Conflict Talk in English as a Lingua Franca: Analyzing Multimodal Resources in Casual ELF Conversations 9781501512964, 9781501517815

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Mayu Konakahara Conflict Talk in English as a Lingua Franca

Developments in English as a Lingua Franca

Editors Jennifer Jenkins Will Baker

Volume 15

Mayu Konakahara

Conflict Talk in English as a Lingua Franca Analyzing Multimodal Resources in Casual ELF Conversations

ISBN 978-1-5015-1781-5 e-ISBN (PDF) 978-1-5015-1296-4 e-ISBN (EPUB) 978-1-5015-1288-9 ISSN 2192-8177 Library of Congress Control Number: 2023930677 Bibliographic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data are available on the internet at http://dnb.dnb.de. © 2023 Walter de Gruyter Inc., Boston/Berlin Typesetting: Integra Software Services Pvt. Ltd. Printing and binding: CPI books GmbH, Leck www.degruyter.com

Acknowledgments Writing a monograph was much harder than I thought, but it is certainly a rewarding academic experience I have ever had. The completion of this monograph is thanks to the support of many people, and it is a pleasure to express my thank to those who made this possible. I would like to show my sincere gratitude to the series editors Will Baker and Jennifer Jenkins for their guidance from proposal to final manuscript. Without their invaluable support and patience, the publication of this monograph would not have been possible. I am also grateful to the anonymous reviewers for their valuable comments and suggestions. Their comments led to a considerable improvement in the quality of the manuscript. I would like to express my deepest gratitude to my PhD supervisor, Kumiko Murata, who has always been supportive and inspiring as well as gave invaluable feedback on my doctoral thesis, on which this monograph is based. Her continuous encouragement and patience have been indispensable for the completion of my doctoral work as well as this monograph. I would like to extend my gratitude to the examiners of my doctoral thesis, Henry Widdowson, Masakazu Iino, Tetsuo Harada, and Peter Backhaus, who provided valuable feedback on my thesis at that time. I am indebted to the Japan Society for the Promotion of Science whose KAKENHI Grant funded my doctoral research (Number JP24720273). As briefly touched upon earlier, this monograph is based on my doctoral thesis A reconsideration of communication strategies from the perspectives of English as a lingua franca: A qualitative analysis of interactional management of face-threatening acts (Waseda University 2015) although much has been revised and reorganized. I also thank the copyright holders for permission as some parts of the monograph were originally published elsewhere; specific acknowledgments are given in appropriate footnotes in the main text. I am extremely grateful to all research participants for their participation in the research project. It is their cooperation that made me possible to conduct this research. Special thanks go to my friends who helped me recruit the research participants. I am also very grateful for the support and assistance provided by the publisher, De Gruyter Mouton, particularly that from Kirstin Börgen and Natalie Fecher. Finally, my heartfelt thanks go to my family, who have always given me emotional support and continuous encouragement. Their support strengthened me in many ways and assisted me in accomplishing this project.

https://doi.org/10.1515/9781501512964-202

Contents Acknowledgments  List of acronyms 

 V  XI

Chapter 1 Introduction   1 1.1 English spread and sociolinguistic inquiries into “English”:  ELF and WE   5 1.2 The definitions of ELF: The need for the multimodal perspective  1.3 ELF groupings: From a speech community to CoP and TIGs   9 1.4 Communicative capability: The need for the multimodal perspective   10 1.5 Organization of the book   15

 7

Chapter 2 Understanding ELF interactions from a participant-relevant emic perspective   17 2.1 Conversation analysis   18 2.1.1 Fundamental concepts in CA   20 2.1.2 Specific characteristic features of ordinary conversation   21 2.2 Multimodal CA   25 2.2.1 Interactional functions of embodied actions: Seminal work   26 2.2.1.1 Gazes and postural shifts   26 2.2.1.2 Speech-accompanying spontaneous hand gestures   29 2.3 Analyzing multimodal resources in ELF interactions: From a cross-cultural to an intercultural approach   31 2.3.1 Approaching to embodied actions from the intercultural perspective   34 2.3.1.1 Gaze behavior   34 2.3.1.2 Hand gestures   36 2.3.1.3 Head movements   39 2.4 Pragmatic theories of communication   42 2.4.1 Cooperative principle and politeness theory: Seminal work   43 2.4.2 Reconsidering politeness from the discursive perspectives   45 2.4.3 The sequential analysis of politeness   49 2.5 Summary   51

VIII 

 Contents

Chapter 3 Pragmatic research into ELF: The need for a multimodal perspective and more work on conflict talk   53 3.1 Consensus-oriented, cooperative, and mutually supportive aspects of ELF interactions   53 3.2 Lack of multimodality in pragmatic research into ELF: A research gap   60 3.3 Scarce research into conflict talk in ELF interactions   62 3.3.1 Being selfish, uncooperative, unsupportive, reprehensive, and face-threatening   63 3.3.2 Expressing disagreement   66 3.3.3 Being competitive   71 3.3.4 Facework during conflict talk in casual ELF conversations: A research gap   72 3.4 Summary   75 Chapter 4 Data collection and transcript conventions   76 4.1 Methodological design   76 4.2 Data collection   81 4.2.1 Research sites   82 4.2.2 Participants   82 4.2.3 Procedures   84 4.2.3.1 Preparation for the data collection   84 4.2.3.2 Arrangement of the recordings   86 4.2.3.3 Procedures for the recordings   88 4.3 Corpus   90 4.4 Transcription conventions for multimodal CA  4.5 Summary   94 Chapter 5 Interactional management of competitive overlaps  5.1 Defining overlaps   96 5.2 Findings and discussion   101 5.2.1 Floor-taking overlaps   104 5.2.1.1 Floor-taking question (FT-Q)   104 5.2.1.2 Floor-taking expansion (FT-E)   112 5.2.1.2.1 Proactive FT-E   112 5.2.1.2.2 Retroactive FT-E   117 5.2.2 Floor-attempting overlaps   122

 91

 96

Contents 

5.2.2.1 5.2.2.2 5.3

Floor-attempting question (FA-Q)  Floor-attempting expansion (FA-E)  Summary   134

 IX

 123  128

Chapter 6 Interactional management of disagreement   138 6.1 Theorizing disagreement   138 6.2 Findings and discussion   140 6.2.1 Sharing knowledge by disagreeing   142 6.2.2 Promoting interpersonal relationships while disagreeing  6.3 Summary   160

 152

Chapter 7 Interactional management of third-party complaints in extended sequences of talk   163 7.1 Theorizing complaints   163 7.1.1 Defining complaints   164 7.1.2 Third-party complaint sequences   166 7.2 Findings and discussion   169 7.2.1 A disattended complaint sequence   170 7.2.2 A negotiated complaint sequence   175 7.3 Summary   188 Chapter 8 Conclusion   191 8.1 Summary of the book   191 8.1.1 How do the interactants manage competitive overlaps?   191 8.1.2 How do the interactants manage disagreement?   192 8.1.3 How do the interactants manage third-party complaints in the extended sequences of talk?   193 8.1.4 What the present research tells us about conflict talk in ELF interactions?   195 8.2 Methodological implications   196 8.2.1 The benefits of using multimodal CA for ELF research   196 8.2.2 The challenges of using multimodal CA for analyzing ELF interactions   198 8.3 Pedagogical implications   204 8.4 Limitations of the present research and suggestions for future research   208

X 

 Contents

Appendices Appendix A 

 215

Appendix B 

 217

Appendix C 

 219

Appendix D 

 221

References 

 225

Index 

 243

List of acronyms CA CN CoP EFL ELF ENL ESP ES FA-E FA-Q FT-E FT-Q FTA GR IQ IR JP L1 L2 LF LY MX PK PL SLA SY TCU TH TIGs TMCs TRP TW VN WE

Conversation analysis Chinese Communities of practice English as a foreign language English as a lingua franca English as a native language English for specific purposes Spanish Floor-attempting expansion Floor-attempting question Floor-taking expansion Floor-taking question Face-threatening act Greek Iraqi Iranian Japanese First language Second language Lingua franca Libyan Mexican Pakistani Polish Second language acquisition Syrian Turn-constructional unit Thai Transient International Groups Transient multilingual communities Transition relevance place Taiwanese Vietnamese World Englishes

https://doi.org/10.1515/9781501512964-204

Chapter 1  Introduction This book investigates how conflict talk is interactionally managed in casual ELF (English as a lingua franca) conversations among friends by using a conversation analytic approach, multimodal conversation analysis (CA) in particular (Mondada 2018; Mortensen 2012). This approach is also combined with perspectives from pragmatic theories of communication (Arundale 2010; Brown and Levinson 1987; Grainger 2011; Grice 1975; Haugh 2007). On the basis of a qualitative analysis of casual ELF conversations of international students at British universities, the book will show how interactants using ELF (1) competitively take the floor by overlapping, (2) disagree with a co-interactant, and (3) complain about an absent complainee/target by means of various multimodal resources at their disposal. In doing so, it aims to scrutinize an underexplored aspect of ELF interactions, namely interactionally conflict moments, from a multimodal perspective, which is also scarce in pragmatic research into ELF (see also Matsumoto 2019). Globalization has changed the face of the world dramatically, accelerated by the development of transportation and communication technology. Society increasingly becomes interconnected and heterogeneous (Dewey 2007; Seidlhofer 2011) as more and more people from various parts of the world readily cross the boundaries of nations and regions physically and virtually for social, academic, professional, and/or business purposes. Accordingly, increased lingua-cultural diversity is highly visible in a wide range of contexts if we look at, for instance, the ratio of foreign nationals although this tendency has been slightly decelerated due to the COVID-19 pandemic. Take a higher education context in the UK, which is of particular interest in this book, as an example. When the present data were collected in British universities in the academic year of 2012–2013, the majority of international students (70.5%) came from non-European countries such as China, India, and Nigeria, to name a few, and 29.5% came from European countries such as Germany, Ireland, France, and so forth (HESA 2014). As far as full-time postgraduate programs are concerned, the ratio of international students and that of British students was almost equal, the former (57.2%) being slightly larger than the latter (42.8%) (HESA 2014). Basically, the same tendency is also observed in more recent years. For example, in the academic year of 2020–2021, China and India were the top two countries where international students came from although the number of entrants from China decreased for the first time since 2007 (HESA 2022). Likewise, the ratio of full-time postgraduate students from overseas accounted for more than a half, including students from non-European Union (49%) and those from European Union (7%) (HESA 2022). This suggests that although a decade has passed since the https://doi.org/10.1515/9781501512964-001

2 

 Chapter 1 Introduction

present data were collected, “non-native” speakers of English still outnumber its “native” speakers (Crystal 2003; Graddol 1997, 2006). In such multilingual settings, English, along with other languages, plays an important role in communication. Students from multilingual backgrounds use it as a lingua franca (i.e., ELF) for both academic (e.g., lectures, seminars, discussion, presentations, etc.) and social purposes (e.g., parties, lunch breaks, short trips, etc.), thereby achieving mutual understanding and developing interpersonal relationships. My initial interest in ELF emerged from my study abroad experience as a master’s student in a lingua-culturally diverse British university, where most of my classmates and flat-mates came from overseas, in addition to several local British students as well as both local and international faculty staff. One striking point of ELF communication that I noted from my experience is that it was not infrequent that international friends, Asians in particular, somehow understood what an Asian peer said even when “native English” friends could not understand. In fact, such an experience is not unique to me. For instance, a Japanese participant in the informal group discussion in the pilot study conducted prior to the present research said that she felt more comfortable talking to Asians than Britons, and Asians could understand each other easily because they were all “non-native” English speakers (see also Iino and Murata 2013; Nogami 2019; Tsuchiya 2013). A Korean participant then explained how she usually managed to communicate with “native English” friends, in contrast to communication with her Korean friends. Her explanation was not necessarily “straightforward”. However, a Chinese participant expressed her understanding and said, “We can still understand” when the Korean peer stammered and said “Where we are [sic]?” at the end of her explanation. The Korean participant then said “Yeah, like this!”, indicating that Asian friends could understand what she said easily, and they all laughed together. A story like this is not rare, and I frequently experienced similar situations when I studied in the UK. This observation gradually motivated me to investigate how ELF users, those with “non-native” backgrounds particularly, communicate with one another despite their different lingua-cultural backgrounds and different proficiency levels in English. The field of ELF research, which emerged in the late 1990s, has now developed into a productive field in applied linguistics and sociolinguistics. A few seminal works include Jenkins’ (2000, 2002) investigation of mutual intelligibility of English pronunciation in international settings and Seidlhofer’s (2004) report on certain regularities in ELF lexico-grammatical features based on the analysis of ELF conversational data in the Vienna-Oxford International Corpus of English (VOICE 2013). Since Seidlhofer (2001) called for more linguistic descriptions of ELF, an increasing number of ELF corpora have been compiled officially and individually by (audio-)recording actual instances of ELF interactions in various contexts. The official corpora, in addition to the VOICE, include the Corpus of English as a Lingua

Chapter 1 Introduction  

 3

Franca in Academic Settings (ELFA 2008) and the Asian Corpus of English (ACE 2013). Descriptive research into ELF, accordingly, has been flourishing in the field, which is conducted at various linguistic levels such as phonology, lexico-grammar, and discourse-pragmatics. The earlier phase of research, referred to as ELF1 by Jenkins (2015b), focused more on the identification of linguistic forms, namely product. A research focus in the later phase, however, has shifted to the investigation of functions through the analysis of dynamic processes of meaning-making in interactions, and this phase of research is referred to as ELF2 by Jenkins (2015b). To borrow Seidlhofer’s (2009: 241) words, many ELF studies in this phase “take a much more processual, communicative view of ELF, of which linguistic features constitute but a part and are investigated not for their own sake but as indications of the various functions ELF fulfills in the interactions observed” (emphasis added). Pragmatic research, which the present research falls into, has been particularly flourishing since then, and variation, or in other words, variability and hybridity, has been reported to be one of the decisive characteristics of ELF (Canagarajah 2007: 926; Firth 2009: 162; Jenkins, Cogo, and Dewey 2011: 297, 303; Mauranen 2007: 244; Seidlhofer 2011: 95; Widdowson 2014). More recently, this variability in ELF has been explicitly re-positioned within theories of multilingualism such as translanguaging (García and Li 2014), translingual practice (Canagarajah 2012), and metrolingualism (Pennycook and Otsuji 2015). All of these theories underscore the super-diversity, fluidity, and emergent nature of language use in communication in global contexts, which transgresses, transcends, and transforms the boundaries of named languages. These theories are also in accord with the multilingual turn (May 2014) in second language acquisition (SLA) and applied linguistic research in general, while they also have an influence from Complexity Theory, which sees language as complex adaptive systems (Larsen-Freeman 2018). In line with these theories, Jenkins (2015b) reconceptualizes ELF as English as a Multilingua Franca (its definition will be provided later in Section 1.2), identifying this phase of research as ELF3. She argues that the “multilingualism of most ELF users” (Jenkins 2015b: 75) needs to be emphasized rather than “multilingualism as an aspect of ELF” (Jenkins 2015b: 73), underscoring the complex and emergent nature of ELF use in interactions. Pragmatic research into ELF has investigated how people use ELF to achieve transactional and interactional purposes of the talk in situ in various ELF contexts (Seidlhofer 2011) by using approaches such as discourse analysis and conversation analysis. While a detailed review of existing pragmatic research into ELF will be offered in Chapter 3, to my knowledge, two aspects seem to be underexplored in the field. One is conflict talk in ELF interactions, and the other is the interplay of verbal and non-verbal semiotic resources in ELF interactions, namely multimodality. A substantial amount of research has revealed that interactants using ELF are

4 

 Chapter 1 Introduction

often “consensus-oriented, cooperative and mutually supportive” (Seidlhofer 2001: 143). This observation, however, does not mean that ELF users always exhibit such stances. Depending on the nature of individual settings and communicative goals, they may disagree with each other (Bjørge 2012; Konakahara 2015c; Liu et al. 2022; Toomaneejinda and Harding 2018; Wolfartsberger 2011), be uncooperative (House 1999; Jenks 2018; Knapp 2002), or be being reprehensive (Jenks 2012, 2018). Conflict talk like these, which is “potentially” face-threatening from the perspective of politeness (Brown and Levinson 1987), however, is somewhat less explored in the field. The present research thus scrutinizes this aspect and re-examines the notion of cooperativeness critically without seeing ELF interactions as cooperative a priori. In addition to conflict talk, the role of embodied actions seems to be largely disregarded in ELF research, as also pointed out by Matsumoto (2019). This tendency of viewing communicative practices as “exclusively in terms of linguistic” is referred to as the “lingual bias” in applied linguistics in general (Block 2014: 56). A few ELF studies (e.g., Kimura 2017; Konakahara 2015a, 2015c; Matsumoto 2018a, 2018b, 2018c) have integrated embodied actions such as gestures, gazes, facial expressions, and posture in their analyses. However, the analysis of multimodal resources, namely both verbal and non-verbal semiotic resources, of ELF interactions is still “the exception rather than the norm” (Matsumoto 2019: 569) despite the important functions of embodied actions in interaction (see Sections 2.2.1.1 and 2.2.1.2 for the review of interactional functions of embodied actions). By exploring the interplay of verbal and non-verbal semiotic resources in casual ELF conversations, therefore, this book aims to fill the gap in pragmatic research into ELF. This will simultaneously respond to Block’s (2014: 72) call for the multimodal turn in applied linguistics, which refers to “simultaneously taking on board the multiplicity of embodied and multimodal forms associated with any given linguistic repertoire”. To sum up, on the basis of the series of the discussion above, the present research aims at exploring conflict talk in ELF interactions from the perspective of multimodality. The research will thus contribute to Matsumoto’s (2019) call for epistemological expansions of ELF. As stated at the outset of this chapter, to pursue the aim, the research conducts a qualitative inquiry using a conversation analytic approach (Hutchby and Wooffitt 2008; Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson 1974), multimodal CA in particular (Mondada 2018; Mortensen 2012). The approach is also combined with perspectives from pragmatic theories of communication such as the cooperative principle (Grice 1975) and politeness theory (Brown and Levinson 1987) as well as more recent works and critiques on this matter (Arundale 2010; Grainger 2011; Haugh 2007, 2010b; Locher and Watts 2005; O’Driscoll 2007; Van der Bom and Mills 2015) to deepen our understanding of ELF interactions. The three

1.1 English spread and sociolinguistic inquiries into “English”: ELF and WE 

 5

sorts of conflict moments that naturally occurred in the present data will be examined: (1) competitively taking the conversational floor by overlapping (i.e., competitive overlaps), (2) disagreeing with a co-interactant, and (3) complaining about an absent complainee or target (i.e., third-party complaints). Having clarified the aim of the research and its rationale, I will now provide the theoretical underpinnings of ELF that are necessary in order to understand the present research. In the following subsections, I will first discuss similarities and differences between two fields of sociolinguistic research, namely ELF and World Englishes (WE) (Section 1.1). This will be followed by a review of the definitions of ELF (Section 1.2) and of traditional notions like a speech community (Section 1.3) and communicative competence (Section 1.4). The last subsection offers the organization of the book.

1.1 English spread and sociolinguistic inquiries into “English”: ELF and WE As briefly mentioned in the previous section, in the current era of globalization, English plays the most dominant role within intercultural communication in a variety of domains, and is used for a wide range of purposes, such as social, academic, commercial, diplomatic, business, and professional (Crystal 2003; Graddol 1997; Jenkins 2009). What makes English unprecedented is the very fact that the majority of its users today are so-called “non-native” English speakers, or, bi/multilingual speakers (Jenkins 2009: 20). On the other hand, Phillipson, who introduces the notion of linguistic imperialism, problematizes that the discourse of English as “the only” lingua franca promotes “structural and cultural inequalities between English and other languages” (Phillipson 1992: 47) and reinforces the ideology of English as “the most eligible language” for all-important purposes (Phillipson 1992: 42). However, this is not what ELF scholars intend to advocate. Notice that Phillipson (1992) assumes that there is stable homogeneous native English which is promoted as “the” lingua franca (see also Pennycook 2010); however, there is no such a thing because ELF is not fixed but varies, and its use is adapted to the individual specific contexts in which it is used, as Seidlhofer (2011: 33) and Widdowson (1997, 2014) point out (see also Section 1.2). Historically, English spread as a result of the colonization by the British Empire and the rise of the USA in terms of its economic, political, technological, and military power (Graddol 1997: 8; see also Brutt-Griffler 2002; Crystal 2003; Ferguson 2006). According to Kachru (1982), the former resulted in English spread in the Outer Circle, and the latter, the Expanding Circle. This spread of English sounds, at least on the surface, as if their varieties of English (i.e., British and American)

6 

 Chapter 1 Introduction

were transplanted from their territories to others. This view, however, is a complete fallacy. Widdowson (1997: 136) makes this point clear by pointing out that “[language] is not transmitted without being transformed”. He continues that “[t] he point about the control of people by language is that it is bound to fail because as soon as the language is used it cannot be kept under your control” (Widdowson 1997: 136; see also Brutt-Griffler 2002). To further clarify the nature of English spread, Widdowson distinguishes the notions of distribution and spread. He argues that English as a means of intercultural communication is “not distributed as a set of established encoded forms [i.e., English as a native language (ENL)], but it is spread as a virtual language” (Widdowson 1997: 139; emphasis in original). Here, the virtual language indicates a “resource for making meaning immanent in the language which simply has not hitherto been encoded and so is not, so to speak, given official recognition” (Widdowson 1997: 138). It is further explained that while the term distribution implies the adoption of ENL and conformity to its norms, the term spread implies adaptation of the virtual language according to its users’ needs and nonconformity to native-speaker norms (Widdowson 1997: 140). This means that it is not ENL that was spread, or distributed more specifically, but the meaning potential of the language inherent in its semantic encodings (see Widdowson 2008) that was exploited and adapted to the users’ needs when English spread around the world. This thought-provoking argument leads us to the notion of the ownership of English. That is, English, which is used as a means of intercultural communication, is not the property of “native” English speakers but of those who use it for their own purposes (Widdowson 1994: 385). The field of WE has flourished in order to claim the ownership of English, or the legitimacy of indigenized varieties of English more specifically, in the Outer Circle (Kachru 1988). Descriptive research in the WE field is particularly interested in identifying linguistic features of individual varieties of English in such territories (see e.g., Kirkpatrick 2007 for the comprehensive summary on this matter). To borrow Widdowson’s (2014) words, WE is concerned with “language in relation to Community”, and thus, is “[t]he Sociolinguistic study of Variety” (emphasis in original). However, as society increasingly becomes heterogeneous with the acceleration of globalization since the late 1990s, there has been a growing interest in how English users from diverse multilingual backgrounds communicate with one another in a wide range of intercultural settings, and thus the field of ELF has gradually come to flourish. It is worth noting that as Seildlhofer (2009: 237) points out, WE and ELF studies share a common interest, that is, claiming the legitimacy of “non-native” Englishes. Both fields emphasize the plurality of English; however, she argues that ELF cannot be “primarily identified with any of the Kachruvian Circles but is a function of the transcultural exploitation of the communicative resources of all three [circles]” (Seidlhofer 2011: 91; emphasis in original). This means that

1.2 The definitions of ELF: The need for the multimodal perspective 

 7

ELF research is interested in describing variation in how English users from different nations and regions communicate with one another by using communicative resources at their disposal in particular contexts in a range of intercultural settings rather than identifying features of individual national or regional varieties of English. Again, to borrow Widdowson’s (2014) words, this means that in contrast to WE, ELF is concerned with “language in relation to Communication”, and thus, is “[t]he Pragmatic study of Variation” (emphasis in original). Having discussed the similarities and differences between ELF and WE, I will now define ELF in the next section.

1.2 The definitions of ELF: The need for the multimodal perspective One of the oft-cited definitions of ELF is Seidlhofer’s (2011: 7): “any use of English among speakers of different first languages for whom English is the communicative medium of choice, and often the only option” (emphasis in original). While this definition includes speakers from any lingua-cultural backgrounds, earlier definitions of ELF exclude “native” speakers, focusing only on English use of its “non-native” speakers (e.g., Firth 1996; House 1999). Later, however, researchers take a broader view and thus involve both “native” and “non-native” English speakers in their conceptualization of ELF (e.g., Jenkins 2009; Seidlhofer 2011) although the inclusion of the former tends to be avoided or limited in many existing ELF studies (but see e.g., Carey 2010; Kimura 2017; see also Baird, Baker, and Kitazawa 2014: 187). Different from the perspective of traditional SLA research (i.e., English as a foreign language; EFL), however, English use of its “native” speakers is not considered to be norms in ELF, and “non-native English” speakers are not imposed a deficient view (Jenkins 2015a: 45). As amply demonstrated in pragmatic research into ELF (see Chapter 3), “non-native” speakers frequently succeed in communicating in English despite their “limited” communicative resources and “native” speakers, too, can be a source of communication problems (Firth and Wagner 1997; Rampton 1997). As Kimura (2017: 282) argues, therefore, the linguistic identities of participants, being “native” or “non-native”, should be “treated as an interactionally contingent matter, such that they [are] relevant only when participants [attend] to them as relevant” without presuming a correlation between linguistic identities and interactional behavior a priori. Moreover, it is true that in the earlier phase of ELF research, some scholars referred to the possibility of codifying linguistic forms and features of ELF as a variety of English (e.g., Jenkins 2000, 2002; Seidlhofer 2001, 2004), acknowledging its difficulty. However, as the focus of ELF research has gradually shifted from the investigation of forms per se (i.e., product) to that of interactional functions

8 

 Chapter 1 Introduction

of forms (i.e., process), the inherent hybridity, variability, and fluidity of ELF has been highlighted, which emerge from individual speakers’ multilingual backgrounds and proficiency levels as well as intercultural contexts where respective ELF interactions take place (Firth 2009; Jenkins, Cogo, and Dewey 2011; Seidlhofer 2011; Widdowson 2014). ELF is, therefore, “not a variety of English but a variable way of using [. . .] English that functions as a lingua franca” (Seidlhofer 2011: 77; emphasis in original), that is, “creative local realizations, or performances, of a global resource that continually gets appropriated and re-fashioned by its speakers” (Seidlhofer 2011: 111). As mentioned earlier in this chapter, more recently, ELF has been explicitly re-positioned within the framework of theories of multilingualism that emphasize the super-diversity, fluidity, and emergent nature of language use in global communication, which transgresses, transcends, and transforms the boundaries of named languages (Canagarajah 2012; García and Li 2014; Pennycook and Otsuji 2015). While the focus of ELF research within this framework is still on the “process” of meaning-making, it specifically focuses on “how bilingual people fluidly use their linguistic resources – without regard to named language categories – to make meaning and communicate” (Vogel and García 2017: 4; emphasis added). In line with this argument, Jenkins (2015b: 74) foregrounds the multilingual aspect of ELF and re-conceptualizes it as English as a Multilingua Franca: “multilingual communicative settings in which English is known to everyone present, and is therefore always potentially ‘in the mix’, regardless of whether or not, and how much, it is actually used” (emphasis in original). That is, not only do the multiple linguistic resources exist as backgrounds and experiences of individuals, but the combination of an individual’s linguistic resources, which are pooled in their linguistic repertoire (Baker and Ishikawa 2021: 33), may, or may not, be used as communicative resources, which are “inevitably constructed, adapted, and changed in contact with various linguistic resources and in interaction within a specific context” (Cogo 2016: 63; see also “repertoires in flux” in Jenkins 2015b: 76). The emergent and complex nature of ELF is also underscored by Mortensen (2013: 35), who problematizes the tendency in ELF research that implicitly sees ELF as a bounded object by identifying its own characteristic linguistic features regardless of the explicit rejection of ELF as a variety of English. To move away from such a tendency, he argues that ELF is better defined as “the use of English in a lingua franca language scenario” (Mortensen 2013: 36; emphasis in original), seeing a language scenario as “the linguistic resources available in a given communicative encounter between two or more speakers by virtue of their individual language repertoires” (Mortensen 2013: 36). In doing so, he emphasizes the complexity and broadness of ELF as an object of study as well as the context-dependent and practice-based nature of ELF (see also Matsumoto 2019).

1.3 ELF groupings: From a speech community to CoP and TIGs 

 9

The definitions of ELF have been elaborated and sophisticated, with both “native” and “non-native” English speakers included as well as the super-diversity, fluidity, and emergent nature of language use in ELF contexts considered. Yet what seems missing from the series of arguments is the multimodal perspective. As discussed in the introductory section of this chapter, the analysis of the interplay of verbal and non-verbal semiotic resources is still scarce in ELF research despite the importance of interactional functions that embodied actions serve in relation to verbal resources (see Sections 2.2.1.1 and 2.2.1.2). This lack of multimodality is also reflected in the definitions of ELF because the whole discussion above has centered on linguistic elements. I would argue that the multimodal perspective, too, needs to be incorporated into the conceptualization of ELF if one would like to understand ELF holistically and comprehensively. The present research, therefore, adds the multimodal perspective to the definition of ELF while retaining its emergent, complex, and multilingual nature. This means that ELF is seen as multilingual and multimodal repertoires in flux, to modify Jenkins’ (2015b: 76) original word. Having defined ELF, I will now review two language-related traditional notions, namely a speech community (Section 1.3) and communicative competence (Section 1.4) from the perspective of ELF.

1.3 ELF groupings: From a speech community to CoP and TIGs In the fields of applied linguistics and sociolinguistics, the traditional notion of a speech community presupposes a socio-linguistically homogenous group of people that use the same variety of a language according to the shared rules of using it (Gumperz 1972). This notion, however, should be reconsidered, given the changes in society from separated to interconnected and homogeneous to heterogeneous with globalization (Dewey 2007: 337; Jenkins 2014: 8; Seidlhofer 2011: 89). Seidlhofer (2011) argues that a more relevant notion is communities of practice (CoP) (Wenger 1998), which are “aggregate[s] of people who come together around mutual engagement in an endeavor” (Eckert and McConnell-Ginet 1992: 464, cited in Seidlhofer 2011: 87). She continues that people “tak[e] part in some jointly negotiated enterprise” in such communities, “making use of members’ shared repertoire” (Wenger 1998: 72, cited in Seidlhofer 2011: 87). The notion of CoP seems more appropriate to describe ELF groupings considering that they consist of socio-linguistically heterogeneous people who do not necessarily share their first language nor the rules of using “English”. However, the notion of CoP is not applicable to every ELF encounter, as several scholars point out more recently (Jenkins 2015b; Mortensen 2017; Pitzl 2018). It is because, as Pitzl (2018) argues, although some groups of ELF speakers may “exist

10 

 Chapter 1 Introduction

long enough in a stable fashion to develop ‘shared repertoire’ through ‘mutual engagement’ in a ‘joint enterprise’ (Wenger 1998: 73)”, which forms communities of some kind (Pitzl 2018: 27), many of ELF groups are too transient to qualify as CoP (Pitzl 2018: 29). To complement the framework of CoP, Pitzl (2018: 30) introduces the notion of Transient International Groups (TIGs), which refers to “groups of multilingual ELF users who interact for a particular purpose at a particular location for a certain amount of time”. That is, whether groups of ELF speakers may or may not develop into CoP or TIGs depends on how long and how often they gather together physically and virtually, and whether, to what extent, and how they develop shared multilingual and multimodal repertoire in flux varies across groupings. A similar concept is introduced by Mortensen (2017); he proposes the notion of transient multilingual communities (TMCs). Considering the scales of the transience of ELF groupings and sedimentation of shared semiotic resources, he defines TMCs as “social configurations where people from diverse sociocultural and linguistic backgrounds come together (physically or otherwise) for a limited period of time around a shared activity” (Mortensen 2017: 271). ELF groupings that the present research looks at are TIGs/TMCs rather than CoP because of their transient nature. The participants were international students who had been studying in British universities when the recordings were carried out. They gathered for the data collection of the present research, although most of them were friends or acquaintances. Besides, the present research looks at one particular occasion of each of the ELF groupings given that the respective conversational data were collected on one-off occasions.

1.4 Communicative capability: The need for the multimodal perspective In a similar vein, the notion of communicative competence should also be reconsidered so that they match well with the shifts in today’s globalizing world (Seidlhofer 2011: 83, 90). To do so, I will first review Hymes’ (1972) notion of communicative competence, with a special reference to Widdowson’s (1989, 2003, 2008) critique on this matter. It will be argued that while Hymes’ notion of communicative competence captures the dynamic and holistic nature of communication, it is not suitable for ELF contexts due to its ethnographic and native-speaker-oriented conceptualization. I will thus advocate Widdowson’s notion of communicative capability, which is based on the ethnomethodological view, but also suggest adding the multimodal perspective to it. Hymes (1972), who regards communication as social action which is closely and intricately associated with a variety of sociocultural factors, proposed the

1.4 Communicative capability: The need for the multimodal perspective 

 11

notion of communicative competence against that of linguistic competence which the transformational generative grammarian Noam Chomsky (1965) advocated. For Chomsky, linguistic competence refers to a tacit, deep-seated grammatical knowledge, being untouched by cognitive and sociocultural factors in a human’s mind in a completely homogeneous speech community (Chomsky 1965: 3; see also Hymes 1972; Widdowson 1983, 2003, 2008). Cognitive and sociocultural factors associated with the production of a sentence are thus explicitly excluded from linguistic competence, regarded as part of linguistic performance (Chomsky 1965: 9). While Hymes acknowledges that performance is a partial and imperfect manifestation of the underlying system (i.e., competence; Hymes 1972: 272), he points out that in reality “there is [. . .] differential competence within a heterogeneous speech community” (Hymes 1972: 274; emphasis in original). Accordingly, he argues that a broader theory of communication within which sociocultural factors have an explicit and constitutive role is necessary, in order to deal with realities that encompass variability in competence and linguistic diversity (Hymes 1972: 271, 277). For Hymes (1972: 277), communicative competence, therefore, entails “abilities and judgments relative to, and interdependent with, sociocultural features”. Specifically, he conceptualizes competence as something dependent on both knowledge and ability for use that users of the language have (Hymes 1972: 282); here, knowledge is only a partial component of competence, and so is the ability for use, that is, both aspects are interrelated to form competence. He further argues that the inclusion of the ability for use to the concept of competence allows him to take non-cognitive factors such as motivations into consideration (Hymes 1972: 283). This suggests that, as Widdowson (2008: 3) points out, Hymes is not only interested in knowledge as resources but also in how such resources become activated as use in actual performance. However, Widdowson (1983: 25) argues that Hymes’ notion of communicative competence is essentially ethnographic. Although Hymes is surely concerned with “a person’s ability” to make judgments about the four dimensions, such an ability is “analytic and is directed at recognizing not the meaning that an expression communicates, but the degree of normality that it indicates” (Widdowson 1983: 24; emphasis in original). Moreover, the judgment of four dimensions, namely the possible, the feasible, the appropriate, and the actually performed are taken into account in his notion of communicative competence. The possibility concerns the judgment of formal properties of a language code itself (i.e., linguistic competence; Hymes 1972: 284–285), and this not only includes grammatical but also phonological, morphological, and lexical forms (Widdowson 2008: 2). The feasibility, on the other hand, concerns psycholinguistic factors (e.g., memory limitation, perceptual device) that operate in the production and interpretation processes of linguistic forms in the context (Hymes 1972: 285). The third dimension, appropriateness, concerns the judgment of forms

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 Chapter 1 Introduction

in relation to sociocultural factors in the context (Hymes 1972: 285–286); and this dimension is later referred to as sociolinguistic competence by other scholars (e.g., Canale and Swain 1980). The last dimension, the actual performedness, concerns the probability of occurrence of forms in actual performance (Hymes 1972: 286). As he puts it, “the goal of a broad theory of competence can be said to be to show the ways in which the systematically possible, the feasible, and the appropriate are linked to produce and interpret actually occurring cultural behavior” (Hymes 1972: 286; emphasis added). Here, we can observe the dynamic processes of communication and the interdependency of the four dimensions of knowledge and the ability to use them (see also Murata 1993). To put it another way, the individual dimensions of knowledge and the ability to use them are part of the components that comprise communicative competence; neither of them is unimportant and can be excluded from its notion (see Widdowson 1989: 136; 2003: 166, 172). Hymes’ notion of communicative competence, therefore, is holistic and dynamic rather than partial and static although it still remains at the knowledge level, being regarded as an ethnographic, analytic capability targeted at judging “the degree of normality that it [i.e., the meaning] indicates” (Widdowson 1983: 24–25; emphasis in original). The interdependency across the different aspects of knowledge and the ability to use them is the essence of Hymes’ communicative competence, according to Widdowson (2008: 4). Hymes did not explicitly state how the four dimensions of knowledge and the ability to use them are dependent on each other. However, Widdowson (2008: 4) makes this point clear particularly regarding Hymes’ possibility dimension and argues that it is the contexts that “provide the conditions whereby this potential [i.e., the possibility in Hymes’ formulation] is appropriately realized”. This observation is critical because it is a reminder of the fact that communicative competence comprises the ability for use and the aspects of knowledge, and the activation of the aspects of knowledge is dependent on the context. The dynamism of communicative competence also resides in the relativity of the four individual dimensions. Widdowson rightly supports this point, bringing our attention to the fact that Hymes includes “to what degree” in his formulation of the four judgments (Widdowson 2008: 2). He argues that the relativity of the possibility provides creativity, thereby “[c]ompetence in a language [being] not just a matter of conforming to its encoding conventions at all levels at once, but of exploiting possibilities across levels, using the virtual resources for meaning making which are inherent in the language code itself” (Widdowson 2008: 2–3; emphasis added). This observation reminds us of ELF research, in which the speaker’s creative language use has been reported (e.g., Seidlhofer and Widdowson 2009). However, when several scholars advocating the notion of communicative competence developed its pedagogically motivated theories or models (e.g., Bachman 1990; Canale 1983; Canale and Swain 1980; Celce-Murcia 2007; Celce-Murcia, Dornyei, and

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 13

Thurrell 1995), the relativity in the formulation of the four judgments was completely eliminated from the notion, as Widdowson (2003: 166–170) points out. Furthermore, the holistic and dynamic nature of communicative competence was somewhat disregarded. Instead, only the aspects of knowledge were elaborated on in many different ways, and the interdependency across the aspects of knowledge and the ability for use becomes elusive (see Konakahara 2015b for a detailed review on this matter). On the basis of the series of arguments above, Widdowson (1983) maintains the necessity of a user’s perspective in an ethnomethodological sense for the conceptualization of communicative competence, thereby proposing the notion of communicative capability (originally referred to as capacity, but later, capability; see e.g., Widdowson 2003, 2008). Communicative capability, according to Widdowson (1983: 25), is “the ability to use a knowledge of language as a resource for the creation of meaning, and is concerned [.  .  .] with [.  .  .] interpretation” (emphasis added), and this interpretative capacity enables the user to “make sense of expressions of varying possibility, feasibility, and so on”. The dynamic and holistic nature of communicative competence originally proposed by Hymes is thus retained here. However, different from Hymes’ notion of communicative competence, communicative capability does not imply conformity to the linguistic encodings or social conventions (Widdowson 1983: 25). It is because the capability indicates the “ability to exploit the resources for meaning in a language [i.e., virtual language in his (2003) later work] which have only partially been codified as competence and are only partially describable, therefore, in grammars”, and it is “an active force for continuing creativity” (Widdowson 1983: 26). This means that communicative capability is regarded as the continuing processes of meaning-making between interactants in the context rather than being the product or outcome of activating aspects of knowledge (Widdowson 1983: 26, 2003: 173, 2008: 4). In this regard, Seidlhofer (2011) rightly points out that Hymes’ notion simply presupposes the judgments of the four dimensions in relation to native-speaker norms, namely “their contexts of use” and “what they perform” in their communities (Seidlhofer 2011: 90–91; emphasis in original; see Hymes 1972: 282). Yet when it comes to ELF contexts, it is not the particular “native” speech communities and “native” English speakers’ performance in their context that the four judgments are made. Rather, it is the individual international CoP, or TIGs/TMCs – which transcend “native” and “non-native” divisions – and the performance of the participants involved in their own context that the judgments should be, and are, made in ELF interactions (Seidlhofer 2011: 91; see also Jenkins 2006 for the notion of “expert” ELF users). This suggests that Widdowson’s (2003) notion of communicative capability is more suitable for ELF contexts than Hymes’ notion of communicative competence. However, the notion of communicative capability  – as well as that of communicative competence – lacks a multimodal perspective. It is not only linguistic

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resources, i.e., verbal semiotic resources, but also non-verbal semiotic resources that create meaning and are used to interpret the meaning in interactions. Also, the use of non-verbal semiotic resources alone can convey the user’s thoughts and attitudes in some cases. Take silence produced by a recipient as an example. If the recipient smiles and nods many times while remaining silent, this expresses her/ his affirmative and supportive attitude toward what the main speaker has said. On the other hand, if s/he keeps silent whilst frowning with folded arms, it could convey her/his negative and distrustful attitude toward what has been said. Or it may express a non-understanding of what has been said, if s/he shows a puzzled expression on her/his face. Alternatively, silence may signify dis-attention, because s/he is engaging in another competing activity such as texting or eating. The series of exemplification suggests that it is important to take into account the interplay of verbal and non-verbal semiotic resources during conversation (Heath and Luff 2013; see Sections 2.2.1.1 and 2.2.1.2 for more information). More recently, the multimodal elements are taken into account in the concept of second language (L2) interactional competence, which is based on ethnomethodology and CA and has been advocated from the perspective of conversation analytic research into L2 interactions (see e.g., Markee 2008; Pekarek Doehler 2018; Salaberry and Kunitz 2019). The concept is understood in terms of “members’ practices or ‘methods’ (i.e., systematic procedures) for organising social interaction, relating to issues such as turn-taking, disagreeing, repairing, opening or closing a conversation” (Pekarek Doehler 2018: 5), and the interactants’ abilities to use the “methods” are coupled with their abilities to use various verbal and non-verbal semiotic resources (Markee 2008: 406; Salaberry and Kunitz 2019: 5). While this seems to suggest the comprehensive and holistic nature of interactional competence, the concept is not necessarily free from native speaker norms despite its ethnomethodological basis. Markee (2008: 406) argues that interactional competence supports the view of learners as “highly knowledgeable social actors/learners rather than [. . .] a ‘deficit model’ of language learning”. However, when it comes to the “development” of L2 interactional competence, the learners’ interactional behavior is compared with that of “competent” first language (L1) speakers (see e.g., Pekarek Doehler 2018: 6). This seems to suggest that native speaker norms are subconsciously assumed in the concept of interactional competence, which is not necessarily suitable for the analysis of ELF interactions. Considering this point, the present research utilizes Widdowson’s notion of communicative capability but with the perspective of multimodality, instead of using the more recent concept of L2 interactional competence. Specifically, communicative capability will be seen as encompassing not only “a knowledge of language as a resource” (Widdowson 1983: 25) but also non-verbal semiotic resources, embodiments in particular, for the creation of and the interpretation of meaning in interactions.

1.5 Organization of the book 

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So far, I have provided the background of and the aim of the present research (the introductory section) and explicated the similarities and differences between ELF and WE (Section 1.1). I have then reviewed the definitions of ELF and proposed the necessity of the multimodal perspective in the definition of ELF (Section 1.2). In the rest of the two sections (Sections 1.3 and 1.4), I have then reviewed the notion of a speech community and communicative competence respectively. It has been argued that while the concept of TIGs/TMCs is more appropriate than a speech community and CoP for the present research, the notion of communicative capability, which also incorporates the multimodal perspective, is suitable for the present research. Having summarized the discussion in the preceding sections, I will now explain the organization of the book in the next section.

1.5 Organization of the book This book comprises eight chapters. The present chapter (Chapter 1) provides an introduction to the book. Chapter 2 describes the theoretical and analytical framework of the present research, which is necessary to understand ELF interactions from a participant-relevant emic perspective. The chapter consists of four parts, in addition to the introductory and concluding sections. The first part, Section 2.1, reviews the rationale of CA. Based on the seminal work in the field, fundamental concepts in CA (Section 2.1.1) and specific characteristic features of ordinary conversation (Section 2.1.2) will be provided. The second part, Section 2.2, then explicates multimodal CA, reviewing interactional functions of embodied actions such as gazes and postural shifts (Section 2.2.1.1) as well as speech-accompanying hand gestures (Section 2.2.1.2). In the third part, Section 2.3, I will then discuss how lingua-cultural diversity of ELF users should be interpreted when analyzing ELF interactions through multimodal CA, arguing the necessity of an intercultural approach to communication (Baker 2018; Baker and Ishikawa 2021). The fourth part, Section 2.4, then reviews pragmatic theories of communication. I will first review the seminal work, namely Grice’s (1975) cooperative principle and Brown and Levinson’s (1987) politeness theory (Section 2.4.1). This will be followed by Sections 2.4.2 and 2.4.3, which offer the critique of Brown and Levinson’s model of politeness, with a special reference to more recent critical arguments and works on this matter from the perspective of discursive approaches, and an interactional approach in particular (e.g., Arundale 2010; Grainger 2011; Haugh 2007; Locher and Watts 2005; O’Driscoll 2007; Van der Bom and Mills 2015; Watts 2003). Chapter 3 then reviews existing pragmatic research into ELF and specifies two research gaps. To do so, Section 3.1 first provides the review of interactional functions of linguistic resources frequently reported to be used by interactants using

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 Chapter 1 Introduction

ELF, which constitute the “consensus-oriented, cooperative and mutually supportive” (Seidlhofer 2001: 143) nature of ELF interactions. Section 3.2 then points out the lack of multimodality, one of the research gaps, in the existing research and discusses what multimodal CA can illuminate and why multimodality is necessary for pragmatic research into ELF. Another research gap, the scarce research into conflict talk in ELF interactions, is specified in Section 3.3, which consists of four subsections (Sections 3.3.1 to 3.3.4). Chapter 4 gives the methodological background to the present research, discussing and justifying the research design. It includes a discussion of the naturalness of conversational data and a discussion of the reliability and validity of the present research (Section 4.1). The subsequent sections then describe the research sites (Section 4.2.1), the participants (Section 4.2.2), and procedures for the data collection (Sections 4.2.3.1 to 4.2.3.3). Section 4.3 then summarizes the data collected for the present research, and Section 4.4 explicates the transcription conventions used for both verbal and non-verbal semiotic resources. Chapters 5–7 present and discuss the findings of the present research. As stated in the introductory section of this chapter, the three types of conflict talk that naturally occurred in the present data will be analyzed in detail in the respective chapters. Chapter 5 reports how competitive overlaps are interactionally managed by the interactants, particularly focusing on floor-taking overlaps, which successfully take the floor from the current speaker (Section 5.2.1), and floor-attempting overlaps, which fail to take the floor after being initiated (Section 5.2.2). Chapter 6 then reports how the interactants using ELF interactionally manage disagreement. It specifically investigates two types of occasions when disagreement is utilized: One is providing shared knowledge by disagreeing (Section 6.2.1), and the other is promoting interpersonal relationships while disagreeing (Section 6.2.2). In the last findings and discussion chapter, Chapter 7, how third-party complaints, which are complaints made about an absent complainee (or an absent complaint target), are interactionally managed by the interactants in the extended sequences of talk. It particularly analyzes two types of complaint sequences: a disattended complaint sequence, in which a third-party complaint is subtly disattended by the recipient (Section 7.2.1), and a negotiated complaint sequence, in which the validity of the complaint is negotiated between the complainer and the recipient (Section 7.2.2). Finally, the concluding chapter (Chapter 8) summarizes the research findings, discusses methodological and pedagogical implications as well as limitations of the present research, and provides suggestions for future research. Having stated the objectives of this research, I will now move on to Chapter 2, which reviews the theoretical and analytical framework for the present research.

Chapter 2  Understanding ELF interactions from a participant-relevant emic perspective Communication is social action intrinsic to human affairs (Goodwin and Heritage 1990). By communicating, people share, exchange, or convey information, news, ideas, or feelings, thereby developing interpersonal relationships. People use linguistic resources, or rather multimodal resources more specifically, to fulfill these purposes. Brown and Yule (1983: 1), for example, refer to these purposes of using language as a transactional function, which concerns “the expression of ‘content’”, and an interactional function, which concerns “expressing social relationship and personal attitudes”. Although they only focus on the functions of “language” here, other scholars offer a similar view on “communication”. Widdowson (2007: 64), for instance, points out that communication inherently involves the negotiation of meaning and human relationships. Likewise, Block (2002: 127) contends that through communication, people are engaged not only in the negotiation of meaning but also in the negotiation of identity and face. The achievement of these functions is true for communication in any language, and communication in ELF contexts is not an exception. To fully understand communication in ELF contexts, therefore, how people achieve both functions of communication, namely the negotiation of meaning and that of interpersonal relationship, needs to be investigated (cf. McCommunication in Block 2002), particularly from a participant-relevant emic perspective. In line with this argument, this chapter provides theoretical and analytical underpinnings of the present research, which is crucial for understanding ELF communication through the participants’ lens. It mainly consists of four parts, in addition to this introductory section and the concluding section. The first part, Section 2.2, reviews a rationale of CA and the basic organization of turn-taking for  ordinary conversation based on seminal works in the field (Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson 1974). Section 2.1.1 reviews the fundamental concepts in CA, and Section 2.1.2 reviews the specific characteristic features of ordinary conversation. The second part, Section 2.2, introduces multimodal CA, reviewing interactional functions of gazes and postural shifts (Section 2.2.1.1) as well as those of speech-accompanying gestures (Section 2.2.1.2) on the basis of seminal works. The third part, Section 2.3 then discusses how participants’ embodied actions such as gaze behavior (Section 2.3.1.1), speech accompanying hand gestures (Section 2.3.1.2), and head movements (Section 2.3.1.3) need to be interpreted when analyzing ELF interactions, arguing the necessity of taking an intercultural approach to communication https://doi.org/10.1515/9781501512964-002

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 Chapter 2 Understanding ELF interactions from a participant-relevant emic perspective

(Baker and Ishikawa 2021). The fourth part, Section 2.4, then reviews fundamental pragmatic theories of communication (Brown and Levinson 1987; Grice 1975), referring to more recent arguments and works on politeness from the perspectives of discursive approaches (e.g., Locher and Watts 2005; O’Driscoll 2007; Van der Bom and Mills 2015; Watts 2003).

2.1 Conversation analysis CA was founded by Harvey Sacks and his colleagues in the sociology department of the University of California at Los Angeles in the 1960s, and it is “an enquiry into the nature of the procedures conversationalists follow to produce the orderliness of ordinary talk” (Cameron 2001: 49). It is a distinctive approach to analyzing everyday social action, having its origin in the ethnomethodological tradition in sociology, developed by Harold Garfinkel (1967; Hutchby and Wooffitt 2008: 26). Ethnomethodology aims to describe members’ commonsense knowledge or more specifically “the methods that people use for accounting for their own actions and those of others” (Hutchby and Wooffitt 2008: 27). Atkinson and Heritage (1984) elaborate the aim of CA as follows: “The central goal of conversation analytic research is the description and explication of the competences that ordinary speakers use and rely on in participating in intelligible, socially organized interaction. At its most basic, this objective is one of describing the procedures by which conversationalists produce their own behavior and understand and deal with the behavior of others” (Atkinson and Heritage 1984: 1; emphasis added). In line with ethnomethodology, what are of particular importance in CA are a participant-relevant emic perspective and the investigation of actual spontaneous interactions occurring in actual contexts. This is because CA considers talk to be participants’ interactional accomplishment of particular social action in a particular context (Drew and Heritage 1992: 17; see also Olsher 2008). CA thus, as Olsher (2008: 114) puts it, “views social action in terms of publicly observable practices that are accountable to normative expectations among participants in interaction”  (emphasis added); here, the term “practices” refers to “practical resources, that is, resources that are practices” (Schegloff 2006: 79). That is, the participants’ (verbal and non-verbal) conduct is only socially accountable in reference to the particular context. This suggests that the participants’ conduct and contexts have a distinctive relationship: The participants’ contributions to interactions are contextually oriented and meaningful only within the “context”. Here, the notion of context is slightly different from that in a usual sense (e.g., Brown and Levinson’s 1987 socio-contextual factors). Schegloff (1992a) discerns two types of context: external context and intra-interactional context. According to him, the former type

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refers to various aspects of social life such as class, ethnicity, gender, power relationship, and so on. As Schegloff (1992a: 196) puts it, these aspects of the context should be taken into account only if participants themselves relevantly treat them as such within interaction. In other words, only if such aspects of context are procedurally consequential for the particular aspect of the talk or other conduct within the interaction. That is, while sociocultural factors do exist external to interaction itself, such factors should be treated as participants’ matter rather than an assumption. The latter type of context, on the other hand, refers to aspects internal to the local, immediate context of interaction, that is, “occasion or genre of interaction which participants, by their conduct make some episode be an instance of, the sorts of sequences of talk or course of conduct in which particular events may occur” (Schegloff 1992a: 195). It is in this second sense that the term context is used when stating that the participants’ contributions to interaction are only meaningful in the context. The relationship between the participants’ contributions to interaction and the context can be described by two interrelated terms: context-shaped and context-renewing (Heritage 1984b). These originate from the notions of indexicality and reflexivity in ethnomethodology (Seedhouse 2004a). Indexicality means the context boundedness of utterances (Seedhouse 2004a: 7); reflexivity, on the other hand, indicates the reflexive relationship between actions and contexts (Garfinkel 1967). Accordingly, by context-shaped it means that the speaker’s contributions to the ongoing interaction can be adequately understood only by reference to the local context, namely immediately preceding actions of others and their own (Heritage 1984b: 242). At the same time, the contributions are always context-renewing because each contribution forms the immediate context for the next action in a sequence, constraining and affecting how the talk will be heard and understood by conversational partners (Heritage 1984b: 242; see also Liddicoat 2011: 7). These two features of context are fundamental in CA. They are related to the notions of recipient design and adjacency pairs (see Section 2.1.1) and one of the most basic tools used in CA, namely a next-turn proof procedure (Hutchby and Wooffitt 2008: 13). That is, given the context-shaped and context-renewing features, what speakers said in the sequentially “next” turns are displays of their understanding of what the “prior” turn was about (Hutchby and Wooffitt 2008: 13). This makes it possible for analysts to “ensure that analyses explicate the orderly properties of talk oriented to accomplishments of participants, rather than being based on the assumptions of analysts” (Hutchby and Wooffitt 2008: 13). However, the procedures that participants use to accomplish their social action are normally tacit and taken for granted. The aim of CA is, therefore, to scrutinize the procedures used by participants themselves to establish and maintain intersubjectivity and thus accomplish their social actions in interactions. Accordingly,

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 Chapter 2 Understanding ELF interactions from a participant-relevant emic perspective

as Cameron (2001: 89) puts it, CA is a micro-analytic approach, which deals with “apparently mundane”, “unremarkable” and trivial aspects of spontaneous spoken interactions such as turn-taking, silence, overlaps, repair, and preference structure. The detailed description of such aspects enables one to reveal the actual participants’ meaning-making processes in the given contexts, in other words, how participants achieve their communicative goals by making use of various semiotic resources available to them in particular contexts (Liddicoat 2011: 5; Wagner and Gardner 2004: 4). In Section 1.4, I have discussed that what Widdowson (1983, 2003, 2008) refers to as communicative capability is related to an ethnomethodological concept and includes the continuing processes of meaning-making between interactants in particular contexts. A conversation analytic approach, which is derived from the ethnomethodological tradition, is in this sense especially suitable for the analysis of spoken interactions (see also Murata 1994a). It is because the analysis is based on participants’ views (i.e., the perspectives of users of the language) and enables analysts to reveal the detailed meaning-making processes, in which the participants make use of various semiotic resources available to them in a certain way to achieve their communicative goals in the given contexts. Having broadly defined CA and explained its advantage, I will now explicate the fundamental concepts of turn-taking in ordinary conversation offered by Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson (1974). After that, a review and explanation of specific features of ordinary conversation such as turn-taking rules, overlaps, silence, a repair mechanism, and preference structure (Section 2.1.2) will be given.

2.1.1 Fundamental concepts in CA Sacks began his work with the idea that there is order at all points in interaction (Sacks 1984) based on the assumption that nothing in participants’ behaviors is meaningless. Having worked on tape recordings of natural conversations in American English for six years with his colleagues Schegloff and Jefferson, Sacks concluded that the model for turn-taking in ordinary conversation can be characterized as “locally managed, party-administered, interactionally controlled, and sensitive to recipient design” (Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson 1974: 696). This means that the turn-taking system, the operation of which is subjected to participants themselves, is operating on a turn-by-turn basis within interaction, and the turns are designed sensitively to co-participant(s). According to Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson (1974: 699), the organization of turn-taking has both context-free and context-sensitive status. It is context-free in the sense that the organization is not tied to the local contexts of the specific occa-

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sion (Hutchby and Wooffitt 2008: 31) but is adapted to a wide range of situations, interactions, and interactants having varieties of identities (Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson 1974: 699). On the other hand, it is context-sensitive in the sense that the application of the organization is sensitive to “various parameters of social reality in a local context” (Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson 1974: 699–700). More specifically, Hutchby and Wooffitt (2008: 31) explain that “on each specific occasion, [. . .] participants [. . .] are designing their talk in the light of what has happened before in this conversation, and possibly also in their relationship as a whole, among other contextual specifics”. This notion of context-sensitivity is related to recipient design, which is the most general and fundamental principle of CA (Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson 1974). According to Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson, recipient design refers to the aspect of the talk which is designed by a participant in such a way that is oriented and sensitive to the particular co-participant (Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson 1974: 727). In other words, because of recipient design, turn-taking of conversation is organized in a context-specific way. These three notions, i.e., context-free, context-sensitive, and recipient design, are the most fundamental concepts for CA.

2.1.2 Specific characteristic features of ordinary conversation The turn-taking system, advocated by Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson (1974: 704), is “a basic set of rules governing turn construction”, consisting of two components: a turn-constructional unit (TCU) and turn-allocational techniques. TCUs are unit types, with which a speaker constructs a turn, and which can be sentential, clausal, phrasal, or lexical constructions (Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson 1974: 702). Types of TCUs being used and the end of a TCU are roughly projectable for the participants (Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson 1974: 702), and this projectability enables the potential next speaker to take a turn. In other words, every end of any TCU can be a place for speaker-change, namely a possible transition relevance place (TRP) (Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson 1974: 703). Yet it is a “possible” TRP because the original speaker can continue her/his talk at the TRP by producing another TCU given the flexibility of turn-size, or no speaker at all starts or continues her/his talk. This point is related to the other component of the turn-taking system, turn-allocation techniques. Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson (1974: 703) explain that at possible TRPs, participants can utilize two types of turn-allocational techniques: the-current-speakerselect-next and self-select. The operation of these techniques is under the control of participants on a turn-by-turn basis within interaction (i.e., “locally managed, party-administered, interactionally controlled” in Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson 1974: 696). Fundamentally, any speakers can start their turn at a possible TRP in any order by utilizing either of the turn-allocation techniques, but as Sacks, Schegloff,

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and Jefferson (1974: 708) point out, there is a bias in turn-order that a speaker just prior to the current speaker tends to be selected as the next speaker. These two components are integrated into the set of turn-taking rules, which consists of rules 1a (i.e., the current speaker selects next), 1b (i.e., a next speaker self-selects), and 1c (i.e., the current speaker continues), in addition to rule 2 that formulates the continuous application of rules 1a-1c at the next TRP (Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson 1974: 704). In accordance with the set of rules of turn-taking, single turns are basically allocated to one participant by either the co-participant or the participant. Therefore, this is represented by Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson (1974: 700) as “[o]verwhelmingly, one party talks at a time”. They continue that this feature frequently results in the occurrences of “[t]ransitions (from one turn to a next) with no gap and no overlap” (Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson 1974: 700–701). Yet given the flexibility in turn order and turn-size, “[o]ccurrences of more than one speaker at a time are [also] common” although its occurrences are “brief” (Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson 1974: 700). It is said that transitions with slight silence or slight overlap make up the substantial majority of transitions (Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson 1974: 701). One thing to be noted here is that the turn-taking system does not impose restrictions on the number of participants in conversation although, according to Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson (1974: 712), it tends to prefer smaller numbers. They explain that an increase in the number of participants in conversation produces variations in turn-taking. For example, in a three-party conversation, a bias toward smaller turn-size comes into play because the next turn is not assured for either of the participants (Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson 1974: 712). On the other hand, in a four-party conversation, the number of turn-taking systems in operation can vary. There is a systematic possibility that one conversation is split into two, namely schism (Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson 1974: 713), because two participants involved in the four-party conversation are enough for initiating another conversation. On the other hand, the occurrences of silence in conversation are related to all rules of turn-taking. Levinson (1983), summarizing Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson (1974), argue that silence can be classified into three types: a gap, a lapse, and significant silence. The first type, a gap, occurs before a subsequent application of rules 1b or 1c of turn-taking (Levinson 1983: 299), that is, this type of silence occurs before the next speaker, who either self-selects to take a turn or continues, starts to talk at the possible TRP. The second type, a lapse, on the other hand, occurs on the non-application of rules 1a, 1b, and 1c (Levinson 1983: 299). In this case, no speakers at all take a turn at the possible TRP. The third type, significant silence, occurs after the application of turn-taking rule 1a (Levinson 1983: 299). This type of silence

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occurs because the selected next speaker does not start to talk after being selected as the next speaker. In addition to these silences at the boundaries of turn-taking, there is an intra-turn silence; Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson (1974) refer to it as a pause in order to discern it from the aforementioned three types of silence. In a similar vein, the occurrences of overlaps are particularly related to rules 1b and 1c of turn-taking, but this point will be discussed in-depth in Chapter 5. At this stage, it should be noted that the occurrences of overlap are attributable to the flexibility of turn-size, turn order, turn distribution, and continuity of talk, as well as the turn-allocation techniques. In relation to the occurrences of overlaps, it should also be noted that the turn-taking system is equipped with a repair mechanism that deals with problems in turn-taking and those other than turn-taking such as hearing and understanding (Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson 1974: 723). The mechanism is intrinsic to the turn-taking system itself (Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson 1974: 724). As pointed out earlier, the occurrences of overlaps are “brief” (Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson 1974: 700). This is possible, as Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson (1974: 724) explain, because the procedure for resolving an overlap involves a transformation of a central feature of the turn-taking system, namely stopping a turn before a possible TRP. In addition, the fact that the application of turn-taking rules is recurrent, and thus the application of rules 1c to 1a is possible – that the current speaker continues but then selects the next speaker – is evidence of the existence of the repair mechanism intrinsic to the turn-taking system itself (Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson 1974: 724). Other examples of repair devices for turn-taking problems include the selected next speaker’s use of a question that confirms whether it is her/him that is selected for the next turn (e.g., Who me?), the use of interruption markers (e.g., Excuse me), false starts, and repeating and recycling of a turn overlapped by others (Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson 1974: 723–724; see also Jefferson 2006; Schegloff 2000a). In a similar vein, the repair mechanism enables participants to repair hearing and understanding problems. Schegloff, Jefferson, and Sacks (1977) identify repair1 in terms of two criteria. That is, whether repair in question is initiated by the speaker of the trouble source (i.e., self) or any other participant (i.e., other), and whether repair is carried out by either of them. Four basic types of repair, according to Schegloff, Jefferson, and Sacks (1977), are self-initiated self-repair, other-initiated self-repair, self-initiated other-repair, and other-initiated other-repair. Although the

1 Schegloff, Jefferson, and Sacks (1977: 363) employ the term repair rather than correction to refer to the phenomena of repairing. It is because repair occurs even when no “errors” or “mistakes” are observed with what is “correct” in turns.

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detailed explanations for the individual types of repair are beyond the scope of this book (but see Schegloff 1992b, 2000b; Schegloff, Jefferson, and Sacks 1977), what should be noted is that there is a strong structural preference for self-repair to other-repair (Schegloff, Jefferson, and Sacks 1977: 375; see also Chapter 6). Schegloff, Jefferson, and Sacks (1977: 376) also explain that other-initiations overwhelmingly lead to self-repair. This suggests that self-initiated self-repair is the most structurally preferred repair, while other-initiated other-repair is dispreferred. Furthermore, the notion of preference structure is closely associated with adjacency pairs. As Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson (1974: 701) put it, “[w]hat parties say is not specified in advance”. This feature suggests that the turn-taking system operates independently of what topic occupies its turns (Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson 1974:  710). Rather what parties say can be restricted by the use of a set of utterance-types, namely adjacency pairs (Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson 1974: 710). While Schegloff and Sacks (1973) explicate this point in length, Levinson (1983: 303–304) summarizes the features of adjacency pairs concisely as follows: “[S]equences of two utterances that are” (1) “adjacent”, (2) “produced by different speakers”, (3) “ordered as a first part and second part”, (4) “typed, so that a particular first part requires a particular second (or range of second parts) – e.g., offers require acceptances or rejections, greetings require greetings, and so on”. Also, the use of adjacency pairs is governed by the following rule: “Having produced a first part of some pair, current speaker must stop speaking, and next speaker must produce at that point a second part to the same pair” (Levinson 1983: 304). This point is related to Schegloff’s (1968: 1083) notion of conditional relevance, that is, “given the first [pair part], the second [pair part] is expectable; upon its occurrence it can be seen to be a second item to the first; upon its nonoccurrence it can be seen to be officially absent – all this provided by the occurrence of the first item”. The features of adjacency pairs enable participants to control the topic of conversation. However, the two parts of adjacency pairs may not always be strictly “adjacent”, but systematic insertions can come between the two parts. Schegloff (2007) refers to this phenomenon as an insert expansion: The first pair part (FPP) of the original adjacency pair is followed by a supplementary adjacency pair, which is a prerequisite for producing the second pair part (SPP) of the original adjacency pair. Here, the production of an SPP of the original adjacency pair is not adjacent to its FPP but deferred by the insert expansion (Schegloff 2007: 99). The notion of preference structure, which was introduced by Pomerantz (1984), refers to structural likelihood of an SPP of some adjacency pairs that have types of responses rather than one type (Schegloff 2007: 58; Yule 1996: 79; see also the notion of conditional relevance in Schegloff 1968). According to Pomerantz (1984: 63), SPPs that are “oriented to as invited” are referred to as preferred next actions, and their alternative, dispreferred next actions. For example, acceptance of the invitation is

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structurally more likely than refusal (Davidson 1984; Pomerantz 1984). Thus, in this case, acceptance is a preferred next action, while refusal is a dispreferred next action. It should be noted that the term preference does not indicate psychological taste (Levinson 1983: 307). To make this point clear, Levinson explains the preference structure by corresponding it with the linguistic concept of markedness. That is, while preferred SPPs are unmarked in the sense that they occur as structurally simpler turns, dispreferred SPPs are marked in the sense that they occur with various kinds of structural complexity (Levinson 1983: 307). The structural complexity is increased by use of various dispreference markers (e.g., silence, hesitation, weak agreement such as yes but. . .; Levinson 1983; Pomerantz 1984; Schegloff 2007). The use of dispreference makers signals an upcoming dispreferred next action, thus making it observable to co-participants. However, negative responses to FPPs of adjacency pairs are not always dispreferred. While this point will be elaborated in Chapter 6, which deals with interactional management of disagreement in ELF interactions, for now, it can be summarized that the structure of adjacency pairs is organized in relation to the preferred or dispreferred status of an SPP, and the opposite is also true; that is, the status of an SPP is displayed in its structure. So far, I have discussed the characteristic features that form the organization of turn-taking and preference structure in ordinary conversation, focusing on verbal aspects of the conversation. Given that the present research explores the interplay of verbal and non-verbal semiotic resources in ELF interactions, the next section will review and discuss multimodal CA and interactional functions of embodied actions.

2.2 Multimodal CA Mainstream conversation analytic research started with the investigation of the organization of talk-in-interaction. Along with the development of technology such as video recorders, however, participants’ embodied actions like gestures, gazes, postures, and facial expressions as well as physical artifacts in the participants’ surroundings started to be incorporated into the analysis (see Mortensen 2012 for a comprehensive summary of multimodal CA). A variety of disciplines such as linguistics, psychology, sociology, education, and anthropology, to name a few, analyze multimodal resources (Mortensen 2012; see also Jewitt 2017). Accordingly, there is a wide range of the literature on the use of embodied actions, gestures in particular (e.g., Archer 1997; Ekman 2004; Kita 2009; McCafferty and Stam 2008; McNeill 1992, 2005). In the case of a conversation analytic approach to multimodality (henceforth, multimodal CA), which is of particular interest in this book, the interplay of verbal and non-verbal semiotic resources is closely examined (Mortensen 2012). Mondada

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(2018: 86) explicates this as follows: “[T]he careful and precise attention [is] paid to temporally and sequentially organized details of actions that account for how coparticipants orient to each other’s conduct and assemble it in meaningful ways, moment by moment”. Whereas both CA and multimodal CA concern sequentiality of social action, the latter can show, as Mondada (2018: 104) puts it, “complexity [of sequentiality], raising issues of the emic time of actions, multiple temporalities of multilayered conducts, the interplay of successivity and simultaneity, and the coordination of related but distinct components of action” (emphasis in original). This suggests that researchers can conduct their analysis from a participant-relevant emic perspective in a more detailed and precise manner by using multimodal CA. In this book, participants’ embodied actions such as gazes, posture, and gestures that are relevant to the ongoing interactions are of particular interest. This means what Ekman (2004: 43) refers to as manipulators, which indicate non-instrumental body movements such as “stroking, pressing, scratching, licking, biting, sucking” of another part of the body/face, have no relevance to this book for reasons explained below. In addition, hand gestures can include stereotyped hand signals such as an OK sign, called emblems (Ekman 2004), which are, albeit not exclusively, used in non-speaking contexts (Bavelas et al. 1995). Yet this group of gestures, however interesting it is given its cross-cultural differences (see e.g., Archer 1997; Kita 2009), is not of interest in this book. This is because the primary interest of the present research is not in the use of stand-alone gestures but interactional functions of speech accompanying spontaneous gestures, or more precisely, the interplay of verbal and non-verbal semiotic resources utilized by multilingual interactants in ELF interactions. The focus of the discussion in this section, therefore, will be on speech-accompanying spontaneous gestures in addition to gazes. In what follows, I will first review interactional functions of embodied actions such as gazes and postural shifts (Section 2.2.1.1) and speech-accompanying spontaneous gestures (Section 2.2.1.2) mostly based on pioneering work in multimodal CA. Given lingua-cultural diversity of speakers in ELF contexts, Section 2.2.2 then discusses how “cross-cultural variation” in the use of embodied actions such as gazes, head gestures, and hand gestures should be treated when analyzing ELF interactions, pointing out the necessity of taking an intercultural approach rather than a cross-cultural approach to communication (Baker and Ishikawa 2021).

2.2.1 Interactional functions of embodied actions: Seminal work 2.2.1.1 Gazes and postural shifts From a CA perspective, a gaze in face-to-face conversation is regarded as social action and accountable in terms of the contexts of the ongoing interaction, as is the

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case with verbal behavior. This also applies to postural shifts in interaction, and they are often associated with gaze orientations. This subsection reviews interactional functions of gazes and those of postural shifts in turn, with a focus put more on the former. In his comprehensive review of the literature on gaze behavior in social interactions, Rossano (2013: 311) identifies three dimensions of gaze that existing research focused on: (1) participation roles in conversation, (2) its regulatory functions, and (3) its role in action formation. First, it is argued that the roles of participants, namely speakers or recipients, can affect their gazes. In this regard, Goodwin (1980) proposes two normative rules that participants in conversation orient to particularly in Anglo-American interactions: (1) a speaker should obtain the gaze of his recipient during the course of a turn at talk; and (2) a recipient should be gazing at the speaker when the speaker is gazing at the hearer (Goodwin 1980: 275, 287). These two rules are normative expectations operating in face-to-face interactions – at least in Anglo-American interactions – and interrelated with each other rather than independent of. The gazes of participants display their attention and (dis)engagement in the interactions, i.e., participation frameworks that they are engaged in (Goodwin 1980). Accordingly, gaze withdrawal is marked and sanctionable because it displays reduced engagement in the ongoing interaction – again at least in Anglo-American conversations (see Section 2.3.1.1 for cross-cultural variations in the use of gaze). However, this does not apply to gaze withdrawal due to engagement in competing activities such as eating, drinking, and texting, which are accountable on their own within interaction. The second dimension of gaze orientations is their regulatory function in turntaking. On the basis of Goodwin (1979), Rossano (2013: 316) identifies two types: a turn-allocational function and a response-soliciting function.2 With regard to the first turn-allocational function, Goodwin proposes the following two rules: (1) “[t] he gaze of a speaker should locate the party being gazed at as an addressee of his utterance” (Goodwin 1979: 99); and (2) “[w]hen a speaker gazes at a recipient he should make eye contact with that recipient” (Goodwin 1979: 106). These rules are of particular relevance in a multi-party conversation. Goodwin shows the operation of the first rule by illustrating the following aspect: The speaker’s gaze in constructing the first section of informing activity (e.g., announcements, stories, and reports) is usually directed to the recipient who has not known the information yet 2 Rossano, in reference to earlier work such as Kendon (1967), also notes the floor-appointment function of gaze, in which a gaze serves as a turn-yielding cue (Rossano 2013: 315). However, he points out that subsequent studies conducted by other researchers found no evidence for supporting this claim (e.g., Beattie 1978, cited in Rossano 2013). More research is necessary in order to explore this dimension of gaze orientations.

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(i.e., an unknown recipient) and thus selects the recipient as the addressee (Goodwin 1979: 100). On the other hand, he states that the operation of the second rule is noticeable when the speaker produces a phrasal break (e.g., a restart or a pause) in her/his utterances if the addressee has not looked at the speaker (Goodwin 1979: 106). In investigating the use of gaze-directional addressing in multi-party conversations, Lerner (2003: 181) found that the success of gaze-directional turn allocation to the selected addressee depends on whether the addressee notices that the speaker is gazing at her/him. On the other hand, a gaze also serves a response-soliciting function, as summarized by Rossano (2013). In this regard, for example, Goodwin and Goodwin (1986: 63) found that during a word search, the speaker’s use of a wh-question with a gaze toward the recipient serves to solicit help for the word being sought from the recipient. In addition, Stivers and Rossano (2010), in their analysis of English conversations, revealed that while the speaker’s assessments produced with her/his gaze toward the recipient are usually followed by the recipient’s response, those produced without the gaze tend not to be responded to. In a similar vein, in their analysis of gaze in three unrelated languages and cultures (i.e., Italian in Italy, Tzeltal in Chiapas, Mexico, and Yélî Dnye in Rossel Island, Papua New Guinea), Rossano, Brown, and Levinson (2009) found that questions produced without obtaining a recipient’s gaze tend not to be responded to. Furthermore, Goodwin and Goodwin (1987: 39–42) argue that gaze withdrawal accompanying assessment serves to propose topic closure. These findings suggest the important but complex roles of gazes in interaction. The third dimension of gazes identified by Rossano (2013) has its role in action formation. While the two aforementioned dimensions are associated with the organization of turn-taking, this dimension concerns the role of gazes in implementing social action. Haddington’s (2006) work, which investigated the relationship between gazes and assessment in stance-taking, seems to be relevant to the present research. Basically, Haddington identifies three types of gazes during the assessment sequences: (1) congruent gaze point which marks the object of the stance (Haddington 2006: 287–299); (2) a mutual gaze which occurs during the production of a second agreeing assessment (Haddington 2006: 299–310); and (3) a cut-off gaze which occurs at moments of a divergent stance (Haddington 2006: 310–320; see also Kendon 1990: 75, who reported the tendency toward gaze withdrawal of an interactant producing negative exclamations). Haddington (2006: 321) argues that the use of these types of gazes is closely associated with verbal behavior, thereby being an important element in participants’ stance-taking. Likewise, gaze directions can be a show of respondents’ stances on questions. Kendrick and Holler (2017), in their investigation of gaze behavior in American, British, and Canadian English conversations, found that while preferred responses

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to yes-no questions tend to be accompanied by gazes toward the questioner, dispreferred responses tend to be accompanied by gaze aversion. They further revealed that the respondents’ gaze aversion can elicit the questioners’ self-repair at TRPs. It is argued that the gaze direction when responding to yes-no questions can serve to signal response preference. A speaker’s gaze withdrawal can also exhibit the initiation of a word search when occurring near perturbations in the talk, according to Goodwin and Goodwin (1986). This type of gaze withdrawal is referred to as thinking face. They did not clearly state in which direction such an averted gaze tends to be turned in their conversational data in American English. However, this is most likely upward looking at least in face-to-face interactions because, in North America, a speaker who looks up is considered to be thinking, while a speaker who looks down is considered to lack knowledge or confidence (McCarthy et al. 2008: 717). As it will be discussed later in Section 2.3.1.1, however, whereas thinking face may be a universal behavior, the directions of an averted gaze during thinking vary across “cultures”, being shaped by “cultural” conventions (see McCarthy et al. 2008). Another aspect that has to be discussed in relation to gaze orientations is postural shifts. A function of postural shifts, which is of particular relevance in this book, is their role as a display of recipiency. According to Heath (1984), the display of recipiency is the participants’ presentation of themselves through gazes and posture that are explicitly directed toward their co-interactant – at least in Anglo-American interactions. This can be contrasted to the presentation of availability, with which participants present themselves as available for interaction, but without directing their gaze and posture toward the co-interactant (Heath 1984: 249). It is argued that the display of recipiency is “sequentially implicative for an action by a co-participant; it breaks the environment of continuous opportunity, and declares an interest in having some particular action occur in immediate juxtaposition with the display” (Heath 1984: 253). This suggests that body movements (e.g., head thrusts at a particular co-participant) can elicit some kinds of actions such as speech or reorientation of a gaze in the next turn. Having discussed the interactional functions of gazes and postural shifts, I will now review those of speech-accompanying spontaneous hand gestures in the next subsection. 2.2.1.2 Speech-accompanying spontaneous hand gestures Hand gestures, according to McNeill (1992: 2), are “an integral part of language as much as are words, phrases and sentences – gestures and language are one system”. A speaker’s gesture, as Bavelas (1994: 202) argues, serves to support meaning conveyance in interaction, and thus it is important to pay attention to “both the addressee

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and the moment-by-moment context in which the gesture occurs” (emphasis in original). These arguments underscore the importance of interactional functions that gestures serve in an immediate interactional context. Speech-accompanying gestures have other names, such as spontaneous gestures (Stam 2008) and conversational gestures (Bavelas et al. 1995). Some researchers subdivide this type of gesture into smaller groups, focusing on functions that gestures in concern serve in an immediate interactional context. For example, Ekman (2004) identifies two types of gestures: illustrators and regulators. While the former refers to gestures – including not only hand gestures but also other body movements and facial expressions – that illustrate a speaker’s speech on a momentto-moment basis, the latter refers to the ones that regulate turn-taking. Here, illustrators consist of seven types: (1) baton/beating gestures, (2) ideograph-sketching gestures, (3) deictic/pointing gestures, (4) gestures depicting a bodily action, (5) gestures depicting a spatial relationship, (6) gestures drawing a picture of the referent, and (7) gestures depicting rhythm or pacing of an event (Ekman 2004: 41). Likewise, McNeill (1992), who states that the speakers’ gestures have regulatory functions within interaction, identifies four types of speech-accompanying hand gestures. The first type is iconic gestures, which display more or less transparent images of the referents in their own utterances (McNeill 1992: 12, 78). The second one is metaphoric gestures, and these convey more abstract images than iconic gestures and display shapes or movements that represent ideas or thoughts that the speaker is expressing (McNeill 1992: 14, 80). The third one is beat gestures, which are not pictorial and are produced rhythmically in time with a word or a phrase that is of importance within the ongoing interaction (McNeill 1992: 15, 80). The fourth one is deictic gestures, which are pointing gestures and include both pointing of a concrete referent and an abstract concept of the referent being uttered within interaction (McNeill 1992: 18, 80). Schegloff (1984: 275) also identifies the first and third types of gestures cited above, referring to them as iconic and on-stress gestures respectively. While gesturing tends to be regarded as a speaker’s phenomenon, Schegloff (1984: 271–272) reminds us of important functions of non-speaker gestures, which include: (1) to show incipient speakership (i.e., to be a next speaker) in the next turn; (2) to communicate to others without interrupting (i.e., “in lieu of” talk); and (3) to retain speakership while being interrupted and resume their talk later. These non-speaker gestures are closely related to the organization of turn-taking and function as bidding the conversational floor on the part of recipients (see also Tsuchiya 2013: 45). So far, I have discussed the interactional functions of embodied actions, namely gazes, postural shifts associated with gaze behavior, and speech-accompanying hand gestures, and highlighted their important functions in interaction. In the present research, the interplay of verbal and non-verbal semiotic resources will be

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analyzed by using multimodal CA when participants’ use of non-verbal resources is consequential for a particular aspect of the talk. Having reviewed the interactional functions of embodied actions, I will now discuss how lingua-cultural diversity of ELF users should be interpreted when analyzing multimodal resources in ELF interactions.

2.3 Analyzing multimodal resources in ELF interactions: From a cross-cultural to an intercultural approach Given the super-diversity of speakers in ELF contexts, it is imperative to discuss how such diversity needs to be treated when analyzing ELF interactions through multimodal CA. This section discusses this issue, arguing that it is not a cross-cultural approach but an intercultural approach to communication (Baker 2018; Baker and Ishikawa 2021) that should be taken to analyze ELF interactions appropriately. CA research has overwhelmingly investigated L1 interaction since the beginning of its discipline (see e.g., the papers in Sidnell and Stivers 2013). Many pioneering CA studies were particularly conducted by using data from American English speakers. However, an interest in whether and how the orderliness of the ordinary talk is achieved in other L1s was already expressed from an early stage of the discipline. For example, Moerman’s (1988) study of Thai/Lue-speaking communities in Thailand reported striking cross-cultural similarities in some conversational practices such as overlaps, repair, and referencing to persons. Since then, an increasing number of cross-cultural studies of L1 interaction have been conducted. It has been revealed that the overall organization of turn-taking is strikingly similar across “cultures” (Sidnell 2001; Stivers et al. 2009) although cross-cultural differences were found in subtle aspects of turn-taking such as response latency (Stivers et al. 2009), syntactic structures of compound TCUs (Lerner and Takagi 1999), repair (Dingemanse and Floyd 2014), and listener short responses (Clancy et al. 1996; Maynard 1990). These differences are mainly ascribed to differences in linguistic resources but also to different social expectations. Cross-cultural research, according to Baker and Ishikawa (2021: 184), is “[t]he study of the communicative practices of distinct cultural groups [, albeit not necessarily,] independent from interaction” (see also Pitzl 2022). A focus of the analysis is thus on the investigation of similarities and differences across “cultures” as briefly reviewed above. In this paradigm, not only are “cultures” at a national level of particular interest, but they are also viewed as “separable entities” and “relatively homogeneous”, with assumptions about cultural groups imposed a priori (Baker and Ishikawa 2021: 184). Comparisons of “cultures” at a national level may be useful to some extent, particularly for identifying “people’s beliefs and ideolo-

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gies about cultures” (Baker and Ishikawa 2021: 79). However, the view of “cultures” mentioned above is essentialist as “national cultures” are only one scale of “cultures” among other scales, such as class, gender, religion, profession, education, and so on (Baker and Ishikawa 2021: 80). Given the variable, hybrid, and emergent nature of ELF interactions, the cross-cultural approach, therefore, is not appropriate for – and not applicable to – the analysis of ELF interactions. CA research in the past few decades, as Pietikäinen (2021) points out, has also become increasingly interested in L2 interaction and lingua franca (LF) interaction. These lines of work have been developed since Firth and Wagner (1997) problematized traditional SLA research with cognitive orientation, which sees learner performance as interlanguage from the perspective of “deficiency”. Advocating a conversation analytic approach to SLA research, they called for (1) “a significantly enhanced awareness of the contextual and interactional dimensions of language use”, (2) “an increase emic (i.e., participant-relevant) sensitivity towards fundamental concepts”, and (3) the broadening of the traditional SLA data base” (Firth and Wagner 1997: 286). In response to their call, both conversation analytic research into SLA (i.e., CA-SLA in Pekarek Doehler 2012) and into LF interaction (i.e., CA-LF in Firth 2013; cf. ELF-CA in Pietikäinen 2021) has been developed. Both research traditions have responded to the first two points of Firth and Wagner’s (1997) call seriously, revealing the discursive accomplishment of normality of L2 and LF interactions (Pekarek Doehler 2012; Firth 1996, 2013). CA-SLA research, for example, has analyzed aspects such as repair (Hosoda 2006; Kurhila 2006; Seedhouse 2004b; Wong 2000), delay (Wong 2004), restarts of turn beginnings (Carroll 2004), word searches (Brouwer 2003; Kurhila 2006), references, other correction (Brouwer 2003; Kurhila 2006), and so forth. Likewise, although its extensive review will be offered in Chapter 3, CA-LF/ELF-CA research has also examined aspects such as repair (e.g., Kaur 2011b; Nozawa 2017; O’Neal 2015; Pietikäinen 2018a), repetitions (Kaur 2010, 2012), rephrasing (Kaur 2010; Konakahara 2013), silence (Pietikäinen 2018b), clarification and confirmation practices (Cogo and Dewey 2012; Kaur 2017; Mauranen 2006; Pietikäinen 2018a), and so on. Participant performance in the analyses of both traditions is free from a deficit model (Gardner and Wagner 2004: ix; Jenkins 2015a: 45), and participants’ linguistic identities, being “native” or “non-native”, are treated as a dynamic category which can be negotiated in the course of interaction (Kimura 2017: 282; Kurhila 2006: 15). The third point of Firth and Wagner’s (1997) call, however, has been more extensively responded to in LF-CA/ELF-CA research. As Pietikäinen (2021) points out, the majority of CA-SLA research focuses on the perspective of language learning. This is also reflected in the types of L2 interactions investigated, which include interactions between L1 and L2 speakers (e.g., Brouwer 2003; Hosoda 2006; Wong 2004) and interactions among “learners” of the language (e.g., Carroll 2004) in classroom

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contexts. It can be said that by focusing on learning processes, CA-SLA research still presupposes “learner” identities at least to some extent although learning per se is viewed as “contingent upon (and observable within) the micro-details of social interaction, and as socially distributed” (Pekarek Doehler 2012: 1). In contrast, LF-CA/ELF-CA research has investigated not only interactions among multilingual individuals, but also those in wider contexts such as social, academic, business/ workplace, and so on (see Chapter 3 for the details). The focus of the analysis is not on “learning” processes but the process of meaning-making and developing interpersonal relationships through language use, or more specifically the use of multilingual and multimodal repertoire in flux (see Section 1.4), in situ. LF-CA/ELF-CA studies, in accordance with Baker and Ishikawa’s (2021) argument, take an intercultural approach to communication, or more recently a transcultural approach (see also Baker 2018; Pitzl 2022). Intercultural research is interested in the investigation of “the communicative practices of distinct culture or other groups in interaction with each other” (Baker and Ishikawa 2021: 184). Different from the cross-cultural approach, the intercultural approach does not see “cultures” as “bounded entities with national borders, but [as] fluid and dynamic with blurred boundaries” (Baker and Ishikawa 2021: 80). “National cultures” are thus merely “one of many discourse communities” such as class, gender, generation, profession, and ethnicity that can be “drawn upon in communication” (Baker and Ishikawa 2021: 184). Accordingly, cultural differences, too, are not viewed as homogeneous, static, nation-bounded characteristics but “one of many differences in interactions which participants draw on, adapt, and negotiate” (Baker and Ishikawa 2021: 81). That is, no a priori assumptions about any discourse communities are imposed on the participants’ behavior. Individuals are thus not seen as “representations of an assumed national culture” (Baker and Ishikawa 2021: 79), but they are “located in between adaptable and hybrid cultures” (Baker and Ishikawa 2021: 184). The transcultural approach furthers this emergent, transformative perspective of “cultures”, advocating the recent theories of multilingualism (Canagarajah 2012; García and Li 2014; Pennycook and Otsuji 2015) and Complexity Theory (Larsen-Freeman 2018). Specifically, transcultural research, as Baker and Ishikawa (2021: 184) put it, is interested in “communicative practices where cultural and linguistic differences are relevant to participants or researchers but not necessarily linked to any particular group”. Similar to the intercultural approach, “cultures” are not seen as static, bounded entities at a national level. Instead, they are heterogeneous and contestable, and the boundaries of cultures and languages can be transcended and transgressed (Baker and Ishikawa 2021: 184). “National cultures” are thus merely “one of many scales, ranging from the local to the global, and participants move through and across scales rather than in between” (Baker and Ishikawa 2021: 184).

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Slightly different from the intercultural approach, individuals are not “in-between” any named cultures; instead, “[c]ultural practices and representations can be constructed in situ and emergent” (Baker and Ishikawa 2021: 184). The emergent and transformative view of “cultures” in the inter- and trans-cultural approaches is crucial when analyzing multimodal resources in ELF interactions. Although a substantial number of cross-cultural studies of embodied actions such as gazes, hand gestures, and nods have been conducted so far (see the following subsections), such differences are linked to nations in many cases. This essentialist view of “cultures” is problematic for, and incompatible with, ELF interactions with variable, hybrid, emergent, and transformative nature. It is thus imperative to take the inter-/trans-cultural approach to communication when analyzing ELF interactions. To be more specific, the present research takes the intercultural approach to communication instead of the transcultural approach. This, however, is not to deny the usefulness of the latter approach. It is simply because the present research fits into Baker and Ishikawa’s (2021) definition of the intercultural approach. That is, the present research does not look into “communicative practices where cultural and linguistic differences are relevant to participants or researchers but not necessarily linked to any particular group” as the transcultural approach does (Baker and Ishikawa 2021: 184). Rather, it will scrutinize how multilingual individuals interactionally manage conflict talk in casual ELF conversations among friends from a participant-relevant emic perspective by utilizing multimodal CA. This means that the focus of the analysis is on “the communicative practices of distinct culture or other groups in interaction with each other” (Baker and Ishikawa 2021: 184) without linking the participants to any cultural groups or discourse communities a priori. To my knowledge, no one has explicitly discussed how lingua-cultural diversity in the use of embodied actions should be interpreted without imposing an essentialist view of “cultures” a priori when analyzing ELF interactions. In what follows, I will elaborate on this point, reviewing cross-cultural studies of embodied actions such as gazes (Section 2.3.1.1), speech-accompanying hand gestures (Section 2.3.1.2), and head movements (Section 2.3.1.3). The review is also accompanied by a discussion of how to treat “cultural differences” in embodied action when analyzing ELF interactions.

2.3.1 Approaching to embodied actions from the intercultural perspective 2.3.1.1 Gaze behavior Only a few cross-cultural studies of gazes have been conducted so far, but some pieces of evidence for cross-cultural variation in gaze behavior have been reported. For example, Rossano and his colleagues (Rossano 2012, 2013; Rossano, Brown, and

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Levinson 2009) argue that the organization of gaze in Italian interactions is different from many of the claims regarding the gaze organization in the seminal work (see Section 2.2.1.1). Specifically, in his analysis of Italian dyadic informal conversations, Rossano (2012, 2013) points out that participants’ use of gazes could vary depending on activity types that they are involved in within interaction. He argues that especially in extended multi-unit turns like story-telling sequences, recipients are normatively expected to gaze at speakers at the completion of the first TCU introducing the telling (cf. Kendon 1990).3 On the other hand, in turn-by-turn talk like question-answer adjacency pair sequences, the recipient’s gaze is not treated as normatively requisite (Rossano 2013: 314). That is, whereas the participants’ gaze can be an indication of their engagement or disengagement in the ongoing interaction, there are some degrees of variations in the normative expectations of such behavior. Moreover, Rossano, Brown, and Levinson (2009) explored gaze behavior in three unrelated lingua-cultures: Italian, Yélî Dnye (a language spoken on Rossel Island in Papua New Guinea), and Tzeltal (a Mayan language spoken in an indigenous community in the highlands of southern Mexico). Specifically, in their analysis of gaze behavior in the question sequences, they found “much less gaze mobility throughout the question” (Rossano, Brown, and Levinson 2009: 200), “no particular sensitivity to the lack of recipient gaze” (Rossano, Brown, and Levinson 2009: 200), and the “much more predictable and relevant” speaker gaze during questions rather than recipient gaze (Rossano, Brown, and Levinson 2009: 200). Furthermore, it was found that in Tzeltal interactions, gaze withdrawal serves as a signal of engaged recipiency rather than reduced engagement in the ongoing interaction. This is a sharp contrast with that of Anglo-American interactions (Goodwin 1980). Rossano, Brown, and Levinson (2009: 239) argue that the different gaze behavior in these languages questions the view that a recipient should be looking at the speaker, which is a default behavior for the recipient. Although none of the participants in the present research are from these lingua-cultural backgrounds, the findings above suggest that due attention should be paid to how recipiency is displayed and recipiency cues are interactionally organized and responded to when analyzing ELF interactions. Cultural variation is also reported in gaze withdrawal during thinking (i.e., thinking face). Whereas thinking face per se is reported not only in Anglo-American culture but also in other cultures, such as Navaho Indian (Worth and Adair 1970, cited in Goodwin and Goodwin 1986: 57), Ethiopian (Argyle and Cook 1976; Collett 3 Kendon (1990: 64), in his analysis of seven two-person conversations in English, found that a speaker tends to look away (i.e., a-gaze in Kendon’s term) when s/he starts a long utterance but brings his/her gaze to the recipient (i.e., q-gaze) slightly before finishing the utterance. It is argued that the changes in the gaze direction can serve to regulate the recipient’s behavior.

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1971, cited in McCarthy et al. 2006: 2), Canadian, Trinidadian, and Japanese (McCarthy et al. 2006), whether speakers avert their gazes upward or downward more frequently can vary across “cultures”. For instance, McCarthy et al. (2006: 7), in their psycholinguistic study of eye gaze during thinking in Canadian, Trinidadian, and Japanese conversations, found that while Canadians and Trinidadians look up more frequently, the Japanese look down more frequently. However, as McCarthy et al. (2008) found out, Canadians also look down during thinking if they are aware of not being observed by others. It is argued that although thinking face may be a universal behavior, the direction of averted gazes may be shaped by “cultural” conventions. That is, although downward looking is positively regarded as polite and respectful behavior in Japan, the same behavior is perceived negatively as a lack of knowledge or confidence in Trinidad and Canada because it is looking upward that is perceived as thinking in the two countries (McCarthy et al. 2006: 5). As shown above, in cross-cultural studies, “cultural differences” in gaze behavior are merely linked to nations in an essentialist manner. The “culturally” specific gaze aversion like the above may, or may not, be used by some of the Japanese participants in the present data (see Section 4.2.2 for the demographic information of the participants). However, it is problematic to impose the essentialist view of “national cultures” on the participants’ gaze behavior a priori. Rather, due attention should be paid to whether and how the participants themselves treat their gaze behavior in the ongoing interaction along with other verbal and other non-verbal semiotic resources. This means that the focus of analysis should be on interactional functions of gaze behavior in situ. To put it another way, “cultural differences” in gaze behavior – and indeed in any kind of embodied action – should be taken into account only when they are procedurally consequential (Schegloff 1992a) for the particular aspect of the talk or other conduct within the interaction. The next-turn proof procedure of CA is useful to this end (see Section 2.1). That is, by looking at the co-interactant’s response in the sequentially next turn, it is possible to see how the interactant’s gaze behavior is treated by the co-interactant in the ongoing interaction. This technique enables one to analyze the use of gaze behavior from the perspective of the intercultural approach rather than the cross-cultural one. 2.3.1.2 Hand gestures Different from gaze behavior, many scholars have conducted cross-cultural studies on hand gestures so far. This is particularly true for emblems (e.g., Archer 1997; Ekman 2004; Higashiyama [1994] 2016; Tada and Okuno [1979] 1992) and pointing gestures (e.g., Kita 2003). Yet despite the important functions that speech-accompanying spontaneous hand gestures serve in interaction (see Section 2.2.1.2), their

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cross-cultural variation in functions has not been reported very often. Kita (2009: 159) also notes this point although the reason for scarce cross-cultural research into this aspect is not discussed. Whereas this remains at the speculation level, one possible reason might be their spontaneous non-stereotyped forms that closely link with the speaker’s utterances. Different from emblems, which have stereotypical forms understood by members of the same society, speech-accompanying spontaneous hand gestures, except pointing gestures, do not necessarily have stereotypical forms. Rather “speakers spontaneously improvise them along with their words and phrases, to which the gestures are tightly synchronized” (Bavelas et al. 1995: 394–395). This means that interactional functions of the gestures depend on the ongoing speech, or more precisely, interactional functions emerge from the interplay between the talk and the gestures. The non-typical forms of the gestures, which might make it difficult to discern cross-cultural variation from individual variation, thus may not make much difference in the interactional functions. Cross-cultural variation in speech-accompanying spontaneous hand gestures, however, is reported in aspects other than their interactional functions. Kita (2009), for instance, identifies four factors regulating their cross-cultural variation. The first one is “culture”-specific conventions for form-meaning associations. This is related to emblems and pointing gestures in particular (Kita 2009: 146–149). The second factor is “culture”-specific spatial conventions, which refer to the spatially different use of hand gestures owing to cognitive diversity (Kita 2009: 149–154). The third factor is linguistic differences that are reflected in the use of hand gestures (Kita 2009: 154–156), and the fourth factor is “culture”-specific gestural pragmatics, which is related to gestural politeness, the use of gestures – but head nods in particular – in communication, that of gesture space, and gesture rate (Kita 2009: 157–162). Here, the fourth factor, i.e., gestural politeness and the use of gesture space, is particularly relevant to the present research. First, gestural politeness, according to Kita (2009: 157), is the extension of the concept of linguistic politeness (Brown and Levinson 1987). Taking the use of the left hand in Ghana as an example, he explains how gestural taboos impact gestural politeness, which produces a distinct flavor in gestural practice in society. In Ghana, the use of the left hand for actions, such as eating, drinking, giving, and receiving, is perceived to be inappropriate. Accordingly, the use of left-hand pointing gestures, which is regarded as rude and disrespectful in society, is restricted, and thus people use the right hand more for pointing; left-hand gestures, if any, are produced inconspicuously at a level lower than a waist (Kita 2009: 157). Likewise, the use of pointing gestures in Japan, too, seems to be constrained by gestural politeness. While index-finger pointing is commonly used particularly when pointing at objects, places, and directions (Higashiyama and Ford 2016: 56–59), its use is perceived to be rude and thus open-hand

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pointing (i.e., stretching all fingers together, with the palm upward) is used when pointing at other people particularly in formal situations (Higashiyama and Ford 2016: 57). Thumb pointing is also sometimes used among people having a close relationship when pointing at places or directions that are either behind or the side of the speaker or ordering others to come in the speaker’s direction (Higashiyama and Ford 2016: 52). Yet its use is avoided when speaking in formal situations as well as speaking to a person in a higher position or those who is socially distant. The series of examples indicate that, as Kita (2009) points out, “cultures” attribute positive or negative social values to specific forms of gestures. Second, the use of gesture space is also shaped by “cultural” conventions. Kita (2009: 160) illustrates this point, citing examples from the works of others. For instance, Efron ([1941] 1972) compared the use of gestures by Italian immigrants and those by Jewish immigrants in New York City. It was found that the former tends to use spatially expansive, full-arm gestures, while the latter, spatially small gestures. In a similar vein, it was reported that Spaniards’ use of gestures is produced above the shoulder height – near the speaker’s face – more frequently than those of Germans (Müller 1998, cited in Kita 2009: 160), while the frequency of gestures per se is similar between the two groups (Kita 2009: 161). A finding like this, as Kita (2009: 161) argues, raises the possibility that “prominent gestures create an ‘illusion’ that people from the Mediterranean region gesture frequently”. The series of examples cited above are interesting in themselves and illuminate the diversity in the forms and/or the size of hand gestures associated with “culturally” specific values or meanings. However, not only the exemplification of hand gestures remains at the level of de-contextualized meanings rather than showing their interactional functions, but the concept of “culture” is also simply linked to national or ethnic communities in an essentialist manner. There might be a certain tendency that the forms of pointing/deictic gestures and the size of gestures like deictic, metaphoric, iconic, beat, and conversational gestures differ from “culture” to “culture”. However, it is not appropriate, or rather problematic, to simply see individuals as representatives of national or ethnic groups, assuming the influence of national or ethnic “cultures” on interactants’ use of hand gestures a priori. This is because such a stereotypical predetermined interpretation not only disregards diversity and heterogeneity existing within national or ethnic groups, namely individual differences, but also inter-individual variations in the use of gestures. Given the diversity, hybridity, as well as transformative and emergent nature of ELF interactions, such an essentialist view of “cultures” from the cross-cultural perspective cannot be applied to the analysis of hand gestures in ELF interactions. Rather, it is necessary to take an intercultural approach to communication (Baker and Ishikawa 2021). As also discussed in the preceding section, the concept of being procedurally consequential (Schegloff 1992a) in CA is the key in this regard. In order not

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to impose a predetermined essentialist view of “cultures” on the use of gestures, “cultural differences” of any kind should be treated as participants’ matter. To this end, it is essential to scrutinize how participants themselves react to gestures on a moment-by-moment basis in interaction by focusing on interactional functions the gestures in question serve in situ. 2.3.1.3 Head movements Cross-cultural variation is frequently reported in the use of head movements like a vertical head nod and a horizontal head shake, and it is observed in both their form-meaning associations and their interactional functions. First, cross-cultural studies have reported that the form-meaning associations of head movements can also vary across “cultures” as in the case of hand gestures. A vertical head nod, for example, can mean affirmation in many “cultures”, including European-Americans, African-Americans, Arabs, Koreans (McClave et al. 2007), and the Japanese, although it does not only mean agreement but also serve other interactional functions in Japanese conversations, as will be discussed in depth later. However, the affirmative meaning can be expressed in other forms of head movements in other countries (e.g., head roll/wobble in Bulgaria, India, and Pakistan; Higashiyama 2016: 147–148; see also McClave et al. 2007). In contrast, a horizontal head shake is frequently used to mean negation in places such as northern Italy, Rome (Tada and Okuno 1992), Japan (Brosnahan [1990] 1998: 152; Maynard 1993), and America (Higashiyama and Ford 2016: 238–239). However, it can also show affirmative surprise, including agreement, in American English conversations (Maynard 1993: 178; see also Higashiyama and Ford 2016: 239) and convey affirmation in Bulgarian conversations (McClave et al. 2007: 345). On the other hand, different forms can be used to express negation. For instance, it is a vertical head nod that is used in Bulgaria (McClave et al. 2007: 345), while a head toss is used in southern Italy, including Naples and Sicily, as well as Greece, Turkey, Bulgaria, and Arabic society (Higashiyama 2016: 150; Kita 2009: 147; McClave et al. 2007: 345; Tada and Okuno 1992). Alternatively, a head side-turn (i.e., turning a head to one side) is used for this meaning in Ethiopia (Higashiyama 2016: 149). Given lingua-cultural diversity in speakers’ backgrounds, cross-cultural variation in head movements like the above might appear in ELF interactions. However, as also discussed in the preceding sections, it is problematic to simply see individuals as representatives of national/regional “cultures” in an essentialist way. What is more important is to see how participants themselves treat head movements on a moment-by-moment basis in situ: interactional functions of head movements, to which I will now turn.

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Second, one of the factors of cross-cultural variation is gestural pragmatics as reviewed in the previous section, and the use of head nods is the only aspect that its role in interaction has been extensively documented (Kita 2009: 159). Japanese conversations are particularly famous for their “culturally” distinct use. Not only is the frequency of head nods high, but their interactional functions are also multiple (Maynard 1987, 1993). Specifically, as Maynard (1987: 595; 1993: 168) explains, the recipient’s use of head nods functions as backchannel continuers and turn-transition period fillers. The speaker’s use, on the other hand, functions as clause boundary and turn end markers, turn-transition period fillers, emphasis, affirmations, (pre-)turn claim, and rhythm taking (Maynard 1987: 595–596; 1993: 168–169). It is argued that head nods not only show the interactants’ active participation in conversation but also play an important role in “achiev[ing] rapport and emotional bonding during each encounter” (i.e., conversational management; Maynard 1987: 591). Kita and Ide (2007: 1251–1252) elaborate this point further, contending that the frequent exchange of head nods between the speaker and the recipient in Japanese conversations may derive from the Japanese emphasis on consideration for and cooperation with others, or the Japanese concept of socially defined self. The use of head nods, therefore, is influenced by gestural politeness in society. Different from head nods in Japanese conversations, the functions of head nods in conversations in other languages are somewhat limited. For instance, Maynard (1993: 177) found that in American conversations, the most frequent type of head nod is the recipients’ use of backchannel continuers, and the second frequent one is the speaker’s use of emphasis. There observed no case of rhythm taking, and the speaker’s use of clause boundary and turn end markers was few (Maynard 1993: 177–178). In addition, McClave (2000: 870) revealed that in American English conversations, the speaker’s head nods can serve as backchannel requests, eliciting a response from the recipient. This function of backchannel requests is also reported in conversations in other languages but the form of head movement varies: While it is a vertical head nod that is used in Arabic, African-American English, and Korean conversations, Bulgarians use a lateral head movement for this purpose (McClave et al. 2007: 378). It has been reported that the cross-cultural variation in the form-meaning association of head movements is thus reflected in conversations in L1s. The Japanese people’s frequent use of head nods is also reported in their conversations in English. From the perspective of WE, Ike (2010), for instance, investigated verbal and non-verbal backchannel behaviors in Japanese English as compared to those in Australian English. By utilizing multimodal CA, she found that the collaborative use of head movements both by the speaker and by the recipient in a loop sequence (Iwasaki 1997) serves multiple functions such as a backchannel, an

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acknowledgment of the previous backchannel, and a backchannel cue in Japanese English. It is argued that this multi-functionality of head movements facilitates active engagement in the interaction and accelerates the effective establishment of rapport between the interactants (Ike 2010: 212–213). She contends that backchannel behavior in Japanese English are one of the distinctive features reflecting Japanese “cultural” and “social” customs (Ike 2010: 213). While the finding illuminates the “culturally” distinct use of head nods, which is viewed positively (cf. Cutrone 2005; Cutrone 2014),4 it does not tell us what such a “culturally” distinct behavior will be like in intercultural conversation in English. Ike (2017) explored this aspect in her later research, analyzing the same interactants’ verbal and non-verbal backchannel behaviors in dyadic conversations between Japanese English speakers, those between Australian English speakers, and those between Japanese English speakers and Australian English speakers. She revealed the interactants’ accommodative behaviors in the intercultural conversations. That is, the speakers of the two varieties of English accommodate each other’s listener behaviors by utilizing their own verbal and non-verbal semiotic resources for backchannels cues and backchannels. This finding is insightful because it illuminates that “cultural differences” in verbal and non-verbal listener behaviors can be negotiated and changed by the interactants through the interaction. This suggests the emergent and transformative nature of the use of embodied actions in interaction. Considering this point, what is important when analyzing ELF interactions is to take the intercultural approach to communication (Baker and Ishikawa 2021). More specifically, it is neither necessary to compare the use of multimodal resources, including head movements, with that of “native English” speakers nor to simply assume the influence of “cultural differences” on them a priori (i.e., the cross-cul-

4 The positive view of the Japanese people’s “culturally” specific use of head nods in Ike’s (2010) study is a sharp contrast with Cutrone’s (2005, 2014) observation. Cutrone (2005), in his investigation of backchannel behavior in Japanese-British dyad conversations in English, found the Japanese participants’ frequent use of backchannels which often co-occurred with head nods. The British participants’ negative evaluation of the Japanese participants’ use of backchannels was also found. In his later study (Cutrone 2014), which examined Japanese-American dyad conversations in English, it was found that the American participants’ evaluations of the Japanese frequent (verbal and non-verbal) backchannels were rather mixed, with both positive and negative comments reported. Cutrone (2005, 2014) argues that it is not advisable to force English learners to use backchannels in a native-like way because their way of responding is based on their “cultural” values. He continues, however, that many learners are “willing to embrace the target culture in their efforts to learn English” (Cutrone 2005: 271) and even if they hesitated initially, “it is likely that comfort levels will increase gradually over time as [they] become more acclimated to the target culture” (Cutrone 2014: 112–113). This suggests that Cutrone (2005, 2014) basically assumes the primacy of native-like use of backchannels over the Japanese way when speaking English.

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tural approach). Rather, it is essential to scrutinize what actually happens, namely how the interactants utilize (or do not utilize), and respond to, such resources to achieve their transactional and interactional purposes of the talk on a moment-tomoment basis in interaction. The intercultural approach to communication is thus essential to this end. So far, I have reviewed the cross-cultural variation in the use of embodied actions, including gazes, hand gestures, and head movements, and discussed the necessity of taking the intercultural approach rather than the cross-cultural approach when analyzing multimodal resources in ELF interactions. This means that the impact of “cultures” – either of nations or other discourse communities – on the use of embodied actions should not be taken for granted a priori but should be seen from the participant-relevant emic perspective. It is thus crucial to see whether such aspects are procedurally consequential (Schegloff 1992a) for the particular aspect of the talk or other conduct of participants within the interaction. This is possible by scrutinizing what actually happens, namely a response, in the sequentially next turn (i.e., the next-turn proof procedure in CA). Whereas Sections 2.1 and 2.2 have dealt with the theoretical and analytical underpinnings of the present research from the perspective of CA and multimodal CA, Section 2.3 has discussed the importance of the intercultural perspective when analyzing multimodal resources in ELF interactions. The next section will then provide a review of pragmatic theories of communication.

2.4 Pragmatic theories of communication As stated in Chapter 1, the present research aims to investigate how interactants utilize multimodal resources in casual ELF conversations among friends, particularly focusing on conflict talk that naturally occurred in the present data. These moments include (1) competitively taking the floor by overlapping, (2) disagreeing with a co-interactant, and (3) complaining about an absent complainee/target, the moments of which are “potentially” face-threatening from the perspective of politeness theory. Accordingly, this section reviews fundamental pragmatic theories of communication, starting from Grice’s (1975) cooperative principle and then moving on to Brown and Levinson’s (1987) politeness theory (Section 2.4.1). However, their theory of politeness is not without problems. The second subsection, Section 2.4.2, therefore, will be devoted to the review of more recent critical arguments and works on this matter from the perspective of discursive approaches, including an interactional approach, to politeness (e.g., Arundale 2010; Grainger 2011; Haugh 2007; Locher and Watts 2005; O’Driscoll 2007; Van der Bom and Mills 2015; Watts 2003).

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2.4.1 Cooperative principle and politeness theory: Seminal work Grice’s (1975) cooperative principle is “a basic assumption in conversation that each participant will attempt to contribute appropriately, at the required time, to the current exchange of talk” (Yule 1996: 128). Grice (1975: 45) formulates the principle as follows: “[M]ake your contribution such as is required, at the state at which it occurs, by the accepted purpose or direction of the talk exchange in which you are engaged”. His principle consists of four maxims: quantity, quality, relation, and manner. The term cooperative indicates the kind and degree of cooperation that is essential for people to make sense of one another’s contribution to the ongoing exchange of talk (Cameron 2001: 76), and the four maxims serve as bases on which participants infer the purpose of other’s utterances. Therefore, even when the speaker flouts one or some of the maxims, the flouting per se, Cameron (2001: 76) explains, is intended to be meaningful. This is where the notion of conversational implicature is introduced, which indicates an additional unstated meaning so as to maintain the cooperative principle (Yule 1996: 128). While the cooperative principle can explain the process of interpreting utterances (cf. Sperber and Wilson 1986), it cannot detail the reason behind the flouting. Here, the concept of politeness comes in (Brown and Levinson 1987: 49, 95; see also Leech 1983: 80). Grice (1975: 47) also points out that the four maxims are not exhaustive and exclusive ones and suggested “[being] polite” as another possible maxim that the participants normally observe in conversation. It is argued that although the four maxims are stated as if their purpose is to emphasize an effective exchange of information, such an interpretation is too narrow, and thus “the scheme needs to be generalized to allow for such general purposes [i.e., politeness purposes] as influencing or directing the actions of others” (Grice 1975: 47). Leech (1983: 132) suggests that a politeness principle, which consists of six maxims (i.e., tact, generosity, approbation, modesty, agreement, and sympathy), is even more convincing than Grice’s cooperative principle because being informative, trustful, relevant, and perspicuous presuppose being polite (see Grice 1975: 80–82; see also Cameron 2001: 78–79). Although the discussion on whether the number of Grice’s maxims should be increased or reduced is beyond the scope of this book (but see e.g., Leech 1983; Sperber and Wilson 1986 on this point),5 there appears to be a general consensus 5 For instance, Leech (1983) claims that Grice’s cooperative principle should be proliferated and thus expanded to the six (or more) maxims to account for individual regularities in speech acts (Searle 1979), taking what he refers to as a rhetorical approach to pragmatics (Leech 1983: 15, 105). Yet Brown and Levinson (1987: 4) criticize that if one creates a maxim for every regularity in language use, “pragmatic theory will be too unconstrained to permit the recognition of any counter-examples” (see also Kurihara 2008). On the other hand, Sperber and Wilson (1986) argue

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that politeness can be, albeit not exclusively, a major source of the flouting, given that communication is inherently social, in which more than one person establishes or maintains human relationships (Brown and Levinson 1987; Leech 1983). Brown and Levinson (1987)6 developed the model of politeness, the central of which is the abstract notion of face. The notion was derived from that of Goffman (1967: 5), who defines it as “the positive social value a person effectively claims for himself by the line others assume he has taken during a particular contact”. Similar to Goffman, Brown and Levinson (1987: 61) also define face as “the public self-image that every member wants to claim for himself”. Goffman’s notion of face was extended by Brown and Levinson as negative face, which is the individuals’ basic claim for the public self-image to be unimpeded by others, and positive face, which is the one, to be appreciated or approved by others (Brown and Levinson 1987: 61). They view face as “something that is emotionally invested”, “can be lost, maintained, or enhanced, and must be constantly attended to in interaction” (Brown and Levinson 1987: 61; but see Locher and Watts 2005). Here, mutual cooperation in maintaining face is assumed because face is mutually vulnerable (i.e., mutual vulnerability): The maintenance of everyone’s face is dependent on whether everyone else’s face is maintained (Brown and Levinson 1987: 61). Linguistic forms used to show mutual awareness toward one another’s face is referred to as (linguistic) politeness (Brown and Levinson 1987: 61). Their view of politeness focuses on face-saving on the basis of the assumption that a wide range of acts, namely speech acts (Austin 1962), that people need or want to do while interacting can be “potentially” face-threatening acts (FTAs). For example, FTAs threatening a hearer’s negative face include acts such as requests, suggestions, offers, and compliments to name a few (Brown and Levinson 1987: 66), and those threatening a hearer’s positive face include acts such as disapproval, criticism, complaints, contradictions, disagreement, and blatant non-cooperation in an activity such as disruptively interrupting the interlocutor’s talk, to name a few (Brown and Levinson 1987: 66–67). Here, the latter type of FTA is of particular interest in the present research. Contrarily, FTAs threatening a speaker’s negative face include acts such as thanking, acceptance of the interlocutor’s thanks or apology, excuses, and so forth

that Grice’s maxim can be reduced to one, namely relevance from a cognitive linguistic perspective. Their theory is based on the assumption that people pay attention to information that seems relevant, which can be defined in terms of cognitive effects and processing effort, to them while communicating (i.e., optimal relevance; see Wilson and Sperber 1998: 8–11). Here, their main concern is to explicate the cognitive processes of interpreting utterances rather than social and interactional ones. 6 Brown and Levinson’s first paper was published in 1978 by Cambridge University Press, but I only refer to the later version of their work (i.e., Brown and Levinson 1987) in this book.

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(Brown and Levinson 1987: 67–68), and those threatening a speaker’s positive face include acts such as apologies, acceptance of a compliment, self-humiliation, and so on (Brown and Levinson 1987: 68). They (1987: 68, 70) explicate a variety of strategies, with which the speaker avoids or minimizes the threat to mutual face: positive politeness strategies and negative politeness strategies. The weightiness of an FTA, as they continue, is calculated based on three sociocultural factors, that is, social distance between the participants, power relations between them, and the degree of threat of the “potential” FTA (Brown and Levinson 1987: 74, 76). Although Brown and Levinson’s model of politeness has been most influential in offering a paradigm for (linguistic) politeness, the model has been criticized due to its narrow focus (e.g., Arundale 2010; Grainger 2011; Haugh 2007; Locher and Watts 2005; O’Driscoll 2007; Van der Bom and Mills 2015; Watts 2003). To elaborate on this issue, I will first reconsider “politeness” from the perspectives of discursive approaches (Section 2.4.2). On the basis of the discussion, I will then point out the problems of discursive approaches and thus justifies the approach that the present research will take (Section 2.4.3).

2.4.2 Reconsidering politeness from the discursive perspectives Since the introduction of Brown and Levinson’s (1987) model of politeness theory, inspired by Austin’s (1962) speech act theory and Grice’s (1975) cooperative principle (i.e., the first wave of politeness theory; see Grainger 2011), their model has been criticized because of (1) its narrow analytical focus, i.e., the speaker-centered, utterance-focused analysis of facework for mitigating FTAs, which lacks the perspective of multimodality and thus is rather static, (2) its analyst-centered theoretical conceptualization of politeness as well as (3) its static and culturally biased conceptualization of face. The critique has been given from the perspective of discursive approaches, which often have an influence from a broadly postmodern paradigm, including critical and political theories, and can be identified as part of the discursive turn in sociolinguistics in general (e.g., the second wave of politeness theory in Grainger 2011; see e.g., Haugh 2007; O’Driscoll 2007; Van der Bom and Mills 2015 for comprehensive summaries of the critique). However, the discursive approaches per se are not without problem if one looks at them from an interactional approach to politeness, which is also part of the postmodern, discursive paradigm because of its emphasis on contextualized, naturalistic conversational data as well as its interest in participants’ interactional achievement of meaning and politeness (i.e., the third wave of politeness theory; e.g., Grainger 2011: 171; Haugh 2007). In what follows, I will elaborate on these points, reviewing the critique of Brown and Levinson’s model.

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First, Brown and Levinson’s model of politeness has been criticized due to its narrow analytical focus, which concerns the speaker’s utterance-level production of linguistic elements for mitigating FTAs. Van der Bom and Mills (2015: 182) point out that Brown and Levinson’s model views humanity negatively, arguing that politeness can cover a wider range of behavior. The latter point is also noted by Locher and Watts (2005: 10). They (2005: 12) maintain that “the ‘work’ individuals invest in negotiating relationships with others”, i.e., relational work in their term, can comprise the entire continuum of various behaviors based on the evaluation against the individuals’ normative expectations: from negatively marked behavior, judged as impolite to negatively marked behavior, judged as over-polite, non-politic/inappropriate. In their view, politeness is thus only part of relational work. Yet Haugh (2007: 300) contends that it is not clear “in what sense these different manifestations of relational work are positively or negatively marked”, thereby advocating the interactional approach to politeness. Moreover, Brown and Levinson’s model was also criticized because of its “speaker-centered, sentence-focused” view of communication ascribed to their reliance on speech act theory (Van der Bom and Mills 2015: 183; see also O’Driscoll 2007). Not only does such a view of communication assume a one-to-one relationship between linguistic forms and functions, which are agreed upon by participants, but it also disregards the role of recipients and the influence of “the social and discursive context in which utterances are made and politeness is negotiated” (Van der Bom and Mills 2015: 182). The analysis based on their model is thus inclined to investigate the production of – and to a lesser degree, the perception of – the predetermined sets of linguistic features (i.e., strategies) in the speaker’s utterances (see e.g., Blum-Kulka, House, and Kasper 1989). However, as O’Driscoll (2007: 469) points out, “[e]ffects on face are radically situational” rather than “properties of illocutions” (emphasis added). That is, linguistic forms per se are not inherently polite or impolite, but it is contexts that are a decisive factor in determining the degree of (im)politeness. Furthermore, due to its focus on linguistic elements, Brown and Levinson’s model dismisses the role of non-verbal semiotic resources, such as facial expressions, gazes, postural shifts, and gestures, served in interaction (see Sections 2.2.1.1 and 2.2.1.2). Also, their model dismisses the dynamic, interactive nature of communication (see also Grainger 2011), with its interest remaining at the level of the speaker’s intention. Kurihara (2008: 10–11) claims that the interactional aspect of face negotiation is reflected in the concept of mutual vulnerability of face. Yet how such an aspect is dynamically negotiated by participants in interaction is not reflected in their model, as also admitted by Brown and Levinson themselves. This is where CA comes in; Brown and Levinson (1987: 41) also point out that the dynamic processes of face negotiation can be captured by using a CA approach.

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Second, Brown and Levinson’s model is problematized due to its analyst-centered theoretical conceptualization of politeness. Watts, Ide, and Ehllich (1992) maintain the necessity of discerning first-order politeness (i.e., politeness1) from second-order politeness (i.e., politeness2). While politeness1 concerns the participants’ perception of what constitutes politeness, politeness2 is a theoretical or analysts’ notion of politeness (Watts, Ide, and Ehllich 1992: 3). Brown and Levinson’s model has been criticized due to its focus on politness2, linguistic elements showing politeness being decided by the theorists a priori (Van der Bom and Mills 2015: 184; see also Locher and Watts 2005). Instead, discursive theorists regard politeness as a discursive concept that arises out of individual participants’ perceptions of their own and others’ behavior (Locher and Watts 2005: 10). They thus place importance on the investigation of politeness1 (see e.g., Locher and Watts 2005; Van der Bom and Mills 2015), but being aware of the fuzzy boundaries between the two types of politeness. The third problem of Brown and Levinson’s model of politeness is the ethnocentric and a priori person-centered conceptualization of face. Brown and Levinson (1987: 13) claim the universality of their model, arguing that the core ideas about face have “a striking familiarity” across “cultures” despite some “cultural” variations in the specifications of face; here, the notion of “cultures” is problematically linked to nations (Baker 2018; Baker and Ishikawa 2021; see also Sections 1.2 and 2.3). Their notions of positive face and negative face have been stimulating and thus motivated an extensive amount of cross-cultural research, which has revealed how politeness is differently realized across “cultures” (see e.g., Blum-Kulka, House, and Kasper 1989). However, the universality of the model has been questioned by many scholars investigating languages other than English (e.g., Matsumoto 1988; Sifianou 1992). Matsumoto (1988: 405), for instance, questions the applicability of the notion of negative face to Japanese contexts because “not his/her own territory, but the position in relation to the others in the group and his/her acceptance by those others” are of prime importance in Japan. The concept of negative face is, therefore, claimed to be inherently ethnocentric (Haugh 2006: 18). O’Driscoll (2007: 474) also points out that the problem of negative face is ascribed to “its apparent limited cross-cultural applicability”, while that of positive face is “its breadth”. In relation to this point, the person-centered, static attribute of face is also problematized. Locher and Watts maintain that while Goffman’s (1967) notion of face is a discursive concept, that of Brown and Levinson is something inherent in an individual (Locher and Watt 2005: 12). The series of arguments suggest that Brown and Levinson’s notion of face is “culturally” biased and static in nature, and thus a more “culturally” neutral and interaction-oriented conceptualization of face seems necessary. Many scholars have attempted to reconceptualize face from a variety of perspectives, and alternative terms for positive face and negative face have been pro-

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posed with slightly different emphases. These include Scollon and Scollon’s (2001: 46–51) involvement and independence from the perspective of intercultural communication, Widdowson’s (2007: 63–64) cooperative imperative and territorial imperative from the perspective of discourse analysis, Arundale’s (2010: 2086–2087) connection face and separation face from the perspective of CA, and Terkourafi’s (2007: 322–323) approach and withdrawal from the perspective of biology, to name a few. While Arundale’s notion of face seems relevant for the present research that employs a CA approach, all of these terms, as O’Driscoll puts it, seem to mostly cover “the same two [directly related opposing] areas of affective being” (O’Driscoll 2007: 473), which are fairly “culturally” neutral (O’Driscoll 2007: 477): “a person’s singularity” and “togetherness” (O’Driscoll 2007: 474). He continues that the solution for the problem is thus “to construe [those] concepts [. . .] as firmly second-order [theoretical] ones which therefore do not in themselves describe social values and do not depend for their existence on their salience for interactants” (O’Driscoll 2007: 474; emphasis added). In doing so, he proposes, negative face can denote “move away” behavior asserting or implying a person’s singularity without attaching any social values to it, while positive face, “move toward” behavior predicting or implying togetherness (O’Driscoll 2007: 474). Considering this way, the fundamental problem of Brown and Levinson’s positive face and negative face can be ascribed to social values attached to each area of the affective being rather than the concepts per se although the three problems pointed out so far about their model of politeness need to be considered. In this regard, O’Driscoll’s (2007) suggestion seems not only reasonable but also useful for the analysis of ELF interactions among multilingual individuals. This is because whose pragmatic norms related to “social” values, whether or not anybody’s norms at all, and/or whether any ad hoc norms emerging in the ongoing interaction are referred to by participants in the interaction can differ from moment to moment in the interaction, among individuals, and within individuals (cf. Nogami 2020). In line with the series of arguments, the present research will take the three problems discussed so far into account but without changing the terms, positive face and negative face, to others. Specifically, the first problem can be dealt with by utilizing a CA approach as briefly touched upon earlier. The second and the third problems, on the other hand, can be solved by following O’Driscoll’s (2007) suggestion introduced earlier, supplemented with Arundale’s (2010) view of face. Different from Brown and Levinson’s model of politeness, Arundale (2010: 2088) conceptualizes face as a social, interactional, and relational phenomenon from the perspective of CA (i.e., the Face Constituting Theory). Accordingly, his notion of face is seen as “an ‘issue’ that participants are continually addressing” in interaction (Arundale 2010: 2091), thereby being more dynamic in nature and endogenous in interaction (Arundale 2010: 2087). Here, in my view, a threat to face is

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part of the “issue” that participants address in interaction. In addition, to Arundale (2010: 2089), connection face and separation face are “always linked reflexively”, which means that the interpretation of face is “always a matter of both connection face and separation face together” (emphasis in original). Considering this point, it seems not necessarily meaningful to always identify which face is now focused on in the interaction because both types are co-present and addressed dynamically in the interaction. Combining Arundale’s (2010) view of face and that of O’Driscoll (2007), the present research, therefore, views face as a social, interactional, and relational phenomenon, including the management of “potential” FTAs. While participants’ “move away” behavior can be seen as a show of negative face, their “move toward” behavior, a show of positive face.

2.4.3 The sequential analysis of politeness Arundale’s (2010) view of face, discussed in the preceding section, is compatible with an interactional approach, which is part of discursive approaches to politeness but slightly different from those approaches. The analytical focus of discursive approaches is twofold: the recordings of actual interactions, through which politeness phenomena emerge, and the interview-based investigation of the participants’ post hoc judgment of the phenomena (see e.g., Ishihara and Lee 2021; Van der Bom and Mills 2015), with importance attached more to the latter in many cases. In doing so, they attempt to capture how politeness is constituted by participants in longer stretches of discourse in the given context in a complex manner. However, when it comes to analyzing interaction, the analysis is not necessarily conducted based on a participant’s perspective: “When analyzing politeness and impoliteness the discursive approach tends to focus on what interactants might have said as much as what they did actually say. This contextualizes their choice of words and helps the analyst to work out what is going on in the interaction” (Van der Bom and Mills 2015: 200; emphasis added). Notice that the analyst’s perspective is inevitably assumed in “what interactants might have said”. This suggests that while the discursive approaches put an emphasis on politeness1 and thus explore the participants’ interpretation of the politeness phenomena in question, the analysis of interaction per se is predicated on the perspective of the analyst because CA usually examines what a participant actually said but not what s/he might have said (Wong 2004: 124). In contrast, the interactional approach (Grainger 2011; Haugh 2007, 2010a) does not rely on the analyst’s view. Instead, it utilizes CA, the analysis which is conducted from a participant-relevant emic perspective because of its ethnomethodological tradition, to interpret negotiated meaning in interaction based on the participants’

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observable verbal conduct (see also Bargiela-Chiappini 2009)  – and non-verbal conduct from the perspective of multimodal CA. Specifically, the approach requires the analyst to look for evidence in interaction that “participants themselves orient to particular actions or utterances in interaction as polite, impolite” (Haugh 2010a: 158), which can be possible based on the next-turn proof procedure in CA (see Section 2.1). Grainger (2011: 172) argues that the analysis of this kind can retain “the post-modern emphasis on meaning construction” but “is not reduced to a discussion of ‘folk’ definitions of terms” (i.e., politeness1) as in the case of discursive approaches. In relation to this point, Grainger (2011: 175, 177) demonstrated that politeness2, namely the theoretical notion of politeness, can still provide a valid theoretical framework for the analysis of interaction if the theory of politeness is combined with the interactional approach that enables one to take into account “the dynamic and context-dependent nature of natural talk” (Grainger 2011: 175). Pointing out that “politeness is relational work” (Grainger 2011: 178; emphasis in original), she maintains that such a method enables one to examine how meaning and interpersonal relationships are negotiated in “the observable interactional space, rather than in the minds of speakers” (Grainger 2011: 177). The importance of interactional management of politeness is also advocated by Haugh (2007). It is argued that “while (im)politeness may be projected by speakers or interpreted by hearers, if our aim is better understand how perceptions of (im)politeness arise through interaction, it is important to also focus on how (im)politeness is interactionally achieved as a joint accomplishment of both the speaker and the hearer” (Haugh 2007: 306; emphasis in original). The interactional approach is advocated by both Haugh and Grainger, but they slightly differ in their attitudes toward the use of post hoc interviews. Haugh (2010a: 158) argues that the sequential analysis can be “supplemented with post-event interviews and/or ethnographic research into the site of data collection”. Grainger (2011: 182–183), on the other hand, contends that metapragmatic discourse emerging in the actual interaction, which includes both the interactants’ judgments of (i.e., classificatory politeness1 in Eelen’s 2014 category of politeness1) and their talk about politeness (i.e., metapragmatic politeness1 in Eelen 2014), is more valuable than post hoc elicited data on what constitutes politeness. Despite the slight difference, however, both of them not only put more emphasis on the sequential analysis of how politeness is interactionally achieved by interactants as compared to the discursive approaches, but they also recognize the necessity of the investigation of participants’ interpretation of the politeness phenomena in question. Considering the series of arguments so far, the following point needs to be looked at when analyzing the data in the present research. Instead of merely searching for predetermined sets of linguistic features, the research must scrutinize how both

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speakers and recipients manage and/or respond to “potentially” face-threatening moments that emerge in the ongoing interaction by means of multimodal resources at their disposal, thereby collaboratively engaging in facework, or negotiating face, in a dynamic manner. Acknowledging the importance of the participants’ interpretation of the politeness phenomena, however, the present research will only focus on the sequential analysis of interaction for two reasons: (1) the interpretation of a participant’s utterance in post-event interviews is not necessarily equated with her/ his actual thought in the actual context from the CA perspective (see Section 4.1); and (2) its initial interest in the investigation of conflict talk in ELF interactions grew in the process of “unmotivated looking” of the conversational data in CA (Hutchby and Wooffitt 2008: 26). Having said this, no use of post-event interviews has to be acknowledged as one of the limitations in the present research (see Chapter 8). To sum up, in line with the series of arguments in the subsections so far, the present research investigates the dynamic negotiation process of face in casual ELF conversations among friends by using multimodal CA. Face will be viewed as something constituted in interaction, which will be understood as a second-order theoretical and thus “culturally” neutral one, without attaching social values to itself. Also, the present research will rely on a participant-relevant emic perspective based on CA when analyzing ELF interactions instead of relying on an analyst’s view as in the case of the discursive approaches. In doing so, the present research scrutinizes how both speakers and recipients manage, i.e., conduct and/or respond to, “potentially” face-threatening moments that emerge in the ongoing interaction by using a range of multimodal resources at their disposal.

2.5 Summary This chapter has provided the theoretical and analytical underpinnings of the present research, which investigates how interactants, by means of multimodal resources at their disposal, manage conflict talk that naturally occurred in casual conversations among friends in ELF settings. First, given that communication is inherently social, I have argued that both transactional and interactional aspects of communication need to be explored from a participant’s perspective in order to fully understand ELF interactions. Second, the definition and rationale of CA, the explanation of the basic organization of turn-taking, and the explication of specific features of ordinary conversation have been given. Third, multimodal CA has been introduced, with the review of interactional functions of embodied actions such as gazes, postural shifts, and speech-accompanying spontaneous hand gestures. I have also discussed how to approach to the analysis of multimodal resources in ELF interactions, pointing out the necessity of taking the intercultural approach

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rather than the cross-cultural approach to communication. Finally, the review of pragmatic theories of communication has been provided, with special attention to the discursive approaches, the interactional approach in particular, to politeness. Having provided the theoretical and analytical underpinnings of the present research, I will now move on to the review of pragmatic ELF research.

Chapter 3  Pragmatic research into ELF: The need for a multimodal perspective and more work on conflict talk This chapter reviews the existing pragmatic research into ELF. As stated in Chapter 1, there seem to be two aspects that have been scarcely explored in the field: the incorporation of a multimodal perspective and the investigation of conflict talk in ELF interactions. What has been amply demonstrated, on the other hand, is their consensus-oriented, cooperative, and mutually supportive aspects based on the analysis of linguistic resources. The following subsection first elaborates on this point. After that, the lack of multimodality in the existing research (Section 3.2) and scarce research into conflict talk in ELF interactions will be discussed (Section 3.3).

3.1 Consensus-oriented, cooperative, and mutually supportive aspects of ELF interactions Over the past two decades, a substantial amount of pragmatic research into ELF has investigated how interactants from multilingual backgrounds use ELF  – or “multilingual repertoires in flux” (Jenkins 2015b: 76) to be specific  – to achieve transactional and interactional purposes of the talk in various ELF contexts, such as social, academic, and business/workplace (Jenkins, Baker, and Dewey 2018; Seidlhofer 2011). One of the most striking findings from earlier – and also more recent – research is that despite the variance in linguistic forms and language use, ELF interactions are often successful, with communication problems few (Firth 1996; House 1999, 2002a, 2002b; Mauranen 2006; Meierkord 1998, 2000; Pietikäinen 2018a). Here, communication problems include non-understanding, which refers to when the recipient “cannot make sense of (part of) an utterance”, and misunderstanding, which refers to when s/he “achieves an interpretation which makes sense to her or him – but it wasn’t the one the speaker meant” (Bremer 1996: 40). Another striking finding highlighted in the existing research is that ELF interactions are often “consensus-oriented, cooperative and mutually supportive” (Seidlhofer 2001: 143). These findings are corroborated by the strategic language use of interactants using ELF, which is commonly described as an accommodation strategy (Cogo 2010; Jenkins 2002). A wide range of linguistic resources are used to this end; ELF users strategically employ those resources at their disposal according to the emergent communicative needs in the unfolding interactions. In what follows, I will review https://doi.org/10.1515/9781501512964-003

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the functions of linguistic resources reported to contribute to these aspects. These include repetitions, paraphrasing, a range of clarification and confirmation practices, utterance completion, a let-it-pass strategy, backchannels, overlaps, and multilingual resources. First, it was found that repetitions and paraphrasing,7 whose frequent use has been reported in many of the existing ELF studies, serve multiple and intertwined functions (Björkman 2011; Cogo 2010; Cogo and Dewey 2006; House 2003; Kaur 2009; Lichtkoppler 2007; Mauranen 2007, 2011). Specifically, self-repetition can facilitate the production of utterances by gaining time to search for an expression or whatto-say-next (Cogo 2010; Lichtkoppler 2007), help the achievement of mutual understanding by providing a recipient with another chance to listen to the prior element of talk (Cogo 2010; Kaur 2009), and/or show the speaker’s attitude by providing prominence (Lichtkoppler 2007). Likewise, other-repetition can help the achievement of mutual understanding by requesting confirmation of the recipient’s understanding and/or requesting clarification of the speaker’s utterance (Kalocsai 2011; Kaur 2009; Mauranen 2006; Pitzl 2005). It can also show participation in the ongoing interaction by displaying listenership (Kalocsai 2011; Lichtkoppler 2007), build rapport between the interactants by showing agreement, alignment, solidarity, and affiliation with the prior speaker (Cogo 2010; Kalocsai 2011), create a cooperative atmosphere in the ongoing interaction (Mauranen 2011), and/or ensure the smooth development of the conversation (Cogo 2010). In a similar vein, both self- and other-paraphrasing can assist the achievement of mutual understanding by providing the recipient another chance to understand a reformulated prior element of talk or by requesting confirmation of the recipient’s understanding respectively (Kaur 2009; Lichtkoppler 2007). Alternatively, other-paraphrasing can also facilitate mutual understanding by showing understanding of, or approval of, the prior speaker’s utterance, and thus show active involvement in the ongoing interaction and create a sense of solidarity between the interactants (Konakahara 2013). These functions also result in showing participation in the ongoing interaction. The use of repetitions and paraphrasing, 7 Repetitions and paraphrasing are referred to in a variety of terms such as restatements, rephrasing, repair, and represent, and the distinction between these terms is somewhat controversial among scholars. For example, Mauranen (2007: 248) prefers rephrasing to repair because of the negative connotation that the latter term has, while Kaur (2011b) adopts the term (self-)repair from a conversation analytic perspective, and House (2003: 568) refers to other-repetition/paraphrasing as represent from a discourse analytic perspective. On the other hand, Lichtkoppler (2007), in reference to Tannen’s tripartite distinction of exact repetition, repetition with variation, and paraphrasing (Tannen 1987: 586), argues that such a distinction is not as straightforward as it would be, depending on which part of the utterance is regarded as the model for reiteration (Lichtkoppler 2007: 44).

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therefore, efficiently enhances mutual understanding and develops interpersonal relationships. In addition to repetitions and paraphrasing, a variety of linguistic resources are reported to be exploited for confirmation and clarification purposes. These, for example, include the recipient’s use of direct questions (e.g., what does . . . mean?, what do you mean?) (Cogo and Dewey 2012; Mauranen 2006; Pietikäinen 2018a), indirect questions (e.g., hm?, hmh?, what?, again?) (Cogo and Dewey 2012; Deterding and Kirkpatrick 2005; Mauranen 2006; Pietikäinen 2018a; Pitzl 2005; Watterson 2008), alternative-type questions, open-ended clarification requests, you mean formulation, and content summary (Kaur 2009; see also Watterson 2008). While these resources signal communication problems on the part of the recipient of the trouble source, the speaker of the trouble source can resolve the problem, or prevent the problem from occurring, by clarifying meaning through exemplifying, defining, describing, comparing, and contrasting (Kaur 2009) and/or by checking the recipient’s understanding through questions (e.g., do you understand?, you see?, right?, yeah?) (Kaur 2009; Mauranen 2006). Utterance completion, which is the completion of part/whole of the co-interactant’s utterance, can also prevent communication problems from actually occurring by offering a candidate understanding of what the speaker is searching for (Cogo and Dewey 2012). It can also show active involvement in the ongoing interaction and signal solidarity among the interactants (Kalocsai 2011), thereby serving as a cooperative strategy (see also Meierkord 2000; Wolfartsberger 2011). In contrast, Firth (1996), who studied business telephone conversations between Danish export managers and their international clients, found few instances of utterance completion (and also other-repetition) in his data. He argues that a possible reason for this finding is that such practices “have the potential for focusing attention on the form of the other’s talk,” and thus the interactants are reluctant to utilize them (Firth 1996: 256; emphasis in original). This explanation, however, is not necessarily persuasive because utterance completion can also focus on the contents of utterances (see e.g., Kalocsai 2011: 128). Therefore, it might be context-specific factors such as engaging in business negotiations and talking on the phone that made it difficult to utilize the practice of utterance completion. Moreover, interactants do not always signal communication problems (immediately) but pretend to understand by producing a backchannel, or an agreement token, on the assumption that an unknown or unclear action, word, or utterance will be clear or redundant as the talk progresses. This is commonly described as a let-itpass strategy (Firth 1996: 244). Also, they may disattend a linguistic and interactional “abnormality” in the speaker’s utterance, showing understanding or incorporating it as a known-in-common resource between the interactants (Firth 1996: 247). This latter type is specifically referred to as a make-it-normal strategy. These strategies

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show interactional robustness (Firth 1996: 248); however, the capacity to allow for such an “abnormality” becomes less robust when the interactants need to focus on details about, or preciseness of, the co-interactant’s talk, such as spelling checks (Firth 1996), academic discussion (Mauranen 2006), business negotiations (Pitzl 2005; Tsuchiya and Handford 2014), and medical interviews (Nozawa 2017). The interactants thus do not always “let it pass” (see also House 1999). That is, there are contextual variations in the use of, or non-use of, a let-it-pass strategy; whether or not linguistic and interactional “abnormalities” are let pass depends on the unfolding communicative needs in the given context. Moreover, a let-it-pass strategy can also be used for a face-saving purpose (Brown and Levinson 1987). Its use can serve “to reduce the threat of disagreement and conflict and to avoid embarrassment on the part of the interlocutors, i.e. in order not to threaten their interpersonal relationship” (Kordon 2006: 75). The series of the findings reviewed above suggest that the use of a let-it-pass strategy is pragmatically motivated, performing both transactional and interactional functions in the talk (Brown and Yule 1983). As briefly touched upon earlier, listenership can be shown through the use of repetitions and paraphrasing, but it can also be shown through backchannels (Yngve 1970)  – or agreement tokens (Kordon 2006)  – taking various forms. For instance, while weak agreement tokens such as mhm, hm, and mm serve to signal listenership without claiming the floor and maintain the flow of the conversation (Kordon 2006: 70; i.e., continuers in Schegloff 1982), neutral agreement tokens like yes, no, yeah and yah show affirmation and emphatic attention to the co-interactant (Kordon 2006: 71). Kordon (2006: 71–72) also points out that turn-medial neutral agreement tokens yes can be used by the speaker to introduce her/his own statements or to fill a gap (i.e., space-filling devices) and gain time for the formulation of the rest of the utterance. Strong agreement tokens, including of course, right and okay, on the other hand, signal strong agreement, emphatically express understanding and compassion in troubles-telling, and provide emphatic feedback on factual or personal information (Kordon 2006: 73; see also Cogo and Dewey 2012 for the use of backchannels in ELF interactions). Supportive laughter, too, can be utilized as a form of backchannels, and it can create a friendly and cooperative atmosphere (Matsumoto 2018c; Meierkord 1998). Backchannels, therefore, serve both flow-maintaining and rapport-establishing functions. Whereas the series of the findings above have emerged from casual conversations, namely interaction-oriented talk, the use of backchannels, including head nods, is also reported in more goal-oriented interactions like simulated business negotiations, and they signal the interactant’s understanding of, attention to, and support for the co-interactant’s utterance. Bjørge (2010: 198), for instance, in her analysis of simulated business negotiations among international students at a Norwegian university, found that although relatively few types of vocal backchannels

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(i.e., mhm and okay) are used in the data, the non-vocal backchannels in the form of head nods are predominantly exploited. Moreover, the frequency of backchannels was found to be the highest in a relationship-building phase, whose focus is on the social aspect, as compared to the other two negotiation phases, i.e., information exchange/persuasion and conclusion phases (Bjørge 2010: 199). This finding thus lends support to the important rapport-building function of backchannels.8 The linguistic resources like backchannels, utterance completion, repetitions, and paraphrasing can also occur with overlapping (Cogo and Dewey 2012; Meierkord 2000). This type of overlapping, which is produced in the course of the current speaker’s talk without attempting to claim the floor, is referred to as cooperative overlaps (Cogo and Dewey 2012; Kalocsai 2011; cf. competitive overlaps). Specifically, Cogo and Dewey (2012) include two types of utterances in cooperative overlaps: recipient responses such as backchannels and short responses and utterance completion either by supplying a word for which the speaker is searching (see cooperative interruption in Murata 1994a, 1994b) or by co-producing part of it (see choral co-production in Lerner 2002). Cooperative overlaps can not only signal an engagement with and an interest in the ongoing interactions (Cogo and Dewey 2012) but also show support, solidarity, rapport, and listenership (Kalocsai 2011). Overlapping utterance completion in particular can also show listenership, involvement (Cogo and Dewey 2012; Kalocsai 2011), and agreement (Wolfartsberger 2011) as well as offers help in word searching situations (Kalocsai 2011; Wolfartsberger 2011). Given that the original resources without overlapping can also perform the range of functions listed above, it can be said that overlapping can strengthen those functions by adding activeness to them (see also Cogo and Dewey 2012). The last type of linguistic resource, which I will review below, is multilingual resources. The well-researched multilingual resource is code-switching although earlier research into code-switching was conducted within a framework of language separation rather than that of translanguaging (Cogo 2021: 43). For example, Cogo (2010), in her analysis of informal conversations among language teachers in London, demonstrated that code-switching – to one’s own first language, to an interlocutor’s language, and to a third language – functions as an accommodation strategy, the interactants thereby achieving mutual understanding and promoting solidarity as multilinguals in the same community. Similar findings are reported 8 However, Bjørge (2010) notes that backchannels can show a lack of interest or signal indignation, indifference, and impatience in reference to Schegloff’s (1982) and Stenström’s (1994) caution. Yet she did not demonstrate such use of backchannels in her ELF data. Instead, the non-use of backchannels during the information exchange/persuasion phase was shown as evidence of a lack of agreement or support to the co-interactant. See Section 3.3 for the more detailed discussion on conflict talk in ELF interactions.

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by Klimpfinger (2010), who investigated code-switching in the VOICE data. Not only does code-switching serve to express multilingual identity and show group membership, but it also specifies an addressee (see also Cogo 2021), appeals for assistance, and introduces another idea. While these two studies were conducted in European contexts, the use of code-switching is also reported in other contexts. For example, Shino (2020), who investigated classroom interactions during teamtaught English lessons offered by a homeroom teacher and an assistant language teacher in a Japanese primary school, revealed that the homeroom teacher strategically switches between English and Japanese, thereby encouraging his pupils to do an activity as well as getting an attention from the pupils while showing his cooperation to the assistant language teacher. Code-switching thus helps ensure mutual understanding and signal solidarity between the teachers. More recently, the use of code-switching has been re-examined within a framework of an alternative type of language alternation, namely translanguaging (Cogo 2021: 43; see also García and Li 2014), in which linguistic resources “are [. . .] creatively transformed into new linguistic realities” by multilinguals (Cogo 2021: 44). As “the linguistic resources in an individual repertoire are inevitably constructed, adapted and changed in contact with other linguistic resources and in interaction within a specific context” (Cogo 2021: 41), the individuals’ multilingual repertoires are always “in flux” (Jenkins 2015b: 76). To illustrate this translanguaging perspective, Cogo (2021) analyzed the audio-recordings of business ELF interactions in a transnational workplace at an IT serveries company in London. The covert influence of multilingual resources was found at the lexico-grammatical (e.g., the use of “reclamate”, which can be related to a Spanish word “reclamar”, combined with an English verb suffix -ate) and phonetic/phonology levels (e.g., “maturity” pronounced as /məˈturəti/ with a German influence) (Cogo 2021; see also Pitzl 2010, who explored the creative use of idioms) although the influence at the pragmatic level is also possible but difficulty to identify with (but see Nogami 2020, who investigated Japanese ELF users’ pragmatic language use through a written elicitation task). The more explicit use of multilingual resources (i.e., overt multilingual resources) was also found. The participants commonly engage in a translanguaging space by flexibly and effectively “calibrating their repertoire according to how they see their interlocutors’ linguistic repertoire” (Cogo 2021: 49) even though they perceive languages as more like code-switching, namely separated language systems. In this regard, “code-switching” can also serve to “select/include/exclude participants” (Cogo 2021: 50), thereby the speaker exercising power in the given conversation. While Cogo’s study was conducted in a European business context, Tsuchiya (2017) explored the use of translanguaging in a Japanese academic context. Analyzing a group discussion among three Japanese university students and one Arabic student in a Content and Language Integrated Learning classroom at a Japanese

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university, she found that switching from Japanese to ELF serves to specify an addressee, in addition to functions such as assertion, clarification, and an appeal for assistance. She argues that the more “proficient” participants’ use of translanguaging not only serves to manage participation framework but also project bi/multilingual self and indicate a shift from interactional talk to transactional talk. On the other hand, the less “proficient” participants’ use of translanguaging for a clarification purpose, albeit not many, can be their accommodative behavior to the interactional norm between the two more “proficient” participants. The use of multilingual resources is also reported in an Arabic context. Pölzl and Seidlhofer (2006) found that Arabic students frequently use discourse styles in their first language (e.g., gambits, an indirect speech act of advice seeking/giving, turn-taking management, etc.) while talking with an Austrian researcher in ELF in an informal conversation at a Jordanian university. The participants thus moves between their first language identities and global identities. The series of the findings from the studies cited so far suggest that the use of multilingual resources enables ELF users to achieve mutual understanding as well as build interpersonal relationships in a pragmatically sensitive manner in the given contexts while negotiating their identities. One more thing that needs to be added to the series of the discussion above is the relationship between ELF and “culture” (see also Section 2.3 on this matter). Earlier ELF research claimed ELF as culturally “neutral”, observing the eclipse of “national and native language and cultural adherence” in the given interaction (House 1999: 84). However, from the perspective of ELF, or rather the transcultural perspective (Baker and Ishikawa 2021; see also Baker 2015, 2018), the concept of “culture” as well as other related concepts such as identity and community have no static, one-to-one relationship with language. Rather, all these concepts transgress, transcend, and transform those boundaries because “participants move through and across cultures and languages” (Baker and Ishikawa 2021: 182; emphasis in original). Thus, “the notion of cultural practices [. . .] are not fixed to any particular named national or other culture” (Baker and Ishikawa 2021: 179). As Baker and Ishikawa (2021: 93) maintain, “no significant cultural differences in communication” does not mean the non-existence of culture but means culture being “‘unnoticed’ or ‘invisible’ to participants”. ELF being culturally “neutral” is thus neither true nor possible, and this has been proven by an increasing amount of ELF research reporting the use of English for creating and indexing “multiple cultural resources and identities” (Baker and Ishikawa 2021: 93). Baker (2009, 2015, 2018), for instance, has explored this aspect extensively. To cite one case from his study, he (2015: 96–97) found that in an informal ELF conversation about petanque between a Thai and a Belgian French in a café in a shopping mall in Bangkok, the cultural practice, petanque, is not only associated with a national scale (i.e., France) but also with a more global scale (i.e., the French embassy in Bangkok) and with other local scales (i.e., the Southern France and a school in Thailand) (see

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also Baker and Ishikawa 2021: 35–37). As this example demonstrates, “cultures” from the emergent, transformative perspective are a complex concept, which cannot be simply equated with a national or other discourse community. To sum up, this section has reviewed the functions of the eight kinds of linguistic resources, i.e., repetitions, paraphrasing, clarification and confirmation practices, utterance completion, a let-it-pass strategy, backchannels, overlaps, and multilingual resources, frequently reported to be used in ELF interactions. Whereas these resources constitute, albeit not exclusively, successful, cooperative, consensus-oriented, and mutually supportive aspects of ELF interactions, this does not mean that ELF interactions always are as such. In what follows, I will first discuss a lack of multimodality in pragmatic research into ELF. This will be followed by the review of conflict talk in ELF interactions, the aspect of which has also been scarcely explored in the field.

3.2 Lack of multimodality in pragmatic research into ELF: A research gap As briefly stated in Chapter 1, most ELF studies have mainly focused on the analysis of linguistic elements, with the use of embodied actions largely dismissed (but see Kimura 2017; Konakahara 2015a, 2015c; Liu et al. 2022; Matsumoto 2014, 2018a, 2018b, 2018c). One possible reason for this lack of multimodality in their analyses is a practical and ethical one. It is usually difficult to gain an agreement about obtaining video-recorded data from participants because their anonymity becomes difficult to be preserved (Heath and Luff 1993, cited in Ten Have 2007: 72). Another reason, which is shared in the field of applied linguistics in general, is a conceptual and analytical one: the “lingual bias” (Block 2014: 56). In the field of SLA, communicative practices tend to be conceived of “exclusively in terms of the linguistic (morphology, syntax, phonology, lexis)” (Block 2014: 56). As can be seen in the review of existing research in the preceding section, the same tendency applies to pragmatic research into ELF. Although non-verbal semiotic resources such as laughter, pauses, and tones of voice, which are also considered in traditional CA studies, have been already integrated into the analyses of many ELF pragmatic studies (e.g., Cogo and Dewey 2012; Kaur 2009; Meierkord 1998, 2000; Pietikäinen 2018a), those elements are usually regarded as supplemental to talk (see also Matsumoto 2019). Other non-verbal semiotic resources, particularly embodied actions such as gestures, gazes, postures, and facial expressions, which cannot be captured with the use of audio data alone, are largely dismissed in the field. A few scholars, however, integrated these elements into their analyses of ELF interactions (Kimura 2017; Konakahara 2015a, 2015c; Matsumoto 2018a, 2018b,

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2018c; Matsumoto and Canagarajah 2020). Here, the series of Matsumoto’s works merit reviewing closely because her works extensively illuminate the important functions that embodied actions serve in ELF interactions, which cannot be revealed if only verbal semiotic resources are investigated. For example, Matsumoto (2018a) explored the role of third-party participants’ assistance in resolving miscommunication in multilingual writing classrooms in a US university. To this end, she combined sequential analysis of multimodal CA with ethnographic information collected through classroom observations and retrospective interviews. The analysis of embodied actions such as gazes, nodding, gestures, and facial expressions (e.g., a confused face, a smile) coordinated with talk vividly illustrates the ways the teacher and the students, including third-party participants, collaboratively negotiate meaning (e.g., the meaning of an idiosyncratic phrase and that of an unclear question). For instance, the teacher’s upward gaze shift and her confused face explicitly display her non-understanding and ongoing effort to think (i.e., thinking face), which successfully elicits assistance from the students in the classroom. Similarly, the third-party participants’ shifts in their gazes successfully change “their participant status from official hearers to addressed recipients as fullfledged coparticipants in resolving miscommunication” (Matsumoto 2018a: 861). The analysis of multimodal resources also revealed that laughter can serve as a pre-empting strategy in ELF interactions, in addition to its supportive functions. In her analysis of the multilingual writing classroom interactions, Matsumoto (2018c) found that a student’s use of an idiosyncratic word (i.e., atanarchy) is accompanied by laughter, smiley voice, a swing of her arms, and body movement to her left side, which seem to conceal her embarrassment at the communicative trouble she is experiencing. It is argued that her smile in particular might signal “her lack of epistemic access to the vocabulary” in question (Matsumoto 2018c: 244). Moreover, the analysis of multimodal resources also illuminates how interactants manage conflict talk in ELF interactions (see the next section for more discussion). By using the same method as the study introduced above, Matsumoto (2018b) investigated how students utilize non-verbal semiotic resources coordinated with speech when disengaging and/or disagreeing in the multilingual writing classrooms in the US university. It was found that one of the students not only uses long silences to signal his non-understanding but also displays an unwillingness to participate, coordinating them with other non-verbal semiotic resources such as a confused face, upward and downward gaze shifts (i.e., thinking face and a display of disengagement respectively), leaning against his chair, and yawning. The student thus shows a challenging attitude toward the instructor. On the other hand, another student effectively uses a smile as well as metaphoric and beat gestures to change his footing (Goffman 1981), thereby challenging the instructor’s epistemic stance and authority in a polite manner.

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Furthermore, Matsumoto and Canagarajah (2020) explored how a pair of international graduate students (from Japan and Indonesia respectively) manage moments of trouble-in-talk (i.e., the difficulty in formulating a question and a search for words) in their dinner table conversation at a US university dormitory by using single case analysis of multimodal CA. Their study vividly illustrates the ways in which a range of embodied actions such as gestures, gesture holds, and gazes are coordinated with speech, thereby the interactants contributing to the progressivity of talk and achieving intersubjectivity collaboratively. For instance, the Japanese student’s use of a metaphoric gesture (e.g., the shape of fire when saying burned) and that of pantomime (e.g., the shape and move of claws of crabs when saying fish) add another layer of meaning to his utterances. On the other hand, his use of a gesture hold after the completion of verbal formulations not only serves to extend “his turn transitional space” (Matsumoto and Canagarajah 2020: 253) but also functions to elicit “a certain form of participation framework” (Matsumoto and Canagarajah 2020: 253) from the recipient. The Indonesian co-interactant, too, sensitively reacts to the Japanese interactant’s use of multimodal resources verbally and non-verbally. He displays his active participation in the ongoing word-search sequences by means of gaze shifts (i.e., thinking face), a confused face, and a smile. He also uses an iconic gesture to confirm his understanding of what the Japanese interactant is searching for. What the series of the findings from Matsumoto’s works suggest is the powerfulness of multimodal resources also in ELF contexts (see also Konakahara 2020b). Not only does the multimodal analysis enable one to “illuminate a new dimension of interactional competence among multilingual English speakers that existing ELF pragmatic research [.  .  .] has not yet adequately demonstrated” (Matsumoto and Canagarajah 2020: 264), but its precise analysis also enables one to interpret their interactional competence without inclining to a deficit view (Matsumoto and Canagarajah 2020: 264). Given that the scarce research has used multimodal analysis so far in the field, more research is essential to enrich pragmatic research into ELF on the one hand and partly contribute to Matsumoto’s (2019) argument of epistemological expansions of ELF on the other. Having explicated one of the research gaps in the field, I will now discuss another research gap: the investigation of conflict talk in ELF interactions.

3.3 Scarce research into conflict talk in ELF interactions In addition to multimodality, relatively little attention has been paid to conflict talk in the field of pragmatic research into ELF. Yet conflict or opposition can also emerge in ELF interactions given that ELF is used in a range of situations for various

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communicative purposes. An increasing amount of research into conflict talk in ELF interactions, albeit not that much, has increasingly shown that ELF interactants can be uncooperative (House 1999, 2002a, 2002b; Knapp 2002), reprehensive (Jenks 2012, 2018), face-threatening (Jenks 2018; Walkinshaw and Kirkpatrick 2014), disagreeing (Bjørge 2012, 2016; Björkman 2015; Liu et al. 2022; Toomaneejinda and Harding 2018; Wolfartsberger 2011), and competitive (Cogo and Dewey 2012) depending on their communicative purposes in situ. Accordingly, being cooperative, consensus-oriented, and mutually supportive is “not necessarily at the forefront of [the] interactional agendas” (Jenks 2012: 401) at every single moment. To my knowledge, ELF users’ uncooperative behavior is particularly reported, albeit not exclusively, in outcome-oriented interactions in institutional settings, such as (simulated) political/business negotiations (Bjørge 2012, 2016; House 1999, 2002a, 2002b; Knapp 2002; Wolfartsberger 2011), doctoral supervision interactions (Björkman 2015), and academic group/paired discussion (Liu et al. 2022; Toomaneejinda and Harding 2018), with a few studies exploring casual conversations in informal settings (Cogo and Dewey 2012; Jenks 2012). In what follows, I will review the existing studies into conflict talk in ELF interactions. Given that the amount of existing research varies according to types of conflict moments explored, the following review will be divided into three subsections, namely, being selfish, uncooperative, unsupportive, reprehensive and face-threatening (Section 3.3.1), expressing disagreement (Section 3.3.2), and being competitive (Section 3.3.3), although these aspects are not necessarily exclusive but interrelated. Finally, I will then identify a research gap in the area of interest (Section 3.3.4).

3.3.1 Being selfish, uncooperative, unsupportive, reprehensive, and face-threatening First, existing studies have revealed that interactants using ELF sometimes focus on the achievement of the task at hand in outcome-oriented interactions, not necessarily prioritizing the development/maintenance of a good relationship with a co-interactant. House (1999, 2002a, 2002b), for instance, describes such a conflict moment as being selfish. She explored the simulated political negotiation game at international students’ conference in the Netherlands and informal group discussion between international students at a German university. The participants in the former type of datum are Dutch, Hungarian, and German. Those in the latter – particularly, the participants in the interactions in focus – are German and Korean students majoring in applied linguistics as well as Chinese and Indonesian students respectively studying business administration. It was found that some participants

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pursue their own agenda throughout the interaction (i.e., parallel talk in House 1999: 80–81; monotopicality in House 2002a: 251–253, 2002b: 251–254). Moreover, disaffiliative action is not prefaced; they use raw negation, rejection, and disagreement, avoiding delay and other face-saving means (House 1999: 82, 2002a: 254, 2002b: 255). Accordingly, House (1999: 84–85) argues that self-centeredness is particularly marked in ELF interactions (i.e., the self-centered hypothesis). This claim, however, seems to be rather hasty because context-specific factors of the conversational data are disregarded. In the outcome-oriented interactions like simulated negotiations and group discussion, the participants have to cope with their tasks at hand (i.e., deciding their proposal or giving their own opinions on the discussion topic) within the time limit, which is competitive in nature. This suggests that self-centeredness reflects the influence of contextual factors in the given context on language use rather than ELF users being selfish. Likewise, Knapp (2002) also found uncooperative behavior; she analyzed simulated political negotiations of the United Nations General Assembly among secondary school students at the international conference in a European context. It was found that the more proficient native English and quasi-native English participants sometimes show uncooperativeness to the less proficient non-native English participants by not offering help to her/his word search or not allowing her/him more time to talk (Knapp 2002: 231–232). It is not clearly stated whether the students were evaluated on their performance at the conference as part of their school record. Yet, as Knapp explains, the simulated negotiations were conducted as if they were in a tournament or a competition. More specifically, in the series of the task, only three of the resolutions that individual students prepared and merged with others were “admitted for formal discussion in the subcommissions and subcommittees”, and only one of the three was “ultimately referred to the agenda of the topmost UN structures” (Knapp 2002: 222). This indicates that the competitive nature of the task must have affected the students’ performance in many ways. In this regard, utterance completion, which is known as a cooperative strategy as discussed in the previous section, is used to cut off her/his utterance, combined with an expression of impatience (Knapp 2002: 234–235). Similarly, laughter, which is known as a means of claiming common ground (e.g., Meierkord 2000), is used by the more proficient participants to interrupt and ridicule the less proficient speaker’s use of “non-standard” lexical items (e.g., examplation which was blended from example and explanation; Knapp 2002: 235). Moreover, the more proficient speakers gradually exclude the less proficient ones from the ongoing discussion by disrupting their turn (Knapp 2002: 236–237) when they attempt to obtain the floor and make what they want to say clear from time to time. Similar to House’s studies, the interactions in Knapp’s study took place during the time-constrained outcome-oriented negotiations, in which the participants needed

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to compete as a team with other groups. Also, the participants were adolescents, who may be less concerned about maintaining good interpersonal relationships during the task. Knapp (2002: 238) also notes that uncooperative and unsupportive behaviors are observed during the merging phases, which are more competitive in nature, but not observed during the small-talk phases. This suggests that the participants shift their communicative goals from interaction-oriented to outcome-oriented as the discussion progresses. The findings thus show situational variation in the participants’ behaviors (i.e., cooperative or uncooperative), which are adjusted according to the unfolding communicative needs in the given context. Second, ELF users’ uncooperative behavior is also reported in non-institutional, informal settings (Jenks 2012, 2018). Specifically, in his 2012 study, Jenks demonstrated how ELF interactants “do being reprehensive” through the analysis of voicebased chat multi-party interactions among participants from “all over the world”9 from a conversation analytic perspective (Jenks 2012: 390). While instances of letit-pass are also observed in the data, the interactants scold the co-participants’ disfluencies (Jenks 2012: 394), make fun of their “unconventional” forms (Jenks 2012: 395–396), and ridicule their dispreferred responses (Jenks 2012: 399–400). As Jenks (2012: 402) explains, the participants in these chat interactions met for the first or second time and could not see their co-interactants because they participated in the voice-based chats. Accordingly, their social distance is far, and their anonymity is guaranteed (Jenks 2012: 402). In such a situation, the participants may not always give priority to the interactional aspect of the talk and thus do not always attempt to save their co-interactants’ face. On the basis of these findings, Jenks argues that the interactants make decisions about the appropriateness of being supportive or unsupportive according to normative expectations (cf. adjacency pairs in Schegloff and Sacks 1973) and the interactional and institutional goals of the communicative context on a turn-by-turn basis (Jenks 2012: 402). Moreover, in his 2018 study, Jenks further showed how interactants threaten their co-interactant’s face, analyzing conversations of interactants in a symmetrical power relationship and those in an asymmetrical power relationship. It was found that in a conversation among three international students in a UK university, an interactant “laughs at [one of the co-interactants], questions and ridicules his knowledge, and reconfirms her orientation to [another co-interactant] as the expert”, thereby “treating him as an illegitimate participant” (Jenks 2018: 286). Yet, as he continues, this uncooperative behavior is placed “within the boundaries of 9 No further information about the interactants’ backgrounds can be found in Jenks (2012). There is no reference about their ages, status (e.g., students, businesspersons, etc.), and lingua-cultural backgrounds; as for the third point, it is stated that such information is “too long to list” (Jenks 2012: 390).

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their friendship” (Jenks 2018: 286), thereby not being treated as “face-threatening” by the interactants. However, in another case of the conversation between international students in a Denmark university, the interactants criticize each other’s previous behavior and thus threaten their face when discussing the date for the next group project meeting. It is pointed out that not only emergent communicative needs in situ but also “historical issues may shape, and be the impetus for, uncooperative interaction” (Jenks 2018: 288). Face-threatening behavior was also found in an interaction between interactants in an asymmetrical power relationship. In the conversation between a US soldier and some Iraqi boys with limited understanding of English, the solider teases the boys in a dehumanized way: He asks the boys “do you like poop” and then responds to the boy’s affirmative answer with a further question, “do you want me to throw you some poop”, and mocking laughter (Jenks 2018: 287). Jenks maintains that this case of uncooperative interaction further demonstrates that uncooperative behavior “is potentially bound to power imbalances between interactants and a demonstrable disdain for, or hostility towards, a co-interlocutor” (Jenks 2018: 287). The series of the findings further support the context sensitivity of ELF users.

3.3.2 Expressing disagreement Several studies have explored disagreement in ELF interactions, particularly in outcome-oriented interactions in institutional settings, such as (simulated) business and academic contexts. For instance, Wolfartsberger (2011) investigated two business group meetings respectively at the supranational organization of European rail traffic and the editorial board in Vienna. The participants were Austrian, Belgian, German, Italian, Slovak, and Swedish in the first meeting, and Austrian, German, Czech, Romanian, and Slovak in the second meeting (Wolfartsberger 2011: 169). She found that the interactants show strong disagreement by overlapping with the current speaker’s utterance (i.e., competitive overlaps; see Wolfartsberger 2011: 172–173). In business negotiations, she continues, disagreement should be articulated instantly because the argument would be irrelevant in the interactions otherwise (see disagreement interruption in Murata 1994a). In other words, the need for disambiguity rather than interpersonal alignment is the primary concern in business negotiations (Firth 2009; Wolfartsberger 2011), and thus disagreement is expected among the interactants. It is argued that ELF users are not only equipped with a range of collaborative devices but also prepared to take part in “hard negotiations” without avoiding disagreement (Wolfartsberger 2011: 173). The finding thus suggests that ELF users are not uncritically consensus-oriented, but they are

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efficient negotiators who can express their disagreement according to their emergent communicative needs. Similarly, Bjørge (2012, 2016) also explored disagreement in (simulated) business negotiation. In her 2012 study, she conducted a comparative analysis of linguistic forms for disagreeing in two types of simulated ELF business negotiations among international graduate students studying business at a Norwegian university and those presented in business English textbooks. The negotiation data were respectively collected during an oral exam and a class activity of business course (Bjørge 2012: 412). It was found that overall, the use of mitigated disagreement with delaying elements (e.g., yeah but, I’m sorry but, etc.) and supporting arguments (Bjørge 2012: 419–421) is more frequent than that of unmitigated disagreement in the form of blunt contradictions commonly preceded by but (Bjørge 2012: 421–423). Moreover, the negotiations during the oral exam contain more mitigated disagreement than those during the course activity. Bjørge (2012: 422–423) argues that the more frequent use of unmitigated disagreement is because the students involved in the course activity negotiate as “teams, which may create a clearer opposition” than for the exam-situation students, “whose positions are more individualized, and who have a member acting as chair”. The exam-specific factor, namely assessment, may also affect their use of disagreement. Given that the students are in the business graduate program, the criterion for assessment must have included successfully reaching an agreement at the end of the simulated negotiation within the time limit, which requires the use of face-saving means (Brown and Levinson 1987). Accordingly, the students might have consciously or subconsciously paid more attention to their use of disagreement to achieve the specific goal. The findings thus suggest the interactants’ sensitivity to context-dependent communicative needs: in this case, the need for saving the co-interactants’ face for interactional purposes and the need for achieving the exam-specific goal. Although the findings are valuable in themselves, self-admittedly, her main interest lay in the investigation of linguistic forms for disagreeing (Bjørge 2012: 425). Therefore, how various forms of un/mitigated disagreement are used and what functions they serve in interactional sequences remains unclear. In her 2016 study, Bjørge further delved into how disagreement is realized as well as how the use of unmitigated disagreement is responded in the following turn(s) by analyzing the same kinds of simulated business negotiation data as those in her 2012 study. The participants were from 28 different national backgrounds. Again, it was fund that mitigated disagreement is more frequent in the exam negotiations than the course-activity negotiations, which may be because of “increased attention paid to rapport management” in the former situation (Bjørge 2016: 129). As for the follow-up responses, it was revealed that counterargument is the most frequent one in both types of negotiation data, followed by elucidation/completion

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of own argument in the case of the course-activity negotiations and agreement or concession in the case of the exam negotiations. She also notes that many instances of unmitigated disagreement are produced as interruptions (see also Wolfartberger 2011) and the opposite team frequently keep elucidating their own argument without being attentive to the opponent’s attempt to get the floor (Bjørge 2016: 127). Overall, however, “rapport was maintained, even when unmitigated disagreement was used” and the use of unmitigated disagreement did not result in breakdown of negotiations (Bjørge 2016: 128). Moreover, there observed no link between the participants’ national identities and their preference for using unmitigated disagreement in the negotiations examined in her study although it was assumed that the participants may have different preferences for using unmitigated disagreement given that expressing disagreement is considered to be “a culturally sensitive issue” (Bjørge 2016: 116). In this regard, Bjørge (2016: 127) argues that nation-based cultural norms are not automatically transferred to an ELF context. This does not mean, however, that ELF is “culturally” neutral as claimed by House (1999: 84). Rather, the findings indicate that the participants are not bounded to national “cultures” in an essentialist way, but the practice of disagreeing is constructed in and emergent from the interaction (Baker and Ishikawa 2021: 184). Furthermore, Bjørge (2016: 129) maintains that “it would appear that the issue of mitigation in ELF conflict talk should be related to overall strategy, and take both the need for clarity and for rapport management”. The series of the findings, therefore, suggest that nation-based “cultural” norms should not be assumed a priori, but how both transactional and interactional needs of the talk is achieved in situ should be examined in its interactional sequences when analyzing conflict talk in ELF interactions. Furthermore, disagreement is also reported in academic contexts, in addition to House’s (2002a, 2002b) earlier works (see Section 3.3.1). For example, Björkman (2015) investigated disagreement in a high-stakes genre of PhD supervision in English-medium programs in Sweden, where doctoral students are considered to be members of faculty. The participants, including students and supervisors, were from five different first language backgrounds, namely Arabic, Chinese, German, Thai and Spanish (Björkman 2015: 211). It was found that while disagreement is frequent overall, it occurs when content issues are discussed (i.e., core interaction). This is because, Björkman (2015: 223) argues, power asymmetry between the students and the supervisors is less noticeable when discussing content issues, and expressing disagreement is “critical for task completion and for the enculturation of the student into the [Swedish] research community”, to the “culture” of which the participants have been exposed at least for three years. Moreover, the analysis revealed that the students and the supervisors organize disagreement differently: While the students’ disagreement is more directly constructed in turn-initial

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positions without mitigation devices in most cases, that of the supervisors is more indirectly constructed in mid-tern positions with mitigation devices (e.g., That’s true, yes, yeah, and hedges like perhaps and maybe). She maintains that given that a doctoral student, who is in the process of being an expert in her/his specific topic, may have more knowledge than the supervisor, it may be content knowledge that reduces “the academic and institutional power imbalance” (Björkman 2015: 224) between the students and the supervisors in this setting, which resulted in the frequent use of turn-initial unmitigated disagreement. Two more studies explored disagreement in academic contexts. Toomaneejinda and Harding (2018), for example, examined verbal and non-verbal interactional strategies for disagreeing in two types of group discussion: “one targeting opinions, and the other consensus decision-making” (Toomaneejinda and Harding 2018: 307). The participants were 12 master’s students studying in a linguistic department at a UK university, and they were from ten different nationalities, namely Cypriot, Japanese, Dutch, Saudi Arabian, Korean, Chinese, British, Indonesian, Swiss, and Chilean. In addition to the production data, the participants’ perception of disagreement was collected through stimulated recall interviews. Discourse analysis of the production data revealed that disagreement is pervasive in the group discussion. Different from Björkman’s (2015) and House’s (2002a, 2002b) findings, however, most of disagreement is realized so as to minimize confrontation and avoid explicitness (Toomaneejinda and Harding 2018: 326). Specifically, it was found that disagreement is not only prefaced with ambiguation or partial agreement but also realized through complex turn-management (i.e., other-initiated disagreement turn dependence and turn-throwing) and gaze behavior. The realization of disagreement indicates that the interactants “consciously monitor and regulate their use of language and their interaction” and thus achieve both interactional and transactional purposes of the talk, being aware of lingua-cultural and interpersonal diversity within the group (Toomaneejinda and Harding 2018: 327). The findings thus suggest, as Toomaneejinda and Harding (2018: 327) argue, the ELF interactants’ sensitivity to “the goals of the immediate context”, namely, achieving the task at hand in a collaborative and productive manner in multi-party academic group discussion. Their opposite findings from those from Björkman’s (2015) study – i.e., more unmitigated disagreement in her data than their data  – seem reasonable since Björkman’s conversational data is more high-stakes (i.e., PhD supervision interaction) than those of Toomaneejinda and Harding’s (i.e., group discussion). In the PhD supervision, the doctoral student, who is in the process of establishing her/his identity as an expert, needs to express her/his opinions clearly. Compared to the data of this kind, the group discussion among the master’s students in Toomaneejinda and Harding’s study is not necessarily high-stakes. Also, it is likely that the participants

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studying in the same department care about building a good relationship among themselves since they might have a chance to be personally involved with each other/one another after the recording. Their use of mitigated disagreement thus seems reasonable and reflect the context-specific factors. In contrast, considering the different findings between Toomaneejinda and Harding’s study (2018) and those of House (2002a, 2002b), both of which analyzed group discussion, “the goals of the immediate context” (Toomaneejinda and Harding 2018: 327) alone cannot necessarily explain why disagreement was largely mitigated in the study of Toomaneejinda and Harding (2018) while more raw disagreement was observed in House’s (2002a, 2002b) study. Although this remains at the speculation level, a possible reason might be, again, the participants’ familiarity now and in the future. As mentioned above, the participants in Toomaneejinda and Harding’s research studied in the same department. Those in House’s (2002a, 2002b) research, on the other hand, studied in three different departments (i.e., applied linguistics, history, and business administration). The difference in the affiliations might affect their relationship now and in the future: The social distance among House’s participants may be far, compared with those among the students studying in the same department, and because of that, there might be less likelihood of being personally involved in the future. This might have resulted in prioritizing the achievement of transactional purposes of the talk (i.e., the completion of the task at hand) in House’s data. A similar observation is made by Liu et al. (2022), who also investigated disagreement in academic contexts but focused on paired discussion in Canadian English-medium university settings. The participants, both undergraduates and postgraduates, were from 11 different first language backgrounds, i.e., Mandarin, Arabic, Spanish, Farsi, French, Bengali, Hindi, Marathi, Telugu, Turkish, and Urhobo (Liu et al. 2022: 5). The participants chose a discussion topic, “read a brief description of a research article, summarized it for their partner, and then exchanged opinions about the topic” (Liu et al. 2022: 5). The data were not collected in an authentic academic setting but in a laboratory one. In addition to their performance, which was audio and video recorded, the stimulated recall interviews were conducted to collect their perception of the discussion although they did not necessarily focus on disagreement per se. Discourse analysis of the verbal and non-verbal aspects of the production data revealed that mitigated disagreement is far more frequent than unmitigated disagreement, similar to Toomaneejinda and Harding’s (2018) findings but different from Björkman’s (2015) and House’s (2002a, 2002b) studies. Again, a context specific factor matters here. Liu et al. (2022: 10) argue that “the use of mitigation may depend on interlocutor familiarity along with [the participants’] perception of what is politic” (emphasis added) although, here, the authors do not necessarily take into account the differences in the participants’ affiliations in the universities.

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As for the non-verbal aspect of disagreement, Liu et al. (2022) found that disagreement is frequently accompanied by head nods, gaze aversion, and smiling. Specifically, while the use of head nods is most frequent prior to disagreement, that of gaze aversion occurs most frequent during disagreement, and that of smiling/ laughter, when listening to the interlocutor’s response to the disagreement (Liu et  al. 2022: 11). Moreover, the stimulated recall interview data revealed that disagreement is not perceived negatively but regarded as “a positive and productive interaction” (Liu et al. 2022: 11; see also Matsumoto 2018b). They continue that since disagreement is perceived as “a friendly exchange”, the use of mitigation is “not triggered by a desire to reduce potential conflict or threats to face” (Liu et al. 2022: 12). However, if one looks at the participant’s comment introduced as a piece of evidence for this point in the paper, the participant’s desire to avoid “being brutal” seems to be a motivation for using mitigation in disagreement (Liu et al. 2022: 10). This suggests that while disagreeing per se is regarded as a friendly act as they point out, the act of mitigation per se may emerge from the need for facework, or building a good relationship, when disagreeing.

3.3.3 Being competitive Another conflict moment of ELF interactions to be reviewed is being competitive, and this is directly related to turn-taking, overlapping in particular. House (1999: 81-82), in her analysis of the simulated political negotiation at international students’ conference in the Netherlands, found that turn-taking is not smooth because, as she claims, the participants are not sensitive to TRPs. Accordingly, as discussed in Section 3.3.1, she concludes that ELF interactants are self-centered. However, as briefly touched upon earlier, for instance, Wolfartsberger (2011) found that strong disagreement is produced with overlapping in business negotiations. Moreover, as she points out, in the context of business negotiations, even backchannel overlaps, which are known as means of showing listenership and support to the co-interactant (see Section 3.1), can show competitiveness in terms of turn-taking and topic management and thus is used as a preparatory move to disagreement (see Wolfartsberger 2011: 174; cf. Bjørge 2010). With this observation, she argues that the use of overlaps should be interpreted in the given context rather than by its forms (Wolfartsberger 2011: 175). Likewise, Bjørge (2016: 127) also found that unmitigated disagreement is frequently accompanied by interruptions and overlapping in the course-activity simulated business negotiation. The series of the findings thus suggest that ELF users are sensitive to turn-taking and the unfolding communicative needs, and thus skillfully exploit backchannel overlaps and disagreement overlaps to achieve their own communicative goals in the given contexts.

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While the studies reviewed so far dealt with overlapping in ELF interactions in institutional settings, Cogo and Dewey (2012) report the use of overlaps in informal settings. In their analysis of informal talk between language teachers at a language school in London, they found a few instances of competitive overlaps (Cogo and Dewey 2012: 146). Here, competitive overlaps refer to the ones produced during the speaker’s talk which result in taking the floor (Cogo and Dewey 2012: 142–143). They argue that such overlaps involve a sudden increase in volume, a fast pace of the exchange, and immediate repetitions of the prior utterance – although this last aspect is not explicitly pointed out (see Jefferson 2006; Schegloff 2000a). However, their classification of overlaps seems to be relatively general. An overlap initiating a question is grouped into a short response overlap. Given that an utterance like a question serves different functions from a mere response taking the form of a statement, it seems better to identify such cases separately. Moreover, Cogo and Dewey (2012: 143) argue that the term competitive describes the stance toward the topic and floor management without conveying evaluative meaning (e.g., interruptive), and thus the use of competitive overlaps does not indicate an uncooperative or problematic interaction but indicates the overlapping speaker’s desire to actively contribute to the ongoing interaction (see also Tannen [1990] 2007b). In short, by overlapping, ELF users show a range of involvement – from showing listenership to contributing more substantially – in the ongoing interactions.

3.3.4 Facework during conflict talk in casual ELF conversations: A research gap Whereas the basic premise is that more work is essential to deepen our understanding of ELF, the investigation of conflict talk in interaction-oriented informal ELF conversations seems particularly scarce in the existing studies as reviewed in the previous sections (except Cogo and Dewey 2012; Jenks 2012). Also, although the management of conflict talk inevitably involves the negotiation of interpersonal relationships, or facework more specifically, this point has not been explicitly and extensively explored in the existing research. There are a few exceptions, however. One of the exceptions is the study conducted by Ishihara and Lee (2021) although their conversational data were goal-oriented work-related interactions. They investigated how facework to achieve transactional and interactional needs of communication is discursively constructed and interpreted in radiotelephony communications between pilots and air traffic controllers in aviation ELF contexts through a discursive approach to politeness. The study revealed that politeness markers and mitigation devices are utilized, which help the interactants negotiate their needs effectively on non-urgent, non-congested occasions. Yet the use of those

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markers and devices on urgent, congested occasions results in a failure to achieve their transactional and interactional needs. The findings, therefore, illustrate how the interactants discursively engage in facework in a complex manner in the ELF aviation contexts. Another study, which explicitly explored facework, or rapport management in their term, in ELF interactions, was conducted by Walkinshaw and Kirkpatrick (2014). Their conversational data, extracted from the ACE corpus, were, albeit not exclusively, more interaction-oriented informal ELF conversations. They analyzed responses to face-threatening utterances in informal, non-hierarchical situations in Asian ELF contexts. It was found that in many cases, “potentially” face-threatening utterances are responded to with “a move to normalise the flow of conversation and maintain the overall rapport between interactants” (Walkinshaw and Kirkpatrick 2014: 286). Specifically, they argue that mock impoliteness, the use of which is scarcely reported in previous ELF studies, is used to signal solidarity with co-interactants rather than damaging face (see also Haugh 2010b). This is possible, they continue, because interactants in ELF contexts are reported to be highly tolerant toward unexpected linguistic behavior (Lesznyák 2002) as well as disregard potentially confrontational comments (House 2002b). In addition, they maintain that the use of bold-on-record disagreement with and without support indicates the simultaneous and reciprocal occurrence of the processes of maximizing intelligibility and avoiding evaluative judgment of a face-threat . That is, it is not the interactants’ L1 interactional norms but ad hoc, pro tem interactional norms that may be a basis for judgment of the appropriateness of politeness in ELF interactions; such ad hoc, pro tem interactional norms are “co-constituted within each separate exchange, informed by specific participants’ variety of spoken English, their language proficiency, and the goals of the interactions” (Walkinshaw and Kirkpatrick 2014: 287; see also Bjørge 2016 who argues cultural hybridity in disagreeing). While these two studies are valuable in themselves, a wider range of conflict talk needs to be investigated to further illuminate how interactants using ELF negotiate face during conflict talk in ELF interactions. Specifically, considering that Ishihara and Lee (2021) analyzed the goal-oriented ELF interactions and Walkinshaw and Kirkpatrick’s (2014) analysis remained at the level of utterances, further research needs to explore the process of face negotiation in the sequences of interaction-oriented informal talk in ELF settings. In addition, given that their analyses of facework focused only on linguistic resources  – although radiotelephony communication usually includes voice only –, multimodal aspects of conversation, which are largely disregarded in the field as discussed in Section 3.2 (see also Liu et al. 2022 and Toomaneejinda and Harding 2018, both of whom analyzed non-verbal aspect of disagreeing but from the discourse analytic perspective), also need to be examined in order to understand conflict talk in ELF interactions holistically

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and comprehensively. In line with these arguments, when the present research analyzes the three types of conflict talk that naturally occurred in the present conversational data, namely competitive overlaps, disagreement, and third-party complaints, due attention will be paid to the following points. First, when analyzing competitive overlaps, it is imperative to see in what interactional environment the overlaps taking various forms occur, how the overlaps in question are “competitive”, and what interactional functions they serve in the sequences. Close attention needs to be paid to how interactants themselves treat such overlaps (e.g., interruptive and/or face-threatening) within the interactions from the perspective of CA (Bilmes 1997; Brown and Levinson 1987; Schegloff 2000a, 2002). Section 5.1 provides the review of the definition of and the interactional functions of overlaps reported in seminal CA work. Second, although the existing ELF studies have only examined disagreement in outcome-oriented interactions such as (simulated) business meetings and academic group/paired discussion, this does not mean that disagreeing only occurs in such interactions. It can occur even in interaction-oriented casual ELF conversations as can be seen in the present research (see also Konakahara 2015c). Given that face negotiation is an important aspect of communication in addition to the transmission of information (Brown and Yule 1983), it is crucial to examine how a “potential” FTA of disagreeing is carried out and responded to in casual conversations. Moreover, although Walkinshaw and Kirkpatrick (2014) explored a variety of disagreeing responses to face-threatening utterances in informal ELF interactions, their analysis, as pointed out earlier, remains at the utterance level. This is also true in Bjørge’s (2012) research, who focused on linguistic forms of disagreeing although in her later study (Bjørge 2016), she also examined disagreement responses from the discourse analytic perspective. The present research, therefore, should explore the sequential organization of un/mitigated disagreement and interactional functions of such disagreement rather than focusing on linguistic forms per se of disagreeing utterances. Section 6.1 provides a review of the definition of and the functions of disagreement from the perspective of pragmatics as well as that of CA. Third, to my knowledge, no research, except the present research (see also Konakahara 2017), has explored how face is negotiated in longer sequences of talk, such as third-party complaining and troubles-telling, in ELF contexts. In addition, whereas a “potential” FTA of competitively overlapping and that of disagreeing have been explored to some extent in the field of ELF, in addition to being uncooperative and selfish (House 1999, 2002a, 2002b; Knapp 2002) as well as being reprehensive and face-threatening (Jenks 2012), other types of FTAs also need to be investigated in order to further illuminate conflict talk in ELF interactions. Taking third-party complaint sequences that naturally occurred in the data as an example, the present research, therefore, investigates how interactants using ELF interac-

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tionally manage a “potential” FTA of third-party complaining in longer sequences of talk, thereby exploring the face negotiation processes during conflict talk in ELF interactions. In Chapter 7, the detailed definition of complaints, including thirdparty ones, will be provided (Section 7.1.1), which will be followed by the explication of complaint sequences (Section 7.1.2). In short, by exploring the three kinds of conflict talk in casual ELF conversations of international students at British universities, the present research, therefore, aims to contribute to Matsumoto’s (2019) argument of epistemological expansions of ELF.

3.4 Summary This chapter has presented the review of the existing pragmatic research into ELF and specified the two research gaps in the field. First, I have reviewed the functions of linguistic resources frequently reported in the field, which constitute consensusoriented, cooperative, and mutually supportive aspects of ELF interactions. Second, I have pointed to the lack of multimodality in the existing pragmatic research into ELF. Given that the analysis of multimodal resources can illuminate important interactional functions that embodied actions serve along with the talk, I have maintained the necessity for integrating the multimodal perspective into the analysis. Third, I have reviewed what has been known (Sections 3.3.1 to 3.3.3) and has not been known well (Section 3.3.4) about the conflict talk in ELF interactions. By doing so, I have specified the concrete research gaps and discussed the points that need to be explored when analyzing the three types of conflict moments, which are “potentially” face-threaten from the politeness perspective, in the present research. Having clarified the findings and the research gaps in the pragmatic research into ELF, I will now explain and justify the research design of the present research and offer information on the data collection.

Chapter 4  Data collection and transcript conventions This chapter discusses the methodological background of the present research, which aims to explore how international students at British universities interactionally manage conflict talk in casual ELF conversations among friends. In the following sections, I will first provide the justification of the present research design, namely a single-method design with an in-depth qualitative analysis of transcripts by using a conversation analytic approach, multimodal CA in particular (Section  4.1). The ensuing section, Section 4.2, then describes how the present data were collected, including research sites, participants, and procedures. The details of the conversational data collected, namely, corpus, are then provided in Section 4.3, which is followed by transcription conventions used for the analysis of the data (Section 4.4) and a summary (Section 4.5).

4.1 Methodological design The present research adopted a single-method design (Kopinak 1999) with an in-depth qualitative analysis of transcripts by using a conversation analytic approach (Hutchby and Wooffitt 2008; Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson 1974), multimodal CA in particular (Mondada 2018; Mortensen 2012; Rossano 2013). The main data were audio and video-recordings of casual ELF conversations of international students studying at British universities at the time of recordings. Additional data on participants’ backgrounds and contextual information were also collected through questionnaires and non-participant observations (Davies 2007: 174) as supplementary ones. That is, they were mainly used to organize the recorded data, adding that they were also referred to when such data were crucial for the analysis of the phenomena being investigated. Upon the adaptation of this research design, the following two points should be considered: (1) the “naturalness” of recorded conversational data and (2) issues of reliability and validity of the present research. These points will be discussed in turn. There is a general preference in conversation analytic studies for examining recordings of naturally occurring conversation (e.g., Atkinson and Heritage 1984; Hutchby and Wooffitt 2008; Schegloff and Sacks 1973). The term naturally occurring usually refers to the ideal or idea that the interaction recorded should be non-experimental and not researcher-provoked, and hence have occurred anyway without the presence of the researcher (Ten Have 2007: 68). This reminds us, researchers, of Labov’s (1972: 113) remark on the Observer’s Paradox which argues that in order “[t]o obtain the data most important for linguistic theory, we have to observe how https://doi.org/10.1515/9781501512964-004

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people speak when they are not being observed” (emphasis in original). This means that conversational data recorded with the consent of the participants, which is crucial for an ethical reason, would not be naturally occurring in a strict sense. However, as Silverman (2005: 120) argues, no data can be untouched by human hands because recording equipment should be present and it sometimes has to be positioned by the researcher. Many researchers, therefore, attempt to make observation and recording as less imposing as possible (Ten Have 2007: 69). While the aforementioned argument seems to be a plausible solution, Speer (2002: 513) argues that the difference between “natural” and “provoked” conversations should be regarded as participants’ matter rather than as a tacit research resource (see also Silverman 2005: 120; Speer and Hutchby 2003: 317). In addition, she highlights the presence of two aspects that are crucial to be examined in this regard, namely participants’ orientations to context and procedural consequentiality of context for the phenomenon being investigated (Speer 2002: 518, 520; see also Schegloff 1991). As for the former, it should be noted that context in a conversation analytic view has context-shaped and context-renewing nature, as explained in Section 2.1. This is consistent with Drew and Heritage’s (1992: 19) argument: Context is “both the project and product of the participants’ own actions” that are “inherently locally produced and transformable at any moment” (see also Heritage 1984b: 242). This suggests that the setting of the recording is not the decisive factor for the natural and provoked distinction of conversational data. Rather, as Schegloff (1991: 52) explains, it is how participants demonstrably treat aspects of context such as being recorded or being provoked as relevant for themselves in their talk, that is of main concern. Speer and Hutchby (2003) further develop this point in order to demonstrate how the relevance of a recording device is negotiated and used in situ as participants’ matter and an interactional resource. In line with this argument, Ten Have (2007: 69) points out that conversational data that seem artificial in terms of the situation of being recorded and the content provoked by the researcher can be considered natural in terms of the ways in which the participants interact in response to the researcher’s intervention. On the other hand, an experimental setting may have a significant consequence if conditions of data collection are procedurally consequential for the phenomenon being investigated (Schegloff 1991: 52). Schegloff (1991: 54–57) explicates this point in his reference to two experimental studies, namely Levelt’s (1983) study on self-repair and West and Zimmerman’s (1983) study on interruptions. The former was conducted in an experimental setting which, unlike that of the latter one, placed constraints on who could speak. On the basis of this observation, Schegloff (1991: 56) argues that in the former study, the experimental setting was consequential for the phenomenon being investigated, while it was not so in the latter. The series of the above discussion suggests that the distinction between natural and provoked

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conversations recorded for the purpose of research may not be as straightforward as one may assume. Therefore, the decision about recording should be made based on what kinds of interactional phenomena one will investigate as well as on how one would like to investigate them (Ten Have 2007: 69). The second point that should be considered upon adopting the current research design is the reliability and validity of the research. To discuss this point, I will first review the definitions of validity and reliability. After discussing the reasons for selecting the current research design, I will argue how conversation analytic research ensures its reliability and validity. Issues of reliability and validity are important to research objectivity and credibility (Nunan 1992: 14). According to Nunan (1992: 14), reliability can be divided into internal reliability and external reliability and they are mutually complementary. The former is about “the consistency of data collection, analysis, and interpretation”, and the latter, “the extent to which independent researchers can reproduce a study and obtain results similar to those obtained”. Silverman (2010: 290) points out that it is a researcher’s responsibility to detail her/his procedure of the research and to show that s/he uses categories consistently in order to ensure the reliability of the research. Nunan (1992: 15) also divides validity into two types: internal validity which means “the interpretability of research,” and external validity, or generalizability, which means “the extent to which the results can be generalised from samples to populations”. As Payne and Payne (2004: 234) explain, for internal validity to be ensured, a measure of a concept should truly operationalize that concept (i.e., construct validity) while its conclusions should be reasonably defensible (see also Bryman 2004: 541). To put it simply, the definition of a phenomenon in question should be adequately operationalized so that one can argue that its findings truly emerge from the analysis of the data. Otherwise, the interpretation of findings becomes irrelevant, thereby threatening the objectivity and credibility of research (Payne and Payne 2004: 234). In social science research, a mixed-method design is frequently adopted to ensure validity. According to Kopinak (1999: 171), this is generally referred to as multi-method triangulation (in qualitative research) which “gather[s] information pertaining to the same phenomenon through more than one method, primarily in order to determine if there is a convergence and hence, increased validity in research findings”. This, as Dörnyei (2007) puts it, suggests the presence of a variety of data collection techniques for different kinds of research such as ethnographic research. This includes participant or non-participant observation, interviews (e.g., open-ended, focus group, retrospective interviews, and so forth), diary studies with field notes and journal entries, authentic documents, and physical artifacts (Dörnyei 2007: 130).

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Silverman (2005: 122; 2010: 278) points out, however, that it is a mistake to conceive of simply aggregating information through multiple methods as a path to validity of research. Instead, he argues that research validity should be carefully considered so that “your choice of method should reflect both your research topic and your overall research strategy as the methodology [i.e., a theoretical perspective] shapes which methods are used and how each method is used” (Silverman 2005: 122). In his opinion, rather than merely adopting multiple methods, research design should be theoretically underpinned to suit the research aims. In the present research which adopts a single-method design with in-depth qualitative analysis, the primary interest is to reveal the dynamic negotiation processes of meaning-making and interpersonal relationships while ELF users interactionally manage the three types of conflict talk, which are “potentially” face-threatening from the perspective of politeness: competitively taking the floor by overlapping, disagreeing with the co-interactant, and complaining about the absent third party (see Chapter 1). Considering this primary interest, additional data based on the participants’ recollections or intuitions may prove to be not reliable sources (Atkinson and Heritage 1984: 3; Seedhouse 2005: 253).10 From a conversation analytic perspective, the interpretation of what and how a participant says in the particular context, according to Seedhouse (2005: 253), cannot be made while being disembedded from the sequential context because the application of context-free resources for turn-taking is made in a context-sensitive way (see also Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson 1974: 699; see Section  2.1.1). Therefore, what a participant says at a post hoc interview cannot be necessarily equated with what s/he has actually thought of in the actual context (Seedhouse 2005: 253). Although interview data can provide another insight into the interpretation of the phenomenon in question from an interactional sociolinguistic perspective (Cameron 2001: 116) and the discursive approaches to politeness (e.g., Grainger 2011; Haugh 2007), it was decided that more care should be paid to conducting the in-depth qualitative analysis of transcripts, given the aforementioned primary interest. This helps enhance the objectivity of the present research rather than merely collecting a wide range of information from multiple sources (Peräkylä 2004; Seedhouse 2005). In line with this argument, the present research utilizes multimodal CA (Mondada 2018; Mortensen 2012; Rossano 2013) when analyzing the present data of casual ELF conversations. As discussed in Section 2.2, multimodal CA makes it possible to 10 Yet I left the possibility of conducting follow-up interviews or questionnaires when collecting the data (see Section 4.2.3.1 on this point) because the exact phenomena to focus on were not set in advance, using CA whose analysis adopts an inductive approach to the conversational data (i.e., unmotivated looking in Sacks 1984; Hutchby and Wooffitt 2008). However, as transcribing and the analysis progressed, it became clear that additional data were not necessarily essential.

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conduct fine-grained analysis of interaction, the focus of an analysis being put on the interplay of languages and non-verbal semiotic resources, such as images, gestures, gazes, posture, spaces, and objects used in the accomplishment of social action (Jewitt 2017; Mortensen 2012; Rossano 2013). The use of non-verbal semiotic resources, which is of particular interest in this book, is gaze orientations, postural shifts, facial expressions, and speech-accompanying spontaneous gestures, as explained earlier (Section 2.2.1). Before discussing how conversation analytic research, including multimodal CA, can ensure its reliability and validity, it should be noted that construct validity in conversation analytic research has a distinctive meaning. As Seedhouse (2005: 252, 257) explains, while construct validity in SLA (quantitative) research often has a tangible objective reality for the outside analysts, that in conversation analytic research should have reality for the participants themselves within the interaction (i.e., a participant-relevant emic perspective). This is attributed to the fact that CA is concerned about how social action is interactionally performed by the interactants (Seedhouse 2005: 252), that is, CA is interested in the interactants’ interpretation of their social action in the given context. Taking this observation into consideration, I find it useful to discuss how conversation analytic research ensures its reliability and validity. It is worth noting that a conversation analytic method in fact has strength in terms of reliability and validity (Peräkylä 2004; see also Seedhouse 2005). Peräkylä (2004) states that the selection and the technical quality of recordings as well as the adequacy of transcripts can reinforce the reliability and validity of conversation analytic research (Peräkylä 2004: 288–289; see also Seedhouse 2005: 254). Peräkylä explains that although the use of high-quality voice recorders and video cameras can ensure the quality of recordings, ensuring the adequacy of transcripts requires careful attention. That is, despite the fact that too many features impinge negatively on the legibility of the transcripts, sufficient features – both verbal and nonverbal – should be included in the transcripts in order to ensure their quality (Peräkylä 2004: 288– 289). While the decision about what features to be included in the transcripts in the present research will be discussed later in Section 4.4, it is a researcher’s responsibility to balance both the legibility and the quality of the transcripts. On the other hand, Seedhouse (2005: 254) argues that the fact that conversation analytic studies display transcripts and increasingly audio and video data makes the process of analysis transparent for readers (see also Peräkylä 2004: 290). This enables readers to analyze the data by themselves, thereby testing the internal validity of the researcher’s analysis. To elaborate on this point, Peräkylä (2004: 291–293) states that CA is well equipped with procedures for ensuring internal validity such as a nextturn proof procedure and deviant case analysis. As discussed earlier in Section 2.1, the participants’ contributions to interaction and contexts have context-shaped and

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context-renewing relationships (Heritage 1984b: 242). This relationship as well as the availability of the transcripts make it possible for the analysts, and thus for the readers, to check how the speaker’s utterance in the prior turn is interpreted by the next speaker in the sequentially next turn (Hutchby and Wooffitt 2008: 13). That is, the next-turn proof procedure provides them with a way to check the interactants’ interpretation of a prior turn’s talk, thereby ensuring the internal validity of the research findings. In addition, the deviant case analysis can also be utilized in order to check the validity of the findings (Peräkylä 2004: 292; Silverman 2010: 281; see also Schegloff 1968). By scrutinizing some pieces of data that do not fit the regular patterns of interactions, the analyst can check if her/his initial claim is adequate and provide additional support for it (Silverman 2010: 284). These two procedures can strengthen the internal validity of conversation analytic research. In contrast, the external validity of such research is somewhat restricted because not all conversation analytic studies examine a large amount of data. Yet Peräkylä (2011: 375) points out that the concept of possibility of language use gives a new perspective to the generalizability of the research findings. It is argued that although some case studies on interactions in particular contexts may not offer much about whether or not the findings can be generalizable to a larger population, they can offer how various interactional practices are made possible by interactants (Peräkylä 2011: 375–376). He maintains that such aspects can be generalized even though the use of interactional practices is not actualized in similar ways in other settings (Peräkylä 2011: 375). This is closely related to one of the fundamental concepts in CA, that is, the recipient design, which is underpinned by the context-sensitive application of context-free practices (Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson 1974: 699; Hutchby and Wooffitt 2008: 31; see also Section 2.1). Therefore, the analysis of the interactional processes of meaning-making can offer insights into possible language use in contexts. In line with the above discussion, the present research adopts a single-method design with the in-depth qualitative analysis of transcripts by using a conversation analytic approach, multimodal CA (Mondada 2018; Mortensen 2012; Rossano 2013) in particular. Having justified the choice of the research design, I will now explain how the main data collection was carried out.

4.2 Data collection This section first introduces the research sites (Section 4.2.1) and participants involved (Section 4.2.2) in the present research. After that, the preparations and procedures for the data collection will be explained in detail (Section 4.2.3). This is followed by a description of the present corpus (Section 4.3) and an explanation of the transcription conventions used in the book (Section 4.4).

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4.2.1 Research sites The data collection was conducted in March 2012 in the UK. The research sites for the present research were four British universities, with two located in England and two in Scotland. The sites were selected due to their accessibility, especially as I had acquaintances studying there. Heritage (1988: 131) argues that it is better to collect specimens of conversational data “from many natural sites as possible” so that they “contain many variations of particular types of interactional events whose features can be systematically compared”. Ten Have (2007: 70) refers to this stance on data collection as a maximum variation strategy. While the four universities were selected for the sake of accessibility, this selection was matched with Ten Have’s strategy of maximum variation as argued above. Furthermore, all of the four universities proclaimed their international diversity in the UK at the time of recordings, pointing out that international students comprised a quarter of the student population and came from more than 130 to 150 nations. It is reasonable, therefore, to consider that English is widely used as a lingua franca among students from diverse lingua-cultural backgrounds in the four universities. It can be justified that the research sites chosen were suitable for the purpose of the present research to investigate how interactants from multilingual backgrounds interactionally manage conflict moments, which are “potentially” face-threatening from the politeness perspective, thereby achieving mutual understanding and developing interpersonal relationships while communicating in ELF.

4.2.2 Participants Participants in the present research were thirty international students (24 females and six males) studying at British universities. In fact, 37 students from five different universities participated in the recording. However, nine of the participants who participated in a dinner table conversation (N=7) or an interview (N=2) were excluded from the data. This was attributed to the fact that the quality of the recording of the dinner table conversation was low, while the turn-taking in an interview was differently organized from that in casual conversation; that is, in an interview, it is usually the interviewer who asks questions while the interviewee answers them. As a result, the recordings collected from 30 students in four universities were included in the data. Half of the participants (N=15) studied for master’s degrees at the time of recordings, while 13 students were doing their doctoral degrees and only two were undergraduates. The majority of the participants specialized in various domains of linguistics, regardless of the levels of their study, and the rest of them majored in other domains of study such as business, history, mathematics, and management. The participants came from 14 different lingua-cultural backgrounds. Just

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over two-thirds of them were Asians (N=21), except three European participants, five Arabs, and one Mexican, thus contributing to a fair amount of lingua-cultural diversity. Table 1 below summarizes details of the participants’ profiles according to their nationality, first language, and student position at the universities. Table 1: The Participants’ Profile. Nationality (country code)

First language

Student Position and N

1. Chinese (CN)

Chinese

1 doctoral and 2 MA students

2. Greek (GR)

3. Japanese (JP) 4. Iranian (IR)

5. Iraqi (IQ)

6. Libyan (LY)

7. Mexican (MX)

8. Pakistani (PK)

9. Polish (PL)

10. Spanish (ES)

11. Syrian (SY)

12. Taiwanese (TW)

13. Thai (TH)

14. Vietnamese (VN)

Total

Greek

Japanese Farsi

Kurdish

Arabic

Spanish

Urdu

Polish

Spanish

Armenian

Chinese

Thai

Vietnamese

1 doctoral student

N (N of males) 3 1

3 doctoral, 2 MA, 2 undergraduate students

7 (3)

1 doctoral student

1 (1)

1 doctoral student

1 (1)

1 MA student

1 doctoral student

1 MA student

1 MA student

1 doctoral student

1 MA student

1 doctoral and 5 MA students

3 doctoral and 1 MA students

1 MA student

Doctoral: 13 (3) MA: 15 (2) Undergrad: 2 (1)

1

1

1

1

1

1

6 (1) 4 1

30 (6)

All the participants used English on a daily basis because the medium of instruction in class and that of communication among students and other people such as university staff were English. The participants had studied in the UK for approximately six months to six years, depending on the level of their study by the time of recordings. Their proficiency in English ranged from intermediate to advanced levels although the doctoral students tended to be more proficient than the master’s students, given their long stay in the UK. No official scores of English proficiency were collected. I only asked the participants informally in a questionnaire if the scores were available. For reference, the entry requirement of English language proficiency for undergraduate and postgraduate programs at each of the four universities was a score of Band 6.0 to 7.0 in the IELTS (International English Language Testing System) or a score of 76 to 100 in the internet-based TOEFL (Test of English as a Foreign Language). It can be said that the participants were proficient users of ELF yet with some variations in proficiency. In the analysis, the participants’ names were changed into pseudonyms in order to keep anonymity. The pseudonyms consist of country codes (e.g., Japan for JP)

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and the number of participants from each nationality if there is more than one. For example, each of the Japanese participants is referred to as JP1, JP2, and so forth, while a Vietnamese participant is referred to as VN. See Table 1 above for the country codes for all the participants in this research. Having provided the information on the research sites and participants, I will now explain the detailed procedures for the data collection.

4.2.3 Procedures This section explains the procedures for the data collection. It explains what was prepared prior to the data collection (Section 4.2.3.1) and provides information on how the data collection was arranged (Section 4.2.3.2). This will be followed by an explanation of the procedures for the recordings (Section 4.2.3.3). 4.2.3.1 Preparation for the data collection This section briefly discusses the documents prepared for the data collection, that is, a participant information sheet, a consent form, and a background questionnaire. A participant information sheet was made prior to the recruitment of participants. The sheet was designed in order to help participants make informed choices. Extra care was paid to give sufficient information to potential participants so that they can decide whether or not they wanted to participate in the data collection. In addition to my name, affiliation, and contact details, the information summarized in Table 2 was provided on the information sheet. Table 2: A summary of the information provided on the participant information sheet. Items of information

Content

The aim of the present research

– To explore how people from different non-English language backgrounds communicate in English by the use of various styles and strategies

Target participants and preconditions for the participation

– Those who are from non-English language backgrounds studying at a British university – All the participants should be from non-English language backgrounds

Time commitment

– Approximately 30 minutes to one hour

Date and place

– At participants’ convenience, but a date should be one of the specified dates

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Table 2 (continued) Items of information

Content

Types of conversation to be recorded

– Daily conversations with friends, flat mates, course mates, or a supervisor – An informal group conversation

Confidentiality

– Anonymity guaranteed – All data will be used only for the research purposes

Participants’ rights

– A right not to participate in data collection – A right to drop out at any time

Benefits and gratuity

– Some valuable pedagogical implications are hoped to be drawn from the research – A short report of the findings will be provided upon the participant’s request – £ 5 will be given as a token of gratitude

Supplementary note

– Up to four people per single conversation – A possibility to ask some of the participants to answer some follow-up questions via e-mail

One point to be highlighted in the above information is that the types of conversation to be recorded were left to potential participants. Two choices were presented, that is, either daily conversations with friends, flat mates, course mates, and/or a supervisor, or an informal group conversation between friends and acquaintances. This was to explore the possibility of collecting naturally occurring conversation on the one hand (but see Section 4.1 for the discussion on the issue of naturalness of conversational data) and to increase the participation rate on the other. In addition, a form of free conversation, which did not provide a topic(s) to be talked about, was chosen so that the conditions of the recording would not be procedurally consequential for interactional phenomena to be investigated (Schegloff 1991; see Section 4.1). The information sheet extends to two pages of A4 paper; however, the information was organized in a way that makes potential participants read with ease. For instance, general information was provided first and then specific sub-headings were used for clarity, adding that the text was divided into paragraphs for ease of reading. Besides, clear, non-technical, and appropriate language for the target readers was used. It is crucial to obtain consent from participants prior to their involvement in the research (Iphofen 2009). In connection with the information provided on the participant information sheet, the consent form explains the rights of the participants (i.e., informed consent; see e.g., Bryman 2004). The items provided on the consent form include the following: the conversation to be audio-recorded and/or video-

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recorded, the recorded conversation to be transcribed and used for the research purposes with anonymity guaranteed, and questions regarding the present research to be answered satisfactorily. Columns for the participant’s name and signature and for the date of giving consent were provided at the bottom of the form. In addition to the information sheet and the consent form, a short background questionnaire was prepared. The following is the list of question items provided in the questionnaire: – The name of the participant – Biological information: sex and age group (i.e., under 19, 20–29, 30–39, and over 40 years old) – Lingua-cultural backgrounds: native country, native language(s), and another language (or other languages) the participant can speak and understand well – Study background: a student status in Britain, university, department, and major – Experience of residing in countries other than their own ones: the length of stay in Britain, the name of the country(ies), and the length of the stay there – Language proficiency score: IELTS or TOEFL score (optional) – The participant’s contact details – Comments and questions about the recording, if any The age group rather than the exact age was asked because this information may be a sensitive issue to some participants from certain lingua-cultural backgrounds. Information on the lingua-cultural backgrounds of the participants was collected in order to confirm their status as non-native English speakers, in addition to that on their study backgrounds which were collected in order to understand topics discussed in their conversations. The information on the experience of residing in countries other than their own ones and language proficiency score (optional) was also collected as supplementary information to refer to their language proficiency. Although the background questionnaire was used, these pieces of supplementary information were used mainly for the purpose of organizing the recorded data and referred to when such data were crucial for the analysis of phenomena being investigated. 4.2.3.2 Arrangement of the recordings As explained in Section 4.2.1, I asked my acquaintances studying at the four British universities to recruit their friends, acquaintances, or supervisors as participants. This was done by the following procedures. First, I asked the recruiters whether or not it would be possible for them to be one of the participants and whether they can recruit their friends or acquaintances to participate in the present research

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via e-mail. The overview of the data collection was briefly explained at this stage. Having obtained a positive response from the recruiters, the participant information sheet and the consent form were sent to them so that they could recruit their friends and acquaintances by showing these pieces of information. The choice of conversation to be recorded was left to the participants as discussed in the previous section. As a result, they selected casual conversations between friends and acquaintances, but not with a supervisor, to be recorded. Some of the recruiters organized social gatherings on the date of recordings. They arranged several time slots for the gatherings in advance, dividing their friends into several groups. Others asked their course mates or flat mates to have a chat or lunch together on the very day of the recording. Eventually, ten groups of international students participated in the recordings. Table 3 summarizes the participants in each recording, their relationship, and the locations used for the recordings. Table 3: A Summary of the Arrangement of the Ten Groups of Recordings. Conversation✶ Participants in a group

Relationship

Location

Notes on recordings

A

IQ, PK, TW1, JP2 (m)✶✶

Course mates doing an MA in TESOL

A dining kitchen in JP2’s accommodation

Audio and video-recorded

B

JP1, TW2 (m), TW3, JP2 (m)

Course mates doing an MA in TESOL

"

Audio and video-recorded

C

JP2 (m), TW4, TW5

Former flat mates doing MAs in different domains

"

Audio and video-recorded

D

CN1, TH1, VN, JP2 (m)

Course mates doing an MA in TESOL

"

Audio and video-recorded

F

TH2, JP5 (m), JP6, JP7

TH2 and JP7 are course A classroom Audio and mates doing a PhD in on campus video-recorded Applied Linguistics; TH2, (reserved by JP7) JP5, and JP7 are friends in a tango society; JP5, JP6, and JP7 are Japanese friends; TH2 and JP6 met for the first time

G

GR, JP7, LY (m)

Course mates doing MAs in different domains of linguistics

"

Audio and video-recorded

I

ES, JP8, MX, TW6

Course mates doing PhDs in different domains of linguistics; ES, MX, and TW6 are office mates

"

Audio and video-recorded

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Table 3 (continued) Conversation✶ Participants in a group

Relationship

J

CN3, TH3, TH4

Course mates doing PhDs in different domains of linguistics

K

IR2 (m), JP9 (m) Course mates doing PhDs in history

A social space of Audio-recorded only their department

L

CN3, PL, SY

A dining kitchen in their accommodation

Flat mates doing MAs in different domains

Location "

Notes on recordings Audio and video-recorded

Audio-recorded only

Note. ✶ As explained earlier, two sets of conversations were eliminated from the data. Thus, conversations E and H are not presented in the table. ✶✶ The alphabet m noted in brackets following the pseudonym indicates a male participant, while that without it refers to a female participant.

JP2 and JP7, who organized the social gatherings between their friends, participated in a few recordings. JP2 mainly participated in Conversation C; however, he participated in Conversations A, B, and D while serving foods and beverages as a host of the social gathering. In a similar vein, JP7 participated in Conversations F and G. The conversation between IR2 and JP9 (Conversation K) was recorded during lunch, while the others were recorded during the gatherings. The seat configuration of each conversational data is provided in Appendix D. 4.2.3.3 Procedures for the recordings Ten Have (2007: 84) states that there are mainly three ways to arrange the making of recordings: (1) one can ask a participant to do the recording; (2) one can ask some technicians to make the recordings; and (3) one can make oneself, but without participating or at least only minimally. For the present research, the third option was chosen, and all of the ten recordings were made by the current author. This was to ensure the quality of recordings as well as to obtain contextual information through observation. Another reason for choosing this option was to reduce the imposition of arranging and handling the machine on the participants as much as possible (Ten Have 2007: 69). At the time of recordings, the participants were busy with their study responsibilities, it being mid of their academic term. All the conversations were thus recorded by the current author so as to reduce the imposition on the participants. Prior to the recording, I explained all the information provided on the participant information sheet, such as the aim of the present research, the confidentiality

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of the data, the participant’s rights, and the procedures for the recording. This was to ensure that the participants could make informed choices. Extra care was paid to the following two points: to obtain permission for video-recording and to ensure the confidentiality of the data obtained. The former was crucial because video-recording was more ethically sensitive than audio-recording for people from certain cultural backgrounds, such as Arabic. Eventually, two out of the ten groups refused to be video-recorded, thus they were only audio-recorded (Conversations K and L; see Table 3 in Section 4.2.3.2). While this was unfortunate from the perspective of multimodal CA, the participants’ will must be respected. Also, the two data were not excluded from the present research because they were still valuable data for the analysis of conflict talk in ELF interactions, and the type of conversation, namely casual conversations, was the same as the other data. As for the confidentiality of the data, it was guaranteed that all the data obtained would be used only for the present research purposes and kept in a secure place. Besides, to maintain confidentiality it was explained that the recorded conversation would be transcribed, and the transcript would appear in published works and conference presentations, but any pieces of personal information such as names of people and places would be modified. The same policy was applied to the video data, and the participants were told that the visual information would also be modified to secure anonymity. For this ethical reason, photos presented in the analyses in Chapters 5 to 7, which illustrated the participants’ use of gestures, posture, and facial expressions were trimmed and modified with computer-generated mosaic in order to conceal the participants’ eyes. Having understood the information provided on the sheet and explained orally by the current author, the participants filled in the consent form. Two voice recorders and one video camera set on a tripod were used for the recordings. I located the voice recorders on the table in front of the participants, and when video-recording was permitted, the video camera was located in such a way that it captured all participants from the front in a wide-angle view. Some food, snacks, and/or beverages were served so that the participants could have them during the recordings. The participants were told that they could talk about whatever they wanted to. A few of them said that they were not sure what to talk about. In such a case, some topics were suggested. However, such a case was rare; almost all groups started their talk by initiating a topic such as catching up on each other’s lives, what they had been talking about before the recording or the recording per se (this issue will be discussed at the end of this section). After turning on the switches of the recording devices, I sat near the end of the room and observed contextual and visual information about the recording situations. While observing the conversations, I took the role of an observer without directly intervening in the conversations (i.e., non-participant observation in Davies

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2007: 174) to make observation and recording as unobtrusive as possible (Ten Have 2007: 69). Yet I joined the conversation when a participant(s) oriented to me as a normative recipient or answerer by means of her/his gaze or adjacency pairs (Goodwin 1979; Schegloff and Sacks 1973). The switches of the video camera and the voice recorders were turned off when the conversation was about to end after a lapse of 30 minutes or so. After stopping the devices, the participants were asked to fill in the short background questionnaire. The small amount of money was then given to them as a gratuity. What sounded interesting throughout the observation was that the participants did sometimes orient to the context of being recorded as such, particularly at the outset of the recording and when somebody else came into the room. The latter was only when the room was a public place such as a shared dining kitchen in the accommodation and/or a social space of the department. For example, one participant made a peace sign, looking at the video camera, another made a joke that s/he became famous to be video-recorded, while another participant asked to whom the voice recorders belonged, and so forth. While such moments can be a subject of investigation as Speer and Hutchby (2003) scrutinized in their research, all the participants became less and less concerned about being recorded as time goes by. They seemed to enjoy talking with their friends, and some of them explicitly said that they enjoyed the recording session.

4.3 Corpus The corpus to be analyzed in the present research consists of ten sets of audio- and video-recordings (or only audio-recordings) of casual ELF conversations of international students studying at British universities. The individual recordings lasted approximately 30 to 50 minutes. A total of seven hours and 25 minutes of spoken interactions were recorded. In order to improve the efficiency of transcribing, the data were transcribed by the author along with the help of the agent offering the conversation analytic transcription service.11 I checked the transcripts provided by the agent and those transcribed by myself, repeatedly listening to the audio and video conversational data. Approximately 95% of the recorded data were transcribed for the present research (i.e., seven hours and seven minutes), yielding 501 pages of transcripts.

11 The CA Transcription Services (https://catranscriptionservices.wordpress.com). Their service is no longer available.

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4.4 Transcription conventions for multimodal CA In conversation analytic research, the primary data are recordings of conversation. Transcripts are secondary ones that are regarded as “a convenient way to capture and present the phenomena of interest in written form” (Ten Have 2007: 95). Silverman (2010: 288) argues that conversation analytic transcripts are more objective, comprehensible, and reliable than other types of transcripts because they provide “additional information on how the parties organized their talk” (emphasis added). Inevitably, the quality of transcripts is crucial for conversation analytic research. As pointed out earlier in Section 4.1, transcripts should be as accurate as possible in order to ensure the validity and reliability of the conversation analytic research (Peräkylä 2004: 285; Seedhouse 2005: 254). On the other hand, as Ochs (1979: 44) points out, considering that a wide range of features is included in the delivery of conversation, the process of transcribing should be inevitably selective (see also Cameron 2001: 40). Moreover, while the inclusion of all information is not practically possible in the first place, too much detail impinge on the legibility of the transcripts (Ochs 1979: 44). Yet it is argued that the selection process of features to be included in the transcripts should not be arbitrarily done; instead, it should be carefully carried out so that the transcripts reflect the state of the research field and research interests (Ochs 1979: 44). Therefore, the above discussions suggest that it is crucial to seek a balance between the accuracy and legibility of the transcripts in line with theoretical assumptions and research aims (see also Ten Have 2007: 31–32 on this point). The aim of the present research is to investigate how interactants from multilingual backgrounds interactionally manage conflict talk in casual ELF conversations, thereby achieving mutual understanding and developing interpersonal relationships. Given the research interest and the importance of the quality of transcripts, I decided to use well-established conversation analytic transcription conventions in the present research (e.g., Hepburn and Bolden 2013). In addition, transcription conventions with standard orthography rather than phonetic and phonemic ones were chosen in the present research. There are two interrelated reasons for this decision. One was that the research interest was not in the pronunciation of ELF users, and the other was to avoid the unnecessary and stereotypical representation of “non-nativeness” of “non-native” English speakers (Cameron 2001: 41–42; see also transcriptional stereotyping in Jefferson 1996). Cameron (2001: 41) argues that phonetic and phonemic transcription conventions tend to “make nonstandard speakers appear more different than they really are from standard speakers”. Taking this into consideration, the transcription conventions with standard orthography was chosen in order to transcribe the conversational data because the participants in the present research were “non-native”

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English speakers with multilingual backgrounds and ones whose pronunciation in English varied. The transcription conventions used in this book are available in Appendix A. Furthermore, the present research employs multimodal CA (Mondada 2018; Mortensen 2012; Rossano 2013) to increase the reliability of the research (Peräkylä 2004; Seedhouse 2005; see Section 4.1). Accordingly, in addition to verbal features such as overlaps, tones of voice, stresses, and pauses, embodied actions such as gaze orientations, postural shifts, gestures, and facial expressions were scrutinized. Given that the present research investigates conversations among multilingual individuals having diverse proficiency levels, the production and perception of the delivery of conversation, particularly the rate of speech and pausing, may vary. This suggests that the interpretation of the data can be changed if one incorporates information on non-verbal behavior. For example, the speaker may still hold the floor during pausing for a few seconds by using hand gestures (McNeill 1992; Schegloff 1984). At other times, the speaker may choose the next speaker by means of gazes (Goodwin 1981; Rossano 2013) although this does not necessarily occur only in ELF interactions. Alternatively, an overlap occurring in a disordered manner may turn out to be orderly organized around a possible TRP if one examines when the speaker opens her/his mouth for the upcoming start of her/his talk, as will be shown in Chapter 5. Furthermore, the information on facial expressions allows one to examine, for instance, whether or not the overlapped speaker interprets the overlap in question as interruptive (Bilmes 1997; Schegloff 2002). Although the presence of too much detailed information on non-verbal behavior seemed to affect the legibility of the transcripts, the information that seemed crucial for the analysis of the phenomena in question was incorporated into the analysis (Heath and Luff 2013; Rossano 2013; Schegloff 1984; see also Section 2.2 on this point). In order to keep the balance between the legibility and quality of the transcripts, it was decided that Rossano’s (2013) conventions and a slightly modified version of Mondada’s (2016) conventions were used for the analysis of gaze orientations and that of other embodied actions (e.g., gestures, posture, facial expressions, head movements) respectively. In Rossano’s (2013) conventions, the gaze orientations are presented as diagrams above the individual line of the talk. The following is an example of the diagrams presented in an excerpt: Example 1: The diagrams of gaze orientations in the excerpt C N 2

4 TH3:

T H 3

A

T H 4

C N 2

B

but >not in a< (.) one goal £>y’knowsometimes< you-(.)[(0.5)=

Here, the ovals symbolize individual interactants involved in the exchange of gazes, where the pseudonyms of the interactants are marked in the ovals. The gaze direction is marked with straight arrows between the ovals, while the gaze shift is marked with curved arrows either above or below the ovals (see Appendix B for the illustrations of more diagrams). In the excerpts, the duration of the gaze orientations is specified with a horizontal single square bracket above the individual line, adding that the diagrams are alphabetically labeled in each line where there is more than one diagram. The information on other embodied actions such as postural shifts, facial expressions, mouth opening, nodding, and hand gestures is marked with a slightly modified version of Mondada’s (2016) conventions in the transcripts (see Appendix C for its details). Screenshots capturing the moments in question are also used to show the use of gestures, posture, and facial expressions (Heath and Luff 2013), but the participants’ eyes are modified with computer-generated mosaics in order to assure anonymity of the interactants as discussed in Section 4.2.3.3. The following is an example of the conventions for the embodied actions: Example 2: A slightly modified version of Mondada’s (2016) conventions in the excerpt 1 TW1: [but I ↑think + (0.7)+ er for weiq +nods + 2 iq pk 3

TW1: iq

(.) but lots of peoΔple +lots of peopleΔ▪ (.) ▪.....-> +nods-> Δnods Δ learned+ Japa%nese i▪n Taiwan. .........HHH-----,,▪ ->+ %fig1

Fig. 1

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In the excerpt, each embodied action in question is attributed to a participant, which is identified by her/his pseudonym (except the current speakers’) in the margins and delimited between two identical symbols such as squares (▪), plus marks (+), triangles (Δ) and so on. Horizontal arrows consisting of a dash mark and a sign of inequality (->) describe the action continuation across subsequent lines until the same symbol or the indicated line number. The following is the list of marks used to describe the respective actions: – A series of dot marks (. . .) describes the action’s preparation, – a series of dash marks (---) describes the action’s apex, – a series of commas (,,,) describes the action’s retraction, – a series of p (ppp) describes the beginning of pointing gestures, – a series of t (ttt) describes the beginning of finger tapping, and – a series of H (HHH) describes the beginning of hand gestures. The exact moment at which a still frame was taken is indicated with a percent symbol (%) on the line of the talk and the symbol followed by the acronym of a figure (%fig) on the line dedicated to the figure; figures are numbered throughout the book. A still frame is shown below the line containing the embodied action in question. All the marks and descriptions of embodied actions are synchronized with corresponding stretches of talk; the exact position that the embodied action starts and ends is shown by the same symbols such as squares, plus marks, triangles, and so on within the turn at talk.

4.5 Summary This chapter has explicated the research design that the present research adopts in order to explore the research aim set out in Chapter 1. The research explores how interactants using ELF interactionally manage conflict talk, which are “potentially” face-threatening from the perspective of politeness, by means of multimodal resources at their disposal, thereby achieving mutual understanding and developing interpersonal relationships. The chapter has also discussed the naturalness of conversation and the reliability and validity of the present research. After that, the data collection procedures, the present corpus, and the transcription conventions used in this book have been described. Following that, I will now proceed to the chapters which form the analytical part of the book (findings and discussion chapters). As stated in Chapter 1, I will focus on the analyses of the three types of conflict talk in the interactions, namely competitively taking the floor from the current speaker by overlapping

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(Chapter 5), disagreeing with the co-interactant (Chapter 6), and complaining about something or someone else who is absent at the time of complaining (i.e., third-party complaints; Chapter 7). I will now turn to Chapter 5 which discusses the investigation of interactional management of competitive overlaps in casual ELF conversations.

Chapter 5  Interactional management of competitive overlaps This chapter explores how ELF users interactionally manage competitive overlaps in casual ELF conversations, using multimodal CA. Two types of competitive overlaps will be analyzed, their occurrences being observed in the present data: a floor-taking overlap, which successfully takes the floor from the current speaker, and a floor-attempting overlap, which fails to do so after being initiated. Combining the conversation analytic perspective (Bilmes 1997; Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson 1974; Schegloff 2000a, 2002) and politeness theory (Brown and Levinson 1987; Grainger 2011; Haugh 2007; O’Driscoll 2007), this chapter examines whether or not, as well as how, interactants treat such overlaps in their sequences, namely interruptive and face-threatening. In what follows, I will first define overlaps and then present and discuss the findings.

5.1 Defining overlaps This section reviews overlaps from a conversation analytic perspective and then relates the perspective to a politeness theoretical one. As Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson (1974: 706) put it, the occurrence of an overlap, which is defined as a talk of “more than one speaker at a time,” is “common, but brief” and systematically accountable in terms of turn-taking rules. Here, rules 1b and 1c of turn-taking (see Section 2.1.2) are relevant to its occurrence (see also Schegloff 2000a). Specifically, an overlap occurs when more than one self-selector for the next turn projects their starts as early as possible at the TRP (Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson 1974: 706–707). This pattern relates to rule 1b and results in simultaneous starts of the turn (i.e., turn-competing overlap in Murata 1994a). Alternatively, as Jefferson (1986: 154) explains, an overlap can occur when “a recipient reasonably, warrantedly treats some current utterance as complete, Note: Parts of this chapter were originally published in the following two papers: (1) Journal of Pragmatics, Vol. 84, Mayu Konakahara, An analysis overlapping questions in casual ELF conversations: Cooperative or competitive contribution, pp. 37–53, Copyright Elsevier (2015), and (2) Journal of Pragmatics, Vol. 170, Mayu Konakahara, Single case analyses of two overlap sequences in casual ELF conversations from a multimodal perspective: Toward the consideration of mutual benefits of ELF and CA, pp. 301–316, Copyright Elsevier (2020). More specific explanation for the reuse can be found in footnotes attached to the beginning of Sections 5.2.1.1, 5.2.1.2.1, 5.2.2.1 respectively. https://doi.org/10.1515/9781501512964-005

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‘transition ready’, and starts to talk,” and “the current speaker, perfectly within his rights, keeps going”. This pattern results from the simultaneous application of rules 1b and 1c of turn-taking (i.e., misprojection overlap in Murata 1994a), and there are a few variations, although they superficially look similar. First, the current speaker produces the last item in her/his utterance with elongation when the next speaker projects the upcoming TRP and starts to talk (Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson 1974: 707; i.e., last-item onset in Jefferson 1986: 156). Second, the next speaker starts to talk slightly earlier than the upcoming TRP while the current speaker is producing the last item of her/his utterance (i.e., terminal onset in Jefferson 1986: 157). Third, the current speaker adds post-completion elements to her/his turn after a possible TRP when the next speaker starts to talk at the TRP. Such elements include tag questions, address terms, etiquette terms (e.g., if you don’t mind; Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson 1974: 707–708; see also Levinson 1983: 299), or in-breath (Jefferson 1986: 162–163). These kinds of overlaps are systematically accountable in terms of the turn-taking rules and result in a predictably brief incursion into the current speaker’s utterance in progress. On the other hand, Jefferson (1984b, 1986) identifies onset places for overlaps which result in a more substantial incursion into the current speaker’s utterance. Although such overlaps, whose onset is referred to as interjacent onset, occur before the current speaker is anywhere near the TRP, they occur systematically in relation to what the current speaker is saying (Jefferson 1986: 158–161). For instance, the recipient may shift into a speakership orientation and begin talking after the current speaker sufficiently produces the target item or the general thrust of the utterance to be recognizable to the recipient (i.e., recognitional onset in Jefferson 1984b: 28–31). The following is an example of this point provided by Jefferson (1984b): Example 3: A recognitional onset overlap in Jefferson (1984b) Steven: Ri:ght Heathiht’ [n. Heath: [Alright Steven, (.) Steven: A very ha[ppy New Ye]ar.] (t’the-)] → Heath: [Thank yoh:]e ]n a happy ( ). (Extracted from Jefferson 1984b: 28)

In this example, Heath starts to initiate his response to Steven’s greeting as soon as he recognizes what Steven is saying. Alternatively, the recipient may start talking where the current speaker exhibits disfluency such as silence, silence fillers (e.g., uh), or stuttering in the middle of her/his utterance (i.e., progressional onset in Jefferson 1984b: 31–38). Jefferson (1986) further explains that some of the interjacent onset overlaps may be more orderly according to a possible TRP that precedes the current speaker’s continuation (i.e., post continuation onset in

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Jefferson 1986: 164–167). In such a case, the recipient orients to the possible TRP that is marked by syntax or intonation and begins talking. However, this articulation begins after the current speaker has already started continuing (Jefferson 1986: 164–167). This is the same as what Murata (1994a: 177) refers to as a delayed response. Although these kinds of overlaps occur at non-TRPs, their occurrences are “systematically” accountable in terms of the recognition and progression of the current speaker’s utterance. By contrast, other researchers adopt a stricter view on overlaps and regard those at non-TRPs as interruptions – although it should be noted that interruptions do not always occur with overlaps (see e.g., Murata 1994a, 1994b; Tannen 2007b). For example, Levinson (1983: 299) distinguishes inadvertent overlap from violative interruption on the basis that the occurrences of overlaps, unlike interruptions, are brief and systematically accountable in terms of TRPs. West and Zimmerman (1977, 1983) also offer the same definition of interruptions. The following is an example of what they call “‘deeper’ intrusion into the internal structure of a speaker’s utterance”, namely an interruption, which was extracted from West and Zimmerman (1977: 523): Example 4: A deeper intrusion in the speaker’s utterance in West and Zimmerman (1977) A1: It really sur[prised me becuz- ] → A2: [It’s jus’ so smo;g]gy... (Extracted from West and Zimmerman 1977: 523 with modification)

West and Zimmerman (1977: 104) argue that simultaneous speech “initiated more than two syllables away from the initial or terminal boundary of a unit-type [i.e., TCU]” is an interruption (emphasis added). Here, interruptions are viewed as a violation of the speaker’s right. In line with this view, interruptions are negatively interpreted as a display of dominance and an exercise of control (Levinson 1983; West and Zimmerman 1977). Such an observation, however, is questionable. Although West and Zimmerman (1983) mechanically define interruptions on the basis of the number of syllables, such a numerical definition disregards the interactional functions of “interruptions”. The previous example on Jefferson’s (1984b) definition of recognitional onset overlap is also initiated more than two syllables away from the initial boundary of the TCU. This matches West and Zimmerman’s definition of “interruptions” (see Examples 3 and 4 above). However, the two examples of “overlap/interruption” in question have different functions in each interactional sequence, as West and Zimmerman (1983: 105) also note. While the “overlap” in Example 3 serves to show understanding of what the current speaker is saying and thus moves the talk forward, the “interruption” in Example 4 ignores what the current speaker is

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saying and changes the topic. This suggests that the numerical distinction between overlaps and interruptions is not necessarily a plausible one at least in its own terms. It should also be noted that overlaps as brief as backchannels (e.g., yes and yeah), which are usually regarded as a show of support for the current speaker’s continuation of her/his talk, may be utilized to bid for the floor. In her analysis of acknowledgment tokens, Jefferson (1984a: 200, 206) argues that while yes and yeah can show preparedness to shift from recipiency to speakership, mm hm show passive recipiency. This suggests that the recipient may use overlapping backchannels such as yeah and the like in order to jump in the middle of the current speaker’s talk. This use may be interpreted as interruptive by the overlapped speaker and further problematizes the numerical distinction between the practices of overlapping and interrupting, thereby suggesting the importance of examining the interactional functions of these practices. In a cross-cultural study of turn-taking in “native” English, “native” Japanese, and “native” English and Japanese learners of English conversations, Murata (1994a: 183) distinguishes between overlaps and interruptions on the basis of their onset places (i.e., TRPs or non-TRPs) as well as their interactional functions. Referring to “overlaps” that occur at non-TRPs as “interruptions”, Murata (1994a, 1994b) identifies two types of overlaps, response-oriented and turn-competing, and two types of interruptions, cooperative and intrusive. Functions of interruptions are of particular interest here. While the former type of interruption does not take the floor but supplies a word or a phrase that the current speaker is searching for (Murata 1994b: 387), the latter shows a more aggressive stance toward the topic and floor management and thus changes a topic, takes the floor, or expresses disagreement (i.e., topic-changing, floor-taking, and disagreement interruptions respectively; Murata 1994b: 388–390). It is argued that while disagreement interruption demonstrates the interrupter’s aggression, cooperative interruption shows cooperation and active involvement in the interaction (Murata 1994b: 388–390). Similar to Murata’s observation, Goldberg’s (1990) research on “interruptions” in native English conversations identifies two types of interruptions, namely rapport and power. The former shows solidarity and interest (Goldberg 1990: 890, 893) by “inserting (short) informative or evaluative comments” or “requesting the speaker to supply evaluative or informative remarks” (Goldberg 1990: 894). The latter, on the other hand, shows antipathy and aggression (Goldberg 1990: 890), controlling a topic and the floor by means of questions and/or statements (i.e., process and content control; Goldberg 1990: 891–892). It is argued that the former is “less face-threatening” than the latter (Goldberg 1990: 893). In line with the above arguments, Tannen (2007b) points out that the interpretation of “interruptions” is subject to a wide range of interactional and contex-

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tual factors. Examples of these factors include what the content of the “interrupting” utterance is, how long the individual interactants talk, how the “interrupted” interactant perceives being cut off, and what the “interruption” does in relation to the “interrupted” utterance (Tannen 2007b: 190). This observation suggests that a form of “interruptions” is not decisive in its interpretation; rather, it is how such an “interruption” is treated by the interactants in its interactional sequence that is important when analyzing “interruptions”. Given the fuzzy distinction between overlaps and interruptions discussed above, Tannen’s observation should also be applied to the interpretation of “overlaps”. In this respect, it is useful to discuss here Bilmes’ (1997) participant-oriented approach to “interruptions” (see also Schegloff 2002). According to Bilmes, a violation of the speaker’s rights, namely “interruptions”, should be analyzed as participants’ matter. That is, being interrupted “must be displayed and handled as violative [by both or at least one of the participants] within the interaction” (Bilmes 1997: 512; emphasis in original). Following this argument, a mere cut-off of another’s utterance is not sufficient to constitute an interruption. Rather, additional signals should be observed in the participants’ verbal and/or non-verbal behaviors in order to do so. For instance, the “interrupting” speaker may request permission to interrupt (e.g., may I interrupt you) or to apologize for interrupting (e.g., I hate to interrupt, but. . .; Bilmes 1997: 514–515). The “interrupted” speaker, on the other hand, may claim, more or less explicitly, that s/he has been interrupted (e.g., let me finish this briefly, you keep interrupting, etc.; Bilmes 1997: 516–519). Alternatively, s/he may utilize verbal and non-verbal displays to demonstrate annoyance, to indicate a determination to hold the floor, and to acknowledge obstruction through facial expressions, gestures, glances, raised voices, grammatical devices indicating continuation (e.g., conjunctions), or through repetition of part of the utterance (e.g., but but; Bilmes 1997: 519). More implicitly, the “interrupted” speaker may not produce an SPP of the adjacency pair without providing any account for its absence (Bilmes 1997: 520). In short, for “interruptions” to be interpreted as “interruptive”, the interactants have to display them as such within the interaction (see also Schegloff 2002). If one adopts this approach, the fuzzy distinction between the two practices of overlapping and interrupting on the basis of their onset places and forms can be avoided. In other words, the phenomenon in question can be regarded as either an “interruption” when treated as “interruptive” by the interactant or as an “overlap” when it is not seen as such. This means that the two practices are not distinguished a priori by the analysts but are distinguished by the interactants themselves within the interaction. On the basis of the above discussion, I will utilize the term “overlaps” in order to refer to all instances of simultaneous talk that is not treated as “interruptive” by the interactants, irrespective of their onset places and forms. As

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for the term “interruptions”, it will be used only when “overlaps” in question are treated as “interruptive” by the interactants. Bilmes’ (1997) participant-oriented approach to interruptions also accords with the perspective of discursive approaches, an interactional approach to politeness in particular (Grainger 2011; Haugh 2007). Brown and Levinson (1987: 67) decode “disruptively” interrupting the co-interactant’s talk as one of the “potential” FTAs that threaten both positive face and negative face of a hearer. However, whether the simultaneous talk is treated as “disruptive” or “interruptive” must not be decided by the analyst a priori. Rather, it is negotiated by the interactants themselves within the interaction. That is, the way the simultaneous talk in question “threatens” the overlapped/interrupted speaker’s face should be examined and interpreted on the basis of the interactants’ observable behavior. Here, the interactional approach to politeness, which looks for evidence of the participants’ orientation to particular actions in interaction (Haugh 2010a: 158), is suitable. In line with this argument, every instance of an overlap can be a “potentially” face-threatening moment in the sense that it has a risk of being treated as “interruptive” by the interactants in the interaction, although there is also a possibility that it is not treated as such. It is worth mentioning that although Brown and Levinson (1987: 92) mainly focus on “linguistic realization” in their discussion of the model of politeness theory as admitted themselves, they show that paralinguistic and non-verbal behavior can be naturally adapted to their model without explicating how to do so. Considering these points, it is necessary to examine whether and how an instance of overlapping is treated as “threatening” by the interactants as well as how they manage such a “potential” FTA in its interactional sequence. The aspect of this kind will be examined by utilizing multimodal CA. So far, I have reviewed the theoretical concepts of overlapping and interrupting from a conversation analytic perspective, relating them to politeness theory. Having clarified these points, I will now present and discuss the findings from the present research.

5.2 Findings and discussion All cases of overlap were first identified for the purpose of analysis. As a whole, the number of overlap was large, while the overall pace of the respective conversations was fairly fast, with the exception of Conversation B (see Table 3 in Section 4.2.3.2) – the comparatively slow pace of the conversation in Conversation B can be attributed to the participants’ conversational style, namely high-considerateness (Tannen 2007b) as well as their proficiency levels in English. This supports the findings in the existing research into ELF interactions (e.g., Meierkord 2000).

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After that, how cases of overlapping are treated by the interactants within the individual interactions was examined. While two cases of overlapping were treated as “interruptive” by the “interrupted” interactants,12 the majority of the cases were not treated, so consequently, the focus of analysis will be on the latter. In the latter case, the overlapping speaker frequently utilized what Cogo and Dewey (2012) refer to as cooperative overlaps which include overlapping backchannels (e.g., yeah, mm hmm), assessments, and utterance completion (see also Kalocsai 2011; Meierkord 2000; Wolfartsberger 2011). Along with cooperative overlaps, instances of competitive overlaps, particularly those taking the floor from the current speaker without changing a topic, were frequently observed (see floor-taking interruption in Murata 1994a, 1994b). Such overlaps, floor-taking overlaps, take the form of either a question or a statement (Goldberg 1990). For the sake of simplicity, I will refer to the former as a floor-taking question (FT-Q) and the latter as a floor-taking expansion (FT-E) on the basis of what action such overlaps do (Tannen 2007b). An FT-Q temporally controls the floor by means of a turn-allocation technique; that is, of the FPP of a question-answer adjacency pair (Schegloff and Sacks 1973). It elicits informative or evaluative talk from the overlapped speaker or other interactants (see process control in Goldberg 1990). FT-E, on the other hand, controls the floor by substantially giving informative or evaluative commentary that is logically connected with the preceding talk (see content control in Goldberg 1990). In the present data, FT-Qs were far more prominent than FT-Es. The following are examples of each type, where a horizontal arrow next to the line number indicates a turn containing the phenomenon in question. Example 5: Floor-taking question (FT-Q) Staff meeting [K(c); 15:52; 80–81/ IR2, JP9](Visual data not available) 1 JP9: actually today I have a:::: (.) staff ↑meeting, 2 in:: Asian study department (.) at ↑two PM? 3 ( ): hhhh 4 JP9: I mean [the:]:: [I have to ] 5 →IR2: [°mm°] [what kind of] meeting was it 6 (0.7) 7 JP9: e:::: they talk about (0.4) cla:ss. >in a< course.

12 In such a case, the overlapped speaker, as Bilmes (1997) points out, for example, signals the hold of the conversational floor by giving the “interrupting” speaker an annoyed glance, denying what the “interrupting” speaker supplies when searching for a word, raising her voice, using on-stress hand gestures (Schegloff 1984), and shifting her gaze in search of another addressee.

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Example 6: Floor-taking expansion (FT-E) Study hours (2) [J(2), 20:36, 727–739 / CN2, TH3, TH4] 1 CN2: [when you] when you go to your 2 office everyday. 3 TH3: hhmm::: normally: (1.3) 4 [eleve::n¿ ] (not **)[hh 5 TH4: [nine ten eleven¿] [hhh huh huh hah .hh= 6 TH3: =eleven noon >or sometimes< 7 °just° [a afternoon ] 8 →CN2: [yeah I’m always interest in] 9 people’s [timeta]ble [huhhuh .hh][I always] like to (*)

In both cases, the overlapping speakers result in taking the floor from the overlapped speakers by either questioning (Example 5) or giving a comment (Example 6). However, not all instances of overlapping questions and statements are successful in controlling the floor. Although its frequency of occurrence was far less than that of FT-Qs and FT-Es in the data, overlapping talk in some cases fails to elicit an answer in the next turn or to give informative or evaluative commentary in response to the prior speaker’s talk. This type of overlap is referred to in this research as a floor-attempting overlap in order to distinguish it from floor-taking overlaps. It also takes the form of questioning or statement, which is respectively referred to as a floor-attempting question (FA-Q) and a floor-attempting expansion (FA-E). The following are examples of each type. Example 7: Floor-attempting question (FA-Q) No snow in Pakistan [A(1), 6:35, 59–85 / IQ, JP2, PK, TW1] 10 IQ : [only] th- ↑no s[now] 11 PK : [no::][: >at allr-h-h-how abou][t-you [knowhe] lives in (Place A)l.5 T W 1

I Q

A

2 iq pk

T W 1

A

3 iq

T W 1

B

(.) but lots of peoΔple +lots of peopleΔ▪(.) ▪...-> +nods softly six times-> Δnods five times ->Δ J P 2

4 5

J P 2

T W 1

I Q

B

learned+ Japa%nese i▪n Taiwan. .........HHH------,,▪ ->+ %fig1

Fig. 1

PK: ▪°a@h[+::::::°] TW1: [yeah=in ] pk ▪tosses head (HD)->

5.2 Findings and discussion 

iq iq

->@

J P 2

6

+nods twice-> T W 1

J P 2

T W 1

A

pk iq

B

C

T W 1

T W 1

P K

A

B

=so +%lots ▪o%f[(0.4) +[lots of people ] [Δ%s::so[%what is %your %major] ->Δ tw1 +...HHH--------,,,+ pk ▪.....HHH--------------------------> %fig2 %fig3

→PK :

Fig. 2

Fig. 3 %fig4

%fig5

  Fig. 4 P K

9

T W 1

I Q

(.)+it’s- it’s ↑quite popular in Taiwan hah▪Δhah= ->▪Δopens mouth-> ->+ P K

7 8

 107

A

%fig7

 

Fig. 5 T W 1

%fig6

I Q

B

Fig. 6 T W 1

langu°a%ges like ▪ΔI mean°= ->▪Δholds her left hand->

  Fig. 7

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%fig8

Fig. 8 10

TW1: =er: Mandarin. pk -..HHH-(describes a circle)->1.13

11 12 13

PK : [[▪Mandarin]▪ IQ : [[+Mandarin][I know Mandarin yeah ] TW1: [ye:s=Mandarin andΔ the] other language like+ pk -----------,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,Δ pk ▪raises HD▪ iq +nods seven times ->+

14 15

pk iq

a:: .hh ah- (0.6) it’s it-it I ↑think it-it depen- (.) ▪+depends on different er:: ▪ (.) different people+ because ▪nods thrice ->▪ +swing her HD thrice and nods thrice quickly +

pk

.hhhh er: some people (0.4) lo:ve (.) to learn Japane▪:se ▪nods->l.19

16 17 18 19

[+and >some peopleer-er-er> pk ->▪

20

TW1: but the bu’ ↑English▪ is a required language▪ (.) pk ▪nods four times softly ▪

21

required language [language in Taiwan

Here, an instance of the FT-Q is observed in lines 8–9. PK overlaps and initiates a question that develops the topic and orients to TW1 as an authority on multilingualism in Taiwan (i.e., “s::so what is your major langu°age like I mean°”). The overlap takes place at a possible TRP where TW1 applies turn-taking rule 1c and continues to return to what she has said before (compare her utterances in lines 2–3 and 5–7). TW1 first states that many people learn Japanese in her country (lines 1–3).

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This is mainly addressed to IQ as is evident in TW1’s gaze orientation (Goodwin 1984), although TW1 quickly looks at JP2 (see Diagrams B and A above lines 2 and 3 respectively) and stretches her left hand toward him (i.e., a deictic gesture in McNeill 1992) while saying “learned Japanese” in line 3 (see Fig. 1 below line 3). At this first possible TRP (i.e., at the end of line 3), any of the interactants can take a turn. Here, the original questioner IQ and another co-interactant PK produce minimal responses having understood what TW1 has said. PK slightly tosses her head (see below line 5) and produces an acknowledgment token ah in line 4 that is elongated in a soft voice. IQ, on the other hand, indicates her acknowledgment by means of non-verbal behaviors. Although she has kept smiling (see below line 1) and softly nodding to support the continuity of TW1’s explanation in lines 1–3, she stops smiling, makes a more serious face, and nods twice (see below line 5) soon after the possible TRP at the end of line 3. This change in facial expressions indicates that IQ understands what TW1 has said. This co-occurs with TW1’s acknowledgment token yeah that is immediately followed by the preposition in (line 5) which may be an attempt to say in Taiwan. On the other hand, TW1 continues at the possible TRP at the end of line 3 by applying rule 1c, and begins to rephrase what she has said before in lines 5–6 (i.e., “yea=in it’s-it’s ↑quite popular in Taiwan”). This rephrasing is addressed to JP2 as indicated by TW1’s gaze orientation. During a micro pause of 0.2 seconds in line 6, which follows the preposition in, TW1 starts to shift her gaze toward JP2 (see Diagram A above line 6). She then rephrases what she has said before (line 6) while maintaining her gaze on JP2 (see Diagram B above line 6). Here, TW1 is not only being explicit (i.e., an explicitness strategy in Mauranen 2007) but also pursuing more substantive responses from JP2. Arriving at the second possible TRP at the end of line 6, TW1 again chooses to continue talking and applies rule 1c, while PK prepares for the upcoming FT-Q to apply rule 1b. When TW1 is briefly laughing at the end of line 6, PK opens her mouth to initiate the upcoming FT-Q (see below lines 6 and 8). This behavior indicates PK’s sensitivity toward the possible TRP, although the actual vocalization is somewhat delayed (see a delayed response in Murata 1994a; see also Schegloff 2000b; Wong 2004). However, TW1 does not notice this change in PK’s facial posture because she has shifted her gaze from JP2 to the original addressee IQ (see Diagrams B and C above line 6). She then starts to repeat herself, prefacing with a discourse marker so which projects closure of the informing activity (line 7). Here, TW1’s repetitive contribution to the ongoing interaction can be regarded as her orientation toward Grice’s (1975) maxim of quantity. That is, TW1 makes her contribution “as informative as is required” for the purpose of the exchange (Grice 1975: 45). In addition, her self-repetition is also accompanied by a metaphoric gesture (McNeill 1992) that signals the maintenance of the floor. While saying “so lots of” (line 7), TW1 turns

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her left hand around, with her palm upward in front of her chest in order to show the meaning of “lots of” with her hand gesture and then brings it back to her left knee (see Figs. 2–3 below line 8). This suggests that TW1 is keeping the floor while initiating the utterance in line 7. PK starts to articulate the FT-Q while TW1 pauses for 0.4 seconds in line 7 and shifts her gaze to PK (see Diagram A above line 7). This gaze from TW1, which is a crucial preliminary step for speakership incipiency (Goodwin 1979), allows PK to ask the question that maintains the current topic and is oriented to the overlapped speaker TW1 as the authority on the topic (lines 8–9). PK could have relinquished the floor upon realizing that TW1 continued. Yet having understood TW1 and observed the repetition, she pursues her question and exploits the following hand gestures to claim speakership. Almost simultaneously with TW1’s hand gesture (see Figs. 2–3 below line 8), PK raises her left hand to the level of her chest and swings it vertically several times (see Figs. 4–7 below line 8 and Fig. 8 below line 9). The swinging of her hand is orderly organized relative to the major stress of the ongoing TCU (i.e., an on-stress gesture, Schegloff 1984; see also a beat gesture in McNeill 1992). The thrust and the acme of the hand swinging coincide with the stress of each lexical item (i.e., what, your, and major). Here, PK’s use of the FT-Q not only indicates her understanding of, as well as interest in, what has been said but also actively contributes to driving the conversation forward that has stagnated due to TW1’s repetition as a result of the application of turn-taking rule 1c. This pattern enhances mutual understanding among the interactants and shows reciprocity of conversation. Observing PK’s claim of speakership, TW1 eventually relinquishes the floor. However, the FT-Q is not treated as interruptive by the interactants in its sequence. As the above analysis shows, there are no signals of being interrupted; rather, the utterance is simply cut off in an abrupt manner (Bilmes 1997; see also Schegloff 2002). PK implicitly claims speakership by the hand gesture, as explained earlier. Yet upon this, TW1 quickly shifts into recipiency and immediately provides the answer in line 10 which is a sequentially normative response of the adjacency pair (Schegloff and Sacks 1973). This answer moves the conversation forward. Subsequently, PK and IQ repeat TW1’s answer in order to show their understanding (i.e., “Mandarin” in line 11 and “Mandarin I know Mandarin yeah” in line 12 respectively). Their responses highlight TW1’s continued authoritative status and provide her with another opportunity to act as the topic expert. TW then elaborates on the ongoing topic (lines 13–18 and 20–21). In the excerpt, the overall exchanges are fairly smooth and efficient. Observing the exchanges of this kind, it can be said that the “potential” FTA of overlapping does not actually threaten positive face and negative face of the hearer  – and thus those of the speaker due to mutual vulnerability of face. Rather, the close monitoring of each other’s

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 111

turn-taking and the accommodating floor negotiation enable the interactants to manage the “potential” face-threatening moment of overlapping in a cooperative and face-saving manner. In her analysis of a 30-minute group discussion of four international students in a German university, House (2002a) argues that ELF interactants are less sensitive to TRPs. This means that they simply start talking without waiting for suitable TRPs, adding that questions sometimes are not followed by their sequentially expected answers. The above excerpt, however, suggests quite the opposite view.14 Although PK overlaps with TW1, this does not necessarily imply non-smoothness in turn-taking especially as the overall pace of the conversation is fairly fast and smooth. In Excerpt 5.1, the overlapped speaker gradually relinquishes the floor and then provides the overlapping speaker with the SPP of the adjacency pair. Furthermore, despite the fact that the overlapping speaker implicitly claims speakership by means of the hand gesture, the overlapped speaker does not show signals of being interrupted (Bilmes 1997; see also Schegloff 2002). The same phenomenon is observed in all other observed cases of FT-Qs in the present data. The observations suggest that both the overlapping and the overlapped speakers skillfully manage the “potential” FTA of overlapping, especially the use of the FT-Q, in a face-saving manner. The overlapping speaker exploits the FT-Q in order to implicitly signal his/her understanding of, and interest in, the current speaker’s talk and participation, thereby propelling the conversation. The overlapped speaker also contributes to the ongoing interaction by being explicit in clarifying her statements in line with the maxim of quantity of Grice’s (1975) cooperative principle. Simultaneously, both speakers negotiate the floor in an accommodating manner that prevents the FT-Q from becoming interruptive and face-threatening. In this way, mutual understanding in the ELF interactions is enhanced, and the reciprocity of the conversation and the face negotiation are highlighted. So far, I have examined how the FT-Q, which takes the floor from the current speaker by questioning, is exploited in its sequences by enabling the user to participate in the ongoing conversation in a skillful manner. The next section discusses how another type of floor-taking overlap, namely an FT-E, is exploited in its interactional sequence.

14 The different findings between House’s (2002a) study and this one can be attributed to the nature of conversational data. While this study examined casual conversations, House’s study examined a group discussion on the role of English as a lingua franca. While the interactants in the casual conversations can talk about whatever they want, those in the group discussion, by contrast, must offer their opinions on the discussion topic. Proficiency levels in English may also affect the delivery of turn-taking; however, the proficiency levels of the participants in both studies are likely fairly high, given their education at institutions that utilize English as the medium of instruction.

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5.2.1.2 Floor-taking expansion (FT-E) This section examines how an FT-E, which takes the floor from the current speaker by substantially giving informative or evaluative commentary logically connected with the preceding talk, is exploited in the casual ELF conversations. Although the occurrence of FT-Es was less prominent than that of FT-Qs in the present data, instances of FT-E sometimes result in controlling the direction and the content of the ongoing topic (see content control in Goldberg 1990: 892). An examination of the interactional sequences of FT-Es has shown that FT-Es could be subdivided into two types, depending on whether the FT-E in question develops the ongoing topic proactively or retroactively. For the sake of simplicity, I will refer to the former as a proactive FT-E and the latter as a retroactive FT-E. While a proactive FT-E gives an informative or evaluative comment on the overlapped speaker’s talk, a retroactive FT-E denotes a turn extension of its user’s own prior talk (cf. prolonging and appending moves respectively in Eggins and Slade 1997).15 In what follows, I will present an instance of each type of FT-E in detail, in order to examine how such an overlap is treated by the interactants in its sequence (Bilmes 1997; Brown and Levinson 1987; see also Schegloff 2000a, 2002). 5.2.1.2.1 Proactive FT-E Having identified instances of proactive FT-Es, the interactional environments were then examined.16 It was found that a proactive FT-E occurs when the overlapping speaker projects the possible TRP, where the overlapped current speaker applies rule 1c of turn-taking and continues to expand her/his talk by exemplifying or rephrasing what has been said in the earlier turns. Excerpt 5.2 involves such an example. Here,

15 Eggins and Slade (1997), who investigated casual conversation from a discourse analytic approach, argue that a prolonging move is the current speaker’s continuing move that adds further information to her/his prior move. An appending move, on the other hand, is the one that occurs when the speaker has made one move, lost the turn, but then instantly regains it in order to produce another move which has a logical connection with the prior talk of her/his own (Eggins and Slade 1997: 199). 16 The earlier version of the analysis of Excerpts 5.2 was originally published in Journal of Pragmatics, Vol. 170, Mayu Konakahara, Single case analyses of two overlap sequences in casual ELF conversations from a multimodal perspective: Toward the consideration of mutual benefits of ELF and CA, pp. 301–316, Copyright Elsevier (2020). The analytical focus is the same in the paper and this section. However, they are different in threefold. First, while the aim of the paper is to show interactional sensitivity achieved through the use of multimodal resources, that of this section is to show the interactional function of a proactive FT-E in its sequence. Second, this section utilizes diagrams for the presentation of gaze orientations for the sake of readability, but the paper uses Mondada’s (2016) conventions. Third, the analysis in this section was also conducted from the perspective of politeness theory, different from that in the paper.

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 113

the interactants CN2 (Chinese), TH3 (Thai), and TH4 (Thai) are course mates doing PhDs in different domains of linguistics (extracted from Conversation J). While TH3 knows both CN2 and TH4, CN2 and TH4 have met each other – or at least have talked to each other – for the first time during the recording. In the excerpt, they are talking about their time schedule. CN2, TH4, and TH3 are sitting from left to right in this order (see Appendix D for the seat configuration of the participants). Excerpt 5.2 : Proactive FT-E during the exemplification of the prior utterance Study hours (2) [J(2); 20:36; 727–739 / CN2, TH3, TH4] 1 CN2: [when you] when you go to your 2 office everyday. C N 2

T H 3

T H 4

C N 2

T H 4

A 3

TH3: th4

T H 3

T H 4

T H 3

A

TH4: th3 th3

B

TH3:

T H 3

C N 2

C

[eleve:: n¿ ]Δ(not **+Δ)[hh [nine ten eleven¿] [hhh huhhuh hah .hh= Δshakes HDΔ +smiles-> T H 4

C N 2

T H 3

C N 2

6

B

+hhmm::: Δnormally: Δ(.)+▪(1.1) ▪ +frowns +▪shakes HD▪ Δshakes HD Δ T H 4

4 5

T H 3

A

B

=+e%lev%en %noon >or somet%imes< ->+.HHH----------------..-----..->l.8 %fig9%fig10 %fig11 %fig12

Fig. 9

Fig. 10

Fig. 11

Fig. 12

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C N 2

7 8

T H 4

A

T H 3

B

TH3: ▪°jus%t° [▪a %afternoon ] →CN2: [yeah I’m always interest in] ▪opens mouth▪ th3 ->...-----..---------------------------->1.11 %fig13 %fig14

Fig. 13 9 10 11

C N 2

Fig. 14

people’s [timeta]b+le% [huhhuh.hh]%+[I always] like to (*) TH3: [yeah::] [yeah::::] TH4: [£hhhhhh£ ] th3 ->,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,+leans fwd + %fig15 %fig16

Fig. 15 12 13 14

Fig. 16

TH3: mm CN2: .hh okay I tell you mine. I usually get up arou:nd eight o’clock¿

Here, an instance of a proactive FT-E is observed in lines 8–9. CN2 overlaps and further develops the ongoing topic by giving an informative comment in response to TH3’s preceding talk. The FT-E occurs when the overlapping speaker CN2 projects the possible TRP and thus applies rule 1b of turn-taking, where the overlapped speaker TH3 continues to expand her talk by exemplifying what she has said (i.e., rule 1c). In response to CN2’s question on the time of arrival at the office in the university (lines 1–2), TH3 and TH4 collaboratively provide the answer in lines 3–5. TH3 takes time to think about the average arrival time at the office, looking mid-distance up as shown in Figs. A and B above line 3 (i.e., thinking face in Goodwin

5.2 Findings and discussion 

 115

and Goodwin 1986). She stretches the hesitation marker “hmm:::” and the word “normally::,” pauses for 1.3 seconds (i.e., a micro pause plus a pause of 1.1 seconds), frowns and thus makes a confused face, and shakes her head once during the second half of the pause (see below line 3). Having observed the series of TH3’s hesitation phenomena and her thinking face, TH4, who seems to know a little about TH3’s time schedule (i.e., Type 2 knowables in Pomerantz 1980: 187), offers the possible time to TH3 in line 5 (i.e., “nine ten eleven”). TH3 almost simultaneously comes up with the average time and produces it (line 4), and thus the cooperative behavior of TH4 results in completion overlap (Cogo and Dewey 2012; Kalocsai 2011). Here, TH3 directs her gaze at TH4 (see Diagram A above line 4). Maintaining her gaze on TH4 (see Diagram B above line 4), TH3 shakes her head and denies what TH4 has been offered with a smile on her face (see below line 5). Perhaps TH3 is saying “not that early” or “not at nine,” although what she has said exactly is inaudible (line 4). TH3 and TH4 then burst into shared laughter (lines 4 and 5). After completing this insertion sequence (Schegloff 2007), TH3 then restates the average time more precisely, directly addressing it to the original questioner, CN2, as is evident in the gaze orientations (see Diagram C above line 4 and Diagram A above line 6). She first states that the average arrival time is “eleven noon” (line 6). She then applies turn-taking rule 1c to explain that she sometimes arrives at the office in the afternoon (i.e., “or sometimes just a afternoon” in lines 6–7). Here, TH3 is being precise by giving a detailed answer to the question which is produced in accordance with the maxim of quality in Grice’s (1975) cooperative principle (i.e., being truthful”). On the other hand, the overlapping speaker CN2 carefully monitors turn-taking and topical development of the ongoing interaction. The initiation of the proactive FT-E starts in the midst of this explication of TH3. Yet if one closely examines non-verbal behaviors, CN2 starts to prepare for its imminent production near the possible TRP (i.e., after “eleven noon” in line 6). By applying turn-taking rule 1b, CN2 starts to open her mouth (see below line 8) immediately after TH3 says “or sometimes” at a fairly fast pace (line 6). She then briefly brings her gaze to TH4 who has brought her gaze toward CN3 slightly earlier than her (see Diagram B above line 6 and Diagram A above line 7) and starts to articulate the FT-E, initiating it with the acknowledgment token yeah (line 8). Having understood TH3’s answer and projected the completion of her talk, CN2 moves the ongoing topic forward and explains why she has asked such a question (lines 8–9). Here, although the use of the proactive FT-E is somewhat delayed from the possible TRP (Murata 1994a), it demonstrates an understanding of what has been said, develops the ongoing topic forward, and shows tokens of active participation in the ongoing interaction. The overlapped speaker TH3, however, is still keeping the floor when CN3 initiates the proactive FT-E, although she gradually shifts into recipiency. This is observable in the series of her metaphoric and beat gestures (McNeill 1992; see

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also on-stress gesture in Schegloff 1984). TH3 first waves her hands – mainly her right hand but also supplementarily left hand  – in a circle in front of her chest when saying “eleven noon” in order to indicate the metaphoric meaning of around “eleven” or “noon” (see Figs. 9–11 below line 6). She then puts her palms together when saying “or sometimes” in preparation for the ensuing beat gesture (see Fig. 12 below line 6). Keeping the palms together, she taps the table with the sides of her hands while saying “just” in a soft voice (see Fig. 13 below line 8). Slightly moving the hands whose palms are separated to the right side, she again taps the table with the sides of her hands three times when saying “a afternoon,” with emphasis on the first syllable of the word afternoon (see Fig. 14 below line 8). The series of TH3’s hand gestures indicate her determination to hold the floor. This suggests that TH3 may interpret CN2’s proactive FT-E as interruptive at least to some extent (Bilmes 1997; see content control interruptions in Goldberg 1990: 892).17 However, it should be noted that TH3 soon shifts into recipiency in the subsequent turns. She retracts her hands in front of her chest where the hands originally departed and leans over toward CN2 (see Figs. 15–16 below line 11). She produces the acknowledgment token yeah twice (line 10) in response to CN2’s talk with a smile on her face (see Fig. 16 below line 11). Given that TH3 smoothly shifts into recipiency and even smiles during the production of the acknowledgment tokens, it is possible to say that the proactive FT-E does not necessarily have a negative impact on the interaction. The above exchanges between the overlapping and the overlapped speakers suggest that they interactionally manage a “potential” FTA of overlapping by closely monitoring turn-taking as well as by negotiating the floor in an accommodating manner. The overlapping speaker initiates the proactive FT-E near the possible TRP, thereby actively participating in the ongoing interaction while pursuing speakership when overlapping. The overlapped speaker, on the other hand, physically signals the hold of the floor to some extent but smoothly shifts from speakership to recipiency. Similar to the case of the FT-Q discussed in the previous section, the interactants thus cooperatively manage the “potential” face-threatening moment of overlapping in order to avoid making such a moment threatening. The use of the proactive FT-E in the above excerpt, which is built on the prior speaker’s talk, signals its user’s understanding of what has been said. In this sense,

17 This does not mean that all instances of proactive FT-Es observed in the present data are treated as interruptive in interactions. Such an interpretation is determined by each individual case of a proactive FT-E.

5.2 Findings and discussion 

 117

it is similar to response overlaps (e.g., backchannels and short responses), as defined by Cogo and Dewey (2012). However, while such a short response overlap merely supports the continuity of the current speaker’s talk, a proactive FT-E moves forward the topical development that is stagnated due to the repetitive behavior of the overlapped speaker. As the above analysis shows, the proactive FT-E occurs when the overlapping speaker projects the possible TRP and applies rule 1b, where the overlapped current speaker continues to exemplify what she has said earlier by applying turn-taking rule 1c; this is also observable in other instances of proactive FT-Es. This suggests that the use of the proactive FT-E, when compared to that of a short response overlap, shows a more active, or even aggressive, attitude of its user toward the topical development and thus contributes to her/his participation in the ongoing conversation. So far, I have examined how the proactive FT-E develops the ongoing topic. Yet in some cases, FT-Es are a turn extension of its user’s prior talk that helps develop the ongoing topic retroactively (i.e., a retroactive FT-E). The next section discusses such a case. 5.2.1.2.2 Retroactive FT-E Examining the sequences of FT-Es shows that an FT-E can be sometimes a turn extension of its user’s earlier talk. Such a retroactive FT-E occurs when the next speaker has already started to provide a short evaluative comment on the preceding talk by applying turn-taking rule 1b. The person who loses the turn resumes her/his talk and appends additional evaluative or informative commentary on her/ his own earlier talk. This is also the application of rule 1b and further explains the earlier talk, thereby enhancing its clarity (i.e., an explicitness strategy in Mauranen 2007). Excerpt 5.3 contains such an example. Here, the interactants TH2 (Thai) and JP7 (Japanese) are course mates doing a PhD in Applied Linguistics, while JP5 (Japanese) and JP6 (Japanese) are undergraduate students studying Politics and Sociology respectively (extracted from Conversation F). TH2, JP5, and JP7 belong to the same tango class, while JP6, who is a friend of JP5 and JP7, has met TH2 for the first time during the recording. Here, they are talking about the tango party that TH2 is planning to organize in the following week. JP6 tends to be quiet because she does not belong to the tango class. The excerpt starts with JP5’s suggestion of inviting their friends and acquaintances to the party via Facebook, which constitutes the FPP of a suggestion-acceptance/decline adjacency pair (Schegloff and Sacks 1973). As an organizer of the party, TH2 engages in the extended sequence of justification in the excerpt. JP6, TH2, JP7, and JP5 are sitting from left to right in this order (see Appendix C for the seat configuration of the participants).

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Excerpt 5.3: Retroactive FT-E giving justification Tango party [F(1), 3:41, 1–10 / JP5(M), JP6, JP7, TH2] 1 JP5: ↑↑I think you can advertises this event on the Facebook 2 ▪so not only ▪[tango classmates¿ ] 3 TH2: [I think I will ]▪yeah.▪= ▪opens mouth ▪ ▪nods ▪ 4 5

JP5: =▪>ya ya< (a lot of a[mount of a-]) →TH2: ▪@+[no=not just] Δnot@ %just er+ ▪opens mouth ▪ Δ.....HHH,,,,,-> jp7 @nods twice @ jp5 +nods softly thrice + %fig17

Fig. 17 6 7 8

claΔss+mates b[ut ]+= @[>y[a=ya th2->,,,Δ jp5 +nods softly thrice+ JP5: JP7:

9

TH2: =of course@ if I know (the) number of people who @attending jp7 ->@ @nods->l.11

10 11

that would be nice yeah¿ JP7: ↑yeah@:::. I think they (regular) people will be come. ->@

12 13

TH2: jp7

14 15 16

you k[now (.) ju]st @yeah. [▪yea@h.▪ sure@] ▪nods ▪ @nods ->@ @nods->l.15

(0.4) TH2: but to be@ honest I I didn’t (.) plan it to be: jp7 ->@ big o::[:::r (0.7)] anything.=

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 119

An instance of a retroactive FT-E is observed in lines 5–6. TH2 overlaps and justifies her earlier utterance. In response to JP5’s suggestion (line 1), TH2 shows her acceptance in line 3. She opens her mouth and prepares herself for the imminent articulation of the acceptance soon after arriving at the first possible TRP (see below line 3), which is after “Facebook” in line 1.18 This preparation co-occurs with JP5’s continuing move that adds a resultative remark to the prior utterance of his own (i.e., “so not only tango classmates” in line 2). In response to TH2’s acceptance, JP5 quickly produces the acknowledgment tokens “ya ya” at a faster pace and then attempts to elaborate on his suggestion (i.e., “(a lot of amount of a-)” in line 4). TH2 could have relinquished the floor to JP5 since she has already provided JP5 with the SPP of a suggestion-acceptance adjacency pair (Schegloff and Sacks 1973). However, she applies rule 1b at the possible TRP at the end of her utterance in line 3.19 Almost simultaneously with the articulation of JP5’s fast-paced acknowledgment tokens in line 4, TH2 opens her mouth to prepare for the imminent start of the talk (see below line 5). She then justifies her acceptance of the suggestion, the actual production of the FT-E being somewhat delayed from the TRP (Murata 1994a). She takes over JP5’s resultative remark in line 2 with a slight modification (i.e., not only is replaced with not just) and claims the floor by recycling the prior part of her utterance (i.e., “no=not”; see Jefferson 2006; Schegloff 2000a). The claim of speakership is also reinforced by the use of a deictic gesture (McNeill 1992), that is, she extends her right hand, with her palm upward toward JP5 (see Fig. 17 below line 5), and then brings it back on her laps where it originally departed. TH2 successfully takes the floor from JP5, justifies her acceptance of JP5’s suggestion, and maintains her status as the organizer of the party. It is also worth noting that this justification in fact serves as a pre-sequence to the ensuing weak disagreement to the suggestion in lines 15–16 (i.e., “but to be honest I didn’t plan it to be big or anything”). Although TH2 accepts JP5’s suggestion in line 3, she justifies and modifies her acceptance, having the ensuing disagreement in her mind. This suggests that the use of the retroactive FT-E can also be a motive for the face-saving purpose.

18 For me, the overlapping talk of TH2 in line 3 is not regarded as an FT-E because it is fairly short and completed with falling intonation that signals the end of the utterance. That is, no noticeable signals of holding the floor are observable, thereby making the talk look more like a response overlap (Murata 1994a). 19 Alternatively, this application of the turn-taking rule can be regarded as rule 1c, where the current speaker continues, at least for TH2, because she immediately opens her mouth for the upcoming restart of her talk after completing the preceding TCU, as explained in the main text. Yet in other cases, the occurrences of retroactive FT-Es result from the application of rule 1b whose actual production of the utterance is somewhat delayed from the possible TRP.

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Observing TH2’s claim of speakership, the overlapped speaker JP5 relinquishes the floor to her in order to resolve the overlap (line 4). Yet there are no signals of being interrupted; his utterance is just abruptly cut off (Bilmes 1997; see also Schegloff 2002) as he quickly switches to recipiency and actively plays the recipient role. JP5 produces the acknowledgment tokens “ya ya” at a faster pace in line 7 when TH2 produces the first half of the syntactic construction not just. . . but. . . (lines 5–6). Having attempted to state the same content earlier (see line 2), JP5 understands what TH2 wants to say without waiting for the actual production of the second half of the syntactic construction. JP7 also understands this situation and produces an acknowledgment token “mm:::” in line 8. Subsequently, having obtained acknowledgment from the co-interactants, TH2 further justifies her acceptance of the suggestion, stating that it is as a matter of course (lines 9–10). TH2 then produces the weak agreement (line 13), which is followed by a pause of 0.4 seconds (line 14) indicating an upcoming dispreferred response (Pomerantz 1984). In the above exchanges between TH2 and JP5, a “potential” face-threatening moment of overlapping is interactionally negotiated in an accommodating way. The overlapping speaker claims speakership by means of paralinguistic and physical conduct, as presented in the analysis above. Nonetheless, her contribution to the interaction, namely the retroactive FT-E, results from the relevant application of turn-taking rule 1b (or 1c) at the possible TRP despite being somewhat delayed (Murata 1994a). This propels the ongoing interaction. Upon the occurrence of the retroactive FT-E, the overlapped speaker JP5, who has started to talk in response to TH2’s prior utterance by applying rule 1b, smoothly yields the floor to the overlapping speaker TH2. By doing so, JP5 offers TH2, the organizer of the party, another chance of providing information connected to the ongoing topic, i.e., the tango party. While the main purpose of the FT-E is transactional (Brown and Yule 1983), it can also function as a pre-sequence to the weak disagreement in its interactional sequence. This suggests that the management of a “potentially” face-threatening moment of overlapping is reciprocal, where both speakers closely monitor turn-taking and adjust the floor negotiation in order to prevent such a moment from being threatening. In her analysis of ELF conversations in a Malaysian higher education setting, Kaur (2011b) points out that a variety of self-repair practices is exploited in order to make utterances explicit and to improve communicative clarity (see also Mauranen 2007). The use of the retroactive FT-E also has a similar function to that of self-repair practices. In other words, it clarifies what its user has said earlier – the same observation is applicable to all other instances of retroactive FT-Es observed in the present data. What should be added, however, is that the retroactive FT-E is interactionally managed in a face-saving way, and this highlights the reciprocal nature of the conversation. The aspect of this kind can be revealed only when one analyzes how the phenomenon in question is utilized in its interactional sequence.

5.2 Findings and discussion 

 121

So far, I have shown how the two types of FT-Es, namely proactive and retroactive FT-Es, are exploited in the present data. Arguably, the use of the proactive FT-E develops the ongoing topic proactively and signals an understanding of, as well as an interest in, the prior speaker’s talk, and moves the talk forward. The overlapped speaker provides the answer in the next turn which also relevantly moves the talk forward. The use of the retroactive FT-E, on the other hand, develops the ongoing topic retroactively and enhances the clarity of what its user has earlier said, thereby facilitating mutual understanding. The overall pace of the conversation is fairly smooth and fast and the overlapping speakers are sensitive to TRPs. Before moving on to the next section, I will summarize how the three kinds of floor-taking overlaps, namely an FT-Q, a proactive FT-E, and a retroactive FT-E, are used in the present data. By scrutinizing these kinds of floor-taking overlaps, Sections 5.2.1.1 and 5.2.1.2 have revealed how the overlapping speakers variably contribute to the topical development in progress and reciprocity in conversation. An FT-Q and a proactive FT-E take place in a similar interactional environment, that is, when the overlapping speaker projects the possible TRP, where the overlapped speaker applies turn-taking rule 1c and repeats, rephrases, or exemplifies what s/he has said. These two kinds of overlaps signal an understanding of what has been said, move the topical development forward, and contribute to the reciprocal nature of the conversation. The difference between an FT-Q and a proactive FT-E simply resides in their forms and functions: An FT-Q, which is the FPP of a question-answer adjacency pair (Schegloff and Sacks 1973), temporally takes the floor from the current speaker and seeks information from the overlapped speaker or another recipient to whom the floor is immediately relinquished. A proactive FT-E, on the other hand, takes the form of a statement and therefore enables its user to hold the floor more extensively than that of an FT-Q. Similarly, a retroactive FT-E enables its user to hold the floor extensively. Nevertheless, it differs from a proactive FT-E in that its user applies rule 1b (or sometimes 1c) of turn-taking and takes the floor to add justification or explanations to her/his earlier talk. That is, while a proactive FT-E is recipient-oriented, a retroactive FT-E is speaker-oriented. Goldberg (1990: 892) examined interruptions in native English conversations, arguing that an “interrupting” question (i.e., process control) is less face-threatening than an “interrupting” statement (i.e., content control) because it returns the floor to the “interrupted” speaker. A similar observation may be applied to the use of an FT-Q and an FT-E in terms of their forms as well as the functions associated with these forms. Yet if we scrutinized individual interactional sequences, we found that the instances of the FT-Q and the FT-E are not necessarily treated as interruptive by the interactants (Bilmes 1997; see also Schegloff 2002), as shown in the current data. Even when the overlapping and/or the overlapped speakers claim speakership, such overlaps do not necessarily have a negative impact on the inter-

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actions (see Schegloff 2002). This argument is possible because both speakers interactionally manage such a “potentially” face-threatening moment by negotiating the floor in an accommodating manner. It also suggests that both the overlapped and the overlapping speakers are socially and interactionally competent in exploiting and responding to the floor-taking overlaps in English, thereby actively engaging in the topical development of the ongoing interactions in the given contexts. So far, the aforementioned points have shown how floor-taking overlaps are exploited in the present data. However, not all instances of overlaps bidding for the floor succeed in doing so, i.e., floor-attempting overlaps. The next section will discuss how such overlaps are exploited in the present data of ELF interactions.

5.2.2 Floor-attempting overlaps Not all instances of overlaps that bid for the floor succeed in taking it in the present data, although the occurrence of these floor-attempting overlaps was far less frequent than that of floor-taking overlaps. The analysis of these “deviant” cases provides additional support for the ELF speakers’ strategic language use in terms of normative orientation to turn-taking and topical development (i.e., deviant case analysis in Silverman 2010; see also Schegloff 1968). Clearly, a floor-attempting overlap occurs when the overlapping speaker projects the possible TRP, where the overlapped current speaker continues (i.e., rule 1c) and adds new information to her/his preceding TCU. The additional TCU is typically articulated at a faster pace, in a higher pitch, and/or at a louder volume and is accompanied by hand gestures to claim speakership (Jefferson 2006; McNeill 1992; Schegloff 1984). The overlapping speaker, on the other hand, usually fails to obtain the other interactants’ gazes when overlapping; however, s/he retrieves, or tries to retrieve, what s/he attempts to say in the subsequent turns if its retrieval is consequential for the development of the topic in progress.20 Combined with the overlapped speaker’s continuous hold of the floor, this pattern accumulatively builds up competitiveness in the floor negotiation. These findings suggest that despite the difficulty in taking the floor in a multi-party conversation by the overlapping speaker, s/he skillfully participates in the ongoing interaction by watching for another chance to express what s/he believes to be consequential for the development of the ongoing topic. Moreover, floor-attempting overlap also takes the form of a question or a statement. For the sake of simplicity, I will refer to the former as a floor-attempting

20 Yet if what the overlapping speaker has attempted to say is not consequential for the development of the ongoing topic, s/he would not reinitiate it in the later turns.

5.2 Findings and discussion 

 123

question (FA-Q) and the latter as a floor-attempting expansion (FA-E). The following sections examine instances of an FA-Q and an FA-E in detail in order to illustrate the above points. 5.2.2.1 Floor-attempting question (FA-Q) Excerpt 5.4 contains an example of an FA-Q.21 Here, the interactants, IQ (Iraqi), PK (Pakistani), and TW1 (Taiwanese) are course mates doing an MA in TESOL (extracted from Conversation A). From several turns preceding the excerpt, TW1 has been talking about the climate in her country Taiwan. PK says that her country Pakistan also shares a similar climate to that in Taiwan. The following excerpt starts with PK’s elaboration of her response followed by an abrupt topic shift to her experience of seeing snow for the first time in Britain. IQ, PK, and TW1 are sitting from left to right in this order (see Appendix D for the seat configuration of the participants). Excerpt 5.4: Floor-attempting question (FA-Q) No snow in Pakistan [A(1), 6:35, 59–85 / IQ, JP2, PK, TW1; R= the researcher] 1 PK : [[it’s not] too cold yeah .h it’s the first time I saw 2 snow yeah? 3 (0.8) 4 TW1: oh:[::::][↑oh yeah ya=ya ] [I-I-I-I-I 5 PK : [yeah][£↑I enjoyed it£] [huh ↑huh huh huh [huh ] 6 IQ : [this] time 7 PK : yeah:::= 8 IQ : =in Pakistan¿ er= I Q

P K

T W 1

9 PK : =no: sn[o::w] 10 IQ : [only] th- ↑no s[now ] 11 PK : [no::][: >at allr-h-h-%how abou][t-> %fig18

21 The earlier version of the analysis of Excerpt 5.4 was originally published in Journal of Pragmatics, Vol. 170, Mayu Konakahara, Single case analyses of two overlap sequences in casual ELF conversations from a multimodal perspective: Toward the consideration of mutual benefits of ELF and CA, pp. 301–316, Copyright Elsevier (2020). Although the paper uses Mondada’s (2016) conventions for the presentation of gaze orientations, this section utilizes Rossano’s (2013) diagrams for it so that the readability of the transcript is increased. In addition, although the same overlapping question was analyzed, the analysis in this section was not only based on CA, as in the case of the paper, but also based on the perspective of politeness theory.

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Fig. 18 13 14 15

PK : =[sno[w¿ but er-] TW1: [(summer)°((mumbling)) IQ : [how is ] winter

Here, an instance of an FA-Q is initiated in line 12 and continues to line 14. TW1 attempts to ask about the climate in summer in Pakistan without changing the ongoing topic. However, she fails to take the floor. The FA-Q in the interactional sequence of this excerpt occurs when TW1 projects the possible TRP  – and thus applies rule 1b – where PK provides new information to the immediately preceding TCU of her own (line 11). In response to IQ’s confirmation question that starts in line 6 and continues in lines 8 and 10 (i.e., “this time in Pakistan¿ er only th-”), PK provides affirmative answers (i.e., “no: sno::w” and “no:::” in lines 9 and 11). TW1 projects the end of PK’s “no:::” in line 11 as a possible TRP and starts to prepare for the imminent question. She brings her gaze to PK (see the diagram above line 9) and then produces the question, simultaneously extending her right hand toward PK (see Fig. 18 below line 12). By doing so, TW1 attempts to show her understanding of and interest in what has been said, thereby eliciting further information that relates to the ongoing topic from PK. However, TW1 fails to take the floor due to some intricately interrelated causes. PK’s claim of speakership is much stronger than that of TW1, adding that the latter fails to obtain a gaze from the other interactants when overlapping. PK continues to talk at the first possible TRP and appends new information to her own preceding TCU (line 11). This is produced with marked vocal features. She firstly adds an intensifier “at all” at a faster pace and then talks about snow in Pakistan in a higher pitch after quickly breathing in (i.e., “.hh ↑it does snow¿ but er-” in lines 11 and 13). She also puts emphasis on the first syllable of the word “does” (line 11). Here, PK holds the floor while being engaged in elaborating her response to IQ’s question. On the other hand, TW1’s claim of speakership is comparatively weak, given that she stammers the FA-Q (i.e., “r-h-h-how” in line 12). She extends her right hand toward PK in order to signal imminent speakership (Schegloff 1984). However, neither PK nor IQ notices such behavior on the part of TW1 because they engage in the sequence of a question-answer adjacency pair (Schegloff and Sacks 1973) while

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maintaining a mutual gaze (see the diagram above line 9). Although TW1 brings her gaze toward PK and then selects her as an addressee when initiating the FA-Q (see also the diagram above line 9), she cannot obtain a gaze from the other interactants. This failure of obtaining a gaze seems particularly critical in a multi-party conversation (Rossano, Brown, and Levinson 2009). Due to these intricately interrelated causes, TW1 fails to take the floor and elicit an answer from PK. Observing PK’s elaboration of her talk, TW1 gradually gives up producing her question in order to resolve the overlap. The volume of her speech becomes softer (i.e., “°(in summer)°” in lines 12–14), and her right hand is gradually brought back on her lap where it originally departed. She then ends up mumbling (line 14). Given that TW1’s attempt has failed, the FA-Q has neither a positive nor negative impact on the ongoing interaction; therefore, it is treated neither as cooperative nor as interruptive (or face-threatening) by the overlapped speaker (Bilmes 1997; see also Schegloff 2000a, 2002). Yet although this is not necessarily explicitly observed in her behavior, from TW1’s perspective, she might feel excluded from the interaction, and thus her positive face and negative face are, to some extent, threatened. This failed attempt, however, is not the end of the story. If we examine the ensuing turns of Excerpt 5.4, we find that TW1 attempts to reinitiate the question – or at least attempts to initiate a related question  – as appropriate, according to turn-taking and topical development. The following is a continuation of Excerpt 5.4. Excerpt 5.5: The attempt of re-initiation of the FA-Q (continued from Excerpt 5.4) No snow in Pakistan [A(1), 6:47, 86–104 / IQ, JP2, PK, TW1] 15 IQ : [how is ] winter. 16 PK : [like] it’s it ↑does snow. 17 TW1: [ya ] 18 PK : it’s the winter the kind of er:::: winte::r¿ (.) even having 19 (***) the kind of ↓starting of the year. [(remember)?] 20 IQ : [uh huh ] 21 yeah= 22 PK : =.hh all the kind of winter that we have sometimes now? 23 TW1: [[mm hmm]= 24 IQ : [[mm hmm] 25 PK : =here 26 IQ : °mm hmm° I Q

27

P K

T W 1

PK : so it’s like that it doesn’t snow.=

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T W 1

P K

I Q

28 =[.hh] ↑but it’s er it’s ↑not in:[:::] 29 →TW1: [so:] 30 IQ : [jus]t raining¿ 31 PK : (.) it does rain a lo:t? 32 IQ : uh huh ((5 lines omitted; PK explains when the rain season is in Pakistan. This is addressed to both IQ and TW1.)) 38 PK : [yes there will be all] I Q

39 40

IQ :

T W 1

four seasons actually [.hhh] [yeah] I Q

41

P K

P K

T W 1

I Q

A

P K

T W 1

B

I Q

P K

T W 1

C

PK : we have o-of (.) very very scorching kind of heat summer? I Q

P K

T W 1

42

IQ : ▪+°ya°+▪= +tosses her head and nods+ tw1 ▪nods ▪

43 44

PK : =then we have spri:ng we have winter:: like all the four weathers

Here, TW1 attempts to reinitiate the question in line 29 (i.e., “so:”), although she again fails to take the floor. In line 15, IQ inquires about the climate in winter in Pakistan. Keeping a mutual gaze with PK, IQ successfully asks the question and obtains an elaborative answer from PK (lines 16, 18–19, 22, 25, and 27). Simultaneously with the start of PK’s response (line 16), TW1 produces a continuer “ya” in line 17 and thus demonstrates her participation in the ongoing interaction, despite the failed attempt in the preceding turn (i.e., the FA-Q in lines 12–13 in Excerpt 5.4). Given that the content of IQ’s question (i.e., the climate in winter) relates to what TW1 wanted to ask (i.e., that in summer), this continuer can be regarded as a show of her approval for IQ. After giving the elaborative response to IQ’s question, PK returns to the topic of snow in line 27 (i.e., “it doesn’t snow”). At this point, TW1

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projects the possible TRP and produces a discourse marker so (line 29) which is addressed to PK as far as her gaze orientation is concerned (see the diagram above line 28). As Raymond (2004) argues, the stand-alone so is used to prompt a relevant action from a recipient. Here, it can be considered that the discourse marker “so:” is used to prompt a further explanation about the climate, most probably, in summer, from PK. Unfortunately, there is no further evidence in TW1’s observable behaviors whether or not she attempts to reinitiate what she has tried to ask earlier. Yet considering the flow of the conversation, it is likely that TW1’s attempt is the re-initiation of the earlier failed question. Observing that PK’s talk still revolves around the topic of snow, TW1 attempts to move the topical development forward by reinitiating what she has wanted to ask (or by initiating a related question). Yet she again fails to ask the question. This is because PK is again in the process of elaborating on her talk while maintaining a mutual gaze with IQ (see the diagrams above lines 27 and 28). The continuation of speakership is again signaled vocally: PK quickly breathes in and then resumes her talk, keying up the pitch of her voice when saying “↑but” (line 28). Although TW1 has failed to take the floor and to ask what she has wanted to know about twice, the answer to TW1’s question becomes clear in line 41. In response to IQ’s question about rain in winter in line 30 (i.e., “just raining¿”), PK provides an answer in line 31 (i.e., “(.) it does rain a lo:t?”). The answer to the question about rain first develops into the explanation about the rain season (omitted from the excerpt) and then about the four seasons in Pakistan (i.e., “yes there will be all four seasons actually” in lines 38–39). The topical development finally reaches a talk about the climate in summer in line 41, where PK states that it is usually scorching in summer in her country. This explanation about the climate in summer is not directly addressed to TW1 who wanted to ask for the information, as far as PK’s gaze orientation is concerned. PK mainly looks at IQ while occasionally looking downward and upward (see the diagram above line 39 and Diagrams A-C above line 41). Yet TW1 acknowledges PK’s answer by softly nodding and maintaining her gaze at PK while IQ is producing an acknowledgment token ya in a soft voice in line 42 (see the diagram above line 42). PK then continues to elaborate on her talk in line 43, rephrasing what she has said before in lines 38–39. Here, the second FA-Q is not treated as face-threatening by the overlapped speaker (Bilmes 1997; Schegloff 2002) because it fails to substantially contribute to the ongoing interaction. Yet the overlapping speaker who fails to contribute may feel her positive face and negative face threatened to some extent although this is not necessarily clearly observed in her behavior. Upon failure, however, she smoothly shifts to recipiency and demonstrates her participation in the ongoing interaction by means of backchannels and nods.

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The series of the exchanges observed in Excerpts 5.4 and 5.5 suggest that the overlapping and the overlapped speakers are interactionally skillful in participating in the ongoing interaction in English. The overlapping speaker TW1 does not simply give up participating in the ongoing interaction, even when she fails to take the floor at the outset. Rather, she smoothly shifts into recipiency and demonstrates her participation in the ongoing interaction, and actively watches for another chance to (re)initiate what is unclear and consequential for the development of the ongoing topic. That is, she keenly monitors turn-taking and topical development and actively participates in the ongoing interaction. On the other hand, the overlapped speaker PK continues to elaborate on her talk even when she is overlapped. This, on the surface, suggests that she is not sensitive enough to reciprocating the overlapping speaker’s attempt to ask the question. However, PK does not intentionally ignore TW1’s overlapping attempt; she simply does not notice the attempt itself because the overlapping speaker is out of her sight, adding that her continuation is perfectly within her right as the normative selected answerer of the preceding question. That is, the overlapped speaker shows a normative orientation to turn-taking and the topical development in the ongoing interaction. This suggests that both interactants are interactionally skillful in their own ways in participating in the ongoing interaction. Having discussed the use of the FA-Q, another type of a floor-attempting overlap, an FA-E, will be analyzed. 5.2.2.2 Floor-attempting expansion (FA-E) This section discusses how an instance of an FA-E which attempts to take the floor to give informative or evaluative commentary on the ongoing topic but fails to do so at the outset, is exploited in its interactional sequence. The same observations as those of an FA-Q are applicable here. The person who fails to take the floor does not simply give up contributing to the ongoing topic. S/he smoothly shifts to recipiency and waits for another chance to retrieve what s/he wanted to say in the later turns if its retrieval is consequential for the development of the ongoing topic. Excerpt 5.6 contains such an example. In the excerpt, an FA-E is actually retrieved in the later turns after its failure at the first attempt. Here, the interactants, GR (Greek), JP7 (Japanese), and LY (Libyan) are course mates doing different PhDs in linguistics domains (extracted from Conversation G). In the excerpt below, all of the interactants are talking about Professor K, LY’s supervisor. However, the focus of their talk seems slightly different from one another. The focus of the conversation for the female interactants JP7 and GR is that JP7 often sees the professor around the university area. Hence, both interactants can be regarded as engaging in rapport-talk (Tannen 2007b). On the other hand, the

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main concern of the male interactant, LY, is to clarify that he wants to finish his PhD as soon as possible because the professor, his supervisor, is going to retire in the near future. Therefore, he can be regarded as engaging in report-talk (Tannen 2007b). LY has finally clarified his point after two failed attempts (see lines 2, 16, and 36 below). The slightly long excerpt is shown below. JP7, LY, and GR are sitting from left to right in this order (see Appendix D for the seat configuration of the participants). Excerpt 5.6: Floor-attempting expansion (FA-E) Professor K [G(1), 6:53, 187–226 / GR, JP7, LY] J P 7

1 2

JP7: although I I see him around >you [knowhe] %lives in (Place A)l.39 J P 7

37 38 39

J P 7

C

L Y

JP7: .hh ye:s. [he must be very] stoic@¿@and (s**) [maybe.] GR : [°oh my gosh° ] [°yeah°] ly @nods@ J P 7

34

J P 7

L Y

L Y

G R

J P 7

A

B

L Y

G R

J P 7

C

L Y

G R

LY: he’s [going to he he- (0.7) JP7: [£go%sh yo[u think▪£ hahhahhahhahhah GR: [huhhuhhuhhuh .hhh jp7->.......HHH.-,,,,,,,,,,▪ %fig 23

Fig. 23

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J P 7

40 41 42 43

LY : JP7: GR : LY :

L Y

A

[[he’s [[huh [[huhhuhhuh =and that’s

G R

J P 7

L Y

G R

B

][he’s going to] retire soo:n= ][°huhhuhhuh ] ] why [I’m really] want to finish=

Here, LY first bids for the floor in lines 2–3. Projecting the upcoming possible TRP (i.e., after “around” of JP7’s utterance in line 1), he briefly acknowledges what JP7 has said and then attempts to make his point by applying rule 1b of turn-taking (i.e., “yeah that’s that’s why I reall-” in lines 2–3). Yet he ends up relinquishing the floor because JP7 applies rule 1c and continues to add new information to her own preceding TCU in order to give support for it (i.e., “I see him around” in line 1); there are no signals of being “interrupted” here in JP7’s observable behaviors (Bilmes 1997; see also Schegloff 2002). JP7 first states that Professor K usually does cycling (line 1). She then explains that the professor lives in Place A (line 4) where JP7 also lives. During the transition from the former information to the latter, JP7 keeps the floor by making the following deictic gesture (McNeill 1992). She points her right thumb backward twice, and this indicates the abstract concept of “Place A” that she is about to refer to (see Fig. 19 below line 4). In addition, these pieces of information are addressed to GR as shown in her gaze directed toward GR (see the diagrams above lines 1 and 3). Observing these behaviors of JP7, LY relinquishes the floor, abruptly cutting off his utterance (line 3). Upon failure, he then shifts to recipiency and plays the role of a recipient, asking a confirmation question in order to express his surprise in response to JP7’s information on Professor K’s house (line 8). LY’s second bid for the floor occurs in line 16 (i.e., “↑because er”). LY projects the end of GR’s comment that is jokingly made (line 13) and attempts to reinitiate what he has been trying to say in the earlier turn (see “yeah that’s that’s why I reall-” in lines 2–3). Simultaneously with LY’s re-attempt, JP7 starts to make an iconic gesture of the upcoming lexical component of her talk, namely “jog” (McNeill 1992), by swinging her hands around in front of her chest (see Figs. 20–22 below line 17). Continuing the gesture, she adds further information about Professor K who sometimes jogs around Place A (line 17). This information is addressed to LY as far as the gaze orientation is concerned (Goodwin 1979; see Diagrams A and B above line 15). This series of JP7’s behaviors make LY relinquish the floor for the second time. After this second failed attempt to take the floor, LY begins to play a recipient role for a while. He produces an affirmative answer “yeah” in response to JP7’s overlapping expansion (line 18), provides laughter (i.e., “huh huh” in line 22),

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acknowledgment tokens (i.e., “°ya°” in lines 26 and 27 respectively), and softly nods twice when JP7 is saying “and” in line 32. During JP7’s utterance which projects the closure of her informing activity (line 32), LY gradually produces passive responses and becomes less engaged in the ongoing interaction (cf. Jefferson 1993). This less engagement in the interaction is also observable in LY’s gaze orientation. LY withdraws his gaze from JP7 although he briefly glimpses her when JP7 says “and” (see Diagrams A-C above line 32). In response to JP7’s completion of her informing activity, LY produces an acknowledgment token “yeah” in a soft voice while his gaze is withdrawn from JP7 (see the diagram above line 34). The series of LY’s verbal and non-verbal behaviors suggest that he might feel slightly excluded from the ongoing interaction and that his positive face and negative face are, to some extent, threatened, having failed twice to produce what he wants to say. However, he still demonstrates his participation in the ongoing interaction even minimally, waiting for JP7 and GR to finish their exchanges of rapport-talk (Tannen 2007b). The final bid for the floor occurs in lines 36–37 (i.e., “I ↑think he’s going to he he-”). LY projects the upcoming possible TRP (i.e., after GR sarcastically says “E-English” in line 35) and opens his mouth in preparation for the imminent production of the third bid for the floor by applying rule 1b (see below line 36). Having failed to take the floor twice and observed the completion of JP7’s extended talk, LY carries out making his point without relinquishing the floor despite JP7’s attempt to continue their rapport-talk with GR. In response to GR’s sarcastic comment “E-English” in line 35, JP7 shifts her gaze from LY to GR, although both JP7 and GR directed their gazes at LY when he initiated the third bid for the floor (see the diagram above line 35 and Diagram A above line 37). Slightly earlier than her gaze shift, JP7 starts to extend her right hand toward GR (see Fig. 23 below line 39). She then produces the exclamation “gosh” in a louder smiley voice and responds to GR’s sarcastic comment (line 38). JP7’s behavior deprives LY of GR’s gaze (see Diagram B above line 37). Maintaining a mutual gaze (see Diagram C above line 37), GR and JP7 thus burst into shared laughter (lines 38–39). LY raises his gaze and looks at JP7 when JP7 produces the exclamation “gosh” in line 38 (see Diagram B above line 37). This time, however, LY does not relinquish the floor to JP7 and GR. Shifting his gaze to GR (see Diagram C above line 37), he claims speakership by recycling part of his speech (i.e., “he he-” in line 37; Jefferson 2006; Schegloff 2000a). He temporally pauses for 0.7 seconds but immediately resumes talking in line 40 (i.e., “he’s he’s going to retire soo:n”). This successfully makes him regain gazes from GR and JP7 (see Diagram A above line 40). LY finally makes his point clear and starts report-talk (Tannen 2007b) after the twice failed attempts in lines 2 and 16. The series of the exchanges observed in Excerpt 5.6 suggest that despite the overlapping speaker’s failure to take the floor at the outset, he does not simply give

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up contributing to the ongoing interaction. Rather, he actively waits for another chance to reinitiate what he believes to be consequential for the development of the ongoing topic by playing the role of a recipient and by participating in the ongoing interaction  – although the re-initiation was not necessarily observed in all cases of FA-Es. These re-attempts, particularly the last successful one, enable the overlapping speaker, who fails to take the floor twice, to save his own positive face and negative face and to claim common ground with the co-interactants. In summary, it can be said that the two types of floor-attempting overlaps, an FA-Q and an FA-E, are exploited in the following interactional sequences, as argued in Sections 5.2.2.1 and 5.2.2.2. They occur when the overlapping speaker projects the possible TRP, where the overlapped current speaker applies rule 1c and adds new information to the immediately preceding TCU of her/his own as well as claims speakership by means of non-verbal behaviors. Besides, the use of a floor-attempting overlap per se does not show competitiveness in terms of floor management. Upon her/his initial failure to take the floor, however, the overlapping speaker can actively seek another chance to reinitiate what s/he believes to be necessary for the development of the ongoing topic, thereby demonstrating listenership and participation in the ongoing interaction. By doing so, s/he – at least to some extent – saves her/his positive and negative face that is threatened by being excluded from the interaction. This suggests that the overlapping speaker is skillful in participating in the ongoing interaction. On the other hand, the re-attempts of floor-taking in the extended sequence of discourse accumulatively build up competitiveness in the floor negotiation, yielding the series of overlaps. Yet none of the interactants exhibits signals of “interruptiveness” toward the overlaps (Bilmes 1997; see also Schegloff 2002) due to regarding them as tokens of active participation in the ongoing interaction. These observations lend support to the strategic language use of ELF speakers which has been reported in the existing research into ELF (e.g., Cogo and Dewey 2012; Seildhofer 2011).

5.3 Summary This chapter has investigated how competitive overlaps, which are “potentially” face-threatening from the perspective of politeness theory, are interactionally managed by interactants (i.e., facework) in the casual ELF conversations of international students studying at British universities. As reviewed in Chapter 3, most of the previous research into overlaps in ELF interactions, except a few studies (Cogo and Dewey 2012; Wolfartsberger 2011), focused on the use of cooperative overlaps, such as overlapping backchannels and utterance completion, which support the continuation of the current speaker’s talk (Cogo and Dewey 2012; Kalocsai 2011;

5.3 Summary  

 135

Meierkord 2000). Given the paucity of research into competitive overlaps, the chapter has focused on the analysis of overlaps that show a competitive nature toward the floor and topic management in interaction-oriented informal ELF interactions by using multimodal CA. Due attention has been paid to the interactional environments the overlaps in question occur and the interactional functions the particular forms of the overlaps serve in situ. Section 5.2.1 has examined floor-taking overlaps that successfully take the floor from the current speaker. These include a discussion of both an FT-Q which takes the floor by means of questioning (i.e., an FPP of the adjacency pair), and proactive and retroactive FT-Es which take the form of a statement. Section 5.2.2, on the other hand, has examined floor-attempting overlaps, including an FA-Q and an FA-E, which fail to take the floor when being initiated. How each of the instances of overlap is treated by the interactants in its sequence has been scrutinized in line with Bilmes’ (1997) and Tannen’s (2007b) arguments of the interpretation of “interruptions”. Specifically, the present analyses have revealed that an FT-Q and a proactive FT-E occur in the following interactional environment: When the overlapping speaker projects the possible TRP (i.e., applying rule 1b of turn-taking), and where the overlapped speaker applies rule 1c and starts to exemplify, repeat, or rephrase what s/he has said. The use of these two types of overlaps serves to signal an understanding and an interest in what has been said, move forward the topical development, and contribute to the reciprocal nature of the conversation. An FT-Q also serves to clarify ambiguous points in the prior turn and thus enhances mutual understanding. A retroactive FT-E, on the other hand, is a turn-extension of the overlapping speaker’s earlier talk, which is the application of either rule 1b or 1c of turn-taking. The speaker adds justification or explanation to her/his earlier talk in order to enhance the clarity and explicitness of her/his talk, thereby contributing to the enhancement of mutual understanding. The use of these three types of floor-taking overlaps is not necessarily treated as interruptive by the interactants in its sequence, especially as there is no obvious signal of interrupting and being interrupted since the overlapped utterance is merely cut off in an abrupt manner (Bilmes 1997; see also Schegloff 2002). Even when the overlapping and the overlapped speakers claim speakership to maintain or take the floor verbally and non-verbally, the overlapped speaker gradually shifts from speakership to recipiency after completing the overlapped TCU and relinquishes the floor to the overlapping speaker. This suggests that the interactants are skillful in managing a “potentially” face-threatening moment of overlapping by negotiating the floor in an accommodative manner while achieving mutual understanding. An FA-Q and an FA-E, in contrast, take place in the following interactional environment: When the overlapping speaker projects the possible TRP and attempts to apply rule 1b, where the overlapped speaker adds new information to the imme-

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diately preceding talk of her/his own (i.e., rule 1c). The overlapping speaker fails to take the floor because s/he cannot obtain a gaze from any of the co-interactants. At the same time, the overlapped speaker claims speakership by means of non-verbal semiotic resources such as gestures. While an FA-Q and an FA-E per se do not show competitiveness in the floor negotiation, they can be a source of competitiveness in the extended sequence of discourse. Upon failure to take the floor at the outset, the overlapping speaker actively seeks another chance to reinitiate what s/ he attempted to say if its retrieval is consequential for the topical development in progress. This re-attempt may accumulatively build up competitiveness in the floor negotiation. Yet neither interactants treats the overlaps as “interruptive” (Bilmes 1997; see also Schegloff 2002); rather, s/he regards them as tokens of active participation in the ongoing interaction. Through the present analyses of competitive overlaps, the notion of “competitiveness”, and thus that of “cooperativeness”, can be critically re-examined. The series of the findings summarized above suggest that the interactional agenda of the interactants at the conflict moments are on both the achievement of intersubjectivity and the maintenance of good interpersonal relationships. Although the interactants’ use of competitive overlaps per se shows an adversarial nature toward the floor and topic management, the overlapping speaker and the overlapped speaker do not necessarily treat them as “interruptive” and “cooperate” with each other in order to address both of the communicative needs even at the conflict moments in a face-saving way (cf. Glenn 2019). The fine-grained analyses of multimodal resources have revealed the interactants’ close monitoring of turn-taking and topical development as the instances of competitive overlaps occur near the possible TRPs even when their actual vocalization is somewhat delayed. The analyses have also illuminated that the interactants use non-verbal semiotic resources, such as gestures, gazes, postural shifts, and facial expressions, along with the talk, thereby claiming speakership or exhibiting the gradual shift to recipiency effectively in situ. The notion of “competitiveness,” therefore, can denote not only the interactants’ active contribution to the ongoing interaction, as also pointed out by Cogo and Dewey (2012: 143), but also their skillful contribution to facework during the conflict talk in the interaction. A point to raise here is that the interactants’ normative orientation toward turn-taking and topical development in the use of overlapping in the present data is obviously not exclusive to ELF interactions. It is also observed in interactions conducted in “standard” English (e.g., Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson 1974). This observation is provided here not to make an assessment of the interactants’ use of overlapping based on native-speaker norms, however. Rather, the present analyses in their own right suggest that ELF interactions are not a peculiar type of interaction but are normal interactions in which interactants efficiently achieve their

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transactional and/or interactional purpose of the talk at any moment, including a “potentially” face-threatening moment of overlapping, in the interactions (see Seidlhofer 2011: 98). The present findings cannot be overgeneralized to other kinds of ELF interactions due to the limited amount and type of datum examined here (i.e., casual conversations among friends). Considering that the interpretation of overlaps depends on social/contextual factors in a given context (Tannen 2007b), future research should investigate how overlaps are exploited and treated by the interactants within interactions (Bilmes 1997; Schegloff 2002) in other contexts such as business, academic, and high-stakes encounters which include not only symmetrical relationships but also asymmetrical ones (cf. Seidlhofer 2014). In addition, although this chapter has focused on floor-taking and floor-attempting overlaps, instances of “interruptions,” namely overlaps that are treated as being “interruptive” by the interactants, should also be investigated in order to reveal the differences with floor-taking overlaps. The investigation of these aspects enables us to reveal the nature of ELF interactions more vividly and even to deepen our understanding of ELF. Despite the limitations, it is hoped that this chapter has highlighted the detailed processes in which ELF users interactionally manage the “potentially” face-threatening moment of overlapping in an accommodating manner in casual conversations among friends. Having scrutinized the interactional management of competitive overlaps, I will now turn to the discussion of disagreement, another type of FTA observed in the present data.

Chapter 6  Interactional management of disagreement This chapter investigates how ELF users interactionally manage a “potential” FTA of disagreeing in casual ELF conversations among friends. It explores how disagreement is sequentially organized rather than merely looking at forms of disagreeing, as in the case of the previous studies (Bjørge 2012; Walkinshaw and Kirkpatrick 2014). Two types of occasions when disagreement is utilized will be analyzed: (1) sharing knowledge by disagreeing and (2) promoting interpersonal relationships while disagreeing. To analyze the data, multimodal CA will be mainly used (Mondada 2018; Rossano 2013), its analysis being supplemented with the perspective of politeness theory (Brown and Levinson 1987; Grainger 2011; Haugh 2007; O’Driscoll 2007). In what follows, I will first theorize disagreement from both the perspective of politeness theory and that of CA. I will then present and discuss four excerpts in detail, in order to illustrate how interactants interactionally manage a conflict moment like disagreeing in the present data.

6.1 Theorizing disagreement Expressing disagreement is “an everyday phenomenon” (Angouri and Locher 2012: 1551). By disagreeing, people claim a different view, opinion, attitude, knowledge, or antipathy to others. Here, disagreement is viewed as something “confrontational and should be mitigated or avoided” (Sifianou 2012: 1554). From the perspective of politeness theory, while seeking agreement is one of the positive politeness strategies, with which the speaker claims common ground with the interlocutor, disagreement is identified as one of the “potential” FTAs that threaten the hearer’s positive face (Brown and Levinson 1987: 66, 102). To soften the degree of the “potential” FTA, a disagreeing speaker, therefore, may use resources that function as mitigation devices, such as token agreements (e.g., yes, but. . .), pseudo-agreement (e.g., the use of then/so as a conclusory marker), social white lies, and hedging opinions (Brown and Levinson 1987: 113–117). Note: Parts of this chapter, Sections 6.2 and 6.2.1 in particular, were originally published in the following book chapter: Copyright © 2015 From The use of unmitigated disagreement in ELF casual conversations: Ensuring mutual understanding by providing correct information by Mayu Konakahara, in Exploring ELF in Japanese Academic and Business Contexts: Conceptualization, research and pedagogic implication by Kumiko Murata. Reproduced by permission of Taylor Francis Group, LLC, a division of Informa plc. However, the analysis of the two excerpts presented in Section 6.2.1 has been refined by utilizing transcription conventions for multimodal CA. This enables me to illustrate the precise moments when embodied actions in question were used along with the talk, which in turn increases the reliability and validity of the research. https://doi.org/10.1515/9781501512964-006

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In a similar vein, disagreement is usually a dispreferred next action from the perspective of CA (i.e., preference structure in Pomerantz 1984: 63). As reviewed in Chapter 2, a dispreferred response is delayed between, within, and/or across turns, which are signaled by dispreference markers, such as silence, clarification requests, partial repeats, hesitations (e.g., uh and well), weak agreements (e.g., yes but. . .), accounts, and declination components that express declination of the FPP of the adjacency pair in an indirect or mitigated manner (Levinson 1983: 307; Pomerantz 1984: 70–77; Schegloff 2007: 65). However, it is important to note that disagreement is not always a dispreferred response. According to Pomerantz (1984: 83–95), disagreement with self-deprecation is a preferred next action, while agreement with it is a dispreferred one. Contrary to the earlier explanations of preference structure, disagreement with self-deprecation is structurally unmarked, and thus the FPP (i.e., self-deprecation) is immediately followed by its SPP (Pomerantz 1984: 83–95). The production of the SPP includes linguistic elements such as partial repeats of the prior talk that challenge the self-deprecation, a shift in referent and/or topic, contrastive second assessments such as compliments, downgraded deprecations, statements of improperness of self-deprecations, and/or the combination of these (Pomerantz 1984: 83–89). On the other hand, agreement with self-deprecation is structurally marked, which is frequently accomplished with weak agreement (Pomerantz 1984: 90). The self-deprecation may also be followed by second self-deprecation on the part of the recipient, weak suppositional confirmations, silences, continuers (e.g., uh huh, mm hmm, etc.), or a combination of these (Pomerantz 1984: 90–95). Moreover, disagreement does not always convey negative connotations; its interpretation depends on the social situation in which it occurs (Locher 2004: 97). For example, Kotthoff (1993), in her analysis of German and Anglo-American dyadic discussions between students and lecturers, found that disagreement is expected once the frame of argument has been established. In such a case, disagreement becomes a preferred response and is thus produced without being mitigated much. Furthermore, Schiffrin (1984) argues that disagreement among friends in Anglo-Jewish conversations can show sociability among them (i.e., sociable argument). A similar observation is made by Georgakopoulou (2001). She maintains that disagreement can be used to create intimacy in casual conversations among young Greek speakers. The series of arguments so far suggest the following two points. That is, (1) it is crucial to analyze under what kinds of situations disagreement occurs and what functions it serves in its interactional sequence (Angouri and Locher 2012: 1551), and to do so, (2) it is imperative to carefully examine how disagreement is sequentially organized by interactants on a moment-by-moment basis. In line with this argument, close attention will be paid to interactants’ verbal and non-verbal behaviors in the following analysis by examining how they treat disagreement within the interactions.

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Having clarified the theoretical background of disagreement, I will now present and discuss the findings from the present research.

6.2 Findings and discussion In the present data, two types of disagreement were identified: mitigated and unmitigated (see Bjørge 2012). While the former type of disagreement is produced with mitigation devices as its name suggests, the latter is produced without such devices. The present sequential analysis of the two types of disagreement revealed that whereas many cases of mitigated and unmitigated disagreement were produced in line with Pomerantz’s (1984) notion of preference structure, in some cases, unmitigated disagreement did not conform to it. Table 4 summarizes the relationship between preference structure and types of and functions of the two types of disagreement in the present data; while the upper-left and bottom-right cells in the table indicate disagreement produced in line with the notion of preference structure, the shaded cell on the bottom left indicates that which is not produced in line with it. Table 4: Preference structure and types and functions of disagreement in the data.

Mitigated Disagreement

Unmitigated Disagreement

Agreement preferred

Agreement dispreferred

A. To reject the suggestion offered by the prior speaker B. To supply an alternative view to the prior speaker’s assessment

–

C. To supply what s/he believes to be correct information that is different from the prior speaker’s

D. To supply a positive assessment to the prior speaker’s self-deprecating assessment

Specifically, when disagreeing, where agreement is preferred, a speaker mitigates the degree of a “potential” FTA that stems from the rejection of the prior speaker’s suggestion (i.e., mitigated disagreement A) or that of her/his assessment (i.e., mitigated disagreement B). On the other hand, when disagreeing, where agreement is dispreferred, a speaker immediately rejects the prior speaker’s self-deprecation without using any mitigation devices but supplies a positive assessment of the self-deprecation (i.e., unmitigated disagreement D). Whereas these three types of disagreement are produced in line with the preference structure, that is not the case with unmitigated disagreement C. That is, when disagreeing, where agreement is preferred, a speaker immediately denies what the prior speaker has said without using any mitigation devices and supplies what s/he believes to be the correct information (see disagreement interruption in Murata 1994a). In such a case, unmiti-

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gated disagreement is produced in line with the maxim of quality in Grice’s (1975) cooperative principle: It provides what one believes to be true. Accordingly, this type of disagreement serves to share knowledge. The following are examples of each type of disagreement. A horizontal arrow next to a line number indicates the turn containing the disagreement in question: Example 9: Mitigated disagreement A: rejecting the prior speaker’s suggestion 1 JP2: [>an- yeah< we can go to tri-] 2 a↑nother pla:::ce and then¿ (0.4) ↑there we can engage 3 in (0.6) our °dissertation ↑how about this¿° 4 (0.8) 5 → TW5: (.)[(.) [£I don’t think I can do th[at£ ↑hihhihhih .hh Example 10: Mitigated disagreement B: supplying an alternative view 1 JP7: sometime it’s handy isn’t it (.) yeah just eat 2 TH2: [[°mm:°] 3 → JP6: [[°hmm°] (.) but I think that (0.4) there are 4 a variety of qualities? (.) [so::] Example 11: Unmitigated disagreement C: supplying correct information 1 ES : because you say that’s common in Taiwan yeah for children 2 to take a na:p (.) [in-bet]wee::n °°classe:s°° 3 TW6: [yeah ] 4 → MX : no but ↑everyo:ne (.)↑not only ↑children Example 12: Unmitigated disagreement D: supplying a positive view of self-deprecation 1 TH1: ↑I I I think ↓erm maybe he doesn’t like ↓me: 2 he just say some[thing:: ]↑only [one ] or two words. 3 → JP2: [>no no no(who’s he) [(****) students (**)l.7

6.2 Findings and discussion 

6 7

 143

LY : [[because- ] →GR : [[>%Δn-no:::] %no=nol.9 Δraises her chin Δ ly ▪opens his mouth..->l.9 %fig24 %fig25 %fig26 %fig27

Fig. 24

Fig. 25

Fig. 26

Fig. 27 8 9

LY : gr

=the %thing [he’s basically] [▪he fail he ] fail some courses or something ............▪ finger..ttt-,,,...ttt---holds it on the table-> %fig28

Fig. 28 10

gr

he started resitting year.@ ->@

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J P 7

11 12

J P 7

L Y

G R

A

G R

L Y

B

GR : +y-[y- ye- ] tch! JP7: [really?] gr->+rubs her nose with right H->l.14 J P 7

L Y

G R

13

LY : ▪yeah= jp7 ▪nods->

14

GR : =you know¿ +he▪ he started doing this MA things ->+ jp7 ->▪

15 16

[uh-uh] no=ee ESP:▪: tch master of ES[P▪ ] .hhh JP7: [mm:::] [mm hmm] ▪nods thrice quickly and nods twice again▪ L Y

17

GR : m=but::s:: he di- he did it on part time basis= L Y

18 19

G R

G R

LY : =al[right] JP7: [▪oh. ] ▪nods->>

Here, a case of unmitigated disagreement is observed in lines 7–8. GR corrects what LY has said about the former course mate’s educational background. What exactly LY says in line 3 is unfortunately inaudible due to the fast pace of the speech and the overlap. Yet GR stops what she is saying (i.e., “but he was doi-” in line 4) and starts to prepare for the imminent disagreement. She quickly breathes in and starts to lift her left index finger (see below line 5) after a click sound (i.e., “tch!” in line 4) followed by a micro pause and a brief inhalation. She then quickly raises her chin slightly before the finger reaches its apex (see below line 7). In the next turn, LY and GR simultaneously start their turns (i.e., turn-competing overlap in Murata 1994a). GR initiates disagreement (line 7), while LY attempts to justify what he has said in the prior turn, but immediately relinquishes (i.e., “because-” in line 6).

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Here, GR expresses her disagreement fairly vehemently. She denies what LY has said with raw negation: no. This negation is repeated three times, produced at a fast pace, and with emphasis on the first no. She then provides what she knows about the former course mate’s educational background (i.e., “he was a master student the thing he’s basically” in lines 7–8). The tone of the disagreement is also emphasized by a series of hand gestures, which are coincident with the main point of her disagreement (i.e., on-stress gestures in Schegloff 1984; beat gestures in McNeill 1992). GR taps her left index finger onto the desk while saying “no::: no=no he was a master studen” (see line 7 and Figs. 25–26 below the line); she then changes the finger to the right one and says “the thing he’s basically” (see line 8 and Figs. 27–28 below lines 7 and 9 respectively). This series of behaviors indicate that GR expresses her disagreement fairly strongly. LY neither simply accepts nor is offended by GR’s strong disagreement. Instead, he also supplies the information he has in order to develop the ongoing topic (lines 9–10). Observing the upcoming possible TRP of GR at the end of line 7, LY opens his mouth and prepares for the imminent start of his talk (see below lines 7 and 9). LY then resumes his talk, overlapping with GR’s utterance; he provides what he believes to be correct information that is different from GR’s (lines 9–10). He puts the emphasis on the initial “fail” in order to take the floor (Jefferson 2006), and this leads to GR relinquishing the floor to LY. Furthermore, after LY reaches a possible TRP at the end of line 10, GR then attempts to resume her talk (i.e., “y- y- ye- tch!” in line 11). Yet almost simultaneously, JP7 asks a general confirmation question (i.e., “really?” in line 12), directing her gaze to and thus addressing GR as the recipient who can provide the legitimate answer to the confirmation question (see Diagrams A and B above line 11). However, GR does not notice JP7’s gaze because she keeps looking down (i.e., cut-off gaze in Haddington 2006; see Diagrams A and B above line 11). Instead, LY turns his face toward JP7 (see Diagram B above line 11) and provides an affirmative answer “yeah” to the question raised by JP7 (line 13). The negotiation of the topic between GR and LY continues in the subsequent turns. In response to LY’s overlapping utterance in lines 9–10, GR starts to persuade LY that what she has said is valid (line 14). This time, she supplies more specific information on the educational background of the former course mate, compared to her initial disagreeing utterance in lines 7–8. GR carefully adjusts her language: She first replaces a general expression “this MA thing” (line 14) with a more specific one “ESP” (line 15) that stands for English for Specific Purposes. She then restates it as “master of ESP” (line 15). These self-corrections enhance the clarity and explicitness of her disagreement (Kaur 2011b), while increasing the credibility of the information that GR is providing. Having specified the name of the MA program, she then supplies the most important information: The former course mate did a part-

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time MA program (line 17). She provides this important information by turning her face toward LY, who has already looked at GR (see the diagram above line 17). That is, GR explicitly selects LY as the recipient of this information by shifting her gaze toward him (Goodwin 1979). Having obtained the detailed and crucial information, LY finally says “alright” and accepts the validity of GR’s statement (line 18), while maintaining a mutual gaze that shows a convergent stance with GR (Haddington 2006; see the diagram above line 17). Previous research into ELF interactions by House (2002a, 2002b) suggests that ELF users usually lack pragmatic fluency because they use raw negation without employing any mitigation devices to reduce the degree of a “potential” FTA. Although the ELF user in the present data also uses raw negation, this does not mean that she lacks pragmatic fluency as her willingness to supply correct information to establish shared knowledge is observed. In addition, the person who was disagreed with also actively provides the information he has, instead of merely accepting the disagreement. Here, both interactants contribute to the development of the ongoing interaction by stating what they believe to be true. Accordingly, this contribution is in line with the maxim of quality in Grice’s cooperative principle, that is, both interactants attempt to make their contribution one that is true (Grice 1975: 45). By doing so, they actively participate in the process of meaning negotiation in order to share knowledge. The second excerpt contains another instance of the same type of unmitigated disagreement. This time, the disagreement is immediately accepted in the next turn. Yet both parties who disagree and those who are disagreed with actively participate in the process of meaning negotiation, even after the production of the first disagreement. In Excerpt 6.2, interactants ES (Spanish), JP8 (Japanese), MX (Mexican), and TW6 (Taiwanese) are course mates doing PhDs in different linguistic domains (extracted from Conversation I). ES, MX, and TW6 are course mates sharing an office for graduate students at the university. Several turns prior to the excerpt, they start to talk about having a catnap in public places such as in the library, on a bus, and on a train. This topic reminds them of the time when ES and MX happened to see TW6 taking a nap in their office. At the time, TW6 seemed to explain to ES and MX that in Taiwan, many people, particularly students and some adults, have a nap time routine like a siesta.22 After MX explains the story to JP8, who did not share in the original incident, TW6 starts to confirm her habit of taking a nap. The interactants sitting from left to right are TW6, JP8, MX, and ES (see Appendix D for the seat configuration). 22 A Taiwanese acquaintance of mine confirmed that in Taiwan, it is a school rule for kindergarten pupils, elementary school kids, middle school kids, and senior-high students to take a nap for thirty minutes after lunch. She explains that in elementary school, school patrols discipline the students who do not take a nap. Thus, after the six-year discipline, it is very likely that taking a nap becomes every student’s routine and thus a widely accepted custom in Taiwan.

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 147

Excerpt 6.2: Unmitigated disagreement C: supplying correct information Taking a nap in Taiwan [I(c); 29:27; 92–118 / ES, JP8, MX, TW6] 1 TW6: Δyea::h I’m used to:: slee::p in in office or in a classroo:m mx>>Δkeeps nodding softly->l.4 2

JP8: @mm@ @nods twice@

3 4

TW6: ↑yeah. ES : because you sayΔ that’s common in Taiwan yeah for Δchildren mx ->Δ Δnods->l.6

5 6

TW6: mx

to take a na:p (.) [in-bet]wee::n Δ°°classe:s°° [yeah ] ->Δ T W 6

7 8

E S

T W 6

A

E S

M X

B

→MX : ▪no but% ↑eve%ryo:ne▪▪[(.)%↑not only% ↑children JP8: [really? mx ▪......HHH---,,-----▪▪.................HHH---->l.9 %fig29 %fig30 %fig31 %fig32

Fig. 29

9 10

M X

Fig. 30

Fig. 31 Fig. 32 ES : ah like everyone (.) [▪Δeverybody in] office JP8: [everyone (*) ] mx ->▪ mx Δkeeps nodding->l.12

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T W 6

11 12

M X

T W 6

A

E S

M X

B

TW6: ↑u::h (.)↑u:::hmΔ(0.6) for stude▪nt [@normally¿@ +ye::+]= MX : [for %stu%dents ] ->Δ ▪........HHH----,,->l.14 jp8 @nods once@ es +nods+ %fig33 %fig34

Fig. 33

T W 6

M X

Fig. 34

E S

13 14

TW6: =[:s Δ▪↑bu-]for ↑worki::ng (.)↑working (.)Δ= ES : [°for student° ] mx ,,,,,,,->▪ Δkeeps nodding softly ->Δ

15

TW6: =persΔon @(.)@Δ it depends on their company jp8 @nods twice softly@ mx Δnods twiceΔ

16

JP8: @Δ°mm:::°@ @raises her HD@ mx Δraises her HD and nods once->

17

TW6: bu:tΔ (.) but ↑usually:: (0.4) (.) mx ->Δ

18

jp8 mx

during the b- lunch break@Δ th@ey just go outΔ have a lunch @nods twice@ Δnods thrice ->Δ

6.2 Findings and discussion 

19

jp8 mx

20 21

Δand have aΔ(.) cha- chatΔ (.)@not@(.) reallyΔ sleep @nods twice@ Δnods twiceΔ Δnods once & looks downΔ i:n (.) in the office but som- some ↑people (.) for some company probably (.) allow thei:r (.) T W 6

22

 149

mx

E S

M X

staff to do so so:▪: %(.) ▪.HH--,,->l.24 %fig35

Fig. 35 T W 6

M X

E S

23 24 25

they▪Δcan [have a (0.4) +room+] JP8: [↑mm::::::::::::::::][:::::::::::::::] ES : [that’s nice (.)] ↑yeah¿ mx ->,,,▪ Δsmiles and nods->> es +nods with a smile+

26 27 28

MX : ↑↑£hhm hhm£ ES : [[ye:s] JP8: [[▪it’s] really ni:ce¿ ▪smiles->>

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Here, a case of unmitigated disagreement can be observed in line 7. MX corrects what ES said about the custom of taking a nap in Taiwan. In response to TW6’s confirmation of her habit (lines 1 and 3), ES, to whom TW6 had previously explained the topic, elaborates on TW6’s confirmation. ES confirms that TW6 explained the habit as being typical for children in schools in Taiwan (lines 4–5). TW6 confirms this elaboration by providing a nod and an acknowledgment token “yeah” (line 6) soon after ES pauses for less than 0.3 seconds during her turn (line 5). MX has kept nodding during TW6 and ES’s utterances (see below lines 1, 4, and 6), to support the continuity of their talk. Yet when ES arrives at a possible TRP at the end of line 5, MX realizes the need to correct ES’s utterance and expresses her disagreement in line 7. She produces raw negation “no,” which is followed by “but,” and then corrects the referent “children” in ES’s utterance in line 4 to “everyone” (line 7). The main point of her utterance coincides with the following an on-stress gesture (Schegloff 1984; see also a beat gesture in McNeill 1992): MX first waves her right hand vertically at the level of her chest (see Figs. 29–30 below line 8) and then extends it toward ES (see Figs. 31–32 below line 8), simultaneously turning her face toward ES (see Diagrams A and B above line 7). ES soon accepts the disagreement in the next turn, having obtained the information from MX who had previously heard the same story from TW6 (line 9). She first produces a change-of-state token “ah,” which is produced after the counter-informing activity of MX (Heritage 1984a: 312), and then repeats part of MX’s utterance “everyone”. She then specifies the referent as “everybody in offices” in order to raise the explicit nature of the referent (Kaur 2011b; Mauranen 2007). In the next turns, TW6, who has the authoritative information on the ongoing topic, starts to elaborate on the explanation (lines 11, 13, 15, and 17–23). Interestingly, both MX and ES actively and collaboratively participate in the process of meaning negotiation even after the production and acceptance of the first disagreement, or more precisely, the correction of the factual information. Although ES has accepted MX’s correction, MX corrects and reconfirms her own correction as TW6’s talk progresses, and ES responds to MX’s behaviors. When TW6 starts to elaborate on the explanation in line 11, she firstly admits that it is normal for students in Taiwan to take a nap. This is the paraphrasing of what ES originally said (i.e., “for children” in line 4).23 Immediately after TW6 says “for student” in 23 TW6’s utterance for student” in line 11 on the surface takes the form of other-initiated other-repair, which repairs part of ES’s utterance “for children” in line 4 (Schegloff, Jefferson, and Sacks 1977). Yet considering the fact that not only kindergarten and elementary school but also middle and senior high school set a nap time for pupils and students in Taiwan, as explained in footnote 21, ES and TW6 both mention the same referent. That is, TW6 paraphrases what ES said to the more specific word in order to improve the clarity of the utterance (Kaur 2011b; cf. Konakahara 2013).

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 151

line 11, MX turns her face to ES thus selecting her as the recipient (see Diagrams A and B above line 11), and repeats “for students” in line 12. This repetition is accompanied by the following hand gesture: She crosses her hands in front of her chest and outstretches them (see Figs. 33–34 below line 12). By making this hand gesture, MX indicates that what she corrected earlier by disagreeing was wrong (i.e., a metaphoric gesture in McNeill 1992), thereby the gesture appending an additional layer of meaning to her utterance. ES acknowledges MX’s self-correction. She turns her face to MX (see the diagram above line 13) and repeats the same phrase “for student” in a soft voice (line 14). This occurs simultaneously with TW6’s acknowledgment token “ye::s” (line 13). Subsequently, TW6 continues her explanation. She resumes her talk with an adversative conjunction but that is abruptly cut off (i.e., “bu-” in line 13), and talks about a case of businesspersons (lines 13, 15, 17–22). MX again vigorously reacts to what TW6 has said. This happens when TW6 finally explicates that some businesspersons may take a nap during working hours with the permission of their companies (lines 20–23). MX reconfirms the appropriateness of her initial correction produced in line 7 without expressing it verbally. She turns her face, looks at ES (see the diagram above line 22), and holds her left hand up, with her palm upward (see Fig. 35 below line 22). It is this hand gesture that conveys what MX wants to say here (i.e., a non-speaker gesture in lieu of talk in Schegloff 1984). She then smiles and keeps nodding until the end of this excerpt (see below line 25). In response to MX’s behavior, ES also shows her acknowledgment non-verbally. She looks at MX (see the diagram above line 23) and briefly nods with a smile while TW6 is saying “room” in line 23. ES then provides a positive assessment of what TW6 has said about the businesspersons (i.e., “that’s nice (.) ↑yeah¿” in line 25). JP8 produces an elongated acknowledgment token “mm” in a higher pitch to show her surprise (line 24), and then starts smiling and provides a positive assessment of TW6’s explanation (i.e., “it’s really ni:ce” in line 28). Firth (1996), in his analysis of ELF telephone conversations between Danish export managers and their international customers, found that other-repair of “forms” is less prevalent in his data because the interactants let an unknown or unclear word/phrase pass, assuming that it will become clear or redundant as the conversation progresses (i.e., a let-it-pass strategy). The interactants in the present data also let “non-standard” forms in the co-interactant’s utterances pass (e.g., “he fail” in LY’s utterance in Excerpt 6.1 and “have a lunch” in TW6’s utterance in Excerpt 6.2). They do not, however, let what they believe to be “wrong” information in the prior speaker’s utterances pass. According to Schegloff, Jefferson, and Sacks (1977), other-correction, namely correction of the co-interactant’s utterance, is a dispreferred next action, compared with self-correction, and thus tends to be produced with delays. But as shown in Excerpts 6.1 and 6.2 above, the interactants in

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the present data immediately express their disagreement without using mitigation devices and state what they believe to be correct. Wolfartsberger (2011) also argues that the ELF users in business meetings articulate disagreement instantly, not later, because the argument would be irrelevant otherwise. A similar observation can be applied to the above excerpts. That is, the correct information should be supplied instantly, not later, by interactants, since the ongoing topic will be irrelevant otherwise. This behavior of immediate other-correction may be because whereas “non-standard” forms do not impede understanding, different information might eventually lead to overt or covert misunderstandings and thus endanger shared knowledge between the interactants. Given that these are ELF interactions, which inherently involve variability in forms, proficiency, and sociocultural knowledge (i.e., the lingua franca factor in Firth 2009), being truthful by observing the maxim of quality of Grice’s (1975) cooperative principle and providing correct information may be even more critical in order to establish shared knowledge. On the other hand, it is also worth noting that the instances of unmitigated disagreement in the two excerpts occur during casual conversations among friends, which is more interaction-oriented as compared to outcome-oriented interactions like meetings and discussion. Although disagreement is usually regarded as a “potential” FTA (Brown and Levinson 1987), the use of unmitigated disagreement in the excerpts seems appropriate to the interactants’ context. The social distance between the interactants is small, their relative power is equal, and the correction of the factual information about the third party (Excerpt 6.1) or that based on the information obtained from one of the interactants (Excerpt 6.2) is not necessarily face-threatening. The interactants, therefore, follow the maxim of quality in Grice’s (1975) cooperative principle, that is, being truthful, and prioritize the transactional function of communication (Brown and Yule 1983). These observations suggest that the ELF users are efficient in establishing shared knowledge by supplying what they believe to be correct as soon as possible, even using unmitigated disagreement, as illustrated in the present data. In the next section, I will present and discuss how the other three types of disagreement, namely mitigated disagreement A and B, and unmitigated disagreement D (see Table 4 in Section 6.2), are sequentially organized in the casual ELF conversations.

6.2.2 Promoting interpersonal relationships while disagreeing In the previous section, I have asserted that unmitigated disagreement shows the user’s willingness to supply correct information, and plays an important role in sharing knowledge between the interactants. This function also applies to the other

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three types of disagreement that are produced in line with Pomerantz’s (1984) notion of preference structure. They, however, emphasize promoting interpersonal relationships, either by supplying a positive assessment of the prior speaker’s self-deprecation (i.e., unmitigated disagreement D in Table 4 in Section 6.2) or by mitigating the degree of a “potential” FTA deriving from the rejection of the prior speaker’s suggestion (i.e., mitigated disagreement A) or the denial of her/his assessment (i.e., mitigated disagreement B). In many cases, the interactants collaboratively reach an agreement in the end, either by finding a third position (Sharma 2011), namely a compromise, or by willingly accepting the disagreement. In what follows, two excerpts are presented and discussed in detail to illustrate this point. Excerpt 6.3 contains two instances of disagreement. One is unmitigated disagreement D, which supplies a positive assessment of the prior speaker’s self-deprecation, and the other is mitigated disagreement B, which supplies an alternative view to the prior speaker’s assessment. Here, interactants CN3 (Chinese), PL (Polish), and SY (Syrian) are flat mates doing different MA courses, and they are talking about their study habits (extracted from Conversation L). Owing to the participants’ request, a video was not recorded for this conversation. Several turns prior to the excerpt below, CN3 has said that she tends to leave her assignments undone until the last minute, in contrast to SY who completes her assignments in advance. PL agrees with CN3 that she shares the same habit. CN3 then describes one occasion when she started her assignment on the night before the deadline and finished it in the morning. The following excerpt is a continuation of this conversation, which starts with CN3 restating her habit. Excerpt 6.3: Unmitigated disagreement D: supplying a positive assessment and mitigated disagreement B: supplying an alternative view Study habit [L(1); 14:16; 515–540 / CN3, PL, SY] (video data not available) 1 CN3: [hah .hhh [I always 2 (.) I always leave the thing in in the last minute. tch! 3 PL : °mm° 4 CN3: that that that was er (1.2) kind of bad habit 5 [but it’s] really har[d to change ] 6 PL : [°ya::::°] 7 →SY : [↑but=but that’s some]times 8 it’s it is useful. [I tri]ed it once. 9 CN3: [why ] 10 SY : .hh because when when you leave it for (0.6) the last mi11 last time or last (.) days¿ .hh (0.5) you can (0.4) m12 you can think about it mo:re. 13 (1.0) 14 →CN3: .hh but you will get very dep[ressed ] [right and] stressed 15 PL : [stressed] [and panic] 16 SY : .hh may- m-m-m:: °I don’t know° .h maybe for Math it’s (0.8)

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 Chapter 6 Interactional management of disagreement

PL : SY : PL : SY : CN3: PL : SY :

something (0.6) like ea↑sy¿ because w-we we we (0.4) we (.) prepare it from (.) during the semester [we ev]ery time think about it= [yeah ] =but when we you have to write a topic or yeah:: [research¿] [maybe it’s ] [°(*****)°] [(just) some]thing something different.

The two instances of disagreement can be observed in lines 7–8 and line 14. SY and CN3 disagree with each other’s assessment of the study habit. The initial instance of disagreement is an unmitigated one, which is produced in response to CN3’s self-deprecation. In lines 1–2, CN3 first restates her study habit in order to emphasize its addictive nature. She then appends a negative evaluation of her habit (i.e., self-deprecation; lines 4–5). PL, who has already confessed to having the same habit as CN3 (not included in the excerpt), shows weak agreement with what CN3 has said by saying “ya::::” in a soft voice (line 6). Here, PL’s agreement with the self-deprecation is accomplished in a weak form given that agreement with self-deprecation is a dispreferred next action (Pomerantz 1984: 90–95). On the other hand, SY, who has a different study habit from CN3, expresses her disagreement (lines 7–8). Given that the disagreement with self-deprecation is a structurally preferred next action (Pomerantz 1984), SY produces the disagreement without any mitigation devices. SY cuts into CN3’s utterance and initiates the disagreement with the contrastive marker but that is quickly repeated twice; she then re-categorizes the self-deprecating attribute as a positive one (i.e., “useful” in line 8). Here, SY undermines CN3’s negative assessment by providing a positive one, thereby saving CN3’s positive face and that of her own – given that PL has admitted that she has the same habit as CN3, SY’s disagreement also saves PL’s positive face. The second instance of disagreement follows SY’s disagreement. This time, CN3 shows her disagreement with SY’s positive assessment (line 14). In this case, the disagreement is a structurally dispreferred next action (Pomerantz 1984). That is, the disagreement can be considered a “potential” FTA (Brown and Levinson 1987) because it questions the validity of the prior speaker’s assessment and supplies a contrasting view. The articulation of disagreement is delayed and mitigated with dispreference markers, that is, the clarification request “why” in line 9 and a pause of 1.0 second in line 13. CN3 first requests clarification from SY before voicing her disagreement (line 9). SY responds to the request by supplying a reason for her positive assessment (lines 10–12). Yet CN3 still cannot agree with SY. She expresses her disagreement (line 14) after pausing for 1.0 second (line 13). The mitigated disagreement is initiated with the contrastive marker but, preceded by the audible inbreath (i.e., “.hh”).

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Interestingly, CN3 and PL jointly produce this second instance of disagreement. Having understood what CN3 is about to say, PL almost simultaneously produces a phrase “stressed and panic” (line 15) that could constitute part of CN3’s utterance (see collaborative utterance building in Kalocsai 2011; see also choral coproduction in Lerner 2002). By doing so, PL shows her disagreement with SY and agreement with CN3. Again, the production of disagreement is delayed across the turns, whereas agreement is immediately produced within the turn (Pomerantz 1984). In the following turns, SY, who is the only opponent in the above exchange, starts to adjust her opinion and establishes a third position (Sharma 2011) instead of reinforcing her disagreement. SY argues that the disparate stances of SY and the others are due to the different nature of their studies (lines 16–19, 21, 23, and 26), marking uncertainty with the phrase “I don’t know” in line 16 (Tsui 1991) and the adverb “maybe” in lines 16 and 23. Although what exactly CN3 says in line 24 is inaudible due to its low volume, PL – and perhaps also CN3 – shows her agreement with SY’s adjusted opinion. PL provides an acknowledgment token “yeah::” in line 22 and preemptively produces a candidate understanding of what SY is about to say in line 25 (i.e., “(just) something”). The interactants eventually reach an agreement. As discussed in the previous section, House (2002a, 2002b) regards the absence of discourse strategies such as disarming as a lack of face-saving means. However, this observation does not seem applicable to the two instances of disagreement in Excerpt 6.3 above. Both instances of disagreement are produced in accordance with Pomerantz’s (1984) notion of preference structure and are produced in face-saving ways. The disagreement with the self-deprecation re-categorizes the negative assessment as a positive one. Accordingly, SY’s behavior saves CN3’s positive face, that of PL, and that of her own. Disagreement with the prior speaker’s assessment, on the other hand, is mitigated by means of the clarification request and the pause. The use of these resources functioning as mitigation devices reduces the degree of the “potential” FTA of disagreeing that would have threatened SY’s positive face and thus that of CN3’s and PL’s. In both cases, therefore, the interactants adjust their use of disagreement according to the interactional needs of the communication at hand (Brown and Yule 1983). This suggests that the interactants are sensitive to face-saving needs and thus skillful in promoting interpersonal relationships by exploiting the resources available to them. The next excerpt contains an instance of mitigated disagreement that rejects the prior speaker’s suggestion (i.e., mitigated disagreement A in Table 4 in Section 6.2). Basically, the same observation as above applies. In Excerpt 6.4, interactants JP2 (Japanese), TW4 (Taiwanese), and TW5 (Taiwanese) are former flat mates doing different MA courses (extracted from Conversation C). Several turns prior to the excerpt below, TW4 says that it would be boring if they only work on their dissertations during the summer term. In response to her comment, TW5 suggests

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that they might be able to go on a trip during the term. This leads to a series of shared laughter between the interactants (Jefferson, Sacks, and Schegloff 1977). Excerpt 6.4 is the continuation of this talk. JP2 offers the non-serious suggestion in a half-joking manner, and thus he is expecting a rejection from the recipient. The selected recipient TW5 orients to the humorous suggestion as such. The interactants sitting from left to right are JP2, TW4, and TW5 (see Appendix D for the seat configuration). Excerpt 6.4: Mitigated disagreement A: rejecting the suggestion During the summer term [C(b); 22:20, 339–349 / JP2(M), TW4(F), TW5(F)] 1 JP2: ▪[>an- yeah< we can go to tri-] ▪smiles->l.3 J P 2

2

a↑nother pla:::ce and then (0.4) ↑there we can engage J P 2

3

A

T W 5

J P 2

B

T W 5

in (0.6) our °dissertation how about %this¿°▪= ->▪ %fig36

J P 2

4

T W 5

jp2

T W 5

=▪.hhh%h ((this takes 0.8 seconds)) ▪makes a serious face->l.6 %fig37

Fig. 36

6.2 Findings and discussion 

Fig. 37 T W 5

J P 2

5 6

A

J P 2

T W 5

B

→TW5: ▪@+%(.)Δ[(.)Δ[%£I @don’t think JP2: [hh [huh huh .hh ->▪@smiles->> tw5 +..smiles->> tw5 Δopens mouthΔ tw5 @leans fwd...->> %fig38 %fig39

Fig. 38

 157

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Fig. 39 J P 2

7 8

T W 5

TW5: I can do %th[at£↑.hih .hih .hih .hh JP2: [.hah .hah huh tw5 ............--,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,->> %fig40

Fig. 40

An instance of mitigated disagreement can be observed in lines 5 and 7. In lines 1–3, JP2 suggests that they can work on their dissertations at a resort destination. The tone of the suggestion is fairly pleasant. JP2 produces it with a smile (see Fig. 36 below line 3) and then briefly makes a serious face while breathing in for 0.8 seconds (line 4) in order to hide the humorous tone (see Figs. 37 below line 4). TW5, who is the recipient of JP2’s suggestion as well as the original proposer of the summer trip, not only produces the disagreement in accordance with the preference structure (Pomerantz 1984) but also responds to JP2’s half-joking suggestion as such. The production of the disagreement is delayed: TW5 first pauses for 0.8 seconds (line 4) and then opens her mouth for the imminent production of

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disagreement (see below line 6) while pausing for approximately 0.2 seconds (i.e., the two micro pauses in line 5). She then expresses her rejection of JP2’s suggestion (lines 5 and 7). In this way, the degree of the “potential” FTA of rejecting is softened. At the same time, TW5 takes JP2’s non-serious suggestion as such and shows her amusement. She produces the disagreement with a smile and leans forward to JP2 (see Figs. 38–40 below lines 6 and 8); she then laughs and brings back her torso to the home position, where the series of body movements began (Sacks and Schegloff 2002). The embodied action of TW5 shows a high level of engagement in the ongoing interaction (Kendon [1990] 2009). While she provides a structurally dispreferred response so as to soften the degree of a “potential” FTA, she also reinforces the playfulness and non-seriousness of the interaction by responding to the half-joking suggestion in amusement. TW5’s behavior not only shows her ability to accommodate JP2’s humorous tone (i.e., an accommodation strategy in Cogo 2010), thereby increasing the intimacy between JP2 and TW5, but it also serves as a modification device that mollifies the degree of the “potential” FTA of rejection (cf. Potter and Hepburn 2010). JP2 also contributes to the increase of intimacy. Both the half-joking suggestion and his responsive behavior to TW5’s rejection serve such a function. Having produced the suggestion in a half-joking tone, JP2 expects TW5 to reject the suggestion. He closely monitors TW5’s behavior, maintaining his gaze on her: He has been looking at TW5 since he shifted his gaze toward her in line 2 (see the diagram above line 2) in order to address her as a respondent of the suggestion (Goodwin 1981). TW5, who was already looking at JP2 when she obtained JP2’s gaze, withdraws her gaze from JP2 and looks mid-distance-up when she projects the end of JP2’s turn in line 3 (see Diagram B above line 3). She then closes her eyes while pausing after 0.8 seconds (see Diagram A above line 5) with her mouth slowly curving into a smile (see Fig. 38 below line 6). JP2 observes this series of TW5’s physical actions. Accommodating TW5’s smile, JP2 also begins to smile (see Fig. 38 below line 6) and then bursts into laughter (line 6). The articulation of the laughter comes slightly before TW5’s production of rejection, but it coincides with in-breath for its production that is represented by her mouth opening (see Fig. 39 below line 6). Here, both JP2 and TW5 collaboratively make the “potential” FTA of rejection amusing, thereby saving, or rather enhancing, their positive face by increasing the intimacy between them. The above excerpt shows that the interactants collaboratively maintain and develop their interpersonal relationship while disagreeing. In a study of ELF interactions, House (2002a, 2002b) investigated an elicited group discussion between four international students and found the frequent use of unmitigated disagreement. This finding may be partially due to the relationship between the interactants and the nature of the task. It is not clear whether the interactants in her data had been acquainted with one another before the discussion or they had just met

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for the purpose of the investigation. If the latter was the case, the interactants did not necessarily have to pay attention to the consequence of the disagreement. In addition, given the nature of the task of discussion, the interactants might have prioritized giving their opinions rather than building interpersonal relationships. In contrast, the interactants in Excerpt 6.4  – and almost all interactants in each group in the present research  – have been acquainted with one another for at least several months and share similar experiences as international students at British universities. Thus, they need to and are willing to save, and/or enhance, the co-interactants’ positive face in order to maintain and build the future relationship between them. Both verbal and non-verbal semiotic resources available to them are skillfully and collaboratively exploited by the interactants in order to achieve this goal; the degree of the “potential” FTA of disagreement is softened by these uses, and such uses increase intimacy. This suggests that the interactants in the present data are efficient in promoting interpersonal relationships even when disagreeing as well as through the very act of disagreeing, which at the same time serves to facilitate mutual understanding between them.

6.3 Summary This chapter has investigated how the “potential” FTA of disagreeing is sequentially organized in casual ELF conversations among international students studying at British universities. As reviewed in Chapter 3, the previous research into ELF interactions documented little about disagreement in casual ELF conversations. Also, the focus of its analysis was on linguistic forms per se, remaining at the utterance level. To fill these research gaps, the chapter has explored the sequential organization of un/mitigated disagreement in interaction-oriented casual ELF conversations among friends by using multimodal CA where possible. Moreover, as discussed in Section 6.1, although disagreement is identified as one of the “potential” FTAs by Brown and Levinson (1987), it does not always have a negative connotation, its functions varying depending on social situations (Sifianou 2012). Considering this aspect, the chapter has also looked at how disagreement in question is treated by the interactants themselves; (multimodal) CA was used to this end. The present analyses have revealed the dynamic negotiation processes involved in establishing shared knowledge and promoting interpersonal relationships (i.e., facework) while disagreeing. Specifically, it has been found that many instances of disagreement conform to the notion of preference structure originally proposed by Pomerantz (1984), but in some cases, disagreement is produced without any mitigation devices, even when it is a structurally dispreferred next action. In the latter case, the speaker denies what the prior speaker has said and supplies what s/he

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 161

believes to be true (Excerpts 6.1 and 6.2). Although the disagreement is not mitigated, it does not threaten the interactants’ positive face. Rather, its use is appropriate to the contexts in which they are participating. As indicated in the cooperative principle (Grice 1975), the disagreeing speakers show their willingness to supply correct information to share knowledge. The recipients, too, collaboratively participate in the process of meaning negotiation either by supplying other pieces of information or showing acceptance of the disagreement in the next turn. In the case of Excerpt 6.2, the disagreeing speaker actively self-corrects and then confirms the validity of her disagreement in the subsequent turns. The use of this type of unmitigated disagreement thus shows the active contribution to the ongoing interaction in its sequence. On the other hand, when disagreement is produced in line with preference structure (Pomerantz 1984), (1) the speaker rejects the suggestion offered by the prior speaker (Excerpt 6.4), (2) supplies an alternative view to the prior speaker’s assessment (Excerpt 6.3), or (3) supplies a positive assessment of the prior speaker’s self-deprecation (Excerpt 6.3). In the first two cases, where disagreeing is dispreferred, the speaker mitigates the degree of the “potential” FTA of disagreeing by use of various verbal and non-verbal semiotic resources such as pauses, clarification requests, smiley voice, laughter, and facial expressions. In the subsequent turn(s), the recipients either willingly accept the disagreement or find a third position, thereby collaboratively reaching an agreement in the end. In the third case, where disagreeing is preferred, the speaker immediately produces unmitigated disagreement in order to mollify the prior speaker’s negative assessment. In doing so, the speaker attempts to save positive face of the recipient and that of her own. In the case of Excerpt 6.3, the recipient of the disagreement produces mitigated disagreement in the subsequent turns, thereby saving positive face of the disagreeing speaker. The use of these three types of disagreement is also appropriate in situ. The interactants are thus interactionally and pragmatically efficient in face negotiation at the conflict moment of disagreeing. In summary, the series of the findings suggest that the ELF users do not avoid disagreeing even in casual conversations; they are skillful in sharing knowledge by disagreeing and promoting interpersonal relationships while disagreeing. The use of mitigated and unmitigated disagreement observed in the present data, however, is not specific to ELF interactions. Other-initiate other-repair (i.e., unmitigated disagreement C) are also observed in “native” English conversations (Schegloff, Jefferson, and Sacks 1977), as are unmitigated disagreement with self-deprecation and mitigated disagreement with suggestions and assessment (Davidson 1984; Pomerantz 1984). Yet it can be said that the ELF users may more frequently utilize and respond to the two types of disagreement to establish shared knowledge and to promote interpersonal relationships than “native English” speakers may do, given

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the inherent variability of linguistic forms, language proficiency, and sociocultural knowledge in ELF (i.e., lingua franca factor in Firth 2009). However, this is not to assess ELF users’ use of disagreement on the basis of exonormative native-speaker norms. Rather, as the present analyses have shown, the interactants’ use of and response to disagreement is appropriate to their contexts. That is, they actively and skillfully engage in the negotiation process of establishing shared knowledge and developing interpersonal relationships in situ (Canagarajah 2007; Seidlhofer 2011; see also Widdowson 1983, 2003, 2008). The present findings about the interactional management of disagreement cannot be overgeneralized to other kinds of ELF interactions as only a limited type and amount of data have been examined. Future research thus needs to explore more types of and more amounts of data, particularly looking at the interplay of multimodal resources when disagreeing. Despite the limitations, it is hoped that this chapter can shed light on how ELF users interactionally manage – conduct and respond to – a conflict moment of disagreeing, which is “potentially” face-threatening from the perspective of politeness, in casual conversations among friends. Having illuminated the interactional management of disagreement, I will now turn to the analysis of the third type of conflict talk observed in the present data, namely the “potential” FTA of complaining about something or someone else who is absent at the time of complaining (i.e., third-party complaints).

Chapter 7  Interactional management of third-party complaints in extended sequences of talk This chapter investigates how ELF users interactionally manage a “potential” FTA of third-party complaining in casual ELF conversations among friends. While the two preceding chapters have focused on the shorter sequences of talk, in which the interactants manage the “potential” FTA of competitively overlapping and disagreeing, the focus of the analysis in this chapter is on longer sequences of talk. This is because, as discussed in Chapter 3, no research has investigated how face is negotiated in extended sequences of talk, and a wider range of FTAs needs to be explored to further illuminate conflict talk in ELF interactions. Two types of thirdparty complaint sequences will be analyzed by using the technique of single case analysis in CA (Hutchby and Wooffitt 2008): (1) a disattended complaint sequence and (2) a negotiated complaint sequence. The use of embodied actions will also be analyzed where possible, with its analysis combined with the perspective of politeness theory (Brown and Levinson 1987; Grainger 2011; Haugh 2007; O’Driscoll 2007). In what follows, I will first theorize complaints (Section 7.1). This will be followed by the findings and discussion, Section 7.2.

7.1 Theorizing complaints This section consists of two parts. The first part reviews the definition, types, and functions of complaints (Section 7.1.1), and the second part argues about thirdparty complaint sequences (Section 7.1.2).

Note: This chapter was originally published in Mayu Konakahara, “Interactional management of facethreatening acts in casual ELF conversations: An analysis of third-party complaint sequences”; in: Barbara Seidlhofer (ed.), Journal of English as a Lingua Franca, Volume 6, Issue 2, Berlin: De Gruyter, 2017, pp. 313–343, figs. 1–5. It has to be acknowledged that the analysis of Excerpt 7.1, the conversational data of which were only audio recorded, remains mostly the same in this chapter. However, the analysis of Excerpt 7.2 has been refined by utilizing transcription conventions for multimodal CA as well as the diagrams for the use of gaze orientations, given that the video recording was available for this datum. The analysis can thus demonstrate the precise moments when embodied actions in question are used along with the talk. https://doi.org/10.1515/9781501512964-007

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7.1.1 Defining complaints Complaining is a ubiquitous and important form of social communication (Alicke et al. 1992: 285). It plays an important role in transforming personal troubles or subtle perceptual differences in a trouble source into openly acknowledged interpersonal difficulties (Emerson and Messinger 1977: 125). To put it differently, complaints provide complainers with the opportunity to verbalize their negative affective stances toward the target people, facts, objects, situations, or events, thereby sharing such stances with other interactants. An important point to clarify before discussing types and functions of complaints is that the term complain is not always distinguished from a range of related alternatives such as criticize. As Edward (2005: 8) argues, both complaining and criticizing are inherently negative forms of communication which include “morally implicative stories and descriptions of people and places”. That is, the state or behavior of the complaining/criticizing target is exposed to the scrutiny of emotional or ethical judgment of other people. Nevertheless, Edward (2005: 8) points out that complaint and criticism are somewhat different in that complaint, unlike criticism, frequently contains grievance, infringement, and/or transgression. He continues, however, that criticism in fact may sound like a complaint if those who criticize something or someone include any of the three sources mentioned above (i.e., a grievance, infringement, and transgression; Edward 2005: 8). This suggests that the distinction between the two communicative behaviors is sometimes fuzzy, depending on how they are produced in their sequential development. Considering this point, what is of importance is to scrutinize the sequences of the communicative behaviors rather than regarding them as separate behaviors a priori. Bearing this in mind, the types and functions of complaints will be explained. According to Laforest (2009), there are two types of complaints, namely direct and third-party. The former is made against targets, that is, complainers directly address their complaints to complainees who are at the same time the recipients of the complaints (Laforest 2009: 2453; see also Edward 2005; Heinemann 2009; Traverso 2009). Such complaints are usually, but may not necessarily, expressed with the aim of altering an undesirable state of affairs. Alicke et al. (1992: 287) refer to this kind of complaint as instrumental complaints (e.g., consumer complaints, complaints about the neighbor’s sloppiness, etc.), discerning them from non-instrumental complaints, which are made to express frustration at personal or environmental conditions (e.g., My head has been hurting all day), lack of possessions (e.g., I have nothing to wear), or goal attainments (e.g., I’m never going to pass this course) without expecting to alter the undesirable state of affairs. In response

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to the complaints, complainees admit or defend their alleged wrongdoings; the former is usually a preferred response. On the other hand, third-party complaints, which are of particular interest in this chapter, are made about absent targets. In this case, at least three individuals, namely a complainer, a complainee (if it is a person; a complaint target, if it is not a person, but an object, a fact, an event, etc.), and a complaint recipient, are involved. The complainer expresses her/his dissatisfaction with or disapproval of the complainee – or the complaint target –, who, in most cases, is absent at the time of complaining, to the recipient (Laforest 2009: 2453). Different from direct complaints, third-party complaints are not always expressed with the aim of altering the undesirable state of affairs (cf., non-instrumental complaints in Alicke et al. 1992: 287). Instead, complainers can have the opportunity for “an emotional release from frustration” through third-party complaining, thereby mollifying their negative affective stances toward the targets (Alicke et al. 1992: 287). In addition, as Günthner (1997: 212) points out, third-party complaints can highlight sharing common interests and values – if they have any – and thus strengthen solidarity between complainers and recipients. However, complaining threatens positive face of complainers and the recipients because of its mutual vulnerability (Brown and Levinson 1987). Although Brown and Levinson have direct complaints in mind, third-party complaints can also “potentially” threaten face of the three individuals. Given that a complainee is not present at the time of complaining, the complainee’s face and that of the complainer toward the complainee could not be directly threatened. However, it is not necessarily certain that the complaint is kept secret with the recipient if s/he is on good terms with the absent complainee. There is also a possibility that an acquaintance of the complainee overhears the complaint, who might inform the complainee later. Considering these cases, the complainer’s face and that of the complainee are not absolutely safe from threat; it can be said that their face can be indirectly threatened albeit to a lesser degree. This line of thinking suggests that Brown and Levinson’s (1987) concept of face that only considers the speaker-hearer relationship may not be sufficient because it does not take into account a broader context of social relationships. Moreover, responding to third-party complaints is not necessarily an easy task because it can also be “potentially” face-threatening. A recipient sharing common interests and values with the complainer may affiliate with the complaint, thereby co-complaining about the complainee. Agreeing with the complaint saves the complainer’s face and that of the recipient toward the complainer. However, the co-complaining can also indirectly threaten face of the absent complainee and that of the co-complainer, namely an original complaint recipient, toward the complainee. This point is schematically illustrated in Diagram 1.A below.

 Chapter 7 Interactional management of third-party complaints

thr ea ten ing Fac e-

g

Fac e-

ate n in

ate nin g

g

in av e-s

c Fa

Fac e-t hre

g

ing ten rea

Face-saving

Third-party complaining Face-threatening

Face-saving

A complainer

A complainee

vi n sa e-

g

-th ce Fa

Third-party complaining

B. A recipient shows less affiliation. c Fa

A complainee

nin ate re -th ce Fa

thr ea ten ing

A. A recipient shows affiliation.

Fac e-t hre

166 

A recipient

Show affiliation (co-complaining)

A complainer

Face-threatening

A recipient

Show less affiliation (disagree)

Diagram 1: Two cases of a face negotiation process among a complainer, a complainee, and a recipient while third-party complaining.24

In contrast, if a recipient does not share the same feeling with the complainer, s/he may show her/his less affiliation with the complainer by simply disattending (i.e., disregarding) or disagreeing with the complaint (see Diagram 1.B above). Whereas the disaffiliation threatens the complainer’s face and that of the recipient toward the complainer, it indirectly saves face of the complainee and that of the recipient toward the complainee. The series of the discussion so far suggest that face negotiation during third-party complaining is a complex process, the interactants negotiating their stances toward the complaint. However, Brown and Levinson’s (1987) model of politeness fails to capture the dynamic negotiation processes of face because their interest remained at the level of utterances as pointed out in Section 2.4.2. This chapter, therefore, takes a more dynamic view of politeness from the perspective of discursive approaches, the interactional approach in particular (see Sections 2.4.2 and 2.4.3), and uses (multimodal) CA to delve into the online negotiation processes of face during third-party complaining.

7.1.2 Third-party complaint sequences A third-party complaint commonly develops into an extended sequence if one looks at it from a conversation analytic perspective (i.e., “big packages” to borrow Sacks’

24 The earlier version of Diagram 1 was originally published as Fig. 1 in Mayu Konakahara, “Interactional management of face-threatening acts in casual ELF conversations: An analysis of third-party complaint sequences”; in: Barbara Seidlhofer (ed.), Journal of English as a Lingua Franca, Volume 6, Issue 2, Berlin: De Gruyter, 2017, pp. 313–343, figs. 1–5.

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1995 words). This is because, as Günthner (1997) explains, the complainer has to depict the context of the complaint for the recipient. That is, the complainer has to reproduce and represent part of past individual experiences and actions (i.e., reconstructive communicative genres in Bergmann and Luckmann 1995; see also Günthner 1997: 182) so that the recipient can understand and affiliate with the complaint. Accordingly, third-party complaint sequences frequently contain narratives and are, to some extent, similar to other extended sequences such as troubles-telling (Günthner 1997: 183; Laforest 2009: 2453). It has been found that third-party complaining and troubles-telling develop in a step-wise and fluctuated fashion (Heinemann and Traverso 2009; Jefferson 1984c, 1988; Jefferson and Lee 1981; Traverso 2009). For example, Jefferson (1988: 420), in her analysis of troubles-telling sequences, revealed a sequence candidate that consists of six main elements, namely, Approach, Arrival, Delivery, Work-up, Close Implicature, and Exit, which occur in a disordered manner (see also Jefferson and Lee 1981: 400). This disordering, in Jefferson’s (1988: 440) words, is ascribed to “general problem-types encountered or generated by troubles-talk” rather than “the particularities of a given conversation” (see also “interactional asynchrony” and “activity contamination” in Jefferson and Lee 1981: 402). This means that the fluctuated development is intrinsic to troubles-telling. In a similar vein, third-party complaint sequences also develop in a step-wise and fluctuated fashion. For example, Traverso (2009: 2388), in her analysis of thirdparty complaints between friends in French conversations, identifies four phases recurring in the sequences, namely initiation, core part, complaint development, and closing. These phases do not necessarily develop in a linear fashion, particularly in the middle two phases (Traverso 2009: 2397–2398). In the core part phase, recipients do not necessarily agree to complaints, but they may disagree, thereby the legitimacy of the complaints being negotiated. In reference to Mandelbaum ([1991] 1992: 98, 105), Traverso (2009: 2392–2393) showed that the legitimacy of the complaint can not only be challenged but also be explicitly disattended by breaking a topic (i.e., blunt disattending) or implicitly disattended by picking up another available element in the preceding complaint as relevant for the further talk (i.e., subtle disattending). On the other hand, complaints in the development phase were found to progress “with endless fluctuations with regard to affiliation, agreement and disagreement” (Traverso 2009: 2393–2394) in order to increase the degree of involvement in the complaining activity. To this end, complainers, for example, may elaborate on the worthiness of the complaint by exploiting linguistic resources such as repetition, amplification, and story-telling as rhetorical devices, along with displays of emotion (Traverso 2009: 2393). The recipients, on the other hand, may slightly change their stance to offer explanations for the cause of the complaining behavior/event or to strongly criticize the complaining object

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(Traverso 2009: 2394–2396). A tentative topic switch may also occur along with the development of the complaint (Traverso 2009: 2396–2397). Traverso (2009: 2398) argues that these fluctuations in the interactants’ stances during third-party complaint sequences are “a regular part of the complaint”. That is, the fluctuations are an activity-specific feature of the complaint sequences (see also Jefferson 1988 for similar observations of troubles-telling). As discussed in the prior section, face negotiation during third-party complaining is a complex process because the three individuals are involved, although a complainee is not present, and responding to complaints is also a “potential” FTA. Although to my knowledge, no study has explicitly investigated this issue, fluctuations in interactants’ stances during third-party complaint sequences can be related to the complex face negotiation processes. The complaint recipient in particular is in a double-bind situation because her/his response, either affiliating or disaffiliating, can threaten the complainee’s face and that of her/his own toward the complainee or the complainer’s face and that of her/his own toward the complainer (see Diagram 1 presented earlier). This, at least partially, explains why interactants’ stances, particularly a complaint recipient’s, fluctuate during the sequence of a third-party complaint. While the two preceding chapters have focused on analyzing how interactants using ELF manage conflict moments that constitute shorter sequences such as overlapping and dispreferred responses, this chapter investigates how interactants manage conflict moments like third-party complaining in extended sequences. The following quote from Sacks and Jefferson (1995) reminds us that the analysis of extended sequences is somewhat different from that of shorter sequences such as adjacency pairs: It turns out that one central problem in building big packages is that the ways the utterances that turn out to compose the package get dealt with as single utterances or pairs of utterances or triplets of utterances, etc. may have almost no bearing on how they’re to be dealt with when an attempt is made to build a larger package. That is to say, the operation is not at all additive. (Extracted from Sacks and Jefferson 1995: 354)

What the above quotation suggests is that depending only on the turn-by-turn analysis of talk may not be sufficient when analyzing extended sequences. Instead, it is imperative, as Traverso (2009: 2387) also points out, to link “what goes on at one particular point to the overall orientation of the sequence”. It is thus essential to consider the functions of the particular actions within the extended sequences of talk. To this end, the present research utilizes a technique of single case analysis of CA because the technique “can be drawn more or less at random from any interactional context, to observe the ways in which particular conversational devices are used in its production” (Hutchby and Wooffitt 2008: 113). In addition, the perspec-

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tive of multimodality will be incorporated into the analysis where possible given the important functions that non-verbal semiotic resources serve along with talk (see Sections 2.2.1.1 and 2.2.1.2). By doing so, this chapter investigates how interactants manage moments like third-party complaining, thereby engaging in facework in extended sequences. Having clarified the definition of and the sequences of third-party complaints, I will now discuss the findings from the present research in the following section.

7.2 Findings and discussion Third-party complaints were frequently observed in the present data, yet there was only one instance of a direct complaint. The targets of third-party complaints vary from concrete objects such as tutors, buildings, course mates, and past experiences, to more abstract ones such as cultures, customs, and accents. The sequences of third-party complaints in the data developed in a stepwise and fluctuated manner similar to the findings from the existing research (Jefferson 1988; Traverso 2009). Although the sequences seemed to be roughly ordered as in Traverso’s (2009) four phases (i.e., initiation, core part, complaint development, and closing), the identification of each phase was not necessarily clear and straightforward, particularly in a multi-party conversation in this research. In such an interaction, when one recipient affiliated with what the complainer said, another showed no response at all, disaffiliated with it, or picked up other available elements in the prior utterance in order to develop the talk. In the sequences of third-party complaints, a wide range of verbal and non-verbal semiotic resources were used to claim the legitimacy of complaints, to show affiliation with the complaints, and to avoid overt/ direct disagreement with the complaints. Both complainers and recipients tactically utilized such resources in order to claim common ground on the one hand and to mitigate the degree of the “potential” FTAs of complaining and/or disagreeing on the other. Although the dynamic development made it somewhat complex to delineate a clear line between each phase, mainly two types of sequences were identified. One is a disattended complaint sequence in which a complaint is subtly disattended by the recipient (the term is borrowed from Mandelbaum 1992), and the other is a negotiated complaint sequence in which a complaint develops into a longer sequence than the first one, given that its validity is negotiated between a complainer and the recipient(s) in a stepwise fashion. In the following, I will present and discuss one example of each type of a thirdparty complaint sequence. Through the detailed descriptions of each type of thirdparty complaint sequence, I will illustrate how the interactants skillfully make, as well as respond to, complaints in order to deal with face of three individuals,

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namely, complainers, complainees, and complaint recipients, in casual ELF conversations among friends.

7.2.1 A disattended complaint sequence The first excerpt contains a series of third-party complaints made by one interactant that is subtly disattended by the recipient (i.e., a disattended complaint sequence). In Excerpt 7.1, JP9 (Japanese) and IR2 (Iranian), who are course mates doing a PhD in history, are talking about Japanese classes that JP9 teaches at the university (extracted from Conversations K; no video data available). Interestingly, the complainer JP9 gradually makes specific and explicit complaints by utilizing a wide range of verbal semiotic resources such as reported speech, self-rephrasing, extreme case formulations (Pomerantz 1986), prefaces, hedges, and hesitations. The complaint recipient IR2 shows approval for the complaints but subtly disattends them by exploiting laughter and teasing. In the excerpt, horizontal single arrows (→) next to the line numbers indicate a turn containing a complaint in question. Excerpt 7.1: A disattended complaint sequence with reported speech, self-rephrasing, extreme case formulations, prefaces, hedges, and hesitations Colleague teacher [K(3), 17:44, 1–45 / JP9, IR2] (video data not available) 1 JP9: and >yesterday I< had tutorial I was teaching Japanese? 2 (0.6) and um (0.6) you know (0.5) I ask my students 3 you know eh:: you have any suggestions to the class 4 and they said (0.5) eh::: (2.1) teachers 5 IR2: mm hmm 6 →JP9: in Japanese (>some< they) are not great¿ I mean that (.) 7 sometimes they’re ↑late ↑for class¿ I mean that (0.4) 8 IR2: ↑mm:. 9 JP9: eh:::: lecturers they sometimes say you know (.) 10 don’t be late you know (.) to students but (.) eh:: lectures 11 or teachers (1.4) eh:: they themselves say >you know< 12 they are late so: 13 IR2: yeah. 14 JP9: so also:: (1.9) one lecturer one specific °you know° 15 particular one. [eh::] (0.6) female teacher but (0.6) 16 IR2: [mm::] 17 JP9: sh- female lecturer but she is just being ↑through 18 ↑the handout? 19 IR2: °mhm° 20 →JP9: so not interesting uh I mean so boring I mean that 21 (0.5) that [you] know 22 IR2: [mm:] 23 (1.6)

7.2 Findings and discussion 

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24 JP9: she is just teaching grammar Japanese grammar 25 [bu:t] (.) just eh:: read through the (.) 26 IR2: [mm::] 27 JP9: >you know< ↑handout¿ and no power [point¿ 28 IR2: [she was she is not 29 very popular. 30 JP9: no[ no. ] 31 IR2: [nahhaha] £no at all£ a↑hah[hahhahhah h-h-h 32 JP9: [yeah:: 33 (0.6) 34 IR2: he’s Japanese 35 JP9: eh:[: 36 IR2: [°she’s Japanese°= 37 JP9: =British [yeah:::] 38 IR2: [British] 39 (1.5) 40 JP9: yeah she’s fro:m (.) ↑oxford.[ and] uh you know 41 IR2: [↑mm.] 42 JP9: I think she’s very very smart. but (0.7) not necessarily 43 (0.5) great teacher¿= 44 IR2: =that because she’s cute. 45 (0.5) 46 hhhhu[hu ↑nnhhahhah[hahhah ↑hah hah hah [hah hah hah 47 JP9: [no [£not at a:ll£ hhm [↑huh huh huh 48 IR2: hahhah [huhhuhhuhhuh huh 49 JP9: [↑huh huh ((The complaint sequence ends; IR2 starts to talk about the interview that he underwent on the previous day.))

The beginning and ending of the complaint sequence in the above excerpt are clearly bounded (Drew 1998: 304). The sequence starts with JP9’s story about a Japanese class (i.e., “tutorial” in the excerpt) on the previous day (lines 1–3), develops into a series of complaints, and then ends with shared laughter (lines 46–49). The complainer JP9 gradually makes his complaints specific and explicit. First, he utilizes the form of reported speech (Haakana 2007; Holt and Clift 2007). Borrowing his students’ words, he introduces the students’ negative evaluation of some of the teachers in Japanese classes in lines 4 and 6 (i.e., “and they said (0.5) eh::: (2.1) teachers in Japanese (>some< they) are not great¿”). He then provides evidence perhaps reported by the students: They are sometimes late for their classes (lines 6–7). This is preceded and followed by a rephrase marker I mean (Mauranen 2007) that signals the upcoming self-rephrasing. He then gives more specific accounts using his students’ words, that is, the lecturers advise their students not to be late for class even though they themselves are sometimes late (lines 9–12). Here, JP9 carefully specifies the target of the complaint and reproduces its alleged account

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rea ten

ng ate ni thr e

Fac e-

A complainer JP9

e-s Fac

Intensify the FTA: Reported speech, extreme case formulations, and accounts

Third-party complaining

g avin

Soften the FTA: Self-rephrasing, reported speech, prefaces, hedges, and hesitations

g

Fac e

-th

in av

e-s

A complainee JP9’s colleague

c Fa

ing

by utilizing the form of reported speech and self-rephrasing (functions of reported speech will be discussed later in this section). Subsequently, JP9 continues his complaint story after IR2’s acknowledgment token “yeah” in line 13. The target of complaint now moves to a specific female colleague teacher (lines 14–27). This time JP9 does not use the phrase “they said” which is a typical introductory component of reported speech (Holt and Clift 2007: 5). Yet he still seems to be reporting what his students have said about the teacher. He details the female teacher’s alleged wrongdoing recognizable only by the students attending her class. That is, her teaching style is boring because she only reads out grammatical explanations on the handout without using PowerPoint slides (lines 17–18, 20–21, and 24–25). He again carefully specifies the target of the complaint by rephrasing the target and adding and substituting attributive adjectives and/ or nouns five times (i.e., “one lecturer”, “one specific”, “particular one”, “female teacher”, and “female lecturer” in lines 14, 15, and 17). Apparently, self-rephrasing/ repair in ELF interactions serves to improve the explicitness and clarity of the proposition, thereby ensuring mutual understanding (Kaur 2011b; Mauranen 2007). This observation is also applicable to the behaviors of JP9 and it can be argued that JP9 is cautious about making the complaint. Given that complaining is “potentially” face-threatening in nature, JP9 tries to be as specific as possible, thereby being cautious, in order to justify the complaint. This enables him to soften the degree of the “potential” FTA of complaining (see Diagram 2).

Face-threatening

Face-threatening Disattend the complaint

A lessaffiliating recipient IR2

Mitigated by means of teasing and laughter

Diagram 2: JP9’s and IR2’s face negotiation during the third-party complaint sequence.25 25 The earlier version of Diagram 2 was originally published as Fig. 2 in Mayu Konakahara, “Interactional management of face-threatening acts in casual ELF conversations: An analysis of third-party complaint sequences”; in: Barbara Seidlhofer (ed.), Journal of English as a Lingua Franca, Volume 6, Issue 2, Berlin: De Gruyter, 2017, pp. 313–343, figs. 1–5.

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 173

On the other hand, the use of reported speech serves multifaceted functions within interaction. It provides the recipient with evidence of the negative evaluation, distances the complainer from the content of the words, and creates involvement in the complaint story (see Goffman 1974; Haakana 2007; Holt 1996, 2000; Tannen 2007a). As Holt argues, the use of direct reported speech enables its user to convey both the attitude of the reported speaker and, more implicitly, that of the current speaker (Holt 2000: 435–439), thereby giving “an air of objectivity to the account” (Holt 1996: 230). In a similar vein, Goffman (1974:512) notes that the use of reported speech allows its user to “[split] himself off from the content of the words by expressing that their speaker is not he himself or not he himself in a serious way”. In Excerpt 7.1 above, whether JP9 is using direct reported speech or indirect one is not necessarily clear. He uses the expression they said at the outset and then uses the rephrase marker I mean in order to paraphrase what he has said. Yet JP9 roughly reproduces what the students have said about the colleague teacher and provides detailed information on the alleged wrongdoing. This helps him not only distance himself from the complaint but also provide IR2 with objective evidence to evaluate the reported event, thereby claiming the legitimacy of the complaint (see Diagram 2). IR2 shows his understanding of JP9’s utterances and explicitly gives a negative evaluation of the teacher in lines 28–29 (i.e., “she was she is not very popular”). JP9 then joins in with the evaluation by saying “no no” in line 30. Holt (2000: 439) argues that the “explicit evaluation of the reported utterance often is supplied first by the recipient, with the teller then joining in by reacting to or assessing the reported utterance”. Here, the same phenomenon is observed where IR2 provides the explicit evaluation on the basis of the objective account provided by JP9 who then affirms the evaluation in the next turn. JP9 also utilizes an extreme case formulation “just” (Pomerantz 1986) three times within the sequence of his reported speech (lines 17, 24, and 25). This use intensifies the unsatisfactory work of the colleague teacher, thereby claiming the legitimacy of the complaint (see Diagram 2). Nevertheless, the complaint itself is implicitly made because it is embedded in the reported speech. This suggests that JP9 is skillful in making the complaint. He avoids threatening his positive face and the complainee’s by the use of reported speech while successfully validating the complaint as a complaint proper. However, this is not the end of the complaint story. JP9 makes a more explicit complaint about his colleague: She is not necessarily good at teaching (lines 42–43). Compared with the preceding two complaints that appear in the form of reported speech, this complaint is rather explicit. But the degree of the “potential” FTA of complaining is softened by means of several verbal semiotic resources as follows: First, the complaint is made on the basis of an objective account, namely

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the reported students’ negative evaluation. This enables JP9 to make his complaint legitimate, intensifying the degree of the face threat. Second, the complaint is prefaced by a compliment “I think she’s very very smart” (line 42) which serves as a softener of the complaint. In addition, the combination of the compliment and the complaint is embedded in the subordinate clause “I think”. According to Brown and Levinson (1987: 164), the expression I think serves as a quality hedge which indicates that “the speaker is not taking full responsibility for the truth of his utterance”. That is, JP9 makes his complaint in a tentative tone and distances himself from the complaint. The tone of the complaint is also reinforced by the use of pauses (i.e., hesitations) during the production of the negative assessment: JP9 pauses for 0.7 seconds before producing the partial negation “not necessarily” (line 42); after that, he again pauses for 0.5 seconds and then produces the evaluative word “great teacher” (line 43). Here, similar to the first two complaints in the preceding turns, JP9 skillfully makes the complaint objective and tentative. The use of the verbal semiotic resources helps mitigate the degree of the “potential” FTA of complaining, thereby saving JP9’s positive face and that of the complainee (see Diagram 2). Whereas JP9 successfully mitigates the complaint while claiming its legitimacy, the complaint recipient IR2 skillfully responds to the complaint. In the above excerpt, IR2 maintains his stance thoroughly: He somewhat distances himself from the complaints despite acknowledging them as complaints proper. In response to the first complaint made about some Japanese teachers (lines 4–12), IR2 merely provides a continuer “yeah” in falling intonation (line 13). This response simply acknowledges the announcement of the preceding complaint (Jefferson 1988) without explicitly eliciting further talk or displaying explicit affiliation with the complaint. Here, JP9 subsequently continues his complaint story. In response to JP9’s second complaint (lines 14–27), IR2 shows his understanding of what JP9 implicitly complains about and explicitly gives the negative evaluation of the reported teacher’s alleged wrongdoing (lines 28–29) in order to show the increased degree of involvement in the interaction. When JP9 confirms the negative evaluation of IR2 in line 30, IR2 bursts into laughter and produces an intensifier “at all” in smiley voice (line 31). Although IR2’s behavior shows affiliation with the complaint, he somewhat takes the complaint lightly rather than seriously. This tone is maintained in the ensuing turns. In response to the third complaint (lines 40–43), IR2 latches onto JP9’s complaining utterance and then teases JP9 (i.e., “that because she’s cute” in line 44). After a 0.5-second pause (line 45), he then bursts into laughter (lines 46 and 48) which invites shared laughter from JP9 (lines 47 and 49) (Holt 2000). Although IR2’s teasing is built on JP9’s complaint, it somewhat shifts the focus of the ongoing interaction. Rather than showing explicit affiliation with the com-

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 175

plaint (e.g., that’s awful), IR2 picks up an element other than the complaint, namely that the complainee is a female, as relevant for further talk (i.e., subtle disattending in Mandelbaum 1992: 105). Soon after IR2 bursts into laughter, JP9 responds to the tease with disagreement in smiley voice and then laughs (line 47), thereby suggesting that JP9 takes IR2’s teasing as such. The series of IR2’s responsive behaviors are tactful as complaint responses in terms of face negotiation. IR2 not only softens the degree of the “potential” FTA of complaining by treating the complaint as laughable but also avoids overt disagreement with the complainer by orienting to another element of the complainer’s utterance as relevant for further talk (see Diagram 2). In addition, the teasing invites shared laughter and results in closing the sequence of complaining. In short, both the complainer and its recipient mitigate the degree of the “potential” FTA in the disattended complaint sequence above. Verbal semiotic resources such as reported speech, self-rephrasing, extreme case formulations, accounts, prefaces, hedges, and hesitations are exploited by the complainer, while those such as a simple acknowledgment token, laughter, and teasing are exploited by the recipient in order to save positive face of the complainer, of the complainee, and of the recipient. However, not all instances of third-party complaints are realized in such a manner. The degree of the “potential” FTA may intensify at least by the complainer if the trouble has not been (or cannot be) resolved: negotiated complaint sequences. The next section illustrates such a case.

7.2.2 A negotiated complaint sequence The second excerpt was extracted from one of the multi-party conversational data. It presents the third-party complaint sequence that develops into a fairly extended one, namely a negotiated complaint sequence, because the validity of complaints is negotiated among interactants. In Excerpt 7.2, JP1 (Japanese), JP2 (Japanese), TW2 (Taiwanese), and TW3 (Taiwanese) are course mates doing an MA in TESOL (extracted from Conversation B). To explain the background to the excerpt, JP1 and TW3 have the same tutor and are expecting to receive feedback on their assignments from him. Here, TW3 starts to complain about the delay of their tutor’s feedback which should have been uploaded on the Internet by Wednesday that week. While one recipient, JP1, affiliates with the complaint, another, TW2, disaffiliates with it. The interactants negotiate their stances toward the complaint, or negotiate their face, by using various verbal and non-verbal semiotic resources, such as prosodic hyperbolism (e.g., pitch shifts, elongations; see Günthner 1997: 201), repetition, gestures, and facial expressions, which are exploited to obtain affiliation from, as well as show affiliation with, the interactants. On the other hand, questioning is mainly utilized to

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show disaffiliation. During the conversation, JP1 and TW2 are having a meal while the interactants are sitting from left to right, TW3, JP1, and TW2 (see Appendix D for the seat configuration). JP2 is not present in the video data because he was busy serving food as the host of the gathering. In the excerpt, horizontal single arrows (→) next to line numbers indicate turns containing a complaint in question. Excerpt 7.2: A negotiated complaint sequence with repair sequences, prosodic hyperbolism, embodied actions, reported speech, questioning, and detailed accounts Tutor’s feedback [B(f), 1-605, 20:20–34:06 / JP1, TW2(M), TW3, JP2(M)] 1 TW3: (JP1↓::) 2 JP1: ↑mm mm 3 →TW3: ▪I %che:cked [our] re%sult aga%i:n.▪ 4 JP1: [mm ] tw3 ▪...HH---.............---.HH..----▪ %fig41 %fig42 %fig43

Fig. 41

Fig. 42

Fig. 43 5 6 7 8 9

TW3: jp1 JP1: JP2: jp1

↑hm? >↑hm[↑hm?l.9 for the+ (Tutor A) (0.+4)[s[t]ill] + [mm ]+ [oh! ] ->+ +nods +

7.2 Findings and discussion 

T W 3

J P 1

T W 2

T W 2

J P 1

T W 3

 177

A B

10 TW2: ↑oh! 11 →TW3: ▪+↑sti::Δll (.)↑no%::= ▪makes a serious face-> +shakes HD, inclining it to the right side-> Δ...HHH----,,,->l.13 %fig44

Fig. 44 12 13

JP1: =no @[oh::::]::::. TW3: Δ[no::::] ->Δ jp1 @.............brings a forkful of rice to mouth->l.15

14 15

TW2: ↑but JP1: ↑↑oh::::.@ ,,,,,,,->@

16 17 18

TW2: you didn’t a[sk hi:m] (.) on Monday. TW3: [oh:::::] (1.4) T W 3

19 20

J P 1

A

T W 2

T W 3

J P 1

B

T W 2

TW3: no (.) ▪↑be- (.)+ [%↑(JP1)] a::s▪Δked.Δ+ JP1: [I did ] ▪.........HHH----,,,,,,,,▪ΔnodsΔ tw3 +..ppp---------,,,,,,,->+ %fig45

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Fig. 45 21 22 23

(0.6) ((TW2 is putting his fork on the table)) TW2: (claim) Δ(0.9) Δ((TW2 is bringing his right hand on his lap)) jp1 Δnods once stronglyΔ

24 25 26

TW2: >I remember he said to me he’s going to finish his PhD::< TW3: on Tuesday TW2: oh +ya+::. +nods+

27

TW3: @↑yeah.@ @nods once@

28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35

TW2: so:: JP1: and ↑he sai:::d (.) because u::m my a↑ssignment for the pee ee el el i::s (.) very ↑similar to the last ↑one (0.4) but I told him I ↑need your feedba::ck (.) >as soon as< possible and he sai::d (.) okay then I will (.) upload your ↑my result¿ (0.8) JP1: °I mean my re+sult.°+ +nods twice+ @(.)@ tw2 @nods thrice quickly@

36 37

TW2: ↑k- k- k- km T W 3

38

J P 1

T W 2

JP1: nine da- in nine+ da::ys,+ (0.4) tw3 +tilts HD to a right side+

7.2 Findings and discussion 

J P 1

T W 3

A

39

41

J P 1

T W 2

J P 1

T W 3

T W 2

T W 2

T W 3

B

T W 2

J P 1

C

the sub↑mission of +his PhD+ +lifts her right H+

tw3

+(0.7) +counts on her fingers->l.43

tw3

J P 1

T W 3

T W 2

J P 1

T W 3

T W 2

A

J P 1

T W 2

T W 3

C

B

J P 1

D

T W 2

TW2: so ▪Tuesday (.)▪Δ then (.) nine [days]Δ JP1: [it’s] it was suppo+sed to tw2 ▪points to TW3▪Δpoints to JP1 ->Δ tw3 ->+ J P 1

T W 3

T W 2

A

J P 1

B

T W 3

T W 2

J P 1

T W 2

C

be ↑up (.) on, (.) [Wednes]da:::y TW2: [£hhhh£] T W 3

J P 1

T W 2

T W 3

J P 1

T W 2

J P 2

A B

46

(0.8) T W 3

47 48 49 50 51

T W 3

T W 2

C

A

T W 3

44 45

B

J P 1

T W 3

42 43

J P 1

just after >you know< T W 3

40

T W 3

T W 2

 179

J P 1

T W 2

J P 2

TW2: £hhhhh£ .hh TW3: ↑ha? (2.3) TW3: [[really? ] JP1: [[+yeah+ he] said yeah ↑he will upload my mi::ne¿ +nods+

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52 (0.8) 53 JP1: just after submission of his >Ph< ↑D:: 54 TW3: oh >yeah yeah yeah yeah< 55 JP1: ↑yeah 56 (0.6) 57 JP1: I don’t trust him anymore 58 TW2: mhh hh hh 59 TW3: °ya:::::h¿° 60 (3.6) 61 TW3: ↑°°(o:)°° 62 JP1: I’m ↑so angry with (Tutor B) you know 63 after (.) I heard about (Friend E) ((Another complaint story starts.))

Here, a third-party complaint is first produced in line 11 (i.e., “↑sti::ll (.) ↑no::”) and elaborated subsequently. The complainer, TW3, initially fails to make the complaints recognizable as a complaint proper; therefore, a repair sequence is inserted. Specifically, the complaint sequence starts with the address term articulated in an appealing tone (line 1). TW3 elongates the address term with the pitch of its second syllable shifted into low. Having obtained JP1’s attention successfully, she then introduces the target of the complaint, stating that she checked “our result” in line 3. This is produced not only in an accusing tone but also accompanied by an on-stress or a beat gesture that stresses the main message of the utterance (Schegloff 1984; McNeill 1992). TW3 swings her left hand vertically twice while saying “check” and “result” and then brings both hands on her knees while saying “again” (see Figs. 41–43 below line 4). She also puts emphasis on the first/second syllable of each of the lexical items. This behavior emphasizes the seriousness of the complaint. However, JP1 could not recognize the target of the complaint. Although TW3 states that she checked “our result”, she does not specify the result of what. The vague referent causes a problem in recognizing the complaint target on the part of JP1 (Kaur 2011a). Accordingly, JP1 produces an open form of repair initiation “hm?” (Schegloff, Jefferson, and Sacks 1977) three times to signal her non-understanding (line 5). TW3 interprets this signal as a problem in hearing and repeats the word “result” with emphasis on the second syllable (line 6). This does not solve JP1’s non-understanding, however. Accordingly, JP1 encourages TW3 to continue by nodding three times during a pause of 0.7 seconds (see below line 6). In response, TW3 specifies the complaint target as Tutor’s A feedback by saying “for the (Tutor A)” (line 7). JP1 finally recognizes the target and thus nods once (see below line 9) during a pause of 0.4 seconds (line 7) and produces an acknowledgment token “mm” (line 8). Having resolved JP1’s non-understanding through the repair sequence like above, TW3 resumes her complaint story and says “still”, addressing it to JP1 (line 7). At this moment, JP2 and TW2 recognize the complaint and produce a change-of-

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state token oh (Heritage 1984a) respectively in lines 9 and 10. The complainer TW3 then looks at TW2 and involves him in the complaint story (see Diagram B above line 10). To state the complaint, she repeats the same word “still” and produces “no” with an accusing tone, indicating that the tutor’s feedback has not been uploaded on the Internet yet (line 11). Here, as far as linguistic forms are concerned, TW3 is not necessarily explicit in producing the complaint (cf. an explicitness strategy in Kaur 2011b). However, she effectively emphasizes the seriousness of the complaint, using prosodic and physical resources: She first changes into a more serious facial expression while saying the first “still” in line 7. She then raises the pitch of her voice when saying “still no” in line 11. Each lexical item is elongated, and the emphasis is put on the individual items (i.e., prosodic hyperbolism in Günthner 1997: 201). In addition, she shakes her head, inclining it to the right side, and extends her arms in front of herself with her palms shown upward (see Fig. 44 below line 11). This use of this series of prosodic and physical resources emphasizes her disbelief or discomfort due to the delay in the tutor’s feedback regardless of the less explicit linguistic forms. By utilizing the non-verbal semiotic resources effectively, TW3 successfully elicits affiliation from the original complaint recipient, JP1, who shares the same tutor as TW3. JP1 immediately shows her affiliation in the next turn. She latches on to TW3’s utterance and repeats part of her complaint “no” (line 12), copying the tone of TW3’s utterance to produce it. She then produces a lengthened interjection “oh::::::::” (line 12). Simultaneously with this interjection, TW3 also repeats “no” with elongation (line 13) in order to re-emphasize the seriousness of the complaint as well as to acknowledge JP1’s affiliation. JP1’s response here does not necessarily sound enthusiastic. This is likely because she brings a forkful of rice to her mouth after producing the interjection. Shortly afterward, she again produces an elongated interjection “↑↑oh::::” in a higher pitch (line 15). This reinforces the show of affiliation with TW3. In response to the second interjection of JP1, TW3 also produces an interjection “oh:::::”, which copies the tone of JP1 (line 17). The series of TW3’s complaining utterances and JP1’s responses are not necessarily explicit in their linguistic forms. Nevertheless, they effectively show affiliation with each other and thus signal affective co-indignation at the complaint (see indignation markers in Günthner 1997: 189; see also Cogo 2010 for repetition as an accommodation strategy). As discussed in Section 7.1.2, complaining and agreeing with the complaint are “potential” FTAs that threaten positive face of the individuals involved in the exchange (Brown and Levinson 1987). In the excerpt, however, TW3 and JP1 intensify the degree of the “potential” FTAs by approving and emphasizing the seriousness of the complaint. This is because they share the same urgent and not-yet-solved problem (i.e., the delay of the tutor’s feedback). Reversely, through the exchange of

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the complaint and its approval, TW3 and JP1 successfully save their face toward each other, thereby strengthening solidarity between them. In contrast, another recipient, TW2, who does not share the same problem, shows disaffiliation with the complaint. After showing his recognition of the complaint in line 10 (i.e., “oh”), he produces a discourse marker but in a higher pitch in line 14 to initiate a contrastive action (Schiffrin 1987). He then states that TW3 did not ask the tutor about the feedback on Monday in line 16 (i.e., “you didn’t ask hi:m (.) on Monday.”). Here, he uses the form of a declarative sentence that is not preceded by an agreement token. This, as far as the linguistic form and the preference structure are concerned, makes the utterance sound like a rather blunt disagreement although the utterance is not produced in an accusing tone. Considering the fact that a confirmation and clarification sequence comes in the next turn, TW2’s use of declarative form serves to elicit information related to the complaint from the complainer: It functions as questioning. That a pause of 1.4 seconds follows it in line 18 suggests that a dispreferred response will come next (Pomerantz 1984). Subsequently, both the complainer TW3 and the affiliating recipient JP1 justify the shared complaint collaboratively. After a 1.4-second pause, the complainer, TW3, starts to justify the legitimacy of the complaint by accepting TW2’s statement (i.e., “no”), but immediately explaining that JP1 has asked the tutor instead of her in line 19.26 This explanation is produced in a higher pitch, pointing to JP1 with her right hand as illustrated in Fig. 5 below line 20. JP1 also joins this explanation: As shown in Fig. 41, she raises her left hand when TW3 says “no” and then claims that she has asked the tutor (i.e., “I did” in line 20). She then nods once strongly. Having shared the same grievance, TW3 and JP1 cooperatively provide justification for the complaint, thereby securing the validity of the complaint. In this way, they again reinforce solidarity between them. In response to TW3 and JP1’s collaborative defense, TW2 slightly adjusts his stance toward the complaint and less overtly expresses disaffiliation. This is mainly achieved by eliciting further information necessary for assessing the legitimacy of the complaint. In line 22, TW2 confirms that JP1 told her claim to the tutor (i.e., “claim”). JP1 acknowledges this by vigorously nodding once while TW2 is bringing his right hand on his lap during a pause of 0.9 seconds (line 23). Having confirmed their defense, TW2 then starts to tell what he heard from the tutor about the tutor’s completion of his PhD, but could not recall the exact day (line 24). Accordingly, he seeks information from the co-interactants without using the form of an interrog-

26 Note that TW3’s production of the interjection oh in line 17 is not a response to TW2’s question. Rather, as discussed earlier, it is a reply to JP1’s interjection in line 15 because TW3 copies the tone of JP1’s utterance to produce it.

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ative sentence: He elongates the sound of d of PhD, looking at JP1 and TW3 in turn, thereby exhibiting the state of word searching (Goodwin and Goodwin 1986). His utterance is also followed by a hand gesture of slightly waving his left hand, with the palm facing laterally, in front of his chest. In response to the series of TW2’s behavior, the original complainer, TW3, says “on Tuesday” (line 25), thereby completing TW2’s utterance on behalf of him (i.e., utterance completion in Cogo and Dewey 2012). In response, TW2 produces a change of state token oh and then confirms TW3’s offer strongly in line 26 (i.e., “oh ya::.”) by putting an emphasis on the acknowledgment token and nodding once (see below line 26). TW3 re-confirms this in the next turn (i.e., “↑yeah” in line 27). Here, TW2’s behavior of eliciting information from the complainer (line 24) seems to serve several interactional functions. First, it shows TW2’s interest in the complaint story, thereby he is actively participating in the ongoing interaction. In relation to this point, although his utterance does not take the form of an interrogative sentence, the use of elicitation serves a similar function as a technique of a question-answer adjacency pair (Schegloff and Sacks 1973). It enables TW2 to indirectly select the co-interactant, the complainer TW3 in particular, as the next speaker. In doing so, he provides TW3 with the opportunity to express her emotional frustration (Alicke et al. 1992). Moreover, by eliciting information, not only does TW2 attempt to get a better picture of the reported event in order to be able to assess the legitimacy of the complaint but also manages the “potential” FTA of disagreeing with the complaint in a face-saving manner. According to Locher (2004), the use of a question form in disagreeing serves to mitigate the degree of the “potential” FTA of disagreeing because the disagreement is expressed less directly. A similar observation can be applied to TW2’s use of elicitation. Diagram 3 schematically illustrates this point. By formulating his disagreement in an elicitation form, he mitigates the degree of the “potential” FTA of disagreeing, which could threaten TW3 and JP1’s positive face and thus that of TW2 toward them. Simultaneously, the use of elicitation enables him to protect the complainee’s positive face and thus that of TW2 toward the complainee, albeit indirectly, which could be threatened by accepting the complaint. While TW2 seems to be struggling to produce his utterance as far as a linguistic form is concerned, the use of elicitation in fact works well in the interaction. This can be confirmed by TW3’s immediate response in line 25, which offers relevant information to TW2. This suggests that TW2 is interactionally skillful in participating in the ongoing complaint story. The stances of TW3, JP1, and TW2 are maintained in the subsequent turns. While TW2 takes a neutral stance toward the complaint and requests information for assessing the legitimacy of the complaint, TW3 and JP1 justify the complaint collaboratively. Moreover, the affiliating recipient JP1 starts to play the role of a

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g vin sa

A complainee Tutor A

e-

ce Fa

c Fa

ng

i en at re

-th

Facesaving

Face-saving

A complainer TW3

Face-threatening

Face-threatening Gives the opportunity to express their emotional frustration

Disagree with the complaint

g vin -sa

ce Fa An affiliating recipient JP1

ce Fa

g nin te a re -th Third-party complaining

A disaffiliating recipient TW2

Mitigated by use of information elicitation

Diagram 3: JP1’s, TW3’s, and TW2’s face negotiation during the third-party complaint sequence.27

complainer and provides accounts for the complaint in a more elaborated manner. In line 28, TW2 again seeks information. He produces a stand-alone discourse marker so, which prompts action by the recipients (Raymond 2004). In response, the affiliating recipient JP1 starts to elaborate on the accounts for the complaint. She utilizes the form of reported speech in an attempt to make the accounts appear objective (Holt 1996) and depicts what the tutor has said to her when asking about the feedback. JP1 first attempts to report what he has told her (i.e., “↑he sai:::d” in line 29). Yet she pauses for one beat and provides the reason for her urgent need for the tutor’s feedback (i.e., “because u::m my a↑ssignment for the (Course A) i::s (.) very ↑similar to the last ↑one” in lines 29–31). She then explains what she has told the tutor, namely her need to obtain the feedback as soon as possible (lines 31–32), as well as what the tutor has replied, namely that he will upload her feedback about her assignment on the Internet within nine days after the submission of his PhD thesis (lines 32, 33, 38, 39 and 40). By providing the objective accounts in a detailed manner, JP1 justifies the legitimacy of the complaint. This behavior of JP1 is possible because it is she who has first-hand knowledge of what the tutor has said about the feedback (i.e., Type 1 knowables in Pomerantz 1980: 187). Before moving onto the subsequent turns, two more interesting phenomena are observed in JP1’s explanation, particularly in lines 31–33. First, JP1 accom-

27 The earlier version of Diagram 3 was originally published as Fig. 5 in Mayu Konakahara, “Interactional management of face-threatening acts in casual ELF conversations: An analysis of third-party complaint sequences”; in: Barbara Seidlhofer (ed.), Journal of English as a Lingua Franca, Volume 6, Issue 2, Berlin: De Gruyter, 2017, pp. 313–343, figs. 1–5.

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modates herself to the original complainer TW3 by echoing her use of the word “result” (see an accommodation strategy in Cogo and Dewey 2012). Although JP1 uses the word “feedback” to refer to what she needs to get from the tutor (line 31) – and perhaps the word is an appropriate one to refer to it –, she changes the word to “result” when she reports what the tutor has told her (i.e., “my result” in line 33). Although the tutor might have actually used the word “result”, JP1’s change of the word shows an accommodative behavior, at least to some extent. Second, a self-repair sequence is inserted in order to specify the referent of “my” (line 33). As pointed out above, JP1 exploits reported speech to explain what the tutor tells her (lines 32–33). Yet she mixes up forms of direct and indirect reported speech: She first says “he sai::d (.) okay then I will upload your” and then restates it as “my result”, pointing to herself with the fork she holds with her right hand (in lines 32–33, but not included in the excerpt). She inserts a repair “°I mean my result°” (line 35) after a pause of 0.8 seconds (line 34) in order to avoid any confusion on the part of the addressee TW2. TW2 nods immediately after this repair (see below line 36). Once the potential problem in understanding has been solved, the interactants re-orient to the complaint per se. Subsequently, TW2 prompts the exact day that the feedback should have been uploaded on the Internet (line 42). This is achieved by stating what he has heard from the complaining interactants TW3 and JP1: “Tuesday” and “nine days”. This is accompanied by pointing gestures to TW3 and then to JP1 (see below line 43) as well as a gaze directed to each co-interactant (see Diagrams A and B above line 42). Overlapping with the last part of TW2’s utterance, JP1 claims in an accusing tone that the feedback should have been uploaded by Wednesday (lines 43–44). She emphasizes the word “↑up” and the first syllable of the word “Wednesday”. In this way, the original complaint recipient JP1 takes over the role of the main complainer and claims the legitimacy of the complaint. In doing so, she justifies the “potential” FTA of complaining and secures her stance and that of TW3 toward the tutor’s wrongdoing. Although the series of JP1’s responses emphasize the seriousness of the complaint, TW2 still distances himself from the complaint. Nervous laughter is used to this end. In response to JP1’s accusing claim (lines 43–44), TW2 gives laughs by blowing out a breath from his nose in line 45, overlapping with part of JP1’s turn. This is accompanied by gaze withdrawal, which occurs at moments of divergent stance (i.e., cut-off gaze in Haddington 2006); he withdraws his gaze from JP1 and looks at a dish on the table (see Diagram C above line 44). After JP1 shifts her gaze from TW2 to TW3 during a pause of 0.8 seconds (see Diagram A above line 46), TW2 repeats the same laughter (line 47), looking in JP2’s direction although JP2 does not appear on the screen (see Diagram B above line 46 and the diagram above line 47). According to Scollon and Scollon (2001: 156), smiling and laughing are more readily used by Asians than Westerners to show their difficulty or

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embarrassment in interactions. The same observation is applicable to TW2’s use of laughter in the above interaction, in which all of the interactants are from Asian countries (i.e., Taiwan and Japan). TW2 is placed in a difficult situation in terms of face negotiation because both co-complaining and disagreeing with the complaint are “potential” FTAs. Having been confronted with the difficulty, TW2 laughs and thus expresses his discomfort. In doing so, he neither explicitly co-complains about the tutor nor overtly disagrees with other interactants. Although this behavior of TW2 is rather inexplicit, it enables him to avoid threatening positive face of all individuals involved in the complaint sequence, namely the original complainer TW3, the co-complainer JP1, the target of the complaint/the tutor, and he himself. That the co-interactants, TW3 and JP1, do not react to TW2’s laughter suggests that they do not necessarily take it as face-threatening. While JP1 is elaborating on her claim, TW3 slightly adjusts her stance and requests clarification of the deadline of the tutor’s feedback (lines 48 and 50). If one closely looks at her non-verbal behavior, TW3’s questioning behavior starts soon after JP1 states “nine da::ys” in line 38. She slightly tilts her head to a side, shifts her eyes right and left (see Diagrams A and B above line 39), and then looks up (see Diagram B above line 40), making thinking face (Goodwin and Goodwin 1986). Keeping looking up, she brings her right hand in front of her chest, her palm upward (see below line 40). She then looks at the hand (see Diagram C above line 40) and starts to count on her fingers (see below lines 41 and 43). Holding the same hand posture, she lifts her head from the hand (compare Diagrams C and D above line 42) when JP1 says “supposed to” in line 43. She then again looks upward when JP1 says “be” (see Diagram A above line 44), glimpses JP1 when JP1 produces “↑up” in line 44, and immediately removes her gaze from JP1 and stares vacantly into space afterward (see Diagram C above line 44 and Diagram A above line 46). After JP1 shifts her gaze from TW2 to TW3 during a pause of 0.8 seconds in line 46 (see Diagram A above line 46), TW3 again shifts her gaze to JP, which results in a mutual gaze (see Diagram B above line 46). Having not solved her doubt, TW3 then produces a clarification request by using an open form repair initiation “↑ha?” (line 48; Schegloff, Jefferson, and Sacks 1977) and then “really?” (line 50). In response to TW3’s clarification request, JP1 repeats what she has explained to TW2 in the earlier turns (see lines 32–40): The tutor has said that he would upload feedback to JP1 on the Internet just after submitting his PhD thesis (lines 51 and 53). Having obtained the explanation, TW3 produces the change-of-state token oh to show her understanding and then acknowledges what JP1 has said by repeating the acknowledgment token yeah four times at a faster pace (line 54). In her analysis of third-party complaints in French conversations, Traverso (2009: 2394) states that a complaint recipient may strongly criticize the complaint target in the need of increasing the degree of involvement in the complaining activ-

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ity. The same observation is applicable to JP1’s responses in the subsequent turns. JP1 acknowledges TW3’s response by producing the acknowledgment token yeah in a higher pitch in line 55. After a pause of 0.6 seconds (line 56), she then explicitly intensifies her disbelief in the tutor, saying “I don’t trust him anymore” (line 57). She also emphasizes the word “trust” to exaggerate the degree of distrust. Subsequently, while TW2 maintains the inexplicit disaffiliating stance and laughs breathily in response to JP1’s comment (line 58), TW3 returns to the affiliating stance and acknowledges what JP1 has said by producing the lengthened “°ya:::::h¿°” in a soft voice (line 59). After a pause of 3.6 seconds and TW3’s use of filler “°°(o:)°°” in line 61, another complaint story starts, which results in ending the preceding thirdparty complaint sequence. As argued earlier, complaining threatens positive face of the three parties (Brown and Levinson 1987). However, given that the grievance has not yet been solved, JP1 upgrades the degree of the “potential” FTA of complaining by explicitly exaggerating her disbelief in the complainee and claims the seriousness of the complaint (Traverso 2009). While TW3 shows agreement with JP1 and thus saves her and JP1’s positive face but threatens the complainee’s face, TW2 maintains the less affiliating stance toward the complaint in order to avoid the “potential” FTAs of complaining and overtly disagreeing with the complaint. As shown in the above analysis, various verbal and non-verbal semiotic resources are used to claim the legitimacy of, to show affiliation with, and to disaffiliate with the complaint. The complainer and the affiliating recipient use prosodic hyperbolism, gestures, reported speech, and detailed accounts to claim the legitimacy of the complaint and to increase solidarity between them. As the talk progresses, the affiliating recipient starts to play the role of the main complainer. This increases the degree of the “potential” FTA of complaining as well as intensifies the legitimacy of the complaint. On the other hand, the disaffiliating recipient first produces, consciously or unconsciously, blunt disagreement by using a declarative sentence without delaying elements. Being responded with a dispreferred response by the co-interactant, the disaffiliating recipient then adjusts his strategy and utilizes information elicitation techniques such as sound stretches at the end of the word and a stand-alone discourse marker so in order to elicit further information necessary for the fair assessment of the complaint as well as provide the complaining co-interactants with opportunities to express their emotional frustration. He thereby skillfully manages the “potential” FTA of disagreeing and avoids accepting the “potential” FTA of third-party complaining. By using these verbal and non-verbal semiotic resources, the interactants skillfully deal with the complex face negotiation involved in the third-party complaint sequence while showing an increased degree of involvement in the complaining

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activity. This pattern has also been observed in the three interactants’ later complaint sequences.

7.3 Summary This chapter has investigated how interactants using ELF manage third-party complaints, which are “potentially” face-threatening from the perspective of politeness theory, in extended sequences of talk. It has particularly focused on the analysis of face negotiation during the two cases of third-party complaint sequences, namely a disattended complaint sequence and a negotiated complaint sequence, in casual ELF conversations among friends, utilizing the technique of single case analysis of CA. The present analyses have revealed that despite the use of “non-standard” linguistic forms and language use (e.g., “disfluency” in producing linguistic forms, “dropping” subjects, “mixing” direct and indirect reported speech, etc.), the interactants are socially and interactionally competent in adjusting the use of verbal and/or non-verbal semiotic resources appropriately to the emergent communicative needs of face negotiation in the unfolding interactions. Specifically, the complainers utilize extreme case formulations (Pomerantz 1986), reported speech (Holt and Clift 2007), and detailed accounts to claim the legitimacy of the complaints; the last two resources particularly make the complaint sound objective (Holt 1996; Excerpts 7.1 and 7.2). Similarly, repetitions, interjections, prosodic hyperbolism (e.g., pitch shifts and elongations; Günthner 1997), and embodied actions like gestures and facial expressions are exploited to claim the seriousness of the complaint (Excerpt 7.2). The use of these resources, which are sometimes not necessarily linguistically explicit but non-verbally resourceful, increases solidarity between the complainer and the affiliating recipient although it intensifies the degree of the “potential” FTA of complaining while making the complaint recognizable as a complaint proper. Moreover, the complainer also uses self-rephrasing, prefaces, hedges, and hesitations to mitigate the degree of the “potential” FTA of complaining (Excerpt 7.1). By rephrasing what he said in the prior turn, the complainer appears to be not only specific and explicit but also cautious about making the complaint. The use of prefaces, hedges, and hesitations makes the complaints sound tentative, thereby allowing the complainer to position himself in a neutral stance toward the complaints. The affiliating complaint recipient, on the other hand, not only uses verbal resources such as interjections and other-repetition but also utilizes non-verbal semiotic resources such as gestures and prosodic hyperbolism in order to show her affiliation with the complainer (see Excerpt 7.2). As the talk progresses, she takes over the role of the main complainer and uses resources such as reported speech,

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detailed accounts, and extreme case formulations. The use of these resources enables her to increase solidarity with the complainer although it intensifies the degree of the face threat against the absent complainees’ positive face. In contrast, the less affiliating recipients simply acknowledge, subtly disattend, or implicitly disaffiliate with the complaints. In Excerpt 7.1, the less affiliating recipient utilizes teasing and laughter, through which the focus of the ongoing topic is shifted from the complaint itself to another available element in the prior turn (Mandelbaum 1992). This enables him to save his positive face and that of the complainee that would be, albeit indirectly, threatened by co-complaining, as well as to mitigate the degree of the “potential” FTA of showing less affiliation with the complaint. Alternatively, the disaffiliating recipient in Excerpt 7.2 exploits elicitation techniques such as sound stretches and a stand-alone discourse marker so (Raymond 2004) to seek further information necessary for the fair assessment of the complaint. Nervous laughter, whose form is rather linguistically inexplicit, is also repeatedly utilized to express his discomfort in responding to complaints (Excerpt 7.2). By using these resources, the disaffiliating recipient saves his positive face and that of the complainee that would be indirectly threatened by co-complaining, as well as softens the degree of the “potential” FTA of disagreeing with the complainer (Locher 2004). To sum up, the series of findings suggest that the ELF users in the present data are socially and interactionally skillful in negotiating face in the extended sequences of third-party complaining. It has been revealed that the interactants do not necessarily become consensus-oriented even when they are engaged in interaction-oriented casual ELF conversations with their friends, which may require careful attention to the maintenance of interpersonal relationships. Rather, they negotiate their stances toward the complaints, adjusting the use of verbal and non-verbal semiotic resources for face negotiation in a pragmatically motivated manner (i.e., communicative capability in Widdowson 2003; see also Seidlhofer 2011). It is not the aim of this chapter, and it is not possible, to generalize the present findings to other contexts as the findings are relative to the specific nature of the interactions examined in this chapter (e.g., a constellation of speakers, the degree of familiarity among them, topics, and purposes). As Peräkylä (2011) argues, some case studies on interactions in particular contexts could not offer much about whether or not the findings can be generalizable to a larger population, and single case analysis of CA does not necessarily aim at generalizability (Hutchby and Wooffitt 2008). Rather, what the analysis of some cases enables one to reveal is possibility of language use, namely how various conversational devices are made possible by the interactants in the production of their interactions in situ (Peräkylä 2011). The present findings have thus shown how verbal and non-verbal semiotic resources

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for face negotiation are made possible by the interactants in the production of each sequence of third-party complaining in the given ELF contexts. Having said this, however, more cases of third-party complaining need to be investigated in further research to deepen our understanding of face negotiation during third-party complaining. Given the importance of complaining as a form of social action, future research can explore how direct complaints, which are also a “potential” FTA (Brown and Levinson 1987), are interactionally managed in casual ELF conversations. Another area of interest for further research can investigate how direct and third-party complaints are managed in ELF encounters involving asymmetric power relationships as in business and institutional settings (cf. e.g., Ruusuvuori and Lindfors 2009, investigated healthcare encounters in Finland). The cross-comparison of the complaint sequences in various ELF settings enables us to capture more vividly the nature of complaining on the one hand and the processes of face negotiation on the other. Despite the limitation, it is hoped that this chapter can illuminate how ELF users dynamically negotiate their face in the extended sequences of talk in casual ELF conversations.

Chapter 8  Conclusion In the preceding three chapters, I have explored how ELF users interactionally manage the three types of conflict moments, namely competitively taking the floor from the current speaker by overlapping (Chapter 5), disagreeing with the co-interactant (Chapter 6), and complaining about the absent third-party (Chapter 7) by utilizing CA, multimodal CA where possible, combined with the pragmatic theories of communication. This concluding chapter first summarizes the key findings in each of the three chapters (Sections 8.1.1 to 8.1.3) and then discusses what the present research tells us about conflict talk in ELF interactions (Section 8.1.4). After that, some methodological implications will be discussed (Section 8.2). In particular, I will focus on the benefits of using a multimodal CA for ELF research (Section 8.2.1) and the challenges of using it for analyzing ELF interactions (Section 8.2.2). This will be followed by the discussion of pedagogical implications of the present research (Section 8.3). I will then conclude this book by discussing the limitations of the present research and suggestions for further research (Section 8.4).

8.1 Summary of the book 8.1.1 How do the interactants manage competitive overlaps? Chapter 5 has investigated the complex face negotiation processes during competitive overlapping in interaction-oriented casual ELF conversations. The fine-grained analyses of the interactional environment of competitive overlaps have revealed that both the overlapping and the overlapped speakers are sensitive to TRPs and do not necessarily treat the overlaps as “interruptive”. Rather, they collaboratively manage such conflict moments in terms of floor and topic negotiation in a face-saving manner by means of multimodal resources at their disposal. Specifically, an FT-Q and a proactive FT-E occur when the overlapping speaker projects and applies turn-taking rule 1b at the possible TRP, where the overlapped current speaker applies rule 1c and continues to add another TCU that exemplifies, repeats, or rephrases her/his prior talk. A retroactive FT-E, on the other hand, occurs when the overlapping speaker applies rule 1b or 1c and extends her/his earlier turn at the possible TRP, where the overlapped current speaker has already started to respond to the preceding talk. An FT-Q and a proactive FT-E move the talk forward either by questioning or giving comments. They show the overlapping speaker’s understanding of and interest in what the overlapped speaker has said https://doi.org/10.1515/9781501512964-008

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and contribute to the reciprocal nature of the conversation. A retroactive FT-E also relevantly moves the talk forward. Observing the need to provide justification or explanations, the overlapping speaker extends her/his earlier talk and increases its clarity. This serves to enhance mutual understanding. The overlapped speaker, too, contributes to the smooth development of the ongoing interaction. S/he gradually and smoothly shifts from speakership to recipiency, orienting to the content of the ongoing interaction rather than clinging to the overlapped topic. The accommodative behaviors of both speakers enable them to exploit and respond to the “potential” FTA of competitive overlaps in a face-saving way, thereby ensuring mutual understanding and maintaining a good relationship with the co-interactants and the reciprocity of the conversation. On the other hand, the interactants in the present data are not always successful in taking the floor when attempting to do so. This type of floor-attempting overlap, including FA-Qs and FA-Es, also occur near TRPs, but the overlapped current speaker adds new information to her/his preceding TCU there. The overlapping speaker fails to take the floor because her/his claim to the floor is weaker than that of the overlapped speaker, and s/he is unable to obtain a gaze from any other interactants. Upon failure, however, the overlapping speaker smoothly shifts to recipiency, shows participation in the ongoing interaction, and seeks another chance to reinitiate what s/he attempted to say if its retrieval is necessary for the development of the topic of conversation. The re-attempts in the later turns accumulatively build up the activeness of the floor negotiation, but neither of the interactants shows annoyance at the re-attempts. In short, the findings have illustrated how the interactants collaboratively manage competitive overlaps in a face-saving manner, thereby negotiating their face appropriately in situ. Even if the use of competitive overlaps per se displays “competitiveness” in terms of the floor and topic management, it is not necessarily treated as “interruptive” by the interactants. This is because they closely monitor turn-taking and topical development and thus efficiently claim speakership or smoothly shift into recipiency by means of multimodal resources at their disposal. The present findings, therefore, indicate that the interactants are skillful in contributing to facework at the conflict moments of competitive overlapping.

8.1.2 How do the interactants manage disagreement? Chapter 6 has examined how mitigated and unmitigated disagreement is sequentially organized in interaction-oriented casual ELF conversations among friends from the perspectives of CA (Pomerantz 1984) and politeness theory (Brown and Levinson 1987; Grainger 2011; Haugh 2007; O’Driscoll 2007). It has been found that ELF users

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do not avoid disagreeing even in casual conversations with friends in which (1) they share knowledge by disagreeing or (2) promote interpersonal relationships while disagreeing by softening the degree of the “potential” FTA of disagreeing. In the former case, disagreement supplies what the disagreeing speaker believes to be correct information that is different from the one provided by the current speaker. The disagreement is expressed directly without any use of modification devices. Although this type of disagreement is not produced in line with Pomerantz’s (1984) notion of preference structure, it does not necessarily threaten the interactants’ positive face. Rather, following the maxim of quality of Grice’s (1975) cooperative principle (i.e., being truthful), the disagreeing speaker shows willingness to supply correct (or “true”) information to share knowledge, and the co-interactant, too, collaboratively engages in the negotiation processes by supplying other pieces of information or willingly accepting the disagreement. On the other hand, when disagreement is produced in line with preference structure, the disagreeing speaker (1) rejects the suggestion offered by the prior speaker, (2) supplies an alternative view to the prior speaker’s assessment, or (3) supplies a positive view of the prior speaker’s self-deprecation. In the first two cases, disagreeing is a dispreferred response (Pomerantz 1984), and has the possibility of threatening the recipient’s positive face and that of the disagreeing speaker. The disagreement is, therefore, mitigated by the use of modification devices, which include resources like pauses, clarification requests, smiley voice, laughter, and facial expressions. In the third case, disagreeing is a preferred response (Pomerantz 1984). It is, therefore, expressed immediately without any use of mitigation devices in order to mollify the prior speaker’s negative assessment. In short, the findings suggest that ELF users in the present data are sensitive to the transactional and interactional needs of the talk even at the conflict moment of disagreeing in casual conversations among friends. They not only actively share knowledge by disagreeing but also effectively promote interpersonal relationships while disagreeing, thereby negotiating face appropriately in situ.

8.1.3 How do the interactants manage third-party complaints in the extended sequences of talk? Chapter 7 has scrutinized how face is negotiated in an extended sequence of talk, taking third-party complaint sequences that naturally occurred in the present data of casual ELF conversations as an example. To analyze the data, single case analysis of CA – multimodal CA where possible – was mainly used, combined with the perspectives from politeness (Brown and Levinson 1987; Grainger 2011; Haugh 2007; O’Driscoll 2007). The chapter has particularly looked at the dynamic face negotia-

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tion processes during the two cases of third-party complaint sequences, namely a disattended complaint sequence and a negotiated complaint sequence. It has been found that in the former sequence, the complainer utilizes a range of resources such as reported speech (Holt and Clift 2007), self-rephrasing, extreme case formulations (e.g., just) (Pomerantz 1986), prefaces, hedges (e.g., I think), and hesitations to achieve complaining while softening the degree of the “potential” FTA of complaining. The complaint recipient, on the other hand, subtly disattends the complaint by simply producing acknowledgment tokens, laughing, or teasing the complainer by using another element of the prior talk as relevant for further talk. These resources enable him to avoid threatening the complainee’s positive face and that of his own toward the complainee, while softening the degree of the “potential” FTA of disagreeing with the complainer.  On the other hand, in the negotiated complaint sequence, the complaint develops into a much longer sequence. It is because the complainer, the affiliating interactant, and the disaffiliating interactant negotiate the legitimacy of the complaint in a step-wise fashion. Specifically, the complainer skillfully carries out the “potential” FTA of complaining in order to obtain affiliation from the co-interactants, and the affiliating interactant, too, collaboratively contributes to this process. For instance, the complainer claims the seriousness of the complaint using prosodic hyperbolism (Günthner 1997), gestures, head shakes, and facial expressions. The affiliating recipient, who shares the same urgent and no-yet-solved problem with the complainer, not only shows affiliation to the complaint instantly using an interjection (e.g., oh) but also gradually takes over the role of the complainer to justify the legitimacy of the complaint. To this end, she uses verbal and non-verbal semiotic resources such as reported speech (Holt and Clift 2007), detailed accounts, prosodic hyperbolism, and gestures. This way, the complainer and the affiliating interactant successfully claim the seriousness of the complaint, increase solidarity between them, and save their positive face with each other. In contrast, the disaffiliating interactant utilizes various verbal and non-verbal semiotic resources for eliciting further information such as questioning, a standalone discourse marker so (Raymond 2004), and elongation of the sound of the word in his utterance. By eliciting information necessary for assessing the legitimacy of the complaint, he distances himself from the complaint and thus takes a neutral stance toward the complaint. This not only enables him to save his and the complainee’s positive face by avoiding co-complaining but also enables him to soften the degree of the “potential” FTA of disagreeing with the complaint by less directly expressing the disagreement (Locher 2004). In brief, the findings suggest that the ELF users in the present data are skillful in managing the conflict moment of third-party complaining and responding to the complaint, which requires complex face negotiation. To achieve the transactional

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and interactional purposes of the talk, they adjust the use of verbal and non-verbal resources in a pragmatically sensitive manner. This enables them to achieve their communicative goals such as obtaining affiliation with the recipient, showing affiliation with the complainer, and showing disaffiliation with the complainer in a face-saving way.

8.1.4 What the present research tells us about conflict talk in ELF interactions? In the existing pragmatic research into ELF, while much was known about the consensus-oriented, cooperative, and mutually supportive aspects of ELF interactions (see Section 3.1), only several studies have explored their adversarial aspect, namely conflict talk (see Section 3.3). In particular, facework during conflict talk has not been systematically and extensively explored yet (see Section 3.3.4). The present research, therefore, has delved into this aspect, shedding light on how ELF users dynamically negotiate their stances and contribute to the development of the ongoing interaction when confronting the three types of conflict moments in the interactions. As a whole, the analyses in the three chapters have shown that the interactants in the present data are interactionally and socially competent users of ELF in their own contexts. They are capable of exploiting and adjusting the use of various verbal and non-verbal semiotic resources even at the conflict moments of competitively taking the floor by overlapping, disagreeing with the co-interactant, and complaining about the absent complainee or responding to the complaint. By doing so, they efficiently and appropriately make meaning and position themselves according to social and contextual factors of the given context, that is, when, where, with whom, and for what purposes they are communicating, and how what s/he said is interpreted by the co-interactant(s). This suggests that they have communicative capability (Widdowson 2003), which is the ability to dynamically exploit multilingual and multimodal resources at their disposal for making and interpreting meanings as well as developing interpersonal relationships appropriately to their context. In addition, the findings can be attributed to the fact that most of the interactants are friends, whose social distance is close and whose power relationship is – at least partially – symmetrical. Although they do not necessarily share the same lingua-cultural background and have varying proficiency levels in English, they share “non-nativeness” and similar academic and social experiences as international students who are away from their own home countries and study in the same universities at the time of recordings. As evident in the analyses, they have a high degree of “tolerance” for each other’s communicative behavior and good accommodation skills (Cogo 2010; Jenkins 2002) to deal with variations in it.

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Moreover, Seidlhofer (2011: 98) argues that ELF users “are fully involved in the interactions, whether for work or for play” and “focused on the interactional and transactional purposes of the talk and on their interlocutors as people rather than on the linguistic code itself”. The same observation applies to the present data. The interactants fully engage in the conversation with their peers for social purposes, focusing on the message they want to convey and the relationship they want to maintain and develop with the co-interactants. Furthermore, their primary concern within the conversation is not being identified as “native” speakers of English but being able to achieve mutual understanding and maintain and build a good relationship with their peers. The present findings, therefore, lend support to the claim that ELF interaction is not a peculiar one but a legitimate one in its own right (e.g., Jenkins 2009; Seidlhofer 2011). Having summarized the findings and discussed their contribution to the field, I will now discuss the methodological implications of the present research.

8.2 Methodological implications This section discusses the methodological implications of multimodal CA for ELF research. The discussion will be twofold: (1) the benefit of using multimodal CA for ELF research and (2) the challenges of using multimodal CA for analyzing ELF interactions.

8.2.1 The benefits of using multimodal CA for ELF research As discussed in Section 3.2, one of the research gaps in the existing pragmatic research into ELF is the investigation of non-verbal semiotic resources utilized along with the talk (see also Matsumoto 2019).28 Except for a few studies, the field thus has shared the same problem, namely the lingual bias (Block 2014: 56), with SLA research. To fill this gap, the present research, although not in all cases for an ethical reason, has looked at the interplay of verbal and non-verbal semiotic resources by using multimodal CA (Mondada 2018). As shown in the present analyses, multimodal CA can offer precise and rich descriptions of multiple verbal and non-verbal semiotic resources that the interactants use for the achievement 28 The discussion in this chapter, particularly the one related to overlapping, is partially based on the following published paper: Journal of Pragmatics, Vol. 170, Mayu Konakahara, Single case analyses of two overlap sequences in casual ELF conversations from a multimodal perspective: Toward the consideration of mutual benefits of ELF and CA, pp. 301–316, Copyright Elsevier (2020).

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of intersubjectivity and social action in situ. Such descriptions of meaning-making processes can refine our understanding of ELF interactions in a holistic and comprehensive manner on the one hand, and they ensure the validity and reliability of the conversation analytic research on the other (see Sections 4.1 and 4.4). For instance, the analysis of the interplay of verbal and non-verbal semiotic resources enables one to interpret overlap sequences more precisely. This is particularly observable in the use of the proactive FT-E in Excerpt 5.2 in Chapter 5, for example. Although the proactive FT-E seems to occur at a non-TRP on the surface, the analysis of non-verbal semiotic resources has revealed that its initiation actually starts near the TRP because the overlapping speaker opens her mouth for the imminent articulation of the overlapping utterance, sensitively reacting to turntaking and the co-interactant’s gaze that shows recipiency to her. Similarly, in the same excerpt, although the overlapped speaker initially claims speakership verbally (i.e., emphasizing the first syllable of a word) and non-verbally (i.e., a beat gesture) when being overlapped, she smoothly shifts into recipiency without treating the FT-E as interruptive. This is evident in her postural shift of leaning toward the overlapping speaker, which displays recipiency, as well as a shift in her facial expression, namely a smile. Likewise, the analyses of the two types of floor-attempting overlaps have confirmed the importance of receiving a gaze from the co-interactant as the first step for imminent speakership in a multi-party conversation. It has also revealed that upon the “failure”, the overlapping speakers shift into recipiency and seek another chance to initiate what they wanted to say. This is evident in their use of gazes along with the ongoing interaction. Also, multimodal CA can reveal additional layers of meaning that the use of hand gestures adds to the utterance in progress. For example, in the sequence of unmitigated disagreement in Excerpt 6.1 in Chapter 6, GR’s beat gesture of tapping the table with her finger when producing unmitigated disagreement to secure shared knowledge puts emphasis on the main point of the disagreement (see Figs. 24–27 below line 7). The same observation applies to MX’s beat gesture of waving her right hand vertically at the chest level when expressing her unmitigated disagreement in Excerpt 6.2 in Chapter 6 (see Figs. 29–32 below line 8). Moreover, in the same excerpt, MX also uses a metaphoric gesture of hand crossing at the chest level in order to correct her own disagreement in the preceding turn while repeating the part of the current speaker’s utterance (see Figs. 33–34 below line 12). Given that this other-repetition is not necessarily explicit in its meaning, it is this hand gesture that explicitly conveys the meaning of self-correction. Likewise, in the subsequent turns, MX confirms the appropriateness of her initial disagreement non-verbally; she directs her gaze at the addressee, ES, holding her left hand up, with her palm upward. It is this non-speaker gesture, accompanied by the gaze, that conveys the meaning.

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A similar observation applies to the use of facial expressions and a series of embodied actions. For instance, in Excerpt 6.4 in Chapter 6, JP2 produces the FPP of the suggestion-disagreement adjacency pair. Although JP2’s suggestion is first accompanied by a smile on his face, this is immediately followed by a serious face (see Figs. 36 and 37 below lines 3 and 4 respectively). This shift in his facial posture adds a half-joking tone to his suggestion. Similarly, in Excerpt 7.2 in Chapter 7, TW3 uses a series of embodied actions such as a head shake, a head tilt, and a hand gesture of extending her arms, with her palms upward (see Figs. 44 below line 11) to stress her disbelief at the complaint target. The findings like the above will be ignored if one only examines verbal aspects of interactions. This suggests that multimodal CA can help us improve our understanding of ELF interactions holistically and comprehensively. While this results in ensuring the validity and reliability of the present research, it also contributes to the field of pragmatic research into ELF by responding to Matsumoto’s (2019) call for the epistemological expansions of ELF.

8.2.2 The challenges of using multimodal CA for analyzing ELF interactions In Section 2.3, I have reviewed whether and how there is any cross-cultural variation in gaze behavior (Section 2.3.1.1), hand gestures (Section 2.3.1.2), and head movements (Sections 2.3.1.3) respectively, and then argued that when analyzing ELF interactions, such variation, if any, should be treated as a participant’s matter rather than assuming the influence of the interactant’s culture a priori by taking the intercultural approach (Baker and Ishikawa 2021). Having analyzed the excerpts extracted from the present data in the preceding three chapters, it seems useful to re-visit the above two points by actually looking at the data examined in the chapters. Specifically, I will take the use of gaze withdrawal, pointing gestures, and head nods as an example given that their “cultural differences” have been reported in the existing cross-cultural research (see the three subsections mentioned earlier). Yet what should be noted before actually starting the discussion is that the aim of the present research, which takes the intercultural approach to communication (Baker and Ishikawa 2021), is not to investigate “cultural differences” per se. The data were thus not collected for comparison purposes (i.e., the cross-cultural approach); the number of participants from each country varies, and each of the conversational data includes participants from different lingua-cultural backgrounds. The use of the embodied actions to be discussed below, therefore, is inevitably selective, and the systematic analysis of “cultural” variation is not only impossible but also, more importantly, irrelevant for the present research because a focus of the analysis in the intercultural approach is on “the communicative practices of distinct culture

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or other groups in interaction with each other” (Baker and Ishikawa 2021: 184) without linking the participants to any cultural groups or discourse communities a priori. Having this point in mind, I will now look at the use of gaze withdrawal. First, as discussed in Sections 2.2.1.1 and 2.3.1.1, while thinking face itself may be a universal behavior, cross-cultural variation is reported in the directions of a gaze withdrawal, namely upward or downward (McCarthy et al. 2006), under a particular condition (i.e., whether or not the interactant is being observed by others; McCarthy et al. 2008). Thinking face is observed in Excerpt 5.2 in Chapter 5, Excerpt 7.2 in Chapter 7, and Excerpt 6.2 in Chapter 6. In the first two cases, all the interactants are from Asian countries such as China and Thailand in the case of Excerpt 5.2 and Japan and Taiwan in the case of Excerpt 7.2. On the other hand, in Excerpt 6.2, the four participants are respectively from Taiwan, Japan, Mexico, and Spain. Specifically, in Excerpt 5.2, TH3 (Thai) makes thinking face by directing her gaze upward. This phenomenon occurs when she is producing the SPP of the question-answer adjacency pair in order to answer the average arrival time at the office. CN2 (Chinese), who is the questioner, waits for TH3’s answer, directing her gaze at TH3. On the other hand, another co-interactant, TH4 (Thai), who seems to know a little about TH3’s schedule, offers a possible arrival time and thus completes TH3’s utterance on behalf of her (i.e., utterance completion). As displayed in these behaviors, the co-interactants do not treat TH3’s thinking face as problematic, or “culturally” specific in any way, but react to her behavior interactionally sensitively in their own ways. On the other hand, in Excerpt 7.2, TW3 (Taiwanese), as a non-speaker, directs her gaze in many different directions while thinking. This phenomenon starts when she questions part of the co-complainer JP1’s (Japanese) detailed account for their shared complaint, which is given in response to TW2’s (Taiwanese) inquiry. She shifts her gaze right and left (see Diagrams A and B above line 39), looks upward (see Diagram B above line 40), and brings her gaze to her right hand (see Diagram C above line 40), with which she counts on her fingers to check exactly when the tutor should have uploaded his feedback on JP1’s assignment on the Internet. She then glimpses JP1 (see Diagram B above line 44) and stares vacantly into space (see Diagram C above line 44 and Diagram A above line 46). The series of TW3’s gaze behaviors as a non-speaker effectively display the state of “thinking” although nobody looks at her – except for TW2’s temporal gaze toward her (see Diagram A above line 42) – because the other co-interactants engage in the exchange of the confirmation question-answer adjacency pair. Yet JP1 and TW2 bring their gazes to TW3 (see Diagram A above line 46) and thus involve her in the ongoing interaction when they complete the adjacency pair sequence although TW2 immediately removes his gaze from her. Obtaining a gaze from JP1, the original complainer, TW3, then produces a confirmation question. The series of the interactants’ behaviors thus suggest that TW3’s thinking face is not necessarily treated as problematic,

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or “culturally” unique in any way, because the co-interactants react to it in a normatively expected way. The same observation applies to Excerpt 6.2, in which the participants are not only Asians. It is TW6 (Taiwanese) who displays the state of “thinking” with a gaze withdrawal. This phenomenon occurs soon after MX’s (Mexican) use of unmitigated disagreement that supplies what she believes to be correct information. TW6 has first-hand knowledge about the information provided by MX and thus starts to elaborate on MX’s utterance in the next turn. The detailed multimodal transcript for TW6’s thinking face is not presented in the earlier section and thus produced below. Excerpt 8.1: The reproduction of part of Excerpt 6.2 T W 6

10

J P 8

M X

J P 8

T W 6

E S

A

B

M X

E S

T W 6

J P 8

M X

E S

C

TW6: ↑u::h (.)↑u:::h (0.6) for T W 6

M X

T W 6

M X

D E stude▪nt [normally¿

E S

]

As shown above, during the hesitations, TW6 first looks at the upper left (Diagram A) and then shifts her gaze to the upper right (Diagram B). During a pause of 0.6 seconds, she then looks downward (Diagram C). Immediately after that, she starts her elaboration by saying “for”, with her gaze directed downward, and then looks at MX (Diagram D) to continue the elaboration. During the series of TW6’s behavior, all the co-interactants maintain their gazes at TW6 and thus select her as a normative speaker. This suggests that the series of gaze withdrawals – either upward or downward – are not treated as problematic, or “culturally” specific in any way, by any of the co-interactants in the ongoing interaction. Second, I will now look at the use of hand gestures. As reviewed in Section 2.3.1.2, cross-cultural studies have reported that the use and the space of hand gestures are shaped by cultural conventions (Kita 2009). It is not possible and meaningful to make a cross-cultural comparison of the space of hand gestures among the interactants in the excerpts. It is because the data were not collected as such, and the research takes an intercultural approach to communication (see Section 2.3). This point also applies to the use of hand gestures reported to be constrained by “cultural” conventions, but there is one case where a Japanese participant uses thumb pointing, the use of which might be, at least to some extent, “culturally” influ-

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enced if one looks at it from the “etic” perspective. This phenomenon is observed in Excerpt 5.6 in Chapter 5. When JP7 (Japanese) refers to the place where the professor in question lives, she uses thumb pointing to indicate the abstract concept of the place (see Fig. 19 below line 4). Higashiyama and Ford (2016) mention that Japanese people in close relationships use thumb pointing to point at places or directions either behind or side of the speaker or to order others to come in the speaker’s direction. Considering the context of JP7’s use of the pointing gesture, it can be the former type that she uses in the excerpt. There is a possibility that JP7 uses the Japanese convention of pointing in the interaction. However, it is not necessarily possible to check whether or not JP7’s thumb pointing is really a “culturally” specific one because this is the only case that the participants, including Japanese ones, in the present data use thumb pointing. Moreover, if one looks at the reactions of the co-interactants, JP7’s use of thumb pointing does not seem to cause communication difficulty. For example, one of the co-interactants, GR (Greek), who is the addressee of JP7’s utterance, immediately produces a change-of-state token ah and a minimal confirmation question (i.e., “really:::::::” in line 6). In doing so, she shows her surprise at what JP7 has said about the professor. Likewise, another co-interactant, LY (Libyan), also produces a confirmation question (i.e., “↑↑does he live in (Place A).” in line 8) soon after JP7 acknowledges GR’s confirmation question. JP7 also confirms LY’s question in the next turn. The series of the interactants’ behaviors thus suggest that the use of JP7’s pointing gesture accompanying the utterance neither causes non-understanding nor is treated “culturally” unique in any way by the interactants. Having said this, however, given that hand gestures are “an integral part of language as much as are words, phrases and sentences – gestures and language are one system” (McNeill 1992: 2), it is not necessarily clear whether JP7’s use of thumb pointing alone is understood by the co-interactants. However, the investigation of the de-contextualized use of gestures is not meaningful from the perspective of multimodal CA, and it is more probable that the gesture supports the meaning conveyance in the interaction (Bavelas 1994). Baker (2018: 30) argues that it is problematic to “posit an inexorable link between particular languages and cultures, especially at the national level [. . .] in intercultural communication”. What the above analysis has shown is that this observation also applies to the use of embodied actions, including hand gestures. That is, it is problematic to link particular “national cultures” and the use of embodied action in intercultural communication like ELF interactions. As amply illustrated in the present analyses, there is no evidence in the participants’ behavior that the use of embodied actions like hand gestures is treated as “culturally” specific in any way. The analyses have thus demonstrated that the participants are not “representations of an assumed national culture” (Baker and Ishikawa 2021: 79), but they are

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“located in between adaptable and hybrid cultures” (Baker and Ishikawa 2021: 184) in the interactions – or more specifically, “it may not always be clear what cultures participants are in-between or ‘inter’ in intercultural communication” (Baker 2018: 26). The present research thus proves the irrelevance of the essentialist cross-cultural comparison in pragmatic research into ELF and confirms the relevance and usefulness of the intercultural approach. Lastly, I will look at the use of head nods in the excerpts examined in the three chapters. As reviewed in Section 2.3.1.3, the high frequency and multiple functions of head nods are reported in Japanese conversations. Although not all the Japanese interactants use head nods in the excerpts, it seems safe to say that the comparatively high frequency of head nods applies to most of them, with certain individual differences existing. Specifically, out of 12 excerpts examined in the book, eight excerpts (i.e., Excerpts 5.1, 5.3, 5.6, 6.1, 6.2, 6.4, 7.1, and 7.2) involve Japanese interactants although Excerpt 7.1 has no video data for an ethical reason. Also, in Excerpt 5.1, one Japanese interactant participates as a recipient, but he does not actively participate in the ongoing interaction in the excerpt because he is serving food and beverages as a host of the gathering at that time. Accordingly, six excerpts are under scrutiny here. Although a more systematic analysis is essential in the future, the following is the number of places where head nods are produced in each of the six excerpts. In Excerpt 5.3, while JP5 (Japanese) and TH2 (Thai) respectively nod at two places (see below lines 5 and 8 for JP5 and lines 3 and 13 for TH2), JP7 (Japanese) does so at five places (see below lines 5, 8, 9, 13, and 13–15); JP6 (Japanese) neither nods nor talks given that the ongoing topic is not necessarily familiar to her in the excerpt. In Excerpt 5.6, JP7 nods at three places (see below lines 7, 10, and 24) and shakes her head at one place where she says “no” (see below line 28) while LY (Libyan) nods only once (see below line 33) and GR (Greek) does not nod at all. In Excerpt 6.1, which is extracted from the same conversation as that in Excerpt 5.6, it is only JP7 who uses nodding (at three places; see below lines 13, 16, and 19). In Excerpt 6.4, head nods are not used by any of the interactants, including a Japanese one (JP2). In Excerpt 7.2, while JP1 (Japanese) nods at six places (see below lines 6, 9, 20, 23, 35, and 51), TW2 and TW3 nod twice (see below line 26 and 36) and once (see below line 27) respectively while TW3 shakes her head once as well (see below line 11). The use of head nods in Excerpts 5.1 and 6.2 will be discussed later. The fairly high frequency of head nods in the excerpts seems to suggest the influence of the Japanese convention on the use of head nods among the Japanese interactants from the perspective of a cross-cultural approach. However, the interactants themselves do not necessarily treat head nods as “culturally” specific in any way from the perspective of multimodal CA and that of the intercultural approach. Furthermore, what is interesting is that it is not always a Japanese interactant who uses head nods most often. This is particularly observable in Excerpt 6.2 in Chapter 6,

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for example. In the excerpt, the main speaker is TW6 (Taiwanese), and the other three participants are MX (Mexican), ES (Spanish), and JP8 (Japanese). Throughout the conversational exchange presented in the excerpt, it is MX who frequently nods, or keeps nodding more precisely, while listening to the current speaker’s talk. Specifically, if one counts the number of places where each of the interactants nods, while ES and JP8 nod at two (see below line 12 and 25) and five places (see below lines 2, 12, 15, 18, and 19) respectively, MX does so at ten places (see below lines 1, 4, 10, 14, 15, 16, 18, 19, and 25; nods are given at two places in line 19). Although a more detailed and systematic analysis is essential in the future, most of MX’s head nods start either in the next turn, near TRPs, or near the place where the current speaker’s hesitation is observed. This suggests that MX’s use of head nods functions as an acknowledgment token particularly in the first case and as a backchannel continuer particularly in the latter two cases although the difference between the two functions is not necessarily straightforward. A similar observation applies to the use of head nods in Excerpt 5.1, in which the Japanese interactant (JP2) does not actively participate in the conversation as mentioned out earlier. While TW1 (Taiwanese) is the main speaker in the excerpt, PK (Pakistani) and IQ (Iraqi) frequently use head nods while listening to TW1’s talk. Their use of head nods as a recipient occurs at non-TRPs and at the place where the current speaker shows hesitation. By doing so, they encourage the current speaker to continue while showing their listenership. IQ also nods once in response to the main speaker’s use of the SPP of the question-answer adjacency pair (see below line 13). In both cases, the current speaker continues talking when head nods are given by the recipients. This suggests that MX’s, PK’s, and IQ’s frequent use of head nods are not treated as problematic in the interactions. The high frequency of head nods is, therefore, not unique to the Japanese interactants in the excerpts. Also, the interactants do not necessarily treat the use of nods as “culturally” specific in any way in the ongoing interactions. Ike (2017), in her analysis of two types of L1 interactions (i.e., in Japanese and in Australian English) and one intercultural interaction in English, found the Japanese and Australian interactants’ accommodative behavior in their use of verbal and non-verbal backchannel cues and backchannels. Considering this point, it is more likely that the interactants’ use of head movements is negotiable and changeable through interactions; the interactants adjust their use of head movements according to the communicative needs in situ without being constrained by “national cultural” norms in an essentialist way. The findings thus clearly demonstrate the incompatibility of the cross-cultural perspective with ELF interactions, confirming the importance of taking the intercultural approach to communication when analyzing ELF interactions. Having discussed the methodological implications, I will now consider the pedagogical implications of the findings from the present research in the next section.

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8.3 Pedagogical implications Recently, an increasing number of ELF scholars have actively discussed the pedagogical implications of research findings at various levels such as suggestions for classroom practices and activities (e.g., Kiczkowiak and Lowe 2019; Lopriore and Vettorel 2015; Matsuda and Duran 2012; Sifakis et al. 2018), the design of curricula and programs (e.g., D’Angelo 2012; Sharifian and Marlina 2012), and teacher education (e.g., Dewey 2015; Sifakis 2014, 2017). One of the key elements of ELF-oriented pedagogy is the introduction of hybrid, emergent, and multilingual nature of English and reasons behind it through awareness-raising (see awareness of language and language use in Sifakis 2017; see also Lopriore and Vettorel 2015: 16). To put it another way, through awareness-raising, ELF-oriented pedagogy aims at a “change in mindset” (Jenkins 2007: 238), or a “shift in perspective” (Cogo 2015: 9), from monolingual to plurilingual, and from linguistically correct to communicatively effective, the approach of which is called a transformative approach by Sifakis (2014) from a teacher education perspective (see also Baker 2012; Bayyurt and Sifakis 2015; Jenkins 2006, 2015a; Lopriore and Vettorel 2015; Seidlhofer 2011; Sifakis 2017). This means that English needs to be conceived as ELF but not as EFL nor ENL, without imposing a deficit view on its English-using multilinguals. To be more explicit, ELF and EFL have different views of English and its speakers as well as the goal of learning it (Jenkins 2015a; Seidlhofer 2011). As Jenkins (2015a) summarizes, the EFL perspective, informed by a traditional SLA theory, has a deficit view on “learners”. It merely assumes communication with “native” English speakers, and native-speaker norms are the benchmark for learners’ English use. Accordingly, English is equated with ENL, and thus differences from ENL are regarded as errors/mistakes due to first language interference and fossilization (Jenkins 2015a: 45). In contrast, the ELF perspective, informed by sociolinguistics, does not impose a deficit view on English-using individuals, irrespective of their backgrounds. Intercultural communication among English-using multilinguals is assumed, and the goal of learning English is to achieve successful communication (Jenkins 2015a: 45). Accordingly, English is not equated with ENL, and differences from ENL that achieve communicative success are considered to be “evidence of linguistic adaptability and creativity” as well as communicative effectiveness (Jenkins 2015a: 45; see also communicative capability in Widdowson 2003). In addition to the introduction of the plurality of English, Lopriore and Vettorel (2015: 16) maintain that ELF-oriented pedagogy aims “to provide [learners] with the tools needed to become competent as well as more effective English users”. Sifakis (2017: 291) also offers a similar viewpoint, arguing that “[o]f particular importance in becoming ELF-aware is developing an awareness of the process of languaging (the process of using communication strategies, such as negotiation, to produce meaning-

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ful interactions [. . .]) and translanguaging (the process of using multiple linguistic and nonlinguistic resources to ensure efficient communication between multilingual interlocutors”. This means that one of the focuses in ELF-oriented pedagogy is on fostering learners’ communicative capability (Widdowson 2003), which is the ability to exploit multiple verbal and non-verbal semiotic resources at their disposal for meaning-making in a communicatively effective and pragmatically sensitive way. The rich descriptions of the casual ELF conversations available in this book can provide a realistic representation of how ELF is used and how multilingual individuals can be effective communicators in intercultural communication (Lopriore and Vettorel 2015; Sifakis et al. 2018). In particular, they can show how the interactants can manage the conflict talk like competitively overlapping, disagreeing, and third-party complaining in the interactions by means of multiple verbal and non-verbal semiotic resources at their disposal while building or maintaining good interpersonal relationships with one another through facework. The descriptions can be used for an awareness-raising activity, with the simplified version of the transcripts provided for learners. The transcripts can be supplemented with a video of the respective transcripts when available as the video is particularly useful for looking at the use of non-verbal semiotic resources. While the activity can be incorporated into ELT classrooms (Lopriore and Vettorel, 2015), specialized courses in ELF (Konakahara 2020a), and teacher education programs (Dewey 2015; Sifakis et al. 2018), its focus should be on successfulness, communicative effectiveness, and resourcefulness observed in ELF interactions rather than “problems” and “deficiency” observed in the interactions. As Wang (2015) points out, appropriate support from an expert is crucial for developing learners’ understanding of ELF. The instructor’s guidance, therefore, is crucial to draw their attention to successfulness, communicative effectiveness, and resourcefulness. To this end, one of the fundamental techniques in CA, the next-turn proof procedure, is useful because it is based on a participant-relevant emic perspective. This is not to say that teachers/students should be trained in CA. Yet in fact, a technique like the next-turn proof procedure is unconsciously familiar to laypeople because CA, which originates in ethnomethodology, describes and thus makes explicit “the methods that people use for accounting for their own actions and those of others” (Hutchby and Wooffitt 2008: 27). As touched upon in Section 2.1, “what speakers said in the sequentially ‘next’ turns are displays of their understanding of what the ‘prior’ turn was about” (Hutchby and Wooffitt 2008: 13). By focusing on what is said in the “next” turns, the instructor can shift the learners’ attention from linguistic irregularities to verbal and non-verbal semiotic resources that enable interactants to achieve communicative success and efficiency. The awareness-raising activity of analyzing ELF interactions can also be incorporated into ELT materials. While the materials can contain information on verbal

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and non-verbal semiotic resources, the information should not be presented as a list of fixed forms (e.g., the strong view of instruction on communication strategies in Bialystok 1990). Instead, those resources should be integrated into examples of ELF communication, in which the interactants dynamically use such resources to achieve meaning-making and relationship development (see Widdowson 1984: 197–198). Widdowson (1984: 196) rightly points out that “a description of successful outcomes of a process” is “not the process itself”, but “finished products” (emphasis in original). This means that the mere presentation of ELF communication in use is not meaningful for learners. Considering that functions of language use are related to the contexts in which they are used (see e.g., Widdowson 2003: 117), the purpose of presenting ELF interactions should be on raising learners’ awareness of the relationship between language use and contexts. Learners might overgeneralize the functions of semiotic resources at first. Nevertheless, as Widdowson (1984, 2003) argues, if the purpose of the course is to “give momentum and direction [. . .] for subsequent learning” (Widdowson 2003: 115), this awareness-raising activity may be, to some extent at least, valuable for learners to acquire the ability for further learning (see also Widdowson 1984 for his discussion on the distinction between training and education).29 The instructional effects of an awareness-raising activity like this are partially reported in Konakahara’s (2020a) book chapter. She investigated the instructional effects of specialized courses in ELF on Japanese university students’ attitudes toward English through a qualitative analysis of the students’ voices collected in written forms during the instruction. It was found that the activity like analyzing actual instances of ELF interactions is crucial in order to change the students’ attitudes to be more ELF-oriented. It is because the significance of verbal and non-verbal semiotic resources is usually at the unconscious level, students simply believing ENL to be a key to successful communication (see also Suzuki 2011). Through the activity, the student participants understood the importance of accommodation to achieve mutual intelligibility. Also, explicit knowledge of semiotic resources enabled them to evaluate their own communicative behavior in English (and Japanese), albeit not always, positively, or at least consciously monitor their own ELF communication from the perspective of achieving successful communication rather than conforming to native-speaker norms. It is argued that although further research is essential, an analytical viewpoint enhanced by explicit knowledge of semiotic resources may be able to foster “a capability for further learning” (Widdowson 29 Widdowson (1984: 207) argues that while training is “directed at preparing people to cope with problems anticipated in advance and amenable to solution by the application of formulae”, education is “directed at developing general intellectual capacity, cognitive sets, attitudes, dispositions which, it is supposed, can be subsequently brought to bear to deal with any eventuality that may arise”.

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2003: 115) which enables the students to learn from their own ELF experience even after the instruction. Along with the awareness-raising activity, many opportunities for engaging in the process of purposeful negotiation should be provided for further learning. According to Widdowson, fostering learners’ communicative capability means developing learners’ ability to further learning (Widdowson 1984: 182; 2003: 115). To do so, he argues, what is necessary for teachers to consider is to focus on processes or means, which need to be activated for learners to achieve objectives or ends (Widdowson 1984: 178; see also Widdowson 2003: 115). A teacher’s task, therefore, is (1) to identify and analyze representative types of “conceptual and communicative problems” (Widdowson 1984: 200) in situations that learners will encounter, and (2) to integrate such problems into a range of activities that require the contingent use of language (Widdowson 1984: 199–200).30 If one follows this suggestion of Widdowson and focuses on “communicative problems” that would occur in possible situations learners are likely to encounter in English use, it is not necessarily difficult to provide learners with opportunities to engage in the negotiation processes in class (see also Lopriore and Vettorel 2015). Although the present research primarily has examined ELF interactions among friends on social occasions, the three focal phenomena examined, namely competitively taking the floor, disagreeing, and third-party complaining, are in fact one of the most common communicative problems that can be identified in many situations. This is also true for other phenomena identified in the existing ELF research, such as seeking confirmation or clarification.31 If this is the case, such communicative problems can be integrated into a range of activities in class such as group discussion, a presentation followed by a question and answer session, and a group project like creating group presentations and theatrical plays. A focus of such activities, which require “the contingent use of language” (Widdowson 1984: 199), is not on language itself, but

30 In this regard, Widdowson argues that English for Specific Purposes (ESP) is at an advantage because language use for particular areas can serve as “a source of types of problem which the learner will recognize as pertinent to his concerns and which are therefore likely to engage his interest and his learning” (Widdowson 1984: 199; emphasis in original). Similarly, for English for General Purposes, Widdowson (1984) offers a possibility to integrate other school subjects, which are concerned with developing problem-solving strategies, with English language learning. Here, Content and Language Integrated Learning reflects his idea, albeit without using the term. 31 For instance, if a student goes abroad to study, s/he will have a chat with her/his friends, participate in a group discussion in class, have a tutorial with professors or lecturers, and so on. Alternatively, a (future) businessperson will have meetings with or give presentations to international clients or colleagues, report troubles to her/his boss, and so on. In such situations, communicative problems like those mentioned above can surely be identified.

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on problem-solving processes, in which the needs of using a range of verbal and non-verbal semiotic resources naturally emerge (see Widdowson 1984: 200). It has to be noted, however, that participating in activities like these may be intimidating to some learners. If this is the case because learners do not know how to utilize a certain type of semiotic resource to solve communicative problems during the activity, it is then useful for them to learn “how” through the awareness-raising activity mentioned earlier. In addition, it is important to allow learners sufficient time to collect relevant information for discussion topics so that they are confident in the discussion. Moreover, it has to be acknowledged that communicating in English in an environment like Japan may not be natural for learners. This is because Japanese is the first language (or sometimes a lingua franca), which is a more efficient vehicle of communication for them. In order to overcome this issue, it is desirable if teachers can invite guests or student assistants from non-Japanese backgrounds and let them participate in classroom activities like discussion and presentations (see e.g., Galloway and Rose 2013). I believe that the awareness-raising activity and the opportunities to engage in the negotiation processes can hone learners’ ability for further learning, and thus develop communicative capability (Widdowson 2003). Having listed some suggestions for pedagogy, I will now discuss the limitations of the present research and give suggestions for future research, thereby concluding this book.

8.4 Limitations of the present research and suggestions for future research Although the present research has shed light on conflict talk in ELF interactions from the perspective of multimodality where possible in a detailed manner, the following limitations should be acknowledged. First, the present data of casual conversations were not “naturally occurring” in a strict sense because they were elicited during the free conversation sessions, which were organized for the purpose of the research. While much effort was invested to make the atmosphere of the recordings comfortable and relaxing (see Chapter 4 for the discussion), some of the participants may not have felt comfortable talking with the person, whom they had met for the first time during the recordings. Although this does not mean that such a recording setting was procedurally consequential for the phenomena investigated (Schegloff 1991), it has to be acknowledged that the participants might have spoken differently from what they would usually do. Second, the present research has scrutinized the interplay of verbal and non-verbal semiotic resources, adopting multimodal CA where possible. Yet two of the conversational data were only audio-recorded because the participants refused

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to be video-recorded. Although this was unavoidable for an ethical reason, a more detailed analysis may have been possible for the audio-only data if video data were also available. Third, only a limited number of excerpts has been shown to illustrate how the interactants using ELF manage the three types of conflict moments in the interactions. While it is not possible to include the analysis of all the cases due to space limitation, due attention has been paid to providing an in-depth qualitative analysis of each of the phenomena in the respective three chapters. Fourth, the present research has adopted a single-method design with in-depth sequential analysis to investigate facework at conflict talk in casual ELF conversations (see Sections 2.4.3 and 4.1). This method has enabled me to examine interactional functions of semiotic resources from the participant-relevant emic perspective in a detailed manner, supplemented with the perspectives from politeness theory (Brown and Levinson 1987; Grainger 2011; Haugh 2007; O’Driscoll 2007) and the cooperative principle (Grice 1975). Yet the social motivations for the use of particular resources for facework and the recipient’s perceptions of (im)politeness arising through the interactions have not been fully explored. Additional insights may have been provided if other ethnographic research methods such as long-term participant observation and/or a retrospective interview had been employed as in the case of an interactional approach to politeness (Haugh 2007).32 Lastly, given that the present analysis of the conflict talk in casual ELF conversations among friends in British university settings is only one example of the variation in ELF (see e.g., Firth 2009), the findings cannot be overgeneralized to include other ELF contexts. Yet as Peräkylä (2011: 376) argues, they can show how various verbal and non-verbal semiotic resources are made possible at the conflict moments through “the very details of the participants’ action” within the interactions. Having these limitations in mind, future research can explore the following aspects. First, more types of communicative behaviors, including conflict talk, should be investigated to deepen our understanding of ELF interactions. This can include interruptions, namely overlaps treated as “interruptive” by the interactants (see Bilmes 1997 and Chapter 5), direct complaints, criticism, quarrels, and so on. The analysis should be focused on the sequential organization of such communicative behaviors as well as the interactional functions of resources used in the interactions. In relation to this point, future research could explore not only ELF 32 Yet from a purely conversation analytic perspective, a participant’s comments on her/his use of interactional resources obtained from a retrospective interview may not be the same as what the participant actually felt or thought about them at the recording because such retrospective comments are disembedded from the sequential context of recording (see e.g., Seedhouse 2005: 253; see also Section 4.1).

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interactions among participants in symmetric power relationships (e.g., friends, acquaintances, colleagues, etc.) but also those in asymmetric ones. This includes teacher-student interactions in institutional settings like schools, which include not only universities but also elementary, junior high, and high schools, doctor-patient interactions in hospitals (see e.g., Nozawa 2017), superior-subordinate interactions in workplace settings (see e.g., Otsu 2015), and interactions with clients in business settings. In relation to this point, Seildhofer (2014) argues that it is necessary to investigate high-stakes encounters like asylum-seek procedures (Guido 2012), international publishing, and testing. It is crucial to bring our attention to such encounters because ELF may be used differently under such conditions, although it may be difficult to get access to them. Second, the present research has focused on examining the processes of negotiation of meaning and face, arguing that communication is not only a matter of negotiation of meaning but also interpersonal relationships (Widdowson 2007). Yet as Block (2002) notes, it is not only face but also identity that relates to the negotiation of interpersonal relationships. Therefore, future research needs to examine the interactional processes of identity negotiation from a CA perspective (see e.g., Kimura 2017) since the field is scant of research as such while there is a lot of identity research from the perspective of pronunciation (Jenkins 2007), pragmatic use (Nogami 2020), and inter/trans-cultural communication (Baker 2015, 2018; Baker and Ishikawa 2021). As pointed out earlier, ethnographic research methods such as a retrospective interview and long-term participant observation can be combined with the conversation analytic approach in order to obtain insights from various perspectives. Finally, as discussed in Section 3.2, the analysis of multimodal resources has been scarce in the field of pragmatic research into ELF. The present research has thus filled this gap by investigating the interplay of verbal and non-verbal semiotic resources through multimodal CA where possible, focusing on the three types of conflict talk that naturally occurred in the present data. While the present findings have shown the powerfulness of multiple verbal and non-verbal semiotic resources for achieving intersubjectivity and social action during conflict talk, more research is crucial to further illuminate the use of multimodal resources in ELF interactions in wider contexts. The analysis should be conducted from the participant-relevant emic perspective, taking the intercultural approach to communication (Baker and Ishikawa 2021), without judging the use of embodied actions in question against native-speaker norms and imposing the influence of “cultures” on the use of embodied actions a priori. These are some of the suggestions that have emerged through the present research. In summary, although there still remain great challenges to be dealt with in pragmatic research into ELF, I believe that the present research at least has pro-

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vided some useful insights into facework during conflict talk in casual ELF conversations from the perspective of multimodality (see also Matsumoto 2019). It is hoped that the present findings can refine our understanding of ELF interactions in a holistic and comprehensive manner. In addition, to put it another way, the findings have also illuminated communicative capability (Widdowson 2003) from the multimodal perspective. Although it will take time to make a shift in ELT pedagogy from an EFL-oriented to an ELF-oriented one, I believe that a slow but steady change can be made by ELT practitioners and teacher educators who attempt to incorporate the ELF perspective into their practices (see Section 8.3). It is hoped that the rich descriptions of the ELF interactions provided in this book can help them understand the multimodal ELF perspectives so that communicative capability (Widdowson 2003) of learners, who use and will use English for their own purposes in a range of globalized settings, can be cultivated without recourse to native-speaker norms as well as without assuming the influence of their “national cultures” on their verbal and non-verbal behavior a priori.

Appendices

Appendix A Transcription conventions [[ [ ] = (.) (0.8) : emphasis ↑↓ . ? ¿ .hh hh tch! £smile£ /sound/ °soft° >fast
->▪ ->l.9 >> ->> . . . --,,, th3 cn2 % %fig1 ppp ttt HHH

Gestures and descriptions of embodied actions are delimited between two identical symbols and are synchronized with corresponding stretches of talk. Basically, one symbol is used, but two or more symbols are used for one participant when there are two or more embodied actions are to be analyzed in the transcripts. The action described continues across subsequent lines until the same symbol is reached. The action described continues until the indicated line number. The action described continues before the outset of the line in question. The action described continues after the end of the line in question. Action’s preparation. Action’s apex is reached and maintained. Action’s retraction. Participant doing the embodied action is identified when s/he is not the speaker. The exact moment at which a still frame was taken is indicated with a percentage symbol (%) on the line of the talk and the symbol followed by the acronym of a figure (%fig) on the line dedicated to the figure. Figures presented in the excerpts are numbered throughout the book. The series of p indicate the beginning of a pointing gesture. The series of f indicate the beginning of finger tapping. The series of H indicate the beginning of a hand gesture.

https://doi.org/10.1515/9781501512964-011

Appendix D The seat configuration of the participants in each data set Conversation A – Participants: IQ, JP2, PK, and TW1 (✶ JP2, who is the host of the gathering, is out of the screen at this moment, preparing for the food.)

IQ

PK Conversation A TW 1

Conversation B – Participants: JP1, JP2, TW2, and TW3 (✶ JP2, who is the host of the gathering, is out of the screen at this moment, preparing for the food.)

TW 3

JP1 Conversation B TW 2

https://doi.org/10.1515/9781501512964-012

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 Appendix D

Conversation C – Participants: JP2, TW4, and TW5

JP2

TW 4 Conversation C TW 5

Conversation D – Participants: CN1, TH1, VN, and JP2 (✶ JP2, who is the host of the gathering, is out of the screen at this moment, preparing for the food.)

TH1

VN Conversation D CN1

Conversation F – Participants: TH2, JP5, JP6, and JP7

TH2

JP7 Conversation F

JP6

JP5

The seat configuration of the participants in each data set 

Conversation G – Participants: GR, JP7, and LY

JP7

LY Conversation G GR

Conversation I – Participants: ES, JP8, MX, and TW6

MX

JP8

TW 6

ES Conversation I

Conversation J – Participants: CN3, TH3, and TH4

TH4 CN 2 TH4 Conversation J

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 Appendix D

No visual data available for the following two data sets: Conversation K – Participants: IR2 and JP9 Conversation L – Participants: CN3, PL, and SY Note. Two sets of conversations, Conversations E and H, were eliminated from the present data as explained in Section 4.2.3.2.

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Index Accommodation strategy 53, 159, 181 ACE corpus 3, 73 Acknowledgment tokens 99, 109, 115–116, 119–120, 127, 133, 150–151, 155, 172, 180, 183, 186–187, 203 Adjacency pairs 19, 24–25, 35, 65, 100, 102, 104–105, 110–111, 117, 119, 121, 124, 139, 183, 198–199, 203 Agreement tokens 55–56, 182 – Neutral agreement tokens 56 – Strong agreement tokens 56 – Weak agreement tokens 56 Availability 29 Awareness-raising 204–206, 208 Backchannels 40–41, 54–57, 71, 99, 102, 117, 127, 203 Clarification practices/requests/ questions 54–55, 139, 154–155, 186, 207 Communicative capability 13, 189, 195, 204–205, 207–208 Communicative competence 10 Community of practice (CoP) 9–10 Competitive 71–72 Complaints 164 – Direct complaints 164, 169 – Third-party complaints 165 see also third-party complaint sequences Confirmation practices/requests/questions  54–55, 124, 132, 145, 150, 199, 201, 207 Conflict talk 61–62, 72 See also selfish, uncooperative, unsupportive, and face-threatening Construct validity 78, 80 Context and CA 18–19, 77 – Context-free 20–21, 79, 81 – Context-renewing 19, 77, 81 – Context-sensitive 20–21, 79, 81 – Context-shaped 19, 77, 80 – External context 18–19 – Intra-interactional context 18 Conversation analysis (CA) 18 Cooperative principle 43, 111, 115, 141–142, 146, 152 https://doi.org/10.1515/9781501512964-014

Cooperative strategy 55, 64 Cross-cultural approach 31, 198 Cross-cultural variation – in gaze bahavior 34 – in hand gestures 36 – in head movements 39 Culture 33, 59, 198 Deviant case analysis 80–81, 122 Disagreement 44, 61, 64, 71, 138, 169, 175, 182–183, 197–198 – Mitigated disagreement 67, 140, 153–155, 158 – Unmitigated disagreement 140, 142, 144, 146, 150, 152, 154, 159, 197, 200 Discursive approaches 42, 45, 49–52, 101, 166 Discursive turn 45 ELFA corpus 3 Elongation 97, 109, 151, 175, 180–181, 183 see also prosodic hyperbolism and sound stretches Emblem 26, 36–37 Embodied actions 4, 25–26, 198 English as a foreign language (EFL) 204 English as a lingua franca (ELF) 7, 204 – ELF1 3 – ELF2 3 – ELF3 3 English as a Multilingua Franca 3, 8 English as a native language (ENL) 6, 204, 206 Expanding Circle 5 Explicitness strategy 117, 181 Extreme case formulations 170, 173 Face 17, 44, 47, 51, 65, 73, 101 – Negative face 44, 47–49, 101, 110, 125, 127, 133–134 – Positive face 44–45, 47–49, 101, 110, 125, 127, 133–134, 138, 154–155, 159–160, 165, 173–174, 181, 183, 186–187 Face-saving 44, 56, 64, 67, 111, 119–120, 155, 183 Face-threatening 65, 73–74, 127, 165, 172

244 

 Index

Face-threatening acts (FTAs) 44 see also overlaps (competitive overlaps), disagreement, and third-party complaints Facework 45, 51, 72–73 Facial expressions 4, 25, 60–61, 80, 100, 109, 175, 197–198 – Confused faces 61–62, 115 – Frowns 115 – Serious faces 158, 181 – Smiles 61–62, 115–116, 151, 158–159 Floor-attempting overlaps 96, 103, 122 – Floor-attempting expansion (FA-E) 103, 128 – Floor-attempting question (FA-Q) 103, 123 Floor-taking overlaps 96, 102, 104 – Floor-taking expansion (FT-E) 102, 112 – Floor-taking question (FT-Q) 102, 104 – Proactive floor-taking expansion (proactive FT-E) 112 – Retroactive floor-taking expansion (retroactive FT-E) 112, 117 Fluidity 8–9 Gazes 4, 25–26, 60–62, 80, 100, 109–110, 115, 124–125, 127, 132–133, 145–146, 150–151, 159, 181, 183, 185 – Congruent gaze point 28 – Cut-off gazes 28, 145, 185 – Gaze aversion 29 – Gaze withdrawal 27–29, 35, 133, 159, 185, 198–200 – Mutual gazes 28, 125–127, 133, 146 Gestural politenes 37, 40 Gestures 4, 25–26, 29, 60–62, 80, 100, 111, 175, 181, 183, 186, 197–198, 200–201 – Beat gestures 30, 38, 61, 115, 145, 150, 180, 197 – Deictic gestures 30, 38, 109, 119, 132 see also pointing gestures – Iconic gestures 30, 38, 62, 132 – Illustrators 30 – Metaphoric gestures 30, 38, 61–62, 109, 115, 151, 197 – Non-speaker gestures 30, 151, 197 – On-stress gestures 30, 110, 145, 150, 180 – Pointing gestures 30, 37–38, 182, 185, 198, 200–201 – Regulators 30 Globalization 1, 5–6, 9

Head movements – Head nods 39–41, 56–57, 61, 109, 127, 133, 150–151, 180, 183, 185, 202–203 – Head shakes 39, 115, 181, 198 Hedges 170, 174 Hybridity 3, 8 Incipient speakership 30 Insert expansion 24 Interactional approach 42, 45–46, 49–50, 52, 101, 166, 209 Interactional purposes/functions of the talk 3, 17, 42, 51, 53, 56, 65, 67, 72–73, 137, 141, 155, 196 Intercultural approach 33–34, 38, 198, 202–203 Interruptions 98–101 Laughter 56, 60–61, 64, 132, 159, 170, 174–175 – Nervous laughter 185 – Shared laughter 115, 133, 156, 171, 174–175 Let-it-pass strategy 54–56, 65, 151 Lingua franca factor 152, 162 Lingual bias 4, 60, 196 Make-it-normal strategy 55 Manipulators 26 McCommunication 17 Metrolingualism 3 Multilingual resources 57 Multilingualism 3, 8 Multimodal CA 25, 50, 76 Multimodal turn 4 Multimodality 3, 9, 25, 45, 60 Mutual vulnerability 44, 46, 110, 165 Native English speakers 2, 5–7, 13, 204 Native-speaker norms 6, 13, 136, 162, 204, 206, 210–211 Negative politeness strategies 45 Next-turn proof procedure 19, 36, 42, 50, 80–81, 205 Non-native English speakers 2, 7, 9, 64, 86 Outer Circle 5–6 Overlaps 22–23, 31, 54, 72, 96, 100–101 – Competitive overlaps 72, 74, 96, 102 – Cooperative overlaps 57, 102 Ownership of English 6

Index 

Paraphrasing/rephrasing 54–57, 109, 121, 150, 170–173 Participation framework 27, 62 Pauses 23, 28, 60, 109–110, 115, 120, 133, 144, 150, 154–155, 158–159, 174, 180, 182, 184–187, 200 Pitch shifts 122, 124, 127, 151, 175, 180–182, 187 see also prosodic hyperbolism Politeness 37, 43–44, 50 – from the discursive perspectives 45 – Politeness1 47, 49–50 – Politeness2 47, 50 Politeness theory 44, 101 Positive politeness strategies 45, 138 Postural shifts 4, 25–27, 29, 60–61, 80, 159, 197 Prefaces 170, 174 Preference structure 24, 28, 65, 120, 139–140, 142, 151, 153–155, 158–159, 165, 168, 182 Procedurally consequential 19, 36, 38, 42, 85, 208 Projectability 21 Prosodic hyperbolism 175, 181 Recipiency 29, 35, 99, 110, 115–116, 120, 127–128, 132, 197 Recipient design 19–21, 81 Relational work 46, 50 Reliability 76, 78, 80, 94, 104, 197–198 – External reliability 78 – Internal reliability 78 Repair 23, 29, 31, 54, 77, 120, 150–151, 172, 180, 185–186 Repair mechanism 23 Repetitions 54–57, 72, 100, 105, 109–110, 121, 139, 150–151, 154, 167, 175, 180–181, 185–186, 197 Reported speech 171–173, 184–185 Selfish 63 Silence 22–23, 25, 61, 97, 139 – Gaps 22 – Lapses 22 – Significant silence 22 Single case analysis 62, 163, 168 Smiley voice 61, 133, 174–175

 245

Sound stretches 115 see also elongation and prosodic hyperbolism Speakership 30, 97, 99, 110–111, 116, 119–122, 124, 127, 133, 197 Speakership incipiency 110 Speech communities 9, 13 Thinking face 29, 35–36, 61–62, 114, 199–200 Third-party complaint sequences 74, 163, 166 – Disattended complaint sequences 163, 169–170 – Negotiated complaint sequences 163, 169, 175 Transactional purposes/functions of the talk 3, 17, 42, 51, 53, 56, 72–73, 120, 137, 141, 152, 196 Transcultural approach 33 Transient International Groups (TIGs) 10 Transient multilingual communities (TMCs) 10 Transition relevance place (TRP) 21, 104, 108–109, 111–112, 114–117, 119–122, 124, 127, 132–133, 145, 150, 203 Translanguaging 3, 57–59, 205 Translingual practice 3 Turn-allocational techniques 21 Turn-constructional unit (TCU) 21, 31, 35, 98, 110, 119, 122, 124, 132 Turn-taking rules 22–23, 96–97, 104–105, 108–110, 112, 114–115, 117, 119–122, 124, 132–133 Uncooperative 64–65 Unmotivated looking 51, 79 Unsupportive 65 Utterance completion 54–55, 57, 64, 102, 183, 199 Validity 78–81, 94, 197–198 – External validity (or generalizability) 78, 81 – Internal validity 78, 80–81 Variability 3, 8, 11, 152, 162 VOICE corpus 2 World Englishes (WE) 6, 40