hierarchy (Gundel et al. 1993) have proposed a general (albeit different) account for the use of referring expressions in general, and of definite descriptions specifically. Both theories hardly address themselves to register differences, although differences between languages are recognized, and there is nothing inherent blocking the assumption of such differences within these theories (in fact, see Ariel 1990: 6.1 and section 4 below). Should these theories be modified in order to accommodate the fact that statistically valid register differences have been found with respect to definite descriptions? I would argue that this is not necessary. A good example of the type of analysis I advocate is Kirsner (1996). Kirsner’s findings (Kirsner and van Heuven 1988) showed that the ratio of the Dutch proximate demonstrative (deze) versus the distal demonstrative (die) was very different in different genres. For example, while the two forms were equally frequent in family magazines, the proximate demonstrative was much more frequent than the distal one in government publications. In general, there was hardly any difference in the frequency of die across genres, but deze was rare in novels but quite frequent in government publications. These distributional patterns undoubtedly constitute different discourse profiles for deze. However, rather than conclude that there are genre-specific use conventions for the proximate demonstrative, Kirsner argued that the different frequency ratios of the two demonstratives stem from the different discourse functions of deze and die. The discourse function of the former (what he terms “high deixis”) is simply more compatible with complex sentences and complex texts. And since some genres (e.g., government publications) contain more complex messages than others (e.g.,
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novels and family magazines), the statistical skewing of the distribution of the two demonstrative forms is accounted for without having to attribute to the deze discourse functions per se a specification about genres as well. Hence, while the discourse profiles of deze remain distinct in different genres, its discourse function remains constant across genres. I propose we offer similar accounts for the register-specific patterns below. More recent findings which I interpret in support of this approach can be found in Swanson (2003), who compares modes of coreference in academic journals, news magazines and fiction narratives, all concerning the Middle East. Swanson carefully analyzes the differences between the three genres (also noting quite a few individual intra-genre variations), and relates these differences to the different goals of the genres. For example, places are hardly ever coreferred to in the narratives, but are often referred to in the academic writing. As Swanson notes, the role of places is quite different in the different genres. In the narratives, places are merely scene setters, so they are transient referents, not often mentioned a second time. Not so for the journals, where territories may constitute a major topic. Similarly, while humans figure prominently as anaphoric entities in all three genres, in the narratives they constitute over 92% of the anaphors. They take up over 43% of the anaphoric references in the magazines, and just under 20% in the academic journals, where they also seem not to be individuated. Indeed, a quick look at the tabulated data shows an ascending use of personal pronouns starting with the academic journals, where they are rather rare, and ending with the narratives, where they are quite frequent. On the other hand, probably since concepts are anaphorically referred to quite often in both the journals and the magazines (14% and 13% respectively) (but not in the fiction), these two text types contain many more elaborate anaphoric definite descriptions. Different goals, then, call for different types of entities. These, in turn, call for different referring expressions. Recently, however, other conclusions have been drawn from register-related distributional patterns. Specifically with respect to referring expressions, some researchers have argued for “different grammars for different genres”. Thus, Fox (1987: 152) concludes that there is no single rule for anaphora that can be specified for all of English . . . instead, we have a variety of specific patterns which obviously share a number of general characteristics, but which nevertheless differ enough to require separate formulations [emphases added].
In fact, Fox also proposes that there are different conventions for different written genres (e.g., narrative versus informative texts, p. 143). Lord and Dahlgren (1997: 339) seem to agree with her: the choice of anaphor is a function of segmentation. Since different genres may have different discourse structures and segmentation options . . ., this finding means that choice of anaphor form is a function of genre [emphasis added].
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And about the distinction between proximal and distal demonstrative distribution, they say (p. 346) that “These patterns . . . have become part of the tacit knowledge of the genre, shared by the writer and reader . . .” [emphasis added]. In other words, these authors are not content to note that speakers’ goals mediate between the register and the distributional patterns. They see a direct link between the linguistic patterns and specific registers. The goal of this article is to examine cases presented in the literature, all pertaining to the use of definite descriptions, all demonstrating statistically significant register differences. I will argue, however, that significant statistical findings do not necessarily reflect significant grammatical generalizations. More controversially, I will tentatively propose that the discourse patterns revealed tend not to grammaticize. The claim is, then, that whereas some statistical findings reflect potential grammar in the making, for others, grammar is quite irrelevant. Some significant statistical differences are to be attributed directly to speakers’ goals in various contexts, rather than to their “specific-register grammar”. Thus, even though speakers employ the very same grammatical rule across different registers, the discourse profiles of the linguistic expression come out differently in different registers, because different goals/functions are better served by different means. The different discourse patterns are then accounted for by factors external to the linguistic forms at hand, and there is no need to assume different grammatical generalizations for different discourse varieties. In section 3, I will present various findings attesting to register-related differences in the distribution of definite descriptions. However, rather than conclude that there are register-specific use conventions for definite descriptions, I will propose that different registers prototypically call for different types of discourse entities. While the discourse function of definite descriptions remains constant across all registers (indicating a low degree of accessibility for the mental representation of the entity referred to), its implementation naturally varies according to the discourse entities involved. In other words, the same grammatical rule, used to encode different entities, will only naturally yield different surface realizations. To give just one example, assuming that definite descriptions code various degrees of low accessibility, it is only to be expected that definite descriptions should be more frequent in registers which call for the use of many low accessibility discourse referents. But before we turn our attention to real statistical differences in the use of definite descriptions, we should distinguish between real register findings, as will be discussed in section 3, and ones which are only apparent, as will be discussed in section 2. The data discussed below is taken from various published sources (Fox 1987; Ariel 1990, 1996; Biber et al. 1999; Wolf and Walters 2001a,b), as well as from a slightly edited narrative examined especially for this chapter (Morris 1994: 129–39), containing 204 referential definite descriptions. Unless otherwise indicated, all the cited examples in this chapter are drawn from Morris (1994), and each example is identified by the page number followed by the number I assigned it.
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2. Language-dependent differences, or what’s discourse anaphoric? The appropriateness condition on the use of definite descriptions is that the entities they refer to are identifiable. Linguists had to then characterize those sources which can provide a basis for this identifiability. It has long been established that our general knowledge, the speech situation and a previous discoursal mention may all enable identification of entities, and thus allow for the use of definite descriptions (see the discussion in Ariel 1988, 1998). It would then seem reasonable to characterize the prototypical discourse profile of definite descriptions by reference to these contexts (see Clark and Marshall 1981, for example). In fact, the three-way distinction among contexts has often been reduced to a two-way distinction: First-mention (based on general or situational knowledge) versus discourse anaphoric (based on prior mention). Indeed, some version of this distinction seems relevant for at least some languages, which seem to distinguish between anaphoric and general knowledge definite articles. According to Lyons (1999), some languages only have anaphoric definiteness articles, while others have distinct forms for anaphoric and general knowledge uses. The anaphoric (including the situational) usage and the general knowledge usage are potentially grammatically distinct, then. No wonder many linguists have attempted to characterize the discourse function of definite descriptions by reference to a first-mention/discourse anaphoric distinction. I have argued, however, that the distinction is not all that easy to make, nor all that important in explaining the use and interpretation of referring expressions. There is no agreement among researchers about what the prototypical discourse profile of definite descriptions is re first-mention vs. discourse anaphoric. Are definite descriptions mainly anaphoric (referring to a previously mentioned entity) or are they mainly first-mention referring expressions? The philosophers, who initiated the discussion of definite descriptions, devoted their analyses to isolated first-mentions (e.g., The king of France). Computational linguists (e.g., Sidner 1979) and semanticists, such as Heim (1982), consider the anaphoric (subsequent mention) use as the basic use of definite NPs. I have found that on the average, about a third of the definite descriptions in my Hebrew written data were first-mentions, and two thirds were discourse anaphoric (see Ariel 1990: 35), but Fraurud (1992) is virtually dedicated to proving the opposite, that overwhelmingly, definite descriptions introduce new entities into the discourse. Maes and Noordman’s (1995) results are closer to Fraurud’s, but are still different: Nearly a quarter of the definite NPs in their written Dutch data are classified as anaphoric. Gundel et al. (2001) find that 44% of the definite descriptions in their data are first mention. So what is the prototypical discourse profile of definite descriptions regarding first versus subsequent mention? Do definite descriptions in different languages simply have different prototypical discourse profiles? It would seem so. Since we all used writ. But note that situational references are grammatically classified with anaphoric, rather than with first-mention uses.
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ten materials as sources, the different discourse profiles could not stem from register differences. However, I do not believe that the differences in the data presented in Ariel (1990), Fraurud (1992), Maes and Noordman (1995) and Gundel et al. (2001) necessarily stem from differences between the languages examined (Hebrew, Swedish, Dutch and English). The bulk of the differences stem from our different conceptions of what should be considered as discourse anaphoric. Fraurud takes a form to be anaphoric only if it is a case of referential dependency, where the addressee’s interpretation must absolutely rely on another expression, necessarily an NP antecedent. Furthermore, that antecedent must form an explicit reference to the very same discourse entity. That is certainly a legitimate semantic approach, and I estimate that in my data too, fewer instances of definite descriptions would count as discourse anaphoric under Fraurud’s restricted definition. However, I believe that in order to account for the specific referring expression selected by the speaker, as well as for the processing involved in the interpretation by the addressee, a weaker notion of discourse anaphora is more fruitful. First, note that an interpretative dependence can be shown even if the material relied upon (as antecedent) is not an explicit mention of a referent. This occurs in (1a), where comments at the bottom in green ink do not constitute an NP, and do not refer to one discourse entity at that stage (see also Garnham et al. 1992 on conceptual anaphors and McKoon et al. 1993 on nonreferential antecedents), and in (1b) where a few propositions (rather than discourse entities) mentioned in the previous paragraph form the antecedent for the same thing:
(1) a. … someone had written comments at the bottom in green ink. One had a naked woman with an older man, and the inked-in comments referred … (131: 65). b. … she told me that … she implied … Then she advised me … And then she said … [New Paragraph] The dean pretty much told me the same thing (133: 105).
Moreover, while we may independently access (i.e., as new) discourse entities such as the university, the state defamation suit and the dean, all referred to multiple times in Morris (1994), the narrative actually requires us to accumulate information regarding the same dean, suit and university. Thus, we need to connect the current reference with previous mentions of that entity, and that entity specifically (in the narrative examined, a few universities and suits are mentioned, and we need to track the “right” one each time). In other words, anaphoric definite descriptions need not have explicitly mentioned NP antecedents on the one hand, and on the other hand, they may be referentially dependent even if they are potentially accessible from our general knowledge store (see also Swanson 2003). . Maes and Noordman do not provide their working definition of an anaphoric usage.
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Note that the second mention of ‘the comments’ above is shorter, omitting the location of the comments (at the bottom) and the color of the ink (green). Indeed, even when a referring expression is not dependent in Fraurud’s absolute way on an earlier linguistic antecedent for its referential interpretation, the degree of accessibility of the mental representation it retrieves tends to be higher, just because the entity/ies has/ve been previously mentioned in the discourse. Textual counts, as well as production experiments, have shown that speakers take these previous mentions into account when they choose the forms of words and referring expressions (see Fowler and Housum 1987; Gurman-Bard 1995). Thus, even if a definite description is used again (rather than a pronoun), it often shows sensitivity to the fact that it is a second mention. (2b), which occurs in the sentence following that of (2a), is another example of shortening:
(2) a. Lurid headlines … appeared in the newspapers every day … (137: 254). b. The papers didn’t begin covering the story … (137: 257).
The shorter form invariably follows, rather than precedes the longer form, since the first mention renders the entity a relatively high degree of accessibility. So, even though one could potentially access the papers from one’s general knowledge, the form selected for it shows that the speaker views it as a second mention. Note that this variation in the degree of informativity and expression length (shorter forms for higher accessibility) is applicable to all referring expressions, as (3) shows for a name ((3b) occurs later in the same paragraph as (3a):
(3) a. They sent me to the academic Vice-president, a man named Leffler … (134: 127). b. … the first thing she did was send a letter to Vice-president Leffler … (134).
Note that the referring expression in (3b), although fully lexical and potentially independently referential, is typically shorter and less informative. In Ariel (1990, 1998), I argued that form variability is manifest even in first-person references, which surely do not depend on a previous linguistic mention (of the speaker) for their interpretation. Thus, in Hebrew, the speaker refers to herself with a full (even stressed) pronoun when deemed relatively less accessible in the discourse, but with a cliticized pronoun (or even zero) when highly accessible in the discourse. Her presence and accessibility in the speech situation remains constant, and cannot then be so crucial in and of itself in determining referential form. Hence, while I agree with Fraurud (1992) that not all previous mentions necessarily serve as the semantic sources for deriving the interpretation of the definite description (and definite NPs in general), I maintain that the form and distribution of all referring expressions often take into account previous mentions, because they are dependent on degree of accessibility, which is affected (among other things) by previous mentions. I am arguing, then, that referring expressions are not . Interestingly, I found an identical set of examples in conversational English — see (Ariel 2001).
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chosen only by reference to their content which is supposed to ensure the addressee’s ability to pick out the right referent (Fraurud’s implicit assumption). Rather, the speaker has to signal in addition the degree of accessibility of the mental representation retrieved. Potential interpretative independence (Fraurud’s definition for first-mentions) does not automatically entail being first-mention. It may merely involve a very low degree of accessibility. My claim has been that potentially independent as well as dependent retrievals are performed by the addressee based on the referring expression chosen by the speaker according to the degree of accessibility it codes. And definite descriptions code a relatively low degree of accessibility, whether anaphoric or first-mention. The classification does not seem to be significant for the use of definite descriptions. Notice, in addition, that we cannot really generalize over the whole category of definite descriptions. Short and long (less vs. more informative) definite descriptions have radically different discourse profiles in fact. Consider the first-subsequent mention distribution for short (1–2 content words) vs. Long (3+content words) definite descriptions: Table 1. First vs. subsequent mention definite description (Table 1.4 in Ariel 1990: 44) Definte description type
First-mention
Discourse-anaphoric
Long definite description Short definite description
96 (65.3%) 84 (21.8%)
51 (34.7%) 302 (78.2%)
While two thirds of the long definite descriptions are first-mentions, as predicted by Fraurud, an even larger majority of the short definite descriptions (78%) are discourse anaphoric. Under Accessibility theory, short definite descriptions indicate a higher degree of accessibility, and hence are on the whole more appropriate for subsequent mentions. Another difference between my definition of discourse anaphoric and Fraurud’s concerns inferred entities (newly introduced entities readily inferable on the basis of a previous mention of an entity closely associated with the inferred entity). While Fraurud takes inferables as new entities, I took them as discourse anaphoric. They are indeed an in-between type of entity. The following is a typical example, where the judge refers to an entity stereotypically associated with the federal court:
(4) The first case was tried in federal court in … Their witnesses said awful things to convince the judge … (136: 206).
Inferred entities are somewhat of a hybrid (see also Prince 1992; Lyons 1999: 4). They crucially rely on a previous discourse representation (the anchor), and in this sense they are not first-mentions. But the specific entity itself has not previously been mentioned in the discourse, and should count as new, therefore. Lyons (1999: 52) notes that in Hausa, the anaphoric definite article (distinguished from the first-mention definite article) is used not only for previously mentioned entities, but also for referents related
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to previously mentioned entities (inferred entities). Inferred entities are then classified with anaphoric entities, rather than with new discourse entities. In fact, in many cases it is very hard to decide whether or not discourse anaphora is actually involved (and I suspect that this is true even for Fraurud’s stricter notion of anaphora). The reason for my decision to count inferred entities as discourse anaphoric and not as first-mentions is based on their linguistic coding: A “true” first-mention of a specific judge would have demanded a more informative referring expression (i.e., one marking a lower degree of accessibility than the short the judge). As it is, the introduction of the court makes the referent ‘the judge’ easily inferable and accessible. O’Brien and Albrecht (1991) find that highly context-appropriate first-mentions are rather easily accessed, and in Ariel (1996) I found that frame-induced entities were only referred to by one content word definite descriptions (normally reserved for entities not entertained at a very low degree of accessibility). Entities retrieved purely from general knowledge, on the other hand, required more informative referring expressions for the most part (see also Gundel et al. 1993 for different forms for different inferred entities). So we can now understand how the different definitions for being discourse anaphoric led different researchers to find different first/subsequent mention ratios for the definite descriptions in their data. I therefore suggest that the different counts presented in Ariel (1990), Fraurud (1992), Maes and Noordman (1995) and Gundel et al. (2001) are not actually important, because they do not necessarily constitute different discourse profiles for definite descriptions. In fact, as I have argued at length (Ariel 1994, 1996), the first vs. subsequent mention is not the determining factor here. Rather, it is the degree of accessibility with which the entity is entertained by the addressee, as judged by the speaker. Being discourse-anaphoric contributes towards a higher degree of accessibility of some mental representation, but neither it or its absence constitute necessary or sufficient conditions for the use of practically all referring expressions.
3. A grammar in every register? Section 3 examines cases where different registers do have different discourse profiles for definite descriptions. I analyze the distribution of first versus subsequent retrievals in 3.1, the relative frequency of definite descriptions versus pronouns in 3.2, and the different referential distances for anaphoric definite descriptions in different registers in 3.3. While all these comparisons show different register profiles for definite descriptions, I will argue that the same discourse function can account for the apparent variability in the use of definite descriptions in different registers.
3.1 First versus subsequent mentions I have argued above that the different ratios for first versus subsequent mentions for definite descriptions in Fraurud (1992) and in Ariel (1990) stem from our different cri-
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Table 2. First-mention versus discourse anaphoric definite descriptions in four text types Text type
First-mention
Discourse anaphoric
Newspaper editorials Semi-academic News items Fiction Total
56 (43.75%) 51 (39.2%) 49 (33.6%) 24 (18.6%) 180 (33.8%)
72 (56.25%) 79 (60.8%) 97 (66.4%) 105 (81.4%) 353 (66.2%)
teria for what counts as discourse-anaphoric. However, other conflicting findings are not similarly reconcilable (e.g., Gundel et al. 2001: Table 2, where the Canadian Parliament transcripts contain three times as many first-mention entities as the spoken TRAINS corpus). Note first the data presented in Ariel (1990), based on four different sources of written materials. All were collected under the same (loose) definition of discourse anaphora. Table 2 is adapted from Table 1.1 in Ariel (1990: 35). Assuming that my looser definition of discourse-anaphoric has some validity, are we really justified in claiming that about two thirds of definite descriptions are discourse anaphoric and a third are first-mentions (the total numbers)? I think not. Should we then say that the ratio of first versus subsequent mention definite descriptions is subgenre dependent (editorials, news items, etc., are all sub-genres of the written genre)? After all, proportionately, there are 2.35 more first-mentions in the editorials than in the fiction, so that whereas the first/subsequent mention ratio for the editorials is almost equal (1.3 more subsequent mentions), there are almost 4.4 times more subsequent than first-mentions in the fiction. The answer is once again negative, I propose. Statistically significant differences are not necessarily grammatically significant. In the narrative examined for this chapter I found an even lower rate of first-mention definite descriptions: 19 (9.3%). Moreover, in Ariel (1985) I compared between two types of news items: Items containing brand new information (e.g., on a robbery) and items containing news concerning an ongoing topic in the news of the time (The Lebanon war). It then turned out that the “sub-genre” of news items split into two sub-subgenres re the first-subsequent mention ratios. The brand-new news items patterned with fiction, whereas the news currently on the agenda patterned with the editorials. These are no doubt distinct discourse profiles for definite descriptions in different text types. But I maintain that the numbers of first versus subsequent mention definite descriptions are unimportant in accounting for their discourse function (except as a basis for a rough comparison with other referring expressions, e.g., pronouns). The distinct discourse profiles above can all be seen to be consistent with an assumption that definite descriptions carry one discourse function: coding a variety of low degrees of mental . The reader should be advised that not every potential second mention was counted as such. Thus, the university’s hallways, as well as the men’s rooms, were mentioned a few times in different sections of this narrative, but since I doubt the addressees actually accumulate the information mentioned in their connection, I counted each as a new (inferred) mention.
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accessibility for the entities retrieved. The differences should be attributed to the different contextual assumptions prototypical of the different genres. I claim that at the basis of the different discourse profiles of definite descriptions above is a difference between the genres as to the common ground appropriately assumed as shared by the writer and the readers. Where the speaker and addressee share more common ground, more entities can be introduced initially as Given (using definite descriptions, for example). Where the speaker and addressee share less common ground, fewer entities can initially be presupposed to be Given. Probably the only similarity between fiction and brand-new news items (both have a low count for first-mention definite descriptions) is that the writer is not in a position to assume a large set of commonly presupposed entities with her addressee. She must therefore introduce most first-mentions as unfamiliar entities. Definite NPs are less suitable for this function. Editorials, on the other hand, mostly comment on topics already on the public agenda, and similarly, in repeated news items on the same topic (The Lebanon war), familiar entities play a prominent role. Such entities can then be taken as Given even in their initial introduction into the discourse, and definite NPs are appropriate. Thus, whereas different registers may very well prototypically involve discourse entities of different types (e.g., many initially shared entities in editorials, few initially shared entities in fiction), leading to different prototypical profiles for definite descriptions, this does not justify the conclusion that the use of definite descriptions is different in the different registers. The same generalization is responsible for the use of definite descriptions in all the genres and sub-genres above, whether they are mostly first-mentions or mostly subsequent mentions: A relative low degree of mental accessibility of the mental representation retrieved, created by a variety of low accessibility factors. Whether this low degree of accessibility is due to the lack of previous mention of the entity in the current discourse (first-mentions) or to the occurrence of a great distance or paragraph or episode boundary between the previous and current mention (subsequent mentions — see 3.3 below) is immaterial. My point is then that statistically significant different counts for different registers do not automatically entail different referential or anaphoric styles for the same forms. While examining definite descriptions in the registers above with respect to first/subsequent mentions may point to different prototypical discourse profiles for definite descriptions in different registers, namely, predominantly anaphoric uses in fiction and brand-new news items, but almost equally anaphoric as first-mention for editorials and recurrent news items, I am claiming that the discourse function of definite descriptions remains constant in all these registers. It has long been a crucial claim of Accessibility theory that the first-mention–anaphoric distinction, or discourse profile is not the relevant distinction for the coding of Given entities (see especially Ariel 1988, 1994, 1996). What matters is the discourse function(s) of the referring expressions (defined in relative degrees of accessibility). It is the degree of accessibility with which the representation is currently maintained that determines the referring expression selected to evoke it. Anaphoricity is not equivalent
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to high accessibility, even though anaphoric references prototypically require a relatively high degree of accessibility, and are therefore often performed by pronouns. And first-mention of Given entities does not automatically entail a very low degree of accessibility, although of course, many first-mention definite descriptions do code discourse entities which are currently entertained with only a low degree of accessibility. Findings in Sanford and Garrod (1981) illustrate this point rather well. In one experiment, subjects read sentences which contained a definite description (e.g., the lawyer). This definite description presented either a new or a second mention entity, and it occurred in a context in which the entity is easily or not easily inferable (in texts entitled “In court” versus “Telling a lie” respectively). Now, if the anaphoric versus subsequent mention is the crucial distinction, we would expect reading times to be distinct for these two conditions. They are indeed different in the nonpredictive context (“Telling a lie”). However, reading times for first versus subsequent mention are not significantly different in the predictive context (“In court”). Crucially, subjects took longer reading the sentence with the anaphoric reference in the nonpredictive context than the firstmention in the predictive context. In other words, predictable first-mention entities are more accessible than second-mention unpredictable entities. Along the same lines, Yekovich and Walker (1986) found that false positive responses to probes not presented in the experimental materials depended on how script-based the concepts were. In other words, having been mentioned does not automatically guarantee a high degree of accessibility, and being a first-mention does not automatically entail a very low degree of accessibility. High inferability means a relatively high degree of accessibility despite the newness. All in all, a previous mention is just one factor contributing towards a higher degree of accessibility. It does not exhaust it. In addition, had the anaphoric-first-mention distinction been a crucial linguistic distinction, one would expect that different referring expressions would specialize for one or the other use. This is not the case for the most part (see Ariel 1988 and onwards). Definite descriptions and names can be and are discourse subsequent-mention sometimes, and even pronouns can be used to initially retrieve a discourse entity. This is why whereas one can certainly characterize the prototypical discourse profiles of definite descriptions in terms of first-mention versus discourse anaphoric, a better account for their use is provided by their discourse function– marking relatively low degrees of mental accessibility. Whether discourse anaphoric or first-mention, definite descriptions (of various kinds) retrieve mental entities entertained at (a variety of) low degrees of accessibility (for distinctions among different definite descriptions see Ariel 1990, 1996, Table 1 above, and below). Consider anaphoric references first. If one looks at anaphoric interpretations as retrievals of entities which vary in the degree of their accessibility to the addressee, one would expect different referring expressions to specialize for different cases of anaphora, specifically, for contexts of low versus high degrees of accessibility. Indeed, whereas 81.3% of the anaphoric pronouns in the data quoted in Ariel (1990): 18 referred to antecedents mentioned in the same or the previous sentence, 83.1% of the anaphoric defin-
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ite descriptions referred to antecedents mentioned at least two sentences away, or even across the paragraph. Taking the anaphoric/first-mention criterion as distinguishing between referring expressions cannot distinguish between definite descriptions and pronouns, since obviously both are used (also) anaphorically. This, however, does not mean that they are interchangeable. Accessibility theory can distinguish between them, because the two expressions differ in the degree of accessibility they code. Next, consider first-mentions of Given NPs. Again, if the anaphoric-first-mention distinction were the crucial one, then the results presented in Ariel (1996) would seem accidental. In Ariel (1996) I argued that first-mentions do not constitute a single category: they too are entities entertained at different degrees of accessibility. The forms used to introduce them vary, and again, it is degree of accessibility which determines their selection. Thus, definite descriptions containing one content word (relatively high accessibility) retrieved first-mentions which were relatively more accessible (84.6%): These were either “permanent generics”, such as the public, or frame induced, i.e., easily inferable from the specific context (e.g., ‘guests’ at a party). On the other hand, definite NPs which contained relative clauses averaged 6.8 content words (very low accessibility markers), and retrieved first-mentions which were not so easily accessible to the addressee (82.3%): Entities which required inferencing based on general knowledge not directly represented in the discourse itself, or entities normally stored differently in the addressee’s memory (for details see Ariel 1996). Thus, I believe that for the form and function(s) of definite descriptions, it is degree of mental accessibility which is the crucial factor, and not the first-mention/discourse anaphoric distinction, nor the discourse profile. Both first-mentions and discourse anaphoric entities manifest a variety of degrees of mental accessibility. From a discourse function point of view, it is therefore not at all important to decide whether the prototypical discourse profile for definite descriptions is as Fraurud (1992) claims it to be (first-mention), or as my data has shown it to be (discourse anaphoric). It is the discourse function they code which determines their proper use, both when they are first-mentions and when they are discourse anaphoric. This, I have argued, is a relatively low degree of accessibility.
3.2 Register differences for definite descriptions vs. pronouns In section 3.2 we look at register differences regarding the use of definite descriptions and pronouns. We examine both the question of frequency and of referential distance. Fox (1987) found a difference in the frequency of definite descriptions and pronouns between conversations and written texts. Whereas the number of pronouns and lexical NPs is almost equal in the written texts (53% pronouns, 47% lexical NPs), there are about 3.5 pronouns per one lexical NP in the spoken data (78% pronouns, 22% lexical NPs). In addition, whereas the referential distance between a previous and a current mention of a pronoun antecedent is 2.5 clauses in her spoken data, it is only 1.2 clauses
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in the written data. Fox then assumes that there are different patterns of anaphora for different genres. Toole (1996) convincingly argued against Fox’s (1987) conclusions. While she too found different discourse profiles for referring expressions in the same genres examined by Fox (Toole’s data is Australian English, however), she nonetheless concluded that the same (Accessibility) discourse functions characterize the use of both pronouns and definite lexical NPs in all the genres examined. By taking degree of accessibility as a complex concept, she was able to prove that full NPs retrieve entities of a low degree of accessibility, and pronouns retrieve mental representations entertained at a high degree of accessibility, regardless of the discourse profiles they participate in. Rather than distance alone (Fox’s measure), Toole combined a few measurements of degree of accessibility, distance being one of them, but also competition and the number of previous mentions. The result was that while the statistical frequency of different referring expressions in different genres was indeed different, the same accessibility discourse function could account for all the findings: the correlation between degree of accessibility and choice of referring expression was significant across all genres at the .01 level. Toole also examined each case which seemed to pose an exception to the assumption of an accessibility discourse function (i.e., full NPs in high accessibility contexts, pronouns in low accessibility contexts). For example, Fox (1987) found a large number of definite descriptions retrieving discourse entities previously mentioned in the previous clause (a high accessibility context in terms of distance): 38% and 11% of the definite descriptions in the written and conversational data respectively. Toole examined all such cases in her own data. She found that she could explain the majority of these cases within Accessibility theory (many of them were clarifications, for example) in that what seemed to be a high accessibility context turned out to be a low accessibility context after all. The same applies to cases where pronouns were used when the context seemed to imply a low degree of accessibility. In other words, what Toole’s research demonstrates is that when the discourse function of some form is properly defined (in this case, degree of accessibility carefully evaluated), significantly different discourse profiles can be shown to follow from the very same discourse functions. Most intriguing is a comparison of Fox’s results with the findings in Biber et al. (1999). While they agree about the predominance of pronouns in conversations (80% of the anaphoric expressions are personal pronouns in their data), Biber et al. al’s counts of personal pronouns in newspapers and academic writings (similar texts to Fox’s choice of written English) show quite a different ratio for pronouns vs. lexical NP anaphors. Their corpus shows fewer pronouns (30% on average, as compared with Fox’s 53%). In addition, whereas Fox finds that the referential distance for pronouns is twice as large in conversations than in her written materials, Biber et al. find the opposite. The referential distance for pronouns is larger in their written materials than in their conversations (by 33.3%). Note, however, that whereas Fox counted clauses, Biber et al. counted number of words. They find that the average distance in terms of words is 15 for conversations and 20 for all their written sources. Comparing Biber et al.’s counts for definite
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descriptions, the average referential distance for conversations is 32.5 words, and 36.25 (11.5% more) in the comparable written materials. These differences are not nearly as impressive as the differences noted by Fox (not to mention the fact that one of them goes in the opposite direction). I propose that the different results for spoken vs. written registers are mainly due to the well known difference in length between spoken and written clauses. Written clauses are significantly longer (see e.g. Chafe 1982), and this may be why in terms of clauses, the referential distance for written English pronouns seems so much shorter to Fox. Apparently, written and spoken clauses don’t constitute comparable accessibility factors because of the differences in length and complexity. However, it is not at all my goal to doubt the generalizability of Fox’s data. In fact, she and Biber et al. did not really even count precisely the same forms: I’m not clear on whether Biber et al. counted anaphoric names, for example. Fox only looked at thirdperson human references. My point is that different registers may very well have different goals and therefore different entities to introduce, and hence significantly different ratios of referring expressions. Unlike Fox, however, I maintain that the principle governing their use remains constant. To see this, compare Tables 3 and 4, adapted from Biber et al. Note how different the proportions of pronouns and lexical anaphors are across the different registers (Table 3), but at the same time how rather similar the referential distance is per referring expression across the very same registers (Table 4). Note that pronouns vary between being rather marginal in academic writings (20%) to being predominant in conversations (80%, a 4: 1 ratio). Repeated (identical) definite descriptions vary between 5% for conversation and 40% for academic writings (a ratio of 8: 1), and synonymous definite descriptions have an approximate 10: 1 ratio (I estimate) in newspapers vs. conversations. These are no doubt highly impressive differences. Now, contrast these large differences in Table 3 with the much more mild differences in Table 4. Table 3. The percentage of various expressions out of all anaphoric expressions (L.T.2.5% (Less than 2.5%) Ref. exp.
Conversation
Fiction
News
Academic writing
Pronoun Def, repeated Def, synonym
80% 5% L.T.2.5%
75% 10% 5%
40% 35% 20%
20% 40% 10%
Adapted from Biber et al.’s Table 4.2, p. 237
Table 4. The referential distance for various referring expressions (in number of words) Ref. exp.
Conversation
Fiction
News
Academic writing
Pronoun Def, repeated Def, synonym
15 30 35
20 45 35
20 40 30
20 40 35
Adapted from Biber et al.’s Table 4.3, p. 239
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In Table 4 the difference between the referential distances of pronouns in different discourse varieties is quite smaller (33.3% more for the written genres), repeated definite descriptions have a maximal 50% difference (between conversation and fiction), and synonymous definite descriptions have a rather marginal difference between the newspapers and the three other genres (16.7%). Thus, in terms of types of preferred referring expressions, there is great variability between the different sources (the gaps in Table 3 vary between 300% and 900%), but in terms of referential distance, the differences vary between 16.7% and 50%. These findings attest that different registers have clear preferences for certain types of entities: conversations prototypically involve highaccessibility entities, whereas academic writings tend to involve low-accessibility entities. But the conditions under which pronouns and definite descriptions are used are quite similar, despite the very large gap in their frequency. The referential distance remains quite constant across genres per referring expression. Definites are not only contrasted with pronouns. They can also be compared to indefinites. These ratios are also genre-sensitive. Assayag (1999) finds that first-person narratives and expository texts (both spoken monologues) differ in their definite versus indefinite subject NP ratios. The former introduce (proportionately) many more definite than indefinite NPs (61 vs. 25, 2.4 times more), whereas the latter introduce more indefinite than definite NP subjects (76 vs. 48, 1.6 times more). This is a clear register difference, which is dictated by the differential nature of the entities referred to in the two registers. In the narratives, speakers talked about the actions of the protagonists, one of these being the speaker herself. These entities are concrete, very often human, and there are only a few of them. They can easily become even highly accessible, therefore. In contrast, the expository text contained complex entities, very often abstract and generic concepts, and there were many of them. Hence, there were more first-mentions in the expository texts. For example, the concept of violence, which repeatedly appeared in the texts (it was the topic the subjects were asked to discuss), remained indefinite even when it was not a first-mention. Given the difference in the entities referred to, it is not surprising to find that the referring expressions employed differ in the two registers. Finally, note that statistically significant genre differences may result from the (intended) violation of Accessibility Theory/The Givenness Hierarchy predictions in one but not in another genre, thus creating a genre distinction. Nesher (2002) examined the first 50 references to first-mention human characters in stream of consciousness novels (SOC, henceforth) and in detective novels in English and Hebrew novels by male and female authors. The expectation is that first-mention entities will be introduced either by indefinites (because the entities are inaccessible) or by low accessibility markers (because the entities are inferable based on general knowledge), but not so much by high accessibility markers (demonstrative and personal pronouns). The detective novels fulfill these predictions: 39% of the entities (78) are introduced by some indefinite NP, . And I maintain that most of the differences present in Table 4 will evaporate once degree of accessibility is calculated by reference to a multiplicity of accessibility factors.
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55% (110) are introduced by names and definite descriptions (low accessibility markers), and only 4.5% (9) are introduced by high accessibility markers. The SOC novels, however, show the same rate only for low accessibility marking 56% (112). It has fewer indefinites (29%, 58), but more high accessibility markers (15%, 30). Incidentally, the rate of definite descriptions is quite similar in these two very different genres: 25% in the detective novels and 29.5% in the stream of consciousness novels. Now, rather than conclude that detective stories and SOC novels have different conventions for using pronouns and indefinite NPs, Nesher concludes that the discourse function of all referring expressions remains constant across the two genres. In SOC novels, however, there is another factor involved, which is in conflict with Accessibility theory. The author in such novels is supposed to directly reflect one’s consciousness (Prince 1987). In other words, the writer of such novels pretends to be a less cooperative addressor, taking the addressee’s state of mind less into consideration. Given these goals of the genre, it is not surprising that SOC novels show fewer indefinites (the entities introduced are not accessible to the addressee, but they are, of course, accessible to the writer) and more pronouns (the entities introduced are not highly accessible to the addressee, but they are so to the writer). In other words, SOC novels show a systematic violation of Accessibility Theory (as well as the Givenness Hierarchy) for special pragmatic effects. Indeed, both theories leave room for such violations. But the main point is that once again, we do not need to directly connect between referring expressions and genre. There are no special conventions for the use of referring expressions in SOC novels. The conventions are the same, but they are violated at higher rates due to the special goals of the genre. Indeed, other findings point to the same “uncooperative” direction for SOC novels. Nesher found that the detective novels introduced 3.6 new characters per page on average, whereas SOCs introduced 4.8 new characters (30.7% more). She also examined the syntactic position used to introduce the new character. As is well known, subject position tends to be reserved for continuing discourse topics. Indeed, whereas 22.5% of the new entities were introduced in subject position in the detective novels 35% of the entities were introduced in subject position in the SOCs (55% more). Finally, a majority of the “uncooperative” high accessibility markers (62.5%) in the detective novels were anchored, i.e., they were inferable based on a previously mentioned salient entity. This was only true for 10.7% of the counterpart cases in the SOCs (5.8 times less). SOC novels then consistently violate Accessibility Theory in order to create an impression that it is the writer’s and not the addressee’s consciousness that lies behind referential choice. For another register-related consistent violation of Accessibility theory for a special effect see Kronrod and Engel (2001), who found that newspaper headlines use too high accessibility markers (intermediate, rather than low accessibility ones) when first introducing entities, in order to both save on space and arouse readers’ curiosity. Finally, Kumpf (2003) finds a consistent register-dependent counterexample to the expectation that Given entities be nonlexical (her claims are couched within Chafe’s (1994) theory). More than a third of the Given entities in her data were coded by lex-
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ical NPs (185/545, 33.9%). This is a surprisingly high rate, and Kumpf proposes that it is the register she is examining which is responsible for this exceptional rate. Kumpf ’s data comes from high school science classroom discourse. Indeed, the great majority of these lexical NPs refer to science terms. Kumpf reasons that teachers tend to repeat the science terms they introduce “to make sure that the full referent is available to all students”, (p. 121). Repeated lexical NPs help teachers maintain the attention of their students, a primary goal for a teacher facing some 30 high schoolers. Given the same set of form-function correlations (be they Accessibility Theory or Givenness Hierarchy ones), the linguistic forms actually selected by addressors may well be consistently different across registers if the functions to be coded (the type of discourse entities) are consistently different. In each case we have seen that it is the difference in the nature of the entities referred to, or else, the special goals of addressors which are responsible for the selection of different forms. And while the nature of the entities is directly dictated by the type of register, there is no direct, conventional association between the specific register and the forms frequently figuring in it. In each register, it is the same Accessibility Theory/Givenness Hierarchy principles which mediate between the register expectations (re entities) and the resulting linguistic expressions (types of referring expressions). Thus, the different frequencies with which definite descriptions are used in different registers can directly be accounted for by their conventional discourse function, and no appeal need be made to the register they occur in.
3.3 Register differences re referential distance of definite descriptions We have seen above that the referential distance of definite descriptions is consistently larger than that of pronouns. This is only to be expected if definite descriptions are low accessibility markers and pronouns are high accessibility markers. Recall further that the referential distance for definite descriptions was not too variable in different registers in Biber et al.’s data (see again Table 4). As a last example of potentially different discourse profiles for definite descriptions in different registers, consider the findings in Table 5 regarding the distance between the last and the current mention of the discourse entity for anaphoric definite descriptions. The first three sources were quoted in Ariel (1990: 42), the fourth presents the results for Morris (1994), which we here focused on. Concentrating on magazine article I and the short story, one could argue for a register difference between newspaper articles and short stories. Thus, whereas same Table 5. The Distance of discourse anaphoric definite descriptions from their antecedents Source
Same paragraph
Previous paragraphs
Magazine article I Magazine article II Short story Edited narrative
36 (50%) 35 (90%) 27 (64.3%) 100 (53.8%)
36 (50%) 5 (10%) 15 (35.7%) 86 (46.2%)
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paragraph antecedents are equally frequent as previous paragraph antecedents for the magazine article, there are almost two same-paragraph antecedents per one previousparagraph antecedent in the short story. However, once we also consider magazine article II and the narrative, the register generalization evaporates: The edited spoken narrative resembles magazine article I (rather than the short story), but the latter does not resemble magazine article II, where same-paragraph antecedents are the overwhelming majority. While the discourse profiles represented in Table 5 are quite different from each other, just like for first vs. subsequent mention, distance alone does not determine referential form. Rather, it is degree of accessibility as a complex notion. In order to see this let us examine more carefully the data in Morris (1994). Such an examination reveals that the differences re distance from the antecedent are not by themselves the key to understanding the proper conditions placed on the use of definite descriptions. It is the cases of same-paragraph antecedents (100 cases) which seem puzzling under an assumption that definite descriptions code a low degree of accessibility, because of the apparently short distance from the antecedent. These cases break down to at least three types, only one of which is a potential problem for the assumption that definite descriptions mark a low degree of accessibility. We examine them all. First, 29 (29%) of the definite descriptions which have a paragraph-internal antecedent refer to that antecedent in a different form than it was initially introduced (a), or else the coreference established is only partial (b), where the department refers to more than its faculty members. As such, their antecedents cannot really be said to be entertained at a high degree of accessibility, of course, despite the relatively short distance:
(5) a. At this time, something had just appeared in the Chronicle of Higher Education about … So I called several faculty women mentioned in the article … (134: 148). b. Several faculty members wrote the dean … the fact that he was disrupting the department (133: 97).
Second, 44 (44%) of the paragraph-internal definite descriptions actually constitute partially new discourse entities, since they are inferred based on a discourse entity previously mentioned (in the same paragraph in this case). As argued above, these cases are hybrids, and cannot be counted as cases constituting a very high degree of accessibility for the referent. Here is a typical example (and so is the judge in (4) above):
(6) They came to Greenwood, Mississippi, and opened a grocery store in the black section of town (129: 9).
Last, 27 definite descriptions (27%) retrieve entities previously mentioned in the same paragraph in roughly the same form as they were previously mentioned. These . See Lord and Dahlgren (1997: 337) for a similar finding. And see the different referential distances for repeated vs. synonymous definite descriptions in Biber et al.’s data quoted in Table 4.
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should be examined individually, for they constitute a potential counterexample to the claim that all definite descriptions in all registers retrieve mental representations of a rather low degree of accessibility. First, it is noteworthy that all of them were quite short (and therefore do not constitute very low accessibility markers): 23 (85.2%) contained one content word, and four (14.8%) contained two content words. Second, while they all retrieve entities previously mentioned in the same paragraph, for many of them (12, 44.4%) the antecedent appears at least four clauses away (the average distance being seven clauses back). Others are used for clarification, due to competing antecedents or because of a combination of accessibility factors (e.g., distance + competition). One is an intended violation for the generation of a Gricean implicature. All in all, three examples seem not to be subsumed under the standard Accessibility explanations. One of them is (2) above, where we still see that the second mention was shortened. Note also that the second mention occurs in a sentence which steps back in time to provide a background for the first-mention sentence (a lower cohesion between the sentences reduces the accessibility of the antecedent — see Ariel 1990: ch. 7, and references therein). Finally, two of these three cases (including 2) refer to very transient discourse entities, and this is their second and last mention. Their antecedents, although close by, do not constitute salient (i.e., highly accessible) discourse entities, as is also attested by their non-subject role. The third case is quoted below:
(7) Privately, we were told that the universityi didn’t want to pay … so theyi were trying … Theyi said …, because however small the chances of theiri winning, there was that chance and I could lose everything. So the universityi … (138: 306).
Note that the last reference to the university switches to a definite description after a chain of pronominal references to it. I believe speakers switch to a low accessibility marker from time to time to reassure their addressees that they have the right referent in mind. Thus, once we calculate degree of accessibility based on a number of factors, rather than on the basis of distance alone, certainly when distance is measured in terms of paragraphs, we see that virtually all definite descriptions refer to discourse entities entertained at (varying) degrees of low accessibility. This relatively low degree of accessibility can be due to the nature of the anaphor, the intended referent, or the relation between them. If the anaphor is not a repeated NP, or if the intended referent is not identical in reference to the antecedent (partial coreference, inferred reference), the degree of accessibility is lowered. Finally, even within a paragraph, the referential distance may be large, creating a relatively low degree of accessibility, especially if there are other inter. Also, according to Gernsbacher and Shroyer (1989), reference by a low accessibility marker boosts the accessibility of the entity for future references. So some low accessibility markers are chosen because of their cataphoric contribution rather than the anaphoric history of the discourse entity involved.
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vening referents. Section 3 has argued that definite descriptions manifest a variety of discourse profiles, if discourse profile is characterized either by reference to first versus subsequent mention (even if we adopt a single, loose definition for discourse anaphora, 3.1), by frequency (relative to pronouns, 3.2), or by reference to the referential distance (for anaphoric definite descriptions, 3.3). If, however, we analyze definite descriptions as low accessibility markers, the different discourse profiles do not translate to registerdependent use conditions. Rather, the different discourse profiles all result from the application of one and the same discourse function, which happens to produce different discourse profiles under different circumstances. These differences are only apparent. First versus subsequent mention and short versus long referential distance demonstrate that accessibility is simply not reducible to single criteria, and register differences only show that the amount of presupposed entities the speaker and addressee share initially consistently varies from one register to another. These different circumstances do affect discourse profiles, but they do not necessitate our positing different discourse functions for definite descriptions in different registers. Surface register differences in the use of referring expressions can therefore be compatible with the assumption of a single discourse function, because the register differences are only indirectly correlated with referential style.
4. Conventional register differences for referring expressions Biber (1995): 10 notes that associations between linguistic expressions and situations may be either functionally motivated, or they may be conventional. I have argued that the cases we have reviewed so far have all been cases where the statistically significant differences among registers are functional, and do not entail register-specific conventions for referring expressions. This does not mean that all such differences are register-insensitive. Comparing between the findings for possessive NPs in the same narrative (Morris 1994 — see Ariel 2002) and definite descriptions (section 3), I see a potentially different role for the prototypical discourse profile I presented for each. Possessive NPs across languages do show the relevance of their prototypical discourse profiles in their grammaticization patterns. To the best of my knowledge, definite descriptions (and other referring expressions) do not tend to grammaticize in a fashion compatible with their prototypical discourse profiles, as these have been described in the literature above. Referring expressions do not specialize for first versus subsequent mentions, nor for . Note that although Lord and Dahlgren (1997) argue for genre differences for referential form and usage, they actually provide explanations similar to mine for the apparent different referential styles, noting the different characteristics of various genres (e.g., the fact that unlike newspaper articles, conversations do not very often have one global discourse topic).
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shorter versus longer referential distances per se. Although some languages have definite articles which are apparently restricted to anaphora versus general knowledge, the “anaphoric” articles can refer to situational and to inferred entities (both first-mention according to Fraurud 1992), and the “general knowledge” articles can refer anaphorically as well (Lyons 1999).10 Section 4, however, briefly surveys a few cases where I believe there to be conventional associations between referring expressions and registers. It is beyond the scope of this article to examine the fascinating question of which discourse profiles are prone to lead to grammaticization and which are not. It would seem to me that register-related distributional patterns are less prone to grammaticization than cross-register discourse profiles, but this question must await further research. In Ariel (1983), I have discussed the discourse function of one specific apposition in Hebrew (mi she . . . ‘who that . . .’), when adjacent to a proper name, as in:
(8) doctor henri kisinger, mi she+ haya sar ha+xuc shel Dr Henry Kissinger, who that was the minister of foreign affairs of arcot ha+brit, hibia etmol et daato . . . the United States, expressed yesterday acc his opinion (Yediot Ahronot, 11.2.1978) ‘Dr Henry Kissinger, former US secretary of state, expressed his opinion yesterday . . .’
I argued that this construction is reserved for first-mention V. I.Ps. Moreover, the construction is restricted to journalistic Hebrew. We here have an example of a referring expression which is restricted (a) to first-mention, and (b) to a specific register. Clancy (1982), analyzing referential forms in spoken and written Japanese narratives, also finds a few differences which seem conventional, rather than pragmatically motivated (although, some differences she does explain as deriving from the different circumstances obtaining in speaking versus writing). For example, put into Accessibility Theory terminology, second mention entities don’t yet merit reference by high accessibility markers (zeros or pronouns) in both registers. However, whereas written Japanese tended to repeat the informative low accessibility marker used for the first mention, spoken Japanese preferred a shorter, less informative lexical NP (e.g., sono hito ‘that person’ in second mention, as opposed to the lengthier otoko no hito ‘male person’). Another distinction noted by Clancy is that third-person pronouns were never used in the spoken narrative. The reason is that in conversation (and only in conversation) personal pronouns “imply a personal relationship between the speaker and the referent” (p. 64). Another type of case where a linguistic form may be register-specific is due to the gradual nature of linguistic change. Most linguistic changes occur in spoken discourse, and hence, innovations may occur with a higher, even absolute frequency in informal 10. Longacre (1979) is the only one who has argued that some languages have pronouns which are restricted to paragraph scope.
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talk. Biber et al. mention the semi-modal verbs (e.g., have got to) which are more common in conversations in this connection. I have noted that spoken Hebrew first/second person future verbs only marginally permit zero subjects (0% in one conversation, 11.3% in another—see Ariel (1990, 2000) for statistics). This is not the case for written Hebrew, where the majority of such cases did have a zero subject (76.5%). As I argued in Ariel (1990, 2000), future tense verbal agreement markers are being reanalyzed as nonreferential, hence the need for an overt (subject) referring expression. This reanalysis is primarily felt in the spoken register. In this case, then, we can say that written Hebrew has a high accessibility referring expression which spoken Hebrew no longer has, namely, the person verbal agreement in future tense. There are, then, cases where a referring expression is restricted to a specific register in a conventional manner. These are cases where the differential distribution cannot be explained on the basis of the extralinguistic, communicative goals of the addressors in the specific register. Note that we cannot say that Hebrew conversationalists never introduce a V.I.P. into their discourse. They most certainly do. When they do, however, they simply lack the conventional means to indicate the V. I.Pness of the character conventionally. They make do with other means available for first mention entities, namely, very informative low accessibility markers. Similarly, it’s not the case that conversationalists cannot repeat full NPs, nor that they only have a personal relation to referents in written Japanese. Finally, it is not the case that speakers and addressees (the referents of first- and secnd-person verbal forms) are consistently less accessible or less frequent in spoken Hebrew than in written Hebrew. If anything, we would expect the opposite, namely that the speaker and addressee should be even more accessible in faceto-face conversations. The difference between spoken and written Hebrew (re the person agreement markers in future tense) must, then, be grammatically specified in this case. First- and second-person verbal agreement markers are a (very high accessibility) referring expression in written Hebrew, but are nonreferential agreement markers in spoken Hebrew. The register differences briefly discussed in section 4 all necessitate specific conventions which are register-dependent. This is not the case for the variety of differences noted in sections 1–3.
5. Conclusions Register differences are real and pervasive. I would argue, however, that for the most part, such differences mainly concern addressors’ goals, and only indirectly manifest themselves formally. We therefore need not assume separate grammars for separate registers (in the majority of the cases). We have here found confirmation for Swales’ 1990 argument that genre cannot be reduced to statistical counting of formulas. Genres define communicative events, each with its recurrent communicative purposes. It is the goals and rationale of the discourse which informs the choice of content and style. Naturally, these have implications for the selection and use of linguistic expres-
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sions because the latter are associated with certain discourse functions, but it does not usually justify the assumption of conventional associations between linguistic expressions and specific registers. The specific register distributional patterns fall out naturally from one and the same grammar because grammar is built to serve many purposes. If we assume a grammatical mechanism whereby linguistic forms are selected by reference to the function intended by the speaker, then the same set of conventions will yield the differential distributional patterns, since we can trust the addressor to let her communicative goals guide her linguistic choices among the alternatives offered by the grammar. In a more philosophical tone, one can say that languages simply cannot afford to have a grammar in every register. It is therefore the cases where we do find form-register conventional associations which are in need of explanation. In fact, one may wonder what is to be considered a discourse profile. Surely had we characterized the discourse profile of definite descriptions by reference to degree of accessibility, I have argued that we would have come up with a much more homogenous pattern for all the registers (provided we controlled for accessibility differences among different definite descriptions). Clearly, we have to follow the actual language user here. It seems that some discourse profiles carry psychological reality (those discussed in section 4), while others (those discussed in sections 1–3) do not. Future research should address itself to the intriguing question of which discourse profiles may acquire a distinct salient status, such that might justify a distinct grammatical convention, and which discourse profiles may not trigger register-distinct grammars.
References Argamon, Shlomo, Koppel, Moshe, Fine, Jonathan and Shimoni, Anat Rachel. 2003. “Gender, genre, and writing style in formal written texts”. Text 23(3): 321–46. Ariel, Mira. 1985. Givenness Marking. Ph.D. thesis, Tel-Aviv University. Ariel, Mira. 1988. “Referring and accessibility”. Journal of Linguistics 24(5): 65–87. Ariel, Mira. 1990. Accessing Noun Phrase antecedents. London: Routledge. Ariel, Mira. 1994. “Interpreting anaphoric expressions: A cognitive versus a pragmatic approach”. Journal of Linguistics 30(1): 3–42. Ariel, Mira. 1996. “Referring expressions and the ±coreference distinction”. In Reference and Referent Accessibility, T. Fretheim, and J. Gundel (eds). 13–35. Ariel, Mira. 1998. “The linguistic status of the ‘here and now’”. Cognitive Linguistics 9(3): 189– 237. Ariel, Mira. 2000. “The development of person agreement markers: From pronouns to higher accessibility markers”. In Usage-based Models of Language, Michael Barlow, and Suzanne Kemmer (eds.). 197–260. Ariel, Mira. 2001. “Accessibility theory: An overview”. In Text Representation: Linguistic and Psy‑ cholinguistic Aspects, Ted Sanders, Joost Schilperoord and Wilbert Spooren (eds.). Amsterdam: John Benjamins. 29–87.
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Ariel, Mira. 2002. “The Possessive NP Construction: Discourse Function and Discourse Profile”. BLS 28: 15–26. Assayag, Nurit. 1999. “Subject Selection in Discourse: Cognitive Constraints and Genre Effects”. MA thesis submitted to Tel Aviv University. Bazerman, Charles. 1988. Shaping Written Knowledge. Madison: The University of Wisconsin Press. Biber, Douglas. 1986. “Spoken and Written Textual Dimensions in English: Resolving the Contradictory Findings”. Language 62(2): 384–414. Biber, Douglas. 1988. Variation Across Speech and Writing. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Biber, Douglas. 1995. Dimensions of Register Variation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Biber, Douglas, Johansson, Stig, Leech, Geoffrey, Conrad, Susan and Finegan, Edward. 1999. Longman Grammar of Spoken and Written English. Essex: Longman. Chafe, Wallace. 1982. “Integration and Involvement in Speaking, Writing, and Oral Literature”. In Spoken and Written Language: Exploring Orality and Literacy, Tannen, Deborah (ed.). Norwood, NJ: Ablex. 35–54. Chafe, Wallace. 1994. Discourse, Consciousness, and Time. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Chafe, Wallace and Danielewicz, Jane E. 1987. “Proprties of Spoken and Written Language. Comprehending Oral and Written Language”. In Comprehending Oral and Written Lan‑ guage, Rosalind Horowitz and S. J Samuels (eds.). New York: Academic Press. 83–113. Clancy, Patricia M. 1982. “Written and Spoken Style in Japanese Narratives”. In Spoken and Written Language: Exploring Orality and Literacy, Tannen, Deborah (ed.). Norwood, NJ: Ablex. 55–76. Clark Herbert H and Marshall, Catherine. 1981. “Definite Reference and Mutual Knowledge”. In Elements of Discourse Understanding, Arvind K Joshi, Bonnie L Webber and Ivan A Sag (eds.). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 10–63. Cumming, Susanna. 1994. “Functional Categories in the Lexicon: Referent Introduction in Indonesian Novels”. In Text 14: 4 Special Issue: Discourse and Grammar, Sandra A Thompson and Paul J Hopper (eds.). 465–94. Du Bois, John W. 1985. “Competing Motivations”. In Iconicity in Syntax, John Haiman (ed). Amsterdam: John Benjamins. 343–65. Du Bois, John W. 1987. “The Discourse Basis of Ergativity”. Language 63(4): 805–55. Du Bois, John W, Kumpf, Lorraine E, and Ashby, William J (eds.). 2003. Preferred Argument Structure: Grammar as Architecture for Function. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Fowler, Carol A. and Housum, Jonathan. 1987. “Talkers’ Signaling of “New” and “Old” words in speech and listeners’ perception and use of the distinction”. Journal of Memory and Lan‑ guage (26), 489–504. Fox, Barbara A. 1987. Discourse Structure and Anaphora: Written and Conversational English. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Fraurud, Kari. 1992. Processing Noun Phrases in Natural Discourse. Ph.D. dissertation, Stockholm University, Stockholm. Fretheim, Thorstein and Gundel, Jeanette K (eds.). 1996. Reference and Referent Accessibility. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Garnham, Allan, Oakhill, Jane and Cruttenden, Hannah. 1992. “The Role of Implicit Causality and Gender Cue in the Interpretation of Pronouns”. Language and Cognitive Processes 7(3/4): 231–55.
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Gernsbacher, Morton Ann and Shroyer, Suzanne. 1989. “The Cataphoric Use of Indefinite this in Spoken Narratives”. Memory and Cognition 17(5): 536–40. Gundel, Jeanette K, Hedberg, Nancy, and Zacharski, Ron. 1993. “Cognitive Status and the Form of Referring Expressions in Discourse”. Language 69(2): 274–307. Gundel, Jeanette K, Hedberg, Nancy, and Zacharski, Ron. 2001. “Definite Descriptions and Cognitive Status in English: Why Accommodation Is Unnecessary”. English Language and Linguistics 5(2): 273–95. Gurman-Bard, Ellen. 1995. “The Control of Intelligibility in Dialogue: The Messy, the Sticky, and the Oyster-catcher’s Egg”. Presented at Haifa university, April 4. 1995. Halmari, Helena and Östman, Jan-Ola. 2001. “The Soft-spoken, Angelic Pickax Killer: The Notion of Discourse Pattern in Controversial News Reporting”. Journal of Pragmatics 33: 805–23. Heim, Irene R. 1982. The Semantics of Definite and Indefinite NPs. Ph.D. dissertation, University of Massachusetts, Amherst. Heslot. 1982. “Tense and Other Indexical Markers in the Typology of Scientific Texts in English”. In Pragmatics and LSP, Jorgen Hoedt (ed.). Copenhagen: Copenhagen School of economics. 83–103. Hopper, Paul J and Thompson, Sandra A. 1980. “Transitivity in Grammar and Discourse”. Lan‑ guage 56:(4): 251–99. Kirsner, Robert S. 1996. “The Human Factor and the Insufficiency of Invariant Meanings”. In Toward a Calculus of Meaning, Edna Andrews and Yishai Tobin (eds.). Amsterdam: John Benjamins. 83–106. Kirsner, Robert S and van Heuven, Vincent J. 1988. “The Significance of Demonstrative Position in Modern Dutch”. Lingua 76: 209–48. Kronrod, Ann and Engel, Orit. 2001. “Accessibility Theory and Referring Expressions in Newspaper Headlines”. Journal of Pragmatics 33: 683–99. Kumpf, Lorraine E 2003. Genre and Preferred Argument Structure: Sources of argument structure in classroom discourse. In Du Bois et al. eds. 109–30. Longacre, Robert E. 1979. “The discourse structure of the flood narrative.” Journal of the Ameri‑ can Academy of Religion 47(1): 89–133. Lord, Carol and Kathleen Dahlgren. 1997. “Participant and Event Anaphora in Newspaper Articles”. In Essays on Language Function and Language Type Dedicated to T. Givón, Joan Bybee, John Haiman and Sandra A Thompson (eds.). Amsterdam: John Benjamins. 323–56. Lyons, Christopher. 1999. Definiteness. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Maes, Alfons A and Noordman, Leo G M. 1995. “Demonstrative Nominal Anaphors: A Case of Nonidentificational Markedness”. Linguistics 33: 255–82. McKoon, Gail, Ward, Gregory, Ratcliff, Roger, and Sproat, Richard. 1993. “Morphosyntactic and Pragmatic Factors Affecting the Accessibility of Discourse Entities”. Journal of Memory and Language 32: 56–75. Miller, Carolyn R. 1984. “Genre as Social Action”. Quarterly Journal of Speech 70: 151–67. Morris, Celia. 1994. Bearing Witness. Boston: Little, Brown and Company. Nesher, Ilana A. 2002. “Genre and Reference: Does Genre Have An Influence on Reference?” Seminar paper, Tel Aviv University (in Hebrew). O’Brien, Edward J and Albrecht, Jason E. 1991. “The Role of Context in Accessing Antecedents in Text”. Journal of Experimental Psychology: Learning, Memory and Cognition 17(1): 94–102. Ochs, Elinor. 1979. “Planned and Unplanned Discourse”. In Syntax and Semantics, Vol. 12: Dis‑ course and Syntax, Talmy Givón (ed.). New York: Academic Press. 51–80.
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Prince, Ellen F. 1992. “The ZPG Letter: Subjects, Definiteness, and Information-status”. In Dis‑ course Description: Diverse Linguistic Analyses of a Fund-raising Text, William C Mann and Sandra A Thompson (eds.). Amsterdam: John Benjamins. 295–325. Prince Gerald. 1987. A Dictionary of Narratology. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press. Sanford, Anthony J and Garrod, Simon C. 1981. Understanding Written Language. Chichester: John Wiley and sons. Sidner, C. 1979. Towards a Computational Theory of Definite Anaphora Comprehension in Eng‑ lish Discourse. TR-537. Cambridge, Mass: MIT. Swales, John M. 1990. Genre Analysis. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Swanson, Wendy. 2003. Modes of Co-Reference as Indicator of Genre. Bern: Peter Lang. Tannen, Deborah (ed.). 1984. Spoken and Written Language: Exploring Orality and Literacy. Norwood, NJ: Ablex. Thompson, Sandra A. 2001. “Constructions and Conversation”. Paper presented at the Inter‑ national Conference on Cognitive Linguistics, July, 2001, UC Santa Barbara. Toole, Janine. 1996. “The Effect of Genre on Referential Choice”. In Reference and Referent Ac‑ cessibility, T. Fretheim, and J. Gundel (eds). 263–90. Traugott, Elizabeth Closs and Ekkehard König. 1991. “The Semantics–Pragmatics of Grammaticalization Revisited”. In Approaches to Grammaticalization, Elizabeth Closs Traugott and Bernd Heine (eds.). Amsterdam: John Benjamins.189–219. West, G. K. 1980. “That-Nominal Constructions in Traditional Rhetorical Divisions of Scientific Research Papers”. TESOL Quarterly 14: 483–9. Yekovich, Frank R and Carol H Walker. 1986. “Retrieval of Scripted Concepts”. Journal of Mem‑ ory and Language 25: 627–44.
chapter 13
Apologies — form and function “I think it was your foot I was stepping on.”* Suellen Rundquist Saint Cloud State University
1. Introduction Most studies of apologies focus on one of three things: a taxonomy of the form (see Fraser 1981; Owen 1983; Olshtain and Cohen 1983); cross-cultural studies (e.g., Trosborg 1987; Garcia 1989; Meier 1998; Suszczynska 1999), or politeness and face (Obeng 1999; Meyerhoff 1999). The present study, however, focuses on the interaction of form and function. This study reveals, first, that speakers apologize indirectly, without using the conventionalized formulas, and, second, that forms recognized as apologies do not always function as such. Although the men and women in the data set examined do apologize directly, what sets this study apart from previous work is the evidence that the speakers also apologize indirectly, that the apology form and the function do not always occur together, and that the occurrence of the apology form does not guarantee its function. Here I present results of a study of apologies made in natural conversation in social and family situations. The data analyzed are from taped conversations of members of a small speech community in two different situations: families at dinner and adults at dinner parties. Members of this speech community are middle-class, middle-aged friends and neighbors with similar educational backgrounds from the Upper Midwest Region of the United States. Two independent reviewers as well as several participants in the study contributed insights to the data analysis. A number of other studies of speech acts use questionnaires or role play situations to elicit data, the advantage being that one can obtain a large corpus. Fraser (1981) indicates that his study contains “several hundred examples of apologizing [collected] through personal experience, participant observation, responses of role playing, and from reports provided by friends and colleagues” (266). Holmes’ (1989; 1990) corpus contains 183 examples, collected by observation by a number of different observers. She defends her method as follows: “it seems sensible to observe in as wide a range of situations as possible to obtain some idea of the range of context in which apologies * I wish to thank Professor Jeanette Gundel for her mentoring, her encouragement, and her suggestions on the many versions of this chapter.
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occur, the type of offenses which are fruitful in eliciting them, and the kinds of social factors which appear to be related to different types of apology. This information can then provide a basis for further study of particular aspects of apologizing where the relevant social variables can be more carefully controlled for contrastive purposes”(1990: 165). From Holmes’ perspective, this study is a “further study” of a particular aspect of apologizing. The disadvantage of examining apologies in natural speech is that the frequency of this speech act is not high; thus generalizability is limited. Furthermore, if context is key to understanding indirect utterances in general, then natural speech is necessary to understand them, and generalizability will always be limited. Only 51 examples were found in sixteen hours of conversation. The advantage, however, for the approach taken in the present study is that, as suggested by Holmes, social variables are controlled, and we can examine the strategies actually used in making apologies in natural conversation by a small speech community. In studying a group of people who know each other well, one would expect that the apologies performed would be different from apologies that people perform in public among strangers. Further, one might expect that apologies differ when comparing the two settings in this study, that of family versus that of friends. In Fraser 1981 one factor considered when examining apologies was “the relative familiarity between the interactants” (268). Fraser found that “as the degree of familiarity increases between interactants, the need (or at least the perceived need) to provide elaborate apologies decreases. Husbands and wives reported apologies frequently taking the form of ‘Oops,’ ‘No good,’ ‘I’m an idiot’ and the like, where the utterance does not even specifically refer to the act in question,” nor does it explicitly acknowledge responsibility or express regret for the act (269). “It appears that under such familiar circumstances, each works on the assumption that the other will ‘fill in’ the missing parts” (269). Holmes’ 1990 study of “Apologies in New Zealand English” also shows “a tendency for apologies to begin with explanations, and even to consist of explanations alone, to intimates more often than to nonintimates. Intimacy evidently permits shortcuts and substitutions” (187). Both Fraser and Holmes indicate that this type of apology, an indirect apology, needs more work or inferencing on the part of the addressee, and that one would be more likely to demand this of an intimate than of a stranger or even a friend. Finally, Wolfson (1986; 1988; 1989) proposes a theory of social interaction she calls “the Bulge,” where “there is a qualitative difference between the speech behavior which middle-class Americans use to intimates, status unequals, and strangers on the one hand, and to nonintimates, status-equal friends, coworkers, and acquaintances on the other” (1988: 32). In other words, the extremes of social distance, not knowing someone at all and knowing someone intimately, elicit similar behavior, while relationships in the center, i.e. among friends and coworkers, show behavior different from the two extremes. Based on Fraser, Holmes, and Wolfson, then, it is probable that there will be a difference in how people apologize when addressing family members at dinner, who are intimates, and when addressing friends at dinner.
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2. Definition of apology Among the approaches to defining an apology in the literature, there are two that I wish to discuss here. The first looks at form, at the speech act of apology itself, listing words and phrases that indicate that an apology is taking place, while the second stresses its function and the effect an apology has on the person or persons involved. Examples included here of the first approach, examining the form of an apology, can in particular be found in Owen, 1983, Fraser, 1981, and Olshtain and Cohen, 1983. Owen (1983: 63) identifies key words for apologies, listing three types: (i) contains some form of the word apology, including apologies or apologize; (ii) is a form of to be sorry; and (iii) is a sentence beginning with I’m afraid, such as ‘I’m afraid I’ve stepped on your foot.’ She notes that type (ii) “be sorry” is the most common type of apology, but that all three types are “primarily remedial moves that are essentially ritual in nature i.e. they do not relate to substantive issues by attempting to reduce the blame assignable to the offender . . .” (92). Fraser (1981: 263) lists nine strategies for apologizing, from what he describes as the most direct, “I (hereby) apologize . . .” to less direct strategies, such as “That was my fault,” or “Please let me pay for the damage I’ve done.” Olshtain and Cohen (1983) formulate an ‘apology speech act set’ which collapses Fraser’s nine strategies into five ways in which people apologize, provided they perceive the need to apologize, as given as example (1):
(1) 1. there may be an expression of an apology, which usually contains the verb apologize, forgive, excuse, pardon, or be sorry; 2. there may be an explanation or account of the situation, that is, a statement intended to “set things right”; 3. there may be an acknowledgement of responsibility, e.g. accepting blame, “It’s all my fault”; expressing self-deficiency, “I didn’t see you”; recognizing the other person as deserving an apology, “you are right”; or expressing lack of intent, “I didn’t mean to”; 4. there may be an offer of repair, “I’ll pay for it”; 5. or there may be a promise of forbearance, implying that the apologizer will prevent the offense from recurring, “It won’t happen again”. (22–3)
The authors note that (4) and (5) are situation specific and therefore not always relevant, but any of (1) through (3) individually or together may be used in an apology. I maintain, as Fraser indicated, that (1) is the most direct type of apology, and that if you bump into someone and say, “I didn’t see you,” you are performing a more indirect apology than if you say, “Excuse me. I didn’t see you.” Within Olshtain and Cohen’s category 1 (hereafter O-C1), the expressions “Excuse me” and “I’m sorry” are not always used interchangeably. Borkin and Reinhart (1978) differentiate the usage of these two expressions by stating that “I’m sorry is basically an expression of dismay or regret about a state of affairs viewed or portrayed as
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nfortunate by the speaker. It is not necessarily tied to occasions in which the regretu table state of affairs is the responsibility of the speaker . . . ;” and that Excuse me is a formula used to remedy a past or future infraction of a social norm (60–1). They also suggest that in situations where both expressions are appropriate, as in (a) I’m sorry, what did you say? or (b) Excuse me, what did you say? that (a) is more informal and that (b) puts more distance between the speaker and the hearer (61–2). Thus “excuse me” can be pretty consistently interpreted as an apology, while “I’m sorry” may be an apology or may be an expression of sympathy for the speaker. Further, Owen differentiates between the use of “I’m sorry” and just “sorry” by showing that the latter is used either for insignificant offenses or when the speaker and hearer have a close relationship (67). As an example of the second approach, stressing the function and effect of an apology, Goffman (1971: 113) defines an apology as “a gesture through which an individual splits himself into two parts, the part that is guilty of an offense and the part that dissociates itself from the delict and affirms a belief in the offended rule.” Thus the apologizer is acknowledging guilt, acknowledging the existence of the social rule that was broken, and promising not to commit the offense again. According to Goffman, “apologies represent a splitting of the self into a blameworthy part and part that stands back and sympathises with the blame giving, and, by implication, is worthy of being brought back into the fold” (113). Leech (1983), also focusing on function and effect, emphasizes the relationship between the speaker (s) and the hearer (h): “Apologies express regret for some offence committed by s against h - and there is no implication that s has benefited from the offence. Nevertheless, an apology implies a transaction, in that it is a bid to change the balance-sheet of the relation between s and h. If the apology is successful, it will result in h’s pardoning or excusing the offence . . . . Apologizing, like thanking, can be regarded as an acknowledgement of an imbalance in the relation between s and h, and to some extent, as an attempt to restore the equilibrium” (124–5). Thus in defining an apology by form, one could take any of several frameworks proposed. Olshtain and Cohen’s framework is used here to analyze the data for several reasons: first, it goes beyond the conventionalized phrases of overt apologies; second, it includes situations covered in Fraser’s taxonomy but in a more compact manner; and finally, a precedent for using it has been set by Holmes (1990: 166–7) and Suszczynska (1999). According to Suszczynska, “the model has been empirically developed and its universal applicability has been successfully tested on various languages” (1056). A definition of an apology according to function, then, includes Goffman and Leech’s ideas. An apology is a gesture where the one who apologizes does at least one of the following: · · · ·
acknowledges guilt for an offense; acknowledges that s/he has broken a social rule; acknowledges an imbalance in the relationship; attempts “to restore the equilibrium.”
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An apology may or may not be successful in terms of resulting in a pardon, but if a pardon occurs, one can surmise that the apology function has taken place.
2.1 Indirect apologies The definition of indirectness used here is that a speaker is indirect anytime the meaning conveyed within a conversational context is not directly encoded by the syntactic and lexical content of the utterance (see Grice 1975; Searle 1975; Blum-Kulka 1987; 1990). Understanding the intended meaning is often not possible without the context in which the utterance occurs. An indirect apology, then, is a gesture that functions as an apology in terms of the definition of function above, but it does not have the conventionalized forms discussed. The apology is not directly encoded by the syntactic and lexical content of the utterance. Any statement that excludes an overt marker such as Olshtain Cohen (O-C)1, that is, an expression of an apology (apologize, excuse, forgive, pardon, be sorry), but that includes an apology function as specified above, can be considered an indirect apology.
2.2 Apology form without function It is also possible to use the apology form without the function. Blackman and Stubbs (2001) studied apologies using manipulated situations. Based on their data, they conclude that “apologies in some cases may be nothing more than scripted responses to ease a socially awkward situation . . .” (50). Indeed, when a person says, “I apologize,” even though the form is present, one can question the function or its sincerity (see Austin 1962: 83–7).
3. Data To begin with, Table 1 shows the number of apologies in the data. The first items on Table 1, (1) simple apology, (2) apology and explanation, (3) apology, explanation and acknowledgment of responsibility, and (4) apology with a more complex message attached, include easily recognizable apology forms that also function sincerely as apologies. The sub-total of these can be found in (5). With the next item on the table, item (6), the situation becomes more complex. There were four occurrences of apology forms that were clearly not functioning as such. In fact, their sincerity is in question. However, it is item (7) on the table, indirect apologies, with the function of an apology but no clear form, that makes the data interesting. Note that there are twenty examples of this type of apology in the corpus. Finally, item (8) notes an unusual event, where an apology form was used with no intent to apologize but for a different function entirely. (See Section 3.5 below for an explanation of this non-functioning apology.)
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Table 1. Type and number of apologies in corpus Type Direct Apologies 1. Simple apology (ritualized) 2. Apology and explanation 3. Apology, explanation and acknowledgment of responsibility 4. Surface apology with complex message 5. Sub-total: sincere with apology form Insincere Apologies Sarcasm Indirect Apologies Apology function without form Anomaly Apology form with different function Total, all forms
Number 13 5 2 6 26 4 20 1 51
The following sections, Section 3.1 through Section 3.5, provide examples illustrating the categories presented in Table 1.
3.1 Direct apologies The examples in this section illustrate apologies that correspond to the conventional form that is anticipated in a situation where an apology is demanded or expected.
3.1.1 A simple apology: ritualized politeness
The first examples presented here contain phrases from O-C 1, and can thus be considered direct apologies. Furthermore, there appear to be no indirect messages built in to these utterances of apology. One might also say that these examples illustrate ritualized politeness within this society. The speakers are following the conventionalized rules where an apology form is expected in these situations. What is important is the form; the function is to show compliance to societal expectations. In examples (2), (3) and (4) the speakers are all using the simple conventionalized expression, “excuse me.” In example (2) the speaker is simply excusing himself for coughing, a socially correct response. Within this society a formulaic apology is expected in this situation.
(2) Matt: (Coughs) Excuse me.
In (3) Amy has just interrupted Suzanne in the course of conversation. She apologizes here for the interruption, again an expected ritual of politeness, and Suzanne then allows Amy to continue speaking.
. The anonymity of participants is protected by name changes. //=interruptions and overlaps; [hhh] = general laughter; bold type indicates stress.
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(3) Suzanne: Um Amy: Oh, excuse me, Suzanne. Suzanne: No, you go right ahead. Amy: No, I was just gonna say . . .
In (4) the woman is apologizing for having misspoken, for her own inexactness, beginning with “We’ve gone out,” but then making a repair, changing it to “We didn’t get out . . . ”
(4) Amy: We have golfed. We’ve gone out (.) excuse me we didn’t get out as much this summer as we did last year.
In (5) the family had agreed to tape four conversations over a one-month period of time. Several months later the man made his usual announcement at the beginning of a session on tape, indicating the number and the date, and the woman then apologized to the researcher for having taken so long in completing the taped conversations.
(5) Richard: This is our fourth tape. October ninth. Amy: We’re sorry.
By using “we’re sorry” she is including the entire family in the apology, implying that more than one of them were responsible for the delay. Within the data set there were thirteen tokens of this type in the corpus (see Table 1).
3.1.2 An apology and explanation
The following examples are more elaborate, going beyond the ritualized expressions. Examples (6), (7), and (8) are also direct apologies, but contain elements not only from O-C 1, but also from O-C 2, an explanation of the situation.
(6) Family is just beginning the meal. Sarah: Oh, I didn’t cut the bread. Sorry.
(7) (Children are discussing going to the store to buy candy.) Father: Shh! No, I don’t think you need to buy any more candy. Child: Ooh! Father: Sorry.
(8) Discussion has been about a music group that played all day at the local elementary school. Sarah: I made all these cookies. I took them all down to them, Matt. Sorry. They hadn’t had lunch.
In (6) the speaker begins with an explanation of the situation (O-C 2), “I didn’t cut the bread,” and continues with the O-C 1 expression, “sorry.” In example (7) the father, . Although there are many utterances by children in the corpus, there are no examples of children performing an apology.
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Matt, provides the explanation first (O-C 2), “I don’t think you need to buy any more candy,” and then a simple “sorry” (O-C 1), indicating that he is sorry that he has to say no to their request to buy candy. In (8) Sarah is apologizing, “Sorry”, O-C 1, for not saving any cookies for her husband. She then includes an explanation for her actions, O-C 2. The use of “sorry” in these examples is consistent with Borkin and Reinhart’s (1978) theory that “sorry” is preferred in informal situations as well as Owen’s (1983) theory that the use of “sorry” is an indication of a close relationship. All three of these situations are among family members. This type of apology occurred five times in the corpus.
3.1.3 An apology, explanation, and acknowledgment of responsibility
Example (9) not only contains elements from O-C 1 and O-C 2, but also adds an acknowledgment of responsibility, O-C 3.
(9) Sam: Would you please pass the bread? If it’s not too much trouble to anyone? [hhh] Don: Hmm. Which kind of bread would you like? Suzanne: Excuse me. I forgot to light the candles. And I’m not gonna // light all of them. Don: /Oh no// no, don’t light the candles. They’re new. Save the candles. [hhh] Don: You can use ‘em next time. Suzanne: Right. I’m not gonna light them all.
In example (9) Suzanne, the woman hosting the party, apologizes for forgetting to light the candles on the table, using a simple conventionalized expression from O-C 1, “excuse me”, while also including both an explanation of the situation (O-C 2) and an acknowledgment of responsibility (O-C 3) in the single phrase, “I forgot.” Only two examples of this type occurred in the data.
3.2 Direct surface apology with more complex message The examples in this section are still direct apologies with a minimum of O-C 1 elements. However, a more complex message accompanies the direct apology, frequently in indirect form. There were six tokens of this general type in the speech in the data set.
3.2.1 An apology ‘plus’
A seemingly simple direct surface apology appears in the following examples, but what distinguishes these examples from those in the previous section is an indirect message accompanying the apology.
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(10) Matt: They did a study that acrylic socks are// Sarah: //soccer is really popular. Sam: Excuse me, Matt? Matt: They did a study that acrylic socks are better for your feet to prevent blisters than cotton. In (10) Sam did not hear Matt’s comment. By saying “excuse me,” O-C 1, he is on the one hand apologizing for not hearing what Matt had just said and at the same time is indirectly asking him to repeat his comment, indicated by the standard rising intonation of a question. This is the interpretation that Matt gave it as well, as he immediately repeated his utterance. The use of “excuse me” here is more formal than “sorry” and may be used to put some distance between the speaker and hearer (Borkin and Reinhart). Perhaps the speaker is using this distancing as a way of indirectly admitting a weakness, that he did not hear the comment. (11) Gillian: Why doesn’t she ever like to come? Suzanne: Well . . . you know, I think she’s just getting a little . . . she’s having little . . . mental problems as she gets older. I think she’s just getting worse. Gillian: Worse? Suzanne: Yeah. Gillian: See . . . see now that implies there was a problem before . . . worse. Suzanne: Oh. I’m sorry. In (11) the stressed “oh” followed by a short pause and a stressed “I’m” suggest that Suzanne is apologizing for implying that the person being discussed had some sort of previous problem. When questioned about this example, Suzanne indicated that she was apologizing for making the implication, not because it is untrue, but because she didn’t wish to pursue that line of conversation. Thus here, accompanying the direct apology, is the implicature that she does not wish to discuss the previous “problem.”
3.2.2 An apology with an explanation
The following two examples continue this thread of burying an indirect message within the direct apology. These examples include O- C 1 and O-C 2, a direct apology with an explanation or account of the situation. (12) Discussion is of relatives getting together for Thanksgiving. Gillian: Where were you for Thanksgiving? Here? Suzanne: We went to Ann and Tom’s. Gillian: Oh, you did. Suzanne: Yeah. Gillian: Oh that’s right, you said you just got back. Suzanne: Yeah, um, we haven’t done that for a while and ,um, Jack and Linda
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had talked about coming for Thanksgiving. So Ann and Tom said [to us], “You be sure to come.” Please! Amy: Gillian: Please come! [hhh] Amy: Oh. I’m sorry but I read [Ann’s] card to Martha. What can I say! In (12) Amy, by saying “I’m sorry,” is apologizing to the rest of the group for making an inside joke that many of the others do not understand. Note that the stress pattern is identical to Suzanne’s apology in example (11). She then gives an explanation or account of the situation by saying that she has read a postcard written by Ann and thus has inside information. She is using O-C 1, “I’m sorry” along with O-C 2, an explanation or account of the situation. An indirect message that is successfully expressed here, though, is that Amy has access to information that wasn’t necessarily meant for her to know, and to which the others do not have access. The other participants are indeed left with the feeling that she knows more than they do. In example (13) the mother begins with the apology form of “sorry” (O-C 1) and continues with an explanation of sorts (O-C 2). (13) (Lisa, the mother, has been talking about having to kill a squirrel for a biology class in college.) Child 1: Mom! Child 2: Ooh! Lisa: Well, sorry. At least you know what things I’ve suffered in my life. I’m a better person for it, I’m sure. Children: (hhh) Here the mother is apologizing for discussing a gross topic, at least the children have reacted to it as a gross topic. In her account of the situation, however, she exaggerates the importance of this event in her life to the point where the children know she is joking and laugh at her comments. Her indirect message seems to be that we all have to do unpleasant things in life from time to time, that most of them aren’t great tragedies, and that we can only hope these experiences will be to our benefit.
3.2.3 An apology, explanation, and acknowledgment of responsibility In example (14) we find elements of O-C 1, O-C 2, and O-C 3. (14) (At the dinner table.) Matt: Do [you] have a water pitcher? Suzanne: Oh, yeah. Oh I’m sorry. I forgot. No, that’s alright. I’ll get it. Matt: This example begins with an indirect request, since the question is not eliciting a yes/ no answer regarding the possession of a water pitcher, but is instead a request for more
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water. The woman begins by responding to the question, rather than the request, but then immediately responds to the request by apologizing for not offering more water to the guest, using expressions that fit into O-C (1) through (3). She apologizes with “I’m sorry” and then, within one phrase, “I forgot,” both gives a reason (O-C 2) and expresses her self-deficiency (O-C 3). What adds to the complexity of this example is the woman’s initial response, “Oh, yeah.” As stated above it can be taken as a direct response to the question, “Do you have a water pitcher?” However, it also serves as an indicator that her memory has been jogged, that the “light bulb” has suddenly been turned on. Example (15) also includes elements of O-C (1) through (3). (15) Sam: Excuse me, Sarah, I didn’t hear what you wanted. In (15) the speaker is apologizing (O-C 1) and, like example (14), within the single phrase “I didn’t hear what you wanted,” is overtly providing an explanation (O-C 2) while at the same time expressing self-deficiency (O-C 3). However, like example (10) above, this direct apology for not hearing the woman’s utterance is also serving as an indirect request for her to repeat it, giving it more complexity than a direct apology.
3.3 ‘Non-apology’ apologies The following examples contain the apology form but the intent of an apology is absent. These do not function as sincere apologies. O-C 1 is present in each of these utterances, making them appear on the surface as direct apologies. But in examining the context in each exchange there is reason to doubt the sincerity of the speaker in making an apology. (16) Family has been discussing how the daughter doesn’t like the casserole that is being served. When she is asked if she wants some, she replies “un peu.” David, the father, gives her some. Child: Can I have some more risotto? David: You want some more? Child: Yeah. Un Peu. And bread. Colette (mother): [you] pick at the peas. [father serves child some risotto] Child: That’s enough! David: Oh, sorry. Do you want some more? Child: I said “un peu.” In (16), after the child has asked for ‘a little’, David, the father, initially apologizes for giving his daughter more casserole than she wants, with “sorry.” But by immediately asking the question, “Do you want some more?” he is canceling the sincerity of the apology, teasing his daughter.
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(17) Child1: May I have some water? Phillip: No, sorry, we’re all out. Child2 to Child1: But they’re lying. Even I think they’re lying. Example (17) shows a similar strategy on the part of a father, where he initially apologizes to his daughter for being out of water, but the premise of being out of water is so ridiculous that it cancels the sincerity of the apology. Even the older child reveals her understanding of the situation - “they’re lying.” In Grice’s (1975) proposed theory of conversation he defines a particular type of indirectness that he calls “flouting” the maxims, which results when the speaker does not observe a maxim but expects the addressee to know that the maxim is not being observed, thereby inferring something beyond what was said. In both (16) and (17) the fathers use an apology form in an unstressed, understated way, but are not sincere, are in fact teasing or flouting Grice’s maxim of quality – “do not say what you believe to be false.” (See Rundquist 1992 regarding fathers flouting Grice’s maxims of conversation). (18) Discussion has been of a local school principal. Participants indicate that this principal will soon retire. (Many people do not like this person.) Lisa: [the principal] is retiring at the end// Sarah: //yeah, he’s retiring in two years. That . . . he’s made that public. Don: I’m sorry, Matt! In (18), everyone in the group knows that Matt does not like this principal, so when the speaker says, “I’m sorry, Matt,” everyone knows that he is being sarcastic, not sincere, another example of flouting the maxim of quality. Even though the surface form of an apology is here, an apology is not the intention.
3.4 Indirect apologies In this section the examples show no evidence of a direct apology form but illustrate, in various ways, the apology function. There were twenty examples of this type of apology in the corpus.
3.4.1 Conventional Indirectness: apology function—no directness in form
Examples (19) through (21) illustrate the act of apology without the apology form. Olshtain and Cohen’s Apology Speech Act Set and Leech’s notion of equilibrium are used to show how this is possible. Example (19) involves a married couple. The man is eating and spills food from his fork onto his lap.
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(19) Sam: I need training with these forks, Suzanne. I can’t . . . they’re too long. I keep spilling. Suzanne: Oh, sorry. Should I give you the small one? Sam: Yeah. My little one, the one that goes over my fingers. In this example, since Sam has spilled, an apology is called for on his part. Note that O-C 2 is present, with an explanation of the situation (i.e., the forks are too long!), and O-C 3, an acknowledgment of responsibility, is represented (“I keep spilling”), but there is no conventionalized expression of apology in the man’s speech. This is a good example, then, of an indirect apology. The example is further complicated by what appears to be an apology by Suzanne. On the surface it seems that she is induced to apologize for the length of the forks, giving the impression that it is somehow her fault, that she is accepting responsibility for the forks being too long! However, she continues with an offer of “the small one,” making a joke of the situation. The man picks up the joke with a reference to a child’s fork, “the one that goes over my fingers.” (20) Matt spills salad on the carpeting. He doesn’t say anything but looks deliberately at Suzanne, the host of the dinner, elaborating his embarrassment. Suzanne: (Softly) Nobody saw it, Matt. The situation in (20) calls for an apology, but none is given verbally. Suzanne’s response indicates that she accepts his physical demeanor as an apology, truly an indirect apology, since there is no evidence of a speech act. But since the hearer, in a position to do so as host of the dinner, excuses the offense, the apology is successful. Equilibrium is restored. In the following example Sam has accidentally stepped on Dianne’s foot, another occurrence that calls for an apology. (21) Sam: I think it was your foot that I was// Dianne: //Yes. It’s okay// Sam: //stepping on here. In saying what he says, Sam is giving an explanation (O-C 2) and acknowledging responsibility for the action (O-C 3). However, there is no syntactic surface statement that relates to a direct apology. It is successful, as indicated by Dianne’s response. The next example is from parent-child data. The child is angry with her father for shouting at her. She has refused to speak throughout a portion of the family conversation. After much effort he has succeeded in easing her back into the conversation. She asks where the oars and pump for a rubber raft have come from, and the father responds with (22), which can be interpreted as an apology (See Rundquist, 1992). (22) Sam: The oars and the pump were purchased separately by your generous father . . . masquerading as the mean ogre . . . who lives here . . . and shouts. Child: And doesn’t like people to talk!
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Notice that the conventionalized language of apology does not appear here. There is no “I’m sorry for shouting at you” overtly stated. One might say that there is an account of the situation, given with the intention of “setting things right.” And one might also say that the father is acknowledging responsibility, by referring to himself as “masquerading as the mean ogre who lives here and shouts.” Thus one could argue that O-C 2 and O-C 3 of the Apology Speech Act Set are there, even if they are not in the form one would expect. This father is attempting to restore the equilibrium. This, then, is an example of apologizing while avoiding the appearance of an apology. The child’s response indicates that she at least recognizes his attempt at apologizing. She knows that she will not get into trouble by talking back to him.
3.4.2 Function without form for humor.
In (23) through (25) the evidence of an apology is even less obvious. The man in each case is attempting to be funny, to diffuse the situation by making others laugh, thus avoiding an overt apology. (23) (Breakfast on a camping trip. The woman has been complaining about spending all her time making meals.) Lisa: Do you want toast? Do you want toast instead of caramel rolls? Carter: I’d rather have a plain piece of toast . . . I don’t want jelly on my toast either . . . I just want it plain . . . no butter . . . If you have a moldy piece, I’d like that even better.
In example (23) instead of giving a conventional apology such as “I’m sorry you’re working so hard when we’re on vacation” or “I’m sorry we’re so demanding,” Carter grossly exaggerates his response. He is implicating in a humorous way that he doesn’t want to be any trouble, that she certainly shouldn’t put herself out for him; but there is also an implication that he is sorry that she has worked so hard. He is indirectly acknowledging responsibility (O-C 3) and humorously attempting to make amends (O-C 4), without actually appearing to apologize. Elements of Olshtain and Cohen’s categories are not overtly stated; he has not said “I apologize” or “forgive me;” he has not even said “It’s all my fault”, O-C 3, acknowledging responsibility, or “Let me help you,” O-C 4, an offer of repair. In fact, the woman in this situation has indicated to me that her husband would never overtly apologize, that this is as close as he gets, using humor to break the tension, to recreate harmony. However, the function of an apology is evident, a very indirect apology, when interpreted within this context. This speaker is “acknowledging an imbalance” in the relationship and “attempting to restore the equilibrium”. Again, it appears to work, as the woman lightens up after this. In examples (24) and (25) the speakers, on the surface, appear to be denying the need to apologize. There is no overt evidence of an apology, direct or indirect. However, within the context for each, there is an indirect meaning conveyed that makes these examples worthy of further examination.
(24) Child: Matt: Child: Matt: Child: Matt:
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Dad, remember when you said Sam’s a wimp? Now . . . I didn’t say that. Yes you did. No I didn’t. Yes you did. Sh. Not so loud. I did not.
Earlier in the conversation Matt, the father, did say “Sam’s a wimp.” Instead of saying, “I apologize for saying that,” or “I didn’t really mean it,” Matt is over zealously denying something that everyone, including the child, knows is true. His humorous, over-zealous denials actually convey the message that he knows he said this. He acknowledges that he has broken a social rule, which is a function of an apology. Note especially the phrase, “Sh. Not so loud.” So the indirect message, not stated in the surface structure, is that he is at least acknowledging responsibility (O-C 3) for having said this, and showing an awareness of its unacceptability. (25) Child: Carter: Child: Carter: Child: Carter:
Well, you were snoring last night. No I wasn’t. Yes you were! I was trying to cover my ears. I was awake last night. So I couldn’t have been snoring. You were snoring. You should have heard. I think it was Mom.
In (25) Carter, the father, is also protesting too much. Instead of saying, “Oh I’m sorry. Did I keep you awake?” he is, through humor and making a game of it, showing the child that the surface meaning of his words should not be taken seriously. His blatant denials that he was snoring are functioning as an apology. He is acknowledging his own guilt, attempting to restore the equilibrium. Examples (24) and (25) could be taken at face value as denial of responsibility, as denying the need to apologize. However, within the context for each, there is an indirect meaning conveyed that puts them into a different category. Because what they say is so obviously untrue, there is at least an implied awareness of guilt, or acceptance of responsibility. Moreover, the humor involved encourages the audience to accept the situation and to bestow a pardon on the speaker. Thus the function of an apology is recognized by the participants.
3.5 Apology form — no apology function; pure entertainment To emphasize the point that the men in this study play with the concept of apologies I conclude with this example. The family just finished a quick meal in the car while traveling. The teen-aged son was driving the family car with his father sitting in the pas. Proof that he said this is on the tape.
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senger’s seat. Because of a bumpy road the son’s cup of Sprite (soda) tipped over into his father’s shoe, which was lying on the floor directly beneath the cup. Sam, the father, very quickly picked up the shoe and poured the contents out of the window. (26) Sam: I’m sorry I didn’t pour that Sprite back into your cup. Son: That’s okay. Sam: I should’ve at least asked. Sam includes an overt apology (O-C 1) and an acknowledgment of responsibility (OC 3 - “I should’ve at least asked”). However, he is clearly flouting the maxim of quality, the sincerity of the apology speech act, since what he is apologizing for, for not pouring the Sprite back into the cup so that the son could drink it, is not what one would expect or want to have happen. He is acknowledging guilt, but there is no guilt to acknowledge. The tone of voice is calm and contrite, mimicking an actual apology, and the son’s response is the same, mimicking a pardon, indicating that he is going along with the game. This example of an overt apology in form is, in function, clearly not an apology.
4. Analysis As discussed in Section 1, one might expect that forms of apologies will differ when a speaker apologizes to a family member versus a friend. There is strong evidence in support of this premise in these data. In examining the most direct forms of apology, one finds that all of the uses of “excuse me” occur in the data collected among friends, none among family. This corroborates Borkin and Reinhart’s (1978) idea that “excuse me” is not only a formulaic response to remedy an infraction of a social norm, but that it is also a more formal type of apology. Within family conversations among intimates, all direct apologies consist of the simple “sorry.” Example (26) is the only one where the more elaborate “I’m sorry” occurs, and this example, while being in the form of a polite apology, does not function as one. The use of this more elaborate form with the pronoun makes an even stronger contrast between form and nonfunction. Although “excuse me” is the preferred form in the data collected among friends, both “I’m (we’re) sorry” and “sorry” also occur in these data. However, “sorry” as used in examples (17) and (19) within families is not a sincere apology, as was discussed. Thus one might say Owen’s (1983) claim that just plain “sorry” is used either for insignificant offenses or when there is a close relationship between hearer and speaker is upheld. In comparing the uses of “excuse me” and “I’m sorry” in the data collected among friends, one finds that “excuse me” has a more formal feeling and tends to put more social distance between the speaker and hearer, as predicted by Borkin and Reinhart (1978). Finally, since no data from strangers were included in this study, one cannot relate the results directly to Wolfson’s Bulge theory (1986; 1988; 1989). However, in comparing
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the category of intimate and family members with the category of friends and acquaintances, as illustrated above, one can see that there is a difference in behavior regarding apologies.
4.1 Indirect Apologies Almost 40% of the examples in the data set are considered indirect apologies, having the function of an apology but not the overt form of O-C 1. Within these examples are found evidence of an acknowledgment of guilt or a broken social rule, an acknowledgment of an imbalance in the relationship with an attempt to restore the balance, or evidence of a pardon.
4.2 Indirectness and Gender Although the main focus of the present study is apology form and function, a few observations on gender of the speaker are appropriate. The women in the data set show a greater preference for the direct apology: “I’m sorry,” “Excuse me,” than do the men. Owen claims that these expressions are “primarily remedial moves that are essentially ritual in nature” (1983: 92). Even though an apology can be considered a threat to the speaker’s face, Tannen states that women “do not instinctively balk at risking a onedown position” (1990: 232). If the women do think of these phrases as ritualized formulas, it follows that using these expressions will not be costly to them. It is also possible that the women recognize a trade-off in using a direct apology; they get something in return. In other words, these women maintain face by addressing the face needs of others (Brown and Levinson, 1987). Because this culture values the apology form, by directly apologizing in a given situation, one can gain good will very quickly and efficiently and also gain the appearance of being polite. The apologies found in the men’s speech vary from the women’s in two ways: first, the men use the ritualized apology forms to convey messages other than apologies; and second, they apologize indirectly more frequently, not using ritualized forms. The majority of the examples of indirect apologies, where the function is evident but the form is obscure, are found in the men’s speech. While the men in the data do directly apologize, they also use the surface form of apologizing in situations where an apology clearly is not intended, and they frequently apologize indirectly in situations that call for an apology. In these cases one can conclude that the men may be avoiding the appearance of apologizing, for whatever reason. They are not avoiding an apology, since evidence of Olshtain and Cohen’s categories 2 and 3 as well as the functions of an apology - acknowledgment of guilt, a broken social rule, an imbalance in the relationship with an attempt to restore the equilibrium are present. Also, an acceptance by the hearer can be found in these examples. Tannen suggests that men are less likely to put themselves in a one-down situation. Avoiding an apology would allow the speaker to avoid the onedown position. Avoiding the appearance of apologizing will also allow the speaker to
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avoid the one-down position, while at the same time acknowledging societal expectations. The men are still able to maintain face while indirectly addressing the face needs of others.
5. Conclusion The focus of the present study has been on form and function of apologies in natural conversation, revealing that form and function do not always accompany each other. This study is of a small group of people who interact on a regular basis. Even though most of us think that we understand the term indirectness within our own speech, Wierzbicka (1991: 88–104) suggests that when examining and comparing different cultures the notions of directness and indirectness are far from clear. Each culture has its own values and thus one cannot predict the values of indirectness in one culture given those of another. To interpret the data in this study it was thus necessary at times to include participants. Only other members of the speech community could fully interpret some of the more obscure messages. Finally, indirectness has different functions within this society. It is often equated with politeness (e.g., Lakoff 1973; 1975; Ervin-Tripp 1976; Searle 1975; Leech 1983; Brown and Levinson 1987; Kerbrat-Orecchioni 1997; in contrast see Davison 1975; Blum-Kulka 1987). It has been related to face, both positive and negative (e.g., Brown and Levinson 1987; Jorgensen 1996; Kerbrat-Oreccioni 1997). And it has frequently been equated to powerlessness (e.g., Lakoff 1975; 1990). Tannen (1993b) points out that indirectness is found in the speech of both those with power and those without. In any interpretation of linguistic indirectness there is a possibility of ambiguity; in Tannen’s words, “the interpretation of a given utterance and the likely response to it depend on the setting, on individuals’ status and their relationship to each other, and also on the linguistic conventions that are ritualized in the cultural context” (1993b: 175). Thus the apologies in this study, direct or indirect, can best be interpreted through theories of pragmatic inference that include reference to the social and cultural contexts of the language users (See Mey 2001; Haberland and Mey 2002; see also Marmaridou 2000). More empirical studies of both the form and function of apologies in different settings are necessary to complement these data and to further our understanding of the pragmatics of apologies.
References Austin, J. L. 1962. How to Do Things with Words, 2nd edition. J. O. Urmson and Marina Sbisa (eds). Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Blackman, M. C. and Stubbs, E. C. 2001. “Apologies: Genuine admissions of blameworthiness or scripted, sympathetic responses?” Psychological Reports 88(1): 45–50.
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Blum-Kulka, Shoshana. 1987. “Indirectness and politeness in requests: Same or different?” Jour‑ nal of Pragmatics 11: 131–46. Blum-Kulka, Shoshana. 1990. “You don’t touch the lettuce with your fingers: Parental politeness in family discourse.” Journal of Pragmatics 14: 259–88. Blum-Kulka, Shoshana, House, Juliane, and Kasper, Gabriele (eds.). 1989. Cross-Cultural Prag‑ matics: Requests and Apologies. Norwood, N. J.: Ablex Publishing. Borkin, Ann and Reinhart, Susan M. 1978. “Excuse me and I’m sorry.” TESOL Quarterly 12: 1: 57–69. Brown, Penelope and Levinson, Stephen C. 1987. Politeness: Some Universals in Language Us‑ age. Cambridge University Press. First published in 1978 in Esther N. Goody (ed.): Ques‑ tions and Politeness Cohen, Andrew D. and Olshtain, Elite. 1981. “Developing a measure of sociocultural competence: The case of apology.” Language Learning 31(1): 113–34. Cole, Peter and Morgan, Jerry L. (eds.). 1975. Syntax and Semantics: Speech Acts, vol. 3. New York: Academic Press. Coulmas, Florian (ed.). 1981. Conversational Routine. The Hague: Mouton. Davison, Alice. 1975. “Indirect speech acts and what to do with them.” In Cole and Morgan, 143–85. Ervin-Tripp, Susan. 1976. “Is Sybil there? The structure of some American English directives.” Language in Society 5: 25–66. Fine, J. (ed.). 1988. Second Language Discourse: A Textbook of Current Research. Norwood, N. J.: Ablex. Fraser, Bruce. 1981. “On apologizing.” In Coulmas, 259–71. Garcia. Carmen. 1989. “Apologizing in English: Politeness strategies used by native and non-native speakers.” Multilingua 8–1: 3–20. Grice, H. P. 1975. “Logic and conversation.” In Cole and Morgan, 41–58. Goffman, E. 1971. Relations in Public: Microstudies of the Public Order. New York: Basic Books, Inc. Haberland, Hartmut and Mey, Jacob L. 2002. “Linguistics and pragmatics, 25 years after.” Jour‑ nal of Pragmatics 34: 1671–82. Holmes, Janet. 1989. “Sex differences and apologies: One aspect of communicative competence.” Applied Linguistics 10: 2: 194–213. Holmes, Janet. 1990. “Apologies in New Zealand English.” Language in Society 19: 155–99. Holmes, Janet. 1993. “New Zealand women are good to talk to: An analysis of politeness strategies in interaction.” Journal of Pragmatics 20: 91–16. Jorgensen, Julia. 1996. “The functions of sarcastic irony in speech.” Journal of Pragmatics 26: 613– 34. Kerbrat-Orecchioni, Catherine. 1997. “A multilevel approach in the study of talk-in-interaction.” Pragmatics 7: 1–20. Lakoff, Robin. 1973. “The logic of politeness; or, minding your p’s and q’s.” Proceedings of the Ninth Regional Meeting of the Chicago Linguistic Society, 292–305. Lakoff, Robin. 1975. Language and Woman’s Place. New York: Harper and Row. Leech, Geoffrey N. 1983. Principles of Pragmatics. Longman. Marmaridou, Sophia S. A. 2000. Pragmatic Meaning and Cognition. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins Publishing Company. Meier, A. J. 1998. “Apologies: What do we know?” International Journal of Applied Linguistics 8–2: 215–31.
312 Suellen Rundquist Mey, Jacob L. 2001. Pragmatics: An Introduction, 2nd ed. Oxford: Blackwell. Meyerhoff, Miriam. 1999. “Sorry in the Pacific: Defining communities, defining practices.” Lan‑ guage in Society 28: 225–38. Obeng, Samuel Gyasi. 1999. “Apologies in Akan discourse.” Journal of Pragmatics 31: 709–34. Olshtain, Elite and Cohen, Andrew D. 1983. “Apology: A speech act set.” In Wolfson and Judd, 18–35. Owen, Marion. 1983. Apologies and Remedial Interchanges: A Study of Language Use in Social In‑ teraction. Berlin: Mouton Publishers. Rundquist, Suellen. 1992. “Indirectness: A gender study of flouting Grice’s maxims.” Journal of Pragmatics 18: 431–49. Searle, John R. 1975. “Indirect speech acts.” In Cole and Morgan, 59–82. Suszczynska, Malgorzata. 1999. “Apologizing in English, Polish and Hungarian: Different languages, different strategies.” Journal of Pragmatics 31: 1053–1065. Tannen, Deborah. 1990. You Just Don’t Understand: Women and Men in Conversation. William Morrow and Company, Inc. Tannen, Deborah (ed.). 1993a Gender and Conversational Interaction. New York: Oxford University Press. Tannen, Deborah. 1993b “The relativity of linguistic strategies: Rethinking power and solidarity in gender and dominance.” In Tannen 1993a, 165–88. Trosborg, Anna. 1987. “Apology strategies in natives/non-natives.” Journal of Pragmatics 11: 147– 67. Wierzbicka, Anna. 1991. Cross-Cultural Pragmatics: The Semantics of Human Interaction. New York: Mouton de Gruyter. Wolfson, N. 1986. “Research methodology and the question of validity.” TESOL Quarterly 20: 4:689–99. Wolfson, N. 1988. “The bulge: A theory of speech behavior and social distance.” In Fine, 21–38. Wolfson, N. 1989. “Problems in the comparison of speech acts across cultures.” In Blum-Kulka, House, and Kasper, 174–96. Wolfson, N. and Judd, Elliot (eds.). 1983. Sociolinguistics and Language Acquisition. Rowley, Mass: Newbury House.
chapter 14
Subjectivity, perspective and footing in Japanese co-constructions Polly Szatrowski University of Minnesota
1. Introduction Grammarians have accounted for phenomena such as Japanese person restriction and perspective in deictic verbs in grammatical terms. However, evidence from an analysis of co-constructions suggests that pragmatics may override these grammatical accounts in spontaneous conversations. In this chapter I analyze subjectivity, perspective and footing in 50 co-constructions that were used in 38 spontaneous Japanese conversations. I define co-construction as the creation of a relative clause, clause, sentence, complex sentence, etc. by two or more participants. Footing refers to the position or alignment of the speaker who utters an utterance (Goffman 1981). I distinguish between two types of footing, information presenter vs. supporting participant, based on the functions of the utterances used in the co-construction. The example in (1) is from an invitation telephone conversation in which B invites A to come out drinking. I refer to the two utterances that make up the co-construction as the former utterance (58A) and latter utterance (59B), uttered by the former speaker (A) and the latter speaker (B), respectively. . This chapter is an extended version of Szatrowski (2003) and includes some new conclusions. . The data consist of 29 examples from 22 telephone conversations and 21 examples from 16 face-to-face conversations. I summarize the data in Table A in the appendix, including the distribution among the five types discussed in this chapter. . The former utterance and latter utterance may consist of a multiple of utterances. In the examples in this chapter, I indicate the former utterance(s) with →, and the latter utterance(s) with ⇒. I indicate the forms in the co-construction related to perspective with an underline ( ) and subjective predicates with a dotted underline ( ). Single underlines relate to the former speaker, and double underlines to the latter speaker. Finally, features related to the former speaker’s footing are indicated with shading and an underline ( ), and the latter speaker’s footing with shading ( ). In the English translations of the Japanese examples I use ( ) for explanatory material or words in the translation that do not directly reflect the Japanese but are necessary in English. Thus, if the subject ‘(I)’ appears in parentheses in the English translation, the subject is understood but not explicit in the Japanese version. An explanation of the abbreviations used in the word-for-word gloss and the transcription conventions are given in the Appendix.
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(1) TELEPHONE: Invitation (2 Friends) →58A まあ、行ってもいい//んだけども、 Maa, itte mo ii //n da kedomo, well go-ger even good nom cop-ip but Well, it’s that (it)’s okay if (I) go, but ⇒59B
また行くのはめんどくさい？
Mata iku no wa mendokusai? again go-ip nom top bother Is going (towards me) again a bother? (Szatrowski 1993: Data 16)
A indicates her hesitation to accept B’s invitation in 58A with the deictic verb iku ‘go (away from the speaker)’ and the subjective adjective ii ‘good’ speaking on the footing of an information presenter. B overlaps 58A and adds the main clause to A’s subordinate clause in 59B. B’s use of the deictic verb iku ‘go (away from the speaker)’ instead of kuru ‘come (in the direction of the speaker)’ indicates that she is speaking from the former speaker A’s perspective, and the subjective adjective mendokusai ‘(is) a bother’ relates to information in A’s territory of information. However, 59B ends with rising intonation which indicates that B is speaking on her own footing as a supporting participant. This chapter addresses the following question: (1) On whose footing are coconstructions created? and (2) How does this relate to previous studies of subjectivity, person restriction and perspective in Japanese? I demonstrate how latter speakers can violate person restriction and the empathy hierarchy in co-constructions because they can speak on the former speaker’s footing or take the former speaker’s perspective while speaking from their own footing when completing co-constructions.
2. Previous research Research on person restriction and participant status by grammarians and conversation analysts in Japanese sentences produced by one speaker or one writer is relevant to the present research on co-construction. Grammarians have accounted for person restriction, and perspective in deictic verbs based on predicate type (Teramura 1973, 1982; Masuoka 1992, 1997; Iwasaki 1993; and others), evidentiality (Aoki 1986), psychological position (Morita 1968, 1977), Siten (Perspective) Hierarchy and Speech Act Empathy Hierarchy (Kuno 1987), territory of information (Kamio 1990), perspective in discourse (Kuroda 1973; Kinsui 1989; Azuma 1992; Kudo 1995; Masuoka 1997; Takubo 2000; Minami 2002; and others), and commitment and coincidence of subjects in the multiple levels of Japanese sentence structure (Minami 1993, 2002). Subjectivity refers to the expression of a person’s inner subjective world (Masuoka 1997: 1). The following Japanese subjective predicates have person restriction because they do not allow second- and third-person subjects with dantee ‘declarative (nonevidential)’ forms.
Subjectivity, perspective and footing
1. Adjectivals/nominals of emotion [kanasii ‘(I) am sad,’ natukasii ‘(I) am homesick,’ yuukai da ‘(it) is pleasant (to me)’] 2. Predicates expressing desires/wishes [X-sitai ‘(I) want to do X,’ X-site hosii ‘(I) want to have (you) do X’] 3. Sensation verbs [hirihiri-suru ‘(I) have a tingling pain,’ zokuzoku-suru ‘(I) feel a chill’] 4. Sensory perception verbs [mieru ‘(I) can see (it); (it) is visible (to me) ,’ kikoeru ‘(I) can hear (it); (it) is audible (to me)’] 5. Cognition verbs [wakaru ‘(I) understand; (it) is understandable (to me)’] 6. Expressions of will [X-siyoo to omou ‘(I) think that I will do X’] 7. Thinking verbs [omou ‘(I) think . . .,’ kangaeru ‘(I) think . . .,’ kanziru ‘(I) feel . . .’] (Teramura 1973, 1982; Iwasaki 1993, Masuoka 1997; translation by Szatrowski) The use of the verb ikoo ‘(I) guess (I will) go’ as an expression of will is ungrammatical with a third-person subject as shown in (2).
(2) [僕が/＊ジョンが]行こう。 [Boku ga/ *Zyon ga] ikoo. [I sub John sub go-tent [I/*John] guesses (I/he will) go. (Iwasaki 1993: 13)
A third-person subject is ungrammatical with the declarative form of the verb omou ‘(I) think’ as shown in (3).
(3) その考えが間違っていると［私は／＊花子は］思う。 Sono kangae ga matigatte iru to [watasi wa/ *Hanako wa] omou. that thought sub become wrong-pf-ip q [I top Hanako top think-ip [I/*Hanako] think(s) that that (way of) thinking is wrong. (Masuoka 1997: 8; translation by Szatrowski)
Minami (1993, 2002: 467) analyzes person restriction in relation to the hierarchical model of Japanese sentence structure given in Figure 1. He notes that person restriction begins applying in level C subordinate clauses as in (4), where it is not possible to use a second or third-person subject in the level C ga ‘but; and’ clause.
(4) *君はうれしいが、私も喜んでいる。 *Kimi wa uresii ga, watasi mo yorokonde iru. you top glad-ip but/and I too become happy-pf-ip You are happy and I too am pleased.
. Minami (1964, 1974, 1993, 1997) proposed a model for Japanese sentence structure made up of four levels based on the occurrence of non-predicate components and predicate elements in the internal structure of subordinate clauses. See Szatrowski (2002a) for an analysis of Japanese co-constructions in terms of Minami’s four levels.
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In contrast, person restriction does not apply in the A and B inner levels. For example, the person restriction in (4) does not apply in level B subordinate clauses as shown in (5).
+ + + + − + + + + − + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + A B C + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + C ga ‘but’ kara ‘because’ keredo ‘but’ si ‘and’ -te4 GER
−
− − − − − − − − − − − − − + + − − + − − − − + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + − − (+) − − − + + + − + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +
+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + − +
+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +
+ +
+ + + + + + + + + + + − − (+) – − − − − − − −
−
− − − − − − − − − − −
− − − − − − − − − − −
−
to ‘when’ -nagara ‘although’ node ‘because’ noni ‘although’ -ba ‘if ’ -tara ‘if ’ nara ‘if ’ -te3 ‘and’ (reason) V-stem -zuni ‘without’ -naide ‘without’
B -te2 ‘and’ (sequence)
−
− − − − − − − − − − − − + + + − + + + − + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + (+) − − − − − − − −
clauses
syntactic elements
tabun ‘probably’, masaka ‘no way’ C level clause
− − − −
− − − −
NP wa (topic)
− − − −
NP ga (subject) Place modifier Time modifier tonikaku ‘anyway’, yahari ‘after all’ Evaluative modifier B level clause
− − − −
NP o (DO) NP ni (IO) NP + case particle State adverb Degree adverb A level clause
− − − −
Polite form Giving/receiving V. -(r)areru (pass) -(s)aseru (caus) Verb
− − − −
-ta/da tense/aspect -nai (neg) -masu (distal)
− − − −
non-predicate components
predicate elements
-mai, daroo (tent), -u/-yoo (cohort)
− − − −
(5) 君がうれしければ、私も喜んでいる。 Kimi ga uresikereba, watasi mo yorokonde iru. you sub glad-prov I too become happy-pf-ip If you are happy, I too am pleased.
A -nagara ‘while’ -tutu ‘while’ -te1 GER (manner) repetition of V-stem
Note : I have indicated the three levels A, B, and C with bold lines in this table. Minami divides sentences into the non-predicate components and predicate elements given across the top of the table. He determined the level for each of the different components and elements based on their possible occurrence in the clauses given on the left. A + sign indicates that a component or element can occur, and a – sign that it cannot.
Figure 1. Components and elements of subordinate clauses (Minami 1964: 85; Minami 1993: 96–7)
Subjectivity, perspective and footing 317
Previous research has shown that person restriction varies depending on the type of discourse. In particular, it is possible to use the above subjective predicate forms with a third-person subject in stories and narratives, because they allow for a transfer of perspective (Kuroda 1973; Azuma 1992; Kudo 1995; Masuoka 1997; Minami 2002). Minami (1993, 2002, 2003) analyzes person restriction in terms of kan’yo ‘commitment’ which refers to . . . the transmitting stance whereby (the behavior, thoughts, feelings, etc. of) the transmitting subject [speaker/writer] is (are) treated as having some kind of direct connection with the content per se of (an aspect of) a given discourse. The transmitting subject [speaker/writer] treats a given content as pertaining to the so-called “inner world.” (Minami 2003: 134; translation by Szatrowski)
In contrast to this kan’yo ‘commitment’ stance, where the speaker/writer has an active will to connect directly with the content of the utterance much in the way of an illocutionary speech act (Searle 1969; Austin 1970), hikan’yo (bookan) ‘non-commitment (spectator’s/onlooker’s view)’ refers to a stance where the speaker/writer describes things objectively without making an active commitment to the content of the utterance (Minami 1993: 215–16). Minami (2002) indicates that there is a need to modify the previous approach towards person restriction, in order to take into account the fact that there is a syutai ‘subject’ associated with each of the A (zitai syutai ‘situation subject’), B (nintee syutai ‘recognition subject’), C (taido syutai ‘attitude subject’) and D (dentatu syutai ‘transmitting subject’) levels in his hierarchical model of sentence structure. He describes these subjects as follows (Minami 2002: 468–9, personal communication). In Level A, the level relating to content of the proposition of a sentence (that is, actions and states), the situation subject includes the actor/agent, patient, experiencer, giver, receiver, subject of perception, subject of emotion, the person/thing that possesses a general or temporary characteristic or state, etc. In Level B, the recognition subject makes judgments related to affirmation/negation, realis/irrealis, particularity/ generality, and recognizes connections between the situation and various conditions, time, place, etc. Level C relates to the attitude towards the content recognized in Level B, and the subject of attitude/subjectivity is concerned with commitment/non-commitment, presentation/ non-presentation of a given content as topic, and subjective attitude (that is, assertion, desire, conjecture, etc.) towards a given content. Finally, in Level D, the transmitting subject is concerned with the stance of the sender and receiver of information vis-à-vis other participants in the context of linguistic communication. It is necessary to correct the view of person restriction as being “related to whether or not the self [speaker/writer] coincides with the subject of the adjective.” In other . The ( ) in this translation and the next translation reflect the parentheses in the original. I indicate my own interpretation in brackets [ ]. . It is important to note that Minami’s term syutai ‘subject’ does not mean grammatical subject but refers to subject in a much broader sense (Dr. Fujio Minami, personal communication).
318 Polly Szatrowski
words, it should be stated “the restriction phenomenon occurs when 1) the situation subject (in this case the subject of the feeling being expressed by a given feeling [subjective] adjective) coincides with the recognition subject and the attitude subject, and 2) the attitude subject has chosen the commitment feature.” Even if the situation subject, recognition subject and attitude subject coincide, it is not possible to use the final iikiri ‘truncated’ form to express non-commitment. (Minami 2002: 469; translation by Szatrowski)
Minami (2002: 470) points out that it is possible to use soodan-sitai ‘(I) want to consult’ in the discourse in (6) because the situation subject of this verb (a patient who wants to consult about treatment) coincides with neither the recognition nor the attitude subject. In this case, the recognition subject and the attitude subject are both the person who the patient will consult, that is, the psychiatrist who is the writer of this discourse.
(6) 統合失調症は）原因は脳内の神経伝達物質の異常など多くの因子が考えられている が、はっきりわかっていない。疲れやストレスが引き金になることもある。最近は軽症
化の傾向にあり、通院しながら仕事を続けている人も多い。 薬の研究も進んでいる。適切な治療が受けられるよう、専門医に相談したい。 （「こころ 元気ですか」朝日新聞二○○二年九月七日朝刊、執筆荘司恵子〈精神科医〉）
(Toogoo sittyoosyoo wa) genin wa noonai no sinkee schizophrenia top cause top brain internal con nerve dentatu bussitu no izyoo nado ooku no insi ga transmission matter con abnormality etc. many con factor sub Tukare ya kangaerarete iru ga, hakkiri wakatte inai. think-pas-pf-ip but clearly understand-neg-pf-ip fatigue and sutoresu ga hikigane ni naru koto mo aru. stress sub trigger goal become nom also exist-ip Saikin wa keesyooka no keekoo ni ari, recently top light con trend in exist-stem tuuin-sinagara sigoto o tuzukete iru hito mo go to hospital-while work do continue-prog-ip people also ooi. Kusuri no kenkyuu mo susunde iru. are many-ip medicine con research also advance-prog-ip . Minami uses the iikiri ‘truncated’ form here to refer to sentence forms such as Boku wa ka‑ nasii ‘I am sad’ which do not have any modal forms (daroo ‘probably,’ wake da ‘it it the case that,’ kamosirenai ‘maybe,’ etc.) added on to the end (Dr. Fujio Minami, personal communication). . I assume that the recognition subject and the attitude subject are the psychiatrist because this passage is written by a psychiatrist. Although the situation subject is not expressed explicitly, I assume it is the patient and not the psychiatrist because patients and not psychiatrists are usually the ones who consult with specialized physicians. This may also relate to a common structure in Japanese spoken discourse and letters (Hayashi 1960: 120, Hayashi, Nomoto & Minami 1987: 21–2; Szatrowski 1993, 1997a), in particular, written medical consultation discourse (Onuma 2001), where there is an attempt to pay attention to interpersonal relations and connect with the reader (in the case of example (6) a potential psychiatric patient) at the end of the discourse.
Subjectivity, perspective and footing 319
Tekisetu na tiryoo ga ukerareru yoo, proper cop treatment sub receive-pas-ip in order to senmoni ni soodan-sitai. specialized physician goal consult-des-ip (“Kokoro genki desu ka” Asahi Sinbun 2002.9.7 tyookan, sippitu Syoozi Rieko <Seesinkai>) The cause (of schizophrenia) is thought to be a multiple of factors (related to) abnormalities in the nerve transmitting matter in the brain, etc., but it is not exactly clear. There are also cases where fatigue and stress set it off. Recently cases tend to be light, and there are many people who continue working while being treated. Research on medicine is advancing. (I=patient) want to consult a specialized physician in order to receive proper treatment. (“Is (your) heart healthy?” Asahi Newspaper 9/7/2002 morning paper, author Rieko Shoji ) (Minami 2002: 469; translation and underline by Szatrowski) Morita (1968, 1977) and Kuno (1978, 1987) have analyzed perspective in the Japanese deictic verbs of coming and going. Based on a survey of 55 authors, Morita (1968: 79,1977) demonstrated that uses of the deictic verbs iku ‘go (away from the speaker)’ and kuru ‘come (towards the speaker)’ relate to differences in the (1) goal of the motion, (2) position of the speaker in relation to the goal of the motion, (3) person (first, second, third) of the subject moving to the place or goal, and (4) speaker’s perception of when the action occurred. He claims that the typical combinations of kotira e + kuru ‘come here’, atira e + iku ‘go over there’ relate to the speaker’s recognition of his/her actual position, but both deictic verbs may be possible with each location goal when the speaker’s position is transferred psychologically. Kuno (1978: 254) demonstrated that the deictic verb iku ‘go (away from the speaker)’ is not possible in (7) because E (Taroo or X)>Speaker violates the Perspective Hierarchy which claims that the speaker should empathize more with the speaker than with others.10
(7) 太郎が昨日、ここに［来た/*行った］。 Taroo ga kinoo, koko ni [kita/ *itta]. Taro sub yesterday here to [come-p go-p ‘Yesterday Taro [came (towards the speaker)/*went (away from the speaker)] here.’
. Masuoka (in press) suggests that the meaning of the -tai form has been extended to mean beki da ‘should’. In this interpretation, soodan-sitai would mean ‘(one) should consult’. However, in the passage in (6) the use of beki da ‘should’ would be too strong, and might discourage patients from consulting. I suggest that the writer (a psychiatrist) in (6) shows her concern by taking the perspective of the patient in a way similar to (1) discussed with context in (19). 10. E stands for Empathy.
320 Polly Szatrowski
Previous research on co-construction in natural conversation has focused on information/personal territory, participant status/footing, and the structure of and projectability in co-constructions (Ono & Yoshida 1996; Antaki, Diaz & Collins 1996; Szatrowski 1996, 2000a, 2002a). Ono & Yoshida (1996) claimed that co-construction is rare in Japanese because (1) it is rude to end another participant’s utterances, and (2) there is a pragmatic constraint underlying Japanese behavior such that one should not discuss information related to another’s territory of information (Kamio 1990), or personal territory which includes his/her “desires, wishes, will, emotions, perceptions, etc.” (Suzuki 1989: 58). Antaki, Diaz & Collins (1996) distinguished three participant footings based on Goffman (1981) and Levinson (1988) in an analysis of English co-constructions. 1) As an “author,” the speaker is physically present, acts for him/herself, and takes responsibility for the form and motive of his/her utterances. 2) As a “relayer,” the speaker is physically present, but only relays another’s utterances, and does not take responsibility for the form or motive of those utterances. 3) As a “spokesperson,” the speaker joins other speakers in taking responsibility for the forms and motivation behind the utterances. Szatrowski (1996) demonstrated that speakers use co-construction in Japanese to align with other participants. In conflict situations, single speakers tended to complete their utterances, and cut off other speaker’s utterances rather than help to co-construct them (Szatrowski 1996). Szatrowski (2000a) showed that co-participants use the speaker’s iconic gestures to anticipate the speaker’s intentions and co-construct utterances. Szatrowski (2002a) found that there was a tendency to co-construct Minami’s (1964, 1974, 1993, 1997) inner levels more than the outer levels in co-constructions of simple sentences, and this tendency was reversed in co-constructions of complex sentences. These results suggest that semantic/ pragmatic projectability may be stronger than syntactic projectability in Japanese co-constructions. In the present study, I will apply Antaki, Diaz & Collins’ (1996) notion of footing in an investigation of previous grammarians’ claims about Japanese person restriction, subjectivity, and perspective in co-constructions from natural conversations. Co-constructions are an interesting area to investigate the grammar–pragmatics interface because they show how speakers construct meaning in real time through their interaction.
3. Analysis In my analysis, I use the term wadan ‘stage’ to refer to a unit (utterance or sequence of utterances) produced through the interaction among conversational participants.11 Wadan ‘stages’ are identified by topic related to participants’ goals, distribution of utter11. This analysis is largely translated into English from Szatrowski (2003) with additions, and all examples, except (20), are from that paper. I provide romanization, word-for-word glosses, and translations for all of the the examples in this chapter.
Subjectivity, perspective and footing 321
Table 1. Distribution of utterance functions in wadan Information presenter
Supporting participant
Attention requests *Discourse markers *Information presentation *Expressions of will Agreement requests Directives Invitations Repeat requests Repeats Relation building, etiquette Attention displays (j, k) j. Agreement k. Self-directed
Discourse markers *Information requests Repeat requests Repeats Relation building, etiquette Attention displays (a–i) a. Continuer b. Recognition *c. Confirmation d. Interest e. Emotion *f. Sympathy (Agreement) *g. Comment h. Negating i. Concluding
ance functions, and prosodic features (Szatrowski 1991, 1993).12 In conversations where the goals of the participants are set, for example, invitations where the goal of the inviter is to invite and the goal of the invitee to answer, wadan can be identified at places where the participants’ goals change, that is, where there is a change in the content from the invitation to the answer, and vice versa (Szatrowski 1991, 1993). In casual conversation, wadan tend to coincide with topical units. In retellings of the story of an animation, wadan units coincided with movements of characters to a new scene (Szatrowski 2002b). Prosodic features for identifying wadan include lengthening, rhythmic repetition (Szatrowski 1997b), and pause (Szatrowski 2000b). Table 1 indicates the distribution of utterance functions used in wadan when the participants speak on the footing of an information presenter (left side) and a supporting participant (right side). The information presenter(s) used the utterance functions on the left side and the supporting participants used the utterance functions on the right side of Table 1. Wadan change when the participants change their footing by using utterance functions on the opposite side of Table 1.13 The co-constructed utterances in my data consisted of an utterance function marked with an asterisk from the left side and one from the right side of this table. For example, the co-construction (58A+59B) in (1) is a combination of an and an .14 12. Sakuma (1987) originally proposed the wadan unit to refer to a ‘grammatico-semantic paragraph’ in spoken discourse that is similar to a bundan ‘grammatico-semantic paragraph’ in written discourse. This differs from my definition that takes into account the goals of the conversational participants and uses utterance functions for identification. 13. See Szatrowski (1991, 1993) for more information on how wadan are co-constructed, in particular in invitation conversations. 14. I coded the utterance functions indicated in < > in the examples in this paper, and checked my judgements with at least one Japanese informant.
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In my analysis, I first divided the co-constructions into two types: I) Co-constructions in which participants align together in addressing other participants and II) Coconstructions that are not addressed to other participants. Then, I investigated person restriction in relation to the subjectivity, perspective and footing in each of these types of co-construction. I use the term subjectivity to refer to a subjective predicate that expresses an internal subjective state, perspective to refer to the psychological position of speakers expressed by deictic verbs (iku ‘go’, kuru ‘come’), honorifics, pronouns, etc., and footing to refer to the participant status of a speaker based on his/her use of utterance functions and the addressee of the utterance in the interaction.
3.1 Co-constructions in which participants align together in addressing other participants Co-constructions in which participants aligned together in addressing other participants were used in conversations with three or more participants. (8) is taken from a company meeting where ten company employees are planning for an upcoming software exhibition. In a discussion of what to do with visitors’ calling cards, C and B align together to support their opinion that they do not need to prepare a calling card box, and oppose two other participants who have proposed that they have a calling card box.15
(8) FACE-TO-FACE: Company Meeting (11 participants) →65C 受付の人がこう言ってもらって、 Uketuke no hito ga koo itte moratte, reception cop person sub like this say-ger receive-ger Having the receptionist say (it) in this way, and ⇒66B もらって→、 moratte→, receive-ger having (that), and ⇒67B //しまっておいたらいけないんですか？ //simatte oitara //put away-ger place-cond ikenai n desu ka? go-pot-neg nom cop-dis-ip qp //putting (the calling card) away for later, is it that (that) won’t do? (Kuwabara 1996: 10–11)
15. In all of the examples except (1) and (14) where the former utterance is a C level subordinate clause (Minami 1964, 1974, 1993, 1997), the function of the former utterance(s) is somewhat vague or indeterminate especially when the utterance is taken out of context. I indicate the utterance functions for the former utterance(s) taking into account the conversation up through the co-construction.
Subjectivity, perspective and footing 323
In (9) H and M align together to tell another participant(s) about a common experience.
(9) FACE-TO-FACE: Chatting (Friends) →1H あれだってヘルプ終わってからさ Are datte Herupu owatte kara sa that because “Help” end-ger after fp That because after “Help” (was) over, you know →2H お茶して帰ろうかってゆってさ otya-site kaeroo ka tte yutte sa have tea-ger go home-cons qp q say-ger fp (we) said shall we have tea and go home, and you know そうそうそう。 3M Soo soo soo. Right right right. ⇒4M ね、なんか夜中になっちゃったのよね Ne, nanka yonaka ni nattyatta no yo ne vp somehow mid-night goal become+end up-p nom fp fp Right, somehow it’s that it ended up becoming the middle of the night I tell you, you know. (Ono & Yoshida 1996: 123; English translation, shading, and utterance functions by Szatrowski)
In the examples in (8) and (9), the former and latter speaker of the co-construction speak on the footing of a spokesperson joining together in taking the responsibility for the forms and motivation behind their utterances (Antaki, Diaz & Collins 1996). In these examples, either speaker can say the entire co-construction without violating person restriction, subjectivity, or perspective.
3.2 Co-constructions that are not addressed to other participants I divided co-constructions that were not addressed to other participants into the following two types. (a) Co-constructions in which the latter speaker completes the co-construction on the former speaker’s footing (b–d) Co-constructions in which the latter speaker completes the co-construction on his/her own footing
3.2.1 Co-constructions in which the latter speaker completes the co-construction on the former speaker’s footing
In co-constructions where the latter speaker completes the co-construction on the former speaker’s footing, the latter speaker uses an utterance function on the former speaker’s side of Table 1, without changing the wadan ‘stage.’ In particular, I found examples where the latter speaker changed footing temporarily from a supporting
324 Polly Szatrowski
articipant to an information presenter when uttering the latter utterance. In these p cases the latter speaker was responsible for neither the motivation nor the form of the utterance. Following Szatrowski (2000a), I refer to the footing of this speaker as a waki no zyoohoo teekyoosya ‘assistant information presenter.’ 16 As an assistant information presenter the speaker is not responsible for the motivation or form of the utterance. In contrast, there were no examples in my data where the former speaker was a supporting participant and the latter speaker changed footing temporarily from an information presenter to a supporting participant when uttering the latter utterance. In (10), from a television interview program, guest K is telling interviewer T about how he rode his bicycle across Tokyo when he was a little boy. (10) FACE-TO-FACE: TV Interview (T= interviewer, K= guest) →130K で、あまりにも嬉しくて、 de, amari ni mo uresikute, and so happy-ger and, (I was) so happy, and どっかそっちの親父の会社のほうまで、 →131K じゃあ， zyaa, dokka sotti no oyazi no kaisya no hoo made, company con direction as far as Well then, somewhere, as far as my dad’s company, > ⇒132T 行っちゃおう。 ittyaou. go+end up-tent (I=K) guess (I)’ll end up going. (Sakuma, Sugito, & Hanzawa 1997: Data 30; English translation, underline, and utterance functions by Szatrowski) T’s use of ittyaou ‘(I=K) guess (I)’ll end up going’ in 132T violates person restriction in subjective predicates because although it requires a first-person subject, the subject is K, not the speaker T. T expresses K’s will in the latter utterance of the co-construction. It is interesting to note that K is quoting his feeling as a boy in 131K, and T completes the co-construction with a quick excited tone as if becoming K as a boy. Quotations of past feelings may allow violations of person restriction. Applying Minami’s (2002) analysis of multiple levels of subject, it may be that quotation has the status of an inner level where person restriction does not apply. In (11) H and S are discussing an acquaintance who is having an affair with someone’s wife. H is critical of the man because he does not stop the affair.
16. I indicate utterance functions on the other participant’s footing in > in the examples.
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(11) FACE-TO-FACE: Chatting (2 Friends) →1H そうゆう中途半端な感じで、 Soo yuu tyuuto hanpa na kanzi de, that kind halfway cop feeling with With that kind of a halfway feeling, →2H こうやっちゃったっていうのが僕は－－、 koo yattyatta tte iu no ga boku wa::, top this way do+end up-p q say-ip nom sub I (his) ending up doing (things) like this, I, for one, ⇒3S いけないと思う。 ikenai to omou. go-pot-neg q think-ip think (it) is wrong. (Ono & Yoshida 1996: 125; Suzuki 1998: 77–8; English translation, underline, utterance functions by Szatrowski) 3S should be ungrammatical because S uses the verb omou ‘(I) think’ (which requires a first-person subject) to refer to what H thinks [cf. (3)]. While the former speaker H could have said 1H-2H-3S in a single utterance, it is not possible for the latter speaker S to do so. Example (12) is from a telephone conversation where O is talking about her plans to study at an American university. The latter utterance of the co-construction in 3J indicates that O will decide to go to the first university that accepts her. 3J violates person restriction because the first-person subject (unexpressed) of 3J is O not the speaker J. (12) TELEPHONE: Chatting (two friends) →1O それが来たら Sore ga kitara that sub come-cond When that (acceptance letter) comes →2O もうねえ→、も//う、 moo nee→, mo//o, already/oh fp already/oh oh, you know, oh ⇒3J それに決めちゃう→。 > sore ni kimetyau→. that goal decide+end up-ip (I=O) will end up deciding on that (university). The co-construction in (13) does not violate person restriction because it is about a third person T.
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(13) FACE-TO-FACE: Chatting (Friends) →1R Ｔさんはなんかディシジョンみたいのをいつも人に T-san wa nanka d(e)isizyon mitai no o itumo hito ni T-Mr. top somehow decision like nom do always people to Mr. T somehow things like decisions, always to people (others) ⇒2H 委ねる yudaneru entrust-ip (he/she) entrusts. (Ono & Yoshida 1996: 118; English translation, underline, utterance functions by Szatrowski) In (10)–(12), the former speaker can say the entire co-constructed utterance, while the latter speaker cannot. In cases like (13) where the co-construction relates to a third person about whom both the former and latter speaker share information, either the former or the latter speaker can say both parts of the co-construction.
3.2.2 Co-constructions in which the latter speaker completes the co-construc‑ tion on his/her own footing
In co-constructions where the latter speaker completes the co-construction on his/her own footing, he/she uses utterance functions from the side of Table 1 that correspond with his/her footing. If the latter speaker is a supporting participant he/she uses one of the utterance functions on the right, and if he/she is an information presenter, he/she uses one of the utterance functions on the left. The latter speaker completes the co-construction on his/her own footing as a supporting participant in (14)–(18) and as an information presenter in (20). In (14)–(18) the latter speaker is a supporting participant and completes the co-construction on his/her footing using a (14), (15), (16), and an (17)–(18), respectively. In (14), Q is refusing an invitation to go to Hawaii with N. (14) TELEPHONE: Invitation (two friends) →43Q ま，行きたいけどねえ－？ Ma, ikitai kedo nee:? well go-DES but fp Well, (I) want to go but, you know. 44N う－ん。 U:n. Uh hu:h. ⇒45N この前行ったばかりだしね？それにねえ？ kono mae itta bakari da si ne? sore ni nee? this before go-p just cop-ip and fp in addition fp (you) just went recently didn’t you. in addition, isn’t it? (Szatrowski 1993: Data 32)
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In (14), the former speaker Q can say both parts of the co-construction, but the latter speaker N cannot because the subjective predicate ikitai ‘(I) want to go’ in the former utterance 43Q requires a first-person subject.17 As Minami (1993, 2002) pointed out, person restriction applies to subjective predicates in C level subordinate clauses, such as the kedo ‘but’ clause in 43Q. In (15), J and N are talking about how B knows about good restaurants. (15) TELEPHONE: Chatting (two friends) →1J Ｂさんね、 B-san ne:, B-Mr. fp Mr. B, you know, 2N ええ。 Ee. Yes. →3J 割とそういうのをね？ wari to soo iu no o ne? relatively that kind nom do fp relatively those kinds of things, you know? ⇒4N //知ってるでしょう？ //sitte ru desyoo? get to know-pf-ip tag //(he) knows, doesn’t he? 5J 知ってる。 sitte ru. get to know-pf-ip (he) knows. 6J うん。知ってるんだよ。 Un. Sitte ru n da yo. yeah get to know-pf-ip nom cop-ip fp Yeah. It’s that (he) knows, I tell you.
17. The use of U:n ‘Uh hu:h’ as a in 44N in (14) is uttered on the footing of the supporting participant. In my analysis the use of this back channel utterance did not influence my decision concerning whether or not the former speaker could say both parts of the co-construction, because I did not include this utterance in the co-construction. It is interesting to note however, that in these examples, it might be possible for the former speaker to include the U:n ‘Uh hu:h’ in uttering both parts of the co-construction. In that case the function would be a <Self-directed Attention Display> rather than a . I have observed speakers using <Self-directed Attention Displays> in this way when their interlocutors did not respond.
328 Polly Szatrowski
In (14) only the former and in (15) either the former or the latter speaker can say both parts of the co-construction. However, if the former speaker says the entire co-construction the function of the latter utterance changes from a , to an (Szatrowski 1994). This is because the former speaker would present the information on the footing of an information presenter, thus suggesting that he/she has more information about the content of the utterance. In (16) R is refusing N’s invitation to attend a tea ceremony. (16) TELEPHONE: Invitation (R= aunt, N= niece) →49R だから、納まる所に、ほら、納め//られないからねえ。 Dakara, osamaru tokoro ni, hora, so put away-ip place in you know osame//rarenai kara nee. put away-pot-neg-ip so fp So, in the places where (they should be) put, you know, (I) can’t store (things) so, you know. 50N あ－あ。 A:a. O:h. ⇒51N じゃあ、当分は忙しいわけだ。 Zyaa, toobun wa isogasii wake da. then a while top busy-ip nom cop-ip Then (in that case), it’s that (you) will be busy for a while, at least. (Szatrowski 1993:Data 18) In (17) F is talking about where she/he went yesterday. (17) FACE-TO-FACE: Chatting (Formal) →1F きのうちょっと用があって鎌倉へ Kinoo tyotto yoo ga atte Kamakura e Yesterday just business sub have-ger Kamakura to Yesterday (I) just had some business (to take care of) and to Kamakura 2G あ、 A, Oh, ⇒3G おいでになったんですか。 oide ni natta n desu ka. go-hon-p nom cop-dis-ip qp is it that (you) went (honorific) (there)?’ (Mizutani 1993: 6; English translation, underline, shading, utterance functions by Szatrowski) Neither the former nor the latter speaker can say both parts of the co-construction in
Subjectivity, perspective and footing 329
(16) and (17). The former speaker F cannot, because the latter utterance contains an honorific and the interrogative particle ka. In (18), a telephone conversation from the early 1980’s, N has just asked J what he predicts will happen to printers as computers become more transportable. In 2N, N completes J’s utterance in 1J by suggesting that the printers will be separate from the computers.18 (18) TELEPHONE: Chatting (2 Friends) →1J プリントの出力器は－、 Purinto no syuturyokuki wa:, print con output machine top As for the printer(s), ⇒2N 別にする？ betu ni suru? separate goal make-ip (they) will be separate? 3J どこにもあるの。 doko ni mo aru no. everywhere exist-ip nom it’s that (they) will be everywhere.
The latter utterances in (16) , and (17)–(18) are all on the latter speaker’s footing, but the latter speaker can say both parts of the coconstruction only in (18). Although the latter utterance in (1) (repeated below) is an , the latter speaker cannot say both parts of the co-construction, because the former utterance contains a subjective adjective and the deictic verb iku ‘go (away from the speaker)’.
(1) TELEPHONE: Invitation (2 Friends) →58A まあ、行ってもいい//んだけども、 Maa, itte mo ii //n da kedomo, well go-ger even good nom cop-ip but Well, it’s that (it)’s okay if (I) go, but ⇒59B また行くのはめんどくさい？ Mata iku no wa mendokusai? again go-ip nom top bother Is going (towards me) again a bother? (Szatrowski 1993: Data 16)
18. I consider 2N to be the latter utterance of the co-construction in 1J and 2N because I analyze the accomplishment of co-constructions as the conversation develops in time. Although J’s utterance in 3J suggests that in 2N N did not supply what J had intended to say, 2N is a possible way of completing 1J.
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According to Kuno’s (1987) Siten (Perspective) Hierarchy, the deictic verb “goes up to” (Japanese iku: X ga Y ni iku ‘X goes to Y’) requires the speaker to “describe the action from the camera angle of X rather than Y,” and the deictic “come up to” (Japanese kuru: X ga Y ni kuru ‘X comes to Y’) requires the speaker to “describe the action from the camera angle of Y rather than X” (Kuno 1987: 225). Thus, B’s use of iku in 59B describes the action of going from the camera angle of A. B’s use of the deictic verb iku ‘go (away from the speaker)’ in 59B in (1) violates Kuno’s Speech Act Empathy Hierarchy. According to Kuno’s Speech Act Empathy Hierarchy, E(speaker)>E(others); “The speaker cannot empathize with someone else more than with himself ” (Kuno 1987: 212). B’s use of iku ‘go’ in 59B violates this hierarchy because she describes the action of going from the camera angle of A, thus implying that she (the speaker) emphasizes more with the hearer than with herself. Minami (1993, 2002) indicates that person restriction does not apply in the A and B levels. B’s use of the verb iku in the relative clause in 59B, a B level clause, suggests that Kuno’s Empathy Hierarchy may not apply in Minami’s A and B levels. The use of the deictic verb iku in (1) can be understood better if one takes into account the overall structure of the invitation conversation, which includes the Invitation Wadan ‘Stage’ and Answer Wadan ‘Stage’ shown in (19). (19) TELEPHONE: Invitation (2 Friends) Invitation Stage 2: 45B 出てこれる－？ Dete koreru:? go out-ger come-pot-ip Can you come out? 46A (1.0) 47B 来れなさそう？ Korenasasoo? come-pot-neg-evid(seem) Does it look like (you) can’t come? 48A (0.3)吉祥寺－？ (0.3) Kitizyoozi:? Kichijoji (place) (0.3) (to) Kichijoji? 49B う－ん。 U:n. Ye:ah. Answer Stage 2: 50A ちょっと、あたし、今さあ、
Tyotto, atasi, ima saa, just I now fp Just, I, now, you know,
Subjectivity, perspective and footing 331
51A 52A 53A 54B 55B 56A 57B →58A ⇒59B
吉祥寺から－、
Kitizyoozi kara: Kichijoji (place) from from Kichijoji, ていうか、
te iu ka, or
あたしきょう立川だったんだよ－。
atasi kyoo Tatikawa datta n da yo:. I today Tachikawa (place) cop-p nom cop-ip fp it’s that I was in Tachikawa today, you know. ああ、そうなんだ。
Aa, soo na n da. oh so cop nom cop-ip Oh, is it that (that’s) so. //言ってたねえ。 //itte ta nee. //say-pf-p fp //(you) had said (that), hadn’t you. それで帰ってきたところだから、
Sore de kaette kita tokoro da kara, and return home-ger come-p place cop-ip so And, (I) just returned home so, う－ん。
まあ、行ってもいい//んだけども、
U:n. Uh hu:h.
Maa, itte mo ii //n da kedomo, well go-ger even good nom cop-ip but Well, it’s that (it)’s okay if (I) go, but また行くのはめんどくさい？ Mata iku no wa mendokusai? again go-ip nom top bother Is going (towards me) again a bother? (Szatrowski 1993: Data 16)
In Invitation Stage 2, the inviter B, uses the deictic verb kuru ‘come’ in 45B and 47B when she makes the invitation from her perspective as the inviter. Then, in Answer Stage 2, the invitee A talks about her present circumstances, suggesting that she has a negative attitude towards the invitation. B takes A’s perspective in 59A when she asks B if going again would be a bother by using the deictic verb iku ‘go’ instead of kuru ‘come.’ By taking A’s perspective, B makes A’s circumstances rather than her (B’s) invitation central, thus showing her concern and making it easier for A to refuse (Szatrowski 1993).
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The example in (20) is from a company orientation meeting among four people. In 2B the latter speaker completes the former supporting participant’s on his own footing as an information presenter using an utterance. (20) FACE-TO-FACE: Company Meeting (four participants) →1D で、その時に保証料とのうひ-、ま、据えつけ－//は、 De, sono toki ni hosyooryoo to noohi- ma, suetuke: //wa, and that time at deposit and install- well installation top And, at that time as for the deposit and install-, well, installation ⇒2B は、処理してます。 wa, syori-site masu. top take care of-pf-ip-dis as for (that) (we) have taken care of (it). It is possible for the latter speaker to say both parts of this co-construction. Although there are no grammatical restrictions on the former speaker saying both parts of the coconstruction, presumably she cannot because she does not have access to the information in the latter utterance.
4. Conclusion In the data used for this study, I) co-constructions in which the former and latter speaker aligned together in addressing other participants tended to occur in conversations with more than two participants. Results of the analysis of co-constructions that are not addressed to other participants are summarized in Table 2. The data suggest that there may be a tendency for IIa) co-constructions where the latter speaker completed the coconstruction on the former speaker’s footing to occur in face-to-face storytelling and chatting conversations, IIb–c) co-constructions where the latter speaker completed the co-construction on his/her own footing as a supporting participant to occur in invitations and other telephone conversations, and IId) co-constructions where the latter speaker completed the co-construction on his/her own footing as an information presenter to occur in business-related telephone conversations and face-to-face company meetings. 19 In the co-constructions where the latter speaker completed the co-construction on his/her own footing there was also a tendency for the latter speaker to be a supporting participant. Table 2 summarizes the following four tendencies in II) co-constructions that were not addressed to other participants in my data. IIa The co-constructions in (11)–(13) are examples where the latter speaker com19. See Table A in the Appendix for the distribution of co-constructions among these types. More data is needed to determine whether these tendencies are statistically significant.
10 11 12 13
14 15
16 1 17 18
20
IIa
IIb
IIc
IId
F
●
●
●
▲
P
○
Expression of will Information presentation Expression of will Information presentation
Former speaker’s footing (Utterance function)
Latter utterance
= features related to the former speaker’s footing; ● = features related to the latter speaker’s footing
☆ = features related to the subjective inner world; ▽ = first-person pronouns; △ = deictic verbs; ▲ = honorific verbs;
IW = Inner world; P = Perspective; F = Footing;
○
●
△
P
☆
☆
☆
☆
IW
Latter speaker’s
●
△
▽
P
Former speaker’s
○
☆
☆
Example IW/F
Type
Former speaker’s
Former utterance
Former Both Neither Neither Neither Latter Latter
Confirmation Information request Information request Information request Information presentation
Former Former Former Both
Speaker(s) who can say both parts of the coconstruction
Comment Confirmation/ information request
Latter speaker’s footing (Utterance function)
Table 2. Subjectivity, perspective and footing in co-constructions that were not addressed to other participants
Subjectivity, perspective and footing 333
334 Polly Szatrowski
pletes the co-construction on the former speaker’s footing. The latter speaker is able to enter the former speaker’s inner world by acting as an assistant information presenter. It is possible for the former speaker to say both parts of the co-construction, and in cases where the co-construction relates to a third person as in (13), it is also possible for the latter speaker to say both parts of the co-construction. IIb The co-constructions in (14)–(15) are examples where the latter speaker completes the co-construction on his/her own footing as a supporting participant, and the latter utterance has the function of or . It is possible for the latter speaker to say both parts of the co-construction as long as there are no subjective or perspective elements relative to the former speaker in either utterance. It is also possible for the former speaker to say both utterances of the co-construction. However, in this case the utterance functions change from a or to an , because the former speaker speaks on the footing of an information presenter and has (or presumes to have) more access to the information. IIc The co-constructions in (16)–(18) and (1) are examples where the latter speaker completes the co-construction on his/her own footing as a supporting participant, and the latter utterance has the function of or . It is not possible for the latter speaker to say both parts of the co-construction if the latter utterance is said from the perspective of the former speaker, for exa mple, if it contains a deictic verb that is relative to the position of the former but not the latter speaker. In addition, it may not be possible for the former speaker to say both parts of the co-construction if the latter utterance has elements such as A:a ‘O:h’ and Zyaa ‘Then (in that case)’ which indicate that a conclusion has been drawn, and the final interrogative particle ka. IId The co-construction in (20) is an example where the latter speaker completes the co-construction on his/her own footing as an information presenting participant. In this case it is possible for the latter speaker but not the former speaker to say both parts of the co-construction. A major difference between co-constructions where the latter speaker completes the co-construction on the former speaker’s footing versus on his/her own footing relates to the utterance initial and final forms of the latter speaker’s utterances. Latter utterances on the former speaker’s footing connect smoothly onto the former speaker’s utterance and end with iikiri ‘truncated’ forms20 such as ittyaou ‘(I) guess (I)’ll end up going’, omou ‘(I) think,’ kimetyau ‘(I) will end up deciding,’ and yudaneru ‘(she/he) entrusts.’ They also tend to end with a blunt flat intonation, rather than a clear rising interrogative or falling sentence-final intonation.21 In contrast, latter utterances on the 20. Tanaka (1999: 89) notes that “‘anticipatory completions’, where a coparticipant completes a current speaker’s turn in progress” often end with iikiri ‘truncated’ forms without utterance-final elements. By utterance-final elements she means final verb suffixes (for example, masu, ma‑ sita, etc.), copula forms, final particles, request and imperative forms, nominalizers, etc. 21. This assessment of intonation was made by ear based on examples where tapes were available.
Subjectivity, perspective and footing 335
latter speaker’s footing often begin with forms which express the latter speaker’s footing such as U:n ‘Uh hu:h,’ Un ‘Yeah,’ A/A:a ‘Oh/O:h,’ Zyaa ‘Then (in that case),’ and end with final particles such as ne? ‘didn’t you,’ nee? ‘isn’t it,’ yo ne ‘isn’t it,’ the final interrogative particle ka or interrogative rising intonation, desyoo? ‘doesn’t he,’ wake da ‘it’s the case,’ etc. The use of expressions of will, thinking verbs, and deictic verbs in the latter utterance of co-constructions cannot be explained by previous grammatical analyses. I have shown that participants in actual conversations go beyond person, perspective, and territory restrictions in their co-construction of meaning in the interaction. Sentences co-constructed by two or more speakers in natural conversation differ from the sentences created by one speaker/writer that were the focus of previous grammatical accounts. For example, many co-constructions can only be pronounced in their entirety by the former speaker or the latter speaker and in some cases by neither of the speakers. I have demonstrated that it is necessary to refer to perspective, footing (information presenter vs. supporting participant), and whether or not the utterance is addressed to another participant(s) to account for how co-constructions are used in actual interactions.
Appendix
Face-to-face
Telephone
Table A. The data used in this study Genre
#Part.
#Ex. : #Conv. I
IIa IIb IIc IId Subtotal Total
Chatting Invitations Business/ formal
2 2 2
15: 10 7: 5 7: 7
0 0 0
3 1 1
4 1 2
7 5 1
1 0 3
22: 15
Chatting (friends)
2: 2 1: 1 7: 7 1: 2 1: 1 3: 1 3: 1 3: 1
0 1 0 0 0 3 0 0
2 0 5 0 1 0 1 3
0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0
0 0 1 1 0 0 1 0
0 0 0 0 0 0 1 0
10: 10
Chatting (formal) Diet Company meetings TV interview
2 >2 ? ? >2 11 4 2
Total
2~10
50: 38
4
17
8
16
5
50: 38
29: 22
7: 7 21: 16
11: 6
50: 38
Note : Part. = participants; Ex. = example; Conv. = conversations; I = co-constructions in which the former and latter speaker align together in addressing other participants, and IIa–d = co-constructions that are not addressed to other participants. The telephone chatting and invitation conversations and face-to-face chatting conversations between friends were informal and the rest formal. Statistical tendencies are beyond the scope of this chapter because the numbers of examples given in the table are not an exhaustive count of all of the co-constructions in each conversation. In addition, in some cases where the data were cited, complete information such as the number of participants was not available.
336 Polly Szatrowski
Acknowledgement I would like to thank Dr. Fujio Minami for his patience and assistance in translating and interpreting excerpts from his chapter, and Kazuyo Kusakari for her help in transcribing the Japanese examples for this study. I am also grateful to the editors, Nancy Hedberg and Ron Zacharski, for their careful reading and comments on this chapter.
Abbreviations con = connective (no); cond = conditional (-tara/-dara); cons = consultative (-(y)oo); cop = copula; dis = distal (formal) style; do = direct object; evid = evidential; fp = final particle (sa, ne, yo); gen = genitive; ger = gerund (-te/-de); goal = goal; hon = honorific; ip = imperfective; neg = negative; nom = nominalizer; p = perfective; pas = passive; pf = perfect; pot = potential; prog = progressive; prov = provisional (-(r)eba); q = quotative particle; qp = question particle; sub = subject (ga); tag = tag question; tent = tentative; top = topic (wa); vp = vocative particle; + = contracted form. Predicates that are not marked dis (distal) or hon (honorific) are uttered in direct (informal) style.
Japanese–Romanized transcription conventions 。/. ？ /? 、/, →
falling sentence-final intonation. rising intonation, not necessarily a question. continuing intonation followed by a slight pause. flat intonation. // Double slashes // mark the place where an utterance is overlapped by the following utterance. In some cases the subsequent overlapping utterance is not moved to the right under the // to save space. －/ : indicates lengthening of the preceding vowel or syllabic nasal in the Japanese/ romanized version of the transcript. - cut-off (Japanese 動く- represents a cut-off in the middle of the final mora, romanized as ugok-). Cut-offs are followed by a space in the romanized transcription and are to be distinguished from word-medial dashes that indicate morphological boundaries (for example, ryuugaku-suru ‘study abroad’). { } enclose non-linguistic sounds such as laughter. Aizuti ‘back channel utterances’ which include laughter, are moved to the right to line up with the end of the Japanese utterance to which they respond, or in the case of overlap to the place where they overlap the previous utterance. Following Szatrowski (1993), I divided utterances when the other participant began talking, and after final particles, and clausal or sentential endings, but included postposed noun phrases in the utterances after the sentence ending. I capitalized the first letter of proper nouns and utterances after a falling sentence-final intonation, except in the case of postposed noun phrases and clauses, where I did not capitalize the first letter. In cases of overlap, I divided the overlapped utterance after final particles, and clausal or sentential endings.
Subjectivity, perspective and footing 337
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338 Polly Szatrowski Minami, Fujio. 2003. “Dai 6-syoo Bunsyoo/danwa no zentaiteki koozoo.” In Bunsyoo/danwa, supervised by Yasuo Kitahara, ed. by Mayumi Sakuma, 120–50. Tokyo: Asakura Shoten. Mizutani, Nobuko. 1993. “‘Kyoowa’ kara ‘taiwa’ e”. Nihongogaku 12.4: 4–11. Morita, Yoshiyuki. 1968. “‘Iku/kuru’ no yoohoo.” Kokugogaku 75: 75–87. Morita, Yoshiyuki. 1977. Kiso nihongo—imi to tukaikata. Tokyo: Kadokawa Shoten. Ono, Tsuyoshi & Yoshida, Eri. 1996. “A study of co-construction in Japanese: We don’t ‘finish each other’s sentences.’” In Japanese/Korean Linguistics 5, ed. by Noriko Akatsuka, Shoichi Iwasaki and Susan Strauss, 115–30. Stanford: CSLI. Onuma, Kiyoshi. 2001. “Iryoo soodan de no hentoo koozoo.” Dai 7-kai bunsyoo/danwa kenkyuukai. Waseda University. March. Sakuma, Mayumi. 1987. “Bundan nintee no iti-kizyun (I) Teedai hyoogen no tookatu. Tsukuba Daigaku Bungee/Gengo Gakkee” Bungee/Gengo Kenkyuu Gengohen 11: 89–135. Sakuma, Mayumi, Sugito, Seiju & Hanzawa, Kanichi (eds.). 1997. Bunsyoo/ danwa no sikumi. Tokyo: Ofu. Searle, John. 1969. Speech Acts. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Suzuki, Mutsumi. 1989. “Kikite no siteki ryooiki to teenee hyoogen.” Nihongogaku 2.8: 58–64. Suzuki, Ryoko. 1998. “From a lexical noun to an utterance final particle: wake.” In Studies in Jap‑ anese grammaticalization- cognitive and discourse perspectives, ed. by Toshio Ohori, 67–92. Tokyo: Kurosio Publishers. Szatrowski, Polly. 1991. “Kaiwa ni okeru ‘tani’ ni tuite- ‘Wadan’ no teean” (On ‘units’ in conversation analysis: Proposal for the ‘stage’). Nihongogaku 10.10: 79–96. Szatrowski, Polly. 1993. Nihongo no danwa no koozoo bunseki-Kanyuu no sutoratezii no koosatu (Structure of Japanese conversation- Invitation strategies). Tokyo: Kurosio Shuppan. Szatrowski, Polly. 1994. “Discourse functions of the Japanese epistemic modal desyoo.” Berkeley Linguistics Society 20: 532–46. Szatrowski, Polly. 1996. “When do Japanese speakers co-construct utterances?” American Association of Applied Linguistics Conference. 25 March 1996. Chicago. Szatrowski, Polly. 1997a. “Kakawariai” (Interaction). In Bunsyoo/danwa no sikumi, ed. by Mayumi Sakuma, Seiju Sugito, and Kanichi Hanzawa, 164–80. Tokyo: Ofu. Szatrowski, Polly. 1997b. “Nihongo no danwa no rizumu bunseki- ‘Iki no atta’ kaiwa o ree ni” (Rhythm analysis of a ‘lively’ Japanese conversation). In Taiwa to ti, ed. by Yuji Moro, 101– 48. Tokyo: Shinyosha Publishers. Szatrowski, Polly. 2000a. “Kyoodoo hatuwa ni okeru sankasya no tatiba to gengo/higengo no kanren ni tuite” (Relation between participant status and verbal/nonverbal behavior in coconstruction). Nihongo Kagaku 7.4: 44–69. Szatrowski, Polly. 2000b. “Genbun no ‘roodoku wadan’ to tyookai yooyakubun to no kankee” (Relation between acoustic paragraphs in the oral reading of an editorial essay and its summaries). In Nihongo no bunsyoo/danwa ni okeru “dan” no koozoo to kinoo, ed. by Mayumi Sakuma, 202–16. Tokyo: Waseda University Center for Japanese Research and Education. Szatrowski, Polly. 2002a. “Syntactic projectability and co-participant completion in Japanese conversation.” Berkeley Linguistics Society 28: 315–25. Szatrowski, Polly. 2002b. “Animeesyon no sutoorii o kataru sai no wadan to tyuusin hatuwa” (Wadan ‘stages’ and central utterances in animation film narratives). Hyoogen Kenkyuu 76: 33–9. Szatrowski, Polly. 2003. Kyoodoo hatuwa kara mita “ninsyoo seegen,” “siten” o meguru mondai [Problems related to person restriction and perspective in co-construction]. Nihongo Bun‑ poo [Journal of Japanese Grammar] 3.1: 49–66
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Index of names A Aissen, Judith 20, 21, 37 Albrecht, Jason 274 Anagnastopoulou, Elena 246 Andersen, Gisle 235 Aoki, Haruo 314 Ariel, Mira 209, 267, 269 Asher, Nicholas 176 Assayag, Nurit 281 Austin, John Langshaw 297, 317 Ayers-Elam, Gayle 52 Azuma, Hiroko 314, 317 B Baker, Carl Lee 123, 131 Ball, Catherine 71, 79 Baltin, Mark 246 Bartsch, Renate 180 Basilico, David 22 Battistella, Edwin 20 Bazerman, Charles 265, 266 Beckman, Mary 52 Bennett, Michael 180 Biber, Douglas 265, 266, 269, 283, 286 Bienvenue, Breton 193 Birner, Betty 20, 35, 43 Blackwell, Sarah 212 Blakemore, Diane 218, 222 Blum-Kulka, Shoshana 297, 310 Boersma,Paul 21 Bohnemeyer, Jurgen 100 Bolinger, Dwight 79 Borkin, Ann 295, 300, 301, 308 Bresnan, Joan 20, 35, 66 Brisson, Christine 202, 203, 205, 206 Brown, Penelope 309, 310 Bulygina, Tat Ljana 254, 258 Burton-Roberts, Noel 158, 163 C Cantrall, William 131 Carlson, Gregory N 147, 152, 154, 162 Carnap, Rudolf 248, 249 Carston, Robyn 218, 233, 235 Chafe, Wallace 34, 266, 280, 282 Chesterman, Andrew 146, 147,158 Chierchia, Gennaro 162 Chomsky, Noam 72 Christian Brothers 116 Chu, Chauncey C 95 Chung, Sandra 247 Cinque, Guglielmo 246, 252
Clancy, Patricia 287 Clark, Herbert 36, 39, 270 Coates, Jennifer 78 Cohen, Andrew 293, 295, 296, 304 Collins, Alan 320, 323 Comorovski, Ileana 246 Comrie, Bernard 20 Cornilescu, Alexandra 246 Cornish, Francis 198, 221 Cruttenden, Hannah 271 Cumming, Susanna 266 D Dahl, Debbie 259 Dahl, Östen 119, 147, 163 Dahlgren, Kathleen 268, 284 Danielewicz, Jane 266 Davidson, Donald 173 Davis, Philip W. 92, 97, 101 Davison, Alice 310 Dayal, Veneeta 246 de Bhaldraithe, Tomás 116 Delin, Judy 50, 56, 74 den Dikken, Marcel 246, 260 Diaz, Felix 320, 323 Dik, Simon 192 Dubois, Edward 35 Dubois, John W. 20, 27, 265
Gernsbacher, Morton Ann 37, 285 Gettier, Edmund 184 Giannakidou, Anastasia 246, 260 Givón, Talmy 20, 22, 25, 26, 31, 43, 119 Godfrey, J. 24 Goffman, Erving 296, 313, 320 Goldberg, Adele 193, 194 Goldman, Alvin 184 Goodman, Nelson 163 Gregory, Michelle 28, 30, 35 Grice, H. Paul 34, 113, 145, 297, 304 Groefsema, Marjolein 195, 198,199, 200, 201, 202 Gundel, Jeanette 24, 26, 50, 52, 58, 62, 66, 67, 74, 83, 121, 225, 245, 259 Gurman-Bard, Ellen 272
F Faber, Pamela 192 Filip, Hana 258 Fillmore, Charles 37, 192, 198, 199, 201 Finegan, Edward 266, 279 Fowler, Carol 272 Fox, Barbara 29, 44, 268, 269, 278 François, Jacques 196, 197 Fraser, Bruce 293, 295 Fraurud, Kari 119, 270, 272, 278, 287 Frege, Gottlob 248 Fretheim, Thorstein 50, 62, 119, 146, 174
H Haberland, Hartmut 310 Halliday, M. A. K. 23, 50 Halmari, Helena 266 Halvorsen, Per-Kristian 83 Haviland, S. 36, 39 Hayashi, Shiro 318 Hedberg, Nancy 24, 50, 78, 79, 83, 84, 174, 175, 197, 209, 247, 251, 274 Hegarty, Michael 113, 178, 186 Heim, Irene 270 Hendriks, Henriette 92, 95 Hengeveld, K 189 Herburger, Elena 177 Heslot, J. 266 Heycock, Caroline 59, 72, 73 Higginbotham, James 173, 185 Higgins, F. Roger 73, 78 Hirschberg, Julia 122 Holmes, Janet 293, 296 Homer, Kristin 20 Hopper, Paul 27 Horn, Laurence 21, 34, 36, 69, 83 Housum, Jonathan 272 Huang, C.-T. James 123, 129 Huang, Lillian Meei Jin 92, 97, 101 Huang, Yan 128, 190, 212
G Garcia, Carmen 293 Garrod, Simon 277
I Ioup, Georgette 22 Iwasaki, Shoichi 314
E Engel, Orit 282 Erkü, Feride 225 Erteschik-Shir, Nomi 260 Ervin-Tripp, Susan 310
342 The Grammar–Pragmatics Interface
J Jackendoff, Ray 26, 200 Jenkins, Lyle 79 Jorgensen, Julia 310 Joshi, Aravind K 175 Jurafsky, Daniel 25 K Kamio, Akio 320 Karttunen, Lauri 260 Keenan, Edward 20 Kehler, Andrew 122 Kennedy, Chris 98, 99 Kerbrat-Orecchioni, Catherine 310 Kinsui, Satoshi 314 Kirsner, Robert 267 Kiss, Katalin É. 69, 84 Klein, Wolfgang Li, Ping 92, 95 Kluender, Robert 246, 247, 252, 259 Koenig, Jean-Pierre 193, 195, 196 Kornfilt, Jaklin 123 Kratzer, Angelika 172, 184, 185 Kroch, Anthony 59, 72, 73 Krongauz, Maxim 255, 258 Kronrod, Ann 282 Kudo, Mayumi 317 Kumpf, Lorraine 282 Kuno, Susumu 19, 22, 66, 119, 314, 319, 330 Kuo, Jenny Yi-Chun 95 Kuroda, S. Y. 26, 314, 317 König, Ekkehard 265 L LaPolla,Randy 22, 190, 195, 196, 201, 202, 203, 204, 207, 210 Ladd, D. Robert 27, 64 Lahiri, Utpal 176 Lakoff, Robin 310 Lambrecht, Knud 20–3, 25–7, 35, 38, 43, 67, 118, 194, 197– 9, 210, 245, 255 Landman, Fred 186 Langacker, Ronald 42, 255 Larjavaara, Meri 197 Lawler, John 163 Lee, Cher Leng 123 Leech, Geoffrey 266, 279, 296, 304, 310 Lehrer, Adrienne 194, 200 Lemoine, K 194, 197, 198, 210 Levin, Beth 98, 99, 191, 202, 203, 204 Levinson, Stephen 211, 310, 320 Lewis, John D. 246, 255 Li, Charles 91, 97, 107 Lin, Jo-Wang 92, 97, 99, 104, 106 Link, Godehard 147, 148, 149, 163, 166
Liu, Xunning 99 Longacre, Robert 287 Lord, Carol 268, 284 Lyons, Christopher 270, 273, 287 M McCawley, James 249 McCloskey, James 180 Maes, Alfons 270, 274 Mairal Usón, Ricardo 192 Marmaridou, Sophia 310 Marshall, Catherine 270 Masuoka, Takashi 314, 317, 319 Mauner, Gail 195, 196 Mchombo, Sam 20, 35, 66 Meier, A.J. 293 Mejri, Salah 196, 197 Melinger, Alissa 193 Mey, Jacob 310 Meyerhoff, Miriam 293 Michaelis, Laura 23, 28, 30, 35 Miller, Carolyn R 265 Minami, Fujio 314, 315, 317, 318, 320, 324, 327, 330 Mithun, Marianne 22 Mittwoch, Anita 201 Moltmann, Friederike 180 Montague, Richard 249 Morita, Yoshiyuki 314, 319 Morris, Celia 269, 284, 286 Mulkern, Ann 121, 144, 151, 247 N Nesher, Ilana 281 Nomoto, Kikuo 318 Noordman, Leo 270, 274 Nunberg, Geoff 147 Nuyts, Jan 77 Ó Ó Cadhlaigh, Cormac 116 O’Rathaille, Thomas 116 Ó Searcaigh, Séamus 116, 117 Ó Siadhail, Mícheál 114, 116 O O’Brien, Edward 274 Oakhill, Jane 271 Obenauer, Hans-Georg 247 Obeng, Samuel Gyasi 293 Ocampo, Francisco 35 Ochs, Elinor 266 Olshtain, Elite 293, 295, 296, 304 Ono, Tsuyoshi 320, 323 Onuma, Kiyoshi 318 Ö Östman, Jan-Olaf 266 Owen, Marion 293, 295, 300, 308
P Padueva, Elena 258 Palmer, Frank 79 Pan, C. 147 Parsons, Terrence 173, 185 Pelletier, Francis Jeffry 162 Perkins, Michael 79 Pesetsky, David 246, 253 Portner, Paul 251 Prince, Ellen 19, 20, 23, 25, 26, 34, 35, 38, 39, 43, 50, 53, 60, 62, 71, 77, 79, 80, 119, 121, 122, 126, 175, 210, 245, 273, 282 Pustejovsky, James 192 R Rappaport Hovav, Malka 191, 202, 203, 204 Raymond, William 20 Recanati, François 219 Reinhart, Susan 295, 300, 308 Reinhart, Tanya 50 Ritter, Elizabeth 203 Rohsenow, John 92 Roland, Douglas 25 Ross, Claudia 91, 92, 97, 102 Ross, John 66 S Sakuma, Mayumi 321 Sanders, Gerald 20, 119 Sanford, Anthony 277 Sapir, Edward 20 Scha, Remko 180 Schmitt, Christina 102 Schwarzschild, Roger 180 Searle, John 297, 310, 317 Shi, Ziqiang 92, 97, 103 Shimoni, Anat Rachel 267 Shroyer, Suzanne 37, 285 Sidner, Candace 270 Smith, Carlota 91, 92, 97, 100 Sosa, Juan M. 49 Sperber, Dan 113, 218, 222, 223, 235 Sproat, Richard 271 Stalnaker, Robert 36 Stenson, Nancy 113 Stig, Johansson 266 Stone, Matthew 81, 86 Stubbs, Elizabeth 297 Suszczynska, Malgorzata 293 Suzuki, Mutsumi 320 Svartvik, Jan 158 Swales, John M. 265, 288 Swanson, Wendy 268, 271 Sweetser, Eve 79 Swift, Mary 100 Sybesma, Rint 92, 95, 97, 98, 99, 103 Szabolcsi, Anna 84 T Taboada, Maite 49
Index of names 343
Tai, James H. Y. 95 Takubo, Yukinori 314 Tanaka, Hiroko 334 Tanaka, Shichiro 246 Tannen, Deborah 309, 310 ter Meulen, Alice 147, 148, 149, 163, 166 Teramura, Hideo 314 Thomas Rosen, Sara 203 Thompson, Sandra 27, 44, 91, 97, 107, 265 Toole, Janine 279 Traugott, Elizabeth Closs 265 Trosborg, Anna 293 V Vallduví, Enric 27, 50 van Heuven, Vincent 267
van Hout, Angeliek 192 Van Valin, Robert 22, 190, 192, 195, 196, 201, 202, 203, 204, 207, 210 Vendler, Zeno 147, 194 von Fintel, Kai 177 W Walker, Carol 277 Walker, Marilyn 23 Ward, Gregory 20, 35, 43, 122, 271 Webber, Bonnie 174 Weinstein, Scott 175 West, G.K. 266 Wierzbicka, Anna 310 Wilson, Deirdre 113, 218, 222, 223, 235
Wirth, Jessica 79 Wolfson, Nessa 294, 308 Wu, Jiun-Shiung 92, 100, 107 Wu, Zoe Xiu-Zhi 92, 103 Y Yekovich, Frank 277 Yoshida, Eri 320, 323 Z Zacharski, Ron 38, 50, 52, 113, 143, 163, 174, 175, 197, 209, 247, 257, 267, 270 Zanuttini, Raffaella 251 Zhang, Qing 102 Ziv, Yael 35 Zribi-Hertz, Anne 123
Index of subjects A aboutness 25 accessibility marking scale 209 accessibility theory 267, 276 accomplishment events 95 accomplishment verbs 209 activity verbs 208 Aktionsart 200, 202–7 Algonquian 129 alternation 127 ambiguity avoidance 29 anaphoricity measure 28 anchored inferrables 42 anchoring 43 Apachean 129 argument focus 26 argument realization condition 205 assistant information presenter 324 atelic situations 194 atemporal property 200 C centering theory 23, 119–20, 126, 175–6 Chafe-given 62 Chichewa 35 clausally introduced event 181– 6 clausally introduced situations 181 clausally introduced propositions 181 cleft constructions 50, 118 comment–topic cleft 50, 54, 59–60, 64, 65–6, 69 it-cleft 49–51, 55–62, 70–6 reverse wh-cleft 49–51, 54–75 that-clefts 79, 79, 82–3, 85 topic–comment cleft 54, 59, 62, 66, 70, 72 truncated cleft 77, 83, 89 vice-versa clefts 71 wh-cleft 49–51, 54–76 cognate argument 192 cognitive status 53, 113–15, 143–6, 156–9, 175, 207, 210–11 activated 50, 53, 55–6, 59–62, 67–8, 70, 114–16, 120–1, 124–6, 131–3, 140, 144–6, 148–9, 156, 158–9, 161, 168, 175–6, 186, 210–11, 223, 247, 259
familiar 53, 55, 59, 61–3, 114, 144–5, 151–4, 156–7, 159– 61, 168, 210, 247 in focus 39, 114–15, 119–20, 126, 144–5, 159, 175, 181, 184, 186, 210 referential 50, 144–5, 158, 197, 210–11 type identifiable 39, 53, 114, 144–5, 157, 162, 210 uniquely identifiable 39, 41–2, 50, 53, 56, 144–5, 151, 1534, 156–60, 163–6, 210 commitment 317 comparative 135–6 comparison 122 completive reading 93 condition C 72–3 conflation strategy 21 contrastive focus 72 contrastive topic 72,118, 133 contrast 121–3 coordinate constructions 137–8 coordinate structure constraint 66 D d-linked 246 deictic verb 313, 314, 319, 322, 329–35 definite descriptions 50, 151–2, 255, 257–9, 265–73 definition of topic 23 degree of familiarity 294 demonstratives 28–29, 32, 37– 40, 56, 66–70, 82–3, 85, 89, 113, 115–16, 138–40, 149, 151, 158, 174, 181–4, 206, 211, 218, 257–8, 267–269 discourse connective 217 discourse new 24–30, 34–6, 43, 53 discourse old 28, 43, 53–55, 58–9, 61 discourse topic 23 discourse-linked expressions 246 Dutch 267, 270–1 E economy condition 21 empathy hierarchy 330 emphasis 116, 118–20, 123–4 English Australian English 279
New Zealand English 294, 311 English–Norwegian Parallel Corpus 217ff ENPC see English–Norwegian Parallel Corpus entailment 92, 99, 175, 178–80 entity-denotations 249 epistemic modality 78 epistemic 77 epistemic would 77–9, 87 Eskimo 129 event realizations 100 event structures 189, 190, 199– 207, 215 exhaustiveness 83–5 exclamatives 251, 260 exophoric uses 198 extension 248 F familiarity scale 19, 39, 41 first mention definite descriptions 274 focus preposing 74 focus topicalization 74 footing 313–14, 320, 322–32 foregrounding 119 frame inferrables 40 French 20, 35, 123, 131, 191, 193, 199, 207 Functional Grammar 190 G generic value 193, 196, 201 given-before-new principle 58 Given A constraint 27, 35 givenness 23, 38, 50–6 givenness hierarchy 38–40, 52, 113–15, 120, 129, 143–6, 156–61, 175, 209–11, 247, 260, 267 H habitual sentences 98, 103 hearer new 43, 210 Hebrew 247, 270, 271–2, 281, 287, 288 I iconicity constraint 21 identifiability 38 implicature 84, 92, 105–6, 108, 113, 121, 131, 145, 160, 161– 3, 166, 168, 175, 202, 213,
Index of subjects 345
218, 226, 233, 248, 285, 301 imposed salience 119–20, 123–4 indefinite null instantiation 194 indirect apology 294, 295, 297, 304–6, 309 indirectness, definition 297 inferrables 39–43, 53, 55–6, 121, 124, 210 inferred entities 273, 274, 287 information-load constraint 35 inherent salience 119–20, 128, 134 intension 172, 248, 254–5, 258–9 internal arguments 189 internal variables 192 Italian 26, 35, 252 J Japanese 46, 63, 76, 118, 210, 287–90, 313–15, 319, 320, 330, 336–9, 344 K Keresan 129 kind-referring NPs 143, 146, 151 Kutenai 129 L latent object 197 left dislocation 30–1, 34, 35, 66 lexical coding 25, 26 lexical objects 21, 25, 27, 37, 38, 41, 43–4 lexical subjects 21, 22, 25–30, 32, 34, 36–8, 40–5 locally free reflexive 123, 131–7 M Malay 123 Mandarin Chinese 59, 91, 108– 9, 210 markedness reversal 20–1 mass quantifying interpretation 177–8, 182, 184 maxim of quality 304, 308 maxim of quantity 113, 145, 166 mental accessibility 276, 277–8 N non-transparent morphological compounds 153 Norwegian 146, 151–3, 217 null complements 189–90, 196– 7, 199 number mismatch 79, 83 O obviation 116, 128–9, 133, 140 open proposition 26, 77, 79
P part–whole structure 176, 181 participant footings 320 partitive reading 200 perfective aspect marker 91, 92, 99, 103, 108 persistence 31–4 person restriction 313–18, 320, 322–4, 330 perspective 123, 131–2, 137, 313, 322 plastic-accent language 26 politeness 293, 298, 310 predicate focus 64 present continuative reading 92, 100, 104–6 Principle of Relevance 113, 120, 217–18, 223, 233, 241 Principle of Separation of Reference and Role 22, 25, 34–5 procedural semantics 217–18, 224, 241 proper name interpretation 153–5 proper names 151 propositions 178 proximation 133 Q quantifier scope 22, 182 quantity adverbs 176, 178, 181, 182, 184, 186 quantity maxim 21, 36, 129 R realization marker 92, 99, 100, 106, 108 reciprocal 122–3, 125–6, 131 referential givenness 50, 52–6, 58, 61 register differences 265 relational givenness 50, 54, 58 relevance theory 113, 218, 233, 241 Russian 210, 245, 249–59 S salience 38–9, 89, 116 semantic valency 190–1, 193 sentence focus 26–7 Spanish 26, 35, 47, 210, 213, 247 specificational sentence 51, 78 Speech Act Empathy Hierarchy 314, 330 stage-level 254–5, 258 stipulative approach 161 subevent identification condition 204 subjectivity 123, 131, 136, 139, 313, 322 subsituation 173 supporting participant 313–14, 321, 324, 326–7
switch-polarity 229 switch-polarity anaphor 217, 221, 223–5, 227–8, 231–2, 234–41 Switchboard corpus 24 syntactic argument 190 syntactic valency 190–1, 193 T taxonomic reading 149, 159, 168 ToBI 52 topic shift 130, 132–3, 138 topic 21–6, 30–1, 34–6, 44, 50, 52, 58–69, 71–2, 74–5, 118– 19, 126, 129, 133–4, 197–9, 208, 212–14, 245, 251, 282, 286, 316 topic-establishing strategy 34 topic establishment 24 topic introduction 25 topic persistence 31–3 topic time 106 topic topicalization 74 topicalization 19, 30, 74 transparent 151–160 Turkish 123 turn-taking 127–8, 131 U unexpectedness 120 unmarked 20, 212–13, 231, 249, 257 W wadan 320–1, 323, 330 weak islands 252 weakly quantified expression 257 wh-expressions 245–6, 249, 253–4, 259–61 Z zero complement 196–8, 200–2, 206–7, 211–14
Pragmatics & Beyond New Series A complete list of titles in this series can be found on the publishers’ website, www.benjamins.com 163 Lytra, Vally: Play Frames and Social Identities. Contact encounters in a Greek primary school. 2007. 162 Fetzer, Anita (ed.): Context and Appropriateness. Micro meets macro. vi, 260 pp. + index. Expected September 2007 161 Celle, Agnès and Ruth Huart (eds.): Connectives as Discourse Landmarks. viii, 210 pp. + index. Expected August 2007 160 Fetzer, Anita and Gerda Eva Lauerbach (eds.): Political Discourse in the Media. Cross-cultural perspectives. viii, 376 pp. + index. Expected July 2007 159 Maynard, Senko K.: Linguistic Creativity in Japanese Discourse. Exploring the multiplicity of self, perspective, and voice. xiv, 354 pp. + index. Expected July 2007 158 Walker, Terry: Thou and You in Early Modern English Dialogues. Trials, depositions, and drama comedy. xx, 336 pp. + index. Expected June 2007 157 Crawford Camiciottoli, Belinda: The Language of Business Studies Lectures. A corpus-assisted analysis. 2007. xv, 236 pp. 156 Vega Moreno, Rosa E.: Creativity and Convention. The pragmatics of everyday figurative speech. xii, 243 pp. + index. Expected July 2007 155 Hedberg, Nancy and Ron Zacharski (eds.): The Grammar–Pragmatics Interface. Essays in honor of Jeanette K. Gundel. viii, 435 pp. Expected May 2007 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 Ángeles 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 Ángeles: 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 SimonVandenbergen 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.
